Chapter 27
Frank's final week as the clinic's caretaker.
Lynn closed the clinic for half a day that morning. The back door was locked, and a simple "Open Afternoon" sign hung on the front.
Frank remained at his usual position outside, but he noticed something different—Lynn didn't go upstairs. He went down.
The basement was small, roughly twenty square meters. It had once been used for storage, but Lynn had cleared it out over the past week, laying down mats and installing several wall-mounted lamps. Functional. Isolated.
The door locked behind him.
Lynn stood at the center of the room.
The system interface opened.
He needed to answer one question—how strong he had actually become.
His current ability pool assembled clearly in his mind.
Super Intelligence—70%, incomplete. Source: Batman. S+ tier. Core function: cognitive processing.
Super Senses—75%, incomplete. Source: Daredevil. A+ tier. Function: environmental perception.
Self-Healing Factor—60%, incomplete. Source: The Punisher. B+ tier. Passive regeneration.
Reinforced Physiology—65%, incomplete. Source: Luke Cage. A tier. Passive durability.
Superhuman Strength—55%, incomplete. Source: Jessica Jones. A− tier. Physical output.
Five abilities.
All incomplete.
Individually—none at peak.
Together—uncertain.
Lynn began testing.
He crouched and gripped the metal crate in the corner. It was filled with old equipment, weighing roughly ninety kilograms. Before, it had required effort to move.
He stood.
The crate lifted cleanly.
Not effortless—but controlled.
He shifted to one hand. The crate stabilized above his right palm, steady, without tremor.
Fifty-five percent of Jessica's strength did not translate into simple proportional tonnage. In practice, it placed him far beyond peak human capacity—capable of sustained one-handed lifts exceeding normal physiological limits—but still far below high-tier superhuman benchmarks.
More than sufficient against ordinary opponents.
He set the crate down.
Next—durability.
He drew a folding knife and dragged the blade across his forearm.
A pale line formed.
No blood.
He increased the force, driving the tip downward.
Impact—deflected.
A dull pressure registered, but the skin held.
Sixty-five percent of Luke Cage's durability meant resistance, not immunity. Standard blades were ineffective. High-velocity rounds or exotic materials would still pose a threat.
Recovery followed.
He scratched the back of his hand with his fingernail. The red mark faded within seconds.
At this level, superficial damage resolved almost immediately. Moderate injuries would require hours. Severe trauma still required intervention.
Then he tested the interaction between his core abilities.
Lynn closed his eyes.
His perception expanded.
He heard Frank turning a page upstairs. Across the street, a nurse inside St. Mary's Hospital was speaking on the phone. Two blocks away, a truck reversed. Farther still, children played basketball.
Each sound isolated.
Each layer distinct.
Then—
Processed.
Not passively.
Actively.
Frank's page-turning rhythm—slower than baseline. Increased engagement.
Language detection—Spanish. Content—personal conversation.
Engine frequency anomaly—possible exhaust damage.
All conclusions formed within a second.
He opened his eyes.
This was not additive.
It was multiplicative.
Super Senses provided the data.
Super Intelligence interpreted it instantly.
The result—
Near-complete environmental awareness within roughly two hundred meters.
Threats would not reach him unnoticed.
Then he opened the system panel again.
Reputation: 410.
Unlock requirement:
Ability Forge — 500.
Ninety short.
He studied the description.
Fusion.
Not combination—transformation.
Abilities merged into something qualitatively superior.
Super Intelligence and Super Senses.
Reinforced Physiology, Healing Factor, Strength.
Unknown outcomes.
But one certainty—
Unlocking it would redefine his capabilities.
At current rates, ordinary patients provided minimal gains. High-value individuals—those like Daredevil or Luke Cage—accelerated progression dramatically.
He needed more.
"We need better patients," Lynn said quietly.
He returned upstairs and turned on the computer at the front desk.
The news loaded.
Stark Industries stock had dropped four percent over three consecutive days.
The reason—
Tony Stark had canceled another public appearance.
Official explanation: food poisoning.
Lynn enlarged the image attached to the article.
Tony stood in a dark suit, wearing sunglasses. To an ordinary observer, he appeared slightly fatigued.
To Lynn—
The details were precise.
Skin tone—uniform gray shift. Not fatigue. Systemic.
Neck—localized discoloration beneath the collar. Texture inconsistent with surrounding tissue. Metallic deposition pattern.
Hands—fingertips darker than baseline. Peripheral circulation impairment.
All indicators aligned.
Palladium toxicity.
The arc reactor core embedded in his chest was slowly poisoning him. Palladium was entering the bloodstream through the interface point, accumulating over time and degrading organ function.
At the current progression rate—
Without intervention—
Tony Stark had three to four months left.