"-I deserve much better service than this!" A loud voice echoes through the phone line.
At the desk, listening to the man yelling at him through the phone, a man in a wheelchair sits. Every movement seems painful due to the burns across the right side of his body.
"I apologize, sir, but it's just not possible. Given the fact that you have already had many accidents before this, your insurance isn't willing to cover it. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's out of my hands now."
"You fucking piece of shit! I have paid thousands of dollars for this insurance, and now I can't get a small dent—"
"Sir, that 'small dent' is the front of your entire car. I've already spoken with your legal counsel, as well as your various insurance claim providers. They've already refused to cover it. Your credit is just not great."
"I'm gonna fucking find you. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I'm gonna fucking kill—" The man then hangs up. After slowly placing the phone back on his desk, he grabs a small bottle of pills from the table.
Checking his watch, the man in the wheelchair slightly smiles, seeing that it was the end of his shift. Opening the door to his cubicle, the man wheels himself out. Thankfully, the call center he worked at was only one floor, and he didn't have to worry about going up and down stairs.
Heading out of the building, his coworkers don't even look at him. They are either too tired out of their minds or not willing to look at the man's grotesque face.
The man, however, doesn't seem to mind and just wheels himself over to his beat-up car that looks like it's been through a hurricane. Using his arms, he manages to get into the driver's seat, and after folding the passenger side chair down, he folds up the wheelchair and places it in the backseat.
The process is slow and laborious, the man's arms shaking as he tries to fold up the wheelchair. After about five minutes, the man is able to get himself buckled up and head over to a bar nearby. Thankfully, it's right next to his apartment building, so he doesn't have to worry about driving drunk.
Placing his car in a nearby parking garage, he wheels himself down the street, and after seeing the glowing sign of the local pissing hole, he opens the door and wheels himself inside.
"Hey, how you doing, man? Tough day at work?" The barkeeper, noticing the man in the wheelchair, gives him a smile and a small wave, while the man in the wheelchair just flips him off. The barkeeper just laughs and places a drink on the table.
"You could say that, Chuck… Had to deal with a guy for over two hours. The guy's been in five accidents in over four years. It would take him two times that amount of time without any accidents to build up any decent credit, but now I have to deal with the guy yelling in my ear for two hours." Chuck just listens to the man's tirade, already used to it.
The man in the wheelchair soon stops and looks over the bar to see if there are any regulars, but sadly, not too many. Chuck, however, points toward a table.
"By the way, a guy came in here saying he was looking for you. Little wiry fella. Guy's hair looks like he's been touching electric sockets with forks for a few years now." After Chuck points toward the table in the corner, the man in the wheelchair turns around. After seeing who he's pointing at, his eyes widen.
After placing down the money for the beer, the man in the wheelchair wheels himself over to the corner of the bar.
"Is that you, Doc?" The question is met by the man's bluish-gray hair seemingly starting to stand on end before he turns his eyes toward the man in the wheelchair.
The man in the lab coat smiles as he sees the man in the wheelchair. "Well, well, well, look who it is… It's been a while." Before the man in the wheelchair can even say anything, the man in the lab coat has already picked him up and placed him in the booth with him.
"Son of a bitch! Doc, you know how much that hurts?" The man in the lab coat just scoffs as if seeing something he doesn't like.
"Surgery was half-baked. They could've saved your legs if they just came by a couple minutes sooner. Sorry I wasn't there." While saying this, the man in the lab coat frowned.
While slightly annoyed by the physical pain of being wrenched out of his wheelchair, he just waves it off.
"It's OK, Doc. You can't be everywhere at once. Besides, you got reassigned. I was just unlucky that the bastards decided to mine the road back to the med camp. It's good to see you, though. Never knew what happened to you after I got out." The man in the lab coat just looks at the man in the wheelchair with an almost lost look in his eyes.
"It's not that simple. I thought I was going to be in that armored car, not you… I… You shouldn't have even been there." The man in the wheelchair just sighs.
"I've known that for a while now, Doc. I learned it a couple months after the surgery, and I do admit I was pissed. To be honest, I would've beat the shit out of you, even in the wheelchair. But now, after these past couple years, it's just a run of bad luck. You know the whole joke: 'The game was rigged from the start' and all that. And while things aren't great—no, to be honest, they're not even good—at least it's something." The two just look at the drinks they ordered, and after raising them toward each other, with the man in the lab coat waiting for the man in the wheelchair to raise his, they take a toast to friends lost.
The two then take a shot, and as the man in the wheelchair grabs another one of his pills, the man in the lab coat just looks at him as if contemplating something.
"If you could get your legs back, would you be willing to?" The question is met with a small bit of silence before an immediate answer.
"Fuck yeah. Do you know how long I've wanted to take a piss standing up? But I've gotten used to it. To be honest, the worst part about it is that it's kinda hard to get any action like this—if you know what I mean—or any action."
Without even knowing it, the surroundings begin to slow, and everything begins to gray out.
"If I could give you your legs back, would you be willing to make a deal?" The man in the wheelchair looks slightly scared.
"You sure you haven't had too much to drink, Doc? You were never one for alcohol." However, as he sees the look on the doctor's face, he knows he's not joking.
Leaning in, the man in the wheelchair nods his head. Something in the back of his head knows that he's not joking.
In that moment, the doctor takes his empty hand and raises it, and in his empty palm, a blue sphere appears. The sphere, however, doesn't radiate heat. It just exists, and reality itself begins to seemingly start to glitch out.
"What the fuck is that?!" The man in the wheelchair asks as he tries to calm his beating heart. Due to his medication, he couldn't be too physically active.
However, as he tries to calm himself down, he finds his own body beginning to calm down on its own. Looking back toward the man in the lab coat, the two just stare at each other for a moment.
"This is a baby Planeswalker spark. If I put this in you, it will send you places that you could never even imagine. Since it's a baby spark, it needs a lot of time to mature, but it can give you everything you could want… The question is: do you want to take it? Take it as my apology for not being there when I should have."
The man begins his tirade as if he isn't holding something so precious that many multiversal beings would kill themselves over just to touch.
However, among all the thousands of questions the man in the wheelchair could think of, only one came to his mouth.
"Did our unit matter? Did anything we did or you did matter?"
As the man in the lab coat lets the sphere float in the air, he sits back before immediately answering.
"Every second of it… I still remember all their names, you know… Every operation we did… from Afghanistan to Yemen. You still carry that old Glock with you?"
The man in the wheelchair then reaches down into his bag, pulls out his pistol, and places it on the table.
"I always carry it. I don't really feel safe without it, and the amount of times I saved your ass with it is definitely more than the fingers I got left." The joke seemingly lightens the mood.
The man in the lab coat just lets the man in the wheelchair think.
"I'll do it, but what's the catch?"
The man in the lab coat smiles maniacally as he explains.
"Well, you see, I'm a part of an organization—well, loosely, at least. We like to hire people that fill certain roles. In this case, I am in need of a partner, and no, not the sexual kind. I am not gay, and before you say you weren't gonna say that, I already knew you were."
The man in the wheelchair then closes his mouth before laughing to himself.
"So what? You want me to be the Watson to your Sherlock?"
The man in the lab coat just nods his head.
"You see, my vertically challenged friend—"
"I can still beat your ass in this wheelchair…"
"—I've been alive for a very long time now, and especially after erasing my memories and living this life with you and the unit, it made me realize that I may need someone watching my back. But you're not exactly equipped to handle the stuff I deal with, so I need you to learn and grow as a person—you know, emotionally…"
"I will have you know, fucker, that I am the average height for an American. Just because I've been cut down to size doesn't mean I'm short! … But you cut a hell of a bargain. Besides, it's not like I've got much left. Especially after I lost Bella. I miss that dog, man."
A small tear is shed by the man in the wheelchair, and as the man in the lab coat puts his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, he takes the blue sphere—the baby spark of a Planeswalker—and places it into the chest of the man in the wheelchair.
"By the way, while I'm out on this adventure, aren't you gonna be alone again? Wouldn't wanna leave the doc hanging, you know."
The man in the lab coat just shakes his head in amusement.
"To you, it's going to be centuries, if not thousands of years. But for me, it may be a couple months, maybe even weeks. Such are the benefits of temporal displacement. So take your time… and my friend, I say this as your closest medical confidant: get some bitches."
The last part is met with a glare by the man in the wheelchair, but as he feels his eyes beginning to become heavier, he brings the man in for one last embrace.
"It was an honor serving with you, Doc… See you soon… Hopefully…"
The man in the lab coat just smiles, but to the man in the wheelchair, that smile is a bit suspect.
"Just to let you know, I've already made all of the builds you need, and I hope you don't mind the change I made to your last name…"
Before the man in the wheelchair can say anything, his body disintegrates into gold and blue particles and is sent off elsewhere.
Time then resumes, and as the man in the lab coat leaves the bar, he sees the wheelchair. As he picks it up, the energy and radiance seem to leave the doctor for a few moments.
"I'll make it up to you… I have to… See you soon. Although, I hope he isn't too mad at me about the name."
The man in the lab coat then leaves the bar and enters what looks to be a blue telephone box.
And as he steps inside, he looks to the multiple screens showing various events. But on one, it shows the man in the wheelchair—yet in it, he is happy, surrounded by his loved ones… And as the man in the lab coat looks toward that screen, he places his hand on it before shutting it off.
(Stephen Armstrong POV)
(August 1st, 1991 / England, The Pennines Mountains)
As memories begin to fill my mind, all I can think about is how the doc is definitely laughing at me right now.
My last name wasn't even that bad, but now I can't even remember it… For now, I look around and find myself in probably one of the nicest sitting rooms I've ever seen.
It looks like something out of a fantastical Disney story. But as I focus my mind, I find new memories that definitely weren't there before.
Similarly to a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, it seems that the doc has built a backstory for me.
Stephen Armstrong, the son of Jack Armstrong and Rosemary Armstrong. He—or in this case, I—was recently orphaned after trying to put down a rogue wizard in New York City.
Both of them were hit by the Killing Curse before they could react, and given the fact that I was their only child, I have received all of their properties. One of which is a manor in the Pennines mountain range. His—or my—mother, in this case, attended Hogwarts, while my father was a graduate of Ilvermorny. It was a part of their will that I should attend Hogwarts in the event that they died.
However, remembering further, I see the only reason I have to go to Hogwarts was because I was born a guy. My parents had made a bet on whether or not I would be a boy or a girl, and if I was a girl, I would've had to go to school in America. But since I am a guy, I have to go to Hogwarts. The fact that my schooling was left up to my gender definitely shows what type of people they were.
The memories then end, and while a small part of me is wondering if I just straight-up possessed this kid, a small note appears in my hand.
"Yo, if you're reading this, you're probably wondering if any of the bodies you inhabit are alive. You would be wrong, as they are essentially soulless husks meant to fulfill the backstory that was controlled by me. And before you start applauding my genius, I want to let you know that since this is your first jump, so to speak, I wanted to make sure that you got your feet wet.
So, welcome to the wonderful wizarding world of Harry Potter, where the supposed safest place in the world is paradoxically the most dangerous.
You shall remain in this world for 15 years. After that, you'll be on your way to the next one. You can ask others to join you, but they have to willingly accept—so no mind control. But if you can convince them to come with, then that still counts.
For now, this is all I have for you, other than the fact that your perks will take time to fully integrate with your new form. Don't worry, you still have them, but it'll just take some time to acclimate. In future jumps, you won't have to worry about this.
This is my repayment to you. I hope you enjoy it.
Oh, and by the way, the name was totally my idea…"
• From The Benevolent and Wonderful Doctor
The note then disappears, and again my mind is filled with knowledge on this so-called build. And wow, he wasn't kidding.
But as foolish as it was, all I could focus on was one thing. As I looked down at my legs, I found that they were fine… Testing, I managed to move some of my toes, and after placing my right foot onto the ground, I did the same with my left.
As I did so, I stood straight up. I was standing up.
I admit I shed a few tears, and as I started walking, I felt my bare feet press against the fine wood floors, the cool sensation grounding me in reality. I walked in circles around the sitting room, just feeling the movement. Then, I started running—from door to door, through the ginormous house or palace, whatever this place was. I didn't care.
I screamed like a banshee and didn't care. I slid across the floors, jumped around like a damn monkey, and just let myself enjoy the moment.
I made sure not to knock anything down—I wasn't that out of touch—but as I slowed down, my breath heaving in and out, I realized something else. I could breathe without feeling pain, without smelling phosphorus or sulfur, without the bitter taste of those terrible pills.
However, as I finally came to a stop, I found myself in a dining room.
There were two people in the room. One looked like a shriveled raisin, barely a couple feet tall. The other was the same, though his eyes seemed almost as big as his head.
"If you're done traipsing around your new house like a maniac, we should get down to business," the raisin with the pointy ears said.
"Calm down, Ragnar… The master just regained usage of his legs after years of not having them. I believe he should be able to enjoy them." The other one smiled at me. "Besides, we're being a bit rude here. I am Clink, a house-elf, and I shall be serving you forevermore. It is an honor to meet you, Master Stephen."
The goblin at the table just continued eating his meal.
I took in the sight of the two of them. I had watched the Harry Potter movies as a kid when there were free showings in theaters—or when I snuck in—but seeing them here, without CGI, was something else.
As I moved toward the table, Clink quickly pulled out a chair for me.
"Thanks, Clink," I said without really thinking.
The house-elf almost seemed to start crying before sniffling and stepping back to my side.
"Well, as the house-elf said, I am Ragnar. I am the goblin the doctor has summoned to serve as your financial advisor throughout your journey. He didn't want you messing around too much with your money, and based on your current attitude, I can understand why. Not to mention your choice in fashion."
Before I could respond, I looked down at myself. I was still wearing the same clothes I had before I got here—though they were much smaller now.
Ragnar placed his silverware down and walked over to me. He then opened what looked to be a scroll of parchment and began to recite the will I could already recall from my new memories.
Skipping through the parts I knew, he finished reading it, snapped his fingers, and made the scroll furl itself closed before it disappeared.
"This house, and all of the properties of your parents, are now yours. While they were nowhere near a noble family, they were respectable pure-blood wizards, so that should help you out in the political scene of this cesspool they call a society. I am the one they placed in charge of managing your finances until you turn eighteen, and don't worry—unlike the less respectable goblins, I always make sure to keep my customers on top."
While saying this, he smiled, but the expression didn't reach his face. His black eyes seemed to stare straight through me.
Then, Ragnar raised his hand. Realizing he wanted a handshake, I reached out to meet him—only to find that my hand was now smaller than his, if not the same size.
"I imagine you are confused about your new situation, and as much as it pains me to deal with lesser details, I shall give you the rundown. This body you now inhabit is eleven years of age. I imagine soon enough, those dastardly wizards will be sending your acceptance letter to Hogwarts. You really have no objective here—at least, none that the doctor told me. Feel free to do as you wish, but again, try not to spend all your money."
He let go of my hand.
"Aren't I one of those dastardly wizards now?" I asked.
The question was met with a small scoff from the goblin.
"It's funny how you think of yourself as merely a wizard now. In time, those in this world would see you as a god. I've seen what the doctor has given you. In time, I imagine you shall forge great things. It's the only reason I decided to serve you. Fear not—I am not one for betrayal. Your life and mine are tied together, but it definitely favors you. If I perish, you won't die, but if you do, I die."
As he took a pair of small glasses from the table and put them on, he walked toward the fireplace, which I now noticed glowed green.
Ragnar reached into his pocket, pulling out a small handful of powder. Before throwing it in, he turned back to me and gave a final remark.
"I'll see you at Diagon Alley. When you reach Gringotts, ask for Ragnar. I do hope you shall learn to handle your new position. See you soon, young wizard."
With that, he tossed the powder into the fire and disappeared in a flash of emerald flames.
As the fire returned to its normal orange-red glow, I looked over at Clink. He gave me a slight bow of respect.
I took a deep breath and walked over to the nearby window.
Outside, the Pennines mountain range stretched far and wide, untouched by time. A smile made its way to my face.
My mind then filled with all the potential loot I could gain—from the Deathly Hallows to various magical books and artifacts. Even when I served in the military, I always liked to collect things. And now, my greed was practically salivating.
At least, that was until I felt a power deep within my chest.
And then—everything went dark.
(Well boys and girls a new start, a new snippet, and a new jumper. Honestly, after reading some of your guys's posts, I just decided to make this for no reason, and if any of you guys are confused, this world is based on the jump document from the generic Harry Potter fanfiction jump. He currently has a month before the beginning of the Hogwarts school year during the Philosopher's Stone. The first month is actually going to be his training arc. All of his perks unless they're related to his physicality are going to take some time to show themselves. They're not gone. They're just produced as his body gets used to it specifically his soul. You guys may like it or hate it I just enjoy writing these. Hope y'all have a good night and thanks for reading all of my stuff.)
(Oh and if you guys need a visual for the main character, imagine him looking like a younger Jayce Tallis from arcane.)