[Host's life is about to be irreversibly threatened.]
[The Divine Healer System is officially activated.]
[System core functions are loading...]
[Core Function 1: Diagnosis of All Things — Instantly analyzes all injuries, diseases, and structural damage in biological, chanical, or energy-based entities.]
[Core Function 2: Divine Hand Copy — During treatnt, one core ability/talent/knowledge may be extracted. Greater injury severity increases extraction quality.]
[Core Function 3: Ability Furnace — Consus reputation points to fuse acquired abilities into new composite traits. (Current reputation: 0 — locked)]
Lynn's eyes snapped open.
A translucent blue interface hovered before him, its cold glow reflecting off the drying blood on his face.
He stared at it.
No excitent.
No disbelief.
By the third day in this world, absurdity had already lost its novelty.
Only one thing mattered.
Healing… and copying.
The more critical the injury—
The greater the reward.
His gaze shifted slowly toward the corpse on the operating table.
Snake Eyes.
Dead.
Could the system still count that as "healable"?
The panel flickered, responding instantly:
[Newbie Mission Issued: Heal a superhero or supervillain]
[Reward: Newbie Gift Pack x1]
[Note: Target must possess extraordinary physiology, abilities, or genetic traits. Ordinary humans are excluded]
Lynn let out a quiet, humorless breath.
A superhero?
He was trapped in a sealed operating room, marked for death by morning.
Even if one existed nearby—
How would they get here?
A system without opportunity was just another form of torture.
He closed his eyes.
Then—
A distant shockwave.
Low.
Heavy.
Not thunder.
An explosion.
Lynn's eyes snapped open.
Direction—
Gotham's inner districts.
Close.
Very close.
Then ca gunfire.
Rapid.
Chaotic.
Followed by sothing worse—
Laughter.
High-pitched. Unstable. Grating.
Like tal scraping bone.
Lynn's expression tightened.
That laugh needed no introduction.
The Joker.
The gunfire lasted roughly three minutes.
Then—
Silence.
Forty seconds of it.
Then—
BOOM.
The reinforced rear door of the operating room didn't open.
It was obliterated.
The entire tal slab tore inward under overwhelming force, crashing into the instrunt cabinet with a violent tallic impact.
A figure staggered through the wreckage.
Tall.
Broad.
Wrapped in black armor—now shredded, fractured, and soaked in blood.
The cape was mostly gone, burned down to ragged remnants.
The bat emblem on his chest—
Almost unrecognizable beneath layers of blood.
A dagger protruded from beneath his left ribcage.
Its blade glowed faint green.
Chemical.
Unstable.
He took two steps—
Then collapsed.
His breathing was shallow. Rapid. Controlled—but failing.
One hand reached for the blade.
It trembled violently.
Grip failed.
He couldn't remove it.
Lynn froze.
Recognition ca instantly.
Batman.
At the sa mont—
The system flared.
[High-value target detected]
[Initiating full diagnostic analysis—]
[Patient: Bruce Wayne (Batman)]
[Injury Assessnt:]
[1. Penetrating stab wound, left 4th intercostal space. Blade halted approximately 1.7 cm from cardiac tissue. Joker-derived compound toxin actively diffusing into surrounding myocardium (rate: 0.3 ml/sec). Toxin exhibits neurotoxic and cardiotoxic hybrid properties.]
[2. Right thoracic trauma: three fractured ribs, with displacent causing partial lung puncture → pneumothorax.]
[3. Left tibia: comminuted fracture with instability.]
[4. Seventeen ballistic/shrapnel wounds across torso and limbs. Estimated blood loss: >35%.]
[5. Mild traumatic brain injury with intracranial microhemorrhage.]
[Overall mortality probability: 98.7%]
[Estimated survival ti without intervention: 17 minutes]
[Reward potential: S-Rank Talent Extraction]
S-Rank.
Lynn's breathing slowed.
Not panic.
Focus.
He looked at the man on the ground—
Then at the data.
98.7% fatality.
17 minutes.
Under normal circumstances, this would be impossible.
A dropout.
Improvised tools.
A dying vigilante.
No margin for error.
But now—
He had perfect information.
Every wound.
Every trajectory.
Every optimal step.
This wasn't uncertainty anymore.
It was execution.
Seventeen minutes.
Lynn turned toward the cabinet.
No hesitation.
Not bravery.
Necessity.
This man—
Bleeding.
Poisoned.
Dying—
Was his only path forward.
Save him—
And gain power.
Save him—
And survive.
Everything else was secondary.
He scanned the supplies quickly.
Basic surgical instrunts.
Hemostats.
Sutures.
Adrenaline.
Outdated saline.
A barely functioning ECG.
Insufficient by conventional standards.
Sufficient under the system.
He put on gloves.
Dropped to one knee beside Batman.
Fingers to carotid artery.
Weak pulse.
Rapid.
Thread-like.
Still fighting.
Typical.
Even at the edge of death—
Batman's body resisted collapse with abnormal tenacity.
"Can you hear ?"
Lynn's voice was steady.
asured.
Batman's eyes opened slightly.
Dilated pupils.
Conscious—but fading.
He attempted to speak.
Failed.
"Do not talk. Do not move."
Lynn applied controlled pressure to stabilize him.
"You have less than twenty minutes."
A pause.
Then, flatly—
"Let handle it."
Batman's gaze sharpened for a fraction of a second.
Assessnt.
Judgnt.
Then—
No resistance.
Whether due to exhaustion—
Or instinct—
He complied.
Lynn reached for the scalpel.
At once—
The system expanded across his vision.
Each wound mapped.
Each step sequenced.
Clear.
Precise.
First: neutralize toxin spread.
Second: control hemorrhage.
Third: resolve pneumothorax.
Fourth: structural stabilization and closure.
The countdown had begun.
Seventeen minutes—
Reduced with every second.
The scalpel descended.
At the sa instant—
[Treatnt initiated.]
[Divine Hand Copy initiated…]
[Copy Progress: 0%…]
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