Chapter 36 Iron Man's Phone Call
Bruce Wayne typed the first line into the encrypted file.
"Subject's growth rate is abnormal."
A second line followed.
"Three weeks ago: community college medical student, no documented combat background."
Then—
"Three weeks later: capable of neutralizing twelve operatives from The Hand using tactical methodology approaching my own."
Bruce paused.
The cursor blinked.
He continued typing.
"Possible explanations:
Long-term concealed training (unlikely; background investigation shows no combat history).Subject possesses an unknown mechanism enabling rapid acquisition of external skill sets or abilities."
The final sentence remained on screen.
Bruce read it again.
Once.
Twice.
"Alfred."
Alfred Pennyworth stepped closer.
"Yes, sir."
"Contact Lucius."
"I need a surveillance system capable of penetrating electromagnetic shielding."
At the same time—
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Sector Three—
A fresh report rested on Fury's desk.
Miracle Clinic Attacked by the Hand
Source:
Hell's Kitchen surveillance grid.
Nick Fury finished reading.
Then updated the file manually.
Original classification:
High-value cooperative asset.
Revised classification:
High-value cooperative asset.
Potential unknown threat.
Continuous observation authorized.
…
Stark Tower.
Basement Level Three laboratory.
Tony Stark sat before a holographic display.
Blood analysis data rotated slowly in blue light.
Every graph showed the same trend.
Palladium concentration—
Increasing.
"JARVIS," Tony said, eyes fixed on the screen, "current rate of increase?"
"0.14% daily, sir. At current progression, projected time to lethal systemic toxicity is approximately 173 days."
Less than six months.
Tony stared at the projection.
Three seconds.
Then closed it.
Like dismissing an unimportant notification.
He reached for his coffee with his left hand.
His right hand trembled slightly.
He noticed this time.
Peripheral neural degradation.
Progression accelerating.
Fury had contacted him the previous week.
Suggested a doctor.
Trusted.
Tony's exact response had been:
"Trusted by you, or trusted by me?"
Then he disconnected the call.
It wasn't denial.
Tony knew he was dying.
He simply refused to surrender control of the solution.
That was the core of it.
Tony Stark solved problems himself.
But the replacement element project had stalled completely.
Palladium had to go.
The arc reactor required a substitute capable of:
High energy density.
Long-term biocompatibility.
Structural stability.
JARVIS had simulated thousands of atomic configurations.
None worked.
Another failure had occurred that morning.
Afterward—
Tony had gone to make coffee.
Halfway through pouring—
His hand shook.
Coffee spilled across the counter.
He stared at it for several seconds.
"JARVIS."
"Yes, sir?"
"Find a place called Miracle Clinic in Hell's Kitchen. And the doctor running it."
Search time:
Fifteen seconds.
A file appeared.
"Dr. Lynn. Twenty-two years old. Chinese American. Former community college medical student. Did not complete medical degree."
"Opened Miracle Clinic approximately one month ago."
Tony frowned.
"That's it?"
"Additional public records available," JARVIS replied.
"Clinic diagnostic accuracy currently recorded at one hundred percent."
Three highlighted cases appeared.
Misdiagnosed Moyamoya disease.
Subacute thyroiditis.
False-positive lung cancer pathology.
"There is also a local news segment," JARVIS continued.
"Title: Young Chinese American Doctor in Hell's Kitchen Corrects Three Misdiagnoses in Three Minutes."
Tony scrolled through the information.
"A dropout."
A pause.
"Fury wants me to see a dropout?"
"Director Fury stated only that the subject 'might be able to help you,' sir."
"That's a recommendation."
Tony leaned back in his chair.
"Fury never says things directly."
He rotated the coffee cup once in his hand.
He did not want to go.
A twenty-two-year-old clinic doctor in Hell's Kitchen—
With no completed degree.
Absurd.
Then his hand trembled again.
"JARVIS."
"Yes, sir?"
"Call the clinic."
"Dialing."
The line rang three times.
"Miracle Clinic."
Young voice.
Steady.
No hesitation.
"This is Tony Stark."
A brief pause.
Approximately one second.
"Hello, Mr. Stark. Registration or appointment?"
Tony blinked.
"What?"
"Registration allows same-day consultation. Appointment scheduling requires waiting."
"Current registration fee is ten thousand dollars."
A short pause.
"Today's appointments are full. Earliest available slot is three days from now."
Tony sat upright.
"You're discussing registration policy with me?"
"I'm Tony Stark."
"Mr. Stark," Lynn replied evenly, "there's no VIP queue at my clinic."
"I'll reserve a slot for you three days from now at 2:00 p.m. Just provide your name at arrival."
Click.
The call disconnected.
Tony remained motionless.
Phone still in hand.
Four seconds.
"JARVIS."
"Yes, sir?"
"He hung up on me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Analysis indicates no measurable fluctuation in heart rate or speech rhythm after hearing your identity."
A pause.
"He either doesn't recognize your name…"
"Or recognizes it and is unaffected by it."
Tony stared upward at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Ten seconds.
"Three days?"
"2:00 p.m., sir. Shall I place it on your calendar?"
"Yes."
Tony picked up the coffee again.
Now cold.
"And if anyone asks, I'm going to Hell's Kitchen to inspect a potential charitable investment."
"Understood."
A brief pause.
"As for the ten-thousand-dollar registration fee?"
"Personal account."
"Do not run it through Stark Industries."
Another pause.
"Miss Potts would ask questions."
…
Three days later.
1:55 p.m.
A black Audi A8 stopped outside Miracle Clinic.
No driver.
Tony had driven himself.
Dark gray casual suit.
No tie.
Top buttons undone.
New sunglasses.
Tom Ford.
He remained seated inside the car for twenty seconds before opening the door.
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