Raja materialized back in the main world at Chaos Villa, the enchanted pod's runes fading as he stretched like he'd just napped through a Netflix marathon.
Dobby, his loyal butler-bodyguard, shuffled in with a steaming coffee mug, his bat-like ears twitching.
"Welcome back, Master Raja! Coffee, as per your godly tastes?"
Raja grinned, grabbing the mug. "Dobby, you're the real MVP."
After downing the brew and freshening up—because even multiverse heroes need a shower—he dove into his lab, ready to play mad scientist.
All day, he tinkered in his experimental den, brewing fresh APT-Wyllt serum batches using the last drops of Corvinus immortal blood, its adaptable mojo glowing under neon lights.
"World-saving juice, round two," he muttered, cackling like a B-movie villain.
The next day, Raja strutted into Wyllt Magical Industries, his magical empire humming with innovation.
The Weasley Twins, Fred and George, greeted him with mischievous grins. "Boss, M-Phones are a hit—wizards are ditching owls for these!"
Raja inspected the sleek devices, running quality checks like a tech mogul. "Flawless, boys—keep the magic world hooked and Buy the owls make pet sanctuary for them to feed them and taken care, I don't want be ruthless Ceo snatches Birds job." With a nod, he blinked out, landing at his Malibu beach house.
Later, he visited Rose House, finding Kandi alone, poring over a script for her new show.
"Raja, help me rehearse!" she chirped, striking erotic poses according to the script unknowingly, her lines dripping with unintentional spice.
Raja's jaw tightened, arousal hitting like a freight train. The "rehearsal" spiraled into a passionate role-play sex session, scripts forgotten.
An hour later, Rose burst in with groceries, smirked, and joined the steamy drama, turning the living room into a pleasure-fueled chaos fest.
MAYA: "Master, you've turned a script read into Fifty Shades of Malibu!"
The next morning, Raja's phone buzzed—Gideon from Quantico, voice urgent. "Raja, we need you ASAP. Serial bombing case."
Raja bolted to his personal airstrip, hopping a chartered jet to Quantico, sipping a soda like a jet-setting rockstar.
He strolled into Quantico's FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) like he owned the place, heads turning, whispers trailing.
"Is that the Raja?" Agents gawked as he sauntered past, his vibe screaming "main character energy."
Spotting Gideon and Hotchner deep in case talk, Raja caught their signal to join them in the briefing room.
Sliding into the room, Raja clocked the team—Hotchner, Gideon, Morgan, Reid, JJ, Elle, Garcia—huddled over bomb case files.
"Quick question," he said, leaning back. "Why's everyone staring at me like I'm Bigfoot?"
Spencer Reid, the resident brainiac, piped up. "Gideon's been hyping you. He broke down the Seattle Strangler case, how you profiled the killer in record time and drove him nuts. Then he raved about the arsonist case, saying you're a profiling god. The trainees are jealous."
Gideon shrugged, poker-faced. "Just shared the facts."
Raja shook his head, sighing. "You're making me sound like Sherlock on steroids, man."
Morgan, ex-ATF, jumped in, voice grim. "These are mercury-activated pipe bombs, hand-delivered—too delicate for mail."
Gideon, cautious, added, "No terror alert yet, Hotch. Panic's the last thing we need."
Hotchner nodded, but JJ flipped on the news—breaking report: another bomb detonated in Palm Beach. The team scrambled, agreeing to rendezvous at the airstrip in 20 minutes.
Morgan hung back, and when Hotchner pressed, he admitted, "Last bombing case with Gideon got agents killed. I'm wary."
Raja raised a hand. "Hotch, I'll stay with Morgan, poke at the bomb parts if that's cool."
Hotchner and Morgan blinked, stunned—Raja, the profiling prodigy, opting for lab work?
Hotchner glanced at Morgan, who nodded. "Alright, you're in."
Gideon, skeptical, eyed Raja but relented. As the team jetted to Palm Beach, Raja and Morgan stayed at Quantico, waiting for bomb fragments.
Morgan, breaking down bomb mechanics for Garcia, the tech wizard, was floored when Raja chimed in with encyclopedic knowledge—chemical triggers, wiring patterns, blast radii.
"Dude, how do you know this?" Morgan asked, jaw slack.
Garcia, wide-eyed, stammered, "You're a walking bomb wiki!"
Raja grinned. "You're lucky I'm not a psycho—I'd be a supervillain terrorizing the globe daily."
MAYA: "Master, you're flexing bomb nerdery like it's a superpower!"
Flashback to the second bomb: in Palm Beach, Gil Clerman carried a package to his car. Joe, another man, confronted him, arguing heatedly. Gil, distracted, set the package on his car. As Joe stormed off, Gil grabbed it—boom.
The explosion knocked Joe down, blowing off Gil's foot, his screams piercing the air.
Present day, Hotchner and Elle scoured Clerman's house, finding The Anarchist's Companion and bomb-making materials in his garage.
They pegged Gil as the bomber, planning to deliver the package to another victim.
Meanwhile, Gideon and Reid grilled Gil in the hospital. Gil, dazed, insisted the package was a plant pot for his orchid collection.
Gideon, digging deeper, learned the book belonged to Gil's teenage nephew, a tinkerer. "No way a kid made this bomb—it's too sophisticated,"
Gideon said, ruling both out, relaying the update to Hotchner and Elle.
Back at Quantico, Raja worked like a man possessed, reassembling bomb fragments at lightning speed.
Morgan and Garcia watched, jaws on the floor, as he pieced it together like a demonic jigsaw puzzle.
"Done," Raja declared, stepping back. The bomb's design screamed familiarity.
Raja and Morgan cursed in unison, "Fuck, it's Adrian Bale's signature Bomb."
Adrian Bale, a lifer in prison, was the bastard behind the blast that killed Gideon's agents years ago.
Morgan called the team, relaying the chilling find.
Raja, eyes narrowing, spoke up in the call. "Hotch, let me take lead on this. Follow my orders?" The team froze, stunned.
Gideon, chuckling, nodded to Hotchner. "Give the kid a shot."
Hotchner, after a beat, agreed. "Fine, but give us a solid profile first."
Raja smiled, game face on. "Gideon, Spencer, visit Bale in prison. Spencer, check if he's got internet access—when and how long. I'm betting Bale's training acolytes online. Meeting Gideon will spook him into contacting them."
Gideon raised an eyebrow. "You think he's running a bomb-making school?"
Raja nodded. "Yup. He's got disciples, and he'll tip them off."
Turning to Garcia, Raja added, "Hack the prison's computers. Track Bale's web activity—sites, emails, chat groups, coded messages. If it's a group, I want every member's email and info. If the list is big, shortlist by Focusing on skilled hands: doctors, electricians, forgers, antique collectors. These bombs need precision and patience."
Raja continued, voice sharp. "This isn't a serial bomber with a manifesto. He's a killer with a motive—profit or cover-up. The kills are targeted, meant to distract us. Dig into the three victims' lives for connections."
Gideon laughed in the call, proud. "Kid's born for this."
Raja jetted to Palm Beach in his private plane, landing in two hours flat.
JJ set up a press conference, while Hotchner wrangled a deal from Assistant Director Holloway, who pushed for a deal with Bale despite Hotchner's protests.
Gideon visited Bale in prison, accusing him of inspiring the bomber.
Bale taunted, unfazed, claiming he'd outsmarted Gideon before. Gideon's jabs fell flat, Bale smirking like a chess master.
During the press conference, a family in Palm Beach faced horror. A little girl grabbed a package—brown with blue letters. Her mother, realizing it was a bomb, screamed.
Hotchner, Raja, and Elle, with the bomb squad, raced to the scene, finding the girl clutching the package, her mother sobbing.
Ignoring Hotchner's shouts, Raja strolled toward them, calm as a sunny day. "Hey, ladies, listen up—I'll take that box, no boom. Deal?" The mother and daughter nodded, terrified.
Raja, using Telekinesis secretly, steadied the bomb. "Mom, when I say 'release,' lift your hand slowly, no shakes, and step behind your daughter. Kid, when I say 'let go,' ease off and back up. Got it?"
Raja gripped the box's top delicately. "Release."
The mother complied, stepping back.
"Let go," he told the girl.
She released, trembling, and backed away.
Raja signaled the mother, who scooped her daughter and bolted.
The crowd—agents, bomb squad, bystanders—exhaled, hearts pounding.
Raja knelt, placing the bomb gently on the ground, and strutted off, leaving ATF to secure it.
Hotchner, fuming, snapped, "Don't pull that stunt again—let pros handle it. Good job, kid."
The mother ran up, kissing Raja's cheek, thanking him profusely, making nearby agents twitch with envy.
Meanwhile, Reid, monitoring Bale, discovered he was bypassing the prison's firewall. He and Garcia sent a virus to log his keystrokes, catching him on a bomb enthusiast message board, warning his acolyte—just as Raja predicted.
Garcia and Morgan, floored, said, "Hot damn, the kid's right."
Elle and Hotchner, digging into victim connections, tied the first victim to a fraudulent coins case.
Garcia and Morgan, using Raja's profile, shortlisted Bale's chat group, pinpointing David Walker, a forger linked to the first victim.
Elle, unaware, was already at Walker's house, chasing the coin lead.
Hotchner called, warning her Walker was the unsub. As she processed, Walker's garage door opened—he ran over his wife and sped off.
Hotchner and Elle searched Walker's garage, finding an electroplating machine for forging coins, news clippings on Bale, and bomb-making materials.
At the police station, they confirmed Walker's forgery empire.
Raja, smirking, turned his back to Gideon, who laughed and patted him, praising his "brilliant analytic reasoning."
Suddenly, a man burst into the station, a bomb collar strapped to his chest. "The bomber did this!"
he cried. "He wants a helicopter and passport, then he'll give defusal instructions."
Raja approached slowly, easing him into a chair. "Hotch, the fucker's close. Find him, don't engage. He's terrified of prison—that's why he killed to cover his tracks, masking it as a serial bombing. My gut says He's got another bomb and detonator, so if you spook him, he'll blow it. Surround him quietly."
SWAT set up a perimeter across the street, where Walker hid, clutching a bomb remote. Hotchner, Elle, and officers closed in, spotting him.
Raja, studying the collar bomb, used Telekinesis to scan in and out and created a blueprint of the bomb in his quantum mind, dismantling it mentally.
He pinpointed the key wire to defuse it without triggering traps.
Pulling a knife, he stunned the room—agents gasping, the victim trembling.
In a flash, Raja sliced the wire, yanked off the collar, swiftly moves out the building and tossed it onto the FBI parade ground, sprinting clear.
The room erupted in panic, agents clutching their chests.
Raja called Hotchner, explaining, and urged a sniper to take Walker out. A shot rang out—Walker dropped, dead.
Hotchner and Gideon tore into Raja, shouting about his reckless, unprofessional antics.
Raja just smiled, unbothered, and sauntered off, in his plane to Los Angeles, leaving Quantico in a mix of awe and exasperation.
MAYA: "Master, you defused a bomb, broke FBI brains, and waltzed out like a chaos god—iconic!"
To Be Continued…