In that hellhole called Hell's Kitchen, there were countless thefts, but Schiller had never heard of a Hell's Kitchen thief who specifically targeted cakes. Not just cakes, either—there were also his ground coffee, soda crackers, and jam.
Was this thief the reincarnation of a starving ghost? Stealing four pounds of cake a day wasn't enough; he had to pair it with half a pound of soda crackers, two cans of coffee grounds, and three jars of jam.
Wasn't he afraid of stuffing himself to death? Schiller thought.
Of course, even if none of the missing things were particularly important, Schiller still had to catch this thief and figure out exactly how he had been stealing them.
Schiller set a trap in the storage room he visited least often in the house, using the thief's favorite cake and a little Fear Gas, then waited for the thief to take the bait.
While waiting for the bait to work, Schiller wrote in a notebook, drafting the story he would use to fool The Ancient One next.
Schiller was not randomly choosing to plant the concept of the King in Yellow in The Ancient One's mind. In the Marvel Universe's setting, there were countless Cosmic Demons, such as the Vishanti Trinity, whose power The Ancient One drew upon.
Cthulhu's origins in Marvel were rather scattered. Some said he was the embodiment of nothingness, while others said he was the blood and tears of the universe. They were not a unified race, and their appearances were generally bizarre and varied.
Actual Cthulhu literature had a more coherent system, with everything beginning from Azathoth, the Daemon Sultan. But what Schiller mentioned to The Ancient One was another system: the cursed playbook Chambers had fabricated in his short stories—"The King in Yellow."
The setting of this play was more illusory and romantic than the Cthulhu Mythos. On Lake Hali in the ancient city of Carcosa, far away in the Pleiades, an ancient Outer God, the King in Yellow, was imprisoned. He witnessed the fall of two black suns, and was later established as the representative of "wind" among the Great Old Ones, becoming Cthulhu's mortal enemy.
But what people knew best from the King in Yellow's setting was his unique mark—the Yellow Sign.
Yet none of that was important. What mattered was that Schiller needed a plausible identity with which to speak to The Ancient One.
He could speak to Stark as a psychologist, play Spider-Man's life mentor, or even let Daredevil consider him a criminal. It did not matter.
But The Ancient One was different. If Schiller did not have an identity mysterious and powerful enough, the formidable Sorcerer Supreme would not listen to him.
Because Schiller had read the comics, he knew that Great Old Ones also existed in the Marvel Universe's setting. Now that he had reminded The Ancient One, if she investigated, she would discover that everything Hastur, whom Schiller was impersonating, had said was true. A group of blind and idiotic Great Old Ones had once been imprisoned in an extra dimension, but no one knew whether they would return to Earth.
As long as The Ancient One believed even thirty percent in the identity of the King in Yellow Schiller was playing, Schiller could get quite a bit of the information he wanted from her.
While waiting for the thief-catching trap to activate, Schiller intermittently filled out the settings concerning the Pleiades. After all, if he wanted to fool the Sorcerer Supreme, his character background at least had to make sense.
And that thief did not make Schiller wait long.
On a dark and windy night, Hell's Kitchen was unusually free of gunshots. Schiller was lying in bed, half-asleep, when he heard an enormous crash from the storage room downstairs.
He immediately woke up, knowing his trap had worked. He truly had not expected that a single cake would actually be enough to catch the thief.
He crept downstairs without turning on the lights. If the other party had a gun and noticed him coming down, they would surely aim this way in advance. For his own safety, Schiller planned to use Blink once he reached the other end of the corridor and teleport over directly, catching the other party off guard.
Just as he was about to Blink, he suddenly saw the storage room door open. Had this thief not been controlled by the Fear Gas? Could he even open the door and walk out on his own? That was a little troubling.
Schiller abandoned the idea of Blinking. Once he teleported over, not only would the thief need time to react, but Schiller himself would also need around two seconds to adapt to the unfamiliar environment. It was like that every time he teleported.
He noticed that the thief did not seem to have spotted him. Schiller crept along the wall and down the corridor, only to see an extremely short, round figure—barely reaching a person's calves—squeeze out through the crack in the door. As it walked, it complained, "Damn it! Was I drunk? Why did this cake stink like a septic tank?"
Schiller looked at the figure, wanting to speak but stopping himself. Then he turned around, reached for the light switch, and with a click, turned on the lights.
The round creature shrieked and instantly dropped to all fours to run. Schiller extended his right hand and used Telekinesis, directly catching the creature in his hand.
Schiller's expression darkened as he felt the fluffy texture in his hand. What he was holding was unmistakably a yellow, round, chubby Pikachu with two long ears and a lightning-bolt-shaped tail.
"Shit! Put me down! Don't touch me with your filthy hands! What's wrong with you?! How can you grab me? Let go of me!!"
Schiller's expression was utterly terrible. He had never imagined that in such a serious, even slightly dark story, a yellow electric rat would appear.
Then he realized that Pikachu's screaming voice sounded vaguely familiar. Wasn't that Deadpool's voice actor?
Schiller remembered in horror that Hollywood did indeed have a Pikachu movie: "Detective Pikachu." And the Pikachu in that movie was indeed voiced by the same actor as Deadpool.
Schiller took a deep breath, turned Pikachu around, grabbed its two tiny forepaws, and said, "So you're the one who stole my cake, soda crackers, coffee grounds, and jam?"
Pikachu's eyes darted around. Its impossibly adorable face actually showed a very human expression of disdain as it spoke in that Deadpool-like voice. "Hey, buddy, I really don't know how your taste could be so terrible. The soda crackers you bought don't even have butter in them—they taste awful. And that jam, how can you like strawberry jam? It really isn't my taste. Also, next time you cut a cake, could you not leave the cake knife on top of it? Do you know how dirty that is?"
Schiller held Pikachu in one hand and covered his eyes with the other. This was truly an enormous mental contamination for him. Faced with Pikachu's complaints, he really had no strength to refute them, because his tastes truly differed from those of a real American.
"Listen, you little thief. First, you repeatedly stole my food. Second, you don't feel the slightest guilt. It seems you're a habitual offender..."
"Give me a break." Pikachu waved a paw. "Obviously, you're not normal either. No ordinary person could see a rat speaking and still calmly have a conversation with it."
Schiller pursed his lips and stared wide-eyed at Pikachu. Mainly because Pikachu's appearance had dealt a massive blow to his worldview.
He had only just been talking about life ideals with Batman in the incredibly dark-toned Gotham. Then, in the blink of an eye, this yellow rat reeking of Deadpool showed up before him. How could Schiller's brain not short-circuit?
Was he supposed to start wandering through the nearby bushes next? Gather all sorts of Pokémon companions, then challenge the various gyms?
The tone was completely wrong, okay?!!
More importantly, this yellow electric rat might only be as tall as a human's calf, but it had Deadpool's mouth!
The deadliest part of Deadpool's entire body!
It had learned none of the good parts!
It had discarded the essence and kept the dregs!
This reminded Schiller of the comic pages he had read in his previous life, where Deadpool's speech bubbles often took up more than half the page. Now, if Deadpool-version Pikachu, Deadpool, and Spider-Man got together...
Schiller felt that if he were in a comic, he would probably be blocked so thoroughly that even his face could not be seen.
And he remembered that Hollywood's "Detective Pikachu" had actually used the setting from the Japanese game of the same name. This Pikachu was not merely a cute creature that could only say "Pika Pika," but a detective with an older man's voice. Judging from Pikachu's reaction just now, he was indeed quite intelligent, definitely not some simple pet.
After a while, Schiller and Pikachu sat facing each other on the sofa. Pikachu held a cup of coffee with its tiny paws and said, "Actually, I don't have any memories either. I only remember a flash of light, and then I fell into a garbage truck. It took a lot of effort to climb out. I was starving, and after walking for half a day, every place on these streets had its doors shut. There wasn't a single place I could enter. Only here—your storage room's back door seemed not to be fully closed. After I came in, I followed the corridor and found the refrigerator... Of course, stealing things was indeed my fault, but I was really too hungry. If possible, once I earn money, I'll pay you back for the cake."
Schiller applauded him, then said, "I have to say, for a rat, your moral awareness is frighteningly high. If every rat in the world were as polite as you, humans would not need to invent so many rat poisons."
"So what you put beside the cake today was rat poison? That stuff stank so badly. Seriously, that smell nearly took half my life."
"Actually, that wasn't rat poison. It was more frightening than rat poison... Forget it. You're only a rat anyway."
Schiller put down his coffee cup and stared curiously at Pikachu.
"So, can you do that?"
"What? What can I do?" Pikachu looked at him in confusion.
Schiller looked at the extremely human expression on that adorable yellow face, his heart filled with indescribable mixed feelings. "You know, that..."
"What exactly are you talking about?"
"Fine, Pikachu, listen. You said you wanted to earn money to compensate for the food you stole, but I don't think anyone besides me would hire a yellow rat that can speak human language. So if you want to compensate me for my losses, you can only stay here and work for me. And if you want the chance to work here, shouldn't you show your boss what talents you have?"
"Oh, I get it. You mean electricity, right? That's my specialty. With me around, you could save at least half your electric bill every month. But I was too hungry before, and I still haven't recovered, so I probably can't put out a hundred thousand volts. Charging your phone shouldn't be a problem, though..."
As it spoke, it dropped onto all four tiny legs and dashed onto the table. It jumped up, took Schiller's phone that was charging, then ran back to the sofa with it to demonstrate.
Pikachu extended its lightning-bolt tail, and electricity flashed all over its body. Schiller's phone screen lit up, displaying that it was charging, though not very quickly.
Apparently trying to show off its abilities, Pikachu hugged the phone tightly, swung its tail hard again, then strained. Electricity buzzed around its body, and the phone began charging incredibly quickly, gaining nearly ten percent in a single second. Just one second before Schiller could stop it, the phone went BANG!!
Pikachu's yellow fur had been blown black. It puffed out a mouthful of black smoke, then helplessly lowered its head to look at the exploded phone in its arms. "Looks like you'll have no choice but to let me work here. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll never be able to afford the compensation in my lifetime."
Schiller covered his forehead. "Your performance was truly spectacular. You really surprised me. I never imagined there could be such a useful charging outlet in this world."
Pikachu caught the sarcasm in his voice and was just about to speak when Schiller said, "Fine, but that isn't what I wanted to see."
"Then what do you want to see? What other talents do I have? I don't even know myself..."
"Of course you know. That thing..."
Schiller stared at Pikachu with shining eyes. Pikachu suddenly showed a complicated expression, as though it had eaten shit.
Reluctantly, under Schiller's gaze, it turned around, jumped onto the back of the sofa, and let out a loud—
"PIKA—PIKA!!!!"
Schiller was thoroughly satisfied.
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