Chapter 39: Sinister Six - Part 7

In the dead of night—Midtown. A ruined building.

At this hour, I should be fast asleep at home.

So why the hell am I here, wearing my usual gauntlets, fighting alongside some goody-two-shoes hero I barely know?

In short, tonight I’m working overtime as part of Shocker.

Well… “work” might be a stretch.

I’m not getting paid for this. I only came because I heard I’d get to beat the crap out of Spider-Man... but everyone’s wound up like they’re out for blood.

Even Redcap told me, “If it gets too dangerous, just leave.”

Hah…?

You think I’d leave some kid younger than me behind and just walk off?

Especially since, unlike me, he’s actually doing this as part of his job.

I’m just in this for the fun. He doesn’t have the option to bail, does he?

I can come up with all the excuses I want, but in the end, my pride wouldn’t let me walk away. That’s why I ignored the warning and stayed.

I peek out from behind the wall I’m hiding behind.

A blast of golden energy just missed my face.

It smashed a fist-shaped hole in the wall behind me.

I hurriedly ducked back behind cover.

Pretty sure the guy’s name is Iron Fist.

Some guy who punches with “chi” or “aura” or whatever kind of energy. Beats me. I’ve never fought him before, but I’ve at least heard of him.

I’m a mercenary, after all.

Ever since Fisk busted me out of prison, I’ve been working under his thumb… but I never gave up my day job of doing bad things for cash.

In this kind of underground business, intel is the most important edge you can have.

When it comes to heroes I might have to go up against, I consider myself “reasonably” informed.

And he is no exception.

I extend my left hand from behind the wall and fire off a shockwave.

That weirdo in the yellow mask—Iron Fist—lets his hands glow gold and takes the blast head-on.

He redirects it smoothly with his palms… my shockwave veers off to the side and gouges into the wall.

“Freakin’ occult freak...”

I mutter under my breath as I reposition under the cover of the dust cloud.

Same thing over and over.

My shockwave attacks are based on sound science—compressed air bullets propelled with vibration.

Simple, but deadly. That’s science.

And that guy? What’s his deal?

His fists glow? He draws out inner energy? He shoots it?

That’s occult nonsense.

Not every superpower out there makes perfect sense, but that guy’s one of the top-tier WTF cases.

Science and the occult don’t mix well.

He probably understands my methods well enough, but I don’t get his at all—not even one percent.

And he’s deflected every single shockwave I’ve thrown so far.

…Should I retreat?

Even Redcap told me to “run for it.”

But still… if I bail now, it’s just gonna cause trouble for someone else.

…Though, honestly? That’s fine.

I don’t care.

The creepy shadow monster, the lame-ass rhino dude, the shady fishbowl, and that rich punk trying to act tough—none of them are “comrades” of mine.

They call themselves the Sinister Six, trying to sound all cool, but in reality, they’re just a bunch of lone-wolf ego maniacs.

Me first. Others later.

That much is certain.

But still…

I pulled the trigger on my gauntlet again.

This time, I’m not aiming for Iron Fist.

I’m aiming for the footing beneath him.

The ground under him crumbles, and the distance between us widens.

…My real concern is Redcap.

If I run now, the enemy in front of me might link up with whoever he’s facing.

And if that happens… he might be the one who ends up paying for it.

At the very least, I’m not running until his job is done—or we’ve decided to retreat together.

Only then.

…If it really comes down to it, I might have no choice but to use that.

Since we’re in a ruined building, I’ve been holding back on the output.

If I go all out, the whole damn place might collapse.

But still—better that than losing.

And better that than abandoning the one and only “ally” I’ve got.

As I dodge another blast of golden “chi” from Iron Fist, I make up my mind.

---

Right now, I—Matt—am wearing a red demon-like costume… and standing before Mysterio as Daredevil.

A mask shaped like a reflective orb that scrambles all light, making it impossible to see inside.

Green armor panels layered like scales across his body.

Golden guards adorned with eye motifs.

A reddish-purple cape.

“Well done, Daredevil… The sorcerer of truth shall now face you. Have you written your will? If not, I suggest you do it now.”

…He certainly looks like some kind of magician.

But—

“You claim to be a sorcerer… but at your core, you’re just a conman, aren’t you?”

“…You act like you know something. Daredevil… Living up to the name, aren’t you? A death wish in tights.”

Mysterio clasped his hands together, then spread them apart.

Two gear-like blades materialized between them.

“You’ll regret mocking me!”

The blades came flying at me.

But they were a fake.

The sound they made did suggest something big and sharp was headed my way.

But—

I felt the flow of wind on my skin, listened for the tiny distortions in the air, and detected the displacement in space from the echoes.

With the Billy Club I held—my two-part metal batons—I smacked something out of the air.

It was a blade.

But it was much smaller than expected—just a thin metal shard, barely ten centimeters long.

“I don’t underestimate you—just stating facts… Mysterio. I’ll be paying you a personal visit soon.”

“To me? What are you talking abo—”

I hurled my Billy Club.

But not at the Mysterio in front of me.

I threw it into seemingly empty space on either side.

With a crash, something shattered and dropped to the floor.

A drone.

It must’ve been using optical camouflage to stay hidden from sight.

But it was meaningless against my heightened radar sense.

Two stealth drones—projecting a holographic image, manipulating sound, even launching attacks.

That was the real Mysterio.

The drones emitted a distorted whine, almost like a mechanical cry.

Then, with a sharp burst of sound, they shut down.

At the same time, Mysterio’s illusion vanished.

…He wasn’t here.

But then, where…?

Right now, there’s fighting breaking out all over this ruined building. Even with my radar sense, it’s hard to keep track of everything.

…Is he going to assist one of his allies?

No. That’s not how he operates.

He’s acting on his own agenda. To him, people are just pawns.

He wouldn’t risk anything to help someone else.

So then… a hostage?

“Jameson, maybe…”

I retrieved the Billy Club embedded in the drone and headed toward the top floor—where Jameson was located.

---

“Tch… He noticed faster than expected…”

I muttered as I put Jameson to sleep with gas from my ring—hypnosis gas, of course.

Daredevil… I’d heard the name before.

But he’s far more perceptive than I imagined.

You could even say he’s my natural enemy.

I didn’t expect Spider-Man to bring in backup—five of them, no less.

…There’s no way my pieces can win against that.

So I’ll use Jameson as bait, make my stand.

Turn the confusion into mutual destruction through illusions.

I can think of plenty of plans. Plenty of “performances.”

That’s right. This isn’t over yet.

I haven’t lost.

…I’m calm.

Truth be told, I don’t even bear a personal grudge against Spider-Man.

He’s just a stepping stone.

To me… he’s the first step on my path to glory—brilliant, dazzling glory.

I operated the controller built into my arms, to direct the drones—

“Hard at work, aren’t you, Mysterio.”

A cold, mechanical voice, impossible to identify.

I turned—and saw a red mask.

“Ah… it’s you.”

Redcap.

Relief washed over me, even as I took in his condition.

His red mask was cracked.

The armor on his right arm was shattered, blood pouring from it.

Most likely a severe compound fracture—yet he was letting it hang like it didn’t matter.

Just looking at it made me wince.

Other parts of his armor were covered in soot… he was in terrible shape.

“You lost, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous… I dealt with her.”

…His opponent was Jessica Jones, wasn’t it?

Also known as Jewel… or was it Power Woman?

I’d heard the stories.

She’s a high-level combatant. Possibly even stronger than Spider-Man himself.

…And he beat her?

“How terribly rude of me, then. I apologize.”

He’s a reliable agent—always completes the mission he’s given.

…It was valuable to learn his weakness.

Apparently, Redcap didn’t want Harry Osborn to find out he killed Norman.

I want to manipulate Harry, so I plan to frame Spider-Man for Norman’s death.

And both of us want Spider-Man dead.

It’s a beautiful arrangement.

In exchange for keeping his secret, he cooperates with me.

That’s the secret pact we share.

“So then… what brings you here? All the way to a place like this?”

“Ah… I just remembered something I forgot to give you. I’ve been waiting for a chance to hand it to you in person.”

“…What do you mean?”

What could he possibly have to give me? I tilted my head in confusion.

“You always attended the Sinister Six meetings through hologram, didn’t you?”

“…Yes, I did.”

I… had never once truly shown my face to them.

I’d always hidden in another room, projecting a hologram and pretending to take part.

I replied without a hint of guilt, even as I inwardly feared his perceptiveness for having seen through me.

“That’s why I waited for this moment… the moment you’d finally show yourself to me in person.”

I heard a gunshot.

“Take it, Quentin Beck.”

Redcap held a handgun in his left hand.

The muzzle… was pointed at me.

A moment later, searing pain tore through me.

When I looked down, bright red blood was pouring from my abdomen.

“It’s a synthetic resin bullet.”

“Ugh… a-ah…!?”

My legs gave out under me, and I dropped to my knees.

I pressed down on the wound with both hands, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

I clung desperately to what strength I had left, trying to keep my insides from spilling out.

“W-why…?”

“It’s simple, Beck. My employer, Wilson Fisk, is far more informed than you ever imagined.”

I looked up at Redcap.

…I’d always been taller than him.

But now, kneeling here in disgrace, he towered over me.

“Fisk knew that you let Norman get away… So what did you expect? Of course Fisk wanted you dead. Actually—did you even know why I killed Norman in the first place?”

Redcap tossed the pistol away.

“Not that it matters. …You were always a coward. So much so, we could barely even confirm your physical presence.”

A panel on his thigh armor opened, revealing the hilt of a knife.

“That’s why I used you. Your trash-tier scripts and theatrics were… painfully dull, Beck.”

The knife he drew had a broken tip.

Most likely damaged during his fight with Jessica Jones.

“Let me summarize: You weren’t a master of spectacle… You were a clown being marched to the gallows.”

He started walking toward me slowly.

I tried to crawl backward in a panic.

But my legs wouldn’t move right.

“…Show that third-rate play of yours to the demon Mephisto when you get to hell.”

Thud.

The twisted blade sank into me.

“Guh… guh…!?”

I felt my guts getting carved up. Blood welled out.

The dulled edge only made the pain worse.

I tasted iron in my mouth.

Something tore—either the fabric of my costume, or the meat beneath it.

I tried to stop the blade from going deeper with my hands.

But his strength dwarfed mine… he slowly forced the blade through me, tearing me apart inch by inch.

“S…stop…”

“Beck. You should know—I am angry right now…”

Angry?

Why?

Why is he angry?

I desperately searched my mind for a reason.

I couldn’t find one.

“You involved my friends… two of them. That, I can’t forgive.”

“Ah… ah… ah…”

『That’s why I want you to die. You understand, don’t you, Quentin Beck?』

The knife slowly tears into me.

Even as I lose consciousness from the agony, the pain repeatedly jolts me back awake.

…My right hand rises, aiming at the red devil before me.

“This… isn’t right… I… am Miss… Terio…”

That’s right.
I’m not Quentin Beck.

I’m Mysterio.

Not the Beck who idolized cinema as a child.
Not the Beck who was exploited by inept directors.
Not the Beck who struggled to carve his mark into the world.

I am Mysterio.

The one who defeated Spider-Man… the Mysterio who would become a hero.
I will prove to the world that I am a superior being.

For the sake of my dream.

I muster the last of my strength and fire hypnotic gas from my ring—

『As if that would work. Right to the end… you really were such a boring man.』

A hard thrust digs into my gut.

“Ah…”

Snap.

I heard it—something critical had been severed.
Something necessary for me to go on living.

As the world rapidly darkens around me, I begin to wonder.

Where did I go wrong?
When did I make the wrong choice?

…I don’t know.
And even if I did, I could never go back.

Sinking into a vortex of meaningless, ignorant thought—
I vanished.

---

The mask that had been scattering light before me cracks apart.
The anguished face beneath it—Quentin Beck.
A professional in SFX and VR technology… a genius of visual effects.

…He didn’t need to be so desperate.
If he had just stuck to making movies, he might have found some success.

Truly a foolish man.

…Still, military drones with stealth and holographic projection functions?
I don’t know where he got the tech from,
but someone must have provided it to him.

…Was I too hasty in killing him?

I pick up the knife that had been embedded in my gut.

…My battle with Jessica Jones dulled it.
The tip is snapped off, and repeated impact has bent the blade.

It’s no longer usable.

I glance at the handgun at my feet.
It’s also empty.
I’ll take it back with me, but it’s useless as a weapon for now.

…I recall my fight with Jessica.
It was a close call.

But she’s a hero who relies mainly on physical attacks,
and I’m a villain clad in vibranium armor that absorbs physical force.

The difference in compatibility was obvious.

Even so, the fact that she managed to push me this far… speaks to her combat instincts.

…Right now, she’s unconscious, left on a lower floor.

She’ll likely wake up before long.
I need to leave this place quickly.

I wiped the blood from the knife.

…When I killed Beck earlier, I inflicted unnecessary pain.

That was personal.

Because of him, Gwen lost her leg.
Because of him, Harry became the Goblin.

…Even now, I still feel the urge to trample his corpse.

But a corpse is just that—a corpse.
It’s no longer the man called Beck.

Once life is gone, it’s nothing more than bone, flesh, and organs.

I have no interest in doing anything meaningless.
It’s not a matter of ethics.

It’s about reason.

I gripped the knife in my left hand.

…The armor covering my right arm wasn’t made of vibranium.
That’s why it couldn’t withstand the battle with Jessica and shattered.

Fragments of metal pierced into my right arm, severing nerves.

With foreign objects embedded inside, my healing factor won’t function properly.
If I try to heal like this, it’ll set incorrectly—twisted and malformed.

It hurts, yes… but not unbearably so.

The real issue is—

Footsteps.

Of course…

“M-Miss…terio…?”

Spider-Man’s shocked voice rang out as he found the corpse.
Harry Osborn stood beside him, face pale, speechless.

…So that’s what I meant.
Without my right arm, I’m at a disadvantage in combat.

I opened my mouth.

『You’re late today, Spider-Man. Regret not being able to stop me? Well… some things just can’t be helped. Learn to accept that.』

I…
I raised my knife—bent and twisted, just like me—
and aimed it at my two dear friends.