Twelve Heartbeats

His attention had completely sunk into the surgical procedure.

The X-ray annotations from All-Things Diagnosis unfolded in his field of vision—the bones, muscles, blood vessels, and nerves around Natasha's cervical spine were revealed, layer by layer.

The spinous process of the seventh cervical vertebra was clearly visible. 2.1 millimeters to its right, a tiny speck of light was flickering.

That was the "grain of rice."

Lynn picked up the Microwave Ablation Probe.

"Step one: neutralize the toxin." His voice was quiet, but everyone in the examination room could hear him.

"The capsule wall is made of a biometal alloy. If I remove it directly, the pressure from the forceps could deform or rupture the wall."

"So I need to use focused microwaves to heat it first, denaturing and deactivating the toxin proteins inside the capsule at high temperature. Then I can remove it."

"To what temperature?" Fury asked.

"Seventy-two degrees. For four seconds."

"You're heating the area beside her cervical spine to seventy-two degrees?" Coulson's voice came from the sofa, edged with unease. "The surrounding nerve tissue—"

"The microwaves' focal range is 0.15 millimeters," Lynn said. "Outside that range, the tissue temperature will rise by no more than 0.3 degrees."

Coulson said nothing more.

Lynn pressed the index and middle fingers of his left hand against the skin at the back of Natasha's neck.

His sense of touch penetrated the surface. He could feel the contours of her cervical vertebrae, the direction of the fibers in the muscles beside them, and the faintest metallic texture coming from the Micro-capsule.

Holding the microwave probe in his right hand, he inserted it seven millimeters to the right of the midline at the back of her neck.

The needle was extremely fine, so the puncture should have caused only mild pain.

But Natasha's hands still clenched the armrests abruptly. The stainless-steel armrest gave a dull groan under her grip.

She didn't move.

Neither did Lynn's hand stop.

The probe advanced eleven millimeters beneath the skin, and his sense of touch precisely located the Micro-capsule's outer wall—a hard texture that didn't belong in a human body.

"Microwaves on."

The tip of the probe began releasing focused microwave energy.

Frequency: 4.7 GHz. Power: 0.08 watts.

Four seconds.

He counted.

Super Senses monitored changes in the molecular vibration frequency of the toxin liquid inside the Micro-capsule. When the frequency jumped from its normal value to a specific threshold, that meant the proteins had finished denaturing.

Four seconds passed.

The toxin was inactive.

"Step two: remove the capsule."

Lynn switched to a pair of micro-forceps.

The tips slid through the puncture channel made by the probe, precisely gripping both sides of the Micro-capsule within a 0.3-millimeter working space.

He drew it out slowly and evenly, without applying any unnecessary force.

The capsule came free of the surrounding tissue.

Lynn withdrew his hand from the back of Natasha's neck.

A tiny silver-gray particle, barely visible to the naked eye, was held between the tips of the forceps.

He placed it in a petri dish.

Seventeen minutes.

"Done."

Natasha sat up quickly.

She pressed a hand to the puncture site at the back of her neck. The wound was only the size of a needle hole and had barely bled.

She turned her neck.

Ninety degrees to either side.

No discomfort.

Fury stepped forward and looked down at the "grain of rice" in the petri dish.

The silver-gray surface of the Micro-capsule caught the light with a cold gleam.

Fury picked up a magnifying glass. A tiny design was engraved on the capsule's shell.

A Ballerina in mid-dance.

The Red Room's insignia.

Fury's lips pressed together.

He lowered the magnifying glass and looked at Natasha.

Natasha was looking at the tiny particle too.

Her expression was calm, but her fingers, gripping the edge of the operating table, went white for an instant—then relaxed.

"There are no longer any toxin Micro-capsules in Agent Romanoff's body." Lynn took off his gloves.

"The toxin already released will need time to be metabolized naturally, probably three to four weeks. During that time, you may occasionally feel a dull ache or tightness at the back of your neck. That's a normal reaction."

"Understood." Natasha hopped down from the operating table, landing lightly, as though she hadn't just undergone surgery beside her cervical spine.

Once she was standing, she looked at Lynn.

"Thank you, Doctor Lynn."

She rarely said thank you.

Fury raised an eyebrow slightly.

The System Panel flickered at the edge of Lynn's vision—

[ Ding! Treatment complete! Evaluation: S-Class Extraordinary! ]

[ Saintly Hands Copy activated... Scanning target's ability library... ]

[ Core talent detected: Super Agent Skills—Combat and Infiltration (A-rank) ]

[ Based on treatment contribution (S-rank), automatically copying the highest-quality talent— ]

[ Copy progress: 14%... 41%... 68%... 100%! ]

[ Ding! Copy complete! Acquired A-rank talent: Super Agent Skills—Combat and Infiltration (Incomplete Version · 70%)! ]

[ Ability details: Muscle memory and instinctive reactions for more than ten practical combat systems, including Krav Maga, Sambo, and Aikido. Also grants agent skills such as infiltration, stealth, and counter-surveillance. ]

At the moment the ability flooded into him, Lynn's body shuddered.

He braced himself against the nearby instrument table with his right hand, pretending to rearrange the equipment.

But a transformation was taking place inside him.

Muscle memory—dense, extensive combat instincts from more than a dozen different fighting systems—was being written into his motor nervous system.

The core methods of generating force in each martial art, the angles of joint locks, defensive stances, the timing of counterattacks—these weren't things he knew as facts. They were things his body remembered.

The Super Intelligence he had copied from Batman already included combat theory.

He knew how to throw a front kick. He knew the mechanics of a cross armbar.

But there had been a gulf between knowing and doing.

Now that gulf had been filled.

Theory and practice had become one.

Lynn took his hand off the instrument table and rolled his wrist.

He could feel his stance adjusting unconsciously.

His center of gravity was lower, more weight rested on the balls of his feet, and his shoulders drew slightly inward. It was a fighter's instinctive posture.

"Doctor Lynn." Fury's voice brought him back. "Nice work. About your payment—you mentioned wanting some special materials?"

"Let's talk about that next time. I'd like something else as payment this time." Lynn turned around. "Information."

"What kind of information?"

"The Hand. Their activities in the New York area over the past three months, and their known bases."

Fury narrowed his one eye.

"Have you got a grudge against the Hand?"

"Not yet," Lynn said. "But I have a feeling I will soon."

[ Reputation Points changed: +80 (Healed Black Widow · Superhero-level treatment). Current Reputation Points: 490. ]

Frank had three days left on door duty.

More precisely, two and a half.

Frank sat by the door during the day and went out to "work" at night. He'd kept to that routine for nearly a month.

Lynn didn't ask where he went at night or what he did. When Frank came back in the morning with the occasional new scrape or the smell of gunpowder on him, Lynn pretended not to notice.

But tonight, Frank didn't come back.