Chapter 3: Quicksilver

A faint blue streak zipped through the streets of New York City, darting between cars that seemed like sluggish snails to him and weaving through crowds of nearly motionless pedestrians. In his eyes, the scenery of the street blurred into a rapid retreating panorama.

In about three seconds, Pietro would reach his destination. But even within that short span, he had plenty of time to reflect on the infuriating event that led him here.

Just twelve seconds earlier, he had received a phone call. On the other end of the line was someone claiming to be a messenger for his father, Magneto. They said they had information about Wanda, his sister. Ordinarily, Pietro would've dismissed such a call as a prank from some random troll. However, the mention of Wanda's name made him grit his teeth and listen.

What followed were the most disgusting and vile insults he had ever heard. The person on the other end strung together every obscene combination imaginable, incorporating animals, anatomy, and every possible insult against Wanda, the person Pietro cherished most.

The language was so filthy and creative it defied belief.

How could anyone even think of using a durian in such a way? Who on earth comes up with such perverse scenarios?

"Screeeeeeeech!"

Pietro skidded to a halt, the soles of his shoes scraping against the asphalt with a teeth-grating sound. After orienting himself, he bolted into the street mentioned in the call.

The caller, a maniac spewing obscenities, hadn't just insulted Wanda but had also dared Pietro to show up here, claiming he'd "get what's coming to him." Quicksilver wasn't about to let this slide.

He arrived. One glance was all it took to spot the middle-aged bald man clutching a phone booth's receiver. Pietro prepared to land a punch that would teach the insolent fool a lesson. But just as he was about to make contact, something caught his attention.

A Note of Warning.

Pietro narrowed his eyes and yanked a note taped to the bald man's forehead. It bore an ominous message:

"Wanda is in danger. Remember Natalia, the Gypsy?"

His pupils contracted slightly. Natalia was none other than his and Wanda's mother, a figure shrouded in mystery who had vanished not long after their birth. This was a secret no ordinary person could know, much less some random prankster.

Could this bald man actually have a message from Magneto?

Hesitation clouded Pietro's face. The punch meant to strike the man halted mid-air before he reluctantly lowered his fist. Instead, he grabbed the man by the collar and shouted:

"What danger is Wanda in? You have one chance. Speak!"

The bald man stammered in fear, almost losing his balance, but Pietro's strong grip kept him upright.

"Quick, tell me!" Pietro sneered, his patience razor-thin. "If you—"

Before he could finish, searing pain exploded in his leg. His enhanced reflexes couldn't prevent the follow-up—a volley of gunshots that ripped into his legs. The agony overwhelmed him, and he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.

Across the street, Noah lowered his smoking pistol, watching the silver-haired man writhe in pain. After a moment's thought, he fired one more shot.

"Argh!" Pietro cried out.

Satisfied, Noah nodded and approached the bewildered newsstand owner.

For someone like Quicksilver, time moved differently. His hyper-accelerated perspective meant he perceived the world in slow motion. A car crash could feel like minutes, and even drinking water could become a tedious, glue-like experience. To interact with the world, speedsters like him often slowed their cognitive processes to normal human levels. Otherwise, they would endure the agony of hearing every syllable stretched out over seconds.

This was their greatest vulnerability.

"You just shot an Avenger!" The newsstand owner's voice cracked with panic.

Noah rolled his eyes. "Relax, Quicksilver's not dead. Hear that groaning? That means he's alive. I just injured him."

The owner hesitantly peeked out, relief flooding his face upon seeing Pietro still moving. "Oh, thank God! Look, he made me do it! He threatened my family! I swear I didn't mean to—"

"He's too busy hurting to hear you," Noah interrupted, casually inspecting Pietro's wounds. "And honestly, you should be thanking me."

The owner gaped at him, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"If I were you," Noah continued, his tone nonchalant, "I'd sell off everything I own, stock up on food and water, and lock myself in a basement for decades. Or, if you want an easier way out, you could just kill yourself now. It'd spare you from what's about to happen."

"What… what are you talking about?" The owner recoiled, bumping against the wall of his stand.

Noah ignored him, crouching to examine Quicksilver's injuries.

Noah had fired nine shots in total, six of which had hit their mark. Every bullet had struck Pietro's legs. Judging by the lack of arterial bleeding, Pietro had been lucky—but not lucky enough. Some wounds were through-and-through, while others had lodged fragments in his muscle tissue. Yet even now, Pietro's mutant physiology was kicking in. The bleeding slowed as his body began its rapid healing process.

"Hand me some rope, duct tape, and turn on that TV. Tune it to the news," Noah ordered, gesturing to the still-dazed newsstand owner.

The static on the screen cleared to reveal a woman in a beige trench coat standing amidst the chaos of Times Square. She looked tense, her voice shaky as she reported:

"This is Times Square, where a bizarre crash has just occurred. A humanoid figure has fallen in the center of the square. Police have cordoned off the area, and nearly every officer in New York City is here evacuating civilians. The Avengers are on their way to address the situation."

"Turn up the volume," Noah demanded.

The owner fumbled with the dial, and the reporter's voice grew louder:

"I can now see the figure more clearly—it's wearing a gold uniform. It looks like some kind of superhero or possibly a villain. We can't confirm their identity yet, but I'm sure the Avengers will handle this."

The camera zoomed in, revealing a golden figure trembling on the ground, a tattered blue cape fluttering behind it.

In this universe, the being known as Sentry, who supposedly carried the power of a million exploding suns, was nothing more than a drug-addicted wreck. Most people associated the term "Sentry" with the mutant-hunting Sentinel robots and had no idea what the golden-clad figure represented.

But Noah knew.

This unstable, mentally fractured individual had been turned into a zombie—a horrifying prospect.

And now, Noah glanced down at Pietro, unconscious from blood loss. He also knew what this meant.

Because it was this silver-haired speedster who, after being infected, spread the virus across the globe in a matter of hours.