In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group Chapter 383: Schiller is sick (Part 1)

"The Days of Being a Spiritual Mentor in Meiman"

, the days when I was a spiritual mentor in Meiman

On the balcony on the second floor of the hotel where the light was somewhat dim, a tall man in a suit took out a cigarette from his pocket. Then he turned his head slightly and looked at the windows with lights on the side of the hotel.

A scene in one of the windows caught his attention. He finished the cigarette in his hand, and instead of throwing the **** on the floor, he stuck his fingernails in the center of the **** and wiped out the unfinished part. After tearing it apart, light it with a lighter.

When the flames were about to burn his fingertips, he threw the cluster of flaming cigarette butts on the ground, and stomped on them with his toes to make sure no fingerprints were left behind.

He walked into the hotel with a steady pace, greeted the waiter who came up, then walked into the elevator, and straightened his suit.

With a sound of "ding", the elevator door opened, and he came out, his shoes stepped on the carpet on the guest room floor, making a dull sound, he walked through the somewhat dim hotel corridor, and came to the door of room 3103,

"Du", "Du", "Du", he knocked on the door a few times, but there was no response from the middle of the room. The man took out a note from his suit pocket and stuffed it under the crack of the door. Yes, the door lock rang slightly, and he walked in, and saw an old man with a serious face.

"Are you the contact person sent by the doctor?" The old man looked him up and down and said, "It looks like someone Pierce's subordinates will find... come in."

He turned around and wanted to walk into the room, but just as he took two steps, he felt something blocking his back. It's a pistol with a suppressor.

He slowly raised his hands and said calmly, "Who are you? Who do you work for? S.H.I.E.L.D. or the KGB?"

"I work for doctors."

"Boom!"

Seeing the figure of the old man falling slowly, Grant removed the magazine of the pistol, put the gun away, put on his gloves, groped the old man, and passed him through the crack of the door The note that went there was taken back, and then he turned and left as if nothing had happened.

Walking out of the hotel gate, it was dark in New York. He walked to a telephone booth in a park and dialed the number, and then said to the other end of the phone: "How are you doing? Let's meet, the one on the west side of Hell's Kitchen Cafe."

A slightly indifferent voice came from the opposite side, "Tomorrow at 3 o'clock in the afternoon..."

The next morning, in the cafeteria of the SHIELD Alliance, Schiller and Stark were having breakfast face to face. Well, many congressmen have been assassinated, even if you want to take revenge at this time, you have to consider the general environment, right?"

Schiller didn't speak, but focused on dealing with the food on the plate with a knife and fork. Stark glanced at his movements and said, "What's wrong with you recently?"

"What's wrong?" Schiller asked him instead without looking up.

"I think you've become a little weird." Stark pulled the corner of his mouth down and said, "It's like a different person."

Schiller put half a small tomato into his mouth, then looked up at Stark, and asked him, "Where did you see that?"

Stark opened his mouth, as if there were too many things to say, and he didn't know where to start. He lowered his head and cut a piece of beef, and said while eating: "Let's talk about clothes first, you usually like to wear Doctor uniform, I just like shirts or sweaters, I don’t see you wearing a suit very much.”

Stark looked up at Schiller again, who was sitting opposite him, wearing a dark suit and a ribbed tie, and he continued: "Although Manhattan, especially around Wall Street, Many people like to wear suits all year round, but why did your dressing style suddenly change so much?"

"What else?" Schiller asked while eating.

Stark stared at his plate and said: "I just wanted to ask, why do you move the fried eggs from left to right, and then from right to left, is this a ritual?"

"Because the vegetables are initially placed on the left."

"So?"

"So the fried egg can only be moved to the right."

Stark took a deep breath and said: "If you have any dissatisfaction with me, you can say it directly. My temper has improved a lot recently, and I can even bear Steve dangling in front of my eyes." It's..."

"It's nothing, it's just my anxiety attack." Schiller still didn't look up, he was eating very attentively, Stark snorted and said, "You can't fool me, I also have anxiety attacks, although It's been a long time since I've had it, but I know what it's like."

"Panic, hyperventilating, limb stiffness, when the attack was the worst, I had to lean against a wall and lift the other hand with one hand to continue the experiment, I remember you before my The medical history is written in the medical record, don't you remember?"

Schiller suddenly stopped what he was doing, then looked at Stark and said, "The answer is full marks, but it's useless."

After finishing speaking, he put down the knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and when he was about to stand up, Stark stopped him: "You just left?? We haven't finished talking yet ! What's going on with you?"

"Is this really an anxiety disorder? Why do I feel that something is wrong?" Stark looked at the tableware left by Schiller in confusion, where the remaining food was neatly arranged.

Schiller stepped out of the chair, looked back at Stark and said, "It's indeed an anxiety disorder, but it's just a complication. You can also think of it as a side effect of my broccoli allergy."

Speaking, he leaned over to straighten the slightly crooked fork, and then turned around and left. What's wrong?"

At this time, another figure came over. After the waiter removed Schiller's previous plate, Steve sat across from Stark and said, "Do you mind if I eat here? We can discuss it The next work of the Avengers."

Stark turned his head to the side unnaturally, but he didn't object. Steve leaned his upper body out of the seat and glanced back, just in time to see Schiller pushing the revolving door to leave. He asked: "Do you think he's acting weird recently, as if he's changed?"

"I found out earlier than you. As early as when he said he would move back to the small clinic in Hell's Kitchen, I felt that something was wrong."

Steve frowned while eating, and said: "Remember our speculation last time? Hydra may be affecting all of our emotions. Do you think he will also..."

"Impossible." Stark pricked a piece of potato with a fork, put it in his mouth, and said, "He is a psychiatrist, and he can read minds, but he is not so easily influenced."

"Did you forget?" Steve leaned forward, lowered his voice, and said, "He came into contact with that black-robed Hydra in the nursing home. Those people are very good at brainwashing. Schiller stayed with them For a while, we'd better investigate this matter."

"How are you going to investigate? Go directly to him?" Stark turned his head, put down the fork, and said, "If he is not brainwashed, he will only treat us as crazy. If he is brainwashed, you Do you think he will admit it?"

"We have to find a professional." Steve said firmly, Stark raised his eyebrows, looked at him, and the two looked at each other, thinking of the same person.

In the afternoon, the light became stronger and stronger. The heavy snow that covered the street last night began to melt, and the ground was somewhat muddy. When Schiller entered the cafe, he stomped his feet on the threshold, shaking off the snowflakes stuck to the edges of his shoes go.

Grant saw him, but his expression remained the same. He just lowered his head and drank his coffee. After Schiller walked over, he sat across from him, took the coffee from the waiter, and scooped the latte art on the surface with a spoon. He said : "What number is this?"

"The sixth." Grant glanced to the side, Schiller saw his movements, and he said, "I have to say, even in S.H.I.E.L.D., you are considered a very vigilant agent. "

Grant let out a deep sneer with his nose, and said, "So what? Didn't it fall into your hands?"

"Don't worry, I haven't finished the second half of the sentence. Your current vigilance is in obvious contrast to your previous innocence. Why do you think that you will really get out of this line of work?"

Grant pursed his lips, and he said with a self-deprecating smile: "Indeed ~IndoMTL.com~ How can I expect a despicable and cunning Hydra to keep its promise?"

Schiller picked up his coffee cup and took a sip of coffee. He said, "Do you think I really want to choose you? If someone else is available, I don't like forcing an ordinary person to be a killer."

Ordinary people? Grant almost felt the absurdity. This was the first time he heard someone call him an ordinary person. Even Garrett would often praise him for his talent in this area.

In the career path of an agent and assassin, Grant's resume is very good. He entered the industry very early. Since he was adopted by Garrett, he has been receiving professional agent training day after day. In addition, Garrett also taught him a lot of killing skills. The words and deeds of a senior agent made his starting point in this industry exceed the ending point of many people.

If the situation in S.H.I.E.L.D. continues to develop according to the previous situation, then he is likely to take over the position of Hydra leader in S.H.I.E.L.D. at Pierce's age.

Bringing up this topic, Schiller seemed a little interested, and he went on: "It may sound absurd to you, but many murderers are born, or some born murderers have ordinary people in this respect. An unattainable talent."

"Such as?" Grant looked at him and asked.

"In the case of antisocial personality disorder psychopathy, there is a very small possibility of natural born killers. They are cold-blooded, violent, and good at controlling others. One case I encountered recently was a person who was much younger than you. Teenager."

"Who is that?"

"You don't know him, but I know him quite well. His name is Oswald Copperpot."

"A... little penguin with a sharp beak."