Just as the terrorists stepped across the carefully prepared "red line," Ethan suddenly tightened his grip on the thin string hidden in his hand and pulled.
In the next instant, the trap he had arranged was triggered.
The carpet that had seemed completely ordinary suddenly slid out from under their feet. The two terrorists walking in front lost their balance and fell backward heavily onto the floor. Before they could even react, the concealed spikes hidden beneath the carpet pierced straight through the fabric and drove deep into the skull of the man in front.
The sound was dull and brutal.
His eyes widened instantly in shock. His mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Life left his body before his brain could even process what had happened.
He died instantly.
The third terrorist had been slightly behind the other two. His footing had been off when the trap triggered, and instead of landing perfectly on the spikes, one of them stabbed into the side of his waist.
The spike didn't kill him immediately, but the pain was unbearable.
He clutched his wound tightly, groaning and trembling as blood quickly soaked through his clothes.
During the fall, the firearm in his hand had slipped loose and slid across the floor, eventually stopping in the far corner of the room.
Ethan slowly stepped out of the adjacent room.
His breathing was steady, but his expression was tense. Without saying a word, he walked over to the corner and picked up the fallen firearm. He didn't even glance at the dead body lying nearby.
When he approached the wounded terrorist, however, Ethan hesitated slightly.
Earlier, when he had watched them through the mirror, he had only seen vague shapes.
Now that he was standing close, he realized something unexpected.
The terrorist was small and thin. His face still had the softness of youth. His terrified eyes were filled with desperation and panic.
"Please… don't kill me!" the young man begged desperately.
"Save me! Please!"
His voice cracked with fear, mixed with the painful groans escaping from his throat.
Ethan stood there quietly, watching him.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the wounded man's trembling breathing.
Then Ethan spoke slowly.
"A friend once told me something," he said calmly. "He said that killing is a very sinful act."
He paused briefly, as if remembering something distant.
"He said it's just as sinful as putting spaghetti inside a Mexican burrito."
The young terrorist looked at him blankly, completely unable to understand what he was talking about.
Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile as the memory surfaced in his mind.
About a month ago, he had been driving through the desert in an off-road vehicle with two strange companions. The sun had been scorching, the road endless, and the conversation absurd.
That was when the comment about spaghetti and burritos had first been made.
"He told me I wasn't ready," Ethan continued quietly. "But you guys didn't exactly give me time to prepare."
He slowly raised the gun in his hand.
"So now I guess I'll just try it."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Coincidentally… that friend of mine owns ten Mexican burrito shops."
The terrorist didn't understand a single word of Ethan's strange explanation.
All he could do was continue begging.
"Please! Don't kill me! Please!"
The dark muzzle of the gun pointed directly at his forehead.
A flash of light burst from the barrel.
Bang.
The shot echoed sharply through the room.
The young terrorist's body jerked once before falling still. His pain ended instantly.
Silence returned.
Ethan lowered the gun slowly.
For several seconds, he simply stood there, staring at the lifeless bodies scattered around the room.
Then suddenly he turned, rushed to a corner, and vomited violently.
His stomach twisted painfully as the reality of what he had just done finally caught up with him.
Yet even while vomiting, his hand never loosened its grip on the gun.
He held it tightly.
As if letting go might cause the fragile control he still had to collapse completely.
---
Meanwhile, outside the building, loudspeaker announcements began echoing throughout the small desert town.
"All townspeople, gather at the town center immediately!"
"Repeat, all townspeople, gather at the town center immediately!"
"We are only looking for someone. We don't want to hurt anyone. Do not force us to take action!"
The harsh broadcast repeated again and again, spreading through every street.
Ethan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his face turning grim.
He immediately understood what was happening.
The terrorists were searching for someone.
And that someone was most likely Tony Stark.
Without wasting another second, Ethan quickly removed the clothes from the dead terrorist whose head had been pierced by the spike.
He changed into them rapidly.
But the disguise wasn't perfect.
Ethan's body was small and lean, while the terrorist's clothing was much larger. The loose fabric hung awkwardly on his frame, making him look strange.
He hurriedly layered several extra pieces of clothing underneath to bulk up his figure.
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to avoid suspicion at a glance.
Afterward, Ethan dragged the bodies aside and hid them as best he could.
Then he wrapped a scarf tightly around the lower half of his face, concealing most of his features.
Finally, gripping the rifle firmly, he ran toward the town center.
---
At the same time, far away in a high-tech laboratory, another urgent situation was unfolding.
Tony Stark and Deadpool exchanged a glance.
"Jarvis," Tony said quickly, "how's the paint job on the armor?"
Jarvis responded immediately.
"Sir, the painting is mostly complete. Final color adjustments are still pending."
Tony didn't hesitate.
"Stop painting. Prepare the armor for immediate deployment."
"Yes, sir."
Tony turned toward Deadpool.
"Can your body handle supersonic flight?"
Deadpool stared back at him sideways.
"What do you think? Do I look like a five-foot-three metal skeleton?"
He couldn't die, sure.
But that didn't mean his bones could withstand the brutal stress of supersonic acceleration.
If Tony launched him at that speed, Deadpool suspected he would simply fall apart halfway through the flight.
Pieces of him would scatter across the ocean.
"And then I'd end up floating in the Pacific somewhere," Deadpool added.
"Logan would be better suited for that kind of thing. His adamantium skeleton could survive it."
Tony sighed.
"What about the Mark II armor?"
Deadpool asked.
Tony rubbed his forehead.
"That one broke during the last test."
"We've been focusing on building Mark III this entire time. I haven't had the chance to repair it yet."
Deadpool clicked his tongue dramatically.
"Typical Tony Stark."
"A fickle man!"
"I spit on you!"
Tony stared at him blankly.
So what if he was fickle?
The entire United States already knew Tony Stark was fickle.
"Maybe I should just go myself," Deadpool muttered.
Just then, a phone rang.
Deadpool snatched it instantly.
But the voice on the other end wasn't Ethan.
Instead, a calm female voice spoke.
"I imagine you need a vehicle capable of supersonic long-distance flight right now?"
Deadpool relaxed immediately.
"Natasha!"
He grinned.
"Right now I'd value that more than the last two digits of Beatrice's phone number!"
"Isn't that supposed to be your greatest treasure?" Natasha asked.
Deadpool chuckled.
"Not anymore."
"You are."
"Where are you?" he asked.
On the other end of the line, Natasha smiled faintly.
"Rooftop."
"Landing now."
After receiving reports of a terrorist attack in Comilla, Natasha had immediately realized the situation might involve Tony Stark and Deadpool.
Helping them now would strengthen S.H.I.E.L.D.'s relationship with Tony, while also allowing her to observe their combat abilities firsthand.
It was a perfect opportunity.
"God," Deadpool said dramatically, "I've never loved a woman so much!"
He sprinted toward the rooftop while quickly changing into his Deadpool uniform.
Meanwhile, inside the lab, Tony stood motionless as multiple robotic arms moved into place around him.
Piece by piece, the Mark III armor began assembling itself around his body.
---
When Deadpool reached the rooftop, it looked completely empty.
But he didn't doubt Natasha.
Sure enough, the air suddenly distorted.
Light twisted and bent strangely.
And then—
A sleek, futuristic fighter jet appeared out of thin air.
A Quinjet.
One of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced aircraft.
It could hover, take off vertically, achieve optical stealth, and fly at supersonic speed.
The cabin door opened instantly.
Deadpool jumped inside without hesitation.
Natasha didn't waste time talking.
She pressed the takeoff control and pushed the flight stick forward.
The Quinjet's turbines roared to life.
Wind blasted outward across the rooftop as the aircraft lifted into the air.
Blue flames erupted from the engines.
Then the jet shot forward like an arrow.
A sonic boom cloud formed behind it as it vanished into the sky above Los Angeles.
---
Inside the cockpit, Deadpool tilted his head and stared at Natasha.
"So you've been spying on me this whole time, haven't you?"
Natasha answered calmly.
"No."
Deadpool leaned closer.
"If you weren't watching me, how did you know I needed help?"
"I received reports of the terrorist attack and made a logical deduction."
Deadpool pointed dramatically.
"Liar!"
"A woman's mouth is a lying ghost!"
"You were totally peeping on me!"
Natasha sighed.
"Occasionally," she admitted.
"We call it observation."
"Or surveillance."
"Not 'peeping.'"
Deadpool crossed his arms.
"If you didn't ask for my permission, it's peeping."
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"You don't seem angry."
"Of course not," Deadpool replied.
"Knowing someone might be watching me shower, watch TV, sleep, and go to the bathroom is kind of exciting."
Natasha's eyes widened.
Deadpool continued enthusiastically.
"Do your reports include details like how long I spend in the shower? What time I wake up? Whether I have morning—"
"Shut up, pervert!"
Natasha snapped instantly.
"I'm not as disgusting as you!"
Deadpool shook his head sadly.
"What a terrible world."
"I'm being called a pervert by someone spying on me."
Natasha refused to respond.
Finally, Deadpool spoke again.
"Anyway, thank you for helping me today."
"I'm really touched."
"The last time I was this touched was when I went to the bathroom without toilet paper and the guy in the next stall shared his last sheet with me."
"At that moment I thought…"
"Wow. What an angel."
Deadpool looked at Natasha dramatically.
"Now I've met another angel who shares toilet paper."
"Oh God, thank you for giving me two toilet paper angels!"
Natasha stared at him with a completely exhausted expression.
"…You can just keep the first sentence," she said flatly.
"The one where you thanked me."
Deadpool shook his head.
"What a greedy woman."
"I already thanked you, and you still want to be happy."
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