A year after the Battle of Inverness.
New York, Manhattan.
The Essex Corporation building had a simple overall design, its walls smooth as mirrors, standing in the sunlight like an iceberg rising from the ground.
And today, a dejected-looking man slowly walked into the lobby.
He wore a well-tailored designer suit, but it was already covered in wrinkles. Several days' worth of unkempt stubble made him look utterly haggard, utterly out of place against this building that symbolized the future.
"Good afternoon, sir."
The receptionist approached with a professional smile, her gaze pausing briefly on his uncontrollably trembling hands.
"This is Essex Biotechnology. How may I help you?"
The man raised his head, revealing bloodshot eyes, his voice dry and hoarse.
"I want to see the person in charge."
Faced with his request, the receptionist continued to ask, "Do you have an appointment? The person in charge's schedule usually—"
"No!" the man rudely cut her off, his emotions spiraling out of control. "I heard you have the best biomedical technology in the world! I want you to fix my hands!"
He raised his constantly shaking hands as if displaying his suffering.
The receptionist's smile did not change. Faced with this suddenly arrived, seemingly unstable man, she was about to politely usher him out according to procedure when a new order suddenly came through the miniature earpiece she wore.
[Let him in.]
A moment later, she raised her head again, her attitude considerably more respectful.
"Doctor Strange, please come with me."
"Our person in charge is already waiting for you."
Not long afterward, led by the receptionist, Doctor Strange arrived on the executive floor and stopped outside a reception room.
"This is it." The receptionist stepped aside and made an inviting gesture. "Our person in charge is already waiting for