Chapter 169: SOS Message
Three days later.
Budapest.
Rain drizzled over the old city streets, turning the narrow alleys slick and reflective beneath the yellow glow of aging streetlamps.
Wanda Maximoff helped Pietro sit against the brick wall behind an underground bar.
Pietro had been running a fever for nearly forty-eight hours.
His condition was worsening by the hour.
Everything below his knees had become completely numb.
The skin had turned an unhealthy gray-black, while dark vascular patterns spread upward through his calves like cracks in shattered stone.
The damage caused by repeated Mind Stone experimentation had finally exceeded his body's ability to heal.
Wanda had stolen antibiotics.
Painkillers.
Anti-inflammatory medication.
Anything she could find.
None of it helped.
The fever remained.
The necrosis spread.
And Pietro was running out of time.
For the first time since escaping HYDRA, Wanda was genuinely afraid.
Not for herself.
For him.
She had visited the best hospital she could find in Budapest.
The attending vascular surgeon examined Pietro's scans for less than two minutes.
Then delivered the verdict.
"Bilateral amputation."
Wanda asked whether there was another option.
The answer was no.
She visited three more hospitals.
Different doctors.
Different specialists.
Different cities.
The answer never changed.
Amputation.
For most patients, it was tragic.
For Pietro Maximoff—
It was the end of his life.
His speed wasn't simply a power.
It was who he was.
Wanda knew her brother.
He would rather die than lose his legs.
And that terrified her.
Then she met a smuggler.
The man operated inside what remained of Eastern Europe's underground information market.
HYDRA's collapse had shattered most criminal intelligence networks, but fragments still survived.
Everything had a price.
Information included.
Wanda paid nearly all the money she had left.
Twelve hundred dollars.
The smuggler took the cash.
Then handed her a name.
"New York."
"Fifth Avenue."
"Miracle Clinic."
The large Hungarian man looked at Pietro's condition and shook his head.
"That doctor can cure almost anything."
"But he's expensive."
"How expensive?"
The smuggler raised five fingers.
Wanda frowned.
"Fifty thousand?"
The man laughed.
"Five million."
"Minimum."
"And that's only if he agrees to see you."
Wanda lowered her gaze.
Five million dollars.
She didn't have five hundred.
"What if I can't pay?"
The smuggler shrugged.
"Then pray."
After a moment, he held out his hand again.
"Three hundred more."
Wanda stared at him.
Then reluctantly handed over the last of her spare cash.
The smuggler scribbled an address onto a piece of paper.
"A private appointment network."
"Dark web access."
"If anyone can reach him, it's through this."
...
That night.
Wanda connected to the address using a stolen laptop.
The webpage was surprisingly simple.
No logos.
No advertisements.
No encryption warnings.
Only a single sentence.
Miracle Clinic — Private Appointment Channel
Please leave your message below.
A blank text box waited beneath it.
Wanda stared at the cursor.
For a long time.
Then she began typing.
"My name is Wanda."
"My brother is dying."
"I have no money."
"But I will do anything."
"Please help him."
She pressed send.
Then sat motionless in front of the screen.
Waiting.
...
New York.
Miracle Clinic.
Lynn was in the underground laboratory calibrating the Wayne Technologies third-generation genetic analysis system.
His phone vibrated.
He glanced at the notification.
Dark-web appointment request.
Rare.
Very few people still used that channel.
Most who knew about it belonged to the criminal underworld or intelligence communities.
Lynn opened the message.
His eyes stopped on one word.
Wanda.
Wanda Maximoff.
Future Scarlet Witch.
One of the most dangerous reality manipulators in Marvel history.
The host of Chaos Magic.
The woman whose power, at its peak, could influence probability, rewrite reality, alter existence itself, and affect entire timelines.
Even now, before fully awakening, her abilities were already breaking conventional physical laws.
Chaos Magic.
A power fundamentally different from telekinesis.
Different from energy manipulation.
Different from conventional magic.
It directly interfered with reality's operating framework.
In some ways, it occupied a conceptual layer surprisingly close to Quantum Scaling.
Quantum Scaling altered how matter interacted with space.
Chaos Magic altered the rules governing matter, space, probability, and causality.
Lynn's eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He replied immediately.
"Address attached."
"Travel expenses are your responsibility."
...
New York.
2:14 A.M.
Rain hammered Fifth Avenue.
The clinic's front door slowly opened.
Only a few centimeters at first.
Water seeped inside.
A puddle formed on the floor.
Wanda Maximoff stood in the doorway.
She looked exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
Rainwater soaked her hair.
Her face was pale.
Her lips had lost most of their color.
She wore an oversized second-hand jacket whose zipper no longer worked.
The fabric clung to her body.
On her shoulder hung Pietro Maximoff.
Unconscious.
Barely breathing.
His legs had deteriorated dramatically during the journey.
The tissue damage had advanced beyond simple vascular failure.
Even from several meters away, the smell of necrosis was noticeable.
Wanda had wrapped the injuries with layers of stolen hotel sheets.
The cloth was stained dark from seepage.
The journey from Budapest to New York had taken three days.
Three impossible days.
No passport.
No visa.
No tickets.
No money.
Normally such a trip could not happen.
But Wanda's powers were no longer normal.
Border agents forgot to inspect documents.
Computer systems recorded payments that never occurred.
Security checkpoints malfunctioned.
Airline databases produced harmless clerical errors.
Probability shifted.
Reality bent.
Tiny miracles accumulated.
Each one cost Wanda something.
Mental strain.
Fatigue.
Control.
By the time she reached New York, she was operating entirely on willpower.
Nothing else remained.
Wanda carried Pietro inside.
Then carefully laid him onto the examination bed.
Her arms felt like lead.
Every muscle trembled.
She looked around the dark clinic.
The blinds were closed.
The lobby was silent.
Only a single lamp above the reception desk illuminated the room.
"Hello?"
Her voice was weak.
No response.
She swallowed.
"Please..."
Still nothing.
Fear returned.
Then panic.
Then desperation.
The worst combination possible.
Especially for Wanda Maximoff.
She felt it immediately.
The familiar pressure.
The familiar heat.
The power responding to her emotions.
"No..."
Her breathing quickened.
"Not now."
Red energy flickered around her fingertips.
Then her wrists.
Then her entire hands.
Reality began to distort.
A ceramic teacup sitting on the counter changed first.
Porcelain became clay.
Clay became liquid mud.
The light fixtures overhead softened.
Glass lost its molecular rigidity and sagged like warm wax.
The concrete floor beneath Wanda's feet changed color.
Gray faded into brown.
Texture emerged.
Wood grain spread outward.
The concrete itself was becoming wood.
Not covered.
Not disguised.
Changed.
Matter rewritten at the molecular level.
Wanda fell to her knees.
Her hands clutched her head.
"No..."
"Stop..."
"Please stop..."
The scarlet energy continued spreading.
The metal frame of the examination bed warped.
Plastic emergency equipment softened into rubber.
Wall paint transformed into living moss.
The entire room was beginning to obey Wanda's subconscious fears.
Reality itself was losing stability.
Then—
Someone appeared.
No portal.
No footsteps.
No warning.
One moment the space was empty.
The next, a young man stood there.
White coat.
Gold-rimmed glasses.
Calm eyes.
Hands resting inside his coat pockets.
Lynn stood two meters in front of Wanda.
Looking directly at her.
And spoke a single word.
"Stop."