Peter laughed as the memories came back, shaking his head as he remembered the look on his mother's face when, at fifteen, he'd come home with an arcade console and a ping pong table all in the same day. Magda had been furious. But what could she do? He'd saved several people on the way home from car accidents and the like; didn't that make up for it? Besides, it'd only been a couple thousand dollars' anyway.

After that, he'd stolen a few more TVs. Some more snacks and paddles for his ping pong table. The police had shown up at his house quite a few more times, but he'd just dodged them and laughed them off. No one would believe their story. He was safe. Sure, he was a thief. But he was a thief who would never be caught.

And it was all thanks to his father. Erik.

He'd actually met him, saved him. His father. The shock hit him. Again. Like, like . . . like that time two years ago when he was fourteen. He'd been running down the freeway, against traffic, of course, when a pretty girl driving had caught his attention. Before he knew it, he'd crashed headlong into a semi-truck. That had hurt. Ten times worse than the time he'd jumped out of his mom's car three years ago. No, no one had died. He'd saved the man in the semi-truck and the other people in the cars who were going to collide with said truck. However, that was after he'd broken several bones and scraped nearly all the skin off his upper half. It'd been summer. He was running shirtless. So?

But his legs, his precious legs, had been undamaged. So, he'd saved everyone and raced home to get Wanda's magical help before running to the other side of the country to speed the healing of his upper half. Then he'd returned to his hometown and made his way to the hospital, forcing the nurses and doctors to take care of his broken bones before returning home and telling his mom, who hardly gave his injuries a second glance by now, about his ordeal. He had been getting into quite a few close-calls and scrapes by then.

Within two weeks, Peter was completely healed. There was no scarring, which, for Peter, was a bit disheartening. But he ran during his entire recovery period. He couldn't sit at home.

He couldn't just . . . remain. And it wasn't just about the fact that, while running, the speed his body healed tripled. He had to run; he needed to run. It was what he was made for.

Peter could still remember last year when he'd wanted to run all the way around the world. He'd told his mom, informed her that he'd be gone for a week or so, then had planned out all the places he could eat at along the way. All the stores along his route had pizza and Twinkies; he'd be okay. So he'd stepped out his door, ate another slice of pizza, bade his mother goodbye from the porch, then took off. No more than a second later, he returned to his house. He glanced over at his mother to find her laughing on the porch. Peter was stunned at his own speed. His mother, after recovering from her laughing fit, had said that his speed was obvious to her. After hearing many of the stories he'd told her during his seconds of running, she'd accurately calculated his top speed. To her, it was no surprise, but to him it was beyond amazing. She'd said he'd moved so fast that he looked like a blur of silver. That was the day he got the name Quicksilver.

He was the fastest man alive. Now, with his mutant abilities to back him up, Quicksilver was going to find his father. No matter what his mom told him, about how he was a "bad guy," he needed to find him. Needed to talk to him. It wasn't as if she could stop him, anyway. She couldn't. His sisters wouldn't. He'd already broken into the Pentagon. There was nothing he couldn't do.

However, locating one man in a world of over seven billion people proved to be much harder than Quicksilver anticipated. It was a challenge, sure, but it was a tough challenge. He'd spent his first day travelling through his town and asking everyone he met if they knew of anyone who could manipulate metal. They'd all looked at him like he was crazy, and he'd taken off to another state before doing the same again. Ten thousand times. Ten thousand times ten thousand. He'd sped across the Atlantic Ocean and learned how to say "Do you know a man who can manipulate metal?" in about twenty-five different languages, along with both positive and negative responses.

Japan was out. So was Korea, China, India, and half of Russia. Thailand was a dud. Malaysia, New Zealand, and Australia were out. Even running at super speed, it still took Quicksilver three years to make it through part of China and all the surrounding islands. It took another year to make it through Africa, and nine months to make it through the Middle East, though he spent most of that time saving people from lethal situations. It made Quicksilver quite thankful that he didn't live in Saudi Arabia or Iran.

He stole lots of things, but he also saved people while doing it. He was a villainous hero. Heh. Quicksilver, the villainous hero. He liked it.

After eating another three pizzas, Quicksilver resumed his search. He searched through several of the Pacific Islands before stopping back at his house to check up on his mom and sisters before resuming his search.

It was exhausting. After making it through one-eighth of Europe, Quicksilver paused and did some rapid calculations in his head. If he asked everyone in the world where his father was, and if he took into consideration that only half the population could answer him since the rest would be too young . . . and if that questioning only took a second, it would still take him over one hundred ten years. Man. Maybe it would be better if he just searched the world and looked for a man who resembled his father.

Peter, feeling a bit warm from running so much, decided to stop at a mountain top in order to cool off. What better mountain to do that than Mount Everest? In another blink, Peter was standing on the summit, casually pulling out a stick of gum and chewing on it before he heard something between a gasp and a scream next to him. Glancing over, Peter grinned and casually waved to a team of six who were bundled up so much that Peter couldn't tell if they were human. "Great place to cool off," Peter said, brushing snow off his jacket. "What about you?"

No one responded, and Peter assumed that was because everyone except him had oxygen tanks strapped to their backs. Since this was Peter's first time on Everest, he stayed longer than he usually did, even glancing around and marveling at the view for a millisecond before becoming bored. He could come here later if he really wanted to, but now he had a job to do. "Have fun climbing back down," Peter said. "Later." Then he was gone and searching the rest of Europe.

After that was nearly through, Peter stopped at the top of the Eiffel Tower with a popsicle. He pulled out his Walkman, paused "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," and considered. He'd been everywhere. He'd even hit the research stations in Antarctica. His father had to be somewhere, but where? Six whole years later, and Quicksilver was back to where he started. He'd spoken to practically everyone. He'd hit every town. There were no news reports or papers about the infamous criminal Magneto. There hadn't been ever since he'd threatened President Nixon six years earlier.

What was he supposed to do now? Wait? If there was one thing Quicksilver hated, it was waiting. But it seemed like that was his only option. He'd been everywhere and then some. He'd talked to everyone and no one had even hinted that they knew a man who could control metal. There was no way he could talk to or even see his father and not know it; that was certain. But maybe Erik was lying low. He was one of the most dangerous criminals of all time; anyone who threatened one President and killed another naturally was. It made sense that he might hide his powers to protect himself in the meantime. Sure, it was great to be a mutant, but regular folks didn't think so. No one had even thanked him after he'd saved all those people from that bomb in Iraq. They'd been too busy . . . well . . . getting over going about half a million miles an hour. He hadn't stuck around for that.

Returning home in the blink of an eye, Quicksilver startled his mother in the kitchen and caused her to drop the batch of cookies she'd made. He wouldn't stand for that. Catching the cookies before they even thought to fall to the ground, Quicksilver took the pan from her, washed it, put it away, painted the house, organized the garage, made his younger sisters beds, and got everyone Chinese food straight from China and gelato straight from Italy. Then he sat on the kitchen countertop with another Twinkie in hand and waited for his mother to stop moving in slow motion.

His mother gasped, looked first at her now-empty hand then at Peter, then gave him a grim smile.

"I couldn't find him," Peter said. "I looked everywhere."

His mother sighed. "It's better this way, Peter. You don't want to find him. He's a criminal."

"I'm a criminal," Peter said.

"No, you're not. You're just a speedster with too much energy. Your father is . . . out of the picture."

"What if I want to be part of his picture?" Peter asked.

"I don't want you hurt."

"I can't get hurt," Peter said.

"Just like that time you slammed into that semi."

"I healed in two weeks."

His mother turned away from him. "No one can stop you, Peter. You know that. If you want to find him, you will. Just be safe, all right?"

Peter smiled without showing his teeth. "I'm never not."

At this, his mom laughed. "I would say have a cookie, but you already ate them all."

"And they were delicious."

"Thanks for the Chinese food."
"I hope you like the color I painted the house." Barely had Peter saw his mother's look of surprise before he returned to his room and began playing Pac-man. However, his thoughts drifted as he played the game. Where? Where could his father be? He'd searched the entire world. He'd even searched several places twice. He'd also run into a few fellow mutants along the way. That was pretty cool. Telling someone about a guy who could manipulate metal and not have them look at him as though he were crazy. No one had been able to help him, though. Several times he'd considered going to Charles' school for gifted youngsters, but Peter had

decided against it. He didn't need anyone's help. He could do this alone.

The days turned into months, which turned into years. Peter ran and ran and ran some more. But there was no news of Magneto. There were no whispers of a man who could manipulate metal. Nothing. He'd hit so many dead ends that he felt as though he were in an impossible maze.

Then, a glimmer of hope. Peter opened his eyes early one morning and leapt to his feet in anticipation. Poland! He could vaguely remember that, during his run through Poland, he'd avoided one town because he'd been hungry and the place he'd stopped at hadn't had the pizza he wanted. So he'd avoided the town and hadn't remembered to go back and ask its population of the existence of a man named Erik who could manipulate metal.

Dressing in half a Quicksilver moment, Peter raced out of his bedroom and grabbed a chicken leg from the fridge on the way out. He arrived in the Polish town of Pruszków within half a second. It was still dark out, but Peter quickly searched the entire town and located a nearby iron foundry where his father probably worked. Of course his father had decided to work at an iron foundry. Metal, iron. Duh.

Looking to the center of town, Peter spotted a group of iron workers congregating in a circle. Even from a quarter mile away, Peter could still hear their conversation. He'd managed to pick of several languages on his trip around the world, and Polish was one of the languages he could now speak with little difficulty.

" . . . it stopped. You all saw it, right?"

"I saw it; I was up above. Henryk put out his hand and stopped the metal from falling. Then it moved to the side and crashed right next to him."

Hope and excitement fell upon Peter, and he rushed over to the group of workers in a second, placing his elbow on the shoulder of one of the workers. This was it! His father was here! Victory! "A guy who can move metal?" he asked, taking one of the other worker's hardhats and placing it on his head. "Are you guys all serious, or did you just not get any sleep last night?"

The workers all started, then looked around, unsure of where Peter had come from and how he'd gotten so close without their notice.
"Who are you?" one of the workers asked.

"Just passing through," Peter said. The worker who had had his hat taken reached out to Peter, but Peter just laughed and evaded the man, rushing first to a nearby grocery store five hundred miles away to pick up a packet of gum before returning to the group of workers and grinning once at all of them as he put a stick of gum in his mouth. "I'm actually looking for a guy who can wield metal," he said, blowing a bubble. "Do you know where he is?"

Now all the workers were looking at him with distrust. "Why should we tell you about Henryk?"

Quicksilver raced to the other side of the clearing, whistling to grab their attention before racing up to them all. One of the workers was so surprised that he fell over, but Quicksilver caught and righted him long before he even thought to fall to the ground. Well, there was no reason to lie to them. If he really wanted answers, he'd have to be truthful. "Because he's my father."

Now they looked even more distrustful. No matter. He could still search this entire countryside and find his father if things came down to that. However, right as he was considering his next move, one of the workers stepped forward.

"I never knew my father, either," he grunted. The worker looked at his colleagues, then

indicated a direction with a toss of his head. "He lives about ten miles down in the valley, kid. You'd better hurry, though. I think the police are after him."

Quicksilver nodded, then grinned at the worker. "Thanks. Later."

Then he was gone. Within a Quicksilver second, he was at his father's house. He searched the house and found it empty, then went to the fridge and considered. Pulling out a hunk of deer meat and eating it, Quicksilver paused. He'd heard something. Something in the forest.

Dropping his dinner for the first time ever, Quicksilver was off. A great swell of anticipation and excitement welled up in him as he raced through the forest toward the sound he'd heard. This was it. He was going to see his father. Finally, after years of searching, he was going to —

For the only time since his powers had emerged, Quicksilver froze and stared. Several police officers lay on the ground, and nearby, sat a woman and a little girl. They were all dead. Still unable to move from his spot, Quicksilver's mind raced for him, making connections instantly. Erik had saved a man from being crushed. Someone had given Erik away and had told the police that he was a mutant. The police had come. The woman and girl, he assumed Erik's wife and daughter, had . . . then Erik had probably . . .

It was too much to handle. Instantly, Quicksilver turned and heaved once, then fell to his knees and heaved again. Then he was up. He wiped his mouth once, then ran. For the next normal hour, which for him was about one hundred days, he ran. He ran to get away, his Walkman playing, "If I Die Tomorrow," but he always came back to the same forest. To the same spot. Finally, he collapsed again in the forest where his father had previously been. Not because he was tired physically, no, Quicksilver was quite proud of the fact that he could run forever and never tire. It was his emotional exhaustion that brought him down.

He'd been late. He. The Quicksilver. The fastest man in existence. How could he be late? Why hadn't he been here just a few seconds earlier to save everyone? Why hadn't he thought to check here yesterday? Peter, disgusted with himself, lay down on his back and looked up at the sky, thinking of his options. Well, he'd missed his dad by an hour at least. Now he'd either have to search the entire world again. That could take another ten years.

Or . . . he could ask for help. Peter, aware that Charles Xavier and Erik were very close friends, knew that Charles could help him. He stood up, making his decision and nodding to himself to seal the deal. He glanced again at the bodies on the woodland floor, then shuddered once before racing home and pausing with his hand on the doorknob. It was still dark out, but Peter knew he couldn't just leave. He'd have to wake his mother and tell her of his plan so that she wouldn't worry. Shuddering again as he remembered the bodies in Poland, Peter opened the door and walked into the house, entering his mother's bedroom.

"Hey, Mom," Peter said, gently pushing her to wake her up.

Magda sat up with a gasp, blinking and looking around. "Fire?" she muttered. Then she blinked several times, yawned once, and frowned. She opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to pause when she noticed Peter's expression. "Peter, what's wrong?"

Peter shrugged. "I found Dad's house, Mom," he said, surprised at how hollow his voice sounded. "And . . . I think some people found out that he was a mutant so they killed his wife and daughter."

Magda placed both hands over her mouth. "Peter," she whispered.

Peter nodded, pursing his lips. "And there were a few guards there, too."

"Peter, I'm sorry," she whispered. Magda reached out to hug him; Peter simply stood there and didn't respond to her embrace.

"Mom, I'm going after him," Peter said resolutely after she'd let go. "I have to."

"I don't want you hurt," Magda said.

"I told you that I can't—"

"What about the carnage you saw?" Magda asked bitterly. "Isn't that hurting you? Don't you understand, Peter? That's who your father is!" Her voice had suddenly risen, and Peter took a step backwards.

"He's my dad, Mom," Peter said.

"Lehn killed the President! He left me!" Magda said, her voice cracking. "How do I know that once you find him, he won't . . . kill you?!"

"I'm his son, Mom. I'm too fast for him, anyway."

"Don't do this, Peter," Magda begged.

"I have to," Peter said. "I want to talk to my mutant father."

Magda closed her mouth, sighed, and put her head down. When she looked at him again, her expression was pained. "You're always welcome here, Peter. You know that. You also know that I can't stop you. But please, if you find him, don't tell him about me or Wanda or Polaris. Keep him away from this house. Do you understand?"

"Crystal," Peter said.

Magda nodded. "Goodbye, son. Be safe."

Peter grinned without showing his teeth. "I always am." In a second, Peter was downstairs, eating everything in sight to prepare him for the trip to the Xavier Institute. As he tore open another box of Twinkies, Peter thought about his mother who sat one level above him. It was strange, really. Sometimes, when she told stories, it almost seemed like his mother was still fond of, and infatuated with, Erik. Then, other times, such as now, she seemed to feel nothing more than hatred and fear toward his father.

Peter, however, felt a bit of admiration, a bit of caution, but mostly, nothing. That was going to change, however. He would meet his father for real this time, and he would talk to him for longer than two seconds outside a prison cell. Taking out the last Twinkie and unwrapping it, Peter picked up the Xavier Institute card and raced out the door toward a rising sun and a hopefully brighter future.