When Schiller went to bed that night, he realized that he could actually stay in Marvel indefinitely. He could sleep, return to DC, continue sleeping in DC, and then return to Marvel. Since time didn't pass in DC, he could always stay in Marvel and avoid the smog of Gotham City.
However, good times don't last. Before Schiller could even take Peter and his family for a physical examination on the weekend, S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking.
It was another workday. Schiller had just finished his rounds and was using the internal Doctor system to book an examination for Peter's family when there was a knock on his office door. Schiller, sitting behind his desk, didn't look up. Suddenly, his Spider-Sense vibrated. He looked up warily to see a strange man standing at the door.
“Hey, Doctor, don’t be nervous. I’m Coulson, a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent.” The man noticed Schiller’s tense posture. Schiller looked at him over his glasses and said, “Let’s talk outside. These are all my patients.”
Coulson nodded quickly, and the two went downstairs together and sat down in a coffee shop next to the hospital. Schiller frowned and said, “Is S.H.I.E.L.D. short-staffed? Or is it difficult to find an Agent who can wear a Nurse's uniform?”
Coulson was somewhat puzzled by Schiller's attitude. Shouldn't a normal person show fear or rejection when an Agent suddenly shows up? It seemed his boss was right; this Schiller definitely had a problem.
Schiller seemed a bit impatient. He said, “I’ve already been late for a day and absent for a day. The whole clinic knows I stay up late, drink, and do drugs. If you insist on causing me trouble, can’t you wait until this passes? I’ll get fired!”
“But according to our information, you are only a temporarily hired Psychology consultant at Elders Hospital, and you are only filling in because the head of the psychiatry department is not here…”
“Does that matter? I really need this job right now. What if you make me lose my job?”
Coulson said, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Schiller, we didn’t intend to disturb you. It’s just that we heard you are Mr. Stark’s psychologist, and we’d like to know more about his psychological state. Of course, we will pay the consultation fee on time…”
“One million U.S. dollars an hour.”
“Pfft!” Coulson spat out a mouthful of coffee. He wiped his mouth and said, “If you refuse, you don’t have to make such an excuse…”
“If you can’t afford it, don’t come for treatment.” Schiller rolled his eyes and got up to leave, acting like an unethical quack.
Coulson didn't stop him. After Schiller left, he pressed his earpiece and said, “There’s probably something fishy in that hospital. He was in a hurry to get me out and in a hurry to go back… Okay, okay…”
Schiller returned to his consultation room. He concentrated, maximizing his telepathy, and then felt the emotions of the psychiatric patients, expressing some of those emotions in writing as much as possible—the inner World of a group of psychiatric patients was truly chaotic and insane. Schiller scribbled dozens of pages and locked them in a drawer.
When he returned to his apartment that evening, he found that Agents must have searched it. Schiller scanned with his Spider-Sense and didn't find any listening devices or cameras, so he didn't bother with it.
At S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury stared at the glowing data panel, which displayed Schiller’s detailed information. Coulson said from behind him, “He’s very nervous about his job and seems unwilling to leave that hospital. Many liquor bottles and some drugs were found in his home…”
“These are some papers we found in his office tonight. Only these. More seem to have been urgently disposed of by him, because we found a large amount of shredded paper pulp flushed down the drain. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to restore.”
Nick took the papers and said, “Does he have a mental illness? No, these don’t seem like the ravings of one person. Is he collecting psychological data from psychiatric patients in the psychiatry department? How does he communicate with those psychiatric patients?”
“This is clearly not information that a normal Doctor could obtain. These records even contain extreme patient privacy…”
“Does he hypnotize?” Coulson asked.
“Our psychologist does too. Can he make you tell him what color underwear you liked to wear in elementary school?” Nick asked.
“Perhaps he just made it all up.” Coulson said.
“He seems to have additional insight into Stark Industries’ past and our old friends, and he can directly pinpoint Stark’s weaknesses. Today, he even caused Stark’s intelligent butler to fall into a logic loop.” Nick said.
“Do you want him to work for us?”
“He has a way of dealing with Stark, and we’ll have more people like him to handle in the future.” Nick placed the stack of files aside and said, “In short, first figure out what’s in that hospital, and if possible, transfer him from there.”
“I hate this group of highly educated people. They are always too calm, cautious, and unfathomable. Such opponents who know how to use their brains are difficult to deal with.” Nick said.
“Perhaps he’s just an ordinary psychologist, and collecting the ramblings of those patients is his hobby…” Coulson said.
“Coulson, sometimes you make me doubt the credibility of your Level 8 Agent rank.” Nick said.
“Someone who can make Stark completely lose his composure within thirty minutes and then swagger into Stark Industries the next day, do you think he’s an ordinary psychologist? Or do you think Tony Stark is really just a cynical playboy who only hangs out with models?”
“Understood. I’ll make him leave that hospital first.” Coulson said.
So, the next day, Schiller received the news of his dismissal in Stark’s office. He spread his hands and said, “You see, I absolutely need your funding now, Mr. Stark. You wouldn’t just watch your dedicated psychological consultant lose his job and go bankrupt, would you?”
Stark said, “Two million U.S. dollars isn’t enough for you to open your own psychological clinic?”
“Money isn’t the problem. The problem is the qualifications required for a psychological clinic. I need to open a legally operating psychological treatment room, not a fraudulent institution on the street that’s no different from fortune-telling.”
“With your resume, you can’t get approval? Yesterday, Jarvis told me you have three Dr. degrees and have worked in the best hospitals in six different states.”
“Yes, it’s just that the location of the psychological clinic I want to open is a bit special.” Schiller took a sip of iced wine and said.
Stark, while tinkering with a machine, asked, “Where?”
“Hell’s Kitchen,” Schiller said.
Stark’s hand trembled, and the poor Mark 2 burst into a series of sparks. He said, “I really can’t see that you have the compassionate heart of a Saint Maria, wanting to save the poor wretches and drug addicts in that hellish district.”
Schiller didn't say much. He said, “I need a legally established psychological clinic in Hell’s Kitchen. For that, I can grant you one request.”
Schiller put emphasis on the words “legally established.”
Stark said, “What could I possibly need to ask you for, huh, what a joke, I’m Stark.”
“Don’t you want to know if Pepper truly loves you?”
Stark’s hand trembled again, and the Mark 2’s right leg directly exploded. Schiller silently took a step back, watching Stark, whose face was blackened by the explosion. Stark nervously rubbed his face and said, “What did you say? What about Pepper?”
Apparently, Stark hadn't yet realized his feelings for Pepper.
“I can tell you at an appropriate time whether Pepper truly loves you, guaranteed to be accurate. You’ve seen my abilities.”
“Pepper, of course, loves me. All the women in the World love Stark.” Stark said.
“Is that so? Is she just one of the women in the World? The kind with nothing special?” Schiller asked.
Stark fell silent.
“I can agree to it. Of course, starting tomorrow, you don’t need to come for any more psychological counseling for me. If Pepper looks for you, just put her off.”
“Can’t you afford the consultation fee anymore?”
Stark, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, shouted, “I can afford it even if you charge ten million U.S. dollars an hour! I just don’t need any psychological counseling! I’m not crazy! I’m fine!”
Schiller shook his head and slowly said, “I’m afraid Mark 2 doesn’t think so.”
He and Stark simultaneously looked down at the suit of armor missing a leg. Stark pointed to the door: “Get out now!!!”
Schiller returned home and texted Peter: “The weekend physical examination has been booked. I’ll inform the hospital to provide you with thorough service, but our meeting time might be postponed because I’ve already resigned from that hospital.”
Peter quickly expressed his concern, but Schiller only said it was a change in his career planning and didn't elaborate. Peter was a bit touched, as Schiller was still thinking about the previously arranged physical examination even after resigning. He eagerly said, “Are you still in New York? If you are, I think we could meet up, go out for a meal or something, or you could come to my place…”
Schiller politely declined Peter and messaged Charles: “What do you think would happen if I opened a hospital in Hell?”
“I’m afraid the Devil wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“You seem to feel strongly about this.”
“I advise you not to do that. Perhaps you are just a talented ordinary person, but ordinary people cannot resist the Devil.”
“But only criminals can fight criminals, right?”
Charles, on the other side of the computer, fell silent looking at that sentence. He thought, Max, do you think so too?
Only by becoming a criminal can one deal with the most heinous criminals?
Charles shook his head. No, justice must have its fair way of being realized. If one has to descend into Hell to fight the Devil, then there’s no difference from colluding with them.
Outside the window, the students of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters were chasing and playing on the playground. Storm was scolding them to go back to class, while Jean watched from the side. Everything seemed beautiful.
Only Xavier knew that the Shadow of the Dark Phoenix was still far from gone.
