Iron Man's Call

He wrote on the first line of the document:

"This man's rate of ability growth is abnormal. Three weeks ago, he was a community college medical student who had dropped out."

"Three weeks later, he was able to overwhelm twelve Hand ninjas with tactical proficiency approaching my own level."

"Possible explanations: he concealed a history of long-term training—not likely, as his background has been thoroughly investigated and there are no records of combat training; or—he possesses some means of rapidly acquiring other people's abilities."

Bruce stared at the final sentence for a long time.

"Alfred."

"Yes, sir."

"Contact Lucius for me. I need a higher-spec surveillance system—the kind that can penetrate electromagnetic shielding."

At the same time, District 3 Base.

A freshly printed briefing lay spread across Fury's desk—"Miracle Clinic Attacked by the Hand."

The information had come from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s routine surveillance network in Hell's Kitchen.

After reading the briefing, he made an amendment to Lynn's security assessment file.

It had originally read: "High-value cooperative asset."

Now it had another line: "High-value cooperative asset. Potential unknown threat. Continue surveillance."

Stark Tower. Level three underground laboratory.

Tony Stark sat at his workbench, where his latest blood test report filled the holographic display before him.

Blue data bars stood in neat rows, every single one telling him the same thing—

His palladium levels had risen again.

"JARVIS, what's the current average daily growth rate of palladium in my blood?"

"0.14%, sir. At the current rate, the estimated time until the lethal threshold is approximately one hundred and seventy-three days."

Less than six months.

Tony stared at the number for three seconds, then closed the report as if he were deleting a boring spam email.

He picked up the coffee cup on the table—with his left hand.

His right hand had begun trembling slightly without him even noticing.

The damage palladium poisoning was doing to his peripheral nerves was accelerating.

Fury had called him the week before and suggested he seek out "a trustworthy medical expert."

Tony had replied on the spot, "Trustworthy to you or trustworthy to me?" Then he hung up.

It wasn't that he didn't know he was dying.

He just didn't want to place his life in a stranger's hands.

Tony Stark would rather solve his own problems.

But progress on the new element had stalled.

He knew he needed a new core element to replace palladium.

But what should that element's atomic structure look like?

He had already used JARVIS to simulate more than two thousand possible stable states. Not one met both the energy density and biocompatibility requirements.

He had failed again that morning.

Afterward, he went to the kitchen for coffee.

When he reached for the pot, his right hand trembled, and coffee spilled across the counter.

He lowered his head and stared at the puddle of coffee for about five seconds.

"JARVIS."

"Sir?"

"Look into a clinic in Hell's Kitchen, New York, called Miracle Clinic, and its owner."

JARVIS completed the search in fifteen seconds. A compiled file appeared on the holographic screen—

"Doctor Lynn, twenty-two years old, Chinese American. Previously attended New York Community College Medical School but did not complete his studies. He opened Miracle Clinic on Forty-Ninth Street in Hell's Kitchen one month ago."

"That's it?"

"The following are his public treatment records and local reputation data."

"Over the past month, the clinic has maintained a one hundred percent diagnostic accuracy rate. This includes three cases in which diagnoses from higher-level hospitals were overturned—one case of Moyamoya Disease, one case of Subacute Thyroiditis, and one incorrect pathological classification of lung cancer."

"In addition, a local news outlet aired a three-minute report titled, 'Young Chinese American Doctor in Hell's Kitchen Overturns Three Misdiagnoses in Three Minutes.'"

Tony flipped through the data.

"A community college medical student who dropped out? Fury wants me to see him?"

"Director Fury's exact words were, 'There may be someone who can help you, sir.' He did not directly recommend him."

"That's a recommendation. Fury never says anything directly."

Tony leaned back in his chair and propped both feet on the workbench.

Holding his coffee in his left hand, he rotated the cup twice.

He didn't want to go.

A dropout.

Half his age.

Running a tiny clinic in Hell's Kitchen that didn't even have a proper storefront.

Why should he?

But his right hand trembled again.

"JARVIS, call the clinic."

"Dialing, sir."

The phone rang three times.

"Hello, Miracle Clinic."

The voice on the other end was young and steady, neither hurried nor slow.

"This is Tony Stark."

There was about a second of silence on the other end.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Stark. Are you registering for a same-day consultation or making an appointment?"

"What?"

"Same-day registration means you can be seen today. Appointments need to be scheduled. The current registration fee is ten thousand dollars."

"However, today's slots are full. If you'd like an appointment, the earliest I can arrange is three days from now—"

"You're talking to me about registration?" Tony lowered his feet from the table. "You know who I am, right? I'm Tony Sta—"

"Mr. Stark, there is no VIP fast track at my clinic. I'll reserve an additional appointment for you at two o'clock in the afternoon three days from now. Just give your name when you arrive."

The call ended.

"Beep—beep—beep—"

Tony held his phone, frozen in that position for about four seconds.

"JARVIS."

"Sir?"

"He hung up on me?"

"Yes, sir. The call was disconnected before you finished stating your full name."

"What the—"

"Based on the call analysis, the other party's speech rate and heart rate showed no fluctuations upon hearing your name. Either he doesn't know who you are, or—he knows and doesn't care."

Tony set down the phone and glared at the ceiling.

He thought for roughly ten seconds.

"Three days from now?"

"Two o'clock in the afternoon, sir. Shall I add it to your calendar?"

"Add it." Tony picked up his coffee cup and took a sip of the now-cold coffee. "But if anyone asks, say I'm going to Hell's Kitchen to inspect a potential charitable investment project."

"Understood. As for the ten-thousand-dollar registration fee—"

"Charge it to my personal account. Don't put it through the company's reimbursement process—Pepper will ask too many questions."

Three days later.

1:55 p.m.

A black Audi A8 pulled up outside Miracle Clinic.

There was no driver—Tony had driven himself.

He wore a dark gray casual suit that day, no tie, with two buttons of his shirt undone.

His sunglasses were Tom Ford's latest model.

Before getting out, he sat in the car for about twenty seconds.