New York's sweltering summer had finally passed, and the mornings and evenings had grown much cooler. More and more people were taking walks in Central Park. Amid the layered shadows of the trees, the rustling of wind through leaves, murmured voices, the cries of cats and dogs, bicycle bells, and the fading chirps of autumn insects drifted in through the crack in the window with the chill, cooling the fountain pen that still held the warmth of a hand and drying the ink on the page.
"...Citizens who have not yet undergone their physical examinations are requested to visit their designated hospitals as soon as possible. If you fail to update your health information in time, identity documents such as driver's licenses and transit passes will become unusable. I repeat..."
Schiller turned off the television and picked up another report requiring his signature. He gave it a quick once-over from top to bottom. None of the figures were out of line; they were merely slightly higher than before. This showed that the patients at the sanatorium had not been greatly affected by the Spiritual Energy Resurgence, and that there had not been many geniuses who had developed magical abilities or physical mutations. As far as he, the director, was concerned, that could not have been better.
Ring, ring—the phone rang. Schiller picked up the receiver beside him, only to find that it was not an internal call but Strange calling him.
"All right, it seems you've reached a decision. I have no objection. I don't have an independent laboratory like Tony or Reed. There's nothing worth seeing at the sanatorium. If they insist on coming, I can have them fill out psychological assessment forms or something. That's all."
The moment he hung up, someone knocked on the office door. The