In the boundless cosmos, there floats a small isolated island, it's probably just a little bigger than a manhole cover, appearing like ordinary rubble.
However, at this moment, a disproportionate figure stands on it. His head is enormous, and he wears a sleeveless long robe like a white tablecloth, with a blue cape hanging limply behind him.
In his eyes, Earth emits a faint glow of light, and just as he watches the vibrant planet, a small object flies toward him.
Like a little fairy without wings, a miniature Iron Man, with something resembling an old-fashioned tape recorder mounted on its chest.
The figure in the blue cape didn't turn around but sensed the newcomer nonetheless, and in a clear voice said, "Recorder, I'm ready to tell you the story."
The little humanoid tape recorder landed on his shoulder, crawling up with its cloak in hand: "Perfect timing, Observer, the Eternal has always been worried about your workload."
"Thousands of years have passed, and I finally understand that the process of presenting and solving some matters is more important than recording what I see. Many principles drive the progression of things, much knowledge needs to be absorbed by me, and at this moment, I'm ready to begin recording."
The Observer stated his point of view, a reasoning much like he always did, his tone calm, his gaze fixed on Earth.
The little tape recorder said no more, twisting the button on its chest, causing the suspected tape to start spinning.
"3, 2, 1"
...............
This is a record of a special group of people, with names varying, living within human society, yet seldom regarded as such.
Mutants.
When human and mutant became two distinct words, it showed that things had become complicated.
Mutants are usually described with derogatory terms, despite the fact that constant evolution for survival is a human instinct.
Therefore, for the sake of self-protection, the genetically modified 'Hybrids' must constantly constrain themselves to maintain public goodwill.
But like witches, no one can hide throughout their entire life.
Thus, tensions between humans and mutants have been evident over centuries, though most prejudices remain superficial until one day in the 20th century, when a humanoid flame flying across the night sky could no longer be covered up.
Within minutes, explosive flames engulfed several blocks, turning thousands into charred remains, especially when it was revealed that the so-called 'Fireman' had been exhibited at the World Exposition in New York...
Intense fear seemed to gradually blur vision.
People once again raised the torches and weapons of the witch-hunting era, chanting slogans like 'Death to mutants,' 'Freaks get out of the United States,' marching down the streets with banners.
Now, post-World War II, with some power-hungry individuals manipulating secretly, the mutant issue seems to have been brought to the table instantly.
.........
Ukraine has a pleasant climate, fertile land, and abundant rainfall; even the winters are not as cold as in more northern areas.
In the southwestern part of Ukraine, there is a place called Vinnytsia Oblast, which is not as prosperous as elsewhere, as it has more mountains and forests, not particularly suitable for farming.
But for some who want to hide and live quietly, this place couldn't be more suitable.
After spending a lot of time, strategy, and toil, Marx and Magda managed to live a passable life together after completely leaving behind the stench of the concentration camps.
"Mark, we've been here for a year, yet no one is still willing to talk to me."
At this time, Magda was stirring a pot of thin porridge over the hearth in a simple wooden house, with only some corn kernels and vegetable leaves inside, while the pitiable little house was drafty all around.
"They look down on me, my daughter, and our whole family." She ladled the porridge out of the pot, pouring it into chipped earthenware bowls, and placed them on a table made from a tree stump.
Marx was his original name, as he was a Jew, and now living in Ukraine, within the Unbreakable Alliance, it's best not to be associated with anyone from Germany, so he replaced the original German version with a more Fur Bear-style pronunciation.
Now he is called Magnus, holding his young daughter in his arms, gently patting her back beside the dining table: "We have just entered this society, these people are very conservative..."
Magda, with the food in hand, sighed deeply, placing the bowl on the table: "We are running out of food, this winter is very cold, we can't make it through."
"Phew..." Magnus rubbed his face: "Lady Maria hasn't paid you for helping with the laundry, has she?"
"She did, five potatoes, five ears of corn, but we ate them last night, and this..." Magda pointed to the nearly bottom-clear porridge in the bowl: "This is all that's left."
Magnus seemed to understand, nodding as he began to feed his daughter: "I understand. After eating, I will go up the mountain to chop more firewood, see if I can trade it with others for food. It's very cold in winter, and every family needs heating."
Magnus didn't have many living skills, having grown up in various concentration camps; his most skilled job was handling corpses, sending them into the crematorium.
That's no joke, it was truly his work in the concentration camp; initially, German people moved the bodies themselves from the gas chamber, but later found the bodies too many, and it was undoubtedly a laborious task.
The crematorium was the fastest expanding building in the concentration camps, yet never enough.
So the Nazi began to use teenagers to move the bodies, more labor-saving, and also more cost-effective.
However, as it turns out now, there was an added benefit. Magnus was strong, able to do things many ordinary people couldn't without using his ability.
Despite not possessing any other crafts at this moment, he was willing to go through fire and water for his family.
.........
"Sir, this money is only half of what you promised initially."
When Magnus, braving the heavy snow, carried the laboriously cut firewood into the courtyard of a wealthy villager, he didn't receive the deserved payment.
The man chewing tobacco glanced at him and spat black and yellow spittle onto the snow beside him.
"Pfft! It's already plenty for you!"
"But... I have a wife and child at home..." Magnus circled in front of him, seriously negotiating.
"What does your life or death matter to me? I know you're German and Italian, you're our enemies, you'd better not make me report it to the mayor."
Magnus spread his hands, blocking the man about to close the door: "But I'm not a Nazi, I'm a Jew, a victim, an ordinary person."
"An ordinary person who can't even grow corn? You're a deserter, right? Am I right? Damn Krauts, you only deserve to eat cow dung!"
The differing levels of understanding between the two decided their differing views, rural villagers could not discern the difference between Nazi and Jews.
Comrade Steel once said, Germans and Italians are enemies, so they are, and now the war has ended, they are losers, do losers still seek any justice?
Despite the price already being low, if he could only pay half, wouldn't that be better? There's plenty of firewood, trading it with others for something else wouldn't be bad either.
Magnus had suffered much, if it were just him, he could completely leave here to live elsewhere.
But now he has family and still needs to evade the mysterious organization pursuing him. He now just wants to claim what he deserves, for he labored and must receive the promised payment.
"Please, don't go; my family really needs this payment, please."
"Pfft!"
Labor without payment, how is that different from a concentration camp?
Watching the villager, smugly planning to close the door, Magnus's patience also reached its limit. He must get the full payment and brave the snow to the town to buy food before dark.
The axe on the ground beside instantly flew up, as if grabbed by an invisible hand, it was poised at the villager's neck. The icy axe blade froze all the sweat freshly released onto the villager's neck.