"I've started filming. Are you sure you guys agreed on 3pm?" A feminine voice; Kelly, says behind the camera as it pans across the track field to the girl's partner, a nervous guy, Andrew, in a black hoodie holding a microphone.

"You what? Nevermind, we'll just cut it out later." He plays with the too expensive microphone, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Yeah, we agreed on 3. There's 5 minutes left though, don't freak out." He says, soothing himself rather than her.

"Aren't you hot in that?" The girl says, pointing at his hoodie.

"I am, actually. Here, I'll take it off." The camera shakes a little as the girl frees one hand to hold the microphone (which had been probably her intention, since she feared her partner's fidgeting will break it.)

He takes off the hoodie and ties it on his waist, revealing a grey Metallica band t-shit. As soon as he does so, a gust of wind surpises the camera woman, shaking the image in the tape, and blows the weak knot of the guy's hoodie untied, and the pitch black hoodie falls in the dust. Before the guy can say a disappointed «oh, man!» He's startled by the realization that the gust of wind brought their interviewee; the fallen from grace, Peter Maximoff. Clad in a shiny grey jacket that matched his peculiar silver hair, and running goggles on his eyes.

"Jesus bleep Christ!" Andrew screams in a high pitched voice and Peter throws his head back in laughter.

The camera cuts to a shot of the two guys sitting closely together on the bleachers.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to this exclusive interview with ex olympic track runner; Peter Maximoff in his first media coverage after his outing as a mutant." Andrew points at Peter, who was now wearing his flashy jacket tied around his waist while his goggles were rolled on his wrist. While Andrew talks, Peter longingly watches the track field, presumably following track runners training whose white voices could be heard through the microphone. He smiled and waved a couple times to someone behind the camera, before shuffling forward and giving a hand gesture behind the camera, one which we can only assume was vulgar.

"For those who aren't aware, Peter here has won several races throughout his short lived career, scoring 12 golds and breaking 8 world records, before all those were deemed void by the committee after a mandatory blood test revealed his mutant status. Today we give him a chance to speak, to defend himself. Today we will hear the other side of the story that left the public and sports audience in blind outrage. Ladies and gentlmen, this is Andrew Kaufman interviewing and Kelly Sanders behind the camera."

"So, for starters. Tell us about yourself, Peter?"

Peter, distracted by the field, did a double take, before realizing Andrew was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?"

"Tell us about yourself, your life?" Peter shifted. "Uh, so first of all, hi, this is Peter Maximoff, but you probably knew that." He chuckled nervously. "22 years old, from a town on the outskirts of Washington DC, college dropout, Video game addict, and a mutant."

A faint noise shuffled behind the camera, and Andrew looked indignantly at the camera woman behind it. Peter grinned in amusement.

"Just for the record," Andrew spoke into the microphone, mortified, "Kelly behind the camera is asking about his... secret hair bleaching techniques.."

Peter laughed heartily, implying that the original question wasn't nearly as eloquent and professional.

"Yeah, no." He replied with a grin. "No hair bleaching techniques here, I was born with it. Part of the mutation and all." The feminine voice sounded again, saying a sentence of which only the words «glow in the dark» can be heard.

"Kelly, shut the bleep up!" Andrew scolded while Peter shook his head, still laughing. He says something the microphone doesn't catch before reaching and high fiving Kelly, who extends her hand to do so.

"Let's get into the real questions now, Peter. I'm sure me as well as the entire sports scene, but mostly the people who knew you as, though not the quietest kid around, honest and kind, are wondering, why did you cheat? Was it out of selfishness? for glory, money or attention?"

Peter's smile faded, though not completely. He straighted and leaned forward. "Listen, before I answer. Imma adress your wording real quick, first of all, I am passionate about track. I love running. I never saw it as an opportunity to profit off my ability, but rather as doing the thing I loved all day long and get admired for it. I'm no different than an artist who would love to sell their paintings. There is real passion there, real love and need. Second of all, I did not actively decide to cheat. I did not spawn my mutation just to win at games. It just happened, it was out of my control. While now, in hindsight, I admit that I should've been honest about it if not to the public then at least to my coaches who would've held me back and made me realize the path I was going into, but you gotta understand that lie by omitting is not nearly as malicious as outright lying. Eventually, it went out of control, and by the time I realized I messed up, it was far too late and I was far too deep in."

"I'm.. I'm not sure I follow. Why don't you start from the very beginning? Why did you joing the team?"

"That's a good question. So, why did I join the track team..? At first, I wanted to have access to my college's track field on overtime. As I said before, running was my passion and even though my speed makes me able to dodge anything, I'm often too distracted to actually pay attention to my surroundings. It was after I got hit by a truck while running on the highway once that I turned my eyes to the track field." "Oh my god, were you okay?" "I am now! Thank you. At the time though?" Peter made a grimace at the camera . "It sucked. Worst pain of my life. Would not recommend."

Andrew turned to the camera, a bewildered look on his face.

"Anyway," Peter picked up. "Eventually I had to participate in races with my teammates and -im gonna sound like a total bleep by the way but it's true, it was very difficult for me to slow down to go below second place, no matter how much I tried. I practically ran at super speeds all day long, which makes a slow pace nerve wracking at best and painful at worse. Eventually the coaches noticed and began signing me up for races without my knowledge. Though to be fair, when I got made aware I made no advances to retreat. I thought then the janitor would then let me in early in the morning to train. And so one race led to another, and the sweet taste of victory and admiration blinded me to it all. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a purpose, you know? Before this, I did terrible in school, I was unemployable because of my ADHD, and overall a massive loser. It all changed when I became a track runner.

So yeah, there you have it, Andrew."

"Oh, wow, that is a lot to think about."

"It is."

"So, um. As you know, a blood test is a pretty rare requirement. Do you know why was that brought to the attention of the Olympics track race comittee?"

"I don't know for sure, but people have said that it's weird that at the end of every race, everybody else is shining with sweat but.. I'm not? How do people even notice this bleep? Apparently there were a lot of complaints about it, at first they thought I was using a drug undetectable by the regular means, but then one of the people in the lab turned out to be a student of Bolivar Trask, and she thought of a DNA analysis. Et voila. That's how they caught me."

"And, how did this abrupt ending of your career affect you?" "I wouldn't say I'm bothered by the fall of my career as much as I am by my outing as a mutant. That I could've done without. I can't think of anything good that came out of it. I receive hate mail everyday. Some are from old people telling me I'm possessed by the devil, serve the devil or AM the devil. Some are sent by some previous competitors, none will be named, who understandably blew up at me and rubbed it in my face. Some have absolutely nothing but straight up vile death threats and bleep so graphic... Some psychos in this world, bro.."

"Damn.."

"Yeah.. I stopped reading mail altogether. In fact, I only got to get in touch with you guys through my coach who had to straight up come knock at my door. It wasn't.. it wasn't easy. But I kind of had it coming, didn't I?" He gave a nervous chuckle. "But yeah another thing; one thing I never realized would be a problem is the fact that my extended family now knew about my mutant status. Family reunions are a bit more awkward, but at least my younger cousins still think I'm cool."

"That's a win! Take the win!" Andrew smiled as he stretched out a hand to Peter, who took it and bumped their shoulders.

"Aww, you still say take the win!" Peter smiled. "My guy."

"Alright, that's all the questions we have got for today, thank you so much, Peter."

"Thanks for having me! It really means a lot that somebody wants to hear my side before passing judgment. You guys are amazing!"

"Right back at you, bro. It's been a blast to have you! Before, we go, anything you wanna say to the audience?"

Peter turned to the camera. "Yes, I just wanna say, for all it's worth, I'm really sorry to all my competitors who I wronged. You deserved a fair competition. I truely am sorry. Good luck everybody, Peter Maximoff out!"

The camera goes black. After a few moments, the world «Bonus» appears on the screen in white, before it cuts to a view of the track, where Peter's distinctly grey silhouette walks to the coach. The camera follows him while he shakes hands with him, and asks for permission for one last lap, for good old times' sake. The coach stares in exasperation for a few seconds before shaking his head and calling off the runners. Peter turns to the camera and gives it a pair of thumbs up. The camera zooms in on his bright, dimpled grin.

The camera cuts again to a farther view to the track. It drifts to the left and right before centering back, showing disgruntled runners by its sides whispering among themselves. The microphone catches : «Apparently he's gonna use his real speed. Bleepingshowoff.» «What a bleep

A whistle sounds, and Peter's silhouette goes out of focus moving so fast it leaves a trail of a gray blurry mirage of himself behind it, as he zoomed across the two miles long track field. In less than two seconds, he came back into focus right in front of the camera, a gust of speed powered wind pushing dust into the camera lense (and presumably into the other runner's eyes) when he skidded to a halt. A bunch of bleeps sounded before Peter made a grimace and made a gesture to urge Kelly to go. By his side showed Andrew, and he took the opportunity to speak to the two of them.

«We better bleep off right now or else they're gonna catch up and get my neck!» The camera zoomed in on his laughter before the screen turned black.