"Load Harry Potter Protagonist Template!"
As the towering silhouette of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters grew clearer on the horizon, Mark, seated quietly in the vehicle's rear compartment, activated his newest template
In an instant, his entire appearance shifted. A flowing black wizard's robe appeared around his shoulders. An elegant broomstick materialized beside him. A shimmering cloak of invisibility briefly flickered before folding neatly into his pack. Most notably, a slender wand, ancient and weathered by time, appeared in his right hand, its polished surface reflecting the muted light.
Seated beside him, Professor Charles Xavier observed the transformation with a guarded expression. Though calm on the surface, his voice carried the gentle gravity of leadership.
"Mark, let's keep our focus," Xavier said quietly.
"We're here to transfer custody of William Stryker and present the evidence of his attempt on the President's life. With any luck, we can avoid further conflict."
Mark turned to him with an affable smile and nodded. His voice was light, almost overly accommodating.
"Of course, Professor. I agree completely. I'm not here to cause trouble. Just being cautious. If things don't go as planned, I want to be ready."
Xavier gave a thoughtful nod, understanding the sentiment. While Mark had a tendency to push boundaries, he was also disciplined when it mattered most.
Then, without fanfare, Mark reached into the open compartment between them and retrieved a plastic bottle of mineral water. He twisted the cap open with deliberate slowness.
"Stryker might be thirsty," he said simply.
"Let's not forget basic human decency."
Charles blinked, briefly touched by the seemingly thoughtful gesture. For a moment, a trace of warmth softened his normally stoic expression.
"You've always had a sense of compassion, Mark," he murmured. He then lowered the psychic pressure he had been exerting on Stryker, giving the man back his motor control for the first time since the journey began. The former military officer, previously frozen like a statue, blinked and flexed his fingers stiffly.
Despite Stryker's record of atrocities and the pain he had caused to mutants and innocents alike, Mark's ability to show empathy, even if calculatedwas something Xavier respected. It reminded him that power, without conscience, was nothing.
Up front, Raven drove with quiet focus. Erik Lehnsherr sat in the passenger seat, ever vigilant. The two exchanged a silent glance. Neither spoke, but both checked the rearview mirror to monitor Mark's movements.
There had been a previous conversation, private and precise. Mark had come to Erik with a specific request. He had asked for a fast-acting, scentless, colorless poison, something deadly enough to kill within seconds when ingested. The excuse given was direct. It was meant for Stryker.
Now, watching Mark twist open the bottle with such careful intention, Erik's suspicions stirred. If Mark truly intended to kill Stryker now, it would derail everything. Xavier's fragile diplomacy, their carefully constructed alliance with S.H.I.E.L.D., and potentially the tenuous peace they had been trying to maintain would all be put at risk.
But Mark was not impulsive. Erik has known him to be deliberate. Too deliberate, in fact.
So what was he really planning?
Shielded by the folds of his new wizard robe, Mark quietly slipped a tiny vial of vibrant blue liquid from his pocket. With deft precision, he poured its contents into the open bottle. The crystal-clear water inside took on a faint, unnatural hue.
He then raised his wand, angled discreetly toward the bottle, and murmured a low spell under his breath.
"Mutatio liquoris."
It was a simple Transfiguration incantation. The liquid shimmered briefly before returning to its transparent form. To any observer, it looked like ordinary mineral water. But Mark knew better. The poison was still there, only masked by magic.
He turned to Stryker and handed him the bottle with a disarmingly calm smile.
"You should drink," he said softly. "We've had a long ride."
Without hesitation, Stryker took it and drank. Thirst had been gnawing at him for hours, and he finished the entire bottle in a matter of seconds.
At that moment, perhaps sensing a shift in atmosphere, Professor X instinctively reapplied his psychic control, freezing Stryker once again.
From the front, Erik watched in silence.
Something was not adding up.
If Mark had used the poison, Stryker should already be dead. It was that potent. Erik had made it himself. There were no loopholes and no antidotes. And yet, Stryker looked completely fine.
So either the poison had never been used, or something entirely unexpected was happening.
Erik studied Mark more closely. The boy had not shown a flicker of doubt. No hesitation. No remorse. In fact, he looked entirely at ease, his posture relaxed, his eyes unreadable.
Then Mark leaned back in his seat and whispered, so softly it was almost lost to the ambient hum of the vehicle:
"Handled."
The truth was far more complex than anyone else in the car realized. Killing Stryker had never been the real problem. Doing it in a way that left no fingerprints, that was the true challenge.
Mark had spent hours reviewing the finer points of the Harry Potter template. He had not just skimmed spells. He had absorbed magical theory, particularly the structure and exceptions of Transfiguration. Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration came to mind, a list of magical limitations that governed what could and could not be transformed.
One rule in particular served his purpose. Transfigured substances were only temporary, and would eventually revert to their original form.
That change was the loophole.
By transforming the poison into harmless water, Mark had ensured Stryker could drink it without immediate consequence. But within a few hours, the magic would break down. The liquid inside Stryker's stomach would revert to its original, lethal composition. The poison would act fast, devastating his organs from the inside with no external signs of foul play.
To any S.H.I.E.L.D. medic or investigator, it would look like Stryker had simply died of natural causes. Perhaps a preexisting condition, maybe a stroke, maybe cardiac arrest. Nothing traceable. No evidence. No suspects.
Mark had ensured the kill would be clean, anonymous, and perfectly timed.
When the vehicle finally rolled to a stop beneath S.H.I.E.L.D.'s monolithic central structure, the five passengers stepped out. Waiting at the entrance was Agent Maria Hill, flanked by a squad of armed agents. Her demeanor was professional, though her expression carried the steel-edged efficiency of someone used to dealing with complications.
"Agent William Stryker will be transferred into our custody," she said crisply.
"Director Fury is expecting the rest of you in his office."
Xavier inclined his head in polite agreement.
"Understood. Lead the way."
Stryker, now no longer mentally restrained, was quietly led away by two agents. He showed no resistance, but his face bore an odd expression—something between smugness and serenity. His eyes glinted with an emotion neither Xavier nor Erik could quite name.
Erik narrowed his eyes.
"Charles," he muttered, barely loud enough for the Professor to hear,
"this may have been a terrible mistake."
But even as the words left his mouth, he caught something out of the corner of his eye.
Mark turned. Briefly. Silently. And gave Erik a single wink.
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