Coulson stood outside Nick Fury's office, deeply puzzled. He watched everyone who reached the intersection turn right.
Natasha walked out of Nick's office. Coulson stopped her and asked, "What's going on? Why is everyone taking the long way around? I remember the shortest route to the elevators is to the left."
"Because that genius psychiatrist with the sky-high consultation fee is in the office on the left, waiting for people to come in for counseling."
"You actually invited him here? How much did he charge? Don't tell me it's a hundred million dollars an hour?"
"Not quite. Nick's expense report says fifty million dollars an hour."
Coulson drew in a sharp breath. "So if I went to him for counseling right now, it'd be like getting fifty million dollars for free?"
"You could look at it that way."
"There should be a long line there, right? Can I still get a spot today?"
"Quite the opposite. There isn't a single person there." Natasha shrugged.
With that, she turned right and left as well. Coulson called after her, "You went the wrong way! That's the emergency exit! The elevators are on the left!"
Without looking back, Natasha said, "I want to exercise! You know, for my health!"
Coulson was even more confused. Then Nick walked out of his office, and Coulson greeted him. "Good morning, Director."
Nick nodded at him and said, "Natasha has recently wrapped up her work with Stark Industries. She'll also be following up on The Hand case. You just keep an eye on that kid who swings around everywhere. Make sure he doesn't cause trouble."
Coulson acknowledged the order, then noticed Nick was turning right as well. He grabbed his superior and said, "Director, the elevators are over there. If you go right, it'll take at least five extra minutes."
"I've been working out lately. I'm taking the stairs."
Coulson was completely baffled. Muttering to himself, he headed straight left. Seeing that Schiller's office door was open, he knocked and walked in. Schiller was bent over writing. When he saw someone enter, he looked up in surprise and said, "Someone actually came..."
Coulson paused. "Is this place not open yet? I remember them saying at the morning meeting that psychological counseling started this morning."
"Of course we're open! Come in, you're the first one!" Schiller stood up with his pen in hand and even pulled out a chair for Coulson. The enthusiasm left Coulson somewhat at a loss. Schiller added, "Of course, you might also be the only one."
"I don't get it. The fifty-million-dollar-an-hour counseling is free, and the bureau reimburses it. Why isn't anyone coming?"
"Probably because I charged fifty million dollars, and Nick agreed to it..."
"What's wrong with that? Doesn't that prove the Director has great faith in your abilities?"
"Well... setting aside his macroeconomic understanding of funding and his flexible use of reimbursements within the organizational structure, have you considered that it might be precisely because he has faith in me that no one's coming?"
"You mean they think you're too good?"
Schiller said speechlessly, "Are you really a Level Eight agent? Then what level is Natasha? Is the max level a hundred?"
"What agent would willingly go to an extremely capable psychiatrist and let him see every secret in their heart?"
"I thought it was just simple emotional adjustment, like relieving anxiety or something."
"Then you can just go smoke by the entrance."
"That won't work. The damn smoke alarms here are too sensitive," Coulson said.
"Fine, are you here to work through some depression?"
"Actually, no. It's because Captain seems to have a pretty good relationship with you. I want him to sign my complete set of fan trading cards. Can you ask him for me?"
Schiller spread his hands. "Fine, I knew it. But this is what I'm being paid for, after all. If it really can ease your anxiety, give me the cards. I guarantee he'll sign every single one. At least then I'll have earned my fifty-million-dollar hourly fee."
After Coulson left, Schiller leisurely drank coffee in his temporary office. But before he could slack off for the entire morning, he had just opened the door to get some air when a piercing alarm suddenly blared. A small device above his head flashed red, then began screaming frantically.
Schiller jumped, but his Spider-Sense gave no reaction at all. For safety's sake, he was ready to teleport away at any moment. Then, with a sharp shriek, the fire sprinklers activated. The nozzles instantly sprayed out a heavy mist of water. If Schiller had not moved quickly, he would have been drenched like a rat.
Coulson and several agents ran over. They looked up at the smoke alarm, then glanced at Schiller. Schiller held his coffee cup and stared back at them.
"No smoking in here."
"I wasn't smoking."
Coulson wore a suspicious expression. "Natasha had exactly the same look on her face when she got caught. Did you throw your cigarette down the sink drain?"
"Of course not. I don't smoke indoors."
Coulson indeed could not smell any smoke. He looked up at the constantly blaring smoke alarm and said, "Fine. Looks like this damn thing is broken again."
"How did you manage to make a smoke alarm loud enough to hit triple digits in decibels?"
"If your home had thirty-two fires in one month, you'd understand."
The Symbiote said in Schiller's mind, "I'm a little dizzy, and I kind of want to throw up. Let's go."
Schiller said, "Looks like today's counseling session ends here. Even if it hasn't been an hour, it still counts as an hour. Don't forget to have Nick settle the bill. I'm leaving first."
Schiller left decisively, because he knew this was no accident. Someone did not want him staying there any longer. After all, having to take a five-minute detour every time they went downstairs was quite a waste of time.
Humans were always like this. Before telepathy existed, they fantasized about someone understanding them, knowing their thoughts and feelings. But once someone truly possessed a telepathy-like ability, everyone avoided him instead.
Of course, at S.H.I.E.L.D., it was more likely due to Nick Fury's unconventional talent management system.
After returning to the clinic, Schiller, who had not slept for dozens of hours, planned to take a short nap. The Symbiote played some highly hypnotic music for him, and he soon fell asleep. But before he could enter deep sleep, a phone call woke him up.
"What?... Then what use am I? Go find Pepper."
"She's busy? And I'm not? Fine, I'm not busy, but don't even think about getting me back into the lab. I really don't want to screw in any more light bulbs."
"Yes, yes, yes, I know it's a great suit of armor that transcends its era, not a light bulb. Can you get to the point?"
"Jarvis found something wrong with the parts storage? The number of parts is off? Are you sure you didn't miscount? Fine, I know... I know you're meticulous, but what can I do about it? I can't conjure the missing parts out of thin air for you. No, magic won't work either..."
"...That's hard to say." Schiller paced around the clinic's living room. "Maybe you should ask Jarvis what he thinks. He's not just a computer anymore."
"Jarvis was being evasive? Then don't you already know the answer? Or have you thought of someone you suspect, but just don't want to admit it..."
"No, of course I can't use telepathy for something like this. Don't be ridiculous... I can tell you that the person you're thinking of has an eighty percent chance..."
After hanging up, Schiller grabbed Pikachu and kneaded his cheeks. "A sturdy steel fortress is always breached from within first. This really is hard to say."
"What trouble did that guy in the hard shell run into?" Pikachu asked.
"Looks like some things went missing from his armor. His intelligent butler gave him the name of a suspect he didn't want to hear, and now he's questioning his whole life."
"You humans always like creating extra worries for yourselves," Pikachu concluded. "That kid named Parker actually worried about killing the hostages in the game while he was playing. It's just a game. Even if the hostages died, if the kidnappers were wiped out, wouldn't that still mean we won?"
"So you rushed in and killed the hostages first?"
"What else was I supposed to do? That kid was always dragging his feet. You people get hung up on too many meaningless things. You always immerse yourselves too deeply, fill yourselves with unnecessary worries about things that haven't happened yet, but keep running away from things that already have."
"I never thought a rat like you could say something so profound."
"Of course. I'm Detective Pikachu."
Inside Stark Tower, all the lights in Stark Laboratories had gone out. Only the faint lights of the instruments flickered weakly, like scattered stars.
Stark leaned against a workbench, sitting on the floor. A symbol pulsed on the phone beside him, indicating that Jarvis was there as well.
"I'm trying to comfort you, sir."
"So you turned off all the lights?" Stark's voice was somewhat hoarse. Too many sleepless nights had left him exhausted.
"This may help you relax. Dim lighting is beneficial for relaxing the brain," Jarvis said.
Stark closed his eyes. He shifted into a more relaxed position against the workbench, drew one leg up, rested his arm on it, and looked upward. Like someone talking in his sleep, he said, "...Maybe this is retribution."
"Stark Industries' weapons have left countless people displaced, so the people I once trusted are destined to leave me one by one..."
"We still cannot determine that Mr. Obadiah is the culprit," Jarvis said. "Based on the analysis, there is only about a ninety-six percent chance."
"You can say that more directly," Stark said.
"My apologies. I mean there is still a four percent chance it was not him."
"Who makes up the remaining possibility?"
"Mr. Schiller accounts for two percent, Mr. Parker accounts for 1.2 percent, and you account for 0.8 percent."
"Schiller? You expect someone who can't even tell armor components numbered one through ten apart to steal the most important core? And Peter, that kid may be a little foolish, but he wouldn't steal anything. He's the kind of fool who gets shocked for ages just from seeing me smoke."
"I'm trying to comfort you," Jarvis said.
In the end, Stark felt every sound in the world gradually fade away. Half asleep and half awake, he remembered Howard's face.
Back then, Uncle Obadiah had stood beside his father. They had both still been young.
Happy belated Lantern Festival!!!
We had guests over yesterday, so I couldn't update again! I only managed to write this chapter in my spare time today...
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