Chapter 48: Superhero Dream Shattered
Brooklyn, Seventh Street; the afternoon sun glinted off the Rayne Clinic signboard.
Inside the clinic, Ethan was polishing the reception desk to a shine—yesterday's cupcake frosting incident had left the surface sticky as a glue trap and attracted a swarm of tiny ants; he had no wish to repeat the experience.
After Mary left, the clinic had fallen eerily silent.
At first Ethan found the quiet pleasant, but after a few days he discovered that working alone was far more boring than expected.
No one to discuss cases with, no one to complain about work with.
Thus, Max's daily cupcakes came in handy.
Originally meant as treats for patients, they became his cure for loneliness. While his mood healed, his waistline enthusiastically responded.
Ethan glanced down at his figure: maybe I should hire someone… if this keeps up my chest might outgrow Max's.
Just as he tossed the rag into the disinfectant bucket, the clinic doorbell chimed.
Two people stood in the doorway—
a man in a suit with a friendly smile; beside him, a woman in tactical gear who seemed incapable of smiling.
Ethan froze for half a second, then produced a professional "doctor-friendly" smile.
"Welcome to Rayne Clinic… which of you is the patient, and what seems to be the problem?"
The woman in tactical gear didn't answer, merely surveyed the clinic with a calculating gaze.
"We're not here for treatment," the suit said. "We'd like to ask about… some medical questions of an unusual nature."
Ethan refused at once: "Sorry, I don't buy insurance, thank you."
"We're not selling insurance," the man smiled. "We're from a government agency."
Ethan's heart skipped: "Oh, I see… you're here to audit my taxes?"
The other paused. "…Not the IRS."
The woman in tactical gear finally spoke coldly: "But we suggest you pay your taxes immediately."
Ethan froze. "…What?"
She said flatly, "Two wire transfers of a hundred thousand dollars each—fail to declare and you'll be looking at federal prison time."
Three seconds of awkward silence.
Ethan rubbed his forehead. "…I've just been busy; I'll file the tax forms, soon."
"No matter, that's not why we're here." The man coughed and produced an ID. "I'm Phil Coulson; this is my colleague Melinda May. We want to know—how exactly did you cure those patients?"
Ethan studied the badge: Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division—long enough to be a dissertation title.
"With a name that long, don't your business cards run out of space?"
Coulson smiled. "We usually abbreviate it—S.H.I.E.L.D. We operate under the World Security Council, handling extraordinary threats and global security incidents."
Oh, S.H.I.E.L.D.—that sounded much better.
Wait—S.H.I.E.L.D.? Ethan's mind exploded.
Holy shit—this is the Marvel universe!
Rich guys rely on tech, poor guys on mutations. So Peter Parker back in high school really was Spider-Man? He'd watched him for years and never spotted a clue.
Marvel—superhero teams, cosmic crises, unbeatable powerhouses showing up one after another!
A little priest like him clearly wouldn't cut it anymore.
But—what if he teamed up with them?
Captain America and Hulk—both warriors, one a protection paladin with a shield, the other a berserker.
Hawkeye—ranged hunter.
Black Widow—assassination specialist, basically a rogue?
Doctor Strange—main spellcaster.
Iron Man and War Machine—tech ranged DPS, part mage, part hunter.
Spider-Man—agile rogue, great at climbing and crowd control.
Thor—can melee, cast lightning, and fly, a true all-rounder.
Plus Scarlet Witch, Vision… it's shaping into a perfect raid composition!
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Great! You're here to recruit me into S.H.I.E.L.D., right? Sure, I'm in. Let's go!"
Coulson looked puzzled. "Go where?"
"Back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters of course—save the world!" Ethan brimmed with confidence.
Coulson and May exchanged glances, then Coulson spoke gently but brutally: "Dr. Rayne , why would you think we're inviting you to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Ethan froze. "What? You're not?"
Coulson explained patiently, like someone letting a friend down easy:
"Not at all. We know you're no ordinary doctor."
"Dr. Rayne , let's be direct: your ability… our reports show how it healed the wounded and the terminally ill, and how it affected other people's behavior and mental states."
"It's beyond our current scientific understanding. Can you tell us what it is?"
Ethan's brain raced; this didn't add up. If they'd discovered his abilities, why neither recruit nor neutralize him—what were these two thinking?
To find out where he stood on the food chain, he decided to probe.
Casually he asked, "Well… first, have you investigated similar cases?"
"Like people who can glow, fly, survive missile strikes, or… flip cars with their bare hands?"
He watched Coulson and May from the corner of his eye—hoping for reassuring, familiar names.
Such as: Captain America, Hulk, Thor, Spider-Man.
But—
May didn't even twitch an eyebrow. "No."
Coulson said calmly, "We've never encountered that. No flying people, no super-strong individuals, no civilians who can flip vehicles."
Ethan's heart sank. What the hell? None of them exist?
Unwilling to give up, he pushed further: "Then… anyone survive a massive dose of radiation and come out stronger?"
Coulson replied flatly, "Radiation is better at killing than empowering."
"Or get bitten by a radioactive spider and start climbing walls?"
May snapped, "You won't gain spider powers—you'll get hospitalized for a venomous bite."
"Tell me, what makes you think exposing yourself to hazards will grant superpowers?"
Ethan: "…"
Now he was certain—
S.H.I.E.L.D. exists, but no superheroes.
He couldn't help complaining: "Then what exactly counts as 'extraordinary' for you guys?"
"Me saving a few terminal patients, or influencing some criminals—those qualify?"
May answered, "Yes, especially the latter. That's why we're monitoring you; we need to know if you're a threat."
Coulson nodded, "Or—whether you need protection."
That's it? This world's power level is so low?
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Because I might cause trouble?"
Coulson shook his head. "Because you might be a variable."
May's tone softened slightly: "A variable isn't inherently good or bad; the point is, it could change the status quo."
Coulson: "Whether ordinary or enhanced, no one with abilities can go unsupervised."
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