Chapter 63 Midnight Emergency Dispatch
A local gang leader had been blasted through the abdomen during a shotgun firefight.
Intestinal rupture.
Massive internal bleeding.
Septic contamination risk approaching critical levels.
After paying one hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash—
Plus three high-purity gold bars—
He had been dragged back from the edge of death by Lynn using a combination of the The Punisher-derived healing factor and a tissue-regeneration stimulant synthesized through Iron Man's portable laboratory systems.
The basement of Miracle Clinic now carried a thick mixture of smells.
Disinfectant.
Fresh blood.
Burned tissue.
Lynn stood beside the operating table carefully cleaning surgical instruments one by one.
Every motion remained meticulous.
Precise.
As though he had just repaired a complex precision machine rather than reconstructed shredded human organs.
"Not bad," he murmured quietly.
"A profitable operation."
The system interface flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.
[Reputation Change: +10 (High-Difficulty Gang-Level Surgery)]
[Current Reputation: 770]
With the rewards from the Gotham incident included—
His current financial position had become extremely comfortable.
Seven hundred seventy reputation points.
Enough for two additional forge operations.
Enough for another major enhancement.
Lynn was just about to begin deeper analysis of the newly acquired S-Rank ability—
Battlefield Domain—
When the entire system interface suddenly changed color.
Deep crimson.
An alarm exploded directly through his consciousness.
[Warning!]
[High-Level High-Dimensional Alien Energy Entity Has Breached Earth's Atmosphere!]
[Rapid Descent Detected Over North American Continent!]
[Energy Classification: S-Rank (Decaying)]
[Target Location Locked: Desert Region Outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico]
Lynn's hand stopped mid-motion while wiping the scalpel clean.
S-Rank alien energy.
One name surfaced instantly.
Thor.
The real plot had finally begun.
Almost simultaneously—
The encrypted black emergency phone on the reception desk began vibrating violently.
The line belonged to Nick Fury personally.
In theory—
It activated only during events approaching catastrophic-level emergencies.
Lynn walked upstairs calmly and answered the call.
"Director Fury."
Fury's voice came from the other side immediately.
Completely different from normal.
Usually—
His tone remained calm enough to discuss nuclear threats over breakfast.
This time—
There was visible urgency beneath the restraint.
Almost tension.
"Where are you?" Fury asked directly.
"At my clinic."
Lynn's voice stayed perfectly steady.
"It's midnight. Law-abiding doctors generally sleep during this period."
"Enough."
Fury cut him off immediately.
"Drop whatever you're doing."
"I need you somewhere now."
The words came rapidly.
No wasted time.
"A Quinjet reaches your rooftop in fifteen minutes."
"Bring your best medical equipment."
Lynn adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses slightly while looking out into the night sky beyond the clinic windows.
Perfect timing.
Negotiation opportunity identified instantly.
"Director Fury," he said mildly,
"You know my consultation rules."
"Especially interstate emergency consultations."
"And judging from your tone…"
A slight pause.
"The patient appears unusually valuable."
Silence followed for roughly two seconds.
Lynn could almost hear Fury grinding his teeth.
"What do you want?"
"Simple."
The corner of Lynn's mouth curved faintly.
"I've recently been researching advanced tissue-regeneration technologies."
"I require several rare catalytic materials."
"There should be extraterrestrial-metal samples stored inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Warehouse Seven."
"Specifically the meteorite-derived alloys labeled X-03 through X-11."
"I'll need fifty grams of each."
Every requested material had been identified previously using Analysis of All Things during covert database observation.
None existed naturally on Earth.
Their future value for pharmaceutical synthesis and specialized equipment development bordered on immeasurable.
"You—"
Fury's breathing became noticeably heavier.
"You're exploiting a crisis."
"I prefer the phrase equivalent exchange."
Lynn's tone remained relaxed.
"A patient important enough for you to activate an emergency extraction at midnight should logically exceed the value of several hundred grams of rare material."
"Wouldn't you agree?"
Another suffocating silence.
Longer this time.
Then finally—
"…Deal."
The word practically emerged through clenched teeth.
"But if you can't solve this problem—"
"I'm a doctor."
Lynn interrupted calmly.
"I treat patients."
"Who they are and why they're injured isn't my concern."
"See you on the rooftop in fifteen minutes."
The call ended.
Lynn immediately packed the portable medical case.
This time—
He deliberately selected several precision instruments modified personally using Stark-engineering principles.
Miniature surgical scanners.
Portable molecular analyzers.
High-density tissue stabilizers.
Fourteen minutes later—
A black Quinjet descended silently above Miracle Clinic.
The rear hatch opened.
Black Widow stood inside.
"Move."
Natasha gave him a brief glance.
"We're already behind schedule."
…
Two hours later—
The Quinjet landed inside a sealed desert region in New Mexico.
Floodlights illuminated the barren terrain.
A massive crater dominated the center of the desert.
Around it—
S.H.I.E.L.D. had established a fully operational temporary research base.
Hundreds of agents and researchers moved rapidly between mobile laboratories, armored transport units, and energy-analysis stations.
As Lynn stepped off the Quinjet—
Phil Coulson approached immediately.
Normally calm and approachable—
Tonight, even Coulson's expression carried visible tension.
"Doctor Lynn."
He extended a hand quickly.
"Thank you for coming."
"Where's the patient?"
"In the highest-security isolation chamber."
Coulson guided him rapidly toward the center of the base.
"The situation is complicated."
"We don't know his identity yet."
"He appeared near the crater several hours ago."
"Then attempted to retrieve that hammer."
Coulson pointed toward the center of the crater.
There—
Embedded deeply into the ground—
Rested a massive war hammer surrounded by containment equipment and scanning arrays.
Mjolnir.
"He failed to move it," Coulson continued.
"Our personnel attempted containment."
"He responded aggressively."
"He sustained severe injuries during suppression."
"Gunfire."
"Impact trauma."
"Possible energy-weapon exposure."
Coulson's voice lowered slightly.
"But what concerns us most…"
"We don't understand why his vital signs are collapsing."
They stopped outside a reinforced white isolation chamber.
Through thick ballistic glass—
Lynn finally saw the patient.
A blond man over 1.9 meters tall lay restrained to a reinforced metal platform using dozens of electromagnetic restraints.
Bare upper body.
Musculature resembling classical Greek sculpture.
But now—
That body was covered with severe trauma.
Blunt-force fractures.
Collapsed ribs.
Multiple lacerations.
One penetrating abdominal wound appeared consistent with high-energy weapon impact.
Yet the truly abnormal detail—
Was the blood.
The blood flowing from the wounds emitted faint golden luminescence.
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