A Future Shrouded in Darkness

"Please, stop hitting him!"

Nevada, Arcade’s Amusement Park.

"It hurts! Please, stop!"

"I’m just… I’m just working here."

On the wall nearby, the words "Take a Photo with the Evil Captain America Here" had long since been splattered with blood.

The young actor’s pleas received no response whatsoever.

The children saw nothing wrong with what they were doing. They did not care who the person wearing Captain America’s uniform was. They knew only one thing: whoever hit harder than everyone else was stronger.

Not a single bystander offered help. On the contrary, they watched with relish, occasionally letting out mocking snickers.

This was the wealthy district of the wasteland world. Only families with money and influence could afford to bring their children and relatives here to stroll through the amusement park in their spare time.

They were different from the "savages" living out in the wilderness. They saw themselves as superior beings, and they did not care who the pitiful child being beaten was, because in their eyes—he was being paid to take a beating!

Amid the crowd, an old man hidden beneath a robe silently watched the scene.

He was Hawkeye Barton, and at that moment, his heart was in torment.

He did not know how to put his thoughts into words. Honestly, he did not even know what he was thinking. His mind was a mess. Images of Roger, Stark, and Fury flashed through his head one after another. Closing his eyes, Barton let out a desolate sigh.

"Can’t stand watching it, can you?"

Just then, an aged voice came from behind him. Barton paused, then turned toward its source.

It was an elderly woman wearing an eyepatch, seemingly in her sixties or seventies. She sat at the entrance to a huge tent. Judging by the sign, she worked here, telling fortunes for visitors’ amusement.

"Ma’am, you should probably take off that eyepatch before talking about ‘seeing.’" Looking at the woman who had interrupted him with her faintly sarcastic tone, Old Barton replied with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

The old woman seemed not to notice Old Hawkeye’s stiff mood. She merely said calmly, "Sorry, ‘seeing’ is simply a habitual expression for me. But I think we’ll soon find some ‘common ground,’ won’t we, Mr. Barton?"

At those words, a cold gleam flashed through Old Barton’s eyes, and powerful killing intent radiated from him.

He knew how dangerous his identity was. If Red Skull learned that an Avengers member was still alive right under his nose, endless pursuit would await him.

Old Hawkeye was not afraid of death, but he still had important things left undone.

And that "common ground."

That old blind woman actually knew he had glaucoma, that before long he would become blind like her.

"Ma’am, have we met before?"

Old Barton spoke, staring fixedly at the blind woman before him as he frantically searched his memories for information about her. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall any impression of her.

"Please, follow me." The woman’s face remained expressionless. Rather than answer Barton’s question, she spoke as she turned and entered the tent.

Old Hawkeye narrowed his eyes. After hesitating for a moment, he ultimately stepped forward and followed the blind woman. He was genuinely curious.

"Thank you for coming. Though you did not come to see me—you came to settle old grudges—your arrival still reminded me of the beautiful days of the past," the blind woman said to herself.

"We… do we know each other?"

Old Hawkeye’s first thought was whether this woman might be some old romantic debt he had left behind, but he quickly realized that could not possibly be the case.

"We never truly met, but I studied courses about you in school. You were an outstanding man, brave and fearless. Even when facing Thanos, you…"

"You’re completely confusing me. What kind of school would teach courses about me? The missions I carried out were all…" Hawkeye cut off the blind woman, but soon he could not continue, because a name suddenly flashed through his mind.

"You… you’re from the X-Men?"

Old Barton’s eyes widened sharply, his lips trembling slightly as he asked in disbelief.

"Blindspot. I haven’t used that name in a very long time. In this world, for our own safety, it is best not to bring up those old names."

The blind woman’s lips tugged upward slightly, as though she wanted to smile, but her years of cold expression made such an expression nearly impossible. "You can call me Ruth."

Old Barton stared blankly at Ruth. It took him a long while to react. He simply could not believe that, aside from himself and Logan, there were still heroes from those days who had survived.

"What… what exactly happened back then? I thought you all…" Barton struggled to breathe.

"Were gone." Ruth spoke softly. "My ability was to foresee the future, but in those days, I could not control that great power. It simply happened, without any warning."

"So you survived because of your ability? Then you must know Logan. I can take you to him. Believe me, if he sees you, he’ll definitely be overjoyed."

Hearing Barton’s words, Ruth shook her head slightly. "I’m sorry, sir, but I will not help you persuade Logan to extend his claws again. That is not my task."

"What? What task?" Old Barton did not feel embarrassed by her seeing through his intentions. Instead, he frowned at Ruth’s words.

Ruth did not answer. She merely let out a long sigh.

"The future has changed, Mr. Barton."

"You were once walking down a bloody path, but now the future has changed in the face of a tremendous power. Everything will become part of the catastrophe, and every future concerning you has become obscure and difficult to understand."

"That is beyond what I can ‘see.’ I cannot even determine whether this world will be destroyed in this catastrophe."

"It doesn’t matter," Barton said.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, but

this world itself cannot get any worse, can it?"