MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

Then came the final strike.

A straight right punch.

No feint.

No angle manipulation.

Pure power.

Lynn's fist smashed directly into the center of Bane's Venom mask.

Boom.

The remaining Venom-delivery tubes ruptured simultaneously from the impact.

Cracks spread instantly across the reinforced mask structure.

From top to bottom—

Like shattered glass splitting apart under pressure.

Bane's massive body flew backward.

He crashed into a burning police cruiser hard enough to cave the metal inward into a human-shaped dent.

Flames burst outward from the impact point.

Then he slid downward slowly.

Half-kneeling amidst broken asphalt and burning debris.

All Venom delivery lines—

Destroyed.

The effect appeared almost immediately.

The grotesquely swollen muscles began shrinking rapidly.

Veins receded.

Muscle fibers contracted.

Strength drained visibly from the body.

Ten seconds later—

The towering Venom-enhanced monster standing over 2.3 meters tall had collapsed back toward his natural physique.

Approximately 1.9 meters.

Still massive.

Still muscular.

But human again.

The shattered remains of the mask fell apart piece by piece, revealing a pale face twisted by prolonged Venom abuse.

Years of chemical enhancement had left visible damage beneath the skin.

He looked upward weakly at the black-clad figure standing before him.

Then—

Collapsed completely beneath his own weight.

The psychological effect spread through Hydra's forces instantly.

Their symbol of invincibility had fallen.

Morale disintegrated.

Exoskeleton troops began withdrawing first.

Infantry units followed immediately afterward.

The retreat became disorderly within seconds.

Batman cut off the southern route from the rooftops and alleyways.

Lynn blocked the north directly from street level.

Between them—

The remaining Hydra mercenaries lost all organized escape vectors.

Fifteen minutes later—

Gotham City Police Department reinforcements finally arrived.

James Gordon personally led three tactical squads into the district.

Floodlights illuminated the shattered avenue.

Police barricades sealed both ends of the street.

One surviving Hydra operator attempted resistance.

Batman disabled the rifle instantly with a batarang before the trigger finished pulling.

Another tried escaping through an alley.

Lynn intercepted him with a single shoulder strike that sent the exoskeleton operator crashing into a brick wall unconscious.

Within minutes—

The battlefield stabilized completely.

In the middle of the ruined street—

Batman walked toward Lynn.

The Batsuit showed extensive damage.

Shoulder armor cracked.

Cape torn in multiple locations.

Chest plating punctured by heavy-caliber rounds.

But his posture remained perfectly straight.

"You identified the Venom tubes as the primary weakness," Bruce said through the voice modulator.

"Then you severed all six using three offensive sequences."

"I counted four," Lynn replied calmly.

"The first movement was a feint."

"A feint still counts."

Batman stopped two meters away from him.

"Your combat execution contained almost no wasted movement."

"Target selection."

"Force allocation."

"Timing."

"Everything was pre-calculated."

Bruce paused briefly.

"How much exactly have you learned?"

Lynn reached upward and removed the tactical mask slowly.

His face underneath remained calm.

No pride.

No visible emotion.

"Not enough," he answered.

"So I'm still learning."

Batman looked at him silently.

The lenses of the cowl concealed most of Bruce's expression.

But the stillness itself carried enormous weight.

Because Bruce understood something now with absolute clarity:

Lynn's growth was accelerating.

And accelerating quickly.

In only several months—

He had evolved from an unknown clinic doctor into someone capable of confronting Bane directly in open combat.

The sirens of approaching ambulances echoed through the avenue in the distance.

Neither man spoke further.

…

Forty-eight hours later.

Batcave.

Bruce Wayne sat alone before the Batcomputer.

The screen replayed footage from the Bane battle repeatedly.

Specifically—

The sequence where Lynn accepted Bane's punch head-on.

Bruce slowed the recording frame by frame.

Force-distribution analysis.

Impact-vector calculations.

Muscle-response timing.

Everything exceeded expectations.

Bruce opened the encrypted investigation file titled:

Investigation of Lynn

Then added a new entry manually.

He typed slowly.

Carefully considering each sentence before entering it.

In less than three months, the subject evolved from an ordinary civilian into an individual capable of defeating Bane directly in frontal combat.

Growth speed exceeds all prior predictive models.

Bruce paused briefly.

Then continued typing.

When the subject stated there may be no upper limit to his learning ability, the statement may not have been humility.

It may have been factual.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then the final line appeared.

If his growth truly has no limit, what happens if he loses control one day?

Bruce stared at the sentence silently.

Part of him disliked the thought immediately.

Objectively—

Lynn had not crossed ethical boundaries.

He healed civilians.

Protected people during crises.

Assisted Batman against Hydra.

Stopped Bane.

Everything Lynn had done so far aligned more closely with heroism than danger.

But Batman's responsibility did not allow emotional comfort to replace preparation.

A man whose abilities constantly evolved.

A man who potentially possessed no ceiling.

Such an existence required contingency planning.

Bruce created a second encrypted folder.

Folder name:

Protocol L

The folder remained empty.

For now.

But Bruce already knew eventually it would contain something.

…

S.H.I.E.L.D. Sector Three Base.

A battle-analysis report from Gotham rested on Nick Fury's desk.

Officially—

Gotham fell outside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary operational authority.

Unofficially—

Hydra activity anywhere automatically became Fury's concern.

One section of the report drew his attention immediately.

An unidentified black-clad combatant intervened during the Gotham engagement alongside Batman.

Observed capabilities include:

Superhuman strength exceeding estimated 1,000-pound force output.

Bullet-resistant skin durability.

Extremely advanced tactical prediction and combat execution.

Threat assessment:

Minimum A+ combat classification.

Fury's remaining eye narrowed slightly.

The report continued.

Based on movement analysis, body structure, behavioral patterns, and engagement chronology, the unidentified individual possesses a high probability of being—

Below that line—

One name appeared.

Lynn.

Fury opened Lynn's personnel file again.

Then added another red annotation beneath the previous warning entries.

Recommend Level One surveillance escalation.

Preserve cooperative relationship.

Subject's strategic value remains extremely high.

Independent contingency protocols required.

He saved the file.

Then reached for the coffee beside the monitor.

Cold again.

Just like last time.

…

Fisk Tower.

Night.

When James Wesley entered the darkened office, Kingpin was reading a newspaper silently.

The front page covered Bane's attack on Gotham.

Destroyed vehicles.

Burning streets.

Collapsed infrastructure.

But Fisk wasn't looking at the Gotham article itself.

His attention focused elsewhere.

The political section.

Councilman Coleman formally indicted by a federal grand jury for illegal campaign financing.

The "Oriental Ocean Trading Company" at Red Hook seized during a customs investigation involving smuggling accusations.

A Brooklyn warehouse tied to Fisk's network raided by the NYPD.

Large quantities of illegal weapons recovered.

Three separate operations.

Three different directions.

Triggered almost simultaneously.

Fisk folded the newspaper slowly and placed it onto the table.

The movement itself remained controlled.

But Wesley understood immediately how dangerous the silence had become.

"Where's Ryan?" Fisk asked quietly.

"In custody."

Wesley answered immediately.

"Currently held on Rikers Island."

"Our attorneys are attempting intervention."

Fisk nodded once.

"The damage report?"

Wesley removed a document from the briefcase and handed it over.

Fisk reviewed the contents silently.

Three major financial channels compromised simultaneously.

Estimated short-term losses:

At least eighty million dollars.

Projected recovery period:

Three to six months.

Fisk closed the document.

"This is beyond the capability of a normal doctor," he said quietly.

"Disrupting three separate funding lines simultaneously requires precise intelligence gathering, coordinated execution, and external support."

Wesley remained silent.

"He isn't operating alone."

Fisk's voice lowered slightly.

"He has S.H.I.E.L.D."

"He has Daredevil's legal network."

"He has The Punisher."

Suddenly—

His hand slammed down against the table.

Boom.

"He's building a network."

Fisk stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Manhattan.

A whiteboard stood nearby.

Several names already appeared across it.

Gang leaders.

Politicians.

Corporate fronts.

Fisk picked up a red marker.

Then circled one name heavily.

Lynn.

Beside it, he wrote a single sentence:

This man must be dealt with eventually.

But not now.

Too much damage required repair first.

Fisk turned around slowly.

"Wesley."

"Yes."

"Lie low."

"No contact with Miracle Clinic for three months."

"Understood."

Wesley left the office quietly.

Kingpin remained standing beside the window alone, watching the lights of Manhattan in the distance.

His breathing stayed calm.

His heartbeat remained steady.

He was not a man who surrendered easily.

…

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