As Schiller returned to his apartment, he could clearly feel someone following him, and the enhanced vision from his Spider-Sense allowed him to see someone seemingly watching him from across the apartment building.
The apartment building opposite was a full-glass structure, and there was a small pane within it whose reflection differed from the rest, which Schiller keenly perceived.
His choice to open a clinic in Hell's Kitchen was not without purpose. After several days of observation, he had largely figured out the daily routines of the residents in the apartment building.
Most of the people living there were office workers and white-collar elites. They were mostly single, had very regular work hours, and their social circles were quite fixed.
Living among such a group made it far too easy for Agents to find weaknesses.
Hell's Kitchen, however, was different. Although it was the largest slum and gang gathering place in Manhattan, New York, and even the United States, it had a high population density, heavy foot traffic, many strangers, and various gangs nested and entrenched. It was truly the most suitable place for an outsider like Schiller, who was intent on fishing in troubled waters.
Life in a high-end apartment, though comfortable, might not compare to the freedom of Hell's Kitchen. Schiller believed that if he stayed in that apartment for a few more days, at least four or five of his neighbors would become S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents. Various people with unclear backgrounds would try to approach him by any means, attempting to extract information, possibly about himself or Stark. This was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s way of doing things; they didn't care if you needed privacy.
Hell's Kitchen was also slightly different from Gotham. Although Hell's Kitchen also had countless gangs, big and small, its danger level was still a bit lower compared to Gotham.
It was more populated by the poor, gamblers, and drug addicts, with no Scarecrow or Joker, and no major villains of note.
Most of the people there were still ordinary people. Although guns and drugs were rampant, the victims were more often ordinary people, rather than special individuals with superpowers.
Schiller planned to make it his first base in Marvel.
Stark was highly efficient. Before long, he managed to persuade some council members to allocate a hospital slot to Hell's Kitchen.
Some council members took this opportunity to loudly proclaim their benevolence, claiming that New York would not abandon any of its citizens. However, they never expected this hospital to actually open, knowing that it was Hell's Kitchen—a place where even the devil would be cooked.
Open a hospital there? Don't joke around. Unless the hospital could be built like a concentration camp, preferably with tanks and cannons piled at the entrance, and all the Doctors and Nurses inside carrying machine guns, there might be a slim hope. Otherwise, all the medicine there would be looted overnight.
But no matter how disbelieving the council members were, or how numb the people of Hell's Kitchen were, a small Psychology clinic was still established in Hell's Kitchen.
As Manhattan's most famous and largest slum, its eight blocks were merely a designation.
In reality, its scope extended far beyond eight blocks, with dozens of intricate streets and about a hundred gangs intertwined.
Some people say Kingpin is the boss of Hell's Kitchen, but in reality, that's not the case. Kingpin's business scope extends far beyond Hell's Kitchen. His criminal enterprise chain covers the entire Eastern United States and even the East Coast.
His business spans the United States. Hell's Kitchen might involve some of his drug and smuggling operations, but he neither lives there nor constantly monitors it.
Nightcrawler, born in Hell's Kitchen, was his mortal enemy, but they hardly ever fought in Hell's Kitchen. Little Spider, who had fought Kingpin multiple times, was still just an ignorant high school student at this time.
Kingpin's ambition was far beyond unifying Hell's Kitchen; he didn't care about the disturbances that arose there. Because every day there were various gang wars, robberies, kidnappings, brawls, and missing persons cases, a little trouble was nothing at all.
Therefore, when Kingpin, who was far away in San Francisco, heard that some of his subordinates in Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan, had gone insane, he merely thought they had overdosed on drugs and paid no attention.
However, a terrifying rumor gradually spread in Hell's Kitchen—they heard that in the Psychology clinic opened at the very end of Mary Street, in Ninth Tail Alley, lived a terrifying eccentric Doctor. All gang members who came to collect protection money or extort him would, not long after, run out in terror and then go insane.
When this first started, a few well-known gang bosses, not believing in evil, had led their subordinates inside. But before long, they acted as if they had encountered some monster. They frantically began fighting the air, struggling, screaming, running, crying, as if possessed by some ghost.
This incident caused quite a stir, almost all of Mary Street heard about it, and the rumors spread quickly.
Word spread like wildfire, and everyone heard that Ninth Tail Alley was absolutely off-limits, that there was a terrifying curse there that would make you see your deepest fears, and you would eventually be scared insane.
Later, when Schiller, who lived there, started going out, everyone heard that he was the Master of the clinic in Ninth Tail Alley. Only then did people realize that it wasn't some ghost, but a peculiar psychologist.
According to Schiller's explanation, those gang bosses had done too many bad deeds, and he had merely given them some friendly psychological counseling.
As for why they went insane? Perhaps it was evil receiving its just deserts.
The people of Hell's Kitchen would believe his words when pigs fly; for anyone living there, their consensus was that bad people get good outcomes.
No one born in Hell's Kitchen would feel guilty; crime is normal here, and criminals are the majority. Guilty? Do you expect someone who started selling guns and drugs, fighting, extorting, and gambling since their teens to have any conscience? How could such a person feel guilty? And feel so guilty that they went insane?
Everyone who heard about this believed Schiller was a dark magic practitioner, and that he could cast curses on those people.
As for Schiller, he wouldn't explain. The Fear Toxin brought from DC was indeed very effective. Although it was only the initial version, it worked very well against ordinary people without superpowers.
From the moment he discovered he could carry objects between the two Worlds, he conceived the idea of being a middleman.
Although the power systems of Marvel and DC are different, there are many things that can be traded between them. Of course, there are also many things that can be exchanged to deal with each other's enemies.
For example, if Schiller used Fear Toxin in Gotham, once the news got out, Jonathan, seeing the patients' symptoms, would definitely associate it with his own Fear Toxin.
But in Marvel, how could Jonathan know about the situation in Marvel? Schiller, of course, wouldn't have to pay any royalties.
After this terrifying rumor spread, almost no gang members came to bother Schiller anymore.
Of course, the consequence of mingling with these criminals was that a Super Hero came knocking.
On a slightly cold night in Manhattan, Schiller had just made a hot coffee. He closed and locked the clinic door, ready to end his day of slacking off, get a good night's sleep, and continue to bother Stark tomorrow.
Just as he placed the coffee cup on the table, he heard a crisp sound at the door. He turned around, and in the dim light, he saw a tall man in a red leotard standing outside the door.
Schiller turned and picked up his coffee cup, saying, "You seem a bit late, Mr. Nightcrawler."
"Do you know me, Doctor?" Nightcrawler asked.
"Of course, I know you, Nightcrawler. You're famous in Hell's Kitchen," Schiller said.
"But you seem to have only recently arrived here," Nightcrawler said.
"But I'm more familiar with your other identity, Attorney Matt."
Nightcrawler was clearly shocked; he didn't know how Schiller had figured out his true identity.
Before he could ask, Schiller said, "You achieved outstanding results at Columbia University, and your career path after graduation was very smooth. Not only did you become a good lawyer, but you also seem to have opened your own law firm. Matt, can you tell me why you became Nightcrawler? Wasn't the pride of upholding justice that a law firm brought you enough?"
"Lawyer, upholding justice..." Nightcrawler scoffed. He said, "Perhaps you would think that way, yes, most people think that way, believing lawyers should speak out for justice and defend the vulnerable, but in reality..."
"In reality? Do you think lawyers shouldn't do that?"
"Of course they should, I mean..."
"You think you couldn't do it as a lawyer? So, you wanted to take another approach, but if you couldn't do it as a lawyer, can you do it by putting on a ridiculous leotard and a mask?"
Nightcrawler said angrily, "My decisions are none of your business!"
"You know what? Your tone just now sounded very much like a rebellious little boy," Schiller said.
Only then did Nightcrawler realize that from the moment he entered, he had fallen into Schiller's linguistic trap. The pace of the conversation had been led by him, not only exposing his true identity but also touching upon his inner sensitive points. He took a deep breath, calmed down, and said, "I have to admit, you are a good psychologist, and you're very good at using little tricks in conversation. But I still have to ask, who exactly are you? What is your purpose in Hell's Kitchen? Why did those people go insane?"
"You have too many questions. I can only answer one tonight. Obviously, I've worked all day and I'm very tired. You can't disturb my rest, after all, I'm not a gang member, nor have I broken the law," Schiller said.
"But you drove those gang members insane."
"You have no evidence."
"The Police need evidence."
"Do you think you are nobler than the Police?"
"Stop beating around the bush with me," Nightcrawler said.
"If you listened carefully to what I said, you would know where I came from and how I knew your identity."
Nightcrawler felt a headache coming on. He really disliked dealing with such cunning opponents, as it required him to maintain constant high concentration. And due to the shock he felt earlier, he completely forgot his conversation with Schiller when he first arrived. Now, when asked to recall, his mind was blank.
But if he couldn't answer, it would make him look stupid, so he remained silent.
"It seems you've already forgotten our conversation from a minute ago. I really don't know. Becoming a Super Hero, it seems, means you don't need a good memory," Schiller mocked.
Nightcrawler was secretly annoyed. He swore he would remember every word Schiller said from then on.
"Two years ago, I taught at Columbia University. I saw the list of outstanding graduates, and your name was on it, Matt. And when you filled out your post-graduation plans, you said you would open a law firm, also within Kansas. Although I am a Psychology Professor, I know your former teacher, and he mentioned in conversation that you did indeed achieve your dream."
"Don't change the subject. What I want to know is, how did you know Nightcrawler is Matt?"
"You might not remember, but when you first started on this path, you wore the black and yellow outfit your father wore during his matches. After I came to Hell's Kitchen, I once went to watch underground boxing matches, and coincidentally, the boss there, perhaps to save costs, never changed the style of clothing worn by the boxers."
"I then understood that Nightcrawler was perhaps born here, and he must have a connection to underground black market boxers. After investigation, all the gang members you killed were related to your father's death. And once your father's identity was found out, it was naturally not difficult to know yours."
"Why did you investigate me? Are you guilty of something?" Matt asked.
"Nothing, it's just that if you're going to rent a house, you need to know who the landlord is, what he does, and it's best to get along with him."
"I'm not the landlord here," Nightcrawler scoffed.
"Oh, really? Then it seems I've found the wrong person. I should go find Kingpin. But I seem to have already made an enemy of him. I vaguely remember that among the gang members who visited me, someone mentioned that their boss was Kingpin."
"Kingpin? You have information about Kingpin?"
"Sort of. Consider it my rent payment. I heard one of his subordinates say that their boss is already very impatient with a kid named Nightcrawler. He plans to find someone to kill you, that fly, so you'd best be careful lately."
Finally, Nightcrawler rushed back to his base.
It wasn't until he got back that he realized he hadn't achieved any of his goals that night.
He neither figured out who Schiller was, nor warned him to behave, nor did he clarify his relationship with those gangs.
He also didn't know how he managed to drive those people insane.
Matt slapped his forehead. He suddenly felt that Schiller's analogy was correct; he was like someone who had rented out his house to a tenant of unknown origin, and this tenant had preemptively paid the rent. This left him with no immediate way to take coercive measures to make him move out, and he could only let him swagger around Hell's Kitchen.
