Chapter 2693 Hollywood Rhapsody (Twenty-Five)

Chapter 2667 Hollywood Rhapsody (Twenty-Five)

"Don't pretend to be dead, we don't have much time." Schiller shouted at the agent lying on the ground.

The other party did not move.

"Get up, blue dog."

The other party sat up suddenly, and then looked at Schiller with a suspicious look. The word blue dog is usually used to scold American police, but occasionally it is also used to scold agents, because their uniforms are all dark blue.

People who use this word to scold police agents don't need to think about who they are.

"Who are you?" The other party still follows the logic of the agent's work, without asking the cause, process, and result, first suspecting the other party's identity.

"An ordinary medical student, don't stand there, come and help me." Schiller bent down and lifted Garrett up.

"Did you kill him?"

"No, so far, he is not dead."

The agent widened his eyes, looked at Schiller in disbelief, and then looked at Garrett's throat that had been completely pierced.

Schiller sighed, lifted the man up and said, "He dared to hunt you so blatantly, do you think he is an ordinary person?"

"You mean he is actually a superpower?"

"I mean, he is the kind of person who would be stupid enough to inject hundreds of chemical agents into his body, transforming himself into a person who is neither human nor ghost, just to live longer."

The agent choked. The moment Schiller picked up Garrett, he knew that he was not dead. Of course, it was normal that he was not dead, otherwise he would not meet him in the future.

The 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 needles, just like Nick and Natasha can live for a long time. It is difficult to kill him with ordinary people's methods.

Fortunately, he at least follows the rules that a carbon-based creature should have. After losing a lot of blood, he fainted. Schiller dragged him to the church. The agent with a leg injury 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 to the back of the church leisurely.

The agent opened his mouth and continued, "I have been defined as a defector. Going back now will not end well."

"That's great. Help me open the cellar door and throw him down."

"Will it be okay to just leave him here?"

"Of course there will be, but I think someone who can be hunted down by him personally should not be stupid enough to be out of his sight for more than ten hours."

"I mean you." The agent said, "You look like just an ordinary person."

"You have good vision." Schiller praised, but he threw Garrett into the cellar very neatly, patted his hands and said, "Don't worry about me, just run."

The agent looked at him very puzzled, but Schiller's eyes fell on his injured leg. He said, "Come on, I'll help you take out the other bullet. It won't be a big problem after bandaging it."

Although the agent felt puzzled and didn't know where this kid got his confidence from, he thought that his career as an agent was basically over. He said while watching Schiller bandage his injured leg.

"I have to remind you that he and I are not in the same faction. I mean, we are not in the same organization or on the same side. He... forget it, it's not good for you to know too much."

"In short, he is not a person who will follow the rules of the agent organization."

"This is the first time I heard that the agent organization has rules." Schiller said calmly: "Isn't this profession born to break the rules?"

The agent laughed, then coughed twice and said: "It seems that you know this industry well. You are right, but, um... that guy just now was particularly disobedient to the rules and the rules that were established in the industry."

"Are you trying to say that this is why you were chased so badly by him?"

The agent showed an embarrassed expression on his face, but seeing that Schiller's hand bandaging action had reached the last step, he knew that he had no time, so he made a serious gesture and said.

"I'm serious, kid. Although it's common for agents to be undercover in each other's organizations, his background is extraordinary. He is not on the same side as almost all of us, so don't expect that if he wants to target you, there will be any messenger of justice rushing out to save you."

"Are they many?"

"More than you think, and most of them are shameless and will do anything to get what they want."

"More shameless than me?"

The agent was about to nod, but suddenly thought of what the young man had just done. He didn't even hesitate for half a second before he suddenly attacked. He was cruel and emotionless, and he was more ferocious than a primitive beast. The moment he pierced someone's throat, he showed the cold and violent beauty to the fullest.

"Who are you?" He couldn't help asking, and 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 confirm some things, such as how much of the background story the superego 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 worry about you in vain." The agent said: "But I still have to remind you, don't confront them head-on. Otherwise, no matter who you are, you will suffer."

"Thank you for your kindness." Schiller tied the bandage into a knot and said, "Okay, your life and death escape countdown is about to begin, please, sir."

Before the agent limped out of the church door, he looked back at Schiller. Schiller was standing in front of the image of Jesus, bowing his head in prayer. His low voice was covered by the thunder in the distance.

In front of the cold rain-soaked steps, behind the long traces of blood, under the high and sharp dome, surrounded by the hoarse cries of crows, the agent heard a low, faint Russian.

When Garrett woke up, he found himself lying in a body of water, with more water seeping in from the cracks in the cellar door. His neck was in great pain, but the wound was almost healed.

There was still only a fleeting afterimage in front of him. 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, who was a student. , the former is a thug that he cannot see through.

He took a deep breath and sat up, tracing every detail of Schiller's facial features in his memory. Suddenly, as if he remembered something, he jumped up from the ground and tightly grasped the door under the cellar door next to him. ladder.

After a few dozen seconds, he turned around and climbed up the ladder. There was heavy rain outside the cellar, and the rain washed away all the blood on his body. He knew that there would be no traces here, so he just squinted at the flashing traffic lights at the intersection in the distance.

The overlapping red and green light made it difficult to open one's eyes, and the smell of alcohol almost condensed into a tangible mist in the hazy light, spreading the roars and screams farther and farther away.

Schiller, who smelled of alcohol, broke away from the dance floor, slowly raised his head and rubbed the lip marks on his jawline with the heel of his palm, and sat down in front of the bar with his head lowered, as if he just wanted to catch his breath.

"It looks like those little bitches are making it difficult for you." The red-haired bartender sat across from Schiller and said, "Water cutting?"

"No, that's too strong. I've drunk enough. Let's have a glass of juice." Schiller showed a drunken smile.

"Martini." The female bartender came to her own conclusion. She said, "I can give you some lemon juice at most, and you won't be able to run away."

"Please, ma'am." Schiller was still smiling, his eyes were a little distracted, he lowered his head with trembling hands and put the cigarette into his mouth, swallowed and said, "There is another one this weekend."

"Rugby party? I didn't expect you to actually go." The female bartender picked up her hair and said, "Rebecca told me that she had no confidence in calling you there. You are too popular. Looking into your eyes. , she couldn’t say those harsh words.”

"Ladies are always very gentle." The pronunciation of the last word can be called charming and lingering, as if he has experienced it personally. Schiller took another sip of the wine that was just handed to him, took a breath and said: "I have a friend who was... He accepted the invitation and was very unpromising to go, so I had to accompany him.”

"I've never heard of you having such close friends, but it's okay, you can't always hang out with women." The female bartender smiled, turned around and went to work, while Schiller drank sips of wine until he brought Smelling heavily of alcohol, he staggered back to the apartment and fell on the bed.

The door was banged.

Schiller was still lying on the bedside retching, his eyebrows and eyes were knitted together, the whole world was buzzing, but he still managed to stand up and opened the door, and there was Strange outside the door.

"A night of passion." Strange looked at Schiller and said, "Smoking, alcohol, drugs, women."

"All of them." Schiller nodded.

In the somewhat shaky vision, the rain had not completely stopped. After drinking half a bottle of whiskey and then pouring the rest on himself, Schiller held on to the wall and staggered forward.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, not far away was the bright and warm light of the club. A red car parked in an empty parking space, and a curly-haired lady carrying a small handbag got out of the car.

"Oh, God!" She was obviously startled by Schiller who was vomiting against the wall.

"Where are the police?! How could such a drunkard be here... God."

Through the light of street lamps and car lights, she saw Schiller's sharp profile, arrow-like eyelashes and a pair of gray eyes underneath, which revealed confusion and vulnerability. They were much more beautiful than her prey tonight.

She walked up to him and supported him.

"What's wrong with you, sir?" The long eyelashes combed with mascara flickered up and down, and the eyes full of desire looked up and down, as if appraising a piece of meat.

"I'm lost...where is Columbia University...?"

"Are you a student?"

"Yes, from the medical school, dormitory No. 2...No. 3? I forgot."

"It's not good to go back to the dormitory drunk like this. Let me help you get into the car."

Two figures staggered towards the car. Schiller held the car and stopped. The woman walked over and pulled the car door. When she came to help Schiller, he pressed her against the car.

"That's too rude, sir." There was not much anger in her tone, only a lustful smile. She raised her neck, and her white neck and chest were connected in a line.

"Your school is not far from here, should I take you back?"

"Going back to where?"

The woman held Schiller's chin completely with one hand, and the next second she covered her mouth and nose with one hand. The woman's eyes widened, but soon she felt something piercing her neck. The medicine slowly flows into the skin, and the vision begins to become hazy and dreamy.

"Go to sleep." These were the last words she heard before her consciousness disappeared.

The red car passed the bright lights of the mansion and drove into deeper darkness, then whiskey, whiskey, tequila... until the last glass of lemon martini.

It was indeed a night of passion. Schiller sat down on the bed, while Strange looked at the scattered room with disgust, and glared at Schiller who was about to light a cigarette again.

"You can't smoke in public places," he said.

"Get out, this is my private space." Schiller kept moving his hands 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, holding a cigarette in his mouth.

"Uh... don't you need to prepare for the party..."

Schiller, who was smoking a cigarette, snorted, raised his face without hiding the sarcastic smile on his face, stared straight at Strange and said: "This poor little guy who has never been to a party really needs to prepare."