On the streets of Manhattan in the evening, the afterglow of the setting sun cast long shadows between the tall buildings. Damian and Peter Parker rode their bicycles, weaving through the congested traffic.
Peter Parker pedaled while glancing sideways at Damian, a sly expression on his face.
"Z! Is it really true I can't get that $20,000? Even though insurance companies are often inhumane, they sometimes show a shred of humanity, right?!"
Damian shrugged indifferently.
"It's impossible for you to recover the full damages. Unless another company steps in and is willing to purchase the right of subrogation for one-third—or even one-quarter—of the agreed compensation, I'd advise you to give up.
How much do you actually need to buy a car? I'll see if I can help with that."
Hearing this, Peter Parker scratched his cheek and replied with a vague look:
"Um… $6,210."
"Huh? Why such an oddly specific number? And how much is the car actually worth?"
"…$6,215."
Damian immediately turned to face him, his expression screaming, "Speak louder—I think there's an unconscious person twelve kilometers away who hasn't heard you clearly yet," and said, exasperated:
"What the hell?! Big brother! Given your financial situation, let's not even think about buying a car!
Compared to your leverage, the Ponzi brothers look cautious and stable! Let's get back to the insurance company—"
But before he could finish, Peter Parker suddenly looked up, his eyes locking onto the distant sky.
"Z, look—what is that?"
Damian followed his gaze. Two contrails streaked across the heavens—one large, one small; one ahead, the other trailing behind—like high-speed aircraft.
"Is that… a fighter jet?" Damian narrowed his eyes.
Peter shook his head firmly.
"No, they're too small. But current drones can't fly that high—their practical ceiling isn't even close."
Before he could finish, the larger contrail behind suddenly jolted violently. The object appeared to lose power and began plummeting rapidly.
"Oh no!"
Peter's face paled. His spider-sense exploded. His mind raced, calculating trajectory, windage, and velocity in an instant.
"Based on this angle, wind resistance, and speed…
Oh no—it's going to crash near us!"
Damian scanned the surroundings: the streets were packed with people heading home from work, cars gridlocked in traffic, and open-air cafés bustling with patrons.
If that thing hit the ground here, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"We have to evacuate the crowd!" Peter instinctively raised his voice to shout a warning.
But Damian grabbed his arm. After a quick glance around, he said sharply:
"Peter, take off your coat."
"Huh? Here? Now?"
Confused but obedient, Peter quickly stripped off his red-and-white plaid shirt and jacket.
Damian snatched the clothes, pulled a black mask from his pocket, and slipped it on. Then he straightened the plaid shirt over his head like a hood, leaving only his eyes visible.
"Hey, what are you—"
"Wait for my signal!"
Before Peter could finish, Damian strode into the center of the street. He moved furtively, glancing around as if scouting. To onlookers, he looked more like a suspicious loiterer than a hero.
"Allahu Akbar—!!"
Under the bewildered stares of countless passersby, he shouted at the top of his lungs, hurled his black backpack onto the pavement, spun on his heel, and bolted away.
Seeing this, Peter Parker immediately understood and shouted:
"There's a bomb! Run!"
For a moment, the air on the street froze.
Looking at the schoolbag on the ground, and then at the disheveled figure wearing a headscarf...
"Ahhhh!!"
"Help! There's a bomb!!"
"Terrorist attack!"
...
Screams erupted, and the crowd fled in all directions like a tide.
Coffee cups were knocked over, briefcases were abandoned, and drivers stuck in traffic even left their cars behind and ran.
In just a few seconds, the area within a 500-meter radius of the backpack was completely evacuated, leaving only a few empty vehicles and scattered belongings on the ground.
Peter Parker stared at the scene in amazement—until Damian ran back to him, yanked the plaid shirt off his own head, and said breathlessly:
"Huh… Thanks to 9/11 and Hollywood stereotypes! Otherwise, it'd be really hard to clear the streets this fast~"
Peter gave him a sharp look. "...From now on, please lay off the jokes from hell."
Just as the two were talking, a deafening roar tore through the air.
"BOOM—!!!"
A massive black shadow slammed into the center of the road like a meteorite. The concrete shattered instantly, spiderweb cracks radiating outward in every direction.
The impact overturned nearby parked cars, sirens wailed, and shards of glass and twisted metal rained down.
Damian immediately yanked Peter behind a newsstand two hundred meters away. The shockwave's residual force made them both flinch.
"This is way more chaos than I expected…" Peter whispered, eyes locked on the dusty crater in the distance.
Damian didn't reply. Crouched in the corner, he narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the shape emerging from the smoke.
Suddenly—
"Clank… clank… CLANK!"
Heavy metallic footsteps echoed from the crater, each one making the ground tremble.
Then, a towering figure over four meters tall slowly climbed out. Its armor was bulky and brutal, bristling with weapon systems, and a faint blue glow pulsed from its chest.
"Oh my god… Iron Monger?!" Damian gasped, his brow furrowing in disbelief.
Peter Parker sucked in a sharp breath. "Wait—what?! That thing survived a fall from orbit?! What's it made of? How's it even powered?!"
Before they could process it, an unsteady thruster whine cut through the sky.
"Pfft—pfft—pfft…"
They looked up to see a gold-and-red figure tumbling erratically from high altitude—before crashing hard onto the sidewalk not far from the armored giant.
"BANG—!"
The impact sent Iron Man skidding more than ten meters across the pavement. The lights on his helmet and arc reactor flickered weakly—he was clearly damaged.
With effort, he raised his arms and looked ahead.
The hulking Iron Monger turned slowly, steam hissing from the joints of his armor. The glowing lenses beneath his helmet locked onto Tony Stark.
"Tony Stark," a distorted, mechanical voice boomed from Iron Monger's speakers, "Aldrich Killian sends his regards."
The street fell deathly silent—only the labored hum of two war machines facing off in the wreckage.
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters