Chapter 1869: The Madman's Journey (Part 47)

Chapter 1843 The Journey of a Madman (Forty-Seven)

The rope of the hood around his neck loosened a little, and Stark could feel the delicate touch of the other party's hands, which was definitely not something that these big and strong terrorists could have. The other party was likely to come 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. In the dim light, Stark saw a man with black hair and gray eyes.

Those were a pair of very unique gray eyes. Natural gray irises only account for 0.2% 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 a flash of doubt in those eyes. He lay on the ground and exhaled. After a short while, he supported his body with his 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. You can recognize me, which means you have at least read the New York newspaper."

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

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

"I am a doctor." Schiller set his eyes on the tear on Stark's suit on his back.

Stark felt the severe pain coming from his back. He couldn't help but let out a low cry of pain, and then felt the sticky liquid dripping from his forehead. He reached out and wiped it. The deep red on his hand made him curse out loud.

"It looks like you were scratched by shrapnel, Mr. Stark. The wound needs to be sutured and some antibiotics are needed, otherwise you will die here from excessive blood loss and infection."

"How can there be a doctor in this damn place?" Stark stared at Schiller's face suspiciously, and he said, "Were you kidnapped by them too?"

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

He patted Stark's back gently with his hand, motioning him to continue lying down, but Stark cautiously hugged his arms and shrank back. He stared at Schiller's eyes and said, "What does a cooperative relationship 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, "What do 'not exactly' and 'not really' mean? Is it or not?"

Schiller stopped his hand movements, he knelt in front of Stark, looked into his eyes seriously and said, "They asked me to come here to let me 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, they might kill me."

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

But Schiller shook his head and said, "I'm staying here voluntarily, because I escaped here."

Stark was a little dizzy by his words, but Schiller held his arm and exerted a little force. 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 walk to a simple field medical bed at the innermost part of the cave.

Stark was lying face down on the bed. Schiller took out scissors, hemostatic forceps and suture tools from the medical box. While cutting his suit, he said, "The medical conditions here are limited. There is no iodine, only iodine tincture, so it may be a little painful later, and there will be scars afterwards."

"Don't worry, I graduated from Columbia University Medical School and have a surgeon's license. There is no technical problem 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 licenses are quite difficult to obtain. If you can get a surgical license, you have stepped into the elite class with both feet.

"How did you get here?" Stark couldn't help but ask in confusion. 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 the fabric of his suit and said while checking the wound: "I also have a psychiatrist's license. Now I mainly do research in psychiatry and psychology."

When Stark heard the word "psychiatrist", he immediately became nervous. He snorted and said, "You are being mysterious, but you still didn't answer me how you got here."

"That's a long story."

"Then tell me quickly." Stark asked relentlessly.

"This may involve some confidentiality principles of the FBI, but since I have escaped, it doesn't matter if I tell you." Schiller wiped the skin on the edge of the wound with a cotton pad dipped in clean water.

Stark regretted it when he heard "FBI". He just wanted to stop Schiller from talking, but Schiller had already started to explain.

"I made some mistakes when I was young, so after getting my first doctorate, I entered the FBI's special security prison."

"Later, the military launched a special project to study how to influence the human mind through brain waves. They needed experts in this area, but they couldn't hire people from the society in a big way."

"The military reached a cooperation with the FBI, and I was transferred from the special detention prison to participate in this project. Later, I also participated in many military projects. This time, I just arrived at the military's secret laboratory in Afghanistan and ran away from it."

"I found the local armed group and hoped that they could 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 quickly."

Stark took a breath of cold air because he felt a sharp pain in the wound. In the next ten minutes, Stark was screaming 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 will start suturing. Suturing will not hurt much, but you must not move around, otherwise the scar left will be ugly."

"Will it definitely leave a scar?"

"I'm afraid so, but I'm not sure if the Stark Group has some magical prescriptions. Maybe you can try it."

"You can still read newspapers while being controlled by the military?"

"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 suturing Stark: "After I was taken away by the FBI, they erased all traces of me in this world in order to cover up something."

"Including my educational information, license information, and even my birth certificate and medical history. In short, I am an illegal immigrant. I can't perform surgery at will without a license, and I can't live in society."

"What did you do back then? "Suddenly Stark realized what he was saying, and he hurriedly explained: "I'm not saying that the FBI is right to do this. This is a great violation of human rights, but there should be some reasons."

"The reasons are 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 with the corner of his eyes, but the gentle-looking man in front of him didn't look like a serial killer at all, no matter how he looked at it.

The main reason is that Schiller is very thin, and his physique is a certain distance away from being strong, let alone being burly. At first glance, he is the kind of scholar commonly seen in research institutes, not some kind of militant.

"Don't try to scare me." Stark turned his head back and said, "Just 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. With a "sizzle" sound, the metal support rod, which was almost as thick as Stark's wrist, was bent to a 90-degree direction.

Stark swallowed his saliva and said after a while: "This is not scientific! How can you have such great strength with your muscle mass? !"

"This is the part that really involves the principle of confidentiality." Schiller changed a stitch and began to sew the smaller wound next to it. He said: "I was also born in a secret military laboratory and underwent human body modification at a very young age, but something unexpected happened in the middle and I ran away."

"After I returned to the United States, I killed about 30 investors and manipulators of the plan at that time, but I did not escape the pursuit of the FBI."

"This is the only reason why they did not shoot me on the spot. They recognized the characteristics of the experiment 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 he thought of something, he turned his head 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 trust you completely, and of course they can't let you use lethal force..."

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

Stark was silent for a long time and said: "I saw the logo of the Stark Group on the missile that attacked me. Someone is providing weapons to terrorists. It's someone inside the Stark Group. I need to know who he is."

"What you need most now is to recuperate. Your recovery conditions are not optimistic. There is not enough nutrition here, and antibiotics are also in short supply. If they can't get some medicine back in the next battle, you can only rely on yourself."

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

Schiller's hand paused, and he said thoughtfully: "As an American, you should really pray that they lose everything."

"That's not what I meant." Stark moved his still movable fingers and tried to explain: "I mean that all this is meaningless. The government forces, the rebels and this war, they should stop immediately."

"They can't stop."

Stark was silent, he lowered his head, and recalled the shining logo of the Stark Group printed on the surface of the missile. At this moment, he knew clearly 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 heal me."

Just as Schiller was about to speak, Stark said in an extremely tough tone: "You must heal me and let me leave here alive."

"Then... I will shut down all weapons departments of the Stark Group, and I will not sell any arms anymore."