MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

Matt stepped down from the examination table and slowly stretched his back.

The newly stitched wound protested slightly.

But compared to being stabbed, the discomfort was negligible.

"Kingpin."

The name suddenly left his mouth.

Lynn was washing surgical instruments.

"What about him?"

"Kingpin is dead."

"I know."

Lynn didn't look up.

"It was on the news."

Matt turned his head slightly toward him.

Although blind, he was still observing.

Listening.

Analyzing.

His radar sense painted a complete image of the room inside his mind.

Heartbeats.

Breathing.

Blood circulation.

Muscle movements.

The smallest physiological reactions.

He focused on Lynn.

Listening carefully.

Heart rate.

Sixty beats per minute.

Perfectly stable.

No acceleration.

No hesitation.

No change whatsoever.

Exactly the same as when discussing tea or prescribing medicine.

"The FBI released some details."

Matt spoke casually.

"There were no signs of forced entry."

Lynn continued organizing equipment.

"Interesting."

"Every metal object in the office was distorted."

Matt folded his arms.

"The chair."

"The desk."

"The picture frames."

"Even steel reinforcement bars inside the walls."

"The investigators say they've never seen anything like it."

Lynn tossed a used pair of gloves into the waste bin.

"Sounds unusual."

Matt remained standing.

Listening.

Waiting.

Searching for the slightest inconsistency.

Nothing.

The heartbeat remained perfectly steady.

The breathing pattern never changed.

Not a single muscle tightened.

Several seconds passed.

Matt's lips moved.

He considered saying more.

In the end, he didn't.

He picked up his jacket.

Then walked toward the door.

Lynn watched him leave.

Neither man said another word.

...

Six o'clock.

Closing time.

...

That evening.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.

Washington, D.C.

The lights inside Director Fury's office were dim.

Two reports lay open on his desk.

The first originated from the FBI.

A preliminary investigation into Wilson Fisk's death.

The second came from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal analysis division.

Maria Hill stood opposite the desk.

A tablet rested in her hands.

"There were no signs of intrusion."

Her report began immediately.

"No forced entry."

"No damaged windows."

"No evidence of external climbing equipment."

"No security alerts."

"The building's surveillance systems remained fully operational."

She tapped the tablet.

"The final recorded departure was James Wesley."

"11:17 PM."

"After that, nobody entered or exited Fisk's floor."

Fury remained silent.

"The cause of death?"

"Massive internal trauma."

Hill switched pages.

"The autopsy confirms multiple organ ruptures, severe thoracic collapse, and extensive skeletal compression."

She paused.

"The unusual part is the source."

"The force wasn't applied externally."

Fury finally looked up.

"The chair."

Hill nodded.

"The metal frame appears to have physically deformed around Fisk."

"The armrests compressed his torso."

"The backrest folded inward."

"The process likely lasted only seconds."

She enlarged several photographs.

"Additional metallic objects throughout the office showed signs of manipulation."

"Pens."

"Desk lamps."

"Picture frames."

"Structural supports."

"All exhibited varying degrees of distortion."

Hill switched to another image.

"Non-metallic materials remained untouched."

"Wood."

"Glass."

"Paper."

"Everything else was intact."

Fury picked up the FBI report.

"What are they thinking?"

"Current primary theory involves a superhuman suspect."

Hill answered immediately.

"Magneto remains their leading candidate."

"Unfortunately for them, Magneto has an alibi."

She swiped the screen again.

"Satellite tracking placed him over the Pacific Ocean during the relevant timeframe."

Fury closed the report.

He had no need for the FBI's theories.

He already knew.

Lynn.

The white-coated extortionist running Miracle Clinic.

The motive existed.

The means existed.

The timeline fit.

Everything fit.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s records already documented the history.

Leo.

Shadow Raven.

The legal attacks.

Years of indirect conflict.

Nothing contradicted the conclusion.

According to available surveillance, Lynn's clinic lights shut down around nine o'clock.

All communication devices remained offline until seven the following morning.

The same period during which Wilson Fisk died.

Fury leaned back.

His fingers pressed against his temple.

A thought surfaced.

How many abilities was Lynn still hiding?

After a while, he stood up.

His hand moved toward Lynn's classified file.

"Director."

Hill studied his expression.

"Should we investigate?"

Fury glanced at her.

"Investigate what?"

"The Fisk incident."

"If our analysis points toward a suspect—"

"A suspect?"

Fury interrupted.

"The suspect you're describing can apparently appear out of nowhere."

"Manipulate metal remotely."

"And eliminate Wilson Fisk inside one of the most secure buildings in Manhattan."

Hill remained silent.

Fury continued.

"And then what?"

"We arrest him?"

"Using who?"

"The FBI?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?"

"The Avengers?"

His voice wasn't angry.

Just tired.

Several seconds passed.

The office became quiet.

Fury walked toward the window overlooking Washington.

His reflection stared back from the glass.

"Wilson Fisk was a criminal."

His voice was low.

"Drug trafficking."

"Arms dealing."

"Extortion."

"Money laundering."

"The FBI chased him for more than a decade."

"And never managed to put him behind bars."

He folded his arms.

"Now he's dead."

"No civilian casualties."

"No collateral damage."

"No public incident."

"A criminal disappeared."

Fury looked toward the city lights.

"The underworld will fight over the scraps for a while."

"But eventually?"

"New York will probably be safer."

He turned back toward Hill.

"Direct cooperation channels toward the FBI's gang-war theory."

"Nothing about superhuman involvement."

"Nothing about our internal conclusions."

Hill nodded.

"Understood."

She turned to leave.

Then Fury called her back.

"Hill."

"Yes, Director?"

"Lynn's file."

Fury's single eye narrowed.

"Upgrade it."

Hill paused.

"To Omega?"

"No."

A brief silence.

"To Apex."

For the first time, Hill's expression changed.

"Apex?"

"That's above Omega."

"Exactly."

Fury looked toward the file.

"Only three individuals currently hold that classification."

"Now there are four."

Hill slowly nodded.

Then left the office.

The door closed.

Fury stood alone beside the window.

The lights of America stretched into the distance.

One question lingered in his mind.

A question without an answer.

What happens if Lynn one day decides that criminals aren't the only people who deserve elimination?

Fury stared at the city.

And found nothing reassuring.

...

At the same time.

Gotham City.

The Batcave.

Bruce Wayne sat before the primary workstation.

Six large monitors displayed crime-scene photographs from Fisk Tower.

He reviewed every image repeatedly.

The twisted armrests.

The distorted pens.

The warped picture frames.

The untouched glass surfaces.

The untouched wooden furniture.

Selective manipulation.

Controlled precision.

Not indiscriminate destruction.

Bruce switched screens.

Another dataset appeared.

Energy-spectrum recordings from the Battle of Metropolis.

Specifically:

The moment the masked man redirected General Zod's heat vision through large-scale electromagnetic control.

The Batcomputer began comparison analysis.

Results appeared.

Electromagnetic signature overlap:

96.3%.

Bruce studied the number.

The remaining discrepancy was insignificant.

Differences in force output.

Differences in environmental conditions.

Differences in application.

The conclusion remained unchanged.

Same source.

Same individual.

Bruce closed the analysis window.

Then opened another folder.

L.

The file had become enormous.

Years of observations.

Patient records.

Behavioral patterns.

Power analyses.

Communication logs.

Medical incidents.

Every known detail had been documented.

Bruce turned to the final page.

Then picked up a pen.

A new entry appeared.

"Confirmed: Possesses both the will and capability to eliminate specific targets."

A pause.

He continued writing.

"Selection criteria unknown."

The pen stopped.

Bruce stared at the words for a long time.

Wilson Fisk was undeniably a criminal.

From one perspective, Lynn's actions were understandable.

Bruce could acknowledge that.

But understanding something and accepting it were not the same.

That distinction mattered.

Because there was a fundamental difference between possessing overwhelming power...

And choosing to decide who deserved to live and who deserved to die according to personal judgment.

Visit /ShiroTL for more chapters.