A True Multitasker.
17: MVM Ch 17: Wanda Crying, Sucking, Glaring.
A True Multitasker.
“What is he doing?” Wanda stared at Luca, who was crouched before the missile.
They were ten years old now.
For children raised in sheltered environments, ten might represent innocent childhood.
But for kids growing up in Sokovia, a small, troubled Eastern European nation constantly battered by conflict, ten years old meant being half an adult already.
Especially for these two siblings, who had just watched their parents die tragically.
Their psychological maturation had accelerated dramatically.
“He seems to be…
disarming it?” Pietro ventured uncertainly.
As a naturally mischievous child, Pietro enjoyed taking things apart.
Clocks, toys, whatever he could get his hands on.
But a missile?
He wouldn’t dare touch that with a ten-foot pole.
He might be naughty, but he wasn’t suicidal.
“It’s going to explode!” Wanda’s large eyes glistened with tears.
She had no desire to be blown to pieces without understanding what was happening.
“Maybe we should run first?” Pietro suggested, his survival instincts overriding any sense of loyalty.
They barely knew Luca, casual acquaintances at best.
Their parents’ relationship with him had been ordinary.
If the man wanted to play hero and die, the children certainly weren’t obligated to join him.
“But we can’t get out!” Wanda pointed first at Luca, still working on the missile, then at the entrance, completely buried under rubble.
As for the windows?
Did her brother seriously think two ten-year-olds could survive a third-floor jump?
Not to mention the gunfire still raging outside.
Who knew what waited down there?
“We could drop to the second floor first, find a corner to hide.” Pietro gestured at the massive hole in the living room floor.
These small missiles actually packed limited punch.
In open areas, estimated lethality ranged about twenty meters.
Inside buildings, the damage compressed even further, often confined to a single floor.
The first missile had detonated in their second-floor living room.
The siblings on the third floor survived unscathed.
Plot armor played a role, certainly, but the missile’s limited power mattered more.
Stark Industries manufactured these weapons specifically for urban operations.
They needed sufficient force to destroy targets while containing collateral damage.
Otherwise, every battle would reduce cities to rubble, defeating any strategic purpose.
“Second floor?” Wanda’s eyes clouded with confusion, then sudden realization struck.
Her parents lay on the second floor right now!
“Pietro…
Mom and Dad!” Tears overflowed as the memory crashed over her.
“Don’t cry, Wanda!” Panic edged Pietro’s voice.
If her sobbing distracted that lunatic working on the missile, they’d all die here.
But facing his sister’s tears, Pietro found himself utterly helpless.
What could he possibly do?
“What’s wrong?” Luca straightened up and walked over to Wanda, his tone calm.
“You…
you fixed it?” Pietro’s head snapped up in astonishment.
The missile’s warning lights had died completely.
Its front section hung open, revealing a mess of mechanical components utterly incomprehensible to him.
“Fixed?
No.
I broke it.” Luca casually tossed two small parts between his palms, examining them with mild interest.” This thing won’t explode now even if you throw it off a building.
Gotta hand it to Iron Man’s manufacturing, quality’s guaranteed.
If he’d had access to materials like this in the last plot world, completing the mission would have been almost too easy.
Of course, without the demolition skill the system had granted, even a missile placed directly before him would have remained an incomprehensible puzzle.
“Brother, you actually know how to disarm missiles?” Pietro stared at Luca Quinn with wide eyes, admiration radiating from every pore.
In a boy’s heart, anyone who could handle a gun qualified as an expert.
Someone who could dismantle a missile?
That was a legendary master beyond compare!
For a moment, Pietro actually forgot his parents had just died.
His eyes sparking with curiosity, he began circling the disassembled weapon like a fascinated puppy.
“Brother Luca, if I touch it now, it really won’t explode?” Pietro’s hand hovered toward the warhead, torn between desire and caution.
“Perfectly safe.
You could throw it in a fire and nothing would happen.” Luca waved dismissively.
Modern instrumentation had grown so precise that this meter-long missile contained less than a hundred grams of actual explosive compound.
Stark Industries really knew how to turn a profit.
“Sob…
sob…” Wanda continued crying softly.
Girls processed trauma differently than boys, she remained drowning in the grief of losing both parents.
“Wanda, don’t cry.
Big brother has candy.” Truthfully, faced with a sobbing little girl, Luca hadn’t the faintest idea what to do.
He pulled a lollipop from his pocket and offered it awkwardly.
“Waaaaah…” The crying intensified.
“Please stop crying, okay?” If Pietro were making this much noise, Luca would have already knocked some sense into him.
But Wanda?
He couldn’t exactly punch a crying little girl.
“Brother Luca, Wanda hates mint flavor.” Pietro materialized from nowhere, snatching the lollipop from Luca’s hand.
He tore off the wrapper and stuffed it into his own mouth with impressive speed.
“Pietro!” Wanda’s tear-streaked face twisted into a glare.
At least the interruption seemed to lift her mood slightly.
“How about this one?
Banana flavor.” Luca produced another lollipop, he’d grabbed a handful before coming upstairs, and offered it tentatively.
“Sob…
lick…
sniff…” Wanda somehow managed to cry and suck a lollipop simultaneously.
The mechanics of how she accomplished this remained utterly incomprehensible.
At least the volume had decreased.
“You two should rest in the bedroom.
We’ll all squeeze together tonight.” Listening to the gunfire raging outside, Luca wondered if this conflict would ever end.
The entire city had become a war zone.
Hiding indoors was genuinely the safest option.
Both children nodded silently, their expressions carrying a weight far beyond their years.
In an instant, they’d grown up.
Some soft-hearted, compassionate types might feel profound sympathy for two ten-year-olds forced into such premature maturity.
But Luca Quinn, possessing no such sentimentality, found himself thinking, if these two kept crying all night, he might seriously consider leaving them to their own devices.
Sure, the Scarlet Witch would eventually become extraordinarily powerful.
But that payoff lay years in the future.
Investing in potential stock required surviving until the dividends matured.
Whether this particular investment would ultimately profit or lose remained very much an open question.