MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

They hadn't come to argue.

They had come prepared to shut him down.

Griffin stepped forward as Lynn emerged, adjusting his posture slightly to face the camera.

Position.

Lighting.

Angle.

All deliberate.

"Mr. Lynn," Griffin began, voice measured but edged with condescension, "or should I say Doctor Lynn?"

He allowed a brief pause for effect.

"You've been operating this clinic for nearly two weeks. I have a few questions."

Lynn didn't respond.

He took another sip of coffee.

Griffin continued.

"First—your medical license. New York law requires all practitioners to be licensed. Can you present it?"

"Next week," Lynn said simply. "Temporary license is already in process."

Griffin turned slightly toward the camera.

"A pending license is not a valid license. Until it's issued, your practice is illegal."

He didn't raise his voice.

He didn't need to.

"Second—your facility. Has it passed inspection? Your renovation timeline was under two weeks. That does not meet standard compliance thresholds for medical environments."

The crowd began to thicken.

Familiar faces.

Patients.

Observers.

Uncertain.

Then—

The final point.

Griffin's tone sharpened.

"Third—I've received complaints regarding misleading diagnoses and false claims."

A calculated lie.

Lynn scanned the crowd.

No confirmation.

Only confusion.

Griffin pressed forward.

"An unlicensed individual operating in a residential area, using terms like 'miracle' to attract vulnerable patients—this is a violation of medical ethics."

Right on cue—

The woman from the medical association stepped forward.

Document in hand.

"Mr. Lynn, this is a formal notice of investigation. We will request a full review of your clinic. Until then, we strongly advise suspension of operations."

The camera remained fixed.

Recording everything.

Lynn stood still.

Coffee in hand.

His mind processed the situation across multiple layers.

First—motive.

Patient diversion.

His clinic had already drawn a measurable portion of St. Mary's outpatient flow.

This was economic.

Not ethical.

Second—risk.

No license yet.

Legally vulnerable.

Temporary shutdown—

Possible.

But not permanent.

Third—response.

Argument would weaken his position.

Silence would concede it.

He needed—

Resolution.

Public.

Definitive.

Unavoidable.

Lynn set his coffee cup down on the edge of the flowerbed.

Then spoke.

"Vice Dean Griffin," he said calmly, "your concerns will be addressed once my license is issued."

A brief pause.

"But your real issue isn't legality."

He looked directly at him.

"It's competence."

The crowd quieted.

"If you doubt my diagnostic ability," Lynn continued, each word deliberate, "bring patients."

A beat.

"I'll diagnose them publicly. No charge."

Silence.

Then—

Attention shifted.

The reporter adjusted framing.

Zoomed in.

Griffin didn't respond immediately.

This—

Was not in his plan.

Refusal—

Would be interpreted as hesitation.

Acceptance—

Carried risk.

But under the camera—

He had no alternative.

"…Very well," Griffin said, smiling.

Controlled.

Confident.

"I'll bring patients. Let's see how 'miraculous' your clinic really is."

Lynn nodded once.

Turned.

Returned inside.

The door closed.

Inside—

His expression changed.

A slight, controlled smile.

The outcome had already been calculated.

This wasn't a defense.

It was amplification.

The event was scheduled.

Saturday.

10:00 a.m.

Peak visibility.

Maximum audience.

Griffin had chosen well—

For exposure.

Lynn didn't object.

Time—

Didn't matter.

Saturday morning.

The setup was simple.

A bench placed outside the clinic.

Residents gathered—

Over thirty.

Forming a semicircle.

The reporter present.

Now with two cameras.

One static.

One mobile.

A live broadcast running.

Griffin arrived—

With three patients.

Selected.

Prepared.

The first—

Male, forties.

Anxious.

Frequent temple pressure.

The second—

Female, mid-thirties.

Pale.

Systemically unwell.

The third—

Elderly.

Wheelchair-bound.

Chronic condition evident.

Behind Griffin—

Three doctors from St. Mary's.

Including the two who had mocked Lynn.

Observers.

Witnesses.

Or—

Insurance.

Griffin folded his arms.

Watching.

Waiting.

Lynn stepped out.

White coat immaculate.

Glasses steady.

No hesitation.

No speech.

He approached the first patient.

"Symptoms?"

The man spoke quickly.

"Headaches. Over a year. Thought it was migraines. Medication doesn't work. Imaging didn't show anything. It's getting worse."

The system activated instantly.

Lynn's field of vision filled—

Intracranial mapping.

Vascular pathways.

Neural pressure distribution.

Everything—

Visible.

Precise.

The diagnosis—

Already complete.