In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

The weather in New York was much better than Gotham, even though it was winter. The sky remained clear, and from the window on the third floor of the clinic, you could still see the bustling cityscape on the horizon.

Schiller had risen early, and Pikachu, using his stubby little hands, pushed the door open with a loud creak. He stretched lazily and said, "That damn old-fashioned kettle of yours makes so much noise! Yawning, where did you get such an antique?"

Schiller descended the staircase while Pikachu slid down from the armrest. In the dining room on the second floor, the kettle was steaming, occasionally emitting shrill sounds.

Schiller used magic to make the kettle float and placed it on the desktop. Then, with a wave of his hand, a frying pan flew over, and he poured some olive oil into it before starting to prepare breakfast.

Pikachu opened the fridge with a loud "bang" and started rummaging through it for something to eat. He complained as he searched, "I should really throw away this damn blue cheese of yours; it's so smelly! Oh... and this cursed lettuce, it tastes like chewing on plastic. Let me see... here it is! My cheese for the breakfast sandwich later, and my favorite canned lunch meat, slice it thick for me, remember, it has to be thick..."

At that moment, the door downstairs at the clinic rang, and Schiller heard Peter's voice along with the sound of footsteps coming up. "Sir! I'm here! I borrowed a toolbox from Uncle, and today we'll definitely fix that damn circuit breaker..."

As he ascended the stairs, the open fridge door blocked Peter's view. He nonchalantly closed the fridge door, but with a loud "thud," a cry followed, "Oh! Crap!! My back!!!"

Panicked, Peter quickly opened the fridge door again, only to find Pikachu, the furry Pokémon, stuck on the fridge shelf. His back had hit the cap of a canned bottle placed on the fridge door.

Peter took Pikachu in his arms and said, "You still have a back? Where is it?"

"Hey, kid, don't make me spill the beans. That 'circuit breaker' yesterday wasn't a real issue; it's clear you've died 30 times and haven't cleared the level..."

Peter covered Pikachu's mouth with his hand, struggling for words. "Dr. Schiller, what have you cooked? It smells amazing!"

"Just a regular breakfast sandwich. If you want one, I'll make you a big one."

"Alright, but it doesn't have to be too big. My appetite has been smaller lately."

"That's good news," Schiller replied as he flipped the golden-brown omelet in the pan. "At least, your aunt won't have to cook until her wrists hurt."

While chatting with Schiller, Peter noticed the ring on his ring finger, and his expression changed subtly. Pikachu, sensing this, looked around and said, "We haven't even removed yesterday's game cartridge. Want to play another round?"

Perplexed, Peter followed Pikachu downstairs after the furry creature pointed downwards with its tail. After a while, they returned, and Pikachu jumped onto the kitchen counter, watching Schiller.

Schiller was in the midst of flipping the omelet when Peter gestured to Pikachu with a wink. Pikachu wrinkled his nose and said, "Well, I guess... it's quite a hassle for you to cook for us. How about we go out to eat?"

Schiller looked at him in surprise and said, "Did the sun rise from the west today? Usually, at this time, you'd only ask me to make the eggs extra tender."

"I mean... well, it's just that I always feel like humans shouldn't keep everything bottled up. It's not good for your health..."

"I'm a psychologist; I understand this better than you do. Otherwise, whose money am I earning?" Schiller remarked.

Pikachu shook his tail and was about to say something more when Peter scooped him up and chuckled, "Haha, doctor, let's go play some games first. We'll help you later."

Pikachu retaliated by lightly slapping Peter's face with his tail, remembering the earlier incident where Peter had bumped into his back. Peter, not one to back down, playfully grabbed Pikachu's ears and tugged them as they headed downstairs, wrestling and laughing.

Schiller couldn't help but feel that Peter was hiding something from him.

After a while, Steve, who had just finished his morning run, entered the scene. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel and followed the scent up to the second floor. He commented, "The layout of this old house is so impractical, and the kitchen is on the second floor."

"Thanks to me, I could afford a good oil-absorbing cigarette machine," Schiller replied.

"Do you also thank Nick? Hasn't he been giving you bonuses? How much did you get this time? 30% or 20%?"

"Without counting taxes, it's only 18%," Steve shrugged.

"He's becoming more macro in his understanding of income distribution," Schiller mused.

Steve placed the towel on the railing and casually opened the fridge, saying, "Let me see, the steak I left here last time... oh, here it is, about half left. I think I can make a beef and cheeseburger. And the cheese? I remember there was half a block left..."

"Don't bother looking; have you forgotten that I have a mouse here just like Jerry? Besides blue cheese, what cheese can survive more than a day?"

"Oh my! It was nearly two pounds of cheese! Did he eat it all? Not a single piece left?"

"It wasn't just him. Peter made a Margherita pizza last time, and he used at least a pound of it."

Steve shook his head and closed the fridge door. "Young people these days don't understand the concept of saving. Is there a good convenience store in Hell's Kitchen? I'll go buy some cheese slices."

"Turn right as you exit and walk two blocks ahead. Go to Mrs. Helena's place. Of course, it's best to tell her you're there to buy cheese, or she might mistake you for a job applicant."

"Job applicant? In this darn place, are there any jobs that need applicants?"

"Of course, there are. Mrs. Helena runs three strip clubs, and they're booming. You should be her favorite type."

Steve rolled his eyes and said, "I'll take the long way around and buy it somewhere outside Hell's Kitchen."

Then he walked over and patted Schiller on the shoulder, saying, "Hey, I know you're a doctor, but doctors are just regular people, and psychologists aren't omnipotent either. If you have anything you want to talk about, feel free to come find me. We're friends, after all."

After saying that, he turned and left, leaving Schiller utterly baffled. He had only gotten up in the morning to make breakfast and fry an egg. Why did everyone seem so strange?

Not long after Steve left, Stark flew in through the window in his Mech armor, holding a stack of materials. The cold wind from the Mech armor rushed into the room at the Psychological Clinic.

Schiller turned his head and was startled by Stark's dark circles under his eyes. He said, "What in the world happened to you?"

"Oh, could it be... did Miss Pepper take a day off today?"

"What are you talking about? I've been researching all night for the materials you brought yesterday."

With that, he placed the stack of documents on Schiller's desk and said, "There's been almost no progress in neurointerface technology, Uncle Obadiah is still in a coma, and I can't ask him. But I've come up with another idea."

Iron Man was still in his armor, and he pointed to one of the parts on the materials, covered in metal, and said, "If aging neurons and already dead nerve cells can't regenerate, then we find a way to replace them with machinery, just like replacing a heart."

"I think you don't need to explain the principles to me. I just want to know how feasible it is."

Stark crossed his arms, staring at the diagrams on the materials, and said, "You have to understand, even if I'm a genius, I can't conjure up technology out of thin air. What's more important is that even if I master this technology, it has to undergo extensive safety testing before it can be used."

Stark also glanced at the ring on Schiller's finger, touched his own lips, and then said, "If you're really in a hurry, I can summon a consultation in the name of Stark Industries with the world's most famous neuroscientists. That way, you can have access to the best experts."

"Of course, it's better if you can bring the patient, otherwise, they won't be able to come up with a solution out of thin air."

"That's probably difficult," Schiller said.

He spoke the truth. Aside from the challenge of bringing DC characters to the Marvel world, even if he managed to do so, the differing time flows between the two worlds could lead to numerous problems and significant risks.

Schiller was well aware that unlike in the Marvel universe, he had a crucial task in the DC world: getting rid of his enemies. His enemies were no ordinary individuals. First, they could hire the mercenary Deadshot to kill him. The words Deadshot left behind before departing had revealed enough information, indicating that Schiller couldn't afford the price he demanded for a counter-kill. When Schiller suggested that the world's richest person would pay for it, Deadshot still didn't hesitate to leave, suggesting that even with enough money, it wasn't worth it for him to turn against his employer.

The fact that the world's top mercenary, Deadshot, made such a judgment already spoke volumes. It was clear that the situation in which the original host was involved was not a simple matter of personal interests; there must be a larger conspiracy at play.

For this reason, Schiller hoped that Victor could become his ally, helping him compensate for his shortcomings in engineering and mechanical knowledge. Thus, he was willing to assist Victor's wife as much as possible to prevent Victor from becoming Mr. Freeze. However, that didn't mean he had to take on the huge risk of shuttling between two worlds.

Furthermore, this didn't fundamentally deal with the problem. A DC expert like Scholar couldn't cure this illness, so it was unlikely that a regular expert from Marvel could either.

Schiller remained silent as he contemplated, but Stark couldn't hold back any longer and said, "You... I mean... she's okay, right? Right?"

Schiller said, "What?"

Stark awkwardly touched his forehead and said, "I heard from Coulson that your wife's condition isn't too good..."

Schiller was dumbfounded. Where did this rumor come from? And who was this wife everyone seemed to be talking about?

No wonder everyone's attitude seemed so strange today!

Soon, he remembered the first person he had met when he returned to Marvel, the future Doctor Strange, who was now a neuroscientist.

That little trickster!

Schiller thought to himself with malice, "Next time, I'll definitely remember to eat Strange's brain. After all, he's not using it anyway."

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