Strange becoming Jessica's primary attending physician had been one of those coincidences that Nolan had not anticipated or planned for. Pure chance, the random intersection of circumstances that sometimes shaped events more than any deliberate scheme.
David had arranged for Jessica, with her catastrophic injuries requiring immediate expert care, to be admitted to the best private hospital in New York. Money had been no object. Only results mattered.
And as one of the absolute top neurosurgeons in the entire country, a man whose reputation preceded him in medical circles from coast to coast, Strange was naturally a precious resource actively courted by all major private hospitals. His services commanded premium rates, and institutions competed to have him on their roster of available specialists.
The convergence had been inevitable in retrospect.
At this moment, Nolan, having completed the initial introduction, and Strange, who had not yet taken even his first step into that unknown mystical world that awaited him, exchanged a few minutes of polite conversation. The discussion was superficial, professional, touching on safe topics that required no real engagement.
The content of their dialogue was nothing particularly memorable. They discussed Jessica's current medical condition and prognosis in clinical terms. They shared perfunctory complaints about the heavy snowstorm that had recently battered New York. Standard small talk between strangers forced into temporary proximity.
However, perhaps Strange's considerable interpersonal intelligence had allowed him to vaguely perceive the perfunctory nature and subtle strangeness lurking beneath Nolan's carefully neutral words. Something was off, though the surgeon couldn't quite identify what.
With a polite smile carefully maintained on his aristocratic features, Strange turned and began walking toward the ward door. He offered the socially acceptable excuse that he would not further disturb Nolan's visit with his patient, giving them privacy.
The neurosurgeon exited smoothly, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seemed to seal away the outside world.
Only after Strange's footsteps had faded down the corridor did the atmosphere in the ward shift.
In the entire brightly lit room with its expensive furnishings and state-of-the-art medical equipment, only Nolan remained standing with his characteristically calm expression.
And Jessica, lying as quietly and obediently as a startled quail in the luxurious hospital bed, practically radiating nervous energy despite her stillness.
However, before Jessica's eyes could even begin moving subconsciously to meet Nolan's gaze, before she could formulate the questions clearly burning in her mind, Nolan acted first.
He raised one hand in a casual gesture and suddenly produced from the inner pocket of his black coat a crystal-clear ice-blue object that caught the room's light and refracted it in prismatic patterns. Without ceremony or explanation, he tossed it in a gentle arc over Jessica's hospital bed.
Jessica's eyes suddenly flew wide open in surprise. She didn't pause to consider aggravating her injuries or the potential consequences of sudden movement.
Grinning despite the sharp pain that lanced through her ribs with the motion, she almost instantly raised one arm still wrapped in white medical bandages. Her reflexes remained sharp despite weeks of bed rest.
She successfully caught the small object that possessed sharp geometric edges and felt startlingly cold and hard against her palm, like touching ice sculpture or polished stone.
The next second, Jessica, who narrowed one eye slightly in concentration while the other remained wide with curiosity, quickly brought the ice-blue gem directly in front of her face for closer examination. She rotated it carefully between her fingers, studying it from multiple angles.
"Boss, what is this thing? Is it some kind of precious gemstone that David acquired to comfort my wounded heart and apologize for leaving me here so long?" The question carried genuine longing, as though she desperately wanted this interpretation to be true.
"Oh, Jessica, what a beautiful fantasy you've constructed." Nolan's gentle expression remained unchanged as he stood in place, but his tone carried obvious amusement. "It's a pity that David doesn't have any time to spare worrying about your emotional state recently. He's rather occupied with locating our second base."
He paused, letting her disappointment begin to register before continuing.
"This is a Panacea, a drug capable of repairing injuries and curing diseases at the fundamental genetic level. You've been lying uselessly in that bed for far too long. It's past time for you to get up and start moving around again, to rejoin active duty."
Nolan spoke in a deliberately calm tone, as though discussing something mundane rather than a miracle of Dark Age technology.
"Uh, okay then." Jessica's face showed a hint of embarrassment at her mistaken assumption, color rising in her cheeks. She recovered quickly, grinning to cover the awkwardness. "How exactly do I use this thing? Do I hold it? Crush it? What's the procedure?"
She stared with obvious suspicion at the ice-blue crystal held between her fingers, rotating it again as though the method of use might be inscribed on its surface in tiny letters.
"According to common medical sense and standard protocols, the proper administration would involve melting the compound and administering it via injection for optimal absorption." Nolan's explanation was clinical, matter-of-fact. "However, the current conditions and circumstances do not permit such careful preparation. You can simply consume it directly, Just eat it."
He watched Jessica's eyes widen dramatically in disbelief.
"Don't glare at me like I'm making this up," Nolan added with barely suppressed amusement. "This is the specific suggestion and recommendation made by Connors after his extensive testing. He assured me it's perfectly safe, even preferable given the crystal's composition."
A teasing smile appeared naturally at the corner of his mouth as he stared at Jessica, whose expression had shifted from suspicion to resignation.
At this moment, Jessica's face settled into the same firm, determined expression she wore on the battlefield when facing impossible odds. The look that said she'd made her decision and nothing would change her mind.
Without any further hesitation or second-guessing, she stuffed the ice-blue Panacea directly into her mouth and began chewing it repeatedly. The crystal cracked between her teeth with sounds like breaking ice, fragmenting into smaller pieces.
"Hiss," Jessica drew in a sharp breath, her expression shifting to surprise. "It feels icy and cool on my tongue, almost refreshing. And the taste is actually pretty good, even sweet. Like honey with mint undertones."
She continued chewing, working the fragments thoroughly.
The next second, Jessica, who had been casually describing the Panacea's flavor profile to Nolan as though reviewing a restaurant dish, suddenly began shaking violently. Her entire body convulsed without warning or control.
Immediately afterward, the bandages and medical plasters covering most of her body, carefully applied by skilled nurses over the course of weeks, suddenly burst apart. The materials couldn't withstand the constant force generated by her rapidly contracting and expanding muscles, the tissues beneath healing and restructuring at impossible speed.
Fragments of white gauze and adhesive strips flew in all directions, scattering across the bed and floor. The air filled with bursts of extremely fine crackling sounds, like distant fireworks or popping corn, as bones realigned and fused, as torn ligaments knitted back together, as damaged nerves reconnected and began firing properly.
The transformation was violent, chaotic, but mercifully brief.
Not long after, perhaps thirty seconds that felt far longer, Jessica sat up from the luxurious hospital bed with a look of profound shock written across her face. Her eyes were blank, unfocused, her mind still catching up to what her body had just experienced.
She raised both hands, flexing fingers that had been immobilized for weeks. She rotated her shoulders, testing joints that should have taken months to heal properly. Everything worked. Everything felt strong, whole, better than before the injuries.
Nolan, with a warm smile brightening his features, spoke to her with genuine satisfaction and formal gravity.
"Battle Sister Jessica, welcome back to the team. We've missed having you in active service."
The gloomy sky gradually dimmed as afternoon transitioned into evening, the gray clouds growing darker and more oppressive. The cold temperatures, never having truly risen despite the snowstorm's end, had dropped significantly once again.
Strange, now wearing a heavy designer coat over his doctor's attire, was warming up his black sports car in the parking lot behind the hospital. The vehicle was his pride and joy, a sleek machine that represented his success and status.
This private medical center represented just one of several hospitals where he regularly earned substantial supplementary income beyond his primary salary. The consulting fees alone were enough to make most professionals envious.
It was not the public hospital where he maintained his main position and had worked for many years, building his reputation procedure by procedure.
At this moment, he was preparing to drive to another nursing center located on the outskirts of the city for his final scheduled surgery of the day. One last lucrative procedure before he could finally rest.
"After this operation concludes successfully, I won't accept any additional consulting work before Christmas arrives," Strange muttered to himself, making plans aloud as he often did when alone. "I should probably remember to purchase a gift for Christine when I return to the main hospital. Something thoughtful."
He held a burning cigarette casually between his fingertips, a habit he knew he should break but couldn't quite manage to abandon. He slowly blew out wisps of blue-gray smoke from his nostrils, watching the vapor dissipate in the cold air.
His mouth continued moving, muttering further reminders and calculations to himself about schedules and obligations.
Then, noticing that darkness was indeed approaching rapidly and that the sports car's engine had reached optimal operating temperature, Strange decided it was time to depart.
The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter. He casually flicked the spent butt away into the snow and turned toward his vehicle.
He reached for the door handle, intending to slide into the driver's seat and begin the journey to the suburban facility.
However, at precisely that moment, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A flash of movement near the hospital's rear exit drew his gaze almost involuntarily.
Two familiar figures were moving in a manner that could only be described as sneaky, practically skulking as they quietly walked out through the back door of the hospital. They clearly didn't want to be seen, didn't want questions asked.
A dark-haired young woman wearing an odd combination of a black coat thrown over what appeared to be a hospital gown. And her mysterious young employer, the man who'd introduced himself simply as Nolan.
"Jessica? And what was her friend's name again?" Strange paused, his hand still on the door handle as his excellent memory retrieved the relevant information. "Oh yes, Nolan. That was it."
Strange didn't particularly care about their behavior, or at least he told himself he didn't. His responsibility ended at the hospital's walls. What patients did afterward was their own business.
He recalled the basic information about both individuals while slowly lowering himself into the driver's seat of his black sports car. The leather was cold despite the running heater, not yet warmed by his body heat.
After the car door closed with a solid, expensive thunk, his two hands were placed somewhat absently on the steering wheel. His mind had begun processing what he'd just witnessed.
Strange, whose considerable powers of observation had vaguely registered that something was wrong with what he'd just seen, suddenly remembered a crucial detail.
That black-haired girl named Jessica had wanted desperately to be discharged from the hospital despite her injuries being far from fully healed. Hadn't she been repeatedly and firmly stopped by both him personally and the hospital's administrative staff?
The paperwork explicitly forbade her departure. The liability issues were crystal clear.
Now she had apparently run away secretly, sneaking out like a teenager escaping curfew. And it certainly didn't seem like she was trying to avoid paying her substantial medical bills. Imperial Heavy Industries had already settled those accounts in full, paid in advance with room to spare.
So why would she risk further injury by leaving? What could possibly be worth that risk?
Moreover, and this detail struck Strange as particularly odd upon reflection, how exactly had the black-haired girl, whose injuries definitely had not yet healed according to this morning's examination, managed to get down from her bed at all? She should have been effectively immobilized, held in place by pain and physical incapacity.
The broken bones in her legs hadn't finished knitting. The surgical repairs to her spine were still fragile. She shouldn't have been able to walk, let alone sneak out unassisted.
Unfortunately, by the time Strange's analytical mind had processed these inconsistencies and reached concerning conclusions, when he finally reacted and turned his head to scan the parking lot scene outside the car windows again, the evidence had vanished.
The figures of both the black-haired girl and the mysterious man called Nolan had already disappeared into the growing darkness, swallowed by shadows and distance.
At this moment, Strange, feeling vaguely unsettled by the whole situation, subconsciously reached into his coat pocket and extracted his phone. The device's screen illuminated his face with cold blue light.
He wanted to make contact with the hospital's administrative staff here, to communicate what he'd witnessed. He should report the fact that the black-haired patient had left the facility without proper authorization or discharge paperwork. It was his duty, really.
His professional responsibility demanded it.
But the very next second, Strange, with a deepening frown creasing his forehead, suddenly threw the phone in his palm onto the passenger seat with more force than strictly necessary. The device bounced once against the leather before settling.
A long sigh escaped from his mouth, carrying frustration and resignation in equal measure.
"Strange, you are merely a surgeon who comes to this facility to earn supplementary income," he told himself firmly, speaking aloud to reinforce the logic. "And that black-haired girl is clearly not an ordinary person. She's obviously one of those metahuman the news keeps reporting about."
He shook his head, arguing with himself.
"You'd better not meddle unnecessarily in other people's business, especially not in affairs involving enhanced. Nothing good comes from getting involved in that world. You'll only invite trouble and complications into your carefully ordered life."
Strange made his decision quickly, as he did with most things. He firmly stepped on the accelerator of the black sports car, feeling the engine's responsive power.
He drove his beloved vehicle out of the parking lot with a loud, satisfying roar from the exhaust. The sound echoed off the hospital's walls as he began the journey toward the outskirts of the city.
Along the way through New York proper, the main roads had been adequately cleared of snow by the city's cleanup crews. Passage was relatively easy, traffic moving at near-normal speeds despite the lingering cold.
However, when the sports car driven by Strange officially crossed the boundary and entered the suburban areas beyond the city's immediate control, the conditions changed dramatically.
The complex, winding roads showed absolutely no signs of any organized clearing efforts. Snow lay thick and treacherous across the pavement, obscuring lane markings and making every turn potentially dangerous.
This forced Strange to operate the vehicle with considerably more care than usual, his attention focused entirely on maintaining control. Speed became secondary to survival.
The change in conditions also made him subconsciously complain within his mind about the employer who'd requested this particular operation. What kind of facility didn't ensure their access roads were passable? What if there'd been an actual emergency requiring immediate response?
As time passed and darkness fell more completely, Strange found his irritation growing.
Before long, the sky outside the car windows had fallen into complete darkness. Night came early in winter, and the heavy cloud cover eliminated even starlight.
Strange, with his frown having become a permanent fixture on his face, reached forward and activated the sports car's bright headlights. The beams cut through the darkness ahead with reassuring intensity.
Two shining cones of illumination pierced forward, revealing the snow-white road stretching ahead into the distance. Occasionally, the light reflected off ice patches or scattered across pristine drifts, creating additional blurred spots of brightness in his peripheral vision that played tricks on depth perception.
As time continued its slow passage and Strange drove deeper into increasingly remote territory, a new concern began to manifest.
The houses and other buildings alongside this desolate road were becoming progressively scarcer. Scattered farmsteads gave way to nothing but empty fields and dark forests. Civilization felt very far away.
This isolation made the route to the nursing facility seem increasingly bizarre, almost surreal. Why would anyone build a medical facility this far from emergency services?
"Let's just forget about this entire operation," Strange decided suddenly, speaking aloud to make the decision feel more concrete. "I'll call my employer as soon as I can safely pull over and explain the situation clearly. I'll refund their deposit, recommend another surgeon, whatever it takes."
His brows, which had been tightly furrowed for the past hour, suddenly relaxed as the decision lifted a weight from his mind.
"After all, continuing to drive on roads in this kind of weather and isolation is simply risking one's life unnecessarily. No amount of money is worth dying in a ditch."
He first glanced ahead at the seemingly unchanging expanse of snow-white road illuminated by his headlights, verifying the path was momentarily clear and straight.
Then, as his foot eased off the accelerator pedal, the sports car's speed decreased slightly. He had room to divide his attention safely.
Strange leaned sideways in his seat, maintaining visual contact with the road through his peripheral vision while stretching out his right hand toward the passenger side. His fingers reached for the mobile phone he'd thrown there earlier.
VROOM VROOM VROOM--
At precisely that moment, accompanied by a thunderous roar emanating from the engine of what sounded like an impossibly powerful motorcycle, reality shifted.
Ahead on the road, where the snow-white ground had been reflecting his headlights in uniform brightness, something new appeared.
A terrifying figure that seemed to be completely wrapped in blazing flames manifested in Strange's field of vision without any warning whatsoever. No gradual approach, no distant sound building. Just sudden, impossible presence.
The entity appeared to be riding a massive motorcycle that was itself wreathed in fire. Flames rolled across the machine's surface in defiance of physics and common sense, burning without fuel, producing heat that Strange could feel even through his windshield.
Then, even as Strange's mind struggled to process what he was seeing, the terrifying figure that resembled nothing so much as an evil spirit escaped from hell made its intentions horrifyingly clear.
It drove the blazing heavy motorcycle forward without the slightest hesitation or deviation.
The flaming rider was heading directly toward a head-on collision with Strange's black sports car.
"What the hell is that thing?!"
At this moment, Strange couldn't help but open his eyes impossibly wide, his entire body flooding with adrenaline. He subconsciously let out a terrified cry that tore from his throat, years of professional composure completely abandoned.
Both hands slammed the steering wheel hard to the left, muscles screaming with the force of the desperate maneuver. His right foot stomped down on the brake pedal with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The car's safety systems engaged instantly. Anti-lock brakes pulsed rapidly. Traction control fought against the laws of physics.
It wasn't enough.
Accompanied by a series of extremely sharp sounds of tires losing and regaining grip against ice, of metal scraping against frozen asphalt, of glass beginning to crack under impossible stress, disaster unfolded.
The entire sports car tilted dangerously onto two wheels, threatened to roll completely, then slammed back down. The vehicle spun in a complete circle, throwing Strange against his seatbelt hard enough to bruise. Momentum carried them off the road entirely.