Woo! Random one shot!

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Pietro was running.
It was what he did best: being fast.
Running. Run run run run run run run.
There was a kind of euphoria he got when he went at such high speeds, that he was sure Daniels never got when he made his bone spikes, when Summers used his eyebeams, when Toad used his tongue.
This was his power.
And how he enjoyed it.
Zooming past the blurred shapes of the sluggards that were the rest of the human race, those slow-moving things they called cars.
He didn't sleep as much as the others did, not more than a few hours a night. Night was his favorite time to run; the best part of the day! It was such a challenge to avoid running into things in the dark, such a thrill.
The expression 'run like the wind' always came to mind when Pietro ran. He didn't run like the wind; he was the wind. He followed its course when he ran; following the natural eddies as it swerved around obstacles in his path.
When the wind blew north, he ran north. When it blew south, he ran south. But Pietro's favorite time to run was when the wind blew west. That was the longest track, the longest run. He'd run in a straight line, ran for as far as he could in that direction before he had to swerve to avoid some obstacle. He enjoyed going from ocean to ocean; it took less than half an hour for him to run across the country. He'd look out across the bay for which the city of Bayville was named, turn, and would soon be standing on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, and he'd laugh.
He'd just laugh. He was Pietro Maximoff! Quicksilver. Nobody could catch him! He was never out of time.
He'd never crashed. He'd never run into anything.
He wasn't stupid, he knew that at such high speeds, colliding with something as soft as a snowdrift or a feather-mattress would be death. But Pietro enjoyed the challenge, which was hardly a challenge at all. It was so easy, so simple to avoid people, who moved so slowly. Just {zwip} and all they'd feel was a breeze going by. They never knew how close they'd come to death, just there.
And people wondered why he was so confident.
He found that the world was much more beautiful to him blurred. He never got tired of knowing that he was the fastest. Nobody could compare to his speed (aside from Rogue, but she'd have to catch him first).
The wind was his only companion when he ran. His only equal. The wind didn't care that he was a mutant, or that he currently had no less than three girlfriends. The wind didn't care what team he was on. The wind was just there, his guide when he ran. His road. He rejoiced in the wind.
He was Pietro Maximoff; nobody could catch him when he was running.