Chapter 1843 Madman’s Journey (Forty-Seven)
The hood rope around his neck was loosened a little, and Stark could feel the delicate touch of the other person's hands. It was definitely not something that these big and thick terrorists could have. The other person was probably from a civilized society like him.
Thinking of this, Stark relaxed a little, and light came from under the hood. Then the hood was taken off, and in the dim light, Stark saw a man with black hair and gray eyes.
They were a pair of very unique gray eyes. Natural gray irises only account for 02% of the world's population. Stark had never met anyone with gray eyes before, so he remembered these eyes almost immediately.
"Are you...Stark?"
Stark saw doubtful emotions flashing through those eyes. He lay on the ground and exhaled. After relaxing for a while, he supported his body with both hands and arms and tried to get 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. If you can recognize me, it means that you have at least read the New York newspaper."
"Hello, Mr. Stark, you can call me Dr. Schiller."
Stark, who was sitting on the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees, glanced at Schiller sideways and said, "Are you the one they sent here to supervise me?"
"I'm a doctor." Schiller's eyes fell on the scratches in Stark's suit on his back.
Only then did Stark feel severe 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 stretched out his hand and wiped it, and the crimson liquid on his hand was
He couldn't help but curse.
"It looks like you were scratched by shrapnel, Mr. Stark. The wound needs stitches and some antibiotics, otherwise you will die here due to excessive blood loss and infection."
"Why is there a doctor in this damn place?" Stark stared at Schiller's face suspiciously and said, "Were you also kidnapped by them?"
"Not exactly, I have a cooperative relationship with them now." Schiller said without hesitation.
He patted Stark's back gently with his hand and motioned for him to continue lying down, but Stark cautiously crossed his arms and drew back. He stared closely into Schiller's eyes and said, "What does partnership mean?"
?Are you an accomplice of terrorists?"
"Not really."
"Why are you like those shareholders, never willing to answer questions directly?" Stark clenched his fists angrily and said: "'Not entirely', what does 'not really' mean? Is it yes or no?"
Schiller stopped what he was doing, he knelt down in front of Stark, looked into his eyes seriously and said: "They asked me to come here so that I can treat your wounds, because they don't want you to
die."
"I don't want you to die either, because if you die, I might die too, because they won't kidnap another target more valuable than you in the near future, and if I don't have a job to do, they might
kill me."
"Damn it, weren't you kidnapped by them? Didn't you think of a way to escape?!"
Schiller shook his head and said: "I stay here voluntarily, because I escaped here."
Stark was a little dazed by his words, but Schiller held his arm and gave a slight push. Stark felt a huge force coming from his side, and he was directly lifted up by the doctor.
Turning around, Stark realized that this was a cave. Schiller helped him to a simple field medical bed at the end of the cave.
Stark lay face down on the bed. Schiller took out scissors, hemostatic forceps and suture tools from the medical kit. While cutting his suit, he said: "The medical conditions here are limited. There is no iodine, only iodine, so later
It may hurt a little, and there may be scars afterwards.”
"Don't worry, I graduated from Columbia University School of Medicine and have a surgeon's license. There are no technical problems in suturing such wounds, but how well you can recover depends on your own metabolic level."
"You have a surgical license?!" Stark couldn't help but exclaimed. In the United States, such a license is very difficult to obtain. If you can get a surgical license, you have two feet in the elite class.
"How did you get here?" Stark couldn't help but asked in confusion. He really couldn't figure out how a surgeon could be kidnapped to Afghanistan.
"Actually, I haven't been a surgeon for a long time." Schiller cut open the fabric of his suit and checked the wound condition while saying, "I also have a psychiatrist's license, and now I mainly do research on psychiatry and psychology.
"
Hearing the word "psychiatrist", Stark immediately became nervous. He snorted and said, "It's so mysterious, but you still haven't answered me how you got here."
"That's a long story."
"Then tell me quickly." Stark asked reluctantly.
"This may involve some FBI confidentiality principles, but since I have already escaped, it doesn't matter if I tell you." Schiller wiped the skin at the edge of the wound with a cotton pad dipped in water.
Stark regretted it when he heard "FBI". He was about to stop Schiller from telling him, but Schiller had already started to explain.
"I made some mistakes when I was young, so after I got my first Ph.D., I ended up in an FBI special security prison."
"Later, the military launched a special project aimed at studying how to influence the human spirit through brain waves. They needed experts in this field, but they were unable to hire public figures in a big way."
"The military reached a cooperation with the FBI, and I was transferred from the special holding prison to participate in this project. Later, I also participated in many projects of the military. This time, I just arrived at the military's secret experiment in Afghanistan.
room and ran out of it."
"I approached the local armed organization, hoping that they would provide me with shelter. The price I paid was to use my medical knowledge to help them rescue the wounded and occasionally act as a translator."
"Do you know the local language?"
"I learn everything very quickly."
Stark took a breath because he felt a sharp pain coming from the wound. For the next ten minutes, Stark screamed in pain, his face was pale, and he was covered in cold sweat.
Finally Schiller's voice came from behind him.
"Hemostasis and disinfection have been completed. Next, we need to start suturing. The suturing will not be very painful, but you must not move it, otherwise the scars left will be ugly."
"Will there definitely be scars?"
"I'm afraid so, but I don't know if the Stark Group has some magical prescription. Maybe you can try it."
"You are under military control and can you still read newspapers?"
"I also have a cooperative relationship with the military," Schiller said frankly: "I have a certain degree of personal freedom."
"Then why didn't you run away before?"
"I have no social identity." Schiller explained while stitching up Stark: "After I was taken away by the FBI, in order to cover up something, they erased all traces I left in the world.
."
"Including my academic information, license information, and even my birth certificate and medical experience. To put it simply, I am a black man. Without a license, I cannot perform surgeries at will. I cannot live in society."
"What on earth did you do back then?" Suddenly Stark realized what he was talking about, and he quickly explained: "I'm not saying that the FBI was right to do what they did. It was a huge violation of human rights, but it should be
There must be some reasons.”
"The reason is quite legitimate. I am a serial killer."
Stark's fists clenched instantly.
"You..." Stark couldn't help but twist his neck hard and looked at Schiller again from the corner of his eyes, but the gentle-looking man in front of him didn't look like a serial killer at all.
The main reason is that Schiller is very thin, and his physique is far from strong, let alone burly. At first glance, he looks like the kind of scholar commonly found in research institutes, not a member of the martial arts sect.
"Don't try to scare me." Stark turned his head back and said, "Just you? You can't even beat my fitness trainer."
Suddenly, a hand grabbed the vertical support of the emergency bed in front of Stark's nose. There was a "sizzle" and a heart-wrenching metal sound. The metal was about as thick as Stark's wrist.
The support pole was bent to a ninety-degree direction.
Stark swallowed, and after a while he said: "This is unscientific! How can you get such strength with your muscle mass?!"
"This is the part that really involves the principle of confidentiality." Schiller changed a suture and began to suture the smaller wound next to it. He said: "I was also born in a secret military laboratory. When I was very young,
I underwent human body modification when I was young, but something happened during the process and I ran away."
"After I returned to the United States, I killed about thirty investors and operators of the plan, but I did not escape the FBI's pursuit."
"This is the only reason why they didn't kill me on the spot. They recognized the characteristics of the experiment back then and thought I had recycling value. You know what happened next."
Stark pursed his lips, shook his head slightly and said, "It's simply lawless!"
Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, he turned around and asked Schiller: "Do you know where these terrorists bought their weapons?"
"I don't know, I haven't touched their weapons."
"That's right, they can't completely trust you, and of course they can't let you come into contact with deadly force..."
"I mean, I don't need a weapon to kill someone."
After a long silence, Stark said: "I saw the Stark Group's logo on the missile that attacked me. Someone is providing weapons to terrorists. He is someone from within the Stark Group. I need to know who he is.
who."
"What you need most now is to recuperate. Your recovery conditions are not optimistic. There is not enough nutrition here, and antibiotics are in short supply. If they can't get some medicines back from the next battle, you will have to carry it on your own."
"Should I still pray that they win the war?"
Schiller's hand paused for a moment, and he said thoughtfully: "As an American, you really should pray that they lose everything."
"That's not what I meant." Stark flexed his fingers and explained desperately: "I mean all this is meaningless. Government forces, anti-government forces and this war should stop immediately."
"They couldn't stop."
Stark was silent. He lowered his head and recalled the Stark Group logo he saw shining brightly on the surface of the missile. At this moment, he clearly knew why they couldn't stop.
Stark's fists slowly clenched, he closed his eyes, his eyelashes trembled slightly, and a few minutes later he said in a hoarse voice: "You have to cure me."
Just as Schiller was about to speak, Stark said in an extremely tough tone: "You must cure me and let me leave here alive."
"Then...I will shut down all the weapons departments of the Stark Group, and I will not sell any more arms."
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This chapter has been completed!