"Unfortunate" Resignation

When bedtime came again, Schiller realized he could actually stay in Marvel indefinitely. He could sleep, return to DC, sleep there again, and be back in Marvel. Since time didn't move in DC, he could just keep lingering in Marvel and avoid breathing Gotham City's smog.

But the good times didn't last. Before Schiller could take Peter and his family for a checkup over the weekend, S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking.

It was another workday. Schiller had just finished his rounds and was using the hospital's internal system to schedule a checkup for Peter's family when his office door was knocked. Schiller sat behind his desk without looking up, but suddenly his Spider-Sense vibrated. He raised his head warily and saw a strange man standing at the door.

"Hey, Doctor, don't be nervous. I'm Coulson, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent." The man noticed Schiller's tense posture. Schiller looked at him over his glasses and said, "Let's talk outside. These are all my patients."

Coulson quickly nodded. They went downstairs together and sat down at a coffee shop next to the hospital. Schiller frowned and said, "Is S.H.I.E.L.D. so short-staffed? Or is it that hard to find a female agent who can fit into a nurse's uniform?"

Coulson was puzzled by Schiller's attitude. Shouldn't an ordinary person show fear or rejection when a special agent suddenly shows up like this? It seemed the boss was right—this Schiller definitely had issues.

Schiller looked impatient. He said, "I'm already a day late and a day absent. The whole clinic knows I've been staying up late drinking and taking drugs. If you're going to cause me trouble, can you at least wait until this blows over? I'll get fired!"

"But according to our records, you're just a temporary psychology consultant hired by Presbyterian Hospital. You're only filling in because the head of the Psychiatry Department is away..."

"Does that matter? I really need this job right now. What if you get me fired?"

Coulson said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Schiller. We didn't mean to disturb you. We just heard you're Mr. Stark's psychological consultant, and we wanted to learn more about his mental state. Of course, we'll pay the consultation fee on time..."

"One million dollars an hour."

"Pfft!" Coulson spat out his coffee. He wiped his mouth and said, "If you want to refuse, you don't have to make up such an excuse..."

"If you can't afford it, don't come for treatment." Schiller rolled his eyes, stood up, and left, acting just like a quack doctor.

Coulson didn't stop him. After Schiller left, he pressed his earpiece and said, "There's probably something fishy in that hospital. He was in a hurry to get me out and even more eager to get back... Got it, got it."

Schiller returned to his office. He focused, turned his telepathy to maximum, and sensed the emotions of the psychiatric patients, trying to put those emotions into words as best he could—the inner world of a group of mental patients was truly chaotic and insane. Schiller scribbled down over a dozen pages, locked them in his drawer.

When he returned to his apartment that night, he found it had clearly been searched by agents. Schiller swept it with his Spider-Sense, found no bugs or cameras, and let it go.

At S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury stared at the glowing data panel displaying Schiller's detailed file. Coulson stood behind him and said, "He's very protective of his job, seems unwilling to leave that hospital. We found a lot of liquor bottles and some medication in his home..."

"These are some papers we found in his office tonight. Only these. The rest seem to have been urgently disposed of. We found a large amount of shredded paper pulp in the sewer, but unfortunately, it can't be reconstructed."

Nick took the papers and said, "Does he have a mental illness? No, this doesn't read like one person's ramblings. He's collecting psychological data from psychiatric patients? How does he communicate with them?"

"This clearly isn't information an ordinary doctor could obtain. These records even contain the patients' most extreme secrets..."

"Can he hypnotize?" Coulson asked.

"Our psychologists can too. Can he make you confess what color underwear you liked in elementary school?" Nick said.

"Maybe he just fabricated it all," Coulson said.

"He seems to have extra insight into Stark Industries' past and our old friend. He can hit Stark's weak points head-on. Today he even made that smart butler of Stark's fall into a logic loop," Nick said.

"You want him to work for us?"

"He's very good at handling Stark. We'll have more people like that to deal with in the future." Nick set the stack of files aside and said, "Anyway, first figure out what's in that hospital. If possible, transfer him out of there."

"I hate these highly educated types the most. They're always too calm, cautious, and unfathomable. Opponents who know how to use their brains are hard to deal with," Nick said.

"Maybe he's just an ordinary psychologist, and collecting his patients' crazy talk is his hobby..." Coulson said.

"Coulson, sometimes you make me doubt whether your Level 8 agent rank is inflated," Nick said.

"A man who can make Stark completely lose his composure in thirty minutes and then swagger into Stark Industries the next day—do you think he's an ordinary psychologist? Or do you think Tony Stark is really just a playboy who only hangs around models?"

"Understood. I'll get him out of that hospital first," Coulson said.

So the next day, Schiller received his termination notice in Stark's office. He spread his hands and said, "You see, I really need your funding now, Mr. Stark. You wouldn't want to see your dedicated psychological consultant unemployed and bankrupt, would you?"

Stark said, "Isn't two million dollars enough to open your own clinic?"

"Money isn't the problem. The problem is the qualifications needed for a clinic. I need to open a legal psychological practice, not some street-corner fortune-telling scam."

"With your resume, can't you get approved? Yesterday Jarvis told me you have three PhDs and have worked at the best hospitals in six states."

"Yes, but the location where I want to open my clinic is a bit special." Schiller took a sip of ice wine.

Stark fiddled with his machine and asked, "Where?"

"Hell's Kitchen," Schiller said.

Stark's hand twitched, and the poor Mark II burst into a shower of sparks. He said, "I never took you for having the Virgin Mary's benevolent fatherly heart, wanting to save the poor and junkies in that hellish neighborhood."

Schiller didn't elaborate. He said, "I need a legally established psychological clinic in Hell's Kitchen. In return, I'll grant you one request."

Schiller put emphasis on the word "legally."

Stark said, "What could I possibly need to ask you for? Heh, don't be ridiculous. I'm Stark."

"Don't you want to know if Pepper really likes you?"

Stark's hand twitched again, and the Mark II's right leg exploded. Schiller silently stepped back, watching Stark with his face blackened by the blast. Stark frantically rubbed his face and said, "What did you say? What about Pepper?"

Clearly, Stark hadn't yet realized his feelings for Pepper.

"I can tell you at the right time whether Pepper truly loves you. Guaranteed accurate. You've seen what I can do."

"Of course Pepper loves me. All the women in the world love Stark," Stark said.

"Is that so? She's just one of all the women in the world? Nothing special?" Schiller asked.

Stark fell silent.

"I can agree to that. Of course, starting tomorrow, you don't need to come to me for psychological consultations anymore. If Pepper comes to you, just brush her off."

"Can you not afford the consultation fee anymore?"

Stark was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, shouting loudly, "Even if you charged ten million dollars an hour, I could still afford it! I just don't need any psychological counseling! I'm not crazy! I'm perfectly fine!"

Schiller shook his head and said slowly, "I'm afraid Mark II doesn't think so."

They both looked down at the battle armor missing one leg. Stark pointed at the door: "Get out!!! Right now!!!"

Schiller returned home and sent Peter a message: "The weekend check-up has already been booked. I'll notify the hospital to provide you with thorough service, but our meeting time might be delayed because I've resigned from that hospital."

Peter quickly expressed concern, but Schiller only said it was a change in his career plans and didn't elaborate. Peter was somewhat moved—after all, even after resigning, he still remembered the previously arranged check-up. He said somewhat urgently, "Are you still in New York? If you are, I think we could meet up, grab a meal or something, or you could come to my place..."

Schiller politely declined Peter and sent Charles a message: "What do you think would happen if I opened a hospital in Hell?"

"I'm afraid the devils wouldn't appreciate the gesture."

"You seem to have deep insight on this."

"I advise you not to do this. Perhaps you're just a talented ordinary person, but ordinary people can't resist devils."

"But only criminals can fight criminals, right?"

On the other side of the computer, Charles fell silent looking at this sentence. He thought, Marx, is this what you think too?

Only by turning yourself into a criminal can you deal with the most heinous criminals?

Charles shook his head. No, justice must have its fair way of being realized. If you have to sink into Hell just to fight devils, that's no different from going along with the filth.

Outside the window, students at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters were chasing and playing on the playground. Storm was scolding them to go back to class, while Jean watched from the side. Everything seemed beautiful.

But Xavier knew the shadow of the Dark Phoenix was far from gone.