It Works (Part 2)

The old bank, which was converted into Arkham Asylum, is located in the southern financial district of Lower Manhattan, but not on Wall Street; it is on the east corner of an intersection at 14th Street.

It was built in the 1930s by a British businessman who came to invest here, so it looks a bit like Gringotts Bank from Harry Potter, with white walls and elaborate window decorations.

As Nick Fury said, the building is very well maintained, both the exterior and the interior.

Its interior is mostly furnished with wooden furniture, and the lobby is very well lit thanks to the many floor-to-ceiling windows.

The revolving door, reminiscent of the last century, has been preserved. Upon entering, you are greeted by the main counter, flanked by two massive staircases. Crystal Chandelier hang overhead, and the wooden floor beneath your feet is a mature honey color, bearing traces of history without appearing worn or old.

The building is not symmetrical. The main building is on the east side, so most of the sanatorium rooms are on the east side, while the outpatient department and functional buildings are on the west side.

Because this old bank is not on Wall Street, the land was purchased at a low price and has a relatively spacious layout, with seven floors. There are about 60 usable rooms on the east side and more than 30 on the west side. There is also a sky garden on the third floor behind the second floor on the west side.

The people who built this bank were also very willing to spend money. The interior is very luxurious, and the style is extravagant and comfortable. It is a building that is very much in line with the aesthetics of the old money of that era. Therefore, it does not need much decoration and directly satisfies the aesthetics and practicality of a sanatorium.

Strange walked down the corridor on the third floor of the hospital, a nurse behind him flipped through her notebook and said, "Mr. Eisen on the second floor wants to drink special drinking water, and Mrs. Harry on the third floor wants us to prescribe eye drops containing Immortality Factor..."

"I need to go to a meeting with the dean now. We'll talk about these things after the meeting."

Strange went upstairs, turned left, and went to the Dean's office on the far east side of the fourth floor. When he entered, Schiller was opening champagne. Strange said irritably, "Aren't you a little too early to be opening champagne now? There's a huge mess to clean up."

He slammed a stack of documents onto the table in front of Schiller and said, "You've been so busy taking in so many patients who have made appointments that the sanatorium's office system isn't even fully developed yet. Suddenly, fifty or sixty patients have flooded in, and the Doctor and nurses are going crazy."

"Don't rush." Schiller slowly took two glasses from the cabinet, then pointed to the chair, gesturing for Strange to sit down. He poured himself a glass, then poured Strange, and said, "The S.H.I.E.L.D.. agent are already in training, and a batch should arrive this afternoon."

"Agent? The medical staff you told me about this morning who were urgently dispatched, are they agent???"

"Of course, and not only do they not charge me a salary, Nick even pays me money."

Strange opened his mouth. He wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what the agent were there for. He said, "You sold patients' private information to the agent organization???"

"Stephen, look up. Where are the patients here? They consume the most expensive health products in the world, and even for a minor scrape, they have the best private Doctor to treat them."

Schiller, with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a wine glass, took a sip and said, "They didn't come here for treatment."

"Of course I know they're here because of that fabricated theory of Immortality Factor you made up, and they want to use it to make themselves immortal," Strange scoffed.

Schiller shook his head, put down his glass, and said, "That's only one aspect. Have you heard of Noah's Ark?"

"God wanted to Flood Apocalypse, so he built an ark. The ark could only hold a limited number of people, and only a very small number of people were able to survive."

"When things got to this point, what happened after boarding the ship was no longer important. What mattered was that they were willing to spend a lot of money to buy tickets to prove to the world that they were God's favorites."

"If you were the captain of Noah's Ark, no matter how well you sailed the ship, God wouldn't let a vampire like you in." Strange also picked up his glass and took a sip.

How many more medical staff do you need?

Strange thought for a moment, then said, "We need at least 50. There are almost no people on the third and fourth floors to accompany them. They are all clamoring for private nurses."

"I'm not asking about the fewest, but the most."

"At most? How many people can a 7-story nursing home fit in at most? Probably 1,000 medical staff would be enough to fill it up, right?"

"You don't get a share of the money for arranging agent to enter the sanatorium; that's my compensation. However, you can take 5% of the reimbursement for the falsely reported number of people."

"We absolutely need at least 5,000 people," Strange said firmly. "Patients have paid a lot of money, and each person needs at least a medical team of 200 people to care for them 24 hours a day."

Is there still room for improvement?

Strange rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his hand, saying, "That depends on whether you can get the accreditation for a medical or pharmaceutical research institute. There's no limit to the number of people in such an institution; I could even apply for 20,000."

"20,000 people? 2 researchers and 19,998 assistants?"

"Internship slots." Strange emphasized, "How many people does Columbia University have? How about New York University? If we approve internship slots for them, let alone 20,000, if New York has a few more universities, 100,000 would be reasonable."

"Wait a minute." Strange suddenly realized that he seemed to have been led astray by Schiller. He said, "Even if you're taking money from multiple sources, you don't have to go this far, do you?"

"You took money from these customers, fed them health products with questionable efficacy, and even took money from agent organizations to send people in to gather intelligence?! You..."

Strange didn't even know how to describe Schiller. Calling him a vampire would make any vampire weep. If any vampire had even half of his wickedness, he wouldn't have ended up as an ingredient in health supplements.

As Strange was thinking, there was a knock on the door of the Dean's office. A man in a trench coat and hood walked in. Schiller took a glass from the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of champagne. The man took off his hood, revealing himself to be Blade.

"I didn't understand a word you said on the phone," Blade said, somewhat doubtfully. "But are you sure what I'm doing will work?"

"Of course, of course." Schiller pulled up a chair for him, gesturing for him to sit down. After Blade sat down, Schiller said, "What could be more compelling evidence than vampires themselves coming forward to prove that the Immortality Factor within vampires is effective?"

"But I'm not a vampire, I've never even been bitten, it's just my mother..."

"That's it. When you tell the story later, you must emphasize this point: after your mother was bitten, you were born as a vampire. What does this mean?"

Schiller looked at Strange, Strange also a little confused. He said, "What does this prove? It proves that vampires are vicious, even biting pregnant women?"

"No! This proves that a certain substance in vampire blood can be transmitted from mother to child, which will be welcomed by the high-end maternal and infant market."

"Next question, Erik, how old are you this year?"

"Hmm, I forgot, but she should be in her thirties, right?"

"No, no, no, you are almost 230 years old this year, which is about the same year the United States was founded. You were born with the Union."

"But I'm not that old..."

"That's not old. You're in your prime among vampires. There must be plenty of 3,000 or 4,000-year-olds in your clan, right?"

"As far as I know, apart from Dracula, there doesn't seem to be..."

"By the way, Dracula, is he the oldest? Do you have his contact information?"

"What do you want to do?" Blade asked Schiller, Schiller replied, "If he's willing to record a promotional video for us, he can name his price."

"Let a vampire promote a potion made from himself? What are you thinking? How could he possibly agree to that?"

"But you're already here, aren't you?"

"My situation is special. I hate these rats. They are my enemies. I wish humans would kill them all."

"Then how do you know that you're the only one with a special situation?"

Schiller said very sincerely, "Erik, you must know that your strength alone is not enough."

"I heard you have connections with the clan. You could ask the moderates how they plan to deal with the radicals. If you don't mind, I can discuss a business deal with them."

"Talk business? What do you plan to talk about?"

"Hand over their political enemies to me. I can give them 20% of the profits from selling the finished drug. That's already a lot. Nick can only take 30%."

Blade opened his mouth, paused, and then said, "This is absurd, but..." Blade said with some doubt, "It is indeed a bit strange. Humans are promoting a drug made from vampires on a large scale. I thought the moderates would start protesting one after another."

"Perhaps you haven't thought about it, but those vampires who have the ability to speak don't care if their fellow vampires are turned into medicine, as long as it's not them who are turned into medicine."

"On this basis, it would be even better if their enemy were the one made into medicine."

"And if the whole process doesn't even require them to take action, but only requires providing humanity with a little bit of intelligence and information to completely strike at their political enemies, keeping them busy and even annihilating them all, then why not do it?"

"If they not only don't have to put in any effort during this process, but can also gain a lot of money and resources, then why wouldn't they be tempted?"

"Ultimately..." Schiller concluded, "Moderate vampires are just pleasure-seeking. To enjoy themselves in human society, they need status and money. They want these things, so we provide them with them in exchange for the enemies of their own kind."

"Once they get used to this luxurious lifestyle, and all the radicals have been eliminated, they will spontaneously select a portion of the group and send them to us in exchange for the capital needed to continue maintaining this extravagant lifestyle."

"Under the rule of pure-blood theory, their society will be gradually sacrificed to humanity from the bottom up."

"Perhaps..." Schiller sighed and said, "In this world, there will only be one vampire in the beginning and in the end, and that is the immortal Dracula."

Strange and Blade were both silent. After a while, Strange said, "I don't care about these big things. I'm just an ordinary Doctor. I want to know, what good will this do me?"

"You have already become the chief physician of this sanatorium. No matter how it is divided up, you will not be left out. This is the benefit that an entire race can bring."

"What you need to do now is think about how big a villa you would be to lie in and count your money so that you would be more comfortable."

Strange swallowed hard; he could hardly imagine such a life, but he still said with composure, "I'm not that greedy for money; I'm a man with aspirations."

Blade shook his head and said, "Money?... Money is a terrible thing."

"But it works." Schiller picked up his glass, the golden liquid reflecting off his glasses, obscuring his eyes.

"It is very useful, and it will always be useful."