"Let's go, Akagami," Saturo said, his voice light and airy, casting a sharp look toward Wanda. Then, his gaze flickered to Pietro, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. "And you too, my cheap copy."
Pietro's expression of horror at the carnage in the hallway vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, indignant scowl. "What did you just call me, you freak?"
Wanda, meanwhile, just looked blinking and bewildered. The word 'Akagami'—Red Hair—sounded like a title from a storybook.
"Hehe! Anyways, let's move. We don't have all day, unless you've grown fond of the decor here?" Saturo let out a sharp, melodic chuckle that grated against the oppressive silence of the Hydra base. Without waiting for a rebuttal, he spun on his heel and sauntered down the corridor, his posture so relaxed he might as well have been walking through a park rather than a high-security fortress.
The twins shared a frantic, uncertain glance. They had no choice; he was the only thing standing between them and a laboratory table. They scrambled to follow.
The trek to the surface was a masterclass in efficient brutality. Every time a squad of armed guards intercepted them, Saturo moved before the twins could even process the threat. He didn't use the guns anymore; he seemed to prefer the visceral rhythm of close quarters. He was a blur of silver hair and dark tactical gear, snapping limbs and pressure points with a terrifying, playful grace. He looked less like a man fighting for his life and more like a bored genius solving a repetitive puzzle.
Finally, the sterile white lights of the interior gave way to the harsh, grey gloom of a Sokovian afternoon. They stood at the reinforced exit, the biting mountain air whipping against their faces.
"Hah... hah..." Saturo exhaled, leaning briefly against the cold concrete. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a strange weapon. It was a three-pronged kunai, weighted perfectly, with an intricate, swirling seal etched into the handle. He tossed it to Pietro. "Take this. Grab your sister and run toward the eastern edge of the forest. The surveillance grid is weakest there—fewer 'mechanical eyes' looking for runaways."
Pietro caught the heavy metal instrument, staring at it with pure skepticism. "Are you playing Ninja or something? What is this, a toy?"
Wanda stepped forward, her brow furrowed with genuine concern. "What about you? You're injured. You can barely stand."
Saturo's grin widened, the expression reminiscent of a cat that had just cornered a very confused mouse. "Oh, don't worry about me, Redhead. I'll find you. Now, move!"
Pietro didn't need to be told twice. He scooped Wanda up, his body igniting into a silver streak as he vanished into the treeline. "Don't die!" his voice echoed back, already hundreds of yards away.
"Hmph," Saturo snorted, watching the dust settle. "Die? I've already done that once. It's overrated."
He turned back toward the base. He wasn't finished. His chakra coils were screaming for energy, and his stomach was screaming for literally anything else. He had memorized the base map in the control room; he knew exactly where the commissary was.
The Hydra base in Sokovia was a sprawling monstrosity, the crown jewel of Baron Strucker's ambitions. Fortunately for Saturo, the Baron was currently away on "business." Saturo didn't plan on leveling the place—not yet. He just needed to refuel.
He reached the cafeteria area, a wide, sterile hall where several low-level staff members were huddled under tables, trembling at the sound of the alarms. Saturo stepped into the room, waving a blood-stained hand with a cheerful "Hello there!"
The staff's faces went from pale to translucent. Before they could scream, Saturo moved through the room like a gust of wind, delivering precise, gentle taps to their temples. They dropped into a peaceful sleep.
Saturo ignored the bodies and raided the kitchen. He found a tray of pre-made sandwiches and began to eat with a ferocity that bordered on the divine.
"Wow," he mumbled around a mouthful of ham and rye, a look of genuine nostalgia washing over his face. "It's been a while since I ate a sandwich. Being a Ninja usually meant eating grilled fish and rice balls. I missed processed bread."
Once his stomach was full, he sat in a corner, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He began the arduous process of kneading his remaining energy. 'I wonder what kind of world this is,' he thought, his mental voice turning clinical. 'This isn't my original Earth. We didn't have kids who could outrun sound or girls who could manipulate objects with red mist.'
And it's definitely not the Ninja world. The air is 'empty.' No Nature Energy. It's like trying to breathe in a vacuum. He focused, pulling the microscopic fragments of chakra from his cells, stitching them back together.
After five minutes of intense meditation, he felt a familiar, sharp spark behind his navel. It was just enough. Just enough for a single, long-distance jump.
He stood up, dusted the crumbs off his tactical vest, and walked out into the hall. He spotted a security camera perched in the corner, its red light blinking as it tracked his movement.
Saturo stopped, looked directly into the lens, and flashed a slow, deliberate middle finger.
Zip.
He vanished.
Miles away, deep in the Sokovian woods, Pietro was leaning against a moss-covered oak tree, gasping for air. He had run non-stop for five minutes, carrying Wanda the entire way. His lungs felt like they were filled with hot coals.
"Woah!" Pietro yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet as Saturo suddenly materialized three inches from his face.
"How did you—! You were just—!"
Saturo didn't look tired. He looked bored. He looked at Pietro, then at his own watchless wrist, and clicked his tongue. "Tch, tch. You're already out of stamina after just five minutes? How are you going to satisfy a woman in the future, 'Cheap Copy'?"
Wanda's face flushed a deep, vibrant red, her eyes darting to the forest floor. She composed herself with a cough, but Pietro's reaction was far more explosive.
His face turned a shade of purple that rivaled the dimensional rift. "You bastard! Try running at my speed for five minutes and see if you're still standing! I'm breaking the laws of physics over here!"
"Just a petty excuse from a petty sprinter," Saturo mocked, leaning back against a tree with his hands behind his head.
"You—!" Pietro stepped forward, but Wanda placed a calming hand on his chest.
"Okay, that's enough," she said, her voice the only anchor of sanity in the clearing. "What do we do now? We're fugitives."
Saturo's playful demeanor shifted. The goofiness didn't vanish, but it was layered over a cold, analytical sharpness. "I need information. Tell me everything you know about this place. No details are too small."
The twins looked at each other. "We don't know much," Wanda answered softly. "They told us we were the future. They were experimenting on 'mutants'—people born with a special gene—but none survived the process besides us. Or so they said."
Saturo's brow furrowed. Mutants. The word sent a jolt of recognition through his brain, one that didn't come from his life as a ninja, but from his life as a bored twenty-something in the modern world. "What is the name of this place? This country?"
"Sokovia," Pietro answered, his tone bitter.
Saturo's mind short-circuited. The gears turned, clanked, and finally locked into place. Sokovia. Mutants. A girl named Wanda who uses red energy. A boy named Pietro who runs fast. "Wait," Saturo said, his voice dropping an octave. "What did you say your last names were?"
"Maximoff," Wanda replied, looking at him with growing concern. "Wanda and Pietro Maximoff."
Saturo sat down abruptly under a tree, staring at a patch of dirt as if it held the secrets of the universe. 'I'm ninety-nine percent sure this is the Marvel Universe,' he thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. 'But not the MCU version I remember. Mutants are here. That means the X-Men might be a thing. Magneto might be their dad.'
He rubbed his temples. I wasn't even a super-fan! I just watched the movies! The last thing I saw was that 'Doomsday' flick. What a ride that was... and now I'm in the middle of a comic book.
Wanda knelt beside him. "Hey... are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Of course I'm not alright," Saturo snapped, though there was no heat in it. "I have eighteen broken bones, my internal energy is currently the size of a peanut, and I'm only standing because my brain is lying to my body about how much pain we're in. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, Redhead."
The twins looked grim. "We need to hide," Pietro said. "I know an abandoned apartment in the city. It's a dump, but those people doesn't check the slums."
"Then go I'll be there." Saturo muttered.
Thirty minutes later, Saturo materialized in the middle of a dusty, cramped apartment. The floorboards groaned under his weight. Pietro was already there, having carried Wanda through the back alleys.
"Man, seriously, how are you doing that?" Pietro asked, his irritation mounting. "That's not speed. That's... something else."
Saturo grinned, despite the pale cast of his skin. "It takes skill, bro. You wouldn't get it."
Wanda sat on a threadbare sofa, her eyes fixed on Saturo. "You haven't told us anything about yourself. Who are you? Where did you come from? You don't exactly fit in around here."
Saturo paused. He couldn't exactly say 'I'm a reincarnated ninja from a world of giant foxes and eye-magic who was originally a college student from a world where you guys are fictional characters.' That felt like a one-way ticket to an even crazier asylum.
"Uhh, yeah. My name is Saturo. I'm... a traveler. We'll leave it at that for now," he said with an awkward, toothy smile.
Pietro narrowed his eyes, scanning Saturo's face. "You don't look Japanese, though. With that hair and those eyes..."
Saturo's eyes twitched. He sat bolt upright, pointing a finger at Pietro. "You racist bastard! I am a Ninja! We come in all shapes and—actually, you know what? Never mind. You wouldn't understand fashion if it hit you at Mach 1."
Wanda let out a small, genuine smile at the bickering. It was the first time she had felt like a human being in months. "Don't you need a doctor? To mend your bones?"
"Don't worry. I'm different," Saturo replied, his voice softening as he plopped onto the sofa next to her. "Our bodies are... different. If I rest and keep my energy circulating, I'll be back to cracking jokes and cracking skulls in three days."
He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The weight of two lifetimes seemed to settle on his shoulders. 'It's been a hectic few days. I wonder if I can ever go back... or if this is just my new battlefield.'
As his breathing slowed into a deep, restorative sleep, the twins watched him. He was a freak, a brute, and a mystery—but for the first time since the bombs fell on their home, they felt like they weren't alone.