William was a highly skilled biologist.
Although he had only recently earned his doctorate, as Dr. Marcus's prized student, no one ever questioned his expertise.
In countless past projects led by Dr. Marcus, William's calm and composed response to unexpected situations left many senior scholars with the impression of a young man with a steady and reliable nature.
As a rising scientist, his future was undeniably bright. William himself believed that, beyond talent, his resolve and inner strength far surpassed others.
It was a quality he considered essential for any outstanding scientist. Yet this time, the unshakable mindset he prided himself on completely collapsed in the face of sudden disaster.
The Progenitor Virus!
Every day, hundreds of mice died after being injected with it.
Of the rare few that survived, each one turned into a grotesque, feral monster.
"How can this be happening?!" William didn't want to die young, nor did he want to become a monster. But now, the test tube containing the Progenitor Virus had shattered and leaked inside his rectum!
"No!"
Panic set in.
Images of those miserable lab mice flashed through his mind, filling him with sheer terror. He could only pray that the virus behaved differently when absorbed this way than when injected.
He stumbled out of the bathroom in a rush.
"I have urgent matters at home! I'll leave the rest to you!" William clenched his teeth, enduring the pain of glass tearing into his rectum.
His strained expression drew a quick excuse to Marcus before he hurried off, walking stiffly out of the underground lab. Marcus assumed William was simply upset over the project's cancellation and didn't think much of his odd behavior.
"All samples slated for destruction are gone. You—clean the lab. I'm heading to the Super Soldier Serum division to report in."
Marcus carefully stored the last fungal specimen into the biosafety vault, then, after giving his orders, eagerly made for the elevator.
No one noticed William leaving.
With the project shut down, security was no longer as tight. After stepping out of Umbrella Biotech's headquarters, William rushed straight back to his dingy rental apartment in New York.
"Please, let nothing happen…"
Back home, he forced an enema on himself, cleansing his intestines. For a long time afterward, he remained tense and on edge.
"I don't want to turn into some monster!"
The image of those mutated mice kept replaying in his mind.
Feeling the enema wasn't enough, he injected himself with heavy doses of antibiotics and other antiviral and antibacterial drugs.
He knew the Progenitor Virus he had hidden wasn't the original strain but a new hybrid cultivated with Mold.
He had only meant to smuggle it out for secret research… never imagining an accident like this. A suffocating fear gripped him.
Ten minutes.
Half an hour.
An hour.
He spent hours in torment.
Frantically, he recalled how long it took for the mice to become infected, die, or mutate after injection.
"I'm not feeling any bad reactions, so the rectum must not absorb the virus." Checking his blood pressure and even the color of his blood, William let out a long breath and a shaky smile. Somehow, he had escaped death.
"Other than some ringing in my ears, I feel fine. Honestly, that's probably just from nerves."
He observed himself a while longer, and with no symptoms appearing, he finally relaxed, though regret gnawed at him for failing to bring the virus out intact.
"Come here~"
A childish voice seemed to whisper by his ear. William jumped, then concentrated—only to realize no child was there.
"Must be the neighbor's kid."
He tried to convince himself.
The apartment walls were thin; hearing neighbors was normal. He forced himself to ignore the fact that no children lived next door. Breaking into a cold sweat, he stumbled into the bathroom to wash his face.
"I'll be fine."
He studied his reflection, satisfied with the healthy flush of his skin. Filling the sink with water, he bent down and began to lather his face.
In the mirror—
Beneath his bowed head, his skin rippled as though insects were crawling beneath it. But William remained completely unaware, feeling nothing.
...
Herman had settled matters at Umbrella Corporation and, through surveillance, confirmed with his own eyes that Dr. Marcus was sincerely disposing of the lab's viral samples.
Only then did he leave Umbrella's building at ease. Still, to be cautious, he instructed the company's alluring secretary to keep an eye on the follow-up cleanup work.
It could only be said that Herman lacked experience as a boss.
He hadn't realized that the seductive secretary assigned to him by the All-Seeing Eye was neither especially competent nor particularly security-minded.
William had managed to smuggle a vial of the virus out in his rectum.
The secretary tasked with overseeing the destruction hadn't noticed a thing.
An experienced boss like Tony Stark would never have entrusted such an important task to a secretary like her.
After all.
As everyone knows.
Secretaries with knockout figures usually aren't hired for their work skills, but to handle a boss's dirty jobs. Well, that kind of job probably counts as dirty work too, doesn't it?
"What are you doing here?"
The moment Herman returned to Stellar Tower and stepped into his floor's office area, he saw Quicksilver standing at the elevator entrance like a sentry, arms crossed.
He had even slid his sunglasses down over his eyes, face stern and alert—any passerby might've mistaken him for a bouncer at a nightclub.
The elevator doors opened, and Herman, lost in thought, nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of Quicksilver blocking the way. He almost chewed him out on the spot.
"Didn't you hire me as security?"
Quicksilver pushed his shades up to his forehead, puzzled by Herman's startled reaction. As far as he was concerned, he was doing exactly what security should.
"Uh, well, our company doesn't really have any valuable assets. Just keep an eye on the computers, and in your free time, you can go online."
"You know how to use the internet?"
Herman couldn't help thinking Quicksilver was a bit of a dense blockhead. He patted him on the shoulder and led him back inside.
"No."
The answer was blunt.
As a street kid, he'd never had the chance to touch something as fancy as a computer.
"Then just find something else to entertain yourself here. You don't need to stand guard all the time. The work environment here is pretty relaxed."
Herman never expected this studio to make money. It was just for show—occasionally filming a TV drama or movie he wanted to see.
"I could play ping pong against myself."
Quicksilver's eyes lit up as he remembered his personal trick.
"Uh, we don't have a ping pong table yet." Herman figured that would terrify Aunt May and Skye, so he politely turned the idea down.
He spotted a thick stack of newspapers by the door.
"Reading the paper counts as entertainment too." Herman shoved the pile into Quicksilver's hands. To his surprise, Quicksilver accepted happily.
"Learning about this world? Not bad!"
Dragging a stool over, Quicksilver sat himself right in the middle of the lobby, facing the elevator, and began devouring the newspaper with great interest.
Good grief.
With just a stool and a paper, the guy still hadn't forgotten to guard the entrance.
Herman couldn't decide if Quicksilver was dedicated or simply stubborn. What he did know was that this man was undoubtedly a "genius."
Figuring out the value of standing guard so young means he's forty years ahead—while someone who only starts at sixty is just getting started.
"Brilliant."
Herman then went to check Skye's room. He could sense her mental state, confirming that Black Widow Natasha had indeed returned her safely.
"Are you alright?"
He was referring to that afternoon's incident.
"Of course, I'm fine. Don't worry. The doctor said I'll be completely better in two days." Skye assumed Herman was talking about her fainting from low blood sugar.
She had no memory of what had actually happened earlier, so her attitude remained unchanged. She even managed to wrangle two extra days off.
Truthfully, she'd been back to normal the moment she was discharged.
"Then rest well. Don't stress yourself. There's no work for you these next two days anyway." Herman believed her explanation without question. After all, anyone attacked by enhanced humans would be expected to have lingering psychological issues.
The two of them were clearly talking past each other.
And yet, their conversation flowed without a hitch—Herman's ability to probe memories didn't mean he used it constantly.
With people he already knew well, unless he had a reason to pry, he usually kept that power switched off.
"Wanda!"
After reminding Skye to drink more hot water, Herman headed toward Carrie's office, where he could feel Wanda's psychic energy.
"These salted shrimp are good, right? Let me tell you, when my sister first came to your plan—uh, this city,"
"I was practically forced into a nine-to-five accounting job."
Carrie was sharing food with the company's newcomers. Seeing Wanda eat with such delight made her smile, her eyes curling into crescent moons.
"I… my brother and I aren't from here either. We wandered here from somewhere else." Wanda lowered her head, her voice tinged with insecurity.
"You don't need to wander anymore. The boss is a good man. He even told me to help you find a school. From now on, life for you and your brother will only get better."
Carrie gently stroked Wanda's hair, speaking softly. "Actually, I also came here as an illegal immigrant from a very remote place..."
"You… you came illegally too?" Wanda's eyes widened in shock. She never imagined that this beautiful, well-dressed sister was the same as her.
"Of course. My father doesn't even know I'm here, so you have to keep this secret for me too." Carrie lowered her voice, as if whispering a forbidden secret.
Outside the door, Herman overheard every word between the two girls.
It was the first time he realized Carrie had come to New York without her family's knowledge. Good grief, why didn't your dad just cut off your bank card?
Or was it that… your allowance was already enough to live lavishly? By Herman's rough estimate, Carrie's weekly spending couldn't be less than thirty thousand dollars.
Her clothes, pants, even earrings were all top international brands. Only someone as naive as Wanda would actually believe Carrie had snuck into the U.S.
America never turned away the rich.
"You're spoiling the company members again."
As soon as Herman stepped inside, he caught Carrie stuffing snacks into Wanda's clothes and pockets. By now, everyone in the company—except him—had put on at least five or six pounds.
Even Matt, the company lawyer, had grown gloomy, realizing during a recent sparring session that he wasn't nearly as agile as before.
"Kids need to eat more to grow strong!" Carrie said righteously, cramming another pile of snacks into Wanda's hands.
"Mmm!"
Wanda had never eaten snacks before.
Now, she felt nothing but pure happiness. She knew very clearly that all of this was thanks to the man standing in front of her.
"Big Brother, I don't want to go to school. I want to stay with you… like my brother does. I can help you guard the gate."
Wanda's words were serious.
It seemed she had realized Quicksilver's role was to guard the entrance.
As someone who believed in repaying kindness, she wanted to be useful too.
"Only if you study hard and gain knowledge can you help me with something truly meaningful in the future. Your brother alone is enough for guarding the gate."
Herman firmly refused her request.
"But…"
Wanda hesitated, her heart filled with the desire to do something for him, rather than just be looked after by Herman and his subordinates.
"Don't you want to do even more for me?"
Herman coaxed patiently.
Wanda, worried he might misunderstand, quickly shook her head. "No, that's not it! I really do want to help you do more, Big Brother."
And with that, Herman convinced her to go to school—he knew all too well the importance of education, especially for someone as powerful as Wanda.
Magneto himself was proof.
Because he had little schooling as a child, he had twisted himself into the "Metalneto". Herman had no intention of letting Wanda follow her father's path.
"Later, take Wanda out to buy some clothes. Pick up a few sets for her brother too. Whatever you spend, reimburse it from the company account."
He instructed Carrie before leaving the room.
Of course, he also left with a large bag of snacks. Back in his office, Herman followed his routine, turning on the TV to check the news.
As expected.
The augmented human riot had already been covered up as a natural gas explosion.
In this era, mutants and all extraordinary powers remained hidden from the public. Only those who had truly encountered them knew the truth.
And those witnesses were all silenced afterward, forced to sign strict confidentiality agreements, preventing the truth from spreading widely. A few online forums discussed such things, but for most, they were nothing more than urban legends.
Skye, for one, was a girl fascinated by urban legends.
"I'd love to see Skye's reaction when she finds out she's actually part of those so-called legends herself."
Just as he was about to switch off the TV and catch up on his shows, the screen flickered.
An emergency news broadcast cut in.
[Tony Stark, CEO and Chairman of Stark Industries, and renowned New York philanthropist, has gone missing during today's terrorist attack in Afghanistan.]
[Our stationed forces in Afghanistan have already coordinated with local government troops to conduct a sweeping search for Tony Stark's whereabouts.]
[Experts have confirmed Tony Stark's death, though Stark Industries Director Obadiah has refused to accept this conclusion.]
[Anyone able to provide information on Tony Stark's whereabouts may call this number. Upon verification, a reward of ten million U.S. dollars will be issued.]
The anchor delivered the shocking news.
Herman's eyes narrowed slightly.
He knew.
The true curtain of the Marvel Universe was about to rise.
...
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