PFC Chapter 2667 Hollywood Rhapsody (25)
Chapter 2667 Hollywood Rhapsody (25)
Chapter 2667 Hollywood Rhapsody (Twenty-Five)
"Stop pretending to be dead, we don't have much time." Schiller shouted at the agent lying on the ground.
The other party didn't move.
"Get up, blue dog."
The other person sat up suddenly and looked at Schiller with some suspicion. The term "blue dog" is usually used to insult American police, but occasionally it is also used to insult agents because their uniforms are dark blue.
It doesn't take much to guess who would use this word to insult police agents.
"Who are you?" The other party still followed the agent's logic, not asking about the cause, process or result, but first doubting the other party's identity.
"You're just an ordinary medical student. Don't just stand there. Come and help me." Schiller bent down and lifted Garrett up.
"Did you kill him?"
"Not yet. He's not dead."
The agent stared at Schiller with wide eyes in disbelief, then looked at Garrett's throat which had been completely stabbed.
Schiller sighed, and while lifting the man up, he said, "He dared to hunt you down so blatantly. Do you think he is an ordinary person?"
"You mean he's actually a superpower?"
"I mean, he's the kind of person who would be stupid enough to inject hundreds of chemicals into his body to transform himself into a half-human, half-ghost, just to live longer."
The agent choked. The moment Schiller picked up Garrett, he knew he was not dead. Of course, it was normal that he was not dead, otherwise he would not have met him again in the future.
Garrett in the comics is an anti-hero, but it is obvious that the Garrett in Schiller's universe is more like the TV version. In the TV series, he gave himself a lot of injections so that he could live for a long time like Nick and Natasha. It is difficult to kill him using ordinary people's methods.
Fortunately, he at least followed the rules that a carbon-based creature should follow. After losing a lot of blood, he fell into a coma. Schiller dragged him into the church. The agent with an injured leg was able to stand up and limped behind him.
"What are you going to do?" the agent asked him.
"I thought you would scream and call the police." Schiller made a cold joke and dragged people leisurely towards the back of the church.
The agent opened his mouth and continued, "I have been defined as a defector. There will be no good outcome if I go back now."
"That's great. Help me open the cellar door and throw him down."
"Will there be any problem if we just leave him here?"
"Of course there will be, but I think someone who can be hunted down by him personally wouldn't be so stupid as to not be able to escape from his sight for more than ten hours."
"I mean you," the agent said. "You look like a normal guy."
"You have good vision," Schiller praised, but he threw Garrett into the cellar very decisively, patted his hands and said, "Don't worry about me, just run."
The agent looked at him in confusion, but Schiller's eyes fell on his injured leg. He said, "Come on, I'll help you take out the other bullet. After bandaging it, it won't be a big problem."
Although the agent felt puzzled and didn't know where this guy got his confidence from, when he thought that his career as an agent was basically over, he watched Schiller bandage his injured leg and said.
"I have to remind you that he and I are not in the same faction. I mean, we are neither in the same organization nor on the same side. He... forget it. It's not good for you to know too much."
"In short, he is not someone who will follow the rules of the secret service organization."
"This is the first time I've heard that there are rules for a secret service organization." Schiller said calmly, "Isn't this profession born out of the desire to disobey the rules?"
The agent laughed, then coughed twice and said, "You seem to know this business well. You are right, but, um... that guy just now was particularly unruly and did not follow the rules. He did not follow the established rules in the industry."
"Are you trying to say that this is why he chased you so badly?"
The agent showed an embarrassed expression on his face, but seeing that Schiller's hand bandaging had reached the final step, he knew he had no time, so he made a serious gesture and said.
"I'm serious, kid. Although it's common for agents to go undercover in various organizations, his background is extraordinary. He's not on the same side as almost all of us, so don't expect that if he wants to target you, some messenger of justice will rush out to save you."
"How many of them are there?"
"There are many more than you think, and most of them are shameless and unscrupulous."
"More shameless than me?"
The agent was about to nod when he suddenly thought of what the young man had just done. He didn't even hesitate for half a second before he attacked. He was cruel and emotionless, and ferocious like a primitive beast. The moment he pierced the other person's throat, he showed the cold and extremely violent beauty to the fullest.
"Who are you?" he couldn't help but ask, then he looked at Schiller's face carefully, as if he remembered something, but soon chose to keep silent.
Schiller was also observing his reaction because he also wanted to determine some things, such as how much of the background story the superego had copied.
If he copied a lot, he would have to find a way to cover up the past, or at least find a legitimate reason, otherwise it would be bad if Nick found out later.
"It seems that I was worried about you for nothing." The agent said, "But I still have to remind you not to confront them head-on. Otherwise, no matter who you are, you will suffer the consequences."
"Thank you for your kindness." Schiller tied the bandage into a knot and said, "Well, your countdown to escape life and death is about to begin. Please, sir."
Before the agent limped out of the church door, he looked back at Schiller, who was standing in front of the statue of Jesus, bowing his head and praying. His low voice was drowned out by the thunder in the distance.
In front of the cold, rain-soaked steps, behind a long trail of blood, under the high, sharp dome, surrounded by the hoarse cries of crows, the agent heard low, faint Russian language.
When Garrett woke up, he found himself lying in a pool of water, with more water seeping in through the gap in the cellar door. His neck was very painful, but the wound was almost healed.
There was still only a fleeting afterimage in front of his eyes. The movement was so fast that he could not see clearly and had no time to react. He could not connect this afterimage with the figure of the young man with gray eyes. The latter was a student, and the former was a thug who he could not see through.
He took a deep breath and sat up, trying to remember every detail of Schiller's facial features. Suddenly, as if he remembered something, he jumped up from the ground and grabbed the ladder under the cellar door next to him.
After dozens of seconds, he turned around and climbed the ladder. Outside the cellar, it was raining heavily, and the rain washed away all the blood on his body. He knew there would be no traces here, so he just squinted at the flashing traffic lights at the distant intersection.
The overlapping red and green lights made it impossible to open one's eyes. The smell of alcohol almost condensed into a tangible mist in the hazy light, spreading the roars and screams farther and farther away.
Schiller, reeking of alcohol, broke away from the dance floor, slowly raised his head and rubbed the lip marks on his jawline with the base of his palm, then sat down at the bar with his head lowered, as if he just wanted to take a breath.
"It looks like those little bitches are giving you a hard time." The red-haired bartender sat across from Schiller and said, "Mizuki?"
"No, that's too strong. I've drunk enough. Let me have a glass of juice." Schiller gave a drunken smile.
"Martini." The female bartender concluded without thinking. She said, "At most I'll give you some lemon juice. You can't run away."
"Please, ma'am." Schiller was still smiling, his eyes were a little dazed, he lowered his head and put the cigarette into his mouth with a trembling hand, swallowed his saliva and said, "There's another one this weekend."
"Football party? I didn't expect you to go." The female bartender raised her hair and said, "Rebecca told me that she wasn't sure about inviting you. You're too popular. Looking into your eyes, she couldn't say those harsh words."
"Ladies are always gentle." The pronunciation of the last word was charming and lingering, as if he had experienced it personally. Schiller took another sip of the wine that had just been handed to him, let out a long sigh and said, "A friend of mine has been invited and wants to go in a very unpromising way. I have to accompany him."
"I haven't heard that you have such a close friend. But that's okay. You can't always hang out with women." The female bartender smiled and turned back to work. Schiller drank his wine sip by sip until he staggered back to the apartment with a strong smell of alcohol and fell headfirst onto the bed.
The door was knocked.
Schiller was still lying on the bed, retching, his eyebrows and eyes wrinkled, the whole world was buzzing, but he still forced himself to stand up and opened the door. Strange was outside the door.
"One night of passion." Strange looked at Schiller and said, "Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, and women."
"All of them." Schiller nodded.
In the shaky vision, the rain had not completely stopped. Schiller drank half a bottle of whiskey and then sprinkled the rest on his body. Then he staggered forward, holding on to the wall.
Under the dim light of the street lamp, not far away was the bright and warm lights of the guild hall. A red car stopped in an empty parking space and a curly-haired lady carrying a small handbag got out of the car.
"Oh, God!" She was obviously frightened by Schiller who was vomiting against the wall.
"Where are the police?! How could a drunk like this be here... God."
In the light of street lamps and car lights, she saw Schiller's sharp profile. The arrow-like eyelashes and the pair of gray eyes below revealed confusion and fragility. She was much more beautiful than her prey tonight.
She walked over and supported him.
"What's the matter with you, sir?" The long eyelashes combed with mascara flickered up and down, and the lustful eyes looked up and down as if tasting a piece of meat.
"I'm lost... Where is Columbia University...?"
"Are you a student?"
"Yes, the medical school, dormitory number 2...3? I forgot."
"It's not a good idea to go back to the dorm this drunk. Let me help you get in the car."
Two figures staggered towards the car. Schiller held onto the car to stand. The woman walked over to open the door, and when she came over to help Schiller, he pushed her against the car.
"That's rude, sir." There was not much anger in her tone, only a smile of desire. She raised her neck, and her white neck and chest were connected in a straight line.
"Your school is not far from here. Can I take you back?"
"Where to go back to?"
The woman held Schiller's chin with one hand, and the next second she covered her mouth and nose with one hand. The woman widened her eyes, but soon she felt something piercing the skin on her neck. The medicine slowly flowed in, and her vision began to become hazy and dreamy.
"Go to sleep." These were the last words she heard before she lost consciousness.
The red car passed the bright lights of the mansion and drove into the deeper darkness, followed by whiskey, whiskey, tequila... until the last lemon martini.
It was indeed a passionate night. Schiller sat down on the bed, while Strange looked at the messy room with disgust and glared at Schiller who was about to lower his head to light a cigarette.
"You can't smoke in public places," he said.
"Get out, this is my private space." Schiller did not stop his actions until he drove Strange out with the smell of smoke.
"The party is tomorrow, aren't you going to prepare?"
"What are you preparing for?" Schiller asked, cigarette in hand.
"Uh...doesn't the party require preparations..."
Schiller, who was holding a cigarette, snorted, raised his head without hiding the mocking smile on his face, stared straight at Strange and said, "The poor little guy who has never attended a party really needs to prepare."