After the law and order in New York was completely purged, Schiller was completely dead.

He felt that he could no longer find anyone to treat, so he began to drink more heavily.

Even though the sanatorium's airtrain station was completed, he didn't move back, but just drank in his small clinic.

Schiller was now slumped on the couch in the center of the living room of the clinic, his white coat, which had been meticulously buttoned from head to tail, was now all open, and there were wine stains on one side, two holes in soot on the other, and a little blood from somewhere.

Schiller seemed to have just woken up from a hangover, and subconsciously touched the wine bottle next to him, and found that the wine bottle was empty, he hung his arms a little weakly, pursed his lips, leaned on the arm of the sofa, and fell asleep again.

Over the next few days, Schiller discovered that all the alcohol, tobacco and drugs in Hell's Kitchen, and even in Brooklyn along the Hudson River, were gone.

It is the disappearance in the physical sense, no matter how much money he takes, where he buys it, he can't buy it at all.

Schiller can use flashes to walk freely through Hell's Kitchen, however, his successive flashes have a distance limit.

[In view of the general environment,

Stark and Strange, who knew Schiller very well, opened a large net of defense, and cleared all addictive things within the range of Schiller's activities.

This is not a situation where Schiller can gain something by leaving behind his moral bottom line, these things are just disappearing on the physical level, and no matter how they cheat or sneak attack, they can't be conjured.

Just like Matt said, the world's most talented scientists and the world's most powerful magicians have joined forces, and there is nothing they can't block, even the sewers near Hell's Kitchen, they have sifted through them, and all the empty wine bottles and empty medicine bottles that have fallen into them have been scooped up, and there is not even a bit of scum left.

Now, Schiller is in a zone of complete vacuum, no smoke, no alcohol, no drugs.

Although he could buy it if he ran farther, the feeling of emptiness and helplessness in Schiller's heart made him reluctant to go too far from the place he was familiar with, and he just wanted to return to the clinic as soon as possible, which would give him one of the few feelings of security.

After returning to the clinic, Schiller felt that he had nothing to do, and gradually, he did not like to stay in the clinic anymore, but began to wander the streets, preferring to squat in front of the shop window in the middle of the night rather than go home.

Stark, Strange, and Steve sighed in unison as they looked at Schiller, who was squatting on a street corner and shivering.

"He must be feeling sad right now." Steve covered his mouth with his hand and then emphasized:

"I don't think he even understood why we were ignoring him all of a sudden!"

Steve shook his head vigorously, put his shield aside, and said, "I feel like we're like the bad students who take the lead in isolating others at school...... I really can't do this, and if you can't come up with a better treatment, I'm going to go to him right now!"

….

With that, he turned to walk out, but Stark stopped him and said, "Don't do this, Steve, don't worry, we consulted with the most famous psychologists in the world, including Schiller's teachers and professors."

"This includes not only leading figures in psychology and psychiatry, but also experts in drug or psychogenic addiction."

"The unanimous conclusion they gave was that in the early stages of treatment, there must be a period of forced withdrawal, and in this world, to quit any drug or addiction, you need to let the body and brain adapt to the state of low feedback, which is destined to be painful and long."

"And only after the body gradually adapts to it, can we begin to solve psychological problems......

Stark explained a lot with rare patience, and Steve took his shield, knocked on the edge of the table, and said, "I really can't accept watching my friend suffer so much and not help him."

He took a deep breath and said, "It's good that you took Peter out first, or we wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway

of."

"The people sitting here now are more sane adults." Strange said: "We all know that Schiller will not be able to go on like this, whether it is the symptoms of his autism, or the stress response caused by psychological trauma, or the psychological disorder that he has been excessively pursuing emotional stimulation, sooner or later it will be resolved."

"Do you want us to work together and unite now, with the most resources and the best state, to treat steadily, or do you plan to wait until the day when Schiller really has an accident and rush to make amends?"

Steve was silent and lowered his head, and Tony sighed softly and said, "I know, we're all uncomfortable, but this day is coming......

Steve paused, lowered his shield, drew a cross on his chest, and a low prayer echoed through the room, just as the snow had just fallen outside the window.

"Lord, if our friend is doomed to this calamity, please do not lighten any sorrow and pain in my heart and make me guilty of him."

"And that I may feel no more joy or happiness in the day of thy birth, that I may compensate for the cold which he feels...... Amen."

Winter in New York is getting deeper and the temperature is getting colder, and this year is destined to be a very lively Christmas, with Christmas decorations already on the streets and new goods in the windows.

After the first heavy snowfall, the festive atmosphere is getting stronger and stronger, and Christmas songs are playing everywhere.

At the end of the street, covered in thick snow, a man in an overcoat and a scarf crouched down next to a street lamp.

He didn't seem to be in good shape, he had been gasping for air, saliva and snot flowing out together, and before he could be wiped off, he condensed into tiny ice crystals.

But no one will be interested in him, this kind of person is all too common in this neighborhood, and the neighborhood near Hell's Kitchen certainly can't live with any good people, a junkie who suddenly falls ill on the side of the road, and it's not even a sight to behold here.

The man was not wearing gloves, so he could only put his hand into the cuff on the other side, sniffling and shivering all over, looking like it was both cold and severe withdrawal.

….

He squatted beside the street lamp for a while, and seemed to feel better, so he turned his head to look at the window next to him, but at that moment, a hand reached over, and between his fingers, there was still half an unfinished cigarette.

The man crouching next to the street lamp, as if he had seen a savior, took the cigarette butt with a trembling hand and put it in his mouth.

When he reached for his cigarette, he turned his body to the side, and the man who was standing saw his face clearly, and exclaimed:

"Schiller ???!!"

Eddie hurriedly walked over and found that it was really Schiller who was squatting next to the street lamp and making a mistake.

Looking at Schiller, who was trembling all over, Eddie hurriedly took off his coat and wanted to put it on Schiller, but looked at the dust on his coat and hesitated.

Eddie took two steps back, looked up at the sky, and finally decided to reach out and put his coat over Schiller's body, but what he didn't expect was that Schiller didn't move, letting him fiddle with it.

Schiller's attention was all on the half of the cigarette, and even though his hands were shaking and he couldn't put it in his mouth accurately, he tried as best he could, completely ignoring the burning butt and the glow of the fire, which burned its frozen white knuckles.

Eddie hurriedly reached out, grabbed Schiller's wrist, shook the cigarette butt off his hand, and said, "Dr. Schiller, what's wrong with you? Are you sick? Do you want me to call you an ambulance?"

Schiller immediately shook his head, he blinked a little effortlessly, and then his eyes fell on the cigarette butt that Eddie had thrown away, and Eddie followed his gaze, but by this time, Schiller had already stretched out his hand.

Eddie hurriedly stopped him, then took out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket in some panic, handed one to Schiller, and then tried to light it for him.

However, Schiller's hands were shaky and he couldn't hold the cigarette at all, and there was no way to protect the fire, so Eddie had to smoke himself, light the cigarette, and then hand the cigarette to Schiller with some hesitation.

He knew that the doctor had a very serious cleanliness habit, not to mention that someone else had smoked cigarettes, even if it was from a cigarette case held by someone else, he did not want to, and he almost never used a lighter, only matches.

However, Schiller completely left behind his old demeanor, like a real street addict, hurriedly stuffed the cigarette into his mouth, took a puff, held his breath for a while, and spit out the smoke.

Whether it's the hand holding the cigarette, or the action of smoking and exhaling the smoke, it is as if you are afraid of wasting any bit of nicotine.

Eddie crouched down across from him, frowned, squinted, put his head close to Schiller's face, then looked him in the eye and said, "Doctor, what the hell is wrong with you?"

「…… I'm not a doctor." Schiller's voice was hoarse and startled Eddie, he had long since lost the smooth and soothing tone of his psychotherapy, sounding like the cough of a homeless man desperate to find a cardboard box for shelter in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, Eddie's body trembled, and the venom spread, and the big mouth with fangs came to the tip of Schiller's nose, and Venom's hoarse voice sounded:

"Look...... Who's this? Doctor? No, no, no, a patient...... A very sick patient...... I can feel ......."

….

Venom's spider compound eyes blinked, and that low tone reminded Schiller of a person.

So, with his trembling hand, Schiller removed the cigarette from his hand, tilted his head, spat out the last puff of smoke, and then pressed the cigarette butt hard against Venom's eyes.

"Whew!!!!"

Venom let out a scream, covered his eyes and retreated, and the next second, it retreated into Eddie's body.

Eddie stood there, rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and Schiller, who was squatting on the ground, looked up and asked him, "...... And the smoke?"

"Yes, but you can't smoke it here." Eddie bent down, helped Schiller up, and said, "I'll take you back to the sanitarium, doctor, there's everything there......

Schiller bent over, stood there and gasped, the cold air exhaled covered his glasses with a layer of white mist, he took them off, and said, "No, I'm not going back, I'm not going anywhere......

Eddie looked Schiller up and down, knowing that something must have happened to him, so Eddie said, "Okay, how about you go to my house?" It's at least warmer than here, and there's a ...... to smoke cigarettes."

Schiller did not object, so Eddie helped him to a building in a residential area not far from the block.

Climbing to the third floor and opening the door to the room at the end of the hallway, Eddie opened the door with one hand and helped Schiller inside.

As soon as Schiller walked in, he collapsed on the couch in the living room, looking unremarkable, and Eddie re-lit his cigarette, and then his eyes fell on his coat, which was soaked with snow at the edges.

Eddie picked up his coat and put it in the dirty basket next to him, and then said to Schiller, "Dr. Schiller, take off your coat and I'll wash it for you...... By the way, your coat should be washable, right?"

Schiller patronized and smoked, ignoring him completely, and Eddie could only sigh, stepped forward, and took off Schiller's coat like a puppet that was not very flexible, and threw it into the dirty basket as well.

Seeing that Schiller's condition was still stable, Eddie took the dirty laundry basket and went to the washing machine on the balcony.

He first picked up his jacket, dug into his pocket, and threw it in the washing machine, then picked up Schiller's coat and subconsciously put his hand in his pocket, and then realized that his actions seemed to be a little impolite.

However, his hand did touch something, and he felt some strange touch on his hand, and Eddie pinched it, took it back, and looked down.

It was a sheet of gold and red candy paper that had been folded so neatly that every wrinkle had been smoothed out.

Catch the herd and burn the rope

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