MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

Lynn adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses slowly.

Completely ignoring the six bodyguards surrounding the clinic.

Their hands remained near concealed pistols beneath their jackets.

Heartbeats elevated.

Breathing controlled.

Professional killers.

But inside Battlefield Domain—

Their movements already resembled predictable mechanical patterns.

Lynn stepped forward calmly until he stood beside Norman Osborn.

Then lowered his voice slightly.

"Mr. Osborn."

"There appears to be a small issue with your serum."

Norman's pupils contracted instantly.

His body stiffened visibly.

The Goblin Serum represented Oscorp's deepest classified project.

Outside a handful of trusted researchers—

No one should have known it even existed.

Yet this doctor had identified it immediately.

"Your muscle fibers are dissolving," Lynn continued quietly.

"Beginning three weeks ago, your body started requiring approximately five times the normal nutritional intake simply to maintain ordinary movement."

"Your cerebral cortex also experiences abnormal electrical activity during late-night periods."

"Auditory hallucinations."

"Visual distortions."

"Insomnia."

"The voices are becoming louder recently, aren't they?"

Every sentence drained more color from Norman's face.

Because every statement was correct.

More accurate than the reports from his own private physicians.

Lynn straightened slightly afterward.

His tone sharpened subtly.

"So understand the situation clearly."

"You didn't come here to purchase me."

"You came here begging me to save your life."

"And begging follows rules."

The final sentence shattered Norman's composure completely.

Fear.

Humiliation.

Paranoia.

All the instability generated by the imperfect Goblin Serum erupted simultaneously.

His expression twisted violently.

"You arrogant little bastard!"

Norman swung his hand sharply backward.

"Grab him!"

"Teach him who actually controls New York!"

The six bodyguards drew weapons instantly.

Silenced Glock 17 pistols appeared simultaneously from six separate angles.

Muzzles locked onto Lynn's head and chest.

Closest distance:

Less than two meters.

An execution scenario.

At least—

That's how it appeared to ordinary people.

Norman's face twisted into a satisfied smile.

He loved this feeling.

Absolute violence crushing uncertainty.

Forcing everyone to kneel eventually.

The doctor would learn the lesson now.

But Lynn only sighed softly.

Almost bored.

"What a nuisance."

Then—

He moved.

To the bodyguards—

His figure blurred momentarily like a skipped frame in damaged video footage.

Inside Battlefield Domain—

The entire world slowed dramatically.

Finger muscles tightening before trigger pulls.

Heartbeat acceleration patterns.

Predicted bullet trajectories.

Every movement unfolded clearly before execution.

The six firing angles transformed into a three-dimensional map of safe pathways.

Meanwhile—

The combined effects of Captain America's Super-Soldier Physiology and incomplete Thor-derived Asgardian Physique elevated Lynn's speed beyond ordinary human comprehension.

"Too slow."

One sidestep.

One body rotation.

Then—

Crack. Crack. Crack-crack-crack.

A chain of horrifying fracture sounds echoed across the clinic almost simultaneously.

Elapsed time:

Less than one second.

The six bodyguards never even fired a single bullet.

Their pistols clattered across the floor.

Each man screamed and grabbed his shattered wrist instinctively.

Every dominant-hand joint had been broken at the exact optimal angle for maximum structural destruction.

Clean.

Precise.

Efficient.

Norman's smile froze completely.

He hadn't even seen what happened.

One blur—

And six elite security operatives collapsed like broken dolls.

Before he fully processed the shock—

A hand pressed onto his shoulder.

Heavy.

Overwhelming.

Like being pinned beneath industrial machinery.

Lynn appeared behind him soundlessly and forced him downward into the reception chair with one hand.

Norman suddenly struggled even to breathe.

"Mr. Osborn."

Lynn's voice remained polite.

"Let's discuss your illness calmly."

Fear flooded Norman's face completely now.

"You…"

His voice trembled.

"Who are you?"

"A doctor."

Lynn walked around the desk slowly and stood directly in front of him.

The gaze behind the gold-rimmed glasses remained calm and cold simultaneously.

"A doctor who dislikes interruptions during working hours."

He tapped the untouched contract lightly using two fingers.

"Now…"

"We can discuss pricing."

Behind him—

The six bodyguards continued groaning on the floor clutching ruined wrists.

Lynn ignored them entirely.

As though they were merely furniture blocking the hallway.

He reached beneath the counter and removed a tablet.

Then began typing rapidly.

"Your condition originates from the molecular instability within the first-generation Goblin Serum."

"Specifically…"

"The ratio involving the seventh isotope compound and its purification process was catastrophically incorrect."

Norman's breathing stopped momentarily.

That information represented Oscorp's highest classified research data.

Even senior executives lacked full access.

Yet Lynn described the flaw immediately after a brief visual examination.

"The flawed ratio enhanced physical capability successfully," Lynn continued.

"But it also activated a dormant recessive aggression-linked gene sequence buried inside your DNA."

"That is the true origin of the violent secondary personality developing inside your brain."

"The so-called Green Goblin persona isn't supernatural."

"It's chemically induced neurological fragmentation."

Each sentence destroyed another layer of Norman's psychological defenses.

Money.

Power.

Violence.

The foundations supporting Norman Osborn's entire identity collapsed rapidly before this terrifyingly knowledgeable doctor.

Finally—

He asked the only question that mattered.

"You…"

His voice had become hoarse.

"You can cure me?"

"Of course."

Lynn rotated the tablet toward him calmly.

A newly generated consultation bill filled the screen.

"As long as you can afford the treatment."

Norman looked downward.

Then his breathing stopped entirely.

[Consultation Bill]

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