Schiller and Stark stood together in front of a damaged Mark II suit.
Stark said, "Listen, the problem now is that the braking system here is completely damaged. Before modifying it, we need to fix it first."
As he spoke, he picked up a wrench, walked over, and began banging away at the armor.
Standing behind him, Schiller said to the Symbiote in his mind, No, no. You can't eat his brain.
"But his head looks delicious, really delicious. It smells so good."
"But..."
Schiller put his hands on his hips and covered his forehead with one hand. He reorganized his thoughts and said, "You can't just eat people's brains, because..."
Schiller paused for a long while. He thought, well, this species might look bizarre, but their tastes were surprisingly consistent.
"If we eat his brain, we can make one ourselves," the Symbiote said.
"No!"
"Fine..."
Stark remained completely unaware. After tinkering for quite a while, he tapped the nearby railing with his wrench, moved to another spot, and continued working as he said, "Magic armor? That sounds pretty good. I think it's some kind of special atomic force. What do you think its best application would be? Vibration? Or extreme compression?"
Schiller asked in his mind, ...What's the best application? Vibration or extreme compression?
"Deconstruction and reconstruction," the Symbiote said.
"Deconstruction and reconstruction," Schiller said.
As he spoke, he pressed his hand directly against the unrepaired joint. A large section of components flickered, and when they returned to their original positions, they were completely new.
Stark stood up, widened his eyes, and crossed his arms. "This so-called magic of yours looks much more powerful than that levitation trick you demonstrated."
I'm amazing, I'm amazing, I'm amazing, I'm amazing... the Symbiote began shrieking in Schiller's mind again.
"Okay, okay, you're amazing," Schiller said.
He had to admit that the Symbiote was still a little more useful than magic. After all, his magical ability was only at a low level right now. It was fine for bluffing people, but when it came time for the real thing, he still had to rely on the Symbiote.
"Shrink the armor. It can be very small," the Symbiote said in Schiller's mind.
"Shrink the armor," Schiller said.
"Of course I've considered that. My Mark V and later models were originally meant to be compressed into a suitcase. It just hasn't been fully developed yet, so for the moment, I can't carry it around freely."
"I think the suitcase plan is a little conservative."
"It can get even smaller?"
"Of course."
"How small do you think it can be compressed?"
Schiller asked the Symbiote in his mind, How small do you think it can be compressed?
"One bottle of Fear Toxin."
"It can be compressed to the size of a small bottle of Fear Toxin?" Schiller asked.
"I want a drink," the Symbiote said.
Schiller rolled his eyes in irritation. It had learned to haggle now.
After happily finishing a bottle of liquor, the Symbiote said, "A cigarette. It can be compressed to the size of a cigarette."
After Schiller told Stark, Stark began pacing excitedly around the room. "That really is atomic-level structuring and reconstruction. If that's the case, maybe it can be even smaller than a cigarette. Maybe it could even reach the nanoscale..."
"It can get even smaller than a cigarette?" Schiller asked in his mind.
"It can, but it'll explode when it unfolds," the Symbiote said.
So Schiller told Stark, "It can actually become smaller, but I can't guarantee that the unfolding process will be safe."
"Anyway, let's get started," Stark said. "We'll create an even more era-defining technology, then I'll dump all those outdated suits on the military and let them deal with the trash. It'll even save me electronic waste disposal fees. Pepper will be happy."
"The benefits of being able to arm yourself at any time are incredible!" Stark said, making a fist with one hand and pounding it into his other palm. "And I could even cram a complete Jarvis into a cellphone. A phone with such a powerful intelligent butler—can you believe it?"
"...God bless Jarvis," Schiller said.
A little later, Stark took the somewhat battered Mark II down from its rack. Before he could get a good look at it, a burst of Gray Mist flashed by, and the Mark II vanished.
Then Schiller reappeared, holding a metallic cigarette in his hand. He handed it to Stark, who said, "That's it?"
"What else did you want?"
"Shouldn't there be some kind of spell... I mean, some ritual, maybe a staff..."
"There's no need. That stuff is too low-end," Schiller said.
Stark blinked. All of a sudden, he developed infinitely beautiful expectations for magic.
Later, however, those expectations nearly drove Strange insane. He was only a sorcerer—how could Iron Man treat him like an omnipotent God? No matter what happened, Iron Man always acted like, Let's leave it to omnipotent magic!
When Stark heard that even the Sorcerer Supreme needed preparation to cast spells, he started calling Strange a "low-end sorcerer," nearly making Strange snap his staff in rage.
No matter how much Schiller's current performance would later torment Strange when he had to deal with Iron Man, it delighted Stark right now. He asked, "How do I turn it back into armor? How do I wear it?"
Schiller asked in his mind, How does he turn it into armor? How does he wear it?
The Symbiote let out a drunken burp and said, "Think about it."
"Think about it," Schiller said.
Stark froze for a moment, then hesitantly recalled the Mark II's original deployment method in his mind.
Almost instantly, the Mark II equipped itself onto his body. There was no transition to the transformation; it was practically reconstruction on an atomic level.
"What exactly is the principle behind this?" Stark asked.
Schiller asked in his mind, What exactly is the principle behind this?
"Thought interference," the Symbiote said.
"Thought interference," Schiller told Stark.
"You mean brain waves or something? Bioelectricity?"
The Symbiote in Schiller's mind was a little too drunk to answer any more questions, so Schiller said, "Please don't use science to explain magic. As long as it works, that's enough."
Stark was itching to begin researching it immediately. He turned on Schiller without hesitation and said, "All right, all right, I get it. Your miraculous magic—just wait. Sooner or later, I'll use it better than you do."
Then he showed him out.
Schiller was practically escorted out of Stark Tower, but he was not angry. Stark was always like this; once his urge to experiment kicked in, nothing else mattered.
As soon as he returned to the clinic, he saw Steve waiting for him. Steve greeted him and said, "Nick sent me to run an errand. He wants to see you. I think it may have something to do with Stark."
Then Schiller shouted into the air, "Ten million dollars an hour. How about it, Director Nick?"
"You're asking an outrageous price," a voice suddenly came from the phone hanging at Steve's waist.
Schiller shrugged. "Fine. I was originally planning to bill you one hundred million."
There was a moment of silence from the other end before the voice said, "And add a fifty-million late fee to the invoice..."
"Deal," Schiller said.
Not long after, Schiller arrived once again at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s International Reception Center. Nick, wearing an eyepatch, shook hands with Schiller. Then the two sat facing each other while Coulson poured them coffee. Schiller received an espresso.
Schiller downed the coffee in one gulp, while Nick slowly drank from his cup. Schiller spoke first. "Business first, or the invoice first?"
"The invoice first," Nick said.
After a while, Nick asked him, "I know Stark gave the armor technology to the military, but that isn't important. We don't want those suits."
"You want the man himself."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded by his father."
"If you bring that up to him now, you'll never get him to join for the rest of your life."
"And if you want him to join, go talk to him yourselves. Don't come looking for me. It's useless even if you do. I'm only a psychologist, not his father."
"We're not asking you to persuade Stark. We know he doesn't listen to persuasion either. What do you think of this idea—a team made up of people with special abilities?"
"The idea itself is fine, but it depends on who they work for."
"Wouldn't they work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Then who does S.H.I.E.L.D. work for?"
Nick frowned slightly and decisively moved past the subject. "Fine. We want to invite you to join..."
"You said it yourself: a team made up of people with special abilities. I'm just an ordinary person. I've never jumped farther than three meters."
Nick opened his mouth. He felt that Schiller was treating him like an idiot.
"Listen, we don't care how you disappeared and suddenly reappeared hundreds of meters away. We don't care where that blond-furred rat with the Canadian accent came from. We can even overlook your terrifyingly accurate psychological analysis. But a neurologist personally told us that you threatened him with a floating ballpoint pen..."
Schiller said to the Symbiote in his mind, From now on, you can't casually eat other people's brains. Strange is an exception.
"Do you believe there is magic in this world?" Schiller asked.
"Certain scientific forces have created these people with special abilities. Then I believe other forces can create other kinds of people. Are you one of them?"
"No, I'm just an ordinary person. But I think I can trade a piece of intelligence for my freedom."
"About what? Magic?"
"That's right. I believe you have the authority to deploy satellites. Look into where a missing network in New York is actually connected."
Nick frowned, but Schiller said nothing more.
The wireless network at the New York Sanctum should still rely on modern network systems rather than some magical network. They had simply used magic to conceal the means of accessing it.
If Nick truly investigated, he would definitely find some clues.
The reason Schiller did not refuse too firmly was that, in the various major events to come, the Avengers would still have to save the world. He was not about to struggle through fighting those enemies himself, throwing punches with Lizardman or Red Hulk.
At most, he would provide a little help for the sake of his own safety. So he still had to stay in contact with these superheroes, so that in future events, he could serve as a uniquely refined... shit-stirrer.
Holy shit!!!
Thank you to the big shot "Yi Anfei" for the 50,000 Qidian Coins donation!!!!
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