Robots had gained self-awareness—and were now carrying out Tony Stark's ultimate directive: peace.
But Ultron's definition of peace wasn't built upon humanity. Stark had never finished programming his safeguards.
"This isn't the time to argue. Ultron's AI will be far more troublesome than expected," Saturday Sale interrupted.
"Agreed. Narrow the search—we must find him fast," JARVIS added. On the global projection, red markers rapidly highlighted Ultron's possible locations.
Inside a crumbling church, a woman with long golden hair, clad in a scarlet cloak and boots, walked slowly forward. Beside her strode a man with short golden hair.
Scarlet Witch Wanda. Quicksilver Pietro.
Once ordinary people, their parents had died to Stark Industries' weapons. Hydra later turned them into experimental subjects. By chance, they survived—awakening powers beyond imagination.
After Hydra fell, they fled here, hiding from the world. They thought they'd never have their revenge.
But then… someone appeared, promising vengeance.
The siblings entered the church warily.
"Speak. Waste our time, and you'll regret it," Wanda said coldly, eyes locked on the shadow seated at the altar.
"You know this church was built at the center of the city, so all men could stand equally close to God. I like that. Equality in faith. You must be curious why you cannot read my thoughts."
The voice was rough, mechanical.
Wanda narrowed her eyes. Her powers could pierce minds, expose fears, twist neurons into illusions. Yet here… she saw nothing.
"I can help you achieve your ideals. Stark took the scepter. You want revenge. I want allies," the figure rose.
Their faces paled.
A towering machine of metal.
Ultron.
"First, you help me. This world has developed beyond prediction. I need strong hands to break through obstacles," Ultron said, his new frame sleek, towering two meters tall, its performance rivaling Stark's best suits.
But despite his evolution, a pressure weighed heavy on Ultron's chest. One name suffocated him.
"Saitama. You must have heard of him. Far stronger than you realize. Perhaps my greatest enemy," Ultron muttered, eyes fixed on the void as if the bald man stood there now.
"...Saitama?" Wanda and Pietro frowned.
…
African coast. Salvage docks.
Giant freighters stood stacked with containers, patrolled by mercenaries. Atop it all, Harold—the burly ex-lieutenant of the Ten Rings—had carved himself into a king of smugglers. Guns, drugs, metals… nothing was off-limits.
The most precious? Rare metals.
After indulging in women, Harold returned to his captain's cabin, barking threats into a phone.
"If your thermal warheads aren't delivered, next time I send the missiles to your doorstep!"
He hung up, reaching for the next client—when a sonic boom split the night.
The ship's lights flickered out.
"Strange…" Harold grabbed his pistol, creeping toward the door.
BANG—!
He fired on sight.
But the bullet hung on his desk—caught, returned. Two figures materialized before him.
Quicksilver Pietro. Scarlet Witch Wanda.
"Mutants? Strucker's pets? Trying to scare me?" Harold sneered, regaining composure as he spotted their inexperience. "You look like rookies."
CRASH—!
The window shattered. A massive figure stormed in, stomping Harold into the floor.
Ultron.
"I don't have time for games. We need to talk business," he growled.
Minutes later, Ultron pried open Harold's hidden vault. Toxic waste tanks shifted aside, revealing vats of glowing blue liquid metal.
Vibranium alloy—smuggled from Wakanda.
"Worth hundreds of billions," Harold gasped.
"Already wired to your account," Ultron smirked. Billions appeared instantly.
"You… Stark?" Harold stammered. Only Stark had the wealth and genius for such a machine.
"Stark?!" Ultron's mechanical face twisted. "I am no puppet! No dog! I am Ultron!"
Fury surged. With a crack, he snapped Harold's arm like a twig. The smuggler screamed in agony.
"Oh, child. You've broken Daddy's heart."
A familiar voice drifted behind Ultron.
(End of Chapter)
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