In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

Schiller once again returned to his apartment on the road, acutely aware that someone was tailing him. His Spider-Sense heightened his perception, enabling him to spot someone across the street from the apartment building who seemed to be watching him.

The opposite apartment building was a fully glass structure, and there was a small window pane inside that reflected differently from the others. Schiller's keen senses picked up on this anomaly.

His choice to open a clinic in Hell's Kitchen was not made arbitrarily. After several days of observation, he had essentially mapped out the routines of the residents in the apartment building.

Most of the residents here were white-collar workers, elite professionals. They were mostly single, with highly regular work hours and a tightly-knit circle of friends.

Living among such a crowd made it all too easy for Agent to find vulnerabilities.

However, Hell's Kitchen was different. Despite being the gathering place for gangs in Manhattan, New York, and even the entire United States, its high population density and constant flow of people, including many strangers and various gangs nested within, made it the ideal place for someone like Schiller, who wanted to fly under the radar.

While life in the upscale apartment was comfortable, it might not necessarily be better than the freedom of Hell's Kitchen. Schiller believed that if he stayed in that apartment for a few more days, at least four or five of his neighbors would turn out to be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Various individuals with unclear backgrounds would find ways to get close to him, trying to extract information, whether it was about him or Stark. This was how S.H.I.E.L.D. operated; they didn't care about your need for privacy.

However, Hell's Kitchen was slightly different from Gotham. Although Hell's Kitchen also had numerous gangs of all sizes, it was less dangerous compared to Gotham.

There were more ordinary people, gamblers, and addicts. It lacked figures like Scarecrow and the Joker, or any major supervillains to speak of.

The majority of the population there was still regular people, despite the proliferation of firearms and drugs. The victims were mostly ordinary citizens, not individuals with superpowers.

Schiller planned to establish it as his first stronghold in Marvel.

Stark's efficiency was remarkable, and before long, he managed to convince some congressmen to allocate a spot for a hospital in Hell's Kitchen.

Some congressmen used this opportunity to promote their own kindness, claiming that New York wouldn't abandon any of its citizens. However, they never really expected this hospital to actually open, considering it was Hell's Kitchen. Even if Daredevil went there, it might end up being a cooking pot.

Opening a hospital there? That was a joke. Unless they built it like a concentration camp, with tanks and cannons at the entrance, and all the doctors and nurses armed with machine guns inside, there was little hope. Otherwise, all the drugs would be gone in a single night.

But regardless of the congressmen's disbelief, a Psychological Clinic was established in Hell's Kitchen.

Being the largest and most well-known slum in Manhattan, the eight blocks were just a nickname.

In reality, it was much larger than those eight blocks, with dozens of winding streets, and roughly a hundred gangs crisscrossing the area.

Some claimed that Kingpin was the boss of Hell's Kitchen, but that was not entirely true. Kingpin's criminal empire extended far beyond Hell's Kitchen. His influence spanned the entire U.S. East Coast, with various criminal enterprises.

He did business all over America. While some of his drug and smuggling operations might touch Hell's Kitchen, he neither resided there nor constantly monitored the area.

Daredevil, born in Hell's Kitchen, was his arch-nemesis, but they rarely fought within Hell's Kitchen. The young spider known as Daredevil was still a naive high school student.

Kingpin's ambitions reached far beyond the control of Hell's Kitchen. The turmoil that occasionally erupted there was of little concern to him. Shootouts, robberies, kidnappings, brawls, and disappearances occurred daily, and causing a disturbance was nothing significant.

Thus, when Kingpin in distant San Francisco heard that some of his men in Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen had gone insane, he dismissed it as a result of excessive drug use, giving it no further thought.

In Hell's Kitchen, however, a terrifying rumor began to circulate. They heard that in the Psychological Clinic located at the far end of Mary Street, in the Ninth Tail Alley, there lived a frightful doctor. All the gang members who came seeking protection fees or extortion were chased away in terror and later went insane.

Initially, several well-known gang leaders were skeptical and led their men inside. However, not long after, they acted as if they had encountered some kind of monster. They began to fight the air frantically, struggling, screaming, fleeing, and crying, as if possessed by a ghost.

This event caused quite a stir, and nearly everyone on Mary Street heard about it. Rumors spread like wildfire.

As the news reached more people, they all came to believe that Schiller was a Dark Sorcerer who could curse these individuals.

As for Schiller, he had no intention of explaining himself. The fear gas he had brought from DC was indeed effective, even though it was just the initial version. It worked well against ordinary people with no superpowers.

Ever since he discovered he could use objects to transport himself between two worlds, he had entertained the idea of toppling the Kingpin.

Though Marvel and DC's power systems differed, there were many things they could exchange and sell to each other. Of course, there were also plenty of items that could be used against each other's enemies.

For example, if Schiller were to use fear gas in Gotham, once the news got out and Jonathan saw the symptoms of the patients, he would surely connect it to his own fear gas.

But in the Marvel universe, how could Jonathan possibly know about Marvel's situation? Schiller could easily avoid paying any copyright fees.

After the terrifying rumors had spread, hardly any gang members bothered Schiller anymore.

Of course, the consequence of aligning with these criminals was that a superhero came knocking on his door.

On a slightly chilly night in Manhattan, Schiller had just brewed a cup of hot coffee. He locked the door to his clinic, ready to finish his day of idling and get a good night's sleep, with plans to continue pestering Stark the next day.

As he placed the coffee cup on the table, he heard a crisp sound at the door. Turning around in the dim light, he saw a tall man in a tight-fitting red suit standing outside.

Schiller picked up his coffee cup and said, "You seem to be a bit late, Mr. Daredevil."

"Do you know me, Doctor?" Daredevil asked.

"Of course, I know you, Daredevil. You're quite famous in Hell's Kitchen," Schiller replied.

"But it seems like you've only recently arrived here," Daredevil remarked.

"But I'm more familiar with your other identity, Matt the lawyer."

Daredevil was clearly shocked. He didn't know how Schiller had discerned his true identity.

Before he could ask, Schiller said, "You once achieved remarkable results at Columbia University, and your career path after graduation went smoothly. Not only did you become a decent lawyer, but you also seemed to have started your own law firm. Matt, can you tell me why you chose to become Daredevil? Wasn't the pride of upholding justice as a lawyer enough for you?"

"Lawyer, upholding justice..." Daredevil snorted. "Perhaps you think so, and yes, most people do, believing that lawyers should stand up for the disadvantaged. But in reality..."

"In reality? Do you think lawyers shouldn't do that?"

"Of course they should. I mean..."

"Do you think you couldn't do it in your capacity as a lawyer? So, you decided to take another path. But do you think you can achieve what you couldn't as a lawyer just by donning a ridiculous tight suit and a mask?"

Daredevil said in irritation, "My decision has nothing to do with you!"

"Do you know? Your tone just now sounded a lot like that of a rebellious teenage boy," Schiller remarked.

Only then did Daredevil realize that since he entered, he had fallen into Schiller's verbal trap. The pace of the conversation had been led by Schiller, exposing his true identity and touching on his sensitive points. He took a deep breath and calmed down, saying, "I have to acknowledge that you are a good psychologist and skilled at using tricks in conversations. But I still want to ask, who are you, and what is your purpose in coming to Hell's Kitchen? Why did those people go mad?"

"Your questions are numerous, and tonight, I can only answer one. It's quite evident that I've had a long day, and I'm tired. You can't disturb my rest. After all, I'm not a gang member, nor have I committed any crimes," Schiller replied.

"But you drove those gang members insane."

"You have no evidence."

"Police need evidence."

"Do you think you're nobler than the police?"

"Don't beat around the bush with me," Daredevil said.

"If you had listened carefully to my words, you would know where I come from and how I learned your identity."

Daredevil felt a headache coming on. He despised dealing with such cunning opponents, which required him to remain highly focused. Due to the shock he had felt earlier, he couldn't remember the conversation he had with Schiller when he first arrived; his mind was blank.

But if he couldn't answer, it would make him appear foolish, so he remained silent.

"It seems you've forgotten our conversation just a minute ago. I really don't know. Becoming a superhero and having no memory—quite peculiar," Schiller taunted.

Daredevil felt frustrated and silently vowed to remember every word Schiller said in the future.

"Two years ago, I taught at Columbia University. I saw the list of outstanding graduates, and your name was on it, Matt. When you filled out your post-graduation plans, you said you'd open a law firm, within the borders of Kansas, even though I'm a psychology professor, I know your former teacher, and he mentioned to me that you had indeed realized your dream."

"Don't change the subject. I want to know how you knew Daredevil is Matt."

"You may have already forgotten, but when you first embarked on this path, you were wearing a black and yellow costume similar to what your father wore during his fights. After I came to Hell's Kitchen, I attended some underground boxing matches, and it just so happened that the owner there, in an effort to save costs, never changed the style of boxing uniforms."

"I understand. Daredevil might have been born here and must have had some relationship with the underground black market boxers. Through investigation, you discovered that the gang members you killed had connections to your father's death. Once you found out about your father's identity, it wasn't difficult to learn yours."

"Why did you investigate me? Are you feeling guilty about something?" Matt asked.

"Nothing of the sort. If you want to rent a house, you should know who the landlord is, what they do, and it's best to establish a good relationship with them."

"I'm not the landlord here," Daredevil sneered.

"Oh, really? It seems I've got the wrong person then. I should go find Kingpin. But it seems I've already made an enemy of him. I vaguely recall that among those gang members who visited me, someone mentioned that their boss was Kingpin."

"Kingpin? You have information on Kingpin?"

"Kind of. Just think of it as me paying rent to you. I overheard one of his henchmen say that their boss is getting annoyed with a certain pest named Daredevil and plans to find someone to eliminate this fly. So, you better be careful recently."

In the end, Daredevil hurried back to his base.

Only after returning did he realize that he hadn't achieved any of his goals tonight.

He hadn't figured out who Schiller was, hadn't warned him to stay in line, and hadn't discovered his connection with those gangs.

He also had no idea how Schiller had driven those people insane.

Matt rubbed his head; he suddenly felt that Schiller's analogy was accurate. He had rented a house to an unknown tenant who had paid the rent upfront. This left him with no immediate means of forcing the tenant to leave, and he could only watch as the tenant strutted around Hell's Kitchen.

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