At the research institute, Donald Pierce, a veteran in the business of hunting Mutants, stared at the floating firearms with a sinking feeling in his gut.
Telekinesis.
There were Mutants operating in the shadows.
He instinctively retreated, his battlefield intuition kicking in, until he was safely behind a wall of mercenaries. Only when he felt relatively secure did his gaze—sharp and cold as a metal brush—sweep over the group of children huddled behind Gabriela.
"Who's playing tricks?" His voice was cold, hard, and sharp, as if pulled from a freezer.
As for Spider-Man, who was currently engaging the Wolverine Clone in a series of acrobatic spins and jumps? Donald barely spared him a thought.
Spider-Man wasn't Magneto. He couldn't—shouldn't—be able to snatch weapons from people's hands from a distance. That wasn't in his power set.
The children flinched under his glare, huddling closer to Gabriela like frightened animals.
Only one girl stood her ground. Laura bared her teeth, revealing canines far too sharp for a child her age. Her arms lowered slightly, and the tips of Adamantium claws peeked out from her knuckles. She was a beast poised to strike.
If Gabriela hadn't held her arm tightly, whispering frantic words of calm, Laura would have already leaped across the room to rip out Donald's throat.
"Too—slow—! Seriously, at your speed, I could fight you and do my taxes at the same time. Do you need me to slow down? Being considerate of short kings is a virtue every adult should have, you know."
Peter, the instigator, spoke in a light, teasing tone.
He had already downloaded X-24's attack patterns. At this moment, he was as leisurely as if he were strolling in his own backyard, moonwalking backward through the narrow corridor while effortlessly dodging every deadly swipe.
Of course, with his new multitasking ability, he could handle the banter while mentally adjusting the aim of the floating automatic rifle.
When the barrel finally lined up with the tireless, berserk X-24, Peter mimicked the gesture of the magnetic master he knew best. He crooked his finger.
Tat-tat-tat-tat—!!
Bullets rained down. Hot lead tore through the air, slamming violently into the clone's back. Blood sprayed as X-24 howled in pain.
This monster, stripped of fear by genetic engineering, had no emotions, but he certainly felt pain.
However, the agony didn't stop him. It only ignited a primal fury. His attacks accelerated, the sound of his claws slicing the air becoming a high-pitched whine.
Peter was a split-second too slow. Rip! Three jagged tears appeared across the chest of his Spider-suit. He backflipped away to check the damage. Thankfully, it was just fabric; his skin was untouched. Even with his healing factor, Adamantium claws would have stung.
"Whoa, dude, you're really committed," Peter whistled, though his tone hardened. "But this game of Cat and Mouse is over."
Donald Pierce spat on the ground. He couldn't figure out who was manipulating the weapons, and watching his expensive Wolverine Clone get toyed with by a "bug" was infuriating.
Even if X-24 was just a prototype, being humiliated by Spider-Man was unacceptable.
"What the hell are you waiting for?!" he roared. "Everyone! Open fire! Use tranquilizers! Capture the runts and kill the Spider!"
Click, click—
The sound of weapons cocking echoed like a chorus of death. Gabriela clutched her shotgun, her eyes resolute. She was ready to die to buy these children a few seconds.
But at that very moment—
Every single mercenary felt a violent jerk.
Their weapons were ripped from their hands by an immense, invisible force. Rifles slammed into the ceiling, handguns spun in the air. The corridor was filled with the clatter of metal and the shouts of confused men.
"What's going on?!" One mercenary stared at his empty hands, eyes wide.
"C-could it be… Magneto?" another stammered.
The name sucked the air out of the room. It froze the blood of every man present.
Magneto was the boogeyman for anyone in the anti-Mutant business.
Panic spread like a plague. They looked up at their own weapons, now hovering in mid-air, barrels slowly turning to aim down at them. Hearts hammered against ribs.
"Shit! Don't scare yourselves! Magneto can't be here!"
Donald roared, forcing himself to stay calm. He knew better than anyone. Dr. Zander Rice's GMOs had been suppressing X-genes for years. Even Professor X had been reduced to a senile old man.
Magneto was gone. He couldn't be in this remote lab.
He forced himself to stare down the barrels of the floating guns. "Who's playing games?! If you have the guts, shoot!"
He glanced at the children. There were magnetic clones in the batch, but none had shown this level of power. He wasn't sure.
Peter, meanwhile, had webbed X-24 into a temporary cocoon. He used his telekinesis to pull another rifle, this one loaded with live ammo, into the air. Now, two rifles hovered on either side of Donald's head like executioners.
Under everyone's gaze, Donald maintained a facade of composure, but sweat beaded on his temples. His Adam's apple bobbed.
Beneath his mask, Peter smirked.
"You say you're not afraid," he muttered, low enough that only he could hear. "But your body disagrees."
Then, Peter made a sound effect with his mouth.
"Rat-a-tat-tat!"
Donald flinched violently. He ducked, lost his balance, and fell hard on his ass. Cold sweat drenched his back. He looked as disheveled as a drowned rat.
The other mercenaries weren't faring much better. Some were cowering, others crying out for their mothers.
Even if the guns were loaded with tranqs, nobody wanted to find out the hard way.
RIP—!
The web cocoon tore open. X-24, eyes glowing red with bloodlust, lunged at Peter again. A pain-free killing machine that never stopped.
"Oh, right. Sorry, almost forgot about you," Peter said.
Before he finished the sentence, more than forty suspended firearms swiveled in unison. They formed an inverted metal funnel, turning the center of the room into a kill box. X-24 was the target.
"Now... let's see how fast you heal."
BANG! BANG! BANG!
TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—!!!
The roar was deafening. The combined impact of forty automatic rifles firing simultaneously didn't just hurt X-24; it physically pushed him back.
He tried to shield his head, wailing in agony. But even with a healing factor, flesh and bone can only withstand so much physics.
In seconds, the corridor was painted red.
Gabriela turned away, pulling the children into a tight huddle to shield them from the carnage. She closed her eyes and prayed.
When the firing stopped, X-24 was unrecognizable. He lay in a sticky pool of blood, a torn red rag of a man. His hollow eyes stared up at the blood-stained ceiling, silent.
Peter stood frozen for a moment. The adrenaline faded, and he realized the children were right there. Maybe... maybe that was too much.
"Oh, geez. Sorry! I completely didn't notice... Whoa, I'm not usually like this, really."
He scratched the back of his head. Instantly, the psychic link broke.
Clang-clatter-thud.
All the suspended guns dropped to the floor in a heap.
He lowered his head, looking remorseful. Then, a thought struck him. He looked up, scanning the messy corridor, then at the terrified mercenaries slumped against the walls.
"Uh, excuse me, gentlemen? Could you stop loafing around? The floor is a mess. Could you get up and help clean it? I don't mind, but the kids have to walk through here. A little manual labor won't kill you."
As he spoke, he fired a web, snagging a janitorial cart from an open closet down the hall. He pulled it over—mops, buckets, disinfectant and all.
The mercenaries were dumbfounded.
They looked at the meat that used to be X-24.
Then they looked at Spider-Man, who was arranging mops and muttering, "Where should I start?"
Their brains collectively short-circuited.