Shane Freak
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Chapter 1050: Startling Mortals (Twenty-Seven)
🕑 Added 2024-03-07 11:49:04 +0000 UTCIn DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List
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After the complete cleanup of law and order in New York, Schiller was utterly disheartened.
He felt he could no longer find any subjects to treat, so he began to intensify his drinking.
Even though the sky train station of the Sanatorium had been completed, he didn't move back. Instead, he stayed holed up in his small clinic, drowning himself in alcohol.
Schiller now lay slumped on the sofa in the center of the clinic's living room. His once immaculate white coat, buttoned from top to bottom, was now wide open, stained with alcohol on one side and bearing two holes burnt by cigarette ashes on the other. There was also a spot of blood, its origin unknown.
Schiller seemed to have just woken up from a hangover. Subconsciously, he reached for the bottle beside him, only to find it empty. He weakly dropped his arm, pursed his lips, leaned against the armrest of the sofa, and drifted back to sleep.
In the following days, Schiller noticed that all the cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs in Hell's Kitchen, even extending to the Brooklyn area along the Hudson River, had vanished.
Physically vanished, regardless of how much money he had or where he tried to buy them, they were completely unobtainable.
Schiller could freely traverse Hell's Kitchen using Blink, but his consecutive Blinks had a distance limit.
Stark and Strange, who understood Schiller very well, set up a large defensive net, clearing away all addictive substances within Schiller's range of activity.
This wasn't a situation where Schiller could benefit from abandoning his moral bottom line. These substances had physically disappeared, and no matter how much he tried to cheat or ambush, he couldn't produce them.
Just as Matt had said, the world's most brilliant scientists and the most powerful sorcerers teamed up, and there was nothing they couldn't block. Even the sewers nearby Hell's Kitchen had been sifted through. All empty bottles and vials that had fallen in were retrieved, leaving not a speck behind.
Now, Schiller was in a completely empty area, devoid of cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs.
Although he could buy them if he went further away, the emptiness and helplessness he felt inside prevented him from straying too far from his familiar surroundings. He just wanted to return to the clinic as soon as possible, where he could find a scarce sense of security.
However, upon returning to the clinic, Schiller felt aimless. Gradually, he no longer liked staying in the clinic and began wandering the streets, preferring to squat in front of shop windows even late at night, unwilling to go home.
This scene gradually narrowed. Stark, Strange, and Steve watched Schiller shivering on the street corner, all sighing together.
"He must be feeling very sad right now," Steve said, covering his mouth with his hand, then emphasized, "I think he never really understood why we suddenly stopped paying attention to him!"
Steve shook his head vigorously, setting his shield aside, and said, "I feel like we're those bad students in school who lead others to isolate someone... I really can't do this. If you guys can't come up with a better treatment plan, I'm going to find him now!"
With that, he turned to leave, but Stark stopped him, saying, "Don't do this, Steve. Don't worry, we've consulted the world's most famous psychologists, including Schiller's own teachers and professors."
"In addition to experts in psychology and mental disorders, we've also consulted specialists in drug addiction and psychological addiction."
"The unanimous conclusion they reached is that in the early stages of treatment, there will inevitably be a period of forced withdrawal. In this world, giving up any substance or addiction requires the body and brain to adapt to a low-feedback state, and this process is bound to be painful and lengthy."
"And only after the body gradually adapts can we start dealing with the psychological issues..."
Stark, rarely patient, explained a lot. Steve, holding his shield, knocked the edge of the desktop and said, "I really can't accept it, watching my friend suffer like this and not helping him."
He took a deep breath and continued, "Fortunately, you guys sent Peter away first; otherwise, we wouldn't be able to stop him no matter what."
"Those of us sitting here are relatively rational adults," Strange said. "We all understand that Schiller can't go on like this, whether it's the symptoms of his autism, the stress responses from psychological trauma, or the psychological disorders caused by his excessive pursuit of emotional stimulation. There will inevitably come a day when these issues must be dealt with."
"Do you want us to unite now, pooling our resources and best efforts to steadily treat him, or do you intend to wait until the day Schiller is really in trouble and then scramble to save him?"
Steve fell silent, bowed his head, and Tony sighed softly, saying, "I know we're all feeling uneasy, but that day will come..."
Steve paused for a moment, set down his shield, made a cross over his chest, and prayed solemnly, his words echoing in the room as snowflakes began to fall outside.
"Lord, if our friend is destined to suffer such tribulation, please do not lessen any of the sadness and pain within my heart, making me share in his suffering."
"Also, may I no longer feel any joy or happiness on the day of your birth, to compensate for the cold he feels... Amen."
Winter in New York deepened, the temperature dropping lower and lower. This year was bound to be a lively Christmas. Streets had already been decorated for the holiday, and the merchandise in shop windows gleamed anew.
After the first heavy snowfall, the festive atmosphere grew thicker, with Christmas carols playing everywhere.
At the end of the snow-covered streets, a man wearing a coat and scarf squatted beside a lamppost.
He didn't look well, gasping for breath, saliva and mucus flowing down, freezing into tiny ice crystals before they could be wiped away.
But no one took interest in him; such people were too common in this community. Near Hell's Kitchen, there couldn't possibly be any good folks residing, and a drug addict suddenly falling ill on the roadside was hardly considered a sight here.
The man didn't wear gloves, so he had to tuck his hands into the sleeves on the other side, sniffling and shivering, appearing both cold and experiencing severe withdrawal symptoms.
He squatted by the lamppost for a while, seemingly feeling a little better, then turned his head to look at the shop window beside him. Just then, a hand reached out, holding a cigarette with half of it still unsmoked, between its fingers.
The man squatting by the lamppost saw it like a savior and reached out with trembling hands to take the cigarette, then put it into his mouth.
When he reached out for the cigarette, his body leaned over, allowing the person standing to see his face clearly, who then exclaimed, "Schiller???!!"
Eddie hurried over and realized, to his astonishment, that the person squatting by the lamppost indeed was Schiller.
Seeing Schiller trembling all over, Eddie quickly took off his own coat intending to put it on Schiller, but hesitated when he saw the dust on it.
Stepping back a couple of paces, Eddie glanced at the sky and finally decided to extend his coat to Schiller. Unexpectedly, Schiller remained motionless, letting Eddie drape it over him.
Schiller's attention was solely on the half-smoked cigarette, despite his trembling hands making it difficult to accurately place it in his mouth. He tried his best, ignoring the burning end of the cigarette and the flames that singed his frozen, pale fingers.
Eddie hurriedly reached out, grabbing Schiller's wrist and shaking off the burning end of the cigarette. Then he spoke, "Dr. Schiller, what's wrong with you? Are you ill? Should I call an ambulance for you?"
Schiller immediately shook his head. He blinked laboriously, then his gaze fell back onto the discarded cigarette end. Eddie followed his gaze, but by then, Schiller had reached out his hand.
Eddie quickly stopped him and somewhat anxiously took out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, handing one to Schiller and offering to light it for him.
However, Schiller's trembling hands couldn't hold the cigarette properly, let alone light it. Eddie had no choice but to light it himself and then hesitantly handed it to Schiller.
He knew that this doctor had a severe case of germophobia; he wouldn't even touch a cigarette that someone else had smoked, let alone take one from a box touched by others. Moreover, he almost never used lighters, only matches.
However, Schiller completely abandoned his usual demeanor, acting like a true destitute addict on the streets, eagerly stuffing the cigarette into his mouth. After taking a puff, he held his breath for a moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Whether it was holding the cigarette, smoking it, or exhaling smoke, it seemed as though he was afraid of wasting even a single puff of nicotine.
Eddie squatted opposite him, frowning, squinting, and bringing his face close to Schiller's. Then, looking into his eyes, he said, "Doctor, what's happening to you?"
"...I'm not a doctor." Schiller's voice was hoarse, shocking Eddie. He no longer had the smooth and soothing tone he used during psychological treatments. He sounded more like a homeless man seeking shelter in a cardboard box on a late night, coughing out a hoarse sound.
Suddenly, Eddie's body trembled, and Venom spread out, its mouth with sharp teeth approaching Schiller's nose. Venom's raspy voice echoed, "Look... who's this? A doctor? No, no, no, a patient... a very sick patient... I can feel it..."
Venom's spider-like eyes blinked, and that deep voice reminded Schiller of someone.
So, with trembling hands, Schiller removed the cigarette from his mouth, tilted his head back, exhaled the last puff of smoke, and then forcefully pressed the cigarette butt onto Venom's eyes.
"Ahh!!!!"
Venom let out a miserable scream, covering its eyes and retreating, then retreated back into Eddie's body the next second.
Eddie stood still, rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and asked the crouching Schiller, "...Do you still want a cigarette?"
"Yes, but you can't smoke here." Eddie bent down, helped Schiller up, and said, "Let me take you back to the Sanatorium, Doctor. They have everything there..."
Bent over, gasping for breath, Schiller stood in place, exhaling cold air, fogging up his glasses. He took off his glasses and said, "No, I'm not going back. I'm not going anywhere..."
Eddie looked Schiller up and down and knew something was definitely wrong. So he said, "Okay, how about you come to my place? It's warmer there, and we have cigarettes too..."
Schiller didn't object. So, Eddie helped him and walked to a residential building not far from this street.
Climbing to the third floor, Eddie opened the door at the end of the corridor with one hand while supporting Schiller with the other.
As Schiller walked in, he collapsed on the sofa in the living room, looking completely disheveled. Eddie lit another cigarette for him and then noticed the wet edge of Schiller's coat, covered in snow.
Eddie picked up his own coat, threw it into the nearby laundry basket, and then said to Schiller, "Dr. Schiller, take off your coat. Let me wash it for you... By the way, your coat should be machine washable, right?"
Schiller was too absorbed in smoking to pay him any attention. Eddie sighed and approached him, like handling a clumsy puppet, he took off Schiller's coat and threw it into the laundry basket.
Seeing that Schiller's condition was relatively stable, Eddie took the laundry basket to the washing machine on the balcony.
He first took out his jacket, checked the pockets, threw it into the washing machine, then picked up Schiller's coat, subconsciously stuck his hand into the pocket, and then realized that his actions seemed a bit impolite.
However, he did touch something inside the pocket, feeling a strange texture on his hand. Eddie pinched the object, pulled his hand back, and looked down.
It was a neatly folded candy wrapper, meticulously smoothed out, with alternating gold and red colors.
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Next Chapter>>Chapter 1051: Astonishing Mundane Individuals (Twenty-Eight)
