The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman

Chapter 2666 Hollywood Rhapsody (Twenty-four)

The accommodation provided by Columbia Medical School is quite good. Each person has a single suite with a bedroom and a small living room. Of course, the accommodation fee is also very expensive, and parties are not allowed, so many people choose to rent a house nearby.

Schiller lives in the dormitory. The four roommates who shared the common room with him have all moved out, so he can have the entire dormitory to himself.

Schiller went back to change his clothes and took his laptop. The laptops of this period were still heavy, so Schiller carried a computer bag.

The weather was not so warm at this time, so he wore a turtleneck sweater and a tweed coat on the outside, which was a very common dress in school. With a scarf, he could not be found in the crowd.

Schiller went out and walked out of the east gate of the school behind the dormitory building. He took the subway to the center of Manhattan, walked around the street, and found a cafe to sit down.

He asked for a cup of coffee, sat at the table in the cafe, opened his notebook, and began to check the documents he had saved, ready to see how far his research had progressed.

Schiller guessed that there was nothing in the computer originally, because this was a detail that could not be explained in the comics, but the moment he opened it, there were many unfinished small project papers.

Schiller took a quick look and found that they were all relatively basic. One of them was edited recently. After opening the calendar, he found that it was due soon, and there were more than 30 hours before the paper was due.

Schiller began to write slowly. These things were easy for him to do. The only thing to control was that it could not be too complicated, and it should be in line with the level of a student who had just entered medical school.

He has been very good at writing a bad paper that doesn't look like his own, after all, it's not long before Bruce graduates.

Halfway through writing, Schiller suddenly remembered something, and he asked Ultron, "How much money do I have in my account now?"

"Not much, otherwise you wouldn't live in the dormitory."

"How much is this cup of coffee?"

"It doesn't seem expensive to me, but you probably can't afford it."

"Help me get some money."

"Okay."

When Schiller had almost finished writing this paper, Ultron told him that it was done, and now he had about 30,000 US dollars in his account.

Perhaps due to the setting of the previous life copied by the superego, Schiller in the previous life did not borrow student loans, but in order to act like an ordinary person, he did not tell anyone about it, and occasionally complained about the heavy pressure of student loans.

After Ultron confirmed, he found that there was indeed no loan in his account, so the money must be enough for a while.

After finishing the paper smoothly, the street was calm and nothing happened, but Schiller was not in a hurry. He paid the coffee bill and walked to the nearest Catholic church with his computer.

He found a priest's business card among his personal belongings, which allowed him to enter any Catholic church smoothly, because getting any priest's personal business card means that you are at least a very devout believer, and no church will refuse you entry.

Schiller entered the church smoothly. Today happened to be the priest's day off, and no one received him, but Schiller didn't care. He walked to the chair at the front of the church and sat down.

Sitting here and reminiscing about the past for a while, Schiller thought that there were thousands of superpower crimes in New York every day on average, and Manhattan was the hardest hit area. Schiller didn't believe that he wouldn't encounter one in the whole afternoon.

Sure enough, not long after, there was a noise outside the door. Schiller didn't hear the sirens, but there was a sound similar to a pistol silencer, which sounded like standard equipment.

Suddenly, a man in a jacket rushed in. He was tall, had dark brown hair, and had a pair of eagle-like eyes.

Schiller looked back at him and felt a little disappointed. This was not the person he was looking for. This was obviously not an FBI agent.

But since the other party had already rushed in, he still made a somewhat surprised expression and asked, "Who are you? What's wrong?"

"Who are you?" He asked back with confidence.

"Obviously I'm a prayer man, sir, to be specific, a student at Columbia University Medical School."

"Are you a medical student?"

"Yes."

"Great, we have a patient here, can you help us treat him? The man seemed a little anxious."

"I'm very happy to help." Schiller first expressed his attitude, "But I'm sorry, I'm in the Department of Psychology, and I don't have a license."

"You know that's not the point, you should be able to deal with gunshot wounds, right? You just need to take the bullet out, bandage it, and make sure he doesn't die in the next three hours."

"I'm afraid I can't guarantee anything." Schiller sighed, this is why he doesn't like dealing with any secret service organization, everyone here seems to be unable to understand human language, a machine that can't communicate.

"Come with me." He said so.

Schiller walked out and saw that there was obviously a person lying in the bushes within the wall of the chapel. It looked like he had just been shot. When Schiller walked over, he saw two bullet holes on his calf, bleeding at this time, but the person had fainted, and looked like he was electrocuted.

"This doesn't look like your colleague, are you sure you want to save him?"

"We have to be humanitarian with the criminals, at least we have to bring him back alive, can you help me?"

"I'll try my best."

Schiller walked over and squatted, but felt a shadow blocking him. When he looked up, the black muzzle of the gun was aimed at his head.

"Why don't you ask who I am?"

"You don't look like a policeman, but you don't look like a bad guy. The most important thing is that you have a gun in your hand. Even if you are a criminal, how can I not work for you?"

The other party did not lower his vigilance at all. He waved his hand holding the gun and said, "My car is outside the gate of the yard. Go to the trunk and get the medical kit. I have to keep an eye on him here."

Schiller sighed and turned to walk in the direction he pointed. Because the car was also within sight, Schiller did not plan to do any tricks, let alone run away.

He recognized this person. Although he was not the same as he remembered, he was too young, but he barely recognized him.

John Garrett, this name may be a little unfamiliar, but when it comes to Grant Ward, and his colleagues Hill, Natasha, Hawkeye, and Coulson, there is no need to say more about his identity.

Schiller and Garrett have dealt with each other before, and even fought head-on, but he is not a very difficult opponent, far worse than Pierce. Although they are both founders of SHIELD and are also members of the Zodiac, Garrett is obviously the more marginal one, and even his identity as Hydra is not special.

He and Pierce belong to two different factions of Hydra. Pierce has Nick under his command, and he has Grant Ward under his command. The two are fighting against each other, but because Ward is much younger than Nick, Pierce has the upper hand so far.

After thinking about it, there are at least three old acquaintances of his in SHIELD now, Natasha and Nick, who are immortals, and Coulson, who should still be a rookie now.

Schiller doesn't want to deal with them at all, otherwise the butterfly effect may affect a series of things later, but John Garrett is basically fine. He is just a marginal figure, with too few scenes. Even if they will face each other in the future, he didn't live too long.

Schiller opened the trunk and retrieved the medical kit. When he was about to close the trunk, he looked inside the car. It seemed that Garrett was not here for any serious business this time. There was no camera in the car.

He reached out to the side and pressed on the toolbox beside him.

With a snap, the trunk was closed. When Schiller turned around, he seemed to feel that the sunlight was too dazzling. He took off his glasses, folded them and put them in his coat pocket.

"What are you dithering about?" Schiller felt ridiculous for the aggressiveness and caution shown by Garrett. Although it was still early, this kind of agent was still too traditional.

"If you just want to bandage the wound, bandages are indeed useful, but if you want to remove the bullet, you need some tools to open the wound." Schiller shook a small screwdriver in his hand, squatted down and began to disinfect the screwdriver with the contents of the medical kit.

Garrett originally pointed a gun at him, but because the fence was a railing, the situation inside could be seen from outside, and cars would pass by from time to time, so Garrett had to squat down, but the hand holding the gun was always ready.

Schiller was ready, and the moment he opened the wound, the person lying on the ground twitched, and Garrett immediately raised his gun.

What shameful thing did this person do to be so startled? Could it be to silence him? Schiller looked at the man lying on the ground. He did not look like a superpower criminal. The smell of an agent on him was too obvious.

It seems that he has unfortunately witnessed an operation to silence a witness. Schiller thought while prying the bullet in an orderly manner. He knew that Garrett did not want the standard equipment bullet to remain in the man's wound, otherwise he might be suspected, so he found someone from the street to help him remove the bullet.

Why not kill him first and then do these things? It seems that there is still something in this man's mouth that has not been spit out. Schiller tore the pants on his calf a little wider. Just when he lowered his head to check the wound, he saw a familiar logo under this man's vest.

Wow, the emblem of the FBI, you are unlucky.

The screwdriver turned back and corrected his hand. Schiller rushed forward and hit Garrett on the opposite side. The other party just raised his hand holding the gun. Schiller rolled him to the left and grabbed his neck. With a puff, the screwdriver pierced Garrett's throat.

Blood began to splatter. Garrett covered his neck and uttered a "huh" sound. He curled up on the ground like a shrimp scalded by boiling water and gradually stopped moving. Schiller seemed to be unaware of it. He walked to the side and lowered his head to clean the screwdriver.

When he looked up again, he saw the FBI agent's eyes just opened.

Schiller wiped the blood on his jaw with an alcohol cotton pad.

The eyes that had just opened closed again.

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