Chapter 1834: Journey of a Madman (Part 47)

The rope of the hood on his neck loosened a bit. Stark could feel the delicate touch of the other party's hands. That was definitely not something those big, rough terrorists could have. The other party was very likely from a civilized society just like him.

Thinking of this, Stark relaxed a bit. Light shone in from under the hood. Following that, the hood was taken off. By the dim light, Stark saw a man with black hair and gray eyes.

That was a pair of very unique gray eyes. The natural gray iris only accounted for 0.02% of the world's population. Stark had never met anyone with gray eyes before, so he almost immediately remembered these eyes.

"Are you... Stark?"

Stark saw the doubt flash in those eyes. He lay on the ground and let out a breath. After resting for a while, he supported his body with his arms, wanting to climb up from the ground.

The person opposite immediately helped him up and let him sit on the ground. Stark nodded and said: "Yes, I am Stark. You can recognize me, which shows that you have at least read the New York newspapers."

"Hello, Mr. Stark, you can call me Dr. Schiller."

Stark, sitting on the ground, hugged his knees with his arms. He looked at Schiller sideways and said: "Are you sent by them to supervise me?"

"I am a doctor." Schiller let his gaze fall on the tear in Stark's suit on his back.

Only then did Stark feel the intense pain coming from his back. He couldn't help but let out a low cry of pain, and then felt sticky liquid dripping from his forehead. He reached out to wipe it, and the deep red on his hand made him couldn't help but curse.

"It seems you were scratched by shrapnel, Mr. Stark. The wound needs suturing, and also some antibiotics, otherwise you will die here from excessive blood loss and infection."

"How can there be a doctor in this hellish place?" Stark stared suspiciously at Schiller's face and said: "Were you also kidnapped by them?"

"Not exactly. I am currently in a cooperative relationship with them," Schiller said without any taboo.

He gently patted Stark's back with his hand, signaling him to continue lying down, but Stark shrank back with his arms crossed cautiously. He stared tightly at Schiller's eyes and said: "What does cooperative relationship mean? Are you an accomplice of the terrorists?"

"Not exactly."

"Why are you like those shareholders, never willing to answer questions directly?" Stark clenched his fists angrily and said: "What on earth do 'not exactly' and 'not really' mean? Is it or is it not?"

Schiller stopped his movements. He knelt in front of Stark and looked into his eyes seriously: "They let me come here to treat the wounds on your body because they don't want you to die."

"I also don't want you to die, because if you die, I might also die, because they won't kidnap another target with more value than you in the near future. And if I have no work to do, they might kill me."

"Damn it, weren't you kidnapped by them? Didn't you try to escape?!"

Schiller shook his head and said: "I am here voluntarily, because I ran here."

Stark was a bit dizzy from his rhetoric, but Schiller exerted a bit of force on Stark's arm, and Stark felt a giant force coming from his side. He was lifted up directly by this doctor.

Turning around, Stark realized that this was a cave. Schiller helped him walk to a simple field medical bed in the innermost part of the cave.

Stark lay face down on the bed. Schiller took out scissors, hemostatic forceps, and suturing tools from the medical kit, and while cutting the suit, he said: "The medical conditions here are limited. There is no povidone-iodine, only iodine tincture, so it might be a bit painful later, and it will leave scars afterward."

"Don't worry, I graduated from Columbia University Medical School and have a surgeon's license. There is no technical problem with suturing such wounds, but how well it recovers depends on your own metabolic level."

"You have a surgeon's license?!" Stark couldn't help but exclaim. In the United States, such licenses were quite difficult to obtain. Being able to obtain a surgeon's license meant having one foot in the elite class.

"How on earth did you come here?" Stark couldn't help but ask suspiciously. He really couldn't figure out how a surgeon could be kidnapped to Afghanistan.

"In fact, I haven't been a surgeon for a long time." Schiller cut open the suit fabric and said while checking the condition of the wound: "I also have a psychologist's license. I mainly do research in psychiatry and psychology now."

Hearing the term "psychologist," Stark immediately became nervous. He hummed and said: "Mysterious, but you still haven't answered how you came here."

"This might be a long story."

"Then tell it quickly." Stark pursued relentlessly.

"This might involve some confidentiality principles of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. However, since I have already run out, it doesn't matter if I tell you." Schiller dipped a cotton pad in clean water to wipe the skin around the wound.

Stark regretted it the moment he heard "Federal Bureau of Investigation." He just wanted to open his mouth to stop Schiller from telling, but Schiller had already started to explain.

"I made some mistakes when I was young, so after getting my first doctoral degree, I entered the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Special Security Prison."

"Later, the military launched a special project aimed at researching how to influence human spirit through brainwaves. They needed experts in this area, but they couldn't hire social personnel with great fanfare."

"The military reached a cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I was transferred from the special detention prison to participate in this project. Later, I also participated in many military projects, and this time, I had just arrived at a secret military laboratory in Afghanistan when I ran out."

"I sought out local armed organizations, hoping they could provide me with shelter. The price paid was using my medical knowledge to help them rescue the wounded, and occasionally acting as a translator."

"You can speak the local language?"

"I learn everything very quickly."

Stark took a deep breath, because he felt intense pain coming from the wound. In the next ten minutes or so, Stark kept letting out miserable screams from the pain, his face pale, and his whole body covered in cold sweat.

Finally, Schiller's voice came from behind him.

"Hemostasis and disinfection have been completed. Next, we will start suturing. Suturing won't be very painful, but you must not move around, otherwise the scar left behind will be very ugly."

"Will it definitely leave a scar?"

"I'm afraid so, but I don't know if Stark Industries has any magical prescriptions. Perhaps you can try."

"You are controlled by the military and can still read newspapers?"

"I am also in a cooperative relationship with the military," Schiller admitted frankly: "I possess a certain degree of personal freedom."

"Then why didn't you run before?"

"I don't have a social identity." Schiller explained while suturing Stark: "After I was taken away by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, they erased all traces I left in this world in order to cover up certain things."

"Including my academic information, license information, and even my birth certificate and medical history. Simply put, I am a 'black household' (undocumented). I don't have a license to perform surgery at will, and I have no way to live in society."

"What on earth did you do back then?" Suddenly Stark realized what he was saying. He hurriedly explained: "I'm not saying that the Federal Bureau of Investigation doing this is right. This is a huge violation of human rights, but there should be some reasons..."

"The reason is quite legitimate. I am a serial killer."

Stark's fists clenched instantly.

"You..." Stark couldn't help but try hard to twist his neck, using the corner of his eyes to look at Schiller again. But the man in front of him, who looked gentle and elegant, didn't look like a serial killer at all, not at all.

Mainly because Schiller was very thin, his physique was a certain distance from being robust, and he couldn't be called burly at all. He looked like the kind of scholar often seen in research institutes, not some combat-type personnel.

"Don't try to scare me." Stark turned his head back and said: "You? You can't even beat my fitness coach."

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the vertical support rod of the emergency bed in front of Stark's nose. Only a "creak" sound was heard, and the metal support rod, which was as thick as Stark's wrist, was bent to a ninety-degree direction in an instant.

Stark swallowed. After a long while, he opened his mouth: "This is not scientific! Where did you get such great strength with your muscle mass?!"

"This is the part that truly involves confidentiality principles." Schiller changed a suture and started suturing the smaller wound beside it, saying: "I was also born in a secret military laboratory and received human body modification when I was very young, but some accidents happened halfway, and I ran out."

"After I returned to the United States, I killed about thirty investors and manipulators of the project back then, but I didn't escape the pursuit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"This is also the only reason they didn't shoot me on the spot. They recognized the characteristics of the experiment back then and thought I had recycling value. You know the rest of the things."

Stark pursed his lips tightly. He shook his head slightly and said: "Simply lawless!"

Suddenly, as if thinking of something, he turned his head and asked Schiller: "Do you know where these terrorists' weapons were bought?"

"I don't know. I haven't touched their weapons."

"That's right, they couldn't completely trust you, and of course they couldn't let you touch lethal weapons..."

"I mean, I don't need weapons to kill."

Stark was silent for a long time before saying: "I saw the Stark Industries logo on the missile that attacked me. Someone is providing weapons to the terrorists. It's someone inside Stark Industries. I need to know who it is."

"What you need most now is to recuperate. Your recovery conditions are not optimistic. There are not enough nutrients here, and antibiotics are also very tight. If they can't bring back some medicine in the next battle, you can only rely on yourself to carry it through."

"Do I have to pray for them to win the battle?"

Schiller's hand paused. He said thoughtfully: "As an American, you should indeed pray for them to lose everything."

"That's not what I meant." Stark moved his fingers that could still move and explained desperately: "I mean this is all meaningless. The government army, the anti-government army, and this war, they should stop immediately."

"They cannot stop."

Stark was silent. He lowered his head, recalling the Stark Industries logo shining brightly on the surface of the missile he saw. At this moment, he clearly knew why they couldn't stop.

Stark's fists clenched slowly. He closed his eyes, his eyelashes trembling slightly. A few minutes later, he said in a hoarse voice: "You have to cure me."

Schiller just wanted to open his mouth, but Stark said in an incomparably tough tone: "You must cure me and let me leave here alive."

"Then... I will shut down all weapon departments of Stark Industries. I will not sell any more arms." ===== CHAPTER 1835 =====