What a rotten world.
Stephen Strange couldn't count how many times he'd muttered that phrase.
By all accounts, as a top-tier neurosurgeon, not the world's best, perhaps, but elite enough to be courted by any hospital, he should've been set. Money, status, fame, prospects, he lacked for nothing. No hospital could resist a doctor of his caliber; they'd roll out the red carpet.
Especially in recent years, with the world changing at breakneck speed. The old worldview, as regular folks knew it, had been shattered. Gods and the like were stepping into the open, flaunting their existence.
Logically, chaos should've been Strange's gain. More turmoil meant more injuries, more patients begging for his expertise.
But gradually, Strange noticed that despite his booming business, his mood was souring.
"Heard nerve damage can be cured by Xenomorph parasitism?" Another brainless patient asked.
Sometimes, Strange genuinely wanted to grab a scalpel, crack open these patients' skulls, and see how their brains ticked.
He was a neurosurgeon, not a brain specialist, but he could still trace neural pathways.
If these people had a choice, wouldn't they leap at the chance for Xenomorph super-healing? They craved it, yet the wealthy and powerful, terrified of Adam's control, also obsessed over health, longevity, and side-effect-free solutions.
Hesitant, indecisive, wanting all the perks and none of the costs.
Strange was fed up with them, and with the constant Xenomorph worship.
He'd heard some doctors were penning academic papers, touting the fusion of modern medicine with Xenomorphs. Hitching anything to Xenomorphs was becoming a wealth generator, teetering toward political correctness.
No matter the ailment, Xenomorph parasitism seemed to solve it, granting superhuman strength, extended lifespan, and, most alluring, security. It captivated too many self-important types.
But the more Xenomorphs seemed like a cure-all, the more it marginalized skilled doctors like him.
After work, Strange slid into his sports car, heading for his villa.
He was always simmering.
"Stephen, you need to rein in your temper. Haven't you noticed? People are avoiding you lately." His girlfriend, Christine, said from the passenger seat.
"Enough. I don't want to hear about reconciling with those idiots. I've never done anything wrong." Strange snapped, cutting her off.
Christine studied his profile intently. "Really? Nothing wrong? Like that vampire you're hiding at home? Don't tell me you're unaware Xenomorphs are nearly wiping them out."
"Damn it, he's different, he's my brother! I don't care if outsiders call him Blood Baron. He's just my brother, that's it! With my wealth, giving him a place to stay and buying blood to feed him is no issue. I guarantee he won't hurt anyone!" Strange exploded.
"I buy blood at premium prices, helping cash-strapped sellers solve their problems. They just give me some blood. Who cares where it comes from, volunteers, whatever? What's my crime?" He raged.
Christine's voice softened. "In the old world, you'd be blameless. Your brother's a good person; I trust he can control himself. But things are different now. You're dealing with Xenomorphs and superhumans more and more. How long can you hide him? You really think you can forever?"
Xenomorphs were everywhere, and their numbers would only grow. One day, there could be tens of millions, even a billion, blanketing the streets, if Adam willed it.
When that day came, Earth would hold no secrets from Adam. No vampire could hide.
Everyone knew Adam's peculiar fixation on vampires. Anything tied to them, he seized with zeal.
If Strange stubbornly sheltered a vampire, a unique one, at that, his fate wouldn't be kind.
Xenomorphs were a brutal race. Experts were studying Xenomorph language courses, but good luck to anyone hoping for friendly chats or consensus with them.
"A while back, you mentioned turning down Bruce Banner's invitation, rejecting things beyond your grasp while believing you can protect your brother with your own strength. Vampires live long, sure, but can you?" Christine pressed.
"What then? Hand my brother over to be snatched by roaming Xenomorphs? Wait for one to show up, speaking some alien tongue, claiming it's him?" Strange retorted.
"If you want to protect him your whole life, you need a lifespan to match. The easiest way? Join the Xenomorphs, become one. We both know you can't afford ALIEN serum; that's for billionaires with long-term access. So, we're back to square one. Maybe we can find a way for your brother to become a Xenomorph, without the chestbursting." Christine suggested.
Christine racked her brain to help Strange, but what could she do when her boyfriend's brother was a vampire? Even if he were a mutant or some other race, it wouldn't be this maddening.
The couple argued fiercely, but in a world dominated by Xenomorphs, no perfect solution emerged.
Strange gunned his sports car along the winding mountain road.
Suddenly, a wave of disorientation hit him. His eyes widened as a car materialized ahead, appearing from nowhere. Instinctively, he yanked the wheel.
The vehicle careened off the cliff, tumbling violently before lodging against a boulder.
"Christine…" Strange gasped, pain searing through him. Ignoring it, he reached for her, his gaze shifting, and froze.
Christine's head was drenched in blood. His beautiful girlfriend, now a lifeless, blood-soaked figure, was intact only by sheer luck.
"No, this can't be happening. Why? Where did that damn car come from?" Strange's mind reeled, grasping at chaotic thoughts. His subconscious screamed that without this distraction, the brutal reality would shatter him.
Despite his aloof facade, his love for Christine was unwavering.
Gasping, he stared at her body, confirming her death in seconds. Despair consumed him, urging him to join her.
Ironically, his hands, still gripping the wheel, were unscathed save for blood splatter.
A doctor surviving such a wreck with his hands intact, Strange wanted to faint, to wake to a dream of breeze and sunlight.
Thick fog rolled across the cliff.
From his rigid, dazed vision, Strange saw a tall, elderly figure approach through the mist.
The man walked as if on level ground, though the space was a steep slope.
This defiance of physics stirred Strange's near-broken mind.
"Stephen Strange, poor unfortunate soul. Your grief is heartbreaking." The man said, standing before him, top hat in hand, leaning on a cane.
"Help me, please! Save her!" Strange blurted, too desperate to marvel at his own coherence.
Mephisto doffed his hat. "I've witnessed countless tragedies, seen people sacrifice everything for happiness. So, Stephen Strange, what price will you pay to save the woman beside you? There's no one-sided deal in this world."
"I don't care who you are! If you can save her, I'll give everything! Money? I have plenty! Need a cure? I'm Philadelphia's best doctor!" Strange's words tumbled out, frantic, like a bird flaunting vibrant feathers.
As he spoke, his scattered rationality clawed back. He gazed at the figure, man or otherwise, with desperate hope.
A drowning man, even sensing danger, clutches at anything. Strange was no different, heedless of the risk to his savior.
"Since you've decided, let's begin the trade." Mephisto said, a pleased smile curling his lips.
No doubt about it, this was his modus operandi. Engineer tragedy, exploit vulnerabilities, lure humans into deals, claim their souls, and retract promised rewards.
Mephisto savored Strange's misery. Look at this pitiful human. In many universes, he'd become a formidable Sorcerer Supreme, even imprisoning Mephisto's avatars. So what?
Just another multiversal native, whose fleeting victories couldn't alter his fate.
Even a future Sorcerer Supreme would bow, accepting a demon's gift.
By Mephisto's usual logic, he'd avoid targeting key figures like Strange unless they sought him, offering their souls.
But this obscure universe was peculiar, tempting Mephisto to take risks.
"Fascinating. This universe's time node is your crash, not the loss of your hands." Mephisto mused, observing Strange.
Time nodes, fixed events in a universe's complex timeline, were immutable pillars of stability.
Forcing a change risked collapsing the timeline, potentially scrambling causality and triggering universal self-destruction.
Even those wielding time-travel or reality-warping powers avoided tampering with time nodes unless intent on annihilation.
"I don't need your money or your skills. I want your loyalty and soul. In return, I'll perfectly resurrect your beloved, restored to your side." Mephisto declared, extending his hand.
Naturally, Strange reached for it, rationality deferred until Christine was saved.
All this unfolded in mere dozens of seconds, enough time for certain players to act.
"Crude tactics. I expected sophistication, but you're this desperate? Xenomorph souls must suit your taste." A voice cut in.
A portal flared open. With Mordo's spell, Adam arrived, facing Mephisto.
His feet gripped the slope, steady as a mountain, unfazed by the fog.
Mephisto's face was impassive. "You shouldn't be here, young one. Natives entangled in time nodes rarely fare well. Of course, you might not grasp what I mean."
"I understand perfectly, which is why your actions bore me." Adam replied, shaking his head at the demon's human guise.
He felt no fear. If Mephisto's true self appeared, Adam might rally his forces for a gamble.
But an avatar? No matter how many, Adam was confident.
"Meddling in my universe without permission, you deserve death." Adam said.
Mephisto didn't bristle. Just as he wouldn't rashly anger Odin or the Ancient One, he wouldn't let a Skyfather Level Adam, leader of the Xenomorph clan, provoke him easily.
"Adam! You're Adam, right? I've seen you on TV. Please, save her! I don't know what you're doing, but save her first!" Strange, unfamiliar with Mephisto but recognizing Adam, shouted frantically, his head poking from the wrecked car door.
"I will, but first…" Adam said, eyeing Strange.
He'd anticipated many scenarios, even this universe's Doctor Strange losing his girlfriend in a crash instead of his hands.
He'd prepped for a Dark Strange, but that wasn't the case. With Mephisto's interference, this Strange's fate had grown labyrinthine.
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