MARVEL/DC: DOCTOR IN THE MULTIVERSE

"And who exactly could catch you moving at that speed?"

Pietro Maximoff took a deep breath.

"I owe you thirty million dollars, right?"

"Correct."

"At this rate..."

"...how long will I be working here before I pay it off?"

Lynn actually considered the question.

He performed the calculation mentally.

"Based on your current workload, hazard pay, delivery allowance, and deductions for room and board..."

"...approximately sixty-seven years."

Pietro slowly closed his eyes.

"I should've let them amputate my legs."

"Go."

Lynn casually patted him on the shoulder.

"I won't drink the coffee if it gets cold."

Pietro vanished.

A silver blur shot across the reception hall.

The wind chime above the clinic entrance rang once.

Silence returned.

...

Twelve minutes later.

Another silver streak flashed through the doorway.

Pietro stood before Lynn holding a steaming paper cup.

"The third coffee shop in Pike Place Market."

"Medium Americano."

"Half sugar."

"No ice."

He placed it on the counter.

"The cashier said she'd never seen someone wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer sprint in, buy coffee, pay in cash, and disappear before the receipt finished printing."

Lynn lifted the cup.

He took one sip.

Still hot.

Perfect.

"Good."

"Maintain that standard."

Pietro disappeared again.

...

This trip lasted eighteen minutes.

He returned carrying a thick manila archive folder.

"File F-7782."

He tossed it onto the desk.

"The cabinet was exactly where you said."

"Third drawer from the rear."

"I almost got spotted by the security patrol."

Lynn looked up.

"Almost?"

"I left before he finished turning his head."

"He probably thought an air conditioner malfunctioned."

Lynn opened the folder.

Inside was exactly what he expected.

The supplementary report concerning the X-Gene classification project that Nick Fury had delayed releasing for nearly three weeks under the excuse of "pending internal authorization."

Now—

There was no authorization process left to delay.

S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer existed as an operating intelligence agency.

Lynn closed the file.

"Third assignment."

"The inventory sheet is hanging behind the pharmacy storage door."

Pietro sighed dramatically before walking toward the storeroom.

...

After one week at Miracle Clinic...

Pietro gradually adjusted to his unusual employment.

His responsibilities were surprisingly simple.

Buying coffee.

Collecting classified documents.

Delivering medication.

Retrieving research samples.

Occasionally transporting rare materials from thousands of miles away.

His super-speed had become the clinic's logistics department.

Ever since Lynn reinforced the vascular structure in his legs...

He had become noticeably faster than before.

One afternoon, curiosity got the better of him.

He tested his absolute limit.

New York.

San Francisco.

Less than two minutes.

When he stopped—

Nothing hurt.

Before the surgery...

Every maximum-speed sprint left him barely able to stand.

His knees felt as though they were splitting apart.

His calves cramped.

The soles of his feet burned as if he had run barefoot across broken glass.

Now...

Nothing.

Not even fatigue.

One evening while carrying medical supplies behind the clinic...

He finally asked.

"What exactly did you put inside my blood vessels?"

Lynn never looked up from the report in his hands.

"A protective membrane."

"What kind of membrane?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"A stabilized kinetic-energy buffering layer formed across the vascular endothelial basement membrane through high-dimensional bioenergy integration combined with vibranium resonance."

Pietro remained completely silent.

Three seconds passed.

"...Yeah."

"I understood absolutely none of that."

Lynn smiled slightly.

"But..."

Pietro carefully stacked another crate.

"...thank you."

"I mean it."

Lynn answered immediately.

"I'll deduct that from your salary."

Pietro stared.

"Can you accept gratitude normally?"

"Just once?"

"No."

"It conflicts with the clinic's image."

Pietro laughed despite himself.

He looked toward the man in the white coat.

Gold-rimmed glasses.

Calm expression.

Always speaking politely.

Always sounding emotionally detached.

Then...

He thought about Wanda.

During the past two weeks—

She had not suffered a single uncontrolled magical episode.

Scarlet energy only appeared during scheduled therapy.

Even then...

Only under Lynn's direct supervision.

Outside therapy...

She simply worked as an assistant.

Greeting patients.

Registering appointments.

Preparing prescriptions.

Cleaning examination rooms.

She had even learned how to brew tea properly.

One afternoon...

Pietro happened to pass the basement staircase.

Through the partially open doorway—

He saw Wanda sitting quietly beside a desk.

She was reading.

The title on the cover read—

Introduction to Clinical Psychology.

She turned each page slowly.

Calmly.

No trembling hands.

No scarlet energy.

No fear.

Pietro didn't understand trauma rehabilitation.

Nor cognitive restructuring.

Those concepts meant nothing to him.

But he understood one thing.

Since the destruction of their home in Sokovia...

Since HYDRA...

Since the experiments with the Mind Stone—

This was the first time Wanda looked like an ordinary twenty-one-year-old woman.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Sometimes...

She even smiled.

And the person responsible—

Was the irritating doctor in the white coat.

Pietro carried the final medical crate into storage before returning.

"My sister..."

"...she's doing much better."

"I know."

"I've never seen her this calm."

"I know."

He hesitated.

"What exactly are you planning for her?"

Lynn finally looked up.

"A treatment plan."

"That's all?"

"What else would there be?"

Pietro opened his mouth.

Then stopped.

He couldn't properly explain what bothered him.

Lynn's treatment reached places no surgeon normally could.

Not muscles.

Not bones.

Not even the brain.

It reached the deepest foundations of Wanda's mind.

That should have frightened him.

Instead—

It reassured him.

Because every result had been positive.

After a brief silence—

Lynn lowered his eyes back to the report.

"Go organize the emergency medical kits."

Pietro nodded.

Then left.

...

New York.

Mid-July.

Heat shimmered above Manhattan's streets.

Outside—

The asphalt radiated waves of summer heat.

Inside Miracle Clinic—

The central air-conditioning maintained a comfortable temperature.

Lynn sat behind reception reviewing another report concerning mutant genetic classifications.

Wanda quietly wiped tables in the waiting room.

Pietro had been dispatched to Chicago to collect a shipment of specialized surgical syringes.

2:17 PM.

Lynn's expression changed.

The temperature was falling.

Rapidly.

Twenty-five degrees Celsius.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Wanda stopped cleaning.

A faint cloud of white vapor escaped her lips.

"What..."

Frost spread across every window.

A thin sheet of ice formed over Lynn's still-hot tea.

Outside—

Alarmed shouting erupted along Fifth Avenue.

Looking through the increasingly opaque glass—

Lynn watched snow begin falling.

In July.

The snowfall centered directly on Miracle Clinic.

The freezing field expanded outward...

One city block.

Three.

Five.

Exactly the type of localized cryogenic phenomenon associated with Victor Fries' experimental cryogenic technology in Gotham.

Then—

An engine roared.

A massive refrigerated transport truck burst through the center divider.

It crushed two parked cars.

Ignoring every traffic barrier—

It stopped directly before Miracle Clinic.

The rear cargo doors exploded outward.

A heavily armored figure stepped onto the street.

The armor was silver-gray.

Every joint emitted freezing vapor.

Its exterior remained coated in thick frost despite the summer heat.

Behind the transparent helmet visor—

An exhausted, aging face became visible.

Victor Fries.

Known throughout Gotham City as Mr. Freeze.

Cradled carefully within his arms—

Was a transparent cryogenic preservation chamber.

Approximately one and a half meters long.

Its exterior glittered with frozen crystals.

Inside rested a woman.

Peaceful.

Beautiful.

Her complexion carried the unnatural bluish-white tone of someone maintained in suspended cryogenic preservation.

Nora Fries.

Victor's wife.

Still trapped between life and death.

Just as she had been throughout the tragic history established in DC Comics.

Victor approached Miracle Clinic slowly.

Then...

He lowered himself onto one knee.

With extraordinary care—

He gently placed Nora's chamber before the entrance.

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