" Dr Strange ? There… there is a man who's looking for you…"
Surprised, Stephen Strange turned to face an uncertain young Wizard, frightened by his presence, standing in front of a Portal he probably created to get here. The ex-Sorcerer Supreme was in a deserted bar in New York, peacefully enjoying a cup of whisky, lost in distant thoughts. The young Wizard – he had already forgotten his name despite of his eidetic memory – was just his "bodyguard", summoned by Wong to keep an eye on him ; indeed, the Sorcerer Supreme was very worried about his strange friend, unusually withdrawn during the last couple of days.
Strange had not fully recovered from the last battle against a creature that threatened the whole Multiverse : that terrific Scarlet Witch which was nobody else than Wanda Maximoff – became insane after the loss of her imaginary children.
During all the incredibly desperate, almost impossible operation, he had the opportunity to rescue another lost girl who needed his help – this time, successfully : a very nice teenager called America Chavez. She was now with Wong, at Kamar-Taj, to practice her unique skills.
Strangely, Strange did not wish to come with her – not right away at least : he was still a bit shaken by the things he had done in order to save the Multiverse from the Chaos instilled by the Scarlet Witch. He made great sacrifices and was fully conscious that he would have to pay the price of his unexpected victory, very soon. An unpleasant itch had been running across his forehead for several days… He had the uncomfortable impression that something very, very painful for him would happen soon…
Therefore, the impromptu distraction offered by the announcement of a visit was welcomed with an unusual enthusiasm by the ex-Sorcerer Supreme.
"Well", he said loudly while standing up. "It's not like it really matters, but I hope that he'll be in the mood to share a drink… whoever he could be…"
Yes, he surely had a very great need to change his mind…
"He's… waiting in the street", the young Wizard stammered, still ridiculously uncomfortable. But I though… well… he's not like… ehm… you will see by yourself, anyway, sir..."
Strange raised an eyebrow, without really caring. It was not as if he wishes to talk with his – few – acquittances ; however, his mysterious headache coupled with his loneliness were pushing him to desperately seek a source of distraction – which he hardly could find here, in a dirty bar barely occupied by a half-dozen of speechless sad men, as withdrawn and grumpy as himself.
Quickly, he crossed the room, paying no attention to his dimly lit entourage ; some of the quiet customers looked up to watch him and his "bodyguard" – which returned back to his Portal, having nothing more to do here –, but most of them remained immersed in their own gloomy thoughts.
Once in the street, facing his unexpected "visitor", Strange immediately started the conversation without even considering closer his identity – vaguely familiar, but nothing more.
"Ah, so here you are, my secret admirer ! he mocked with his usual sarcastic tone. What do you want ? An autograph ? A signed photo ? You're standing right face to the savior of the Earth, and the Universe… and also the Multiverse ! And yes, I'm drunk… so speak quickly before I vomit on your clothes."
He was just realizing that his head was dangerously spinning. Maybe he shouldn't have drunk so much…
Yet, his "secret admirer" didn't seem to care about his current state. He was a man in his thirties – maybe forties – with blond, almost white hair and warm brown eyes. His gaze was a bit fuzzy and elusive, but also strangely sympathetic ; he was of average stature and quite banally clothed – expect for a pair of gloves made of a sort of synthetic matter ; globally, he was not very impressive and surely easily forgettable. No wonder Strange didn't remember his name…
"Strange… You always had a wonderful memory, I can't imagine that alcohol could have done such damage…"
The tone of his soft, quiet voice finally reminded his identity to Strange, whose eyes widened in stupor :
"Myshkin !" he shouted in awe." You're right… alcohol caused damage…"
The man grinned weakly, almost pitifully.
Of course that Strange knew him… Milo Myshkin had been his classmate during his medical studies! Actually, they'd never been very close as Myshkin was a very discreet student – but Strange could remember the neuroscience classes they shared, both with a huge interest as they both wished to specialize them into this field. And truth to be said, Myshkin was far from being an idiot : he had beaten Strange once or twice and was often in the head of the class. They'd never spoken after having finished their studies : in fact, Strange only knew that his classmate obtained his M.D. in the same year as him.
"So, what brings you here tonight ? the Wizard asked while slightly frowning. It's not like there's a reunion of old classmates… is there ?"
Myshkin laughed shyly while trying to avoid Strange's ice-blue gaze, starred at him with curiosity and expectation. At this moment, Strange realized that his first lack of memory was not that unexplainable : his old classmate's face and behavior had really changed. He appeared to be more self-conscious, afflicted, almost sick or in pain. In other hand, the arrogant young Strange had barely paid attention to his silent, timid and seemingly uninteresting schoolmate…
Milo Myshkin reported his thoughtful gaze at the Wizard ; something in his warm, dark eyes shined with empathy and hardly-restrained pity.
"I've heard from you. It was six years ago, when you had… that accident with your hands…"
Strange only flashed a joyless rictus.
"It's been a long time ago! I've moved on, as you can see…"
And he briefly broke the illusion which hid his magic red cloak and his Wizard's blue costume. Myshkin's eyes widened a bit, but he stayed still and just nodded in comprehension. After all, everyone on Earth knew the existence of super-heroes with unexplainable powers – and he was certainly aware that Strange was one of them.
The Wizard observed him, as he slightly bit his lower lip and seemed to hesitate to speak.
"I… I was working on a project, at this time… but it was only experimental and with no concrete results", he eventually muttered while looking down shamefully. "I also knew that you were ready to take all the risks, Christine told me…
"Christine ?! Strange exclaimed loudly, eyes widening in astonishment. You know Christine Palmer ?!
"Y…yes, we met during a conference in Europe… she's a neuroscientist too, after all…"
He seemed quite frightened by the Wizard's sudden reaction ; but there was something else : the way he fled Strange's eye-contact implied a sort of hardly-decipherable culpability, which immediately caught the Sorcerer's attention.
"You… didn't only know her… you had a relationship with Christine !"
In amazement, Strange grabbed his own hair with his hands, shocked by his own deduction.
"How… how did I never guessed…?
"In fact… you did. She told you… maybe not my name, but I know that she told you she was in a relationship during two years with another neuroscientist…"
Myshkin took a deep breath before he continued :
"… and she reported to me that you barely paid attention when she spoke about her life, and that you contemptuously called me her 'invisible boyfriend' during these two years…"
Strange raised his eyebrows in eventual understanding.
"Oooh, so that was you !?
"Yes… that was me…"
There was a very awkward silence.
"So… if I understand well… during all the most painful part of my life, you and Christine developed a new cure which could have saved me if you weren't a coward and just told me about", Strange spoke in an icy-cold tone, suddenly realizing what Myshkin had been talking about a few seconds earlier.
Myshlin swallowed uneasily but tried to maintain a sort of shivering eye-contact.
"It's… not that simple, Strange. As I said, there were no results – and Christine didn't work on it. The whole project was about stimulating undifferentiated implanted cells in order to make them evolve into neural cells. As you might expect, most of our – nonhuman – test subjects died from cancer… "
Strange nodded and smiled sarcastically. Of course, that was predictable : although individual cell growth mechanisms were relatively well-known, the complexity of their interaction in a living body made all the experimentations very risky. A single small mutation could lead to great damage.
"So, why are you here, apologizing for something you couldn't fix anyway ?" he asked in an indifferent tone.
He was on the verge of turning on his heels and walking away : this whole conversation was obviously perfectly useless. However, something in Myshkin's weird expression eventually dissuaded him from leaving…
"It's… sort of… complicated…" Myshkin answered hesitantly. "I… know that you are a sort of Earth protector, now, but… well… you've never forgotten your neurosurgical skills, have you ?"
Strange frowned, suddenly confused : he hadn't expected that.
Seeing his confusion, Christine's ex raised up his hands, gloved in a strange synthetic matter, as if they constituted a valid explanation of his last sentence.
Starring at them with incomprehension, Strange finally noticed a curious detail : a thin transparent perfusion pipe was running along Myshkin's left wrist and disappearing in the sleeve of his beige coat. The perfusion needle was certainly stuck somewhere below the smooth surface of the glove.
It fully aroused his interest. His pale blue eyes shined with a reborn excitement, which he had never felt during the past six years : for the first time since he lost the motricity of his hands, Strange was confronted to a mysterious medical case which had to be solved.
The corners of his lips turned up in a subtle smile.
"Maybe we should continue this whole conversation in a… more private place ?" he proposed confidently.
He led his former classmate to the New York Sanctuary, where he stayed most of the time these days. The Sanctuary was almost deserted – except Strange's 'bodyguard', which was probably asleep now – so they crossed the main hall dived into darkness and silence to reach Strange's quarters, in the basement. Strange offered his host a drink, then invited him to take a seat and sat down at the opposite side of his small dining table, near the fridge.
Myshkin seemed a bit nervous now, glancing left and right but without really perceiving the surroundings ; however, when Strange politely pushed him to take the floor, he nodded, took a breath and shyly complied :
"The start of my project strangely coincided with the date of your accident. The more I think of it, the less I believe it was only a coincidence : Christine strongly encouraged me to keep going despite the lack of results – and I knew that she mostly made it because of you, although she never mentioned your name. It was one of the reasons that later pushed me to leave her : her heart was still yours, despite your new life as a Wizard… but I digress.
"During six years, I persevered in my experimentations. Things were still as bad as in the beginning… yet… I think I had nothing better to do. It was no longer about saving your hands or pleasing Christine – it was something deeper, something… almost haunting. I often lacked resources, sometimes even money, but… it was just impossible to abandon my research. I was quite sure that I was on to something, something groundbreaking ! I just had to dig deeper…"
Now panting, his sickness was more visible than ever : some droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead and his skin was alarmingly pale. When Strange looked down at Myshkin's gloved hands, he uncomfortably realized that they were trembling – which reminded him a lot of painful subjective memories.
Nevertheless, his curiosity piqued, he let him continue :
"Four months ago, I finally found something, a way to chemically lead the neural cells' growth. Some of the tested mice appeared to have become far more… sensitive than the others, without developing a cancer. I skip the details, but… it was really a solution ! Or at least, it seemed to be… I was absolutely ecstatic !"
He gave a brief laugh and wiped feverously the sweat from his brow.
"Of course, it had to happen to me, specifically… I bet anyone else would have stopped the tests here and just published the results. It would have been the most rational solution : I had no more research funds, my boss was furious that I wasted all my time in that… nonsense. But… I couldn't help, you certainly know why ; it's the same reason that pushed both of us to study neurology : the – almost – philosophical fascination with the brain.
"I had to know by myself. The mice didn't seem sick, all the tests results were clear : all that changed was their perception, their senses. They were… far from their wild fellows, they had extra-sensitive perceptions, they were like… super-mice. And I wished to know what it was, to be more than a simple man…"
As he was speaking with increasing difficulty, Strange felt that his own chest was tightening in horror. He was slowly understanding more and more precisely what Myshkin was exactly talking about : just like him, the man he faced probably unconsciously never forgot Christine Palmer. His past obsession in his unsuccessful experimentations was certainly a sort of quiet challenge against him, intended for win the heart of the woman they both loved. He surely perceived Strange as a rival and tried to become his equal : "be more than a simple man".
Meanwhile, doctor Myshkin slightly raised his hand as if to finally show them : with an uncertain and visibly ashamed gesture, he delicately grabbed the end of his left glove with two fingers and slowly pulled it off.
Strange was expecting something spectacular, unnatural or at least alarming ; instead, he only saw a perfectly regular hand – maybe just a bit pale, like its owner – with a perfusion needle planted at the base of the palm.
He disappointedly raised an eyebrow and looked up to meet Myshkin's eyes :
"And… so… what is this supposed to mean, exactly ? You do drugs ?" he sarcastically questioned while staring at the perfusion needle.
Myshkin shook his head with a weird expression on his lips.
"Not… exactly. It is a morphine drip. And the reason I'm here… is that I cannot live without.
"You're addicted…
"No, no ! Didn't you heard what I said only ten seconds ago ? I tried something really, really stupid with the neural cells' growth technology…"
He took a shaking breath and his ungloved hand, still raised a few centimeters beyond the table, shivered slightly.
"I can feel everything. My sense of touch is excruciatingly developed… I must always wear special gloves that inhibit it and infuse morphine to deal with the pain. And…there is more…"
He leaned over the table to bring his face closer to Strange's. His eyes were filled with dread and pain.
"I also can command to someone's nervous system when I touch his skin."