MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

The first day after acquiring Analysis of All Things—

Lynn spent most of the time adapting to the information overload.

He stood at the clinic entrance and looked down the street.

Within seconds—

An enormous quantity of data flooded his mind simultaneously.

Three LED units on the convenience-store sign across the street were near failure.

The roots of the sidewalk plane tree had begun damaging underground drainage infrastructure.

A middle-aged man descending subway stairs twenty meters away exhibited abnormal lateral knee motion consistent with degenerative meniscal tearing.

Too much.

The ability did not distinguish importance automatically.

Everything possessed structure.

Everything generated analysis.

By midday, Lynn began constructing cognitive filters using his enhanced mental control.

Low-priority information—

Suppressed.

Deep analysis activated only through intentional focus.

The rest remained in passive standby mode.

The adaptation worked.

By afternoon, he could maintain Analysis of All Things continuously without interfering with ordinary patient consultations.

On the second day—

Something unusual appeared.

A black male in his forties entered the clinic during the morning.

Occupation:

Mover.

Primary complaints:

Persistent body heat.

Intermittent red dermal eruptions disappearing after several hours.

Previous hospital testing—

Negative.

Blood work normal.

Allergy screening inconclusive.

Lynn activated the combined Universal Diagnosis and Analysis interface.

Then paused.

On the long arm of chromosome three—

A non-coding DNA region displayed abnormal methylation activity.

Normally inactive.

Now—

Showing signs of partial activation.

Not natural mutation.

The methylation signature contained identifiable characteristics of engineered retroviral editing.

Artificial.

"Where have you been recently?" Lynn asked.

"Same routine as always," the man replied.

"Live in Harlem. Work loading cargo near the Brooklyn docks."

"Mostly subway travel."

"Which lines?"

"The 1 train. Sometimes the A."

A pause.

"I transfer around 125th Street a lot."

125th Street.

Central Harlem.

Lynn prescribed antihistamine medication.

The visible symptoms were merely mild immune-system instability.

Easily controlled.

But he did not mention the genetic anomaly.

Not yet.

The implications remained unclear.

That same afternoon—

Another patient arrived.

White female.

Early twenties.

Residence:

116th Street, Harlem.

Symptoms:

Intermittent muscle spasms.

Episodes of abnormal skin flushing.

The diagnostic result—

Nearly identical.

Chromosome-three non-coding activation.

Retroviral modification traces.

Two unrelated individuals.

Different ethnicity.

Different age.

Different occupation.

Only one common factor—

Harlem.

Someone had released something there.

Lynn locked both files inside the desk drawer.

He intended to investigate further before acting—

But events accelerated before he had the chance.

Third evening.

7:30 p.m.

The clinic had already closed.

Lynn was upstairs organizing medication inventory when the encrypted communicator activated.

He went downstairs and answered immediately.

"Lynn."

Nick Fury's voice carried more urgency than usual.

"Yes."

"Situation in Harlem. Multiple civilians have undergone uncontrolled physical mutation within the last forty-eight hours."

"At least twenty confirmed cases."

"Mutation patterns?"

"Completely inconsistent."

"Some developed scales. Others experienced uncontrolled muscle hypertrophy. Several transformed into non-human morphologies."

Lynn tapped the communicator lightly.

"Randomized mutation expression," he said quietly.

"Correct," Fury replied.

"Post-transformation aggression levels are extreme. Civilians attack anything nearby."

"NYPD lost control hours ago."

"Three SWAT deployments. Two failed."

"What's the current assessment?"

"Probable Hydra genetic experimentation."

"Field testing."

"Crude compared to earlier enhancement programs, but significantly less stable."

"Testing on civilians."

"Hydra has done worse."

Silence.

Brief.

"The Avengers are already on-site," Fury continued.

"But these people were civilians before mutation."

"We can't authorize lethal force unless absolutely necessary."

"What do you need from me?"

"Get there."

"Analyze the mutagen."

"Find a reversal pathway if one exists."

"A helicopter can reach your rooftop within twenty minutes."

Lynn thought for two seconds.

"One condition."

"Go ahead."

"If any heroes on-site sustain injuries, I receive treatment priority."

Fury was silent for a moment.

"Agreed."

The line disconnected.

Lynn immediately opened the medical storage cabinet.

Removed a portable medical kit.

Contents:

Emergency trauma supplies.

Broad-spectrum antidote compounds.

Portable Stark-modified biochemical analyzer.

Nineteen minutes later—

A S.H.I.E.L.D. Black Hawk helicopter landed on the clinic rooftop.

As Lynn climbed aboard carrying the case, the pilot looked at him once.

White coat.

Gold-rimmed glasses.

Calm expression.

He did not resemble someone entering an active combat zone.

"Move out," Lynn said after fastening the restraints.

The helicopter lifted off immediately.

Hell's Kitchen shrank beneath them.

The lights of Manhattan stretched outward into the night.

Course heading:

Northeast.

Harlem.

Even from over ten kilometers away—

Lynn's enhanced senses detected the disturbance.

Explosions.

Automatic gunfire.

Metal impacts.

And—

Inhuman vocalizations.

Not ordinary screams.

As the helicopter crossed into Harlem airspace, Lynn looked through the side hatch toward the streets below.

The scene resembled a war zone.

Between 125th Street and 130th Street—

Six entire blocks had been sealed.

Armored vehicles formed barricades across major intersections.

Behind them:

S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical teams.

NYPD SWAT units.

Combined deployment strength—

Over two hundred personnel.

Inside the quarantine zone—

Chaos.

Overturned vehicles.

Burning storefronts.

Glass scattered across the streets.

And among the destruction—

Mutants.

One of the most recent transformations appeared to have once been a middle-aged man.

Now—

Height exceeded two and a half meters.

Arms thicker than utility poles.

Bluish-gray scales covering the body like layered armor.

He lifted an SUV overhead and smashed it directly into a barricade.

Farther down the block—

Another mutant had developed insectoid morphology across the upper torso.

Segmented exoskeletal limbs extended from the ribs.

Movement speed—

Abnormally fast.

A female mutant radiated visible thermal distortion.

The asphalt softened and melted beneath her footsteps.

Several familiar figures were already fighting at the front line.

Captain America's shield flashed beneath the streetlights as he intercepted a charging mutant.

At the same time, he pushed wounded civilians behind the containment line with his free arm.

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