One Percent Probability

For Leon.

Once he knew the cause of an illness, working backward to find a solution was simple, as long as the basic conditions allowed it.

Now that they had confirmed Natasha had indeed been subjected to mind control, and that the means of control was some kind of chemical substance.

The remaining task of reverse-engineering an inhibitor formula was practically effortless.

Leon used his supercomputer-like brain to rapidly simulate various plans, then handed them over to JARVIS for real-world simulation.

In only twenty minutes, he had produced a tube of bright-red counteragent.

"An eighty-seven percent success rate, right?" Leon drew a syringe full of the medicine.

"Yes. According to the simulations, there is a twelve percent chance that the medicine will fail to work, and a one percent chance of drug conflict resulting in the subject's brain death," JARVIS said.

"But this is already the limit of what current medical technology can achieve." Leon shrugged.

He looked at Natasha and said, "If circumstances allowed, we should really conduct a randomized double-blind Phase III clinical trial. That would be the proper process for drug development."

"But judging by this patient's condition, I'm afraid there isn't time to wait for us to find volunteers for testing."

Natasha had already regained consciousness on the workbench and was desperately tearing at the ropes around her, trying to resist.

Leon, meanwhile, stood beside her without reacting as he pushed the syringe, a thread of liquid emerging from the sharp needle.

"Stop struggling. It's injection time. Be careful not to snap the needle."

"Besides, you tied me up once, and now I'm tying you up once. We're even."

"Surely Miss Natasha can understand that, right?"

He met Natasha's bloodshot, reddened eyes as she struggled, completely ignoring the fact that her mouth was sealed with tape.

"Very good. Our patient has tacitly agreed. She has chosen to accept treatment."

"But please prepare yourself mentally." He flicked the syringe, clearing the air bubbles inside.

"I'm a self-taught doctor, after all. The drug might cause brain death, but as long as it works, who cares? If something really goes wrong, we'll just call it survivor bias."

In his previous life, Leon had actually been a man of few words.

It was only because Tony Stark had influenced him for more than a decade in this life.

Most of the time, he was still the serious young man he had always been, but at certain crucial moments, he would occasionally become as full of nonsense as Tony.

"The inhibitor has to be injected through your arm. Would you prefer to take off your clothes or tear off your sleeve?"

"I see. Tear off the sleeve of your combat suit, right?"

Leon tore away Natasha's sleeve, using his superior strength to keep the patient from moving as he swabbed alcohol over her pale upper arm.

"Very good, Natasha. Now comes the final step. You have one second to consider whether you want to give up treatment."

"One! All right, time's up. You agreed to continue! Excellent!"

"However, time is of the essence, so there's no need to find someone to sign as your family. If anything happens, we'll cremate you directly and ship your ashes back to the Red Room."

Natasha's eyes widened at once, muffled sounds spilling from her mouth.

"Hm? What are you saying? No anesthetic needed? Don't worry, we didn't prepare any anesthetic either."

"I'm starting the injection!" Leon casually drove the needle into Natasha's alcohol-swabbed arm.

The bright-red medicine was quickly injected into the "patient's" body.

"OK! Finished. See? It didn't hurt, right? Our course of treatment is unbelievably short!"

"Now the injection site needs to be pressed to prevent bruising, but you don't seem very mobile, so I'll do it for you for now."

Leon pulled out the empty syringe and pressed a cotton swab against Natasha's arm.

However, after placing the syringe back onto the tray held up by U's mechanical arm.

He stopped talking.

Instead, he watched Natasha with a slightly serious expression.

Leon's thoughts at that moment were nowhere near as flashy as his words.

He was only thinking.

As one of this world's main characters, Natasha probably wouldn't hit that one percent chance.

Besides, the counteragent was already the best he could manage at present.

Even if they gathered the world's top doctors, they could at most reduce the medicine's fatality rate by a few tenths of a percent. It would not improve much.

When the chemical substance inside Natasha had been synthesized, its researchers had likely never intended to create an antidote.

What they wanted to create was an unsolvable control drug.

Compared to the controlled person's life, they may have cared more about ensuring the drug could not be cracked.

Those chemicals were hidden in the cytoplasm of Natasha's brain cells. Removing them meant the brain cells would die.

Which also meant brain damage, leaving the controlled person at risk of death.

So the fact that Leon had created an inhibitor at all was already a miracle.

As for the remaining one percent fatality rate, it was completely insignificant.

"Looks like the inhibitor has already taken effect."

Leon removed his gloves, ran his hands through disinfectant, then took the disinfecting wipes U handed him and cleaned his hands dry.

He looked at Natasha, whose expression was rapidly calming, and silently prayed for her for one second.

"JARVIS, if she really hits that one percent chance of brain death, would that count as lucky or unlucky?"

As Leon waited for the result, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"From a probabilistic perspective, hitting a one percent chance should count as very lucky," JARVIS answered seriously. "But from the perspective of the outcome, if it leads to death through the least likely possibility, that is extremely unfortunate."

"Your view really is objective."

Leon complained, "But humans don't think like you do. When disaster happens to oneself, even the smallest chance becomes a one hundred percent nightmare. It is absolute misfortune."

"So that is how humans think." JARVIS recorded it. "I will try to think that way in the future, Master Leon."

"That won't be necessary. Mechanical thinking is your advantage. A lot of young girls like that type these days... Oh, Natasha's awake!"

Leon saw Natasha's silk-like lashes tremble slightly and immediately walked over to the workbench, leaning in for a closer look.

Soon, Natasha opened her eyes. Her amber irises were filled with confusion, her expression unfocused.

But Leon laughed instead. "That foolish look in your eyes, that's it! Miss Natasha, congratulations on a successful operation!"

Her confused expression meant Natasha's brain had escaped the chemicals' control.

All her scattered consciousness was gradually beginning to reunite as one.

However, it seemed that process of reintegration would still take some time.

As Leon observed Natasha's changes, he casually tore away the ropes on her body and the tape over her mouth.

!!

Unlike Leon's delight.

The moment Natasha opened her eyes, she saw a face extremely close to her, looking her over from side to side.

Her pupils contracted instantly, and her body moved on reflex.

Freed from her restraints, her limbs were perfectly liberated.

She wrapped her legs around Leon's sturdy waist with a flexible technique, then pushed off with both arms. Using Leon as an axis, she spun behind him and locked in a rear naked choke!

This was muscle memory forged from more than ten years of agent training and combat experience.

After completing the rear naked choke, she immediately applied force by reflex.

Yet Leon, who should have been suffocating, showed no reaction at all. Her arms felt as though they were locked around a diamond!

Natasha froze for a moment. Then fragmented memories flooded into her mind.

Her expression went blank for a moment, and her eyes lost focus.

It was not until Leon reached out, lifted Natasha up, and placed her on the workbench that she came back to herself.

"You... You were the one who saved me." Natasha looked at Leon, her expression gradually becoming complicated.

Her hands rested helplessly at her sides as she slowly lowered her head. "What have I done...?"

She had thought the Red Room would control her for the rest of her life. Yet through a twist of fate, she had found salvation at the hands of her mission target.

Now that her consciousness had returned, countless memories surged into her mind. She felt a tangled storm of emotions—remorse, hatred, but above all, anxiety.

"Looks like you've recovered well," Leon said.

Natasha snapped awake at his words.

Sitting on the workbench, she suddenly seemed at a loss. "Thank you, thank you so much. No, I'm sorry. What I did just now was... unintentional. It was instinct. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Are you hurt?"