The off-road vehicle sped down the highway.
Herman drove through the frigid, shrub-covered terrain. A full day had passed since his unexpected encounter with Natasha. He had no idea how much his words might change her, or what kind of impact they would have on her future.
To him, running into Natasha—the woman who would one day become a familiar face, the future director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a Level 10 agent—was nothing more than a small episode in the timeline of the past.
Unlike those who were infatuated with her, treating her like some kind of goddess, Herman had never considered getting involved with Natasha. Taking her along wouldn't have been impossible, but after already stirring up such a major disturbance—enough to have certainly altered history—he wasn't going to worry about what other consequences his actions might bring. There was simply no need. He had no intention of playing babysitter to fragile ordinary people again.
Natasha wasn't like Evelyn, either. Herman had no use for her... well, aside from the kind of "use" seasoned drivers might joke about. Truth be told, Natasha wasn't his type. He even thought she was less attractive than Cap's old flame, Carter.
At least Carter, one of those classic ice queens, had that aloof aura that sparked a desire to conquer her—a kind of charm most men found hard to resist.
Of course, Herman had never made an effort to meet Carter, nor did he have any intention of cheating on Cap. He was simply describing his type.
Speaking of cold beauties, Polaris wasn't a bad choice either. You had to admit, Magneto's genes were impressive—none of his daughters were anything less than stunning.
If given the chance, Herman wouldn't mind becoming Magneto's son-in-law. Just imagining Wanda sweetly calling him "brother-in-law"—that was a scene many people could only dream about.
"Come to think of it, I never heard anything about Polaris in my era. Maybe she wasn't born yet back then?"
"Pfft, Magneto sure is energetic for an old man."
Herman rested one arm on the steering wheel and propped his head against the window, idly watching the scenery outside.
At present, he was still within the borders of the Soviet Union.
As the largest country on Earth, the Soviet Union covered a full sixth of the planet's landmass. He figured it would take him several more days to drive out of it. Along the way, he hadn't encountered any battlefields yet—the war hadn't reached the Soviet homeland at this point in time.
Herman wasn't in a rush to reach New York.
He took his time, enjoying sights that would no longer exist in the future. Nature, still unspoiled by human destruction, had a beauty of its own. Some of the local cultures were quite distinct as well. Whenever he passed through a small town, he would stop and take a brief look around.
The food was good, hearty in that distinct Russian way. The pickles were crisp and tangy.
Although the locals were wary of outsiders, Herman's Eastern appearance kept them from being overtly hostile.
"In the next town, I'll take a break. Tomorrow's the day I draw a new identity again. Gotta do the proper ritual—bathe, change clothes, get cleaned up."
Herman was someone who valued mysticism. As he mentally calculated his ritual preparations, he also prayed for a favorable draw tomorrow.
Even if he didn't get something top-tier, a Platinum-tier identity would do.
Bronze or Silver-level identities—or even the weaker versions of Gold—didn't mean much to him anymore.
"Above Platinum should be Diamond-tier, right?"
As he speculated about the [All-Seeing Eye], he found himself drifting off in thought while driving—until something happened that reminded him of the importance of paying attention on the road.
"Boom!"
Somewhere in the Soviet wilderness, a figure suddenly shot out from the trees ahead.
Unlike Natasha, this person wasn't so lucky. They crashed headfirst into the SUV, caving in the hood with a deafening thud.
The impact was enormous.
The windshield shattered instantly, and the vehicle spun out of control, skidding wildly across the road.
Clatter! Clatter!
Herman gripped the steering wheel, struggling to steady the SUV.
It was useless.
Out of options, he used his ultimate trump card—Telekinesis—and froze the wildly spinning vehicle in midair.
It came to a stop, abruptly and unnaturally, completely defying the laws of physics.
The figure that crashed onto the SUV's hood wasn't nearly as lucky as the vehicle itself. Carried by sheer momentum, he was flung through the air and slammed hard into a tree—the impact so violent it snapped a trunk as thick as a man's waist.
If even the tree ended up like that, the one who hit it clearly wasn't in any better condition.
Herman could distinctly hear the sharp crack of breaking bones.
As for the person who had just totaled his car, Herman had no intention of helping him with Telekinesis. His pricey SUV had just been wrecked by some random guy out of nowhere.
Although he'd managed to stop the vehicle, the engine wasn't so lucky. The front was completely crumpled, black smoke pouring from the mangled hood.
It looked like it could explode at any moment. There was no way to fix it either—this era didn't even have repair shops capable of handling such vehicles.
"Damn it! Who the hell is it this time?!"
After being ambushed two days in a row in the jungle, Herman was on edge. He couldn't help but wonder if the forests of the Soviet Union were crawling with millions of scam artists waiting to throw themselves at his car. Annoyed, he pushed open the door, jumped out, and strode toward where the figure had landed among the broken trees.
It was a man—face-down, motionless, his head bloodied, uncertain if he was even alive.
Just as Herman approached, reaching out to turn the man over...
Rustling—
Before he could act, another figure suddenly shot out from the forest, moving with the speed and precision of a wild beast, and lunged straight at him.
...
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