Can I Take Your Picture?

Pietro's face went deathly pale. He was somewhat afraid of this bloody battlefield and simply could not adapt to it. When he stepped on a corpse, he finally threw up, willing to admit defeat and cast aside his pride and arrogance just so he could vomit freely.

Donnie was beaming. His pitch-black face was brimming with vitality, and all that was missing was the words "I'm still the greatest, number one under heaven" carved across it.

He, the great Donnie, had defeated a speedster head-on!

"From now on, you're rolling with me. Tell me, why did you have to overestimate yourself and pick a fight with me?" Donnie dragged his battered beggar's clothes as he struggled over, comforting his newly acquired little brother... Well, there did not seem to be anything wrong with putting it that way.

The arrogant Pietro was naturally unconvinced. He angrily raised his head, intending to curse Donnie for being shameless, but the moment he saw Donnie's face—blackened beyond recognition, with half his hair burned away and even his eyebrows singed off, perfectly fitting the occasion—not to mention the fragrant scent of roasted meat wafting from him...

With a retch, Pietro threw up again.

Donnie flew into a rage. "What's your problem? You throw up the moment you look at me? That's going too far! I'm clearly not bad-looking!"

Pietro was nearly vomiting up bile.

With a cold expression, Donnie muttered a few words, then directly hauled up the novice expert Pietro and tossed him into Optimus Prime, who had transformed back into a truck. He pinned him firmly into the passenger seat, then shouted at the terrified bespectacled man to get into the truck bed himself.

He looked again at the unconscious driver and discovered that he had already been killed by a stray bullet.

Only after sitting in the driver's seat did Donnie have time to inspect his injuries, and his mouth tasted bitter.

One suit of armor was ruined. That was a minor issue. He could use the AllSpark to mass-produce a pile of them; several little ones consumed far less Spark Energy than a giant like Optimus Prime.

But his body had suffered severe injuries. Although most of the bombardment had been absorbed by his armor and the Spark Energy he had spared no expense in spreading over himself, it was impossible for him to emerge unscathed. He was bruised all over, large patches of skin had died and exposed the flesh beneath, and worst of all, a chunk of flesh was missing from his thigh. Donnie felt as though he could almost see the bone.

Donnie cursed a few times and endured the pain without taking it too seriously. At his recovery speed, these injuries would probably be mostly healed by tomorrow morning. At worst, they would be dealt with the day after tomorrow.

At least the bleeding had more or less stopped already.

Donnie drove at top speed toward his home in New York. He could not delay any longer; who knew whether the vampires had other tricks up their sleeves.

Still groggy, Pietro finally caught his breath. He looked around, then asked Donnie with an unfriendly expression, "Where are you taking me?"

"My house! No... the barbershop first!"

Pietro instinctively glanced at Donnie's head and nearly threw up again.

It was a charred mess, too horrible to look at. Anyone who did not know better would have thought Donnie had just crawled out of a crematorium, half-burned in broad daylight and risen from the dead.

Donnie's mouth twitched violently. He solemnly warned Pietro that if he dared throw up again whenever he saw him, Donnie would immediately blow up the truck and take him down with it.

The bespectacled man reacted most violently. He screamed that he would rather jump from the truck and fall to his death than be blown up. Even in death, he should die with dignity. Then a brick Donnie flung at him instantly knocked him out.

Donnie wielded that Vibranium brick with supernatural skill, crushing everything in his path.

Pietro snorted and cursed him as a lunatic, nearly turning around to leave. He was genuinely a little scared. The guy sitting beside him was simply a hysterical madman, the kind who would beat himself up when he went crazy.

That old man Magneto was abnormal, and the person he recommended was abnormal too.

"I'm warning you, I came here to watch over you. Don't you go barking orders at me. If you push me too far, I'm leaving." Pietro felt deeply awkward. He felt that saying such words greatly diminished his prestige. When had he ever said anything so dispiriting? Usually, he beat people until they wailed like ghosts and wolves without ever letting them know who had hit them.

Donnie snorted and could not be bothered to respond. You think you can run after walking through my door? Who gave you that chance? A speedster thug delivered right to my doorstep—did you really think I'd be stupid enough not to take him? Where else could I find such a good thing?

The two fell silent, maintaining an eerie calm as they sped along, drawing curses from the occasional people they overtook. Even the police caught up, but for some reason, they quickly stopped pursuing them. Donnie guessed they had received orders from their superiors forbidding them from making further contact with him.

Pietro had an impatient temperament. He endured for a long time before finally being unable to hold back any longer. He tentatively asked, "Are you close with that old man?"

Donnie shot him a sideways glance and could not be bothered to answer.

Suppressing his impatience, Pietro fired a string of questions at Donnie, trying to learn more. But Donnie kept his mouth firmly shut, looking as though he could not be bothered with him.

Yet Donnie's thoughts were racing. He had picked up on something.

Magneto, Erik, seemingly had yet to formally acknowledge his long-lost children. He was merely training them as one would train hawks.

That made Donnie's earlier remark about Pietro being Magneto's child seem rather abrupt and thought-provoking. No wonder Pietro could not help asking. Anyone would be anxious in his position.

Pietro truly was anxious. He yearned to know the answer, yet feared learning it. Even he found that strange. Did he not hate that old man intensely? Why did he care so much about such a small matter? That old man clearly refused to acknowledge him and his sister, so why had he told an outsider about this without holding anything back?

Donnie drove to a large hair salon, where a salon gathering happened to be underway. More than a dozen renowned hairstylists were chatting with one another in a relaxed, lively atmosphere. Some even called over customers who entered to conduct live hairstyling experiments, and everyone got along harmoniously.

Until Donnie, looking like a resurrected corpse, charged inside. The hairstylists holding scissors were so startled that they dropped the tools they used to make a living. Everyone exclaimed in amazement. Which deranged hairstylist had come up with this genius hairstyle?

"I'm Donnie. Haircut. Make it quick, and make sure it looks good," Donnie said.

The hairstylists swarmed forward. Some recognized Donnie and cried out in surprise, becoming even more enthusiastic.

Donnie had an extremely high level of popularity in New York City. This Mutant who had awakened amid the crisis had saved a great many people. Even Donnie himself did not know that he was actually well liked by some people.

Rarely for New Yorkers, they did not reject him because of his Mutant identity, just as they all loved that Spider-Man who swung around all day—many people had always believed Spider-Man was a Mutant too. To New Yorkers, Spider-Man was a goofball and a source of joy. People commuting to and from work could see him shooting webs and swinging between skyscrapers every day. Sometimes, people tired of waiting for the bus would call Spider-Man down for a chat to pass the time.

Spider-Man was a young man, and many New Yorkers who had interacted with him knew it. He was roughly in his teens, his voice hoarse, likely not yet through puberty. He was lively and interesting, always causing little troubles that drew cheerful laughter from passersby and washed away the day's exhaustion.

People rejected Mutants as a group, but few went out of their way to reject Spider-Man. Except for James, the owner of the Daily Bugle, a professional hater for thirty years. Wherever Spider-Man appeared, he would lead a crowd of Daily Bugle trolls after him.

Spider-Man called himself New York's friendly neighborhood hero, and he truly lived up to the name.

But Donnie now seemed to be developing a hint of the same tendency. Plenty of people cursed him, but even more supported him. Most New Yorkers remained neutral in their opinions of Donnie, temporarily withholding judgment on this Mutant who had indirectly saved so many people.

Many of those Donnie had indirectly saved that night were his die-hard fans, fanatically worshipping everything about him.

In the salon, one hairstylist was extremely nervous. Trembling, he asked Donnie, "Can I take a picture of you?"

After saying that, he did not wait for Donnie to object. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, then immediately uploaded it to Twitter with the caption: Donnie's new look. He is championing beggars and homeless people, answering the city government's call for poverty alleviation.

In the photo, Donnie was filthy and dressed in tattered clothes, with one tear after another covering his outfit. Fortunately, Donnie had deliberately concealed some of his wounds before entering, but his appearance was still shocking. Especially that godlike hairstyle, half of it burned away...

In an instant, the tweet exploded!

Countless netizens went crazy and reposted it. Within an extremely short time, it swept across the entire internet!