MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

Outside Miracle Clinic—

The ruined streets of New York City were slowly beginning to breathe again.

Smoke still drifted between shattered buildings.

Burned-out civilian vehicles remained overturned along the roadside.

But people had already begun emerging from shelters.

Some cried silently while staring upward at the scarred sky left behind by the Chitauri invasion.

Some raised phones to photograph the devastation.

Others simply sat motionless beside the streets—

Lost in thought.

Lynn stood quietly beside the clinic window for several seconds.

Then lowered the blinds calmly.

His phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

No caller ID.

He answered immediately.

"Dr. Lynn."

The voice on the other side sounded calm, deep, and perfectly controlled.

Batman.

Or more accurately—

Bruce Wayne.

"Mr. Wayne."

Lynn sat casually onto the sofa.

"A post-war condolence call?"

"I watched the satellite footage."

Bruce skipped pleasantries entirely.

"After the masked individual jumped from Stark Tower…"

"…he disappeared within two hundred meters of your medical pod."

"And during that exact period…"

A slight pause.

"…your biological signal vanished completely."

"I already explained the shielding issue."

"You can use that explanation on Fury."

Bruce interrupted calmly.

"Not on me."

Silence followed briefly.

Then Bruce continued.

"The masked figure demonstrated estimated physical output exceeding ten thousand tons."

"He tanked a Leviathan main cannon directly."

"He physically breached the Tesseract containment field."

"On this planet…"

Bruce's voice lowered slightly.

"…there are very few beings capable of performing those actions."

"And coincidentally…"

"The person whose growth rate has become most abnormal over the past six months…"

"…happens to operate a clinic directly beside the disappearance point."

Lynn remained silent.

Because denying Bruce Wayne aggressively would accomplish nothing.

Bruce did not rely on emotional reactions.

He relied on inconsistencies.

After several seconds—

Bruce spoke again.

"Of course…"

"This remains speculation only."

"The largest contradiction still exists."

"The masked figure stood approximately 1.95 meters tall."

"Mass estimate exceeded one hundred eighty kilograms."

"You are 1.83 meters."

"Sub-ninety kilograms."

"Under known biological principles…"

"Those two bodies cannot logically belong to the same individual."

"So?"

Lynn finally responded calmly.

"So I haven't told anyone."

Bruce's tone softened slightly.

"But remember something carefully."

"If one day that speculation becomes certainty…"

"…then you owe me an explanation."

Lynn leaned back against the sofa slowly.

"Mr. Wayne."

"Do you know what I appreciate most about you?"

A slight pause.

"What?"

"You are intelligent enough to discover abnormalities."

"But restrained enough not to act upon incomplete conclusions."

"That balance…"

Lynn adjusted his glasses lightly.

"…is precisely why you remain the only person I willingly allow to continue suspecting."

Long silence answered him.

Finally—

Bruce spoke quietly.

"Take care, Doctor."

Then the line disconnected.

Lynn lowered the phone slowly afterward.

Then stared silently at the ceiling.

Bruce Wayne truly ranked among the most dangerous humans alive.

Not because of physical strength.

Not because of wealth.

But because his mind approached terrifying levels of predictive precision.

He had already reached the edge of the truth.

Only one thing still prevented final confirmation:

The "impossible" discrepancy in body structure.

Fortunately—

[Biological Symbiotic Adaptability] remained Lynn's most deeply hidden trump card currently.

As long as nobody understood he possessed microscopic biological restructuring capability—

The firewall between "Dr. Lynn" and the masked figure remained effectively perfect.

Still—

Bruce's intuition required caution.

Future operations would demand greater precision.

Lynn was still considering this when the phone vibrated again.

This time—

Caller ID displayed properly.

International number.

Unknown African regional code.

He answered.

A young male voice emerged immediately.

Calm.

Formal.

And carrying a distinct Wakandan accent.

"Is this Dr. Lynn of Miracle Clinic?"

"My name is T'Challa."

"A relative of mine urgently requires your assistance."

…

Three days later—

An aircraft descended silently behind Miracle Clinic.

The craft resembled nothing publicly acknowledged anywhere on Earth.

Its streamlined body appeared almost organic beneath deep-purple metallic plating.

No rivets.

No seams.

The entire aircraft looked grown rather than manufactured.

Even the engines emitted almost no sound while landing.

Only minimal airflow disturbed nearby dust.

Lynn stood calmly near the clinic's rear entrance watching the aircraft descend.

The All-Seeing Eye activated automatically.

Material analysis completed instantly.

97% high-purity vibranium.

Remaining 3%:

Unknown metallic composite.

Hexagonal close-packed molecular structure.

Extreme conductivity efficiency.

Interesting.

Wakanda truly deserved its reputation as Earth's most advanced hidden civilization.

The aircraft hatch opened smoothly.

Six female guards exited first.

The Dora Milaje.

Dark-blue combat garments.

Gold neck rings.

Vibranium spears.

Not ceremonial weapons.

Each spear emitted contained high-energy pulse signatures strong enough to penetrate armored vehicles.

The six warriors spread outward automatically.

Perfect overlapping crossfire formation.

All weapon tips aimed subtly toward Lynn.

Lynn adjusted his glasses once.

Then remained motionless.

Several seconds later—

Black Panther emerged from the aircraft personally.

Young.

Approximately twenty-five years old.

Lean muscular build hidden beneath a tailored black suit.

Yet the All-Seeing Eye clearly detected flexible vibranium-weave armor concealed underneath the fabric layers.

Sharp eyes.

Controlled posture.

But beneath the royal composure—

Obvious anxiety existed.

Behind T'Challa—

Two Dora Milaje carried out a portable vibranium medical pod.

Through the transparent observation panel—

A middle-aged man around fifty years old remained strapped inside.

Even under sedation—

His facial muscles twisted continuously from severe pain.

The All-Seeing Eye pierced the vibranium shell instantly.

Diagnosis completed in less than one second.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

"Dr. Lynn."

T'Challa approached with measured royal posture.

"Thank you for agreeing to see him."

"This is my uncle…"

"N'Jadaka Udaku."

"Senior royal advisor to Wakanda."

The wording sounded polite.

But the posture remained subtly superior.

Raised chin.

Expanded shoulders.

A prince raised to command nations.

"I explained portions of his condition previously during our call—"

"No need."

Lynn interrupted calmly.

His gaze shifted away from T'Challa toward the medical pod instead.

"Bring him inside."

T'Challa paused slightly.

Clearly unused to interruption.

Especially by someone outside Wakandan authority.

Still—

He swallowed whatever response initially formed.

"There is one additional matter."

His tone sharpened slightly.

"Everything seen or heard here today…"

"…including Wakanda's existence…"

"…must remain absolutely confidential."

"Medical confidentiality is standard clinic policy."

Lynn turned toward the basement entrance calmly.

"But secrecy carries separate billing."

The portable medical pod descended underground shortly afterward.

At Lynn's request—

The six Dora Milaje remained outside.

Only T'Challa entered the lower chamber with him.

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