T/N: I'm really sorry that I have not posted for a while. I initially had issues with my wifi, when that finally got fixed, I lost power to my house and havent been able to use my PC, it still has not been fix so I won't be updating as much. Sorry for the inconvenience
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"Very cautious indeed."
As they walked behind Agent Hill through the interior of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Mark quickly picked up on the quiet but constant movements of the surveillance systems embedded in the walls and ceilings. Cameras, nearly invisible at a glance, adjusted their angles automatically, tracking the group with eerie precision. Every shift of posture, every turn of the head, was logged in real time.
It was impossible to miss. The entire structure was alive with observation. Some sort of advanced artificial intelligence was clearly coordinating all of it, seamless, invisible, and unsettlingly effective.
The personnel stationed throughout the facility were just as impressive. Each agent looked highly trained and physically ready for immediate deployment. They carried sleek firearms, likely made from some kind of clear, durable composite. Mark found their posture and silence telling, this wasn't just security. This was orchestration.
"Charles?" Magneto's voice was quiet but sharp.
He glanced at Xavier, who gave the slightest shake of his head.
No words were needed. Magneto had asked whether Xavier could still use his telepathy here. The answer, clearly, was no. Something in the building was blocking his powers. A psychic dampener, perhaps, or shielding technology designed to resist mutants.
Agent Hill, sensing the rising tension, offered a measured but polite explanation.
"Please don't worry. There's no hostile intent. The Director only wants this meeting to happen on neutral ground, without advantages on either side. He genuinely hopes the discussion will be productive."
She noticed Magneto's expression harden and softened her voice with a practiced smile that could either be sincere or expertly trained.
Xavier responded gently, his tone calm.
"That sounds fair to me. I would prefer that too."
(T/N: Dumbass)
Magneto didn't echo the sentiment. He let out a short breath through his nose, unimpressed but holding back further comment.
Keeping her expression professional, Hill continued leading them toward the central elevator.
"To the Director's office."
"Yes, Agent Hill," replied a smooth, digitized voice from the elevator's interface. The doors closed with a soft click, and the lift surged upward.
Mark, observing it all, couldn't help but be quietly amazed.
'They're using artificial intelligence like this already? And it's only the year 2000?'
The outside world still ran on flip phones and dial-up connections. Most people barely understood digital communication. And here, inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, technology was decades ahead of the curve. It was a stark reminder of the divide between the public and the organizations operating behind closed doors.
In the Marvel universe, technological disparity was normal. The world might look like ours on the surface, but under that layer, the elite groups and agencies, S.H.I.E.L.D., the X-Men, Stark Industries were always working with what could only be called future tech. Innovations the general public wouldn't see for years, or ever.
When they reached the Director's office, Mark instinctively moved to push Xavier's wheelchair forward, but Agent Hill stepped between him and the doorway.
"The Director would like to speak with Charles and Erik privately," she said, not unkindly but with firm authority.
Mark paused. That detail hadn't escaped his attention. The separation was strategic, splitting up the strongest members of the group. It was a tactical move, plain and simple. In the event that talks fell apart, it would be easier to deal with threats one at a time.
Xavier and Magneto seemed to come to the same conclusion. They exchanged a knowing glance. Xavier didn't seem worried.
"In that case," he said
"please arrange somewhere for Mark and Raven to rest."
His calm acceptance of the division wasn't just diplomacy, it was confidence. He wanted to show Director Fury that they hadn't come for a confrontation, and that they were willing to demonstrate trust in return. The message was subtle but strong.
Agent Hill nodded.
"Of course, Professor. A private lounge has already been prepared for them."
Mark didn't react. He didn't feel threatened. It would make no sense for Fury to provoke anything, especially here in Washington, surrounded by politicians and federal buildings. The odds of conflict were incredibly low, and Xavier was the least aggressive mutant anyone could bring to the table.
And if, somehow, things did fall apart? Mark wasn't worried about that either.
With Xavier and Magneto on his side, they were in no danger. Magneto alone could turn the entire building into rubble with a flick of his hand. Mark knew they wouldn't last long.
Given that, Mark saw no reason to sit in on the private talk. He didn't have the authority to participate, and he'd rather save his energy for something useful.
"This way, please."
After the doors to the Director's office closed behind them, Agent Hill guided Mark and Mystique down a side corridor. At the end, they reached a clean, comfortable guest lounge.
The space had soft lighting, plush seating, and refreshments: chips, bottled soda, and other light snacks. It was clearly designed to put visitors at ease.
But there were already two people waiting, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.
Mark immediately recognized them. Hawkeye and Black Widow. The pair stood at the doorway like statues, watching silently, each clearly instructed to monitor the guests closely.
As soon as they sat down, Mystique leaned in toward Mark, her voice low.
"Has the target been handled?"
Mark offered a small, relaxed smile and nodded once.
"Don't worry. He won't live to see sunrise."
Mystique looked genuinely pleased.
"No wonder Erik respects you so much. You get things done."
She had every reason to hate men like Stryker. After being tortured and dissected in secret labs, her contempt for human experimentation had turned into deep, lifelong rage. If Mark hadn't taken care of it, she would have. But his decisiveness had saved her the trouble.
Mark looked over at the agents by the door and waved.
"Hey. No need to stand there like statues. Come on in. Might as well relax with us. We're all going to be here for a while."
He didn't actually expect them to accept. But sometimes, even a simple gesture could shift the energy in the room. Besides, these two were no ordinary guards. They were future founding Avengers, even if they didn't know it yet.
In a world of shifting alliances, it never hurt to start things on friendly terms.
Clint and Natasha shared a quick glance. Then they stepped inside.
Their orders were clear, monitor Mark and Mystique, especially Mark. But standing outside wouldn't give them much insight. Talking to him might.
Mark was a complete unknown to them. Unlike Xavier or Magneto, whose files were exhaustive, Mark had shown up without warning during the Sokovia incident and disappeared just as quickly. By the time S.H.I.E.L.D. started investigating, he was already under Xavier's protection. Even with their global intel network, they hadn't been able to trace him.
Mystique, seeing the agents enter, scoffed and closed her eyes. Her distrust was automatic. Years of abuse had made that reflex permanent.
But Mark stayed friendly.
"I'm Mark. What should I call you two?"
He reached for the snacks on the coffee table and handed each of them a bag of chips. The gesture was almost childish in its simplicity, but that was exactly the point. It lowered the temperature in the room. People rarely attacked someone offering them food.
"Natasha" said the woman with a soft smile. She took the chips but didn't share her last name.
"Clint. Or Barton. Whichever."
His tone wasn't hostile, but there was tension beneath the surface. Mark had knocked him unconscious during the Sokovia battle, and the memory lingered.
Still, Natasha picked up the rhythm quickly. She was a master of conversation, trained from childhood to turn small talk into reconnaissance. She smiled, leaned back, and let her words drift
"So... what kind of food did you grow up on? Let me guess spicy, lots of stew?"
It all seemed innocent. But it was calculated.
Mark saw through it. He knew the game. But he let her play it anyway. Not because he was naive, but because even in a game of questions, both sides could win.
"Close. My grandmother used to make this pepper soup that could knock out a cold and half your taste buds."
Natasha smiled, "Sounds like she didn't play around. Family still around?"
"Scattered. Some here, some... not here anymore." Mark replied purposefully vaguely.
Sometimes, a little honesty was the best deception of all.