Chapter 2665

The accommodation conditions provided by Columbia Medical School were quite good; everyone had a single suite with a bedroom and a small living room. Of course, the accommodation fees were also very expensive, and parties were not allowed, so many people chose to rent houses nearby.

Shiler lived in the dormitory, and his four roommates who shared the same common room had all moved out, so he could enjoy the entire dormitory alone.

Shiler went back to change his clothes and took his laptop. Laptops in this period were still relatively heavy, so Shiler carried a computer bag.

At this time, the weather was not yet that warm, so he wore a turtleneck sweater with a wool coat on the outside. This was a very common dress in school, paired with a scarf, and you wouldn't be able to find him if he were thrown into a crowd.

Shiler went out, walked out from the school's east gate behind the dormitory building, took the subway to the center of Manhattan, strolled around the street, and found a coffee shop to sit down.

He ordered a cup of coffee, sat at the table in the coffee shop, opened his laptop, and started checking the documents he had saved, preparing to see how far his research had progressed.

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

Shiler took a simple look; they were all relatively basic. One of them had the most recent edit time. After opening the schedule, he found it was due recently, and there were more than 30 hours left before the paper was due.

Shiler started writing unhurriedly. These things were easy for him. The only thing he had to control was not to write too complexly, to meet the level of a student who had just entered medical school.

He had been very good at writing a bad paper that didn't look like he wrote it recently; after all, it hadn't been long since Bruce graduated.

Halfway through writing, Shiler suddenly remembered something. He asked Ultron, "How much money is in my account now?"

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

"How much is this cup of coffee?"

"In my opinion, it's not expensive, but you probably can't afford it."

"Help me get some money."

"Okay."

By the time Shiler had almost finished this paper, Ultron told him it was done. Now there was about 30,000 dollars in his account.

It might be due to the settings copied by the Superego from his past life; Shiler in his past life didn't have student loans, but in order to appear like an ordinary person, he didn't tell anyone about this, and occasionally complained about the heavy pressure of student loans.

Under Ultron's confirmation, it was found that there were indeed no loans under his account name, so this money would definitely be enough for a while.

Having successfully finished the paper, the street was calm, and nothing happened, but Shiler was not in a hurry. He paid for the coffee, carried his computer, and walked toward the nearest Catholic church.

He found a priest's business card among his personal belongings. Its function was to allow him to enter any Catholic church smoothly, because having any priest's personal business card meant that you were at least a very devout believer, and no church would refuse your entry.

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

Sitting here and reminiscing about the past for a while, Shiler thought that New York had thousands of superpower crimes on average every day, and Manhattan was a disaster area. Shiler didn't believe he wouldn't encounter one in an afternoon.

Sure enough, it didn't take long before there was movement outside the door. Shiler didn't hear the sound of sirens, but there was a sound similar to a pistol silencer, which sounded like standard equipment.

Suddenly, a man in a jacket rushed in, tall, with black-brown hair and a pair of eyes like an eagle.

Shiler looked back at him and felt a bit disappointed. This was not the person he was looking for; this was clearly not an FBI agent.

But since the other party had already rushed in, he still made an expression of some surprise and asked, "Who are you? What's going on?"

"And who are you?" he asked back righteously.

"Obviously I am a prayer, sir, specifically speaking, a student at Columbia University Medical School."

"You are a medical student?"

"Yes."

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

"I am very happy to help." Shiler first stated his attitude, "But I'm very sorry, I am from the Psychology Department, and I don't have a license."

"You know that's not the point. You should be able to handle a gunshot wound, right? You just need to take the bullet out, then bandage it, and ensure he won't die within the next three hours."

"I'm afraid I can't ensure anything." Shiler sighed. This was the reason he didn't like dealing with any agent organization. Everyone here seemed unable to understand human language, like a machine that couldn't communicate.

"Follow me." He said so.

Shiler walked out and took a look. A person was clearly lying in the bushes within the wall of this small church, looking like he had just been shot. When Shiler walked over, he saw two bullet holes on his lower leg, which were bleeding at this time, but the person had already fainted, looking like he had been electrocuted.

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

"We maintain a humanitarian spirit toward criminals, at least we have to let him be brought to justice alive. Can you help me?"

"I'll try my best."

Shiler walked over and squatted down, but felt a shadow blocking him. He looked up, and a pitch-black muzzle 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 either. The most important thing is that you have a gun in your hand. Even if you are a criminal, what way do I have not to work for you?"

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

Shiler sighed, turned, and walked in the direction he pointed. Because the car was also within sight, Shiler didn't intend to play any tricks, let alone run away.

He recognized this person. Although he was not quite the same as in his impression, much younger, he barely recognized him.

John Garrett. Mentioning this name might be a bit unfamiliar, but if you mention Grant Ward, and his colleagues Hill, Seeing Natasha, Hawkeye, and Coulson, there's no need to say more about his identity.

Shiler had also dealt with Garrett, even fought him head-on, but he was indeed not a very difficult opponent to deal with, far worse than Pierce. Although they were both founders of S. H. I. E. L. D. and also both Zodiac, Garrett was clearly the more marginal one among them, and even his identity as Hydra was not special.

He and Pierce belonged to two different factions of Hydra. Pierce had Nick under him, and he had Grant Ward under him. The two were evenly matched, but because Ward was much younger than Nick, Pierce currently had the upper hand.

Thinking about it, S. H. I. E. L. D. now had at least three of his old acquaintances: Seeing Natasha and Nick, who were already long-lived, and Coulson, who should still be a new recruit now.

Shiler didn't want to deal with them at all, otherwise the butterfly effect might affect a series of things later. But John Garrett was basically fine; he was just a marginal figure, and his screen time was too little. Even if they faced each other in the future, he didn't live too long.

Shiler opened the trunk, retrieved the medical kit, and just as he was about to close the trunk, he glanced into the carriage. It seemed that Garrett was not here to do any proper business this time; there were no cameras in the car.

His hand reached to the side and pressed on the toolbox beside him.

With a 'pop', the trunk was closed. When Shiler turned around, he seemed to feel the sunlight was too dazzling. He took off his glasses, folded them, and put them into his coat pocket.

"What are you dawdling for?" The aggressiveness and caution Garrett showed made Shiler only feel ridiculous. Although the era was still early, this kind of agent was still too traditional.

"If it's just to bandage the wound, bandages and such are indeed useful, but if you want to take the bullet out, you need some tools to pry the wound open." Shiler shook a small screwdriver in his hand, squatted down, and started to disinfect the screwdriver with things in the medical kit.

Garrett was originally pointing his gun at him, but because the wall was a railing, the situation inside could be seen from the 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 to go.

Shiler was ready. The moment he pried the wound open, the person lying on the ground twitched, and Garrett immediately raised his gun.

What kind of shady business was he doing to be so jumpy? Could it be silencing? Shiler sized up the person lying on the ground. He really didn't look like a superpower criminal; the agent smell on him was too obvious.

It seemed he had unfortunately witnessed a silencing operation. Shiler thought while methodically prying the bullet out. He knew that Garrett didn't want the standard-issue bullets to remain in this person's wound, otherwise he might be suspected, which was why he found someone from the street to help him take the bullet out.

Why not kill him before doing these things? It seemed this person still had things in his mouth that hadn't been spat out. Shiler tore the pants on the lower leg open a bit more. Just as he was lowering his head to check the wound, he saw a familiar logo under this person's vest.

Whoa, FBI badge, count yourself unlucky.

Screwdriver from backhand to forehand, Shiler lunged forward and directly hit Garrett opposite him. The other party had just raised the hand holding the gun. Shiler rolled to the left with him, pinched his throat, and with a 'pfft', the screwdriver pierced through Garrett's throat.

Blood started to spray. Garrett covered his throat and made a 'hehe' gasping sound, curled up on the ground like a shrimp scalded by boiling water, and gradually stopped moving. Shiler, however, seemed to feel nothing, walked to the side, lowered his head, and wiped the screwdriver clean.

When he looked up again, he happened to meet the eyes of the FBI agent who had just opened them.

Shiler wiped the blood on his jaw with an alcohol pad.

The eyes that had just opened closed again.