All the mercenaries, including Donald, finally understood, even the dullest of them—the person who was remotely controlling dozens of firearms and completely suppressing them was not some hidden Mutant reinforcement.
It was him—Spider-Man, the guy in the red and blue suit with an incessant mouth.
Just a few tens of minutes ago, the three colleagues who made a living by hunting Mutants for bounties had sworn that their target, Spider-Man, was a Mutant himself, but they never said Spider-Man could control firearms.
This completely overturned all their previous understanding of Spider-Man; New York news hadn't reported it, the Daily Bugle hadn't written about it, and probably not even the Military's classified files contained this information.
This guy was hiding too well.
And now, Spider-Man, who had just used over forty rifles to almost blast the Wolverine Clone into mincemeat, was cheerfully pushing a cleaning cart, even swaying his body to some inaudible music.
One moment he was a terrifying battlefield bully, the next he reverted to that talkative "friendly neighbor"; they didn't even know which one to believe was real.
But the only certainty was that saying Spider-Man wouldn't kill was absolute nonsense.
The mercenaries, sitting on the ground or still slumped, didn't want to test the accuracy of those hovering rifles with their own heads, even if the guns were now on the ground.
So, when Spider-Man enthusiastically shoved mops, rags, and buckets into their hands, no one dared to refuse.
They took the cleaning tools, like a group of tamed gang members after a firefight, and silently began to wipe away the chaos and blood they had just created.
Even Donald was no exception.
After that extremely dramatic "mock execution," the arrogance on his face vanished completely; his peripheral vision caught sight of the mixture of flesh and blood not far away that could barely still be called "X24-1," he silently lowered his head, took a mop, and joined this forced-to-change-profession "housekeeping mercenary group."
"Come on, guys! Labor is glorious! Work hard, finish early, and we can escort these lovely children out of this godforsaken place sooner!"
Peter himself led by example, moving so fast that he almost left afterimages; he mopped the floor, wiped the walls, cleaned up debris, and even occasionally broke into an impromptu jazz dance, as if this wasn't a post-battle ruin but his personal show stage.
"Oh, wait, no," he suddenly stopped short, propping himself with one hand on the mop, and tapping his mask with the other, "I almost forgot, I can't just leave like this... I still need to return the clothes that guy lent me."
"Right, right, that's it."
He was serious; other superheroes either made a profound exit or delivered a harsh line after a fight, but only Spider-Man, he genuinely stayed to clean up the battlefield and enjoyed it.
For a moment, the mercenaries didn't know whether to cry or to cry.
"Hey! You! Yes, you, don't look so glum."
Peter suddenly appeared in front of a mercenary who was staring at the floor with a bitter expression, "Your forehead wrinkles are almost deep enough to hold a coin! Life is already so hard, why not try to smile? Come on, learn from me—smile!"
The mercenary shuddered in fright, forcing out a smile uglier than a cry.
He really wanted to cry.
But Donald suddenly caught a hint of something amiss in Spider-Man's seemingly casual remark.
"'Escort the children out together?'"
This sounded like cooperation, but on second thought... wasn't this a disguised kidnapping? Making these disarmed people walk in front of the children, wasn't that the most convenient human shield? If they encountered further resistance, they would be the first row of cannon fodder to be shot through.
As soon as he thought of this, cold sweat instantly drenched Donald's back; he lowered his head and mopped the floor even more diligently, his heart in turmoil: "This Spider-Man is far more terrifying than Magneto, who only knows how to charge head-on."
Not far away, Gabriela, who had just turned back, was completely stunned; she watched Spider-Man, who had been fighting for his life with the guards just minutes ago, now "mingling" with this group of mercenaries.
What kind of person was Spider-Man? She found she couldn't understand him at all.
"Wow! Big Brother Spider-Man is so cool!"
"Let's help too!"
The children didn't understand these complex emotions; they only saw Spider-Man instantly defeat all the bad guys, and now he was even commanding the bad guys to clean up! Their eyes sparkled with excitement, and they eagerly wanted to rush over and help.
Gabriela reached out to stop them; only then did she realize that for these children, who were accustomed to cruel experiments and scenes of death in the research institute, the bloodstains on the ground... perhaps really weren't much.
"No, no, this little bit of work is easy and pleasant for us."
Peter quickly waved his hand at the children, then patted the shoulder of another mercenary beside him, "Hey, isn't that right?"
The mercenary whose shoulder was patted shuddered violently, then again forced out that "smile worse than death" expression: "Yes... yes, sir, no problem!"
After speaking, he became like a wound-up toy, his hands transforming into perpetual cleaning machines, his efficiency instantly skyrocketing.
"Wow! Your efficiency is amazing! You deserve praise, I give you a thumbs up."
Peter didn't hesitate to give a big thumbs up.
"See! When they're not holding guns, they're actually pretty good."
Peter turned to the children, his tone light, "Little ladies and gentlemen, please wait a moment, we'll clear a clean path right away!"
The Wolverine Clone, now completely inert, still lay in a pool of blood, its eyes staring blankly upwards.
Peter hummed an off-key tune as he worked diligently, feeling that ever since his past life's memories merged with his own, his enthusiasm for life seemed to have grown even stronger.
As he hummed, the concrete wall under his super vision—suddenly flashed for an extremely brief moment, becoming transparent!
Although it was only for an instant, he clearly saw through the wall, seeing the cluttered tables, chairs, and instruments in the room behind it.
"What the hell...?"
Peter suddenly stopped, stunned.
This sudden pause scared the two mercenaries next to him who were slacking off; they thought Spider-Man was finally going to settle scores, and both instantly unleashed astonishing potential, their cleaning speed directly doubling.
And internal competition, it's contagious among people.
The other mercenaries, though confused, seeing someone suddenly working so hard, thought it was some kind of "work hard or die" signal, and also sped up; in an instant, the corridor was filled only with the frantic scrubbing sounds of cleaning.
"Damn it... you guys were never this eager to organize your gear on missions before..." Donald grumbled indignantly, but glancing at X24-1 in the pool of blood, he gritted his teeth and accelerated again to avoid being the last unlucky one to finish.
Peter paid no attention to the astonishing workplace competition he had inadvertently triggered; his entire attention was focused on the wall in front of him, he walked up and touched the rough concrete surface with his gloved hand.
That was definitely not an illusion just now.
He concentrated, fully activating some new perception he didn't fully understand yet, and a few seconds later, that strange sense of x-ray vision appeared again!
This time it was clearer and more sustained; the concrete wall became transparent layer by layer in his vision, like a peeled onion, constantly extending deeper, he saw the microscopic structure within the concrete—sand, gravel... eventually, his vision was filled with countless chain-like spherical structures.
And between these chain-like spheres, there were large, columnar objects that hadn't turned transparent, obstructing his vision from going deeper.
He pulled his "vision" back, and those regularly distributed vertical and horizontal columnar objects were—rebar.
And those chain-like spheres... were molecules? Calcium carbonate molecules?
X-ray vision? Microscopic vision?
This far exceeded the scope of his original Spider-Sense. Was it the X-gene in his body? As a transmigrator, he knew all too well the terrifying realms some powerful Omega-level Mutants could reach—manipulating molecules, atoms, and even rewriting reality!
Peter Parker, who had always had terrible luck, now felt a huge, unreal sense of happiness hit him, as if he had suddenly been slapped in the face with a winning lottery ticket while walking down the street.
"Sir..." A cautious voice pulled him back to reality from his immense shock.
A mercenary, his face covered in a fawning smile, stood beside him, pointing to the almost spotless, gleaming floor: "We've cleaned everything up... uh, there's still that... Wolverine Clone... we don't know how to deal with it?"
His posture was very much like a soldier awaiting inspection from an Officer.
Donald, wiping sweat in the crowd, turned his head away in annoyance; jealousy can disfigure some people.
"Well done."
After praising the soldier, Peter looked at the pool of blood on the ground, and the broken body within it, once called X24-1; he would naturally give it a final resting place.
Given that his perception of metal was continuously strengthening over time, he could clearly feel a large concentration of heavy weapons with a strong metallic aura at the exit ahead. Peter discussed it with Gabriela and decided not to rush to the exit yet, but to choose a room to rest and wait for the X-Men to arrive.
"You all go ahead and find a room to rest."
Peter stroked a child's hair, his tone returning to gentle, "I'll catch up as soon as I'm done with this big guy. Remember to hold onto your guns."
"Okay."
Gabriela tightened her grip on the shotgun in her hand, her knuckles turning slightly White from the effort.
Thus, forty-odd unarmed mercenaries walked at the front, with Gabriela and the children following behind, forming a long line. Peter didn't bind them with Silk; under the deterrence of such absolute force, fear itself was the strongest chain.
Then he chose a grenade from the mercenaries' equipment and went to X24-1's side.
Although this weakened clone of Wolverine had been riddled with holes, its terrifying healing ability meant it wasn't dead yet; small granulations of flesh were faintly wriggling in the bloody wounds, attempting to repair themselves.
To completely terminate this emotionless killing machine, Peter chose to stuff the grenade into its most destructive location—its brain; in X24-1's current severely injured state, it would be absolutely impossible to withstand an intracranial explosion.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, even though he knew the other party couldn't understand, "You shouldn't have come into this world... Rest in peace."
He no longer hesitated, pulled the pin, precisely stuffed the grenade into the Wolverine Clone's mouth, and quickly retreated.
Boom—!!
The muffled yet violent explosion announced the complete end of a tragic creation.
Ahead, the explosion caused a stir among the mercenary team. Some looked back and saw Spider-Man returning safely, and the smoke drifting from the passage behind him; all the secret thoughts that had been brewing instantly extinguished... Approximately eight hundred meters from the explosion point, at Research Institute B's exit.
The atmosphere was solemn, like a battlefield where two armies faced off.
Soldiers in camouflage uniforms nervously moved behind makeshift defensive fortifications; tanks and armored vehicles were in position, their thick muzzles uniformly aimed at the deep exit, like lurking steel beasts, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder.
"Quick! Quick! Move faster, absolutely no Mutant must escape from here."
Temporary Commander Captain Lister loudly urged the soldiers who were setting up the last layer of barbed wire.
Just then, a fully armed soldier guard ran over, reporting a call from Zander Rice.
"Dr. Rice, do you have any instructions?"
Captain Lister asked gently, not forgetting to report on the progress, "I have already set up defenses outside the research institute; not a single Mutant will escape."
"Hmm."
Dr. Rice's tone betrayed no emotion, "Has Donald been contacted?"
"No, since they encountered the escaping Mutants... and Spider-Man, all contact has been lost, and all surveillance has been destroyed."
Captain Lister's tone was heavy, "I believe they have likely met with misfortune."
Dr. Rice fell silent.
Captain Lister knew that this genius scientist, highly valued by the Military, could not possibly be in a good mood—his painstakingly developed X-weapons had very likely been destroyed by Spider-Man.
"If they come out from here later, Spider-Man and the group of Mutant children are best captured alive. If that's absolutely not possible... at least leave their bodies for me."
Dr. Rice's voice was cold.
"No problem, Dr."
Captain Lister solemnly assured him, he understood that for these mad scientists, precious genetic samples were far more important than life.
However, their conversation hadn't even finished when a dense and unfamiliar buzzing sound suddenly came from high in the sky.
Everyone looked up in astonishment, only to see hundreds of drones, like a migrating swarm of bees, rapidly flying in, surrounding the research institute's exit in layers, sharp red lights flashing on their undersides; looking closely, one could even clearly see the word "Stark" on their fuselages.
Before the ground forces could react, a dazzling gold and red figure streaked across the sky, hovering directly above the defensive position with the roar of jet engines.
As the Iron mask lifted, Tony Stark's face, recognizable throughout New York and carrying a hint of cynicism, was revealed.
"Hey, guys, relax, don't be so tense."
Iron Man's voice came through the external loudspeaker, clear and magnetic, "I'm here for that... uh, Pajama Boy... oh no, it's Spider-Man."
"Don't tell me he's not here—nothing that happens in New York can escape my eyes."
Tony, searching for Spider-Man, had arrived.
To be continued..