"I'm sorry. I came into this room without permission. My name is Alan," Alan introduced himself politely and with gentlemanly grace.
If he wasn't mistaken, the woman in front of him was Christine, Strange's girlfriend. His gaze shifted to the medical bills in her hands.
In that instant, Alan understood why her eyes were so red—Christine had done everything she could to save Strange.
"I don't think... I've ever seen you before. Are you a friend of Strange's?" Christine sniffled. She didn't want a stranger to see her in such a vulnerable state, so she quickly turned around and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, forcing a strained smile.
"Uh, something like that. Is he waking up?" Alan had been standing in the room for a little while now and hadn't noticed any signs of Strange regaining consciousness.
Even his heartbeat seemed to be growing fainter. Could it be that Strange was going to die today?
But Alan didn't think that was possible. There was no way Strange's story would end in a hospital bed.
"Not sure yet," Christine replied. She wanted to know just as badly when Strange would wake up. Seeing him lie there, weak and barely breathing, just didn't fit the man she knew.
Just as their conversation ended, a weak sound came from the hospital bed.
"Stephen!" Christine no longer cared who Alan was. The moment she saw signs of life from Strange, she rushed to his bedside.
Alan stood to the side, eyes fixed on Stephen Strange as he slowly came to. He couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man's fate—
It was truly a fall from the heavens into the mud. No wonder Strange couldn't accept the loss of control over his hands.
"Ugh… Christine?" Strange slowly opened his eyes, though his left was still swollen and bruised, so it remained shut.
He felt as if he had been asleep for a long time. The pain coursing through his body helped bring his mind back to clarity.
Very quickly, he noticed both of his hands had been suspended and held together with metal rods, almost like they had been pieced back with rebar.
"What… what the hell happened?! Who operated on me? What happened to my hands?!"
As expected, Strange's reaction was nearly identical to what Alan had anticipated—only his voice was even more anguished and tormented than he imagined.
"Stephen, you were in a terrible car accident. When we found you, you were unconscious and lying in a pool of blood," Christine said, not directly answering his question.
She knew Strange's prideful and arrogant personality—he might not be able to handle what came next.
All Christine wanted was for him to have finally woken up. She didn't want him to suffer any more shocks.
However, Strange was fully immersed in his own panic. He couldn't accept the condition of his hands at all.
He roared, "Who was the surgeon?! Does he even know what the hell he's doing? How could he leave my hands like this?! Christine, bring him here—"
"If he doesn't know how to operate properly, I can stand next to him and guide him through it! I don't even need anesthesia!"
Strange couldn't feel his hands at all. He was terrified they were permanently ruined. And if they were... what would be left for him in the future?
Christine, hearing his words, began to quietly sob—but her feet didn't move an inch.
...
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