"Director Fury, you don't actually think I can cure your people who have Cosmic Rays and genetic mutations in their bodies with a stethoscope from a supermarket, do you?"
Fury thought it over, then nodded. "Fair enough. What's the fourth?"
Lynn looked at Fury's single eye.
"I want access to the patients' complete medical files, including detailed information about their abilities."
Fury didn't answer right away.
His single eye sharpened in an instant.
"You want the ability files of superheroes?"
"To diagnose and treat them properly, I need to know everything about their bodies. If someone's cells are ten times denser than normal and I operate on them using a standard dose of anesthetic, they could wake up on the operating table and beat me to death."
The reasoning was flawless.
Fury knew it was flawless, but his instincts told him there was more behind that fourth demand.
A young doctor wanted comprehensive information about every superhero's physical abilities—
The motive could be professional necessity, or it could be something else.
But he weighed it for five seconds.
A doctor who could heal any superhero and detect hidden injuries that even quantum imaging equipment couldn't find was priceless.
Driving him away over something like the confidentiality of those files would be the real loss.
"Deal," Fury said. "But there's one additional condition: if you leak any hero's information, you'll be responsible for the consequences. I won't warn you a second time."
"Director Fury." Lynn smiled, stood up, and held out his hand.
"I'm a doctor. Protecting my patients' privacy is the most basic principle of my profession."
Fury stood and shook his hand.
The moment their palms met, Lynn's sense of touch detected decades' worth of gun calluses and scars on Fury's hand.
That hand had signed countless orders that changed the course of the world.
"I look forward to working with you, Director Fury."
"Likewise, Dr. Lynn." Fury released his hand. "Now, about the first case—when can you operate on Romanoff?"
"Anytime."
Fury stopped on his way to the door but didn't turn around. "When does the security detail at your clinic's expire?"
"The day after tomorrow."
"I'll arrange someone."
"No need," Lynn said. "I have my own way of handling it."
Fury glanced back at him.
There was something complicated in that look—admiration, wariness, and curiosity, all tangled together.
Then he left.
Lynn stood by the door, watching Fury disappear around the corner.
He returned to the front desk and opened the System Panel.
All four golden conditions had been accepted.
The fourth was the key. From now on, he would be able to learn the abilities of every superhero sent to him in advance.
That meant he could assess their copying value before they even walked through the door and decide whether to give their treatment everything he had.
Fury thought he'd hired a medical consultant.
In reality, he'd opened a fast lane for Lynn straight into the global metahuman ability database.
The surgery was scheduled for two days later.
It wouldn't take place at the Miracle Clinic. Fury had designated a S.H.I.E.L.D. Safe House in Central City, Manhattan.
It had the layout of an ordinary three-bedroom apartment, but Lynn knew the moment he stepped inside that there was nothing ordinary about it.
The walls were the wrong thickness.
Super Senses picked up vibrations through the soles of his shoes, telling him that the plain white wall concealed at least three layers—
Ordinary drywall on the outside, lead in the middle, and an electromagnetic shielding mesh on the innermost layer.
The window glass was off, too. It gave a dull sound when he tapped it—bulletproof.
Fury stood in a corner of the living room, still wearing his black coat, his hands clasped behind his back.
Lynn glanced at the others in the room.
Two S.H.I.E.L.D. medical technicians in white coats stood beside a makeshift operating table, checking the equipment.
A man in his thirties sat on the couch, looking at a tablet. His badge read "Phil Coulson."
There was one other person.
Natasha Romanoff sat on the edge of the operating table, dressed in a black bodysuit, her auburn hair loose over her shoulders.
She looked relaxed, but Lynn noticed that her right foot wasn't touching the ground. Her toe rested lightly against the metal leg of the operating table, ready to push off at any moment.
A combat stance.
Even in a Safe House with her own people, preparing to undergo surgery, she never truly relaxed.
"The equipment's here." Fury nodded at Lynn. "Everything you asked for is here. If you need anything else, say so now."
Lynn went over to the operating table and checked the instruments S.H.I.E.L.D. had prepared.
The High-Precision Microsurgery Kit, a Micro-probe, and a Bio-current Monitor. The specifications were good, but they weren't enough.
"I need a microwave ablation probe with an adjustable frequency," Lynn said. "The range should be between 2.4 and 5.8 gigahertz, with output power adjustable to within 0.01 watts."
Fury looked at the man called Coulson.
Coulson didn't even look up. He swiped twice on his tablet. "We have one in storage. It'll be here in ten minutes."
Lynn used the wait to run through the surgical plan one last time in his head.
All-Things Diagnosis had refreshed its scan automatically as soon as he came within three meters of Natasha.
The toxin-filled Micro-capsule hadn't moved. It was 2.1 millimeters from the side of her seventh cervical vertebra and measured 0.3 millimeters in diameter.
The bio-metal alloy casing was intact, and the toxin inside had gone from 72% released last time to 72.4%.
An increase of 0.4 percentage points in two days.
It wasn't fast, but it meant he didn't have much time to spare.
The microwave ablation probe arrived.
Lynn spent five minutes checking and calibrating it.
"We can begin." He turned to Natasha. "Lie face down and turn your head to the left. Expose the back of your neck completely."
Natasha didn't move right away.
She looked at Lynn, her gaze steady. "If my body reacts involuntarily during the surgery—"
"You'll instinctively fight back. I know." Lynn pulled on his gloves. "That's why I suggest keeping your hands where you can see them and gripping the rails on both sides of the table. If your body wants to move, squeeze the rails first."
"How do you know I'll—"
"The Red Room's training ingrains a stress-response program into every trainee's nervous system. Any physical contact near the neck will trigger your defensive reflex." Lynn adjusted the surgical light.
"You don't have to fight it. You just need to give yourself a delay. That half-second it takes to squeeze the rails will be enough."
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly.
She didn't ask anything else.
She turned over and lay face down on the operating table, gripping the rails on either side and turning her head to the left.
The back of her neck was completely exposed.
Fury took a step forward.
Coulson put down his tablet.
Both technicians' breathing grew quieter.
Everyone in the room was watching Lynn.
Lynn paid them no mind.
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