Letter

Donnie drove from the suburbs into New York City, dusty from the road. New York was as prosperous as ever, with skyscrapers packed together like scales and scattered across the skyline. On the streets, pedestrians hurried past, busy with their own affairs.

This was the norm in New York City. To live in this international metropolis, a fast-paced lifestyle was essential. Even if the sky came crashing down, it would not stop New Yorkers from living their daily routine.

Parades could often be seen in New York City, or people standing by the roadside giving speeches through loudspeakers. That was normal too.

But this "normal" had run into a little accident today.

Up ahead, a large crowd had gathered, with citizens watching eagerly.

A dried-up Skinny Man stood on the stage, looking as though a gust of wind could knock him over. Anyone would believe that a casual punch could take him down.

Skinny Man was giving a speech, claiming to be the strongest mercenary in the world, with a brilliant record of achievements.

"You know that Donnie? That Mutant who's been so famous lately? He was beaten by me!" Skinny Man shamelessly declared, his tone forceful, as though victory were already in his grasp.

People did not believe him and began pointing and whispering. Donnie had initially been surprised that this guy was still alive, but when he heard that, his face immediately darkened.

"You don't believe me? A while back, that Mutant got beaten so badly he fled with his head in his hands, remember? That was my doing!" Skinny Man made a motion as though bouncing a ball and spoke with absolute conviction. "I only used one hand, and he dropped instantly. He couldn't take a hit."

Skinny Man spoke too quickly and coughed twice, making people worry that he might cough up a lung and die right there on the streets of New York.

Donnie's expression turned grim. He quietly slipped into the crowd and, finding an opportunity, pinched his nose and shouted, "Then where's that Mutant? You beat him?"

Skinny Man shuddered, suddenly full of energy. "He ran! I punched him so hard he ran away, and he doesn't dare show his face again. I'll protect the citizens of New York City!"

Skinny Man proclaimed that he would take responsibility for the safety of New York City's citizens.

"Hire me now, and you get twenty percent off!" Skinny Man shouted.

The crowd burst into scornful laughter. With a frail body like that, anyone could knock him down with one punch. Who would need someone like him for protection?

"Kid, do you want to hire me?" Skinny Man spotted a child only a few years old walking past and hurried over.

The child turned around and left.

Donnie noticed two police officers watching the spectacle nearby, so he walked over and asked, "Is what this guy's doing legal?"

"At least it isn't illegal." One officer shrugged, happy to watch the show.

The other officer told Donnie that Skinny Man's speech had been approved by their department. In New York City, parades and protests required permits issued by a special department, ensuring that patrol officers would not interfere with them.

"Anyone want to hire me? Thirty percent off! Forty percent off is fine too!" Seeing that no one paid attention to him, Skinny Man voluntarily lowered his price, then sighed under his breath. Citizens were getting harder and harder to fool these days.

There were people in the crowd who had fought alongside Skinny Man before. They nearly covered their faces and fled, too ashamed to be seen, terrified that Skinny Man might recognize them. It was too humiliating.

Skinny Man began another round of self-promotion, every sentence revolving around his glorious feat of driving Donnie away. It made Donnie want to beat him to death.

The spectators began heckling him, mocking the so-called top mercenary for not having a single customer.

Skinny Man grew anxious and squeezed into the crowd, explaining his bravery everywhere he went. That gave Donnie an opportunity to get close.

Donnie turned left and shoved his way through the crowd, quietly approaching Skinny Man. With a cold smile, he pulled the piece of Vibranium from his clothes.

Seizing the moment while Skinny Man was unprepared, Donnie viciously slammed the Vibranium slab down on his head!

Smack!

Skinny Man's eyes flew wide open. Foam spilled from his mouth as he collapsed in despair.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Having seen enough of the commotion, the two officers happily came over to clear the area and dragged Skinny Man away while they were at it.

Many citizens whispered among themselves as they left, sharing their opinions. Donnie listened as well.

"Are all mercenaries like this nowadays? That's terrifying," one citizen sighed.

"Mercenaries these days are all useless. The world's getting more dangerous, after all. Did you hear about the Italian mob fighting the Chinatown underworld a while ago?"

"I heard about it."

"They both hired the same guy. In the end, that guy kidnapped both bosses and said he would help whichever one paid more kill the other."

"Wow, society really is dangerous..."

That citizen spoke animatedly. Apparently, the two bosses had bid against each other on the spot, emptying their fortunes in a vicious struggle. In the end, the Chinatown boss won. He pulled out his trump card and raised the final bid by a few hundred dollars, saving his life.

Someone asked what that trump card was.

"The Chinatown boss snapped off his gold tooth, while the Italian boss didn't have one," the citizen said.

Donnie listened with great interest. Hearing these everyday opinions made him feel like he was still the ordinary person he had once been—working hard to haul goods when there was work, chatting and joking around when there was not. He had no great achievements worth mentioning, but his life had been peaceful and calm.

But Donnie had stepped into a new world. He could never return, nor could he possibly go back.

This was an age of great contention. Once someone had risen above the ordinary, there would be no chance to return.

If he did not fight, he would die!

After driving on and casually dealing with a routine check by street police, Donnie finally returned to his house, a small home in New York.

He no longer had a home. This place used to be home, but now it was merely a house. At least, that was how Donnie saw it.

He was the only one left. How could it still be called a home?

He opened the door and walked in. Donnie looked at everything inside the house. It was familiar yet strange, still cramped but neat. Everything was unchanged, exactly as it had been in his memories, as though nothing had happened.

Donnie let out a deep sigh. He wanted to mutter something to himself, but ultimately gave up and slumped onto the sofa.

There was actually a letter on the table. In the corner, the sender was marked: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Donnie opened it and read through it. The letter had been written by Professor X, who invited Donnie to attend Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in its name. He hoped Donnie would continue his studies instead of dropping out to earn money as he had before.

At the end of the letter, Professor X wrote: I sincerely hope to meet one of my own people. We can have a proper talk.

Donnie sighed, resealed the letter, and solemnly placed it in a box. The X-Men were extending him an invitation, hoping he would not side with Magneto.

To put it more bluntly, Professor X was hinting that even if Donnie did not come to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, he should not join the Brotherhood.

Professor X's caution was understandable. Donnie and Professor X were not on the same path.

Donnie had no desire to throw in with either side. Whether it was the bald professor or Magneto, he had no ability to fight back against either of them. If he truly had to choose one, he would rather choose Magneto.

The reason was simple. If Professor X read the memories in his mind out of curiosity, who knew what the consequences would be? Would he suffer a mental breakdown and die, just as he had in his previous life?