Can I take a photo of you?

Pietro's face turned ashen. He was terrified of the bloody battlefield and found it hard to adapt. When he stepped on a corpse, he finally threw up, willing to forfeit his pride and arrogance and admit defeat just to vomit freely.

Donnie was beaming, his dark face radiating with pride. It was as if the words "I am who I am, and I'm the best in the world" were etched onto him.

He, the great Donnie, had defeated a speed ability user in a head-on battle!

"From now on, you're with me. Why did you have to be so reckless and fight me?" Donnie dragged his tattered beggar's outfit as he walked over, comforting his new subordinate… well, that seemed like a fitting description.

The arrogant kid Pietro was naturally unconvinced. He angrily raised his head, wanting to curse Donnie for being shameless. But when he looked at Donnie's face, it wasn't just pitch black; half his head was scorched, and even his eyebrows were gone. It was a perfectly fitting look, not to mention the fragrant smell of roasted meat wafting from him…

With a "wow," Pietro threw up again.

Donnie roared in anger, "What's your problem? You threw up just by looking at me? That's too much! I'm actually quite good-looking!"

Pietro felt like he was about to vomit his bile.

Donnie's face turned cold, and he muttered a few words before directly picking up the rookie expert Pietro and throwing him into Optimus Prime, who had transformed back into a truck. He firmly secured him in the passenger seat. He then yelled at the terrified glasses man to get into the truck bed himself.

He then looked at the unconscious driver and found that he had already been killed by stray bullets.

As he sat in the driver's seat, Donnie finally had time to check his injuries, his mouth feeling a bit bitter.

His battle armor was ruined, but that was a minor issue. He could mass-produce a bunch of them using the AllSpark. A few small ones would consume less Spark Energy than a big guy like Optimus Prime.

But his body had suffered significant damage. Despite most of the blast being offset by his armor and the Spark Energy he had generously covered himself with, he couldn't have come out unscathed. He had multiple contusions all over his body, large areas of skin necrosis, revealing the flesh beneath. The worst was his thigh, which had a chunk of flesh missing; Donnie felt like he could almost see bone.

Donnie cursed a few times, enduring the pain, not taking it too seriously. With his recovery speed, these injuries would likely be mostly healed by tomorrow morning, or the day after at the latest.

At least the bleeding had mostly stopped now.

Donnie drove, speeding towards his home in New York City. He couldn't afford any more delays; the Vampires might have backup plans.

In his daze, Pietro regained some composure. He looked around and asked Donnie with a displeased expression, "Where are you taking me?"

"My place! No… to the barbershop first!"

Pietro subconsciously glanced at Donnie's head and almost threw up again.

It was scorched black and a horrific sight. If people didn't know better, they'd think Donnie had just crawled out of a crematorium, half-burned and reanimated in broad daylight.

Donnie's mouth twitched violently. He sternly warned Quicksilver that if he ever threw up at the sight of him again, he would blow up the car and take them both with him.

The glasses man reacted most violently. He yelled and claimed he'd rather jump out and die from the fall than be blown up, stating that death should at least be dignified. However, a piece of Vibranium brick thrown by Donnie instantly knocked him out.

He wielded this Vibranium brick with incredible skill, making it invincible.

Pietro snorted and cursed him as crazy, almost turning to leave. He was genuinely unnerved. The guy sitting next to him was simply a hysterical lunatic, the kind of person rumored to beat himself up when he went mad.

Magneto, that old man, was abnormal, and the person the old man recommended was also abnormal.

"I'm warning you, I'm here to protect you. Don't you dare talk to me like that. If you push me too far, I'm leaving." Pietro felt awkward saying such a disheartening thing. When had he, Quicksilver, ever said anything like this? He usually beat people until they cried without them even knowing who hit them.

Donnie snorted, too lazy to respond. Once you're in my house, you think you can leave? Who gave you that chance? A speed-type fighter delivered to my doorstep, do you think I'm stupid enough not to take advantage of it? Where else would I find such a good deal?

The two remained silent, maintaining an eerie calm as they sped along. This caused curses from the occasional drivers they overtook, and even the police tried to pursue them. But for some reason, they soon stopped. Donnie guessed they had received orders from higher up to cease any further contact with him.

Pietro was an impatient sort. After enduring it for a long time, he finally couldn't help himself and tentatively asked, "Are you very familiar with that old man?"

Donnie shot him a sideways glance, too lazy to bother.

Pietro suppressed his impatience and bombarded Donnie with a series of questions, trying to elicit more information. But Donnie remained tight-lipped, appearing completely uninterested.

In his heart, however, Donnie's thoughts were stirring. He had picked up on some nuances.

Magneto, Erik, did not seem to have officially acknowledged his long-lost children yet, only training them like falconers.

This made his earlier muttering about Pietro being Magneto's child seem abrupt and intriguing. It was no wonder Pietro couldn't help but ask. Anyone would be anxious.

Pietro was indeed anxious. He longed to know the answer but feared knowing it. This surprised even himself. Didn't he hate that old man immensely? Why was he so concerned about such a trivial matter? Why would that old man, who refused to acknowledge him and his sister, tell an outsider such things so openly?

Donnie drove to a large hair salon, where a salon party was in full swing. A dozen renowned hairstylists in the industry were chatting, the atmosphere relaxed and lively. Some stylists even called over their clients for live styling experiments, everyone getting along harmoniously.

This continued until Donnie, looking like he had risen from the dead, burst in. The hairstylist who was about to cut hair was stunned by his appearance. They looked at each other in amazement, wondering which mad genius hairstylist had conceived such a look.

"I, Donnie, need a haircut. Make it quick, and make it look good," Donnie said.

Numerous hairstylists swarmed him. Some recognized Donnie and exclaimed in surprise, becoming even more enthusiastic.

Donnie had immense popularity in New York City. This mutant, who had awakened during the crisis, had saved countless people. Donnie himself didn't realize how popular he was with some.

Unusually, New Yorkers didn't ostracize him because he was a mutant, just as they adored that little Spider-Man who swung around all day—many people had always assumed Spider-Man was also a mutant. In the eyes of New Yorkers, Spider-Man was a comedian and a source of joy. People commuting to and from work could always see little Spider-Man shooting webs between skyscrapers. Sometimes, when people were frustrated waiting for a bus, they would directly call down little Spider-Man to chat and pass the time.

Spider-Man was a young man. Most New Yorkers who interacted with him knew he was roughly ten years old, had a hoarse voice, likely still going through puberty, and was lively and amusing. He always caused minor trouble, drawing laughter from passersby and dispelling the day's fatigue.

People ostracized mutants as a group, but very few people ostracized little Spider-Man. The only exception was the owner of the Daily Bugle, Jameson, a professional hater for thirty years. Wherever little Spider-Man appeared, he would follow with a bunch of Daily Bugle trolls.

Little Spider-Man was truly New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

But Donnie now seemed to have a hint of that same inclination. Many people cursed him, but even more supported him. The vast majority of New Yorkers remained neutral in their opinion of Donnie, not yet commenting on this mutant who had indirectly saved so many.

Many of those indirectly saved by Donnie that night were now his staunch supporters, fanatically following his every move.

In the barbershop, one hairstylist was very nervous. He tremblingly asked Donnie, "Can I take a picture with you?"

Without waiting for Donnie's objection, he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, immediately uploading it to Twitter with the caption: "Donnie's new look. He's rallying for the homeless and vagrants, answering the city government's call for poverty alleviation."

In the photo, Donnie was covered in dirt and his clothes were ragged, with numerous tears on them. Fortunately, Donnie had covered some of his wounds before entering, but his appearance was still striking. Especially his god-like hairstyle, half-scorched…

Instantly, the tweet exploded!

Countless netizens went wild, retweeting it. Within a very short time, it had taken the internet by storm!