The asphalt of the private hangar at the airport was still radiating the day’s trapped heat, shimmering in the low glow of the runway lights. The silence of the night was shattered by the high-pitched whine of a descending Gulfstream jet, its sleek silver frame cutting through the humid New York air.

  Ethan Kane stood by the edge of the tarmac, his hands tucked into the pockets of a professional charcoal overcoat. Behind him, a small fleet was silhouetted against the hangars: two bcked-out luxury SUVs and a high-end, unmarked ambunce with its engine idling in a low, rhythmic hum.

  As the jet’s stairs hissed open, the group emerged like soldiers returning from a war zone. Peter was the first down, his Spider-Man suit tattered, the chest piece scorched and yered with dried salt from the Pacific. He was supporting a heavily limping Matt Murdock, whose crimson suit was dark with wet blood at the midsection. Richard Rider followed, his Nova armor dull and dented, carrying the unconscious, frail form of Charles Xavier in his arms.

  Peter’s eyes, visible through the jagged tears in his mask, locked onto Ethan. His jaw was set, a mountain of questions and accusations visible in the tension of his shoulders. But before Peter could utter a single word, Ethan stepped forward, his face a mask of efficient, subordinate concern. He was the primary adjutant to his other persona Isaac Maddox.

  "Welcome back," Ethan said, his voice smooth and professional, cutting through the tension. "Mr. Maddox received the pilot’s radio transmission regarding a medical emergency. He’s made the necessary arrangements."

  Ethan gestured to a woman stepping out of the shadows of the ambunce. She was dressed in crisp navy scrubs, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She carried a trauma bag with the practiced ease of someone who had seen every manner of violence the city could offer.

  "This is Linda Carter," Ethan introduced her calmly. "She’s one of the finest trauma specialists in the city. She’ll take Mr. Murdock into the mobile unit immediately to debride and stitch that abdominal wound."

  Peter looked from Ethan to the woman, his "spider-sense" silent. He let out a long, ragged breath, the fight draining out of him as he handed Matt over to Linda’s steady grip.

  "Isaac… sure was prepared," Peter muttered, his voice raspy and thick with exhaustion.

  Ethan offered a faint, polite smile. "Mr. Maddox prides himself on foresight, Peter. He understands that this excursion wasn't a pce for a Sunday stroll. The second SUV is at your disposal. It is prepared to take both you and Mr. Rider to a five-star hotel in Midtown. Mr. Maddox has cleared the entire top floor. You can rest, eat, and recuperate in absolute privacy. Or, if you prefer, the drivers can drop you anywhere in the tri-state area."

  Richard Rider looked at the plush interior of the waiting car, then down at the pale, breathing form of Xavier. The "Cosmic Surge" had left the Centurion drained to his marrow. "The hotel," Rich grunted. "The Professor needs a real bed and food, and I need a shower that doesn't involve seawater."

  Linda Carter helped a grimacing Matt into the back of the ambunce. The interior was a marvel of compact medical technology, glowing with sterile white light. As she began to cut away the ruined fabric of the Daredevil suit, the smell of antiseptic filled the air.

  "He’ll be fine," Linda said, her voice echoing from the vehicle. "But he’s lost a lot of fluid. I’m starting a line now."

  Rich climbed into the first SUV with Xavier, the door closing with a heavy, expensive thud. As the vehicle pulled away, Kevin—the pilot—stepped out from the jet. He looked at the battered Spider-Man and gave a small, respectful nod.

  "Thank you, Kevin, Mr. Maddox wanted you to know," Ethan said, his voice warm. "Thanks for working so hard. There’s a significant bonus waiting in your account for the 'hazard fee.' Consider the hotel stay an add-on."

  Kevin eagerly thanked Ethan and walked away to most likely grab his thing and head to the hotel.

  Peter didn't even acknowledge the mention of money. He stood on the tarmac, a solitary, broken figure under the floodlights. Ten minutes passed in a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional clink of surgical instruments from the ambunce.

  Finally, Linda Carter stepped out, stripping off her tex gloves. She looked tired but satisfied. "He’s patched up. Deep ceration to the oblique, but no organ damage. He needs a week of strict bed rest and minimal movement. If he tries to jump off a roof in the next forty-eight hours, he’ll split like a ripe melon."

  She turned to Ethan, her gaze sharp and analytical. "Tell Mr. Maddox that I’ve made my decision. I will accept the position of Chief Medical Officer at Metro-General, provided his 'charity' stiputions remain in writing."

  Ethan nodded. "The contract is already drafted, Dr. Carter. Metro-General will officially send it to you via the associate you previously met, Robert Huges. Also, would you mind taking your patient to the hotel so you’ll be able to know his room number? I assume it’ll save you time in the future."

  As Linda climbed into the driver’s seat of the ambunce to transport Matt to the hotel, Peter finally stepped toward Ethan. The fatigue in his limbs was being overridden by a mounting confusion.

  "What was that?" Peter asked, gesturing toward the departing ambunce. "Chief Medical Officer? You bought a hospital?"

  "Metro-General was facing bankruptcy after the recent 'superhuman' colteral damage cims," Ethan expined, his tone conversational. " I, or rather ‘Mr. Maddox’ saw an opportunity. I’m installing Dr. Carter to run it. In exchange for her leadership, she’s been given a specialized, off-the-books wing. It will allow her to treat heroes, vigintes, and mutants with full hospital resources—secretly. No questions asked, no police reports filed, and absolutely no discrimination based on 'genetic status.' She’s a real bleeding heart that one."

  Peter stared at him. The sheer scale of the move was staggering. While Peter had been fighting for his life in a chrome sphere, Ethan—or "Isaac"—had been reshuffling the medical infrastructure of New York City to create a safety net they had desperately needed for years.

  "I thought it would be nice," Ethan added, his voice softening slightly, "for people like you to have a pce to go when the 'neighborhood' gets too unfriendly. You shouldn't have to stitch yourself up in an alleyway, Peter."

  Peter opened his mouth to speak—to ask about Cerebro, Nina, about the drones, to ask why Ethan had sent them into a trap—but Ethan raised a hand, preempting the outburst.

  "Go to the hotel, Peter. Take the st car. Stay there with Matt and Richard for as long as you need. Dr. Carter will be checking Matt’s wounds periodically, and it’s in his best interest that she can actually find him. Rest. Eat something that isn’t deep-fried."

  Ethan turned to walk toward a modest taxi parked near the hangar exit.

  "Wait!" Peter shouted, his hand shooting out to grab Ethan’s shoulder. His grip was tight—the strength of a man who had just survived more than his share of the world’s worst. "We aren't done. You don't just get to walk away. You knew about the dangers of that pce. You knew that we wouldn’t be enough to stop Cerebro. You knew about the girl Nina. You knew everything. So why didn’t you tell me any of it?"

  Ethan stopped. He didn't pull away. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes calm, reflecting the cold light of the moon. For a second, the "Assistant" persona slipped, and the boy who had seen the end of time looked out from behind the mask.

  "I know you have questions, Peter. Mountains of them, and I know you have grievances. You’re angry, you’re hurting, and you feel like a pawn." Ethan’s voice was a low hum. "And we will talk about it. All of it. Tomorrow morning at the b. I’ll answer anything you want."

  Ethan reached up and gently dislodged Peter’s hand. He checked his watch, a small, genuine chuckle escaping his lips.

  "But right now? I have to get home. I have a biology test in the morning, and if I don't get at least four hours of sleep, my mother is going to suspect I’ve been up to something 'irresponsible.'"

  Peter stood frozen, his hand still hovering in the air. The sheer absurdity of the statement—the juxtaposition of a prison break and a high school science test—left his brain stalled.

  "A test?" Peter whispered to the empty air. "You're worried about a test?"

  Ethan chuckled, “Hey, you have your secret identity and I have mine. I’m gd you’re back safe, Peter. Go and rest. Don’t forget to give Aunt May and Felicia and call that you’re back.”

  He hopped into the back seat of his car, the engine purring to life. With a final wave of his hand, he left the hangar complex, leaving his friend standing on the tarmac, stunned and utterly exhausted.

  As Ethan was driven through the quiet streets toward his home, he tapped his earpiece. "N.E.A.R., status on the genetic samples? Is there a sample of Emma Frost that is untainted within the Essex Cryogen?"

  "Yes, there is a sample registered under the name Emma Frost, Ethan. However, records show that multiple experiments were conducted on the sample, suggesting that it only retains 78% integrity. Records also show a mild compatibility of 45% with the Phoenix Force."

  "Damn," Ethan whispered, his eyes fixed on the road. "That’s one sample that I would have liked to remain untouched. Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to collect a sample from the White Queen myself. I’ll call her to meet with Peter, and they’ll both take the Professor back tomorrow. Peter isn’t the greatest at getting people to owe him a favor. Emma should be able to spin a believable story for the X-Men, although I might have to owe her a favor since she hasn’t accepted my offer just yet."

  As the taxi pulled up to his house, Ethan took a deep breath. He really had too many worries.

  The Next Morning at Metro-General Hospital. Linda Carter stood in her new office, looking out over the city. On her desk y the keys to the facility and a folder marked Project: Night Nurse.

  She didn't know who Isaac Maddox really was, and she didn't care. For the first time in her career, she had the power to heal the people who actually protected the world, without the red tape of a system that feared them.

  She picked up a phone and dialed a secure number. "This is Carter. I’m calling to inform you that if you’re looking for treatment in the future call me and come to Metro-General."