Marvel: I can turn into anything.

In the heart of New York, nestled away from the bustling city streets, stood a grand mansion unlike any other.

It was an estate of vast beauty and history, yet to those who truly knew what it housed, it was more than just a mere mansion.

This was the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, a sanctuary and school for those born with extraordinary abilities—mutants.

The night was calm, the moon casting a silver glow upon the vast property, illuminating the many windows behind which countless young minds rested, dreaming of a world that could one day accept them.

In a quiet, dimly lit office, a middle-aged man with a bald head sat in a wheelchair, his deep blue eyes scanning the pages of an old book.

Professor Charles Xavier was no stranger to late-night readings, finding solace in literature when his duties as headmaster and leader of the X-Men allowed him brief moments of peace.

However, tonight was different.

A sudden disturbance prickled at the edges of his vast telepathic mind.

A new presence—raw, unrefined, yet immensely powerful—flickered into existence, like a roaring fire suddenly igniting in the dark.

It lasted but a moment before vanishing, but its intensity was unmistakable.

Frowning slightly, Charles placed the book aside and straightened, his hands resting on the arms of his wheelchair.

With a thought, he reached out telepathically. 'Hank, come to the office, please.'

A few moments later, footsteps echoed through the hall, followed by a soft knock.

The door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with glasses, his intellectual yet slightly disheveled appearance betraying his late-night research session.

Hank McCoy, better known as Beast, entered with a quizzical look. "Yes, Professor? Is something wrong?"

Charles exhaled, his expression pensive. "I just sensed something. Someone… new. And exceptionally powerful."

Hank's brows furrowed. "A new mutant manifestation? That's not uncommon, but for it to warrant your attention personally…"

Charles nodded, his tone serious. "Let's go to Cerebro."

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Hank quickly fell in step beside the Professor.

The two made their way through the mansion's corridors, one walking with determined strides, the other maneuvering his advanced wheelchair with practiced ease.

They soon arrived at the secured chamber housing Cerebro, the massive, spherical device capable of amplifying Charles' telepathic abilities to locate and track mutants across the globe.

Hank moved to the control panel, his fingers swiftly inputting commands as the machine powered up with a low hum.

Charles positioned himself in the center of the room, donning the specialized helmet that connected him to Cerebro's vast network of consciousnesses.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and reached out with his mind.

The world unfolded before him—a vast sea of minds stretching across the planet, each glowing like tiny stars in the expanse of his telepathic perception.

He sifted through the countless presences, searching for the one that had disrupted his senses moments before.

Then, as quickly as he had felt it before, he sensed it again—a presence of raw, untamed energy, radiating immense power yet flickering unpredictably, as if struggling to maintain its form.

But just as he began to focus on it, it vanished once more, retreating into obscurity as if it had never been there.

Slowly, Charles removed the helmet, his expression contemplative. Hank observed him closely, waiting for an answer.

"So?" Hank prompted.

Charles took a moment before speaking. "Someone awakened their gene. And not just any mutant—someone powerful, possibly Omega-level. But they are… unstable. Their presence flared and vanished in a manner I've never quite seen before."

Hank's concern deepened. "That's not exactly reassuring."

"No, it is not," Charles agreed. "We need to monitor this closely. Whoever they are, they will soon draw attention—not just from us, but from others as well."

.......

Meanwhile, aboard one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s massive Helicarriers, a different kind of investigation was unfolding.

Inside a dimly lit office, a stern-faced black and bald man sat at his desk, his single eye scanning a report intently.

The ever-watchful Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, was not a man easily rattled, but something about the data before him did not sit well.

Across from him stood Agent Phil Coulson, a man known for his level-headedness and calm demeanor.

However, even he seemed uncertain as he watched Fury process the information.

After a long moment of silence, Fury finally spoke. "Do we know what this is?"

His voice carried the weight of a man who had seen more than his fair share of strange occurrences, yet still demanded answers.

Coulson shook his head slightly. "We can only assume it was some kind of weapon—possibly a Stark prototype—but that seems unlikely."

Fury leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Then what are we dealing with?"

Coulson sighed, glancing at the report once more. "To be frank, sir, we don't know. The energy signatures were off the charts—gamma radiation but are exactly like the hulk. The readings indicate something organic, yet the energy output was beyond anything humanly possible."

Fury didn't like that answer. Not one bit. "So you're telling me we detected a biological entity capable of producing gamma radiation levels comparable to the hulk… and then it just disappeared?"

Coulson nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying. The surge happened during the Stark-Vanko fight at Hammer Industries. The radiation spike was brief, but S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites picked it up. Within moments, the source vanished completely. No trace, no trail—just gone."

Fury remained silent, his mind working through the implications.

If this was indeed a human—or rather, a mutant—it was one that could produce energy levels that rivaled some of the most dangerous individuals on the planet.

But what nagged at him the most was the sudden disappearance. Whatever—or whoever—this was, they knew how to hide.

Finally, he exhaled and looked back at Coulson. "I don't like being in the dark. Find out what the hell this is. Also contact Stark, he might know."

After all this unstable power surge had happened where Stark was fighting with Ivan Vanko.

So maybe it was Stark's weapon, or Ivan Vanko's, though his instincts told him this wasn't the case.

Coulson straightened, his professionalism unwavering. "Understood. We'll look into it."

As Coulson left the office, Fury sat back, his good eye staring at the ceiling in thought.

If there was a new player on the board, he needed to know about it. And soon.

One thing was certain—this was only the beginning, and his intuition has never been wrong, never.

And so just like that, Lusborn had attracted the same attention he did not want just because of his one choice.

The choice to become the hulk, and because he couldn't control it, the energy flared the way it wouldn't even flare for the real hulk who by the way is already out there doing God knows what.

He didn't know that in that time he had turned a little, his energy was so open for anyone to look at, like a beacon in a dark sky.

A choice, one choice of his, has created infinite possibilities, now the question is, which of the possibilities will prevail?