The rope securing the hood around Stark's neck loosened slightly. He could feel the delicate touch of the other person's hands—definitely not something those burly terrorists would have. This person was very likely from civilized society, just like him.
With that thought, Stark relaxed a little. Light filtered in from beneath the hood, and then it was removed. In the dim light, Stark saw a black-haired, gray-eyed man.
They were a very distinctive pair of gray eyes. Naturally gray irises accounted for only 0.02% of the world's population. Stark had never encountered anyone with gray eyes before, so he remembered them almost immediately.
"Are you... Stark?"
Stark saw confusion flash through those eyes. He lay on the ground and let out a breath. After recovering for a moment, he propped himself up with his arms, trying to get to his feet.
The man across from him immediately helped him up and let him sit on the ground. Stark nodded and said, "Yes, I'm Stark. If you recognize me, you've at least read New York newspapers."
"Hello, Mr. Stark. You can call me Doctor Schiller."
Sitting on the ground with his arms around his knees, Stark glanced sideways at Schiller and said, "Did they send you to keep an eye on me?"
"I'm a doctor." Schiller's gaze fell on the tear in Stark's suit where his back had been scraped open.
Only then did Stark feel the intense pain radiating from his back. He could not help letting out a low groan, then felt sticky liquid dripping from his temple. He wiped it away, and the dark red on his hand made him curse.
"It looks like you were cut by shrapnel, Mr. Stark. The wound needs stitches and antibiotics, or you'll die here from blood loss and infection."
"How the