A certain bald man had gone from being a battlefield operative to the director of an intelligence organization.
In the process, he had lost all his hair—but he still hadn't managed to find enough suitable candidates to form the Avengers.
The man in question was none other than Nick Fury.
As for the task he had promised Adrian—locating a hidden order of mages—
Fury had been pursuing that lead ever since.
Unfortunately, months had passed with no results.
It was as if those mages had never existed.
No traces.
No sightings.
No records.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, in Sokovia, a small Eastern European nation constantly plagued by political instability, a protest march was taking place.
The streets were packed with demonstrators.
Angry slogans echoed through the air.
Yet strangely, very few officials were present to maintain order.
Among the crowd were two children.
A boy and a girl.
Both were around ten years old.
Their clothes were ragged, their faces thin from hunger.
Each of them held a protest sign.
But their attention was clearly somewhere else.
When no one was looking, the boy quietly set his sign down.
Then he darted into a nearby bakery.
Moments later he returned, clutching several sandwiches.
"Here you go, Wanda," the boy whispered.
"Lunch."
The girl took one cautiously.
Her eyes scanned the crowd.
"You weren't seen, were you?"
The boy grinned.
"Relax. These protests always turn into looting anyway."
"I just blended in."
Then he rubbed his cheek awkwardly.
"…Though I did grab a little too much and tripped."
The two siblings quickly finished the sandwiches while hidden among the crowd.
Then they slipped away.
Outside the city, in a quiet forest clearing, the siblings sat before a small cemetery.
Two sandwiches remained between them.
Three months earlier—
They had still been a normal family.
Four people sharing dinner together at home.
Then the missile struck.
The explosion blasted a hole through the floor.
Their parents fell instantly.
The entire building began collapsing.
The older brother grabbed his sister and dragged her beneath the bed just as a second missile smashed into the room.
But this one didn't explode.
It landed directly in front of them.
Silent.
Cold.
Waiting.
On the side of the missile was a single word:
STARK
The logo of Stark Industries.
For two days and two nights, the siblings were trapped beneath the rubble.
Every sound of rescue crews clearing debris felt like a death sentence.
If the unexploded missile detonated—
They would die instantly.
They stared at that missile the entire time.
Waiting.
Praying.
But it never exploded.
Eventually, they were rescued.
But survival didn't bring relief.
Because something worse awaited them.
Without their parents, the family had lost its only source of income.
And Sokovia had no functioning welfare system.
No orphanage.
No support network.
Until someone adopted them—
They were on their own.
So the siblings did whatever they had to do.
Begging.
Stealing.
Anything to survive.
"Wanda," the boy said quietly.
"We can't keep living like this."
He clenched his fists.
"We need money."
His name was Pietro Maximoff.
And the girl beside him was his twin sister—
Wanda Maximoff.
Back in the city, the protest had grown more violent.
"Down with the government!"
"Thieves!"
"You're the real criminals!"
Pietro subtly began pushing the crowd toward a nearby armored truck guarded by soldiers.
His voice blended into the chanting.
"Charge!!!"
The crowd surged forward.
The guards raised their submachine guns nervously.
One soldier grabbed his radio.
"Command, protesters approaching—requesting—"
BANG!
A gunshot rang out.
Before the soldier could finish speaking, a bloody hole appeared in his forehead.
He collapsed instantly.
Someone had fired into the crowd.
Panic exploded across the street.
The protest instantly turned into a riot.
Gunfire.
Screaming.
Chaos.
Amid the confusion—
Pietro slipped through the crowd unnoticed.
Within seconds he reached the armored truck.
Then he grabbed a small metal strongbox and vanished into the chaos.
A short while later, back in the forest—
Pietro dropped the heavy box onto the ground with a grin.
"Wanda!"
"I did it!"
He patted the safe proudly.
"Guess how much money is inside."
Wanda glanced from their parents' gravestones toward the box.
"But…"
"How do we open it?"
Pietro froze.
"…Good question."
Then he snapped his fingers.
"I remember an old carpenter used to leave tools around here."
"I'll grab an axe."
He ran off.
Five minutes later he returned, breathing heavily, holding a rusted axe.
CLANG!
He swung it hard.
The metal box dented.
CLANG!
Another strike split the casing.
But something felt strange.
The interior sounded hollow.
"Did they store an empty box in the truck?"
Pietro frowned and pried the broken container open.
He shook it.
Something slid out.
Clink.
A golden oil lamp decorated with gemstones rolled onto the ground.
Pietro's eyes lit up.
"Jackpot!"
"This thing has to be worth a fortune!"
He picked it up excitedly.
"If we sell it…"
"We'll never go hungry again!"
Wanda looked down at her torn jacket.
Then nodded enthusiastically.
"And we can buy new clothes."
Back in the city, the riots had already been suppressed.
Military forces had restored order.
Standing among the wreckage was a tall bald man wearing a monocle.
Baron Wolfgang von Strucker.
One of the most dangerous leaders of Hydra.
His voice was cold.
"Investigate the losses."
"Track down anyone who escaped with stolen property."
A soldier saluted immediately.
"Yes, Lord Strucker."