Marvel Template System:Spectrum

At one insignificant moment in time, Chris felt and experienced more than he had in all nineteen years of his previous life.

The relentless ringing of gunfire tried to drown out the panicked escape of the higher-ups of the Irish mafia. Perhaps they hoped for a quick getaway, but unfortunately for them, Chris could feel absolutely everything.

He felt the hundreds of bullets that every second tried to pierce his body. Desperately, but utterly futilely. What's more, he sometimes felt the bullets hitting him right in the eyes. It was a peculiar sensation, but a single blink was enough to shake off the unpleasant tickle.

He felt his bare foot—bare because his cheap shoes had torn—stepping on shards of glass and shell casings. And yet, such a walk caused him no discomfort.

The endless flashes, the swearing, the screams of pain...

It all felt as if it wasn't happening in front of him or to him.

The "Mad Enhancement" truly robbed him of his sanity, but Chris felt as if, by chance or perhaps by fate, he had found the perfect balance.

Every centimeter of his muscles—seemingly scrawny but containing incredible strength—was ready for action. One thought, one damn hint from his mind, and...

- A-A-A-A! - A random thug screamed as Chris, with a single motion invisible to those around him, broke his legs. A simple sweep nearly turned the man into a cripple.

The rifle dropped by the screaming man was caught mid-air by Chris. But he didn't know how to shoot and had no intention of learning...

Swinging the weapon like a baseball bat, Chris aimed at a nearby man who was screaming in hysterics.

**BAM!**

Chris had never liked baseball. Or any other sport, to be honest. He'd never been good at it, but...

The literal throw of the rifle was perfect. Precise, calculated, and damn painful. For the guy Chris had aimed at, of course.

It was as if he saw it in slow motion: the weapon spinning several times in the air before smashing into the man's face with its hard stock. A broken nose, knocked-out teeth, and possibly shattered facial bones would keep the thug out of commission for a long time.

And all of this happened in just a couple of seconds...

Chris had never felt so... alive. He felt like a god.

Every movement of these Irish gangsters was laid bare before him. Their faces frozen in panic, clenched teeth, or the sweat soaking their clothes and dripping from their foreheads... Nothing could escape his gaze.

Any movement they made, every bullet... Nothing could harm him.

The blows, carrying all the rage Chris had accumulated, simply... destroyed. Broke.

Killed.

And it wasn't that Chris didn't feel pangs of guilt—it was just that his upbringing... had left an indelible mark on him.

Yes, in everyday life, Chris tried to keep a low profile. But that didn't mean the naive young man didn't know what... death was.

Chris cried. He sobbed uncontrollably, trying to hold back the streams of snot with his hand. His appearance and wailing were so pitiful that in any other situation, someone would have tried to comfort him. Especially since Chris was only nine years old. Such behavior was forgivable.

But all the responsible adults were too busy for him. Just like they were too busy for the other children crying alongside Chris as they looked at one groaning body.

- Ha... - A dark-skinned teenager exhaled painfully, clutching his bloodied stomach. - O-o-oh...

- "Ray of Hope" Orphanage! - Julia, a dark-skinned girl a bit older, in charge of the "daycare," screamed into the phone. - We have a gunshot wound! Please, get here as fast as you can!

Chris, like the other children around him, cried even harder.

- H-he... - One of Chris's peers began to mumble through his sobs. - H-he got caught in a sh-shootout b-between gangs...

- Don't lie, - an older girl, about fourteen, bitterly refuted. - He's been hanging around that gang for a while now...

And Chris cried and screamed even louder, though it seemed impossible to cry any harder. In that moment, Chris realized...

The ambulance wouldn't make it in time. It never did.

- NO! PLEASE!...

Chris's hand struck another thug, sending his broken body tumbling across the asphalt.

And Chris didn't care whether this member of the criminal world would survive. If he got lucky—he'd live. If not... Chris wouldn't cry.

Because death held a special place in his heart.

Breathing heavily, Chris realized that at some point, the gunfire had simply stopped. Because...

There was no one left to shoot.

The lion's share had already loaded into SUVs and driven off to the docks, to their operational base. The others were either lying unconscious or... would never wake up.

- That's it? - Chris whispered, slightly strained. - Is this where my revenge ends?!

The rage didn't cloud his vision, but it reminded him of its presence every damn second. And Chris hadn't wanted to resort to such a drastic push to action...

Squinting, Chris realized that his vision had also received an incredible boost. He could clearly see the panicking thugs driving away from him. And he immediately knew he didn't want to let them go.

- I'll catch them, - Chris grinned, a little madly. - I'll catch up and finish them off!

Crouching in a sprinter's stance, Chris's toes easily dug into the hard asphalt. Tensing every bone in his body, Chris...

Leaped.

---

- Holy shit! - Jessica never liked jumps of five meters or more, especially the landings.

First of all, though you wouldn't guess it by looking at her, Jessica wanted to be a little cool. And her clumsy, short "flights" didn't look cool from any angle.

And secondly, such jumps attracted attention. And Jessica hated drawing attention in any form.

But due to the growing panic and the late hour—when almost no traffic was around—she had to resort to her only means of accelerated movement.

Which was, essentially, just big jumps that allowed her to climb onto small buildings and then hop across rooftops.

After making another jump and landing on the ground, Jessica listened to the gunfire. The gunfire that seemed to have stopped. Though she wasn't far from the supposed "war zone"...

In the next second, a whole column of black SUVs drove onto the road. It was clear that all the cars had not only a "criminal" vibe but also a very urgent reason for their panicked escape.

- Watch where you're going, you damn sheep! - Jessica exploded when one of them nearly hit her.

After giving the fleeing thugs—most likely gangsters—a furious glare and muttering a few curses under her breath, Jessica was about to continue on her way, but...

A brick landed right next to her, falling from the sky.

- What the hell? - Jessica muttered. Realizing she needed to look up, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. - WHAT THE HELL?!

Because up above was... Chris, motherf***ing Biggie Smalls, Mr. "I can die nine more times," Wallace.

And he...

Was chasing the damn convoy of cars! And how he was doing it!...

Dressed only in jeans, now resembling shorts due to the numerous tears, Chris was digging his hands into the brick walls as if they were made of clay. The young guy had suddenly gained unreal reflexes and coordination, allowing him to push off any surface.

At one point, he made an incredible leap—much larger and more graceful than Jessica's—pushing off the wall and grabbing onto a fire escape.

The next moment, Chris clung to a smooth wall, creating holes on the fly and grabbing onto the freshly made gaps.

And his speed was simply astounding.

Jessica barely had time to recover from the shock when she realized that Chris was actually catching up to the cars!

- Tarzan! - Jessica shouted at the top of her lungs, trying to get Chris's attention. - Tarzan raised in the urban jungle, motherf***er! Chris, you bastard!

No response.

Chris didn't care about her shouts or the fact that he was, you know, showing off his powers in the middle of the city!

Realizing she couldn't get through to him, Jessica stepped into the middle of the road and stopped the first taxi she saw. Luckily, there were plenty of those in the city, even at night. Though they usually refused to go near "shooting scenes." But now, Jessica was determined to "convince" the taxi driver, whoever he was.

- Hello, - the taxi driver was a cheerful Indian man. - My name is Dopinder...

- Don't care! - Jessica cut him off. - See that guy leaving a trail of dust and falling bricks behind him?!

Dopinder looked up and nervously swallowed.

- No?

- Don't bullshit me! - Jessica jabbed him painfully in the shoulder. - Follow him! I'll pay double!

- But I don't want to... - Dopinder bleated.

- A thousand bucks!

- I'll get you there in style!

---

- How was I supposed to know the old man had some kind of unkillable killing machine?!

Arriving at the operational base—one of the many warehouses in the special zone—the boss of the Irish mafia ordered everyone to prepare for the arrival of their guest...

Because it was hard to miss the half-naked guy literally bouncing off walls and roofs. Especially when, in one of his leaps, he landed like an aerial bomb on the last car in the convoy, completely wrecking the front end and flipping it over.

- HE'S HERE!

Everyone present began to frantically, almost panickingly, shoot at the figure descending from the roof of a nearby building. The fire from about forty people became an obstacle even for the unkillable Chris, but he still, inch by inch, moved closer to them...

Step by step, Chris's figure took on an almost devilish appearance in the eyes of the panicking thugs. With a frenzied gaze, bloodied hands, and streaks from numerous bullet wounds. He didn't need to add anything—their imaginations filled in the details.

And it was no surprise that at one point, some simply... ran. The first "deserters" triggered a chain reaction of dropped rifles and raised hands.

- We surrender!...

**BAM!**

Chris's hand, having crossed ten meters in one lunge, punched straight through the thug's head.

And in the next few minutes, Chris silently and methodically destroyed the remnants of what was once a decent gang. His blows were merciless and often fatal. Bullets couldn't touch him, and the few grenades only sent him flying a short distance. Cars, behind which people hid, were flipped over with a single strained motion.

This massacre wasn't orchestrated by Chris.

This massacre was orchestrated by... a Berserker.

Once again, the gunfire died down on its own. And Chris found himself surrounded by piles of broken and groaning bodies.

Breathing heavily, Chris tried to comprehend what he had done.

Under the influence of emotions and rage, he had, without a second thought, wiped out an entire gang. And even as the effects of the "Mad Enhancement" began to fade, though shocked by his own actions, Chris didn't particularly regret what he'd done.

- DIE, YOU BASTARD!...

With wide eyes, Chris saw the only surviving member of the gang in the warehouse doorway. The boss himself, holding an...

RPG.

**BOOM!**

The RPG round hit him square in the chest. The explosion was so powerful that it burst his eardrums and sent his body flying at incredible speed into the bay, on the shore of which the Irish base was located.

The explosion nearly killed Chris once again. The consequences of his numerous wounds multiplied by the exhaustion of his body and mind. All of this resulted in Chris, bleeding profusely, sinking slowly and inevitably to the bottom.

And only the last silhouette, jumping in after him and reaching out, warmed Chris's drowning mind.

"Jessica, thanks for saving my ass once again..."

Then Chris's mind refused to keep him conscious.

---

**SYNCHRONIZATION: 39%**