"Thor, did you hear about my former colleague Strange? He was in a car accident," Christine said, her tone heavy with concern.
Thor frowned. "Oh? How bad is it?"
Christine sighed. "He was trapped in his car for hours. By the time a helicopter rescued him, he'd already missed the critical window for nerve repair. He's got eleven stainless steel screws in his bones, multiple torn ligaments, and severe nerve damage in his hands. He has almost no sensation left."
As a surgeon herself, Christine's voice carried the weight of knowing exactly what that meant. "For a doctor like Strange, especially someone of his caliber, it's devastating."
Thor tilted his head, confused. "That sounds… worse than I expected. In the original timeline—uh, I mean, I'd heard he wasn't this bad. He could at least shave."
Christine shrugged helplessly. "It didn't help that the best neurosurgeon we know, was unreachable at the time. Apparently, he was out… protesting."
Thor slapped his forehead. "Seriously? He missed the call because he went to a rally?"
"Yeah," Christine admitted, her frustration evident. "And I'm no expert in neurosurgery. I did what I could as his family doctor, but…"
Thor considered this for a moment. "Well, couldn't you have helped? I mean, you weren't exactly contracted to me forever, were you? Couldn't you have stepped in?"
Christine shook her head. "I'm not skilled enough in that field. But Strange did reach out. He wants to meet with you."
Thor raised an eyebrow. "Me? Sure, no problem. Set it up."
In a high-end café, Thor leaned back in his chair, cutting straight to the point. "Alright, Strange, what do you need from me?"
Stephen Strange looked anything but the confident, brilliant surgeon Thor remembered. He was gaunt, unshaven, and trembling as he tried to lift his coffee cup. The cup slipped from his hands, shattering loudly on the table.
Strange cursed under his breath, staring at his hands with a mixture of frustration and despair. "Did you see that?" he said bitterly. "These hands used to perform miracles, and now they're useless. Quack doctors ruined me! I heard you have access to something—Extremis. It can regenerate limbs. I'll give you everything I have—every penny—if you help me."
Thor raised a hand, stopping him. "Hold on. I don't need your money, Strange. You helped Tony once, so I owe you. I can give you a dose of Extremis."
Strange's face lit up. "You will?"
Thor smirked. "Well… no."
The hope in Strange's eyes flickered out. "What? Why not?"
Thor shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. "Some bald magician told me not to."
Strange blinked, stunned. "Bald magician? Are you serious? You're refusing to help me because of some mystical fortune-teller?"
Far away in Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One twitched, sensing herself being mocked.
Thor leaned forward, holding back laughter. "Look, I can't give you Extremis, but I can point you in the right direction."
Strange narrowed his eyes. "What direction?"
Thor's grin widened. "Nepal. Kathmandu, to be exact."
Strange's brows knitted in confusion. "Nepal? Are you telling me the cure for my hands is in one of the least developed countries in the world? This sounds like a scam."
Thor laughed. "Not a scam, I promise. You're looking for a place called Kamar-Taj. Trust me, you'll find your true destiny there."
Strange remained skeptical. "Can't you be more specific?"
Thor rubbed his chin. "You know what? You're right. Why waste time?" He stood up and, with a dramatic flourish, swiped his hand through the air. A shimmering golden portal materialized in front of them.
Strange recoiled, his mistrust of portals clearly lingering from his recent traumas. "What are you doing? I don't trust this!"
Thor smirked and gestured at the portal. "Come on, Strange. Don't be such a baby. It's just a shortcut."
Before Strange could protest further, the portal surged toward him, sucking him through with a yelp.
Strange landed with a thud on the polished stone floor of an unfamiliar hall. He groaned, pushing himself upright. Around him, a group of people in yellow robes stared at him in confusion.
"Where am I?" Strange muttered, looking around at the strange architecture.
At the center of the hall stood a middle-aged bald woman with an air of authority. Her gaze was calm yet piercing. Strange had the distinct feeling she saw right through him.
Through the fading portal, Thor's voice echoed: "Master Ancient One, here's the person you've been waiting for! Delivered fresh, no assembly required."
The Ancient One closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "Why does this feel like trafficking?" she murmured under her breath.
Strange, oblivious to the tension in the room, looked at the Ancient One with growing skepticism. "You're the one I'm supposed to meet? What is this place? Some kind of… cult?"
The Ancient One stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "Young man, I already know why you're here. But first, answer me this: Do you believe in the existence of magic?"
Strange hesitated only for a moment before nodding. "I do."
The Ancient One raised an eyebrow, her prepared speech forgotten. "You do?"
Mordo, standing beside her, frowned in confusion. "Why? You're a man of science. What convinced you?"
Strange gestured vaguely toward the now-vanished portal. "Because some guy named Thor just threw me here through a magical door. And let's be honest, who wouldn't believe in magic after that?"
The Ancient One and Mordo exchanged glances, their carefully maintained composure cracking ever so slightly. "Thor…" the Ancient One muttered, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Of course."
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