Batman Incident (20)

On the rooftop of Stark Tower, Schiller pressed the stopper onto a jar containing a mass of black Slime. Gray Mist was communicating with Venom through brainwaves, and Venom said, "Don’t you feel guilty about deceiving such an innocent kid?"

"You make it sound like you weren’t an accomplice. If there hadn’t been too few negative emotions in him to trigger the Black Tide of Fear, I wouldn’t have resorted to this."

"And…" Schiller paused, then said to Venom, "I’ve discovered you have quite a talent for filmmaking. The scene you made up of Stark’s death really scared Peter badly."

"I know that bastard too well. From start to finish, he only ever has one move. Sooner or later, it’ll come true."

Schiller sighed, sounding more relieved than anything else. "I really didn’t expect those Multiverse people to show up this early. If I hadn’t used this trick to scare them off, there’d never be a peaceful day again."

Venom said, "Our deal is complete. Now you should let me choose my own host, right?"

"Of course. But given how dangerous and uncontrollable you are, you can only choose from hosts you’ve already parasitized."

"So, who do you plan to choose? Stark? Bruce? Or…"

"The reporter!!!! I choose the reporter!!!!" Venom roared decisively.

"Oh, I’d nearly forgotten. You did parasitize a human reporter once. Fine, I’ll have you delivered to his house tomorrow."

"But just as we agreed, you’d better not switch hosts too casually, and don’t go around eating people’s heads. Otherwise, I’ll have Gray Mist bite you."

Venom made a snort remarkably similar to Stark’s, full of reluctant resentment.

After standing on the rooftop for a while, Schiller soon heard footsteps behind him. Nick walked over and stood beside him. Nick said, "This time, the commotion was really huge, wasn’t it?"

"What? It went beyond your expectations, chief director?"

"I’m no chief director. Like you, do you still want to call yourself a stagehand?"

"Isn’t that what I am?" Schiller did not turn to look at Nick. He kept his eyes on the lights of the New York skyline. "Don’t tell me the Bat God faith spreading more and more widely among vampires in recent years was just a coincidence."

"And don’t tell me that the prophecy of Bat God descending happened to spread right before the moderates wanted to manipulate the election, and that was just a coincidence too."

"Who knows? There are just so many coincidences in this world."

"Yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s special coincidences. You people retain the final right of interpretation for everything."

"Let’s talk about the good news." Nick folded his arms. "The bats infected with the lizard serum can’t be used, right? Raw materials are becoming scarcer and scarcer, and we’ve run into production difficulties…"

"Where did you choose for the sanatorium?"

"Still Manhattan. You know, it’s closer to where they live."

"But there isn’t time to build a new sanatorium. There’s an old bank built in the thirties there. Its new owner got kicked out because he couldn’t pay the inheritance tax. Construction starts tomorrow."

"How many usable bat materials are left?"

"The police and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents suffered heavy casualties on the battlefield. Fewer than one in ten people could be sent out to hunt them down, and many of those were untrained rookies, the kind who couldn’t even hold a gun steady. We don’t have much fuel left for the freeze guns either. There was nothing we could do…"

"So how many did you report?"

"Only twelve. We only have twelve precious bat materials with the Immortality Factor left." Nick shrugged.

"Too many." Schiller said without hesitation, "Leave only two. Connors has some excellent long-term freezing technology. Freeze the other ten first and put them in your S.H.I.E.L.D. warehouse. Once the price has been driven up a thousandfold, sell them off slowly."

"Isn’t that a little too exaggerated? A few thousand armed police officers and over a hundred S.H.I.E.L.D. agents only captured two bats in total after the bats were defeated?"

"A few thousand people and a hundred agents? You’re underestimating how brutal this war was. By the final pursuit, only ten armed police officers and one agent were left. With numbers like that, it doesn’t seem too exaggerated, does it?"

"All right, but the problem is, Natasha, Coulson, Hawkeye, and Daisy will all need to go out and operate again soon. Which one of them are you planning to sacrifice?" Nick asked.

"And don’t try using injuries as an excuse. Hawkeye has already been injured more than eighty times this year, and used up four times his health insurance allowance. Daisy has been seriously injured more than twenty times too…"

Schiller rubbed his forehead. "It isn’t even summer yet, and you’ve already reimbursed all their allowances. Are you really not planning to leave any room for emergencies?"

"Emergencies? Every day at S.H.I.E.L.D. is an emergency."

"Fine. If you’re willing to raise my consultation fee a little more, I’ll persuade Osborn and Stark to take on the Brooklyn Bridge reconstruction project."

"In the name of charity? There isn’t much room to work with there. After all, everyone can see a bridge being built."

"If a charity event of that scale can’t satisfy your requirements, then hold one on a larger scale. You should be more familiar with that routine than I am…" Schiller waved a hand.

"Send war correspondents to film the ruins after the war, publicize the brutality of the conflict, mobilize charitable organizations, hold fundraising dinners, celebrities, socialites, brands, political parties…"

"If that still isn’t enough, then announce sanctions against the vampires."

Nick sighed. "So far, our policy has still leaned conservative. There are many reasons for that. The Security Council won’t agree to large-scale sanctions."

"If you can bear to give them one of the only two precious materials, I think they’d be tempted too."

"You’re planning to deceive even your own people?"

"Don’t talk nonsense. There were only two to begin with. The other ten are S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emergency reserve funds. They just haven’t been liquidated yet."

On Stark Tower’s rooftop, Schiller and Nick watched New York’s brilliantly lit nightscape together. Inside Stark Tower, Stark lay on a hospital bed, wrapped all over like The Mummy. Watching Peter pace back and forth in front of him, he said, "Hey, stop circling around. You’re making me dizzy."

"When exactly is that Doctor coming? At this hour, there shouldn’t be traffic."

The moment Peter finished speaking, Strange’s voice came from outside along with footsteps. "How I wish I were looking at a corpse named Stark right now."

He walked in looking bleary-eyed, clearly having been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Irritably, he straightened the monitoring equipment beside the bed. Peter poked his head over and asked, "Doctor Strange, Mr. Stark will be okay, right? He’s hurt pretty badly…"

"If he were really badly injured, you’d be seeing a priest right now, not me."

Strange roughly yanked out the pillow beneath Stark’s head. Stark’s head struck the edge of the bed, and he cried out, "You quack! Are you trying to murder me?!"

"I may be unscrupulous, but I’m definitely not a quack."

Stark muttered a few words. "All you Doctors are the same…"

"All right, examination complete. You’re fine. You should be able to live until you die. Pay me, then send me back so I can sleep."

Stark looked him over and said, "What did you even examine? You just turned the machine on, then turned it off. Don’t think I don’t understand this stuff. Who do you think you’re dealing with? I’m Stark. Don’t try to fool me."

Strange said impatiently, "Then examine yourself. Send me back."

"Don’t rush off. I have a big business deal to discuss with you." Schiller appeared in the doorway and handed Strange a proposal. Strange took it and glanced at it. "Stark-Osborn United Pharmaceutical Company, Chief Consultant Appointment Letter?"

"What kind of company is this?" Strange asked in confusion. "How did I not know Stark and Osborn had joined forces? And in a pharmaceutical company, no less?"

He flipped through the appointment letter. "And I’m a neurosurgeon. I’m not going to be some drug salesman."

"You might want to turn to the last page and look at that number."

Strange looked up at Schiller, then suspiciously turned to the last page of the appointment letter and focused on the number.

One second later, he closed the appointment letter. He cleared his throat twice, adjusted his collar, stuffed the letter into his briefcase, and said, "I am currently employed by New York Presbyterian Hospital, and my contract has not yet expired. You cannot make me violate my contractual principles."

"I know. Of course I know. I’m also someone with a strong sense of contractual principles." Schiller smiled. "The staff café upstairs should still be open. Why don’t we discuss it there?"

After the two Doctors left, Stark and Peter stared at each other. Stark said, "So, what about my examination?"

At that moment, Connors walked in. He heard what Stark had said and replied, "Although it has been several years since my last clinical medical experiment, I can still reluctantly give you an examination."

"Oh, no! Wait! Never mind, I think I’m fine!"

"Don’t worry. I have extensive battlefield medical experience." As he spoke, he walked over and lowered the upper half of Stark’s hospital bed in one swift motion. Stark jolted painfully and cried out.

Peter hesitantly wanted to step forward to stop Connors’s violence, but Connors glanced at him and said, "Peter, Dr. Ethan wants you upstairs. It might be important."

Peter paused for a few seconds. He first looked at Stark, covered in bandages, then at Connors, whose scales had not yet faded. Then, under Stark’s indignant gaze, he ran off in a flash.

Stark punched the bedboard with his only movable left hand. "That heartless kid! If I hadn’t been trying to save him, how would I have gotten hurt like this?"

Holding a diagnostic report, Connors said, "There’s good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"

"Don’t play that game with me. Tell me both."

"The good news is that there’s indeed nothing wrong with your spine or nervous system. The bad news is that the problem lies with that thing in your chest."

Stark stiffened. "There’s nothing wrong with the thing in my chest either."

"Yinsen told me the rough principles behind the reactor in your chest. Although biology is my specialty, I’ve also dabbled in mechanics and physics. Your physical examination report tells me this thing has a serious problem."

"In pursuit of greater power for your armor, you used too much palladium. As things stand, if you don’t find a solution, sooner or later you’ll die of poisoning."

Stark turned his head away. Clearly, he did not want to discuss the matter. Connors set down the report, looked Stark in the eyes, and said, "You understand this better than anyone, but you just won’t change. I’m sure your former friends must have tried to persuade you, but you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever seen."