Tibet-1967

Tibet. Roof of the World. Land of the Himalayas. Home of Mount Everest. And, as Stephen Strange found out, home of smelly farmers barely making enough to survive, and where the livestock severely outnumber humans. He gazed around the room, with it's bare, rough and wooden walls and bare dirt floor. Sleep, though needed, was impossible due to the poor bed he now lay in. Even the worst motel in the US had a mattress, here there was just a pile of straw. If one had to go to the bathroom, there was a covered hole in the corner. It was not the closeness of the lavatory, nor the quality of the bed, nor the threat of being found and beaten by the Red Guards that were razing Tibet. No the reason he couldn't sleep was in fact, a goat.

This goat seemed to be stalking him ever since his translator announced that they were in Tibet. No matter how far they went that goat would be stalking him, waiting for him to look for it. Though Strange made sure that they would leave it every time they would leave one of the villages they crossed, it always was at the entrance to the next village. In fact, it was certainly waiting outside the hovel that they called an inn in this part of the world. He didn't need to look, he knew that the goat was out there, waiting for him with it's vacant glassy eyes.

Strange had no explanation for this. He asked Wong, his translator, about it, but the only response he got was that he must be seeing different, yet similar, goats. After all, Wong added, Strange was a human doctor, not a goat doctor. In this part of the world a goat was needed for survival, and no farmer was foolish enough to let a goat stalk the honorable doctor. No, Strange must be slightly confused from the long journey he took.

Strange snorted derisively as he remembered that conversation. They had goats on his parents old farm in Nebraska and he knew how to tell them apart. And what would Wong know about the state of his mental health. Although, the fact that he was traipsing around in this forgotten corner of the world may be a clear sign of madness. He started to wonder again why he came here, but a look at his hands reminded him. Hands are the chief tool of any surgeon, and his...

Once he had been a fine respectable surgeon, one of the best. Many paid handsomely for his help in curing their ills. Then one winter day, his car hit a patch of ice and skidded straight into a tree. Sure he survived, but ever since the car crash his hands were useless for the fine art of surgery. The nerves were cut, irreparably lost. But he couldn't accept the loss, so he tried every trick there was to getting them back, from cutting edge techniques to old wives tales. All useless, all failed. Until the one day he met that man.

He was drowning his sorrows in a bar near Madison, when a biker gang came in. He had kept an eye on them, to watch out for trouble and... prospective clients. Most gangs didn't care if it was a job well done, only that the job was done at a fraction of the normal price. But this gang seemed only interested in filling up the bar and ordering everyone a round of free drinks. None of them seemed to need his... services, so Strange got another whiskey and started on that, ignoring the party that had started behind him.

Before long they cleared the floor and were dancing to some popular piece of music, while the more sedentary ones went to the edges to relax. The guy he pegged as the leader came and sat by him, ordering a mint julep. Strange could feel that he was being checked out, though the man never glanced in his direction. Strange knew he wanted something. Whether he would get it was another thing entirely It was only a bit longer before he started to converse with Strange.

"Know this song," he said, waving an arm to the jukebox. He was a monochromatic fellow, wearing a black unzipped trenchcoat, a white t-shirt, and black cargo pants. He had tame black hair, and strangely had a number of steel boomerangs in the pockets inside his trenchcoat. Strange decided to reply with a grunt, hoping he would be left alone. This man wasn't going to let him get off that easily, though.

"It played in that movie, ya know. That British one about a black teacher treating disrespectful punks as adults. Not very realistic, but... sometimes you got to dream," the man rambled on, oblivious to Strange's growing anger. Strange had no need for dreams, he needed reality, a real way to fix his hands, to regain his old life. The stranger soon noticed that Strange wasn't listening to him, and decided to ask if there was a problem.

"Oh," he added. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Matthias, but everyone calls me... Captain Boomerang." he smiled as he said that, almost daring Strange to ask why he was named that. Strange wasn't going to answer, but years of professional etiquette forced him to answer.

"Doctor Stephen Strange."

The captain chocked on his drink, silently spasming while trying to clear his windpipe of the offending liquid. Strange just groaned inwardly. The effect was so comedic he wasn't sure who would have been fooled by it. He wished this so-called captain would get to the point and stop wasting his time. Not like you have anything better to do with it, he thought as he sat in sullen silence, watching the captain regained his composure and gathered his thoughts to restart the conversation.

"So you're Strange," he said. "that doctor looking for a way to fix his hands, right." Strange stayed silent, but nodded. The captain decided to continue. "Well it so happens that I have some news for you. Tell me, have you heard of Tibet." Strange, slightly interested now, shook his head yes. "Well in Tibet, you see, there are stories man that can cure anything (well except death). He probably could help you. If you want I could take you there for a modest fee, and suit you up with a guide. I have a couple friends in the area. What do you think about that."

Strange stayed quiet, stewing over this information. It all seemed too good to be true. In fact...

"Whats the catch?" he muttered to the captain.

"None," the captain countered, a his smile growing more jovial as the alcohol set in. "I mean, I am taking you away to an undeveloped area of the world ruled by one of the most oppressive regimes in history. All I really want is for you to find something there. But I have plenty of proof which I was planning on showing you during the trip. But as for the catch, there is one thing." He took a long drink from the glass he had. "Remember me."

So Strange joined them, traveling to Seattle, then taking a vintage B17 Bomber to China, landing at an airport owned by some of the captains friends. There he was introduced to Wong, his guide and translator. Wishing him luck the captain went back to the States, leaving Strange to take a week long journey. And so Strange found himself in the middle of Tibet with no way of returning back to civilization, followed by a creepy goat.

At least you aren't dead, a strangely optimistic part of his mind muttered. That was true, though he desperately wanted to argue that the torment he was suffering was worse than death. But still, he had little choice but to go on, seeing that he could hardly expect to survive here without the help of Wong. Who had just decided to poke his head into Strange's dismal room.

"We will head out soon," Wong said. "We should meet the Ancient One in a few more days. Have you had a good night of sleep."

"No," Strange replied. "Even if this was a decent hotel I wouldn't have been able to sleep due to the racket outside. Did someone get fireworks out here or what."

Wong looked slightly perturbed, but quickly composed himself. "There was a slight accident inn the village, but no harm was done. We will leave when you are ready" Ready, eh? All Strange would have to do is get his coat on and chow down one of his rapidly dwindling granola bars. Not much to do.

It took only 10 minutes for Strange to get out the front door of the inn. Heading towards Wong, he took a cursory glance to check for that goat. He didn't see it. He did see a scorched area of earth outside the inn. In fact, it was remarkably close to his room. He questioned Wong about it. Wong smiled.

"A childish prank Mr Strange. Apparently some kids decided to light a fire there. But don't worry about them. A farmers goat was caught in the blaze, so they are being properly punished."