"No need to thank me." Saitama waved his hand, then took out that compass and checked it again. "Oh right, Captain—do you know if there's a small town nearby called 'Samba'? I think I went the wrong way."
Steve looked around at the boundless desert and gave a wry smile. "...I think you really did go the wrong way. This place is far from any town. If you don't mind, you can head back with our aircraft."
"Oh, that's great." Saitama finally breathed out in relief. "It's way too hot here. I wanna go back and take a shower."
Watching Saitama's relaxed demeanor, Steve understood more deeply than ever: some threats were catastrophic disasters to almost everyone, yet to the man in front of him, they were probably just a slightly troublesome "asking for directions" experience. He put away the powder, began directing the squad to search for any possible survivor clues, and contacted the helicopter at the same time. The desert returned to its ancient silence—only the sound of wind sweeping over sand dunes remained, as if that life-and-death struggle against the sand monster had never happened.
Switzerland, at the foot of the Alps—an idyllic little town.
This S City, famous for its tranquility and beautiful environment, was now gripped by massive panic. The sky was covered by a layer of "dark clouds"—but they weren't rain clouds. They were tens of thousands of strange birds, their feathers shining with a metallic sheen. They were called "soundwave birds," a rare mutated species, currently undergoing their periodic migration. But this time, their migration route seemed to have been disrupted, and they had become highly aggressive.
The most terrifying thing about these soundwave birds wasn't their talons or sharp beaks—it was their cries. The high-frequency shrieks produced by tens of thousands of soundwave birds at once could easily shatter glass, and could also form powerful sonic shockwaves that interfered with, even destroyed, biological nervous systems. In mild cases, victims suffered dizziness and nausea; in severe cases, mental collapse and brain death. The city streets were littered with shattered storefront windows and car windshields. Many civilians who hadn't managed to take cover clutched their ears in agony and collapsed, wailing.
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and local police tried to drive the flock away, but ordinary gunfire and noise only enraged them, drawing even more concentrated sonic assaults. Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, lay hidden in the shadow of a clock tower. In her hands was a specially modified suppressed sniper rifle, aimed at several larger soundwave birds within the flock—birds that seemed like leaders.
She pulled the trigger. Pfft. A faint, muffled shot, and the bullet spun out.
But as it neared the flock, it was as if the bullet slammed into an invisible wall of sound. Its trajectory visibly shifted, grazing past one soundwave bird's wing and missing the target. The startled flock immediately fired a focused sonic barrage toward the clock tower!
Bzzzzzz—!
A visible ripple of distorted air slammed into the clock tower. Cracks even appeared across the surface of the thick stone bricks! Natasha felt a fierce wave of nausea and vertigo, nearly exposing her position. She quickly lowered her body, her face pale.
"Damn it—these beasts' sonic defense is too strong. Bullets can't effectively penetrate at all!" Natasha reported through the comms, her voice hoarse from the discomfort.
Just then, a figure completely out of place in this tense atmosphere appeared on a chaotic street below.
Saitama.
He seemed to be touring the Alps (or maybe he was lost again?), and happened to pass through this town. He looked up at the sky—at the dense black mass of birds, endlessly shrieking—and his brows knit tightly together.
(End of Chapter)
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