MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

The twelve operatives approaching Miracle Clinic moved with absolute silence.

Silenced tactical boots.

Optical-camouflage combat suits.

Suppressed submachine guns modified for covert elimination.

And attached beneath each operative's wrist—

A specialized high-molecular neurotoxin injector.

At the front of the formation walked a heavily built man whose eyes remained cold and emotionless beneath the combat mask.

Crossbones.

Real name:

Brock Rumlow.

One of the most elite tactical-assault commanders hidden inside both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. simultaneously.

Rumlow raised one hand calmly.

Tactical sign language spread instantly through the squad.

Four secured external perimeter positions.

Two moved toward the neighborhood power-distribution box.

Two climbed surrounding rooftops establishing sniper sightlines.

The remaining four—

Including Rumlow himself—

Advanced directly toward Miracle Clinic's entrance.

Professional.

Efficient.

The operation resembled a textbook covert urban extraction.

Three seconds later—

The entire block lost electrical power.

Streetlights died instantly.

Traffic signals shut down.

Darkness swallowed the neighborhood.

Rumlow activated thermal night vision.

No movement inside the clinic.

No visible guards.

No electronic-defense systems detected.

He approached the entrance silently—

Then kicked the door inward.

Boom.

"Move."

The four-man breach team surged into the clinic lobby immediately.

Textbook close-quarters battle procedure unfolded perfectly.

Door secured.

Blind corners checked.

Firing angles established.

Within three seconds—

Every possible kill zone inside the lobby had been controlled.

Then—

All four operatives stopped moving simultaneously.

The lobby was brightly illuminated.

Not by the clinic's electrical systems.

Those remained offline.

The light originated from a floating holographic projector positioned above the central coffee table.

Soft blue light spread calmly throughout the room.

And beside the projector—

Seated casually on a leather sofa—

A man wearing a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses quietly turned another page of the book in his hands.

Lynn did not even look upward.

"Captain Rumlow."

His voice sounded calm and polite.

"Midnight medical consultation?"

Rumlow's pupils contracted violently.

How?

His identity inside S.H.I.E.L.D. remained flawless.

Even Nick Fury himself did not know Crossbones' true allegiance.

Rumlow raised the suppressed weapon directly toward Lynn's forehead.

His hand remained steady.

"Dr. Lynn."

"Come with us quietly."

"Nobody needs to get hurt."

Lynn leaned back comfortably against the sofa.

"What neurotoxin are you carrying?"

"VX derivative?"

"Modified tetrodotoxin?"

A faint smile appeared across his face.

"Neither will affect me."

Then—

His gaze shifted briefly toward the cloaking suits.

"However…"

"I am interested in your equipment."

"Optical-camouflage systems are not standard S.H.I.E.L.D. inventory."

"Hydra Siberian Research Facility KZ-774?"

The atmosphere froze instantly.

The three operatives behind Rumlow exchanged instinctive glances.

Fear.

Not because their identities had merely been exposed.

But because this doctor knew details impossible for ordinary intelligence agencies to obtain.

Equipment origin.

Facility designation.

Internal serial classification.

"You know too much."

Rumlow's voice deepened dangerously.

Finger tightening slowly against the trigger.

"That simplifies things."

"If necessary…"

A slight pause.

"…a corpse is acceptable too."

"Dead is acceptable?"

Lynn finished the sentence for him casually.

Then—

He pressed a button atop the holographic projector.

Instantly—

The floating light shifted from soft blue to blood-red.

A gigantic three-dimensional world map unfolded throughout the lobby.

Hundreds of glowing red points illuminated simultaneously.

Each point accompanied by floating data entries:

Coordinates.

Facility names.

Personnel identities.

Funding chains.

Rumlow's breathing stopped momentarily.

"Siberia."

Lynn read calmly.

"Winter Soldier cryogenic storage facility."

"67.3 degrees north. 82.7 east."

"Zurich."

"Hydra neural-conditioning laboratory."

"Brainwashing division research center."

"Washington D.C."

"Alexander Pierce private financial reserves."

"Swiss account balance…"

He glanced briefly toward the data.

"…2.2 billion dollars."

"Brooklyn safehouse."

"Crossbones tactical response unit staging area."

One location after another appeared continuously.

Weapons depots.

Black-budget laboratories.

Sleeper-agent lists.

Encrypted funding routes.

The entire hidden Hydra structure—

Mapped openly in front of them.

Rumlow's weapon trembled faintly.

Not from fear.

From shock severe enough to disrupt muscular control.

Because Hydra itself did not possess this level of complete structural awareness.

Its honeycomb operational model intentionally isolated every branch.

Most agents knew only immediate superiors and downstream contacts.

Yet Lynn had reconstructed the entire network.

Perfectly.

"I'll repeat myself."

Lynn closed the book quietly and stood up.

Then walked slowly toward Rumlow.

The submachine gun tracked his movement continuously.

Yet—

Rumlow's finger would not pull the trigger.

Professional instinct screamed one conclusion repeatedly inside his mind:

Firing meant death.

Lynn stopped directly beside him.

Close enough that Rumlow could clearly see his own reflection inside the doctor's gold-rimmed glasses.

"I already loosened my grip."

Lynn's tone remained gentle.

"This information package is currently linked to six independent transmission routes."

"Director Fury's encrypted server."

"The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs' private terminal."

"The CIA Director's secure communication line."

"The New York Times editorial inbox."

"MI6 encrypted intelligence channel."

"And…"

A slight pause.

"Bruce Wayne's personal email."

Rumlow's heartbeat accelerated uncontrollably.

Lynn looked down calmly at the assault-team commander standing half a head shorter than himself.

"Tell me, Captain Rumlow…"

"How many nights do you think Pierce will sleep peacefully after receiving this gift?"

Silence.

Absolute silence filled the clinic lobby.

Finally—

Rumlow activated the communicator attached beneath his collar.

"Sir."

His voice sounded tense for the first time.

"Target unsuitable for direct extraction."

"Request immediate direct communication."

Several seconds passed.

Then—

A calm, smooth voice emerged through the communicator.

The perfectly controlled voice of a lifelong politician.

"Dr. Lynn."

Alexander Pierce finally spoke personally.

"I believe some misunderstanding has occurred between us."

"No misunderstanding."

Lynn interrupted immediately.

"You intend to abduct me."

"Transport me to your Siberian facility."

"Then use Winter Soldier neural-conditioning systems to convert me into Hydra property."

A brief silence followed.

Pierce's breathing paused faintly.

"Please…"

His tone remained measured.

"Surely rational individuals can negotiate—"

"Do not discuss ideals with me, Pierce."

Lynn's eyes became colder.

"You hide behind patriotism while feeding corpses into your organization for decades."

"You infiltrated governments."

"Manipulated wars."

"Assassinated dissidents."

"You are not visionaries."

"You are parasites."

The clinic lobby became deathly quiet afterward.

Then Lynn smiled faintly.

"Hydra enjoys repeating that nonsense…"

'Cut off one head and two more shall take its place.'"

His fingers tapped lightly against the holographic map.

"But if I remove every skull simultaneously…"

"…you won't even have the opportunity to grow another head."

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