It was widely known that New York was the site of the Avengers' first real battle and the place where they entered the public consciousness.
Many New Yorkers took pride in having superheroes like the Avengers appear in their city. As a result, particular groups within the population became avid fans: teenage boys idolized Natasha Romanoff, mature women admired Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, or Thor. Thanks to America's glorification of individual heroism and its culture of unrestrained freedom tied to superheroes, some people even mimicked comic book heroes by donning masks and hitting the streets to fight crime.
And they carried guns.
Since taking office, Commissioner Stacy had already arrested several such masked idiots, charging them with carrying concealed firearms without a permit and sending them to the district attorney to teach them a lesson. Lately, a masked vigilante had been stirring up trouble in Hell's Kitchen, and Stacy intended to slap them with a serious charge as soon as they were caught. What worried him most was the possibility of more people like that emerging in the city—and worse, the notion that the perpetrators behind today's two incidents might be such masked freaks. That would spell a turbulent future for New York City.
It wasn't that he didn't understand that vigilantes could sometimes supplement law enforcement, especially when police were hindered by illegal evidence-gathering restrictions, bureaucratic directives, officer shortages, budget cuts prompted by anti-discrimination initiatives, or any number of chaotic factors. In such cases, masked vigilantes became a deterrent to criminals. These people embodied humanity's oldest and most sincere desire for justice, etched into basalt pillars in Hammurabi's Code:
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
For this reason, the public often cheered when evildoers were punished and welcomed those who fought crime. Yet Commissioner Stacy scoffed at the term "superhero." He saw these individuals as completely uncontrollable. While some viewed superheroes as godlike beings above the clouds, he knew full well that superheroes were human. No matter how powerful they were, their hearts were still human.
And that wasn't a good thing. It meant that someday, superheroes could become society's greatest threat. Anyone who wielded powers beyond normal limits without corresponding virtue would eventually meet the same end. That was the commissioner's grim outlook.
He told no one about his beliefs.
But if the true culprits behind today's incidents ever heard them, they might just nod in agreement.
"The search team followed the trail of blood through the sewers but couldn't find the actual crime scene. All the clues ended in a section of very old, disused, and unmaintained sewer. No witnesses—not even alligators in the sewers, though there were a lot of dead snakes." Six hours later, Detective Carter finally called the commissioner's office to report. She glanced at her partner, then walked a bit further away—Detective Francesco had thrown up again, thanks to his curiosity dragging him into the sewers with the team.
"Even though the team took plenty of photos, I'm sure you don't want to see them. The scene gets even worse."
"How much worse could today possibly get? Just send the photos to my inbox—I have to see them." Commissioner Stacy sighed and hung up. Ten minutes later, a staffer working late in the hallway outside his office heard gut-wrenching retching from within. He rushed in.
"Don't tell anyone," the commissioner said after rinsing his mouth, glaring at the staffer. "At least not if you want your bonus."
"I thought you were sick. Glad you're okay." The junior officer glanced at the blurry images on the computer screen and chuckled. "It's just a crime scene, sir. You're not some rookie."
"I'll let you take a look, if you can keep your mouth shut." After the young officer swore to uphold professional secrecy, the commissioner beckoned him over to the screen. "If you throw up, you're taking out the trash." A few minutes later, the officer staggered out of the office pale-faced, clutching a trash can. No matter how his coworkers pestered him later, he wouldn't say a word. Once the search team returned, the whole office stank of bile.
The man responsible for all of it wasn't far from the police station—just a few blocks away in a hospital.
After breakfast that morning, he had come here directly, accompanied only by a female android dressed in a black business suit. She stood watch outside, not entering the room. The Sisterhood had already scoped out the buildings facing the meeting room's windows the night before, ensuring there were no snipers in position.
Christine Palmer wore a conflicted expression as she tried to convince Solomon to wait a little longer—Stephen Strange was in the middle of an "emergency surgery" and couldn't step away. But the mystic sitting calmly on the lounge sofa didn't seem the least bit impatient. He leisurely sipped his cup of tea, which Christine thought tasted more like sugar syrup than actual tea—the rich, sweet scent of honey saturated the room.
"Did you know this hospital is about to be acquired? I hear the deal's nearly finalized."
"I'm just a nurse, not management."
"Miss Christine Palmer, you will be management," Solomon said, tossing a fashion magazine onto the glass coffee table. He looked up at the nurse, whose face was lined with anxiety. "I've decided that once the acquisition is complete, you will be appointed head of neurosurgery. I believe in your ability and... well, your kindness." Seeing her startled expression, he continued in the same unhurried tone, "Don't worry—I won't be replacing too much of the administration, and I won't be firing Stephen Strange either. After all, he's still the best neurosurgeon in New York. But I want you to manage him. Make sure he doesn't keep spiraling. Will you do that?"
"You're acquiring this hospital?" Christine felt like she was floating in the clouds, unable to come down. "Why? From what I've heard, the hospital isn't even very profitable…"
"Because Stephen Strange pissed me off," Solomon replied.
Christine wasn't entirely convinced.
She didn't know much about business, but she had never heard of anyone buying a hospital just to spite someone—unless they were someone like Tony Stark, who had the wealth and ego to match. Even then, few people could execute a deal this big in such a short time. Of course, that was a lie. Solomon would never allow anyone besides Maya Hansen to access his physical data. But whether Christine believed him or not, he had already decided to promote her.
Not just because she was capable—but also because making Strange answer to her would be unbearable for that arrogant man. It was a calculated punishment.
"Don't tell him. Let's keep this our little secret. I trust you can manage that," the mystic said with a wink. Very few could resist his charm—especially when he chose to wield it. He was like a Greek marble statue come to life. But Christine Palmer didn't react much. She simply nodded, managing to resist the subtle persuasion spell Solomon had casually cast.
"I'll also set up a bonus to help you continue your education at med school. I believe you can become an excellent doctor—better than Strange. So please, be firm in your management. I want all the doctors here to take their work seriously."
(End of Chapter)
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