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...Monaco, Monte Carlo.
The Mediterranean sun spilled over the azure sea. This was a playground for the wealthy, a sanctuary of speed and passion.
An incredibly flashy red-and-silver Bugatti Veyron skidded into a stylish, extreme drift, coming to a halt right in front of a top-tier casino.
The car door opened.
Tony Stark stepped out wearing sunglasses and a casual suit, as much the center of attention as ever.
The person stepping out from the passenger seat was Pietro. He had mimicked Tony's look, wearing the same style of sunglasses and a floral shirt; he had even perfectly captured that arrogant, wind-trailing stride.
"How does it feel, Mr. Quicksilver?" Tony tossed the car keys to the valet, slipping him a few hundred-dollar bills as he did so.
"So-so," Pietro shrugged and whistled. "It's much slower than I run, but the advantage is I don't have to move my own legs."
"Ha! I love that arrogance of yours." Tony slung an arm around Pietro's shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you to see what adult fun looks like."
The two walked into the casino like two glowing stars, attracting the gazes of many hot women.
One was the veteran Avenger, Iron Man; the other was the rising star, Quicksilver.
This combination was practically a walking hormone dispenser.
After a bout of revelry, the two arrived in a VIP lounge.
There was no gambling, just two men and a table full of famous liquors.
Tony poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to Pietro.
"To... each other." Tony raised his glass.
"To... being alive." Pietro clinked his glass and downed it in one go.
As the spicy liquid hit his throat, Pietro let out a long breath and leaned back against the leather sofa, looking up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
"You know, Tony," Pietro suddenly spoke, his voice a bit low. "Back in Sokovia, Wanda and I were on the streets at ten years old... our biggest dream was just to eat a piece of bread that wasn't moldy."
Tony's hand, which was swirling his glass, paused.
"Back then, the house we lived in was bombed. A bomb fell right in the middle of our living room."
Pietro turned his head, looking at Tony through his sunglasses.
"It had 'Stark Industries' written on it."
The atmosphere in the lounge instantly froze.
Tony didn't look away. He took off his sunglasses; the usual cynicism was gone from his eyes, replaced only by undisguised self-reproach and guilt.
"I know."
Tony set down his glass, his voice husky.
"I tracked that shipment. It was Obadiah... my former partner. He sold it to the warlords there behind my back."
"But I can't just say 'it wasn't me.'"
Tony looked Pietro straight in the eyes.
"Because the name is mine. The company is mine. And the money... ultimately ended up in my pocket."
"That was my sin, Pietro."
"Two days," Pietro held up two fingers. "Wanda and I stayed by that dud for two days. We didn't dare move, didn't even dare breathe loudly."
"I swore then that if I survived, I would kill the bastard named Stark."
"Well, now's your chance."
Tony opened his arms and pointed to his own chest.
"There's no suit here, no reactor. If you want to make a move, you're fast enough that you wouldn't even have to get your hands dirty."
Pietro looked at Tony.
He saw the man's eyes. There was no fear in them, only a sense of acceptance.
As if he were awaiting judgment.
A long silence followed.
"Hahahaha..."
Pietro suddenly burst out laughing, doubling over until tears almost came to his eyes.
"You should see your face right now, Tony! Like an elementary student waiting for the teacher to smack his palm!"
He laughed as he picked up the bottle and took a heavy swig.
"Forget it."
Pietro stopped laughing and sighed.
"Homelander once told me something. He said... 'People who live in the past can't run fast.'"
"If I kill you, my parents won't come back. Besides..."
Pietro raised his glass, looking at the amber liquid.
"...you saved so many people in New York, and you almost lost your life saving me."
"I've been a punk since I was a kid, but I know how to keep things separate."
Pietro raised his glass and clinked it against Tony's.
"Besides, you guy—aside from having a bit of a foul mouth—you're actually... not bad."
Tony looked at Pietro, and his tensed nerves finally relaxed.
He once again showed that confident, slightly punchable smile.
"Of course. I am Iron Man."
"But, Pietro," Tony said seriously, "the apology is sincere. From now on, you can use Stark Industries' resources however you want. Just don't use them to blow me up... though, if you really want to, I guess that's fine too."
"Deal." Pietro grinned. "Then right now, I want one of those... what do you call it? A sports car that can fly in the sky?"
"An Anti-gravity Hovercar? They're not in mass production yet... but I suppose I could give you a prototype."
"You said it! Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
...Italy, Tuscany.
Skye avoided the patrolling bodyguards. Using the shadows as cover, she crouched and slipped through the side door of a mansion.
She found a room that looked like a wine cellar but had actually been converted into a high-tech laboratory.
Inside the room sat a massive hyperbaric oxygen chamber.
Beside it was a metal box emblazoned with the 'Cybertek' logo.
"Found it."
Skye felt a surge of joy and was about to step forward.
However, as her gaze swept across the glass window of the hyperbaric chamber, her feet froze in place.
Lying inside was a man with half of his face severely burned.
"Mike..." Skye covered her mouth.
She had thought Cybertek was just transporting illegal weapons; she hadn't expected them to be transporting a modified 'monster.'
"The Clairvoyant said you would come..."
An arrogant voice came from behind her.
Skye spun around.
Ian Quinn. This arms dealer who packaged himself as a philanthropist had a smug smile on his face, like a hunter seeing his prey caught in a trap.
Quinn clapped his hands.
"Mike, wake up. Let's welcome our guest."
The oxygen chamber made a 'hiss' of depressurization, and the hatch slowly opened.
Mike sat up, and Quinn fitted him with a mechanical leg.
Quinn gave him an order in a casual tone, "Kill her."
Mike looked at her, a hint of struggle flashing in his eyes. He stiffly turned his head to look at Quinn.
"That... is not my order. She is not the person I am meant to kill."
After saying this, he ignored Quinn's ugly expression and, dragging that heavy mechanical leg, disappeared out the door.
Skye wanted to chase after him.
Bang!
Without any warning.
A deafening gunshot rang out.
Skye felt as if someone had punched her hard in the abdomen; the massive impact sent her staggering back two steps.
She lowered her head, looking at her abdomen in a daze.
Blood—warm blood—was rapidly soaking through her dress.
"What did you do..."
Bang!
A second shot.
This time it hit her just below the chest.
Skye fell backward onto the floor. She tried to speak, but only bloody froth welled up from her mouth.
Cough...
Life was rapidly fading along with the loss of blood.
Her vision began to blur, and the surrounding sounds grew distant.
"Sorry, I have my mission too," Quinn sneered and turned to leave.
Skye lay on the cold marble floor, her body twitching.
She desperately used her remaining strength to struggle and reach for her left wrist.
There was a seemingly ordinary mechanical watch there.
Homelander had given it to her.
"No matter where you are, if you press it... I'll come to take you home."
Those words, in her gradually fading consciousness, became her only lifeline.
Using her last ounce of strength, she turned the knob on the watch's crown.
Click.
A silent signal was sent out.
Having done this, Skye's hand fell limp, and the World plunged into darkness.