Chapter 52: Armor Wars - Part 3

Ouch...

The wound stings with a dull, burning pain. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in my abdomen.

My body is growing cold. My consciousness is fading. A pool of blood spreads across the floor.

Even with my body enhanced by the super-soldier serum, letting this go on any longer would be bad. I won’t escape death by blood loss at this rate.

I pick up a metal ruler and insert it into the wound.

Agonizing pain. It feels like I’m being scorched by fire.

I dig into the wound and force the bullet out. Just as I thought—this bullet fired by the drone is no standard size. Probably even larger than 7.62mm.

A custom round from Hammer? Who the hell prefers proprietary ammo?

“Ha... Haaah... Haven’t done that in a while...”

But I never want to do it again. I activate my healing factor and begin mending the wound.

I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth and check my condition.

...Good. Not perfect, but stable. I haven’t regained the stamina I lost, but there’s no longer any damage to my body.

Then I walk toward the downed drone. No one is around.

No one will find out. I grab the drone’s arm and forcibly pry it open with my bare hands.

I hear the creak of metal warping and the latches snap off.

...The autocannon inside is exposed. I pull out a single round and hold it in my hand.

Rolling the bullet in my palm, I return to where I was and slump down.

I touch the clothes I’m wearing... they’re in tatters.

Shot, dragged, bleeding... I’m basically wrapped in a shredded, blood-soaked rag.

...And Gwen had gone out of her way to get me these clothes.

Anger outweighs sorrow, and I glare at the drone. I don’t know why this situation turned out the way it did—but if someone told me to kill the mastermind, I’d do it gladly.

I flip the bullet and press it against the same place I was shot earlier.

“Alright...”

Deep breath. Steeling my resolve. I press the ruler against the base of the bullet—right at the casing.

Then—

I slam it with my fist.

The firing pin ignites, gunpowder flares.

A loud crack, and the projectile fires.

It tears through flesh, pushing past bone and organs, embedding itself deep within me.

Blood begins to flow again.

“Gh...!”

From an outsider’s perspective, this would look insane. After going through the trouble to heal myself, I go and punch another hole right back into my body?

But this time, the bullet hasn’t damaged any vital organs. I consciously tightened my muscles to control the trajectory, and it stopped at a shallow point.

Gwen isn’t a specialist. She’s not a doctor. She’ll know I was shot—but she won’t know just how bad it was.

The last wound: “a critical hit, fatal if untreated.”

This new wound: “lucky shot, relatively minor.”

This way, even if I’m left alone for a couple of days, I won’t die.

I lie down on my side and toss the spent casing away. I kick the broken ruler aside with my foot.

...Now I can breathe easy.

Even if Gwen comes back, she won’t suspect a thing.

...All that matters now is that Gwen comes back safe.

My vision starts to blur.

Excessive cellular regeneration from the healing factor. Trauma from the bullet. Repeated blood loss.

And above all—relaxation from the relief.

All of it hits me at once.

And so—I lose consciousness.

---

A moment of frozen tension.

The black Iron Man suit known as War Machine is pointing his weapon at both me and Crimson Dynamo.

I open my mouth to explain—

“Don’t underestimate me! I won’t flinch from something like this!”

Crimson Dynamo’s arms light up as he charges War Machine. Pale blue sparks erupt from his palms.

“I see. Then I’ll deal with you first.”

War Machine’s leg armor deploys, jet thrusters ignite.

He launches backward into the air, while a Gatling cannon on his back swings forward into firing position.

Shit—

I reflexively leap backward into the storefront behind me.

The barrels spin rapidly. The motor whines.

And then—like thunder ripping through the air, a violent roar erupts.

The rapid bursts of the Gatling gun.

Rounds strike Crimson Dynamo, ricocheting. Nearby glass shatters, and bullets slam into benches, punching holes.

Sparks and fragments fly everywhere.

Metal clashing against metal, fire spitting from impact.

“Guh... This is nothing! You think this can stop me!?”

Crimson Dynamo charges toward War Machine, armor scorched with bullet impacts.

This is no longer a battle between individuals.

It looks like a full-scale battlefield now.

“Is that so?”

War Machine takes a single step back and thrusts out his palm.

A beam of light blasts from it, shoving Crimson Dynamo back.

The moment distance opens between them, War Machine raises both arms and fires his assault rifles.

A dull, metallic bursting sound follows.

He targets the spots already damaged by the Gatling cannon. The bullets land in quick succession.

Then—Crimson Dynamo’s right shoulder bursts open, and the light from his right arm vanishes.

“Damage...!?”

Panicking, Crimson Dynamo barely has time to react before War Machine closes in and drives his right fist into his chest.

A solid metallic thud echoes as Crimson Dynamo is forced back.

The armor on his legs gouges into the ground as he slides backward.

But he doesn’t look seriously damaged.

“Too eager for a win, were you!?”

Crimson Dynamo raises his undamaged left hand—

“No. That’s not it.”

War Machine’s right arm—specifically, the mysterious black external device attached to it—fires with a sharp burst, ejecting a casing.

At the same time, a metallic spike shoots out from the device’s center and impales Crimson Dynamo through the chest.

“W-What!?”

“It’s a gunpowder-propelled metal spike launcher—Armor Breaker. Built specifically for guys like you.”

A gaping hole opens in Crimson Dynamo’s chest.

In that instant, the light vanishes from the sensors in his head—his eyes.

The light in his arms fades, and he collapses, power cut completely.

His chest reactor had been destroyed, severing his energy supply.

War Machine approaches the fallen Crimson Dynamo, takes out several small disc-shaped devices from his waist, and sticks them onto the armor.

Blue sparks crackle and flash, pinning the armor to the ground.

…I don’t know what those are, but they’re probably restraints.

“Now then—”

War Machine turns and levels his assault rifle at me.

“Are you an enemy? Or an ally? Which is it?”

Of course—I…

He’s pointing a weapon at Mom.

The voice echoed in my head.

…Not good. She’s throwing a fit.

Sensing hostility, Gwenom trembles.

“No... Stop...”

“Stop? Stop what? Which is it?”

War Machine takes a step closer.

Mom’s scared.

This guy needs to disappear.

Panic wells up inside me.

If we fight here… we’ll both die. Without a doubt.

“Hold it back…”

“Hold it back? What are you—”

The surface of my skin—the symbiote suit—bristles.

My claws sharpen, saliva drips from my tongue.

I'm taking on more and more of the symbiote’s true form. Our synchronicity is spiking rapidly.

“…What do you think you’re doing?”

War Machine immediately goes on alert and steps back.

His right-hand assault rifle aimed at my head.

His left-hand assault rifle aimed at my heart.

The Gatling gun deploys as well, ready to fire the moment I make a move.

My thoughts grew hazy.

Only anger and ferocity remained.

...“We” crouched low and leapt forward—

"Alright, that’s enough~"

Stab.

Something pierced me from behind.

My mind snapped back into clarity.

I twisted my neck to look behind me.

It was... a syringe.

But not the kind you’d see in a hospital.

It looked more like a firearm—a cartridge-fed weaponized syringe.

And holding that syringe... was a man in a red and black suit.

Gwenom was instantly subdued.

The power of the symbiote receded, the suit began to melt away.

My real face was exposed.

“Gah—cough, cough...!”

I couldn't help but cough violently.

A kid...? A girl...?

I saw War Machine lower his weapon.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed on the spot.

Gwenom... wasn’t dead. Just asleep.

Relieved, I let out a breath.

“Hey, Deadpool! What the hell is going on? Explain yourself!”

"Vitamin C."

"What?"

"When a symbiote absorbs a ton of Vitamin C, it goes into a dormant state. Weird setting, right? I think so too."

"Ugh..."

I tried to speak... and realized how awful I felt.

My head was foggy, and nausea surged.

"When a high-level symbiote bond is forcefully broken, that happens. Your body suddenly loses the parts the symbiote was handling. Just passing on the experience."

"Deadpool, what are you babbling about!?"

"Yeah yeah, alright, alright. Look, Rhodey-baby, as you can see, this wild child here isn’t the enemy. So put away that scary weapon already. You're gonna get charged with public indecency!"

"Don’t call me that! And you’ve explained nothing! You always do this! Just like that time—"

"Um... excuse me..."

I timidly interrupted their argument.

“My... my friend got shot over there... she needs a hospital... please... ngh—”

Mid-sentence, the nausea overwhelmed me and I dropped to the ground... and threw up.

A sharp, acidic stench stung my nose.

“Crap, now you’re making me puke too... Mind if I just look away for a sec? BLEUGHHH—ah, I’m good.”

“I’ve already requested backup... but understood. We’ll prioritize that. Where is it?”

War Machine knelt and met my gaze.

He no longer saw me as a threat.

I pulled out the crumpled pamphlet for Dolphin Mall from my shorts pocket... and pointed to where we had been.

“Got it. Just rest for now. We’ll talk later. Deadpool, you too! We’re not done here! Don’t move from this spot!”

“Ughhh...”

Even with the mask on, I could tell he was making a face.

War Machine aimed both hands at the ground and emitted light.

Then he lifted off and flew toward where Michelle had been.

...At least Michelle should be safe now.

And then—

The man called Deadpool looked at his wristwatch.

It looked like a kid’s toy, with a cutesy mascot printed on it.

“Fifty-seven minutes.”

“...Huh?”

Deadpool read the time aloud.

“That’s how long since your symbiote bond level spiked. Pretty close call. You almost got shot, y’know? You should thank me~ This awesome guy right here.”

He was referring to the maximum safe bonding duration determined by S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Wait... Are you with Fury...?”

“Ah, nope nope! Not that stiff. I’m working for a different stiff. Like, ultra stiff.”

“Different...?”

“Yeah, someone who’s more or less on the other side. I don’t like Fury either.”

The blood drained from my face.

Gwenom was still out cold.

It was because of the drug Deadpool injected.

And I still couldn’t move well from the side effects.

If he really worked for an enemy organization—

“Huh? Wait, wait, wait, wait—are you seriously misunderstanding something here? Do I look like the kind of guy who kills women and kids?”

To be perfectly honest...

“…Yeah, kind of?”

“WHAT!? No way! I totally look like a super-hero, right?! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

He clutched his head and hugged his knees, sulking like a child.

“I specifically make sure not to kill women or kids—especially girls who are kids, you know why? You, the appointed representative of all women and children, got a guess?”

His tone was starting to get under my skin. And considering how awful I felt, the fact that he was still bothering me like this made me genuinely question his sanity.

“It’s because it ruins your popularity with readers. You get it? Being a heel or a dark hero is fine. But the moment you smash a kid’s head in, boom—reader support gone. Doesn’t matter how cool your design is. Without popularity, your appearances dwindle. Next thing you know, you’re relegated to a three-line footnote in the corner of some encyclopedia. You’ll never get into a movie or anime that way. They’ll cut your screen time. So remember this: if you wanna be adored, never kill women or children. That’s a promise you make with me, Deadpool!”

…He wasn’t even looking at me anymore—he was lecturing the void.

I had questioned his sanity, but now I was pretty sure he had none left.

“So anyway, I’m heading out. Poof. Later~”

“Wait, what…?”

Didn’t War Machine just tell him not to move?

He completely ignored the order, picked up the syringe he’d dropped, and casually walked away.

Scratching his butt as he jogged off, all I could do was stare after Deadpool.

“Uh… what…?”

Now it was just me... and the restrained guy in armor, left behind.

---

The battle was over.

According to Mr. Stark, this incident was in part triggered by a smear campaign from Hammer Industries—though there were many other forces at play.

Apparently, a cult trying to overthrow this country and revive another was behind it all.

Stark Industries is a major company that supports this nation. If it were to take a hit, it would clearly shake the entire economy.

So they manipulated Hammer into launching an attack.

Those same people also stole data on the Iron Man suits from Stark Industries.

Mr. Stark personally captured and beat the culprit to a pulp.

Their name? Spymaster—a pretty straightforward one, really.

Just a few days ago, he was fighting people wearing the stolen suits.

Outnumbered and outgunned, he still won somehow—but he didn’t come out of it unscathed.

In the end, the incident in Miami provided the final proof, and Justin Hammer was arrested.

Case closed.

The summer trip ended in total chaos...

After parting ways with Mr. Stark, I returned to Dolphin Mall.

I deactivated my suit and looked around.

Bullet holes. Scorch marks. The place was in shambles—nothing like it had been just hours ago.

I gasped.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d convinced myself my friends were fine.

I’d unconsciously avoided facing the worst-case scenario.

But standing in this wreckage… anxiety welled up inside me.

Gwen, Ned, Michelle...

I wanted to scream their names, but instead, I headed toward the emergency tent the paramedics had set up.

Inside, people sat on makeshift benches, their faces filled with grief.

I walked around the tent, searching for a familiar face.

Someone… please, anyone…

Apparently, the critically injured and the dead weren’t kept in the tent.

Which meant—if they weren’t here…

I yanked open the tent flap with urgency—

“Whoa! Don’t just barge in like that!”

Someone shouted in surprise.

Inside the tent was—

“Ned!? You’re okay!?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not really sure what happened, but… some guy in a mask—like Spider-Man’s—saved me.”

When I heard that, I couldn’t help but think of that red and black panda-looking guy, laughing like a maniac.

…It made me feel a little sick, but I guess I owe him one.

“But what about you, man? You’re the one who looks totally wrecked.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Well… a lot happened.”

“…You’re telling me the full story later, alright?”

“Yeah. But more importantly—what about Gwen and Michelle!? Are they okay!?”

I grabbed Ned by the shoulders and shook him.

He panicked and tried to calm me down.

“Whoa, chill out, Peter! You’re, like—seriously strong, man!”

“S-Sorry…”

“Geez…”

I brushed the wrinkles out of my clothes with a few quick pats, then picked up the sheet of paper lying on the table.

“What’s that?”

“A list of admitted patients at nearby hospitals. Look, here.”

Gwen Stacy
Condition: Minor injuries
Nausea, dizziness

“Ah…”

I let out a sigh of relief.

It looked like she wasn’t seriously hurt after all.

…Then I found Michelle’s name too.

Feeling a wave of joy that she hadn’t died, I looked over the details.

Michelle Jane
Condition: Severe injuries
Massive blood loss, unconscious

“…Huh?”

The list slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground.

The plastic board made a sharp clack as it hit the floor.

“Ah, hey! Peter, don’t just drop it!”

“Ned, how can you be so calm right now!? Michelle’s in really bad—!”

“I told you, stop shaking me!”

Only then did I realize I had grabbed his shoulders again.

“S-Sorry.”

“If things were really that bad, I wouldn’t be this calm either! That’s just her admission report!”

Ned pointed at the list.

“She’s awake now, and they said the injuries weren’t as bad as they looked. The hospital already called to let us know.”

“R-Really…?”

I breathed out again, this time with a lot more relief.

Still, the fact that she’d been bleeding meant she really had gotten hurt badly.

I found myself clenching the hem of my shirt.

Noticing this, Ned spoke up.

“…Alright. Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Y-Yeah… Wait, are we even allowed to go?”

I tilted my head.

Because—if that was an option, then why had Ned been waiting in the emergency tent?

If he was that worried, it wouldn’t have been strange for him to go straight to the hospital.

“What do you think? I was waiting for you, obviously! You didn’t even call!”

“Ah… sorry. My phone got fried.”

It had been short-circuited by Whiplash’s electric whips.

…I was still pretty bummed about that.

I don’t have enough money to just borrow another from Ned…

Guess I’ll have to start juggling more part-time jobs again.

No—maybe I could ask Mr. Stark—no, forget it.

I don’t want to bother him with something like this… Yeah.

In the end, Ned and I left the emergency tent and headed to the hospital where Gwen and Michelle were being treated.

---

My phone started ringing.

“Yello~, Deadpool speaking~!”

‘…I’d prefer if you dropped the childish tone.’

“Wow, starting with that? You know, if you stay that grumpy, your whole body might turn bright red and balloon up. Just saying.”

‘Hah… whatever.’

I could hear the sigh of an old man on the other end.

‘So? How’s the symbiote host? Under control?’

“Absolutely peachy. Totally, completely, nooo problems at all. Safer than tap water.”

‘…I see. I was hoping it might lead to Nick Fury’s downfall.’

“Tsk tsk. If you’re trying to trip someone up by watching for mistakes, you’re already losing, Grandpa Ross.”

‘I’m the Secretary. And you’re the only one who dares talk to a cabinet-level official like this. I must say, hiring you was a complete mistake.’

I imagined him twitching with anger and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well, if you hate me that much, you should’ve just asked your little ‘Thunderbolts’ to handle it.”

‘That’s none of your business. Just do your job like a proper mercenary and keep your mouth shut.’

Uh-oh, maybe I poked the bear too much?

“Alright, alright, got it, jeez.”

‘I’ll transfer the payment to the designated account. Don’t bother calling this number again. The line will be terminated. And if you tell anyone—’

“My lips are sealed tighter than a jar of grandma’s pickles.”

‘…Tch.’

The line went dead with a click of the tongue.

I tossed the phone over my shoulder, letting it crash and vanish into the rubble.

“Would’ve liked to say bye to Spidey one last time, but… oh well.”

I walked over to the stolen car I’d parked earlier, popped open the door, and fired up the engine.

“Oh right…”

There had been someone suspiciously sharp-eyed hanging around that host kid…

“Eh, whatever. Not my problem.”

…Wait, that’s it for me? My role’s over!? For real!?