Drip… Drip… Drip…
A sharp alarm suddenly rang through the cockpit of the Quinjet.
The sound was piercing and urgent, instantly cutting through the steady hum of the aircraft's engines.
Natasha Romanoff frowned slightly and glanced down at the radar display in front of her. A red signal blinked rapidly on the screen, showing that a flying unit was approaching the Quinjet at extremely high speed from behind.
The distance between them was shrinking rapidly.
Whoever it was, they were moving fast.
---
Meanwhile, far behind the Quinjet in the open sky, Tony Stark was flying at supersonic speed.
Encased in the sleek Mark III armor, Tony cut through the clouds like a missile. A visible sonic boom skirt trailed behind him as he accelerated.
When he spotted the unfamiliar aircraft ahead, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Jarvis," Tony said calmly over the internal communication channel, "what model of aircraft is that?"
The jet looked unfamiliar.
Tony knew most modern aircraft designs, especially the experimental ones used by the military. But the machine ahead of him didn't match anything in his database.
"Sir," Jarvis replied after a brief pause, "no records match this aircraft's structure."
"It may be a new research prototype from certain countries… or organizations."
There was a short pause.
Then Jarvis added cheerfully:
"…meow~"
Tony froze.
"…What?"
He blinked inside the helmet.
Tony immediately looked at the holographic interface projected inside his visor.
Jarvis's avatar appeared exactly as usual—his standard male robotic assistant interface.
Nothing looked different.
Tony frowned slightly.
"…Did Jarvis just meow?"
He rubbed his temple.
Maybe it was just the pressure from supersonic flight messing with his hearing.
Yes.
That had to be it.
After all, Jarvis was extremely obedient. There was no way his AI assistant would suddenly start making cat noises.
Tony shook off the strange moment.
"Alright," he said, focusing again.
The thrusters on his armor suddenly glowed brighter.
His speed increased instantly.
Within seconds, Tony surged forward and pulled up alongside the mysterious aircraft.
---
Inside the Quinjet cockpit, Natasha noticed the rapidly approaching signal.
Her expression shifted slightly.
"Jarvis," Tony said inside his suit, "request communication with the aircraft."
"Request submitted, sir."
Tony relaxed a little.
Good.
No more strange "meow" sounds.
It must have been an auditory hallucination after all.
Meanwhile, inside Stark's AI system, Jarvis silently felt relieved.
Tony hadn't scolded him.
Apparently Mr. Wade had been right.
Tony Stark simply needed time to adjust to Deadpool's chaotic influence.
---
Moments later, the communication channel connected.
Tony's voice came through the Quinjet cockpit speakers.
"Hey there, beautiful," he said casually.
"Illegal invasion of airspace is a serious offense."
"Especially when you're flying a pretty little bird I've never seen before."
Tony still couldn't see who was piloting the jet.
But Deadpool had mentioned earlier that a woman was coming to pick him up.
Tony continued smoothly.
"How about we grab a drink after the mission?"
"Maybe we can also discuss the ownership of this nice little jet."
Deadpool immediately interrupted over the channel.
"I thought you were going to say you had a prettier little bird you wanted to show her."
Tony replied without hesitation.
"That would be a big bird."
Natasha's lips twitched slightly.
She didn't respond.
Instead, she pushed the control stick forward aggressively.
The Quinjet's engines roared louder as the aircraft accelerated to its maximum speed.
"Whoa!" Tony laughed.
"Someone's got a temper."
He immediately boosted his own thrusters and followed.
---
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the small desert town…
Ethan had already reached the town center.
Thanks to the terrorist clothing he had stolen earlier, he managed to blend into the crowd of armed men surrounding the square.
Even so, his heart was pounding violently in his chest.
The town square had turned into a scene of pure terror.
More and more residents were being forced into the open area.
Fear spread through the crowd like thick fog.
Children cried quietly.
Women sobbed softly.
Men stood stiffly, trying to hide their panic.
The sounds of gun bolts being pulled back, terrorists shouting orders, and frightened whispers merged into a suffocating atmosphere of despair.
The town itself wasn't large, but it still had tens of thousands of residents.
Not everyone had obeyed the broadcast announcement immediately.
So the terrorists had spent hours searching the entire town.
During the searches, they confiscated valuables from homes and threw them onto transport trucks.
Gold.
Money.
Jewelry.
Electronics.
Anything of value.
Of course, it was obvious to everyone that looting was their real objective.
Finding someone was just an excuse.
---
Hours passed slowly.
The sun sank below the horizon.
Darkness covered the desert.
Large spotlights were erected around the square, flooding the area with harsh white light.
Finally, one of the terrorists approached their leader.
"Boss… it's about time."
The leader of the group was a man named James.
He casually swallowed the last bite of the snack he had been eating.
Then he grabbed a megaphone and stepped forward.
"Everyone," James said loudly.
"Relax. Don't panic."
His tone sounded almost friendly.
"We're just looking for one person."
"Just one."
"If you hand him over, we'll leave immediately."
"And we won't hurt anyone."
Then James waved his hand toward his subordinates.
"Scatter."
Immediately, several terrorists stepped forward carrying baskets filled with photographs.
They began throwing the photos into the crowd.
Pictures scattered across the ground like falling leaves.
"Pick them up!"
"Look carefully at the person in the photo!"
"If you've seen him recently, come tell us!"
James smiled coldly.
"The first person who helps us find him will receive…"
"Ten thousand U.S. dollars."
The crowd stirred.
Ten thousand dollars.
For a remote town destroyed by war, that amount was life-changing money.
But the excitement quickly faded.
Everyone understood something.
That money was blood money.
Anyone who accepted it would likely die soon afterward.
Still, under the terrorists' watchful guns, the townspeople slowly bent down and picked up the photographs.
---
As the photos were scattered, the wind carried several of them away.
One photograph fluttered through the air.
Then landed directly at Ethan's feet.
Face up.
Ethan looked down.
His fists clenched tightly.
The photograph showed his own face.
---
When no one stepped forward after several minutes, James grew impatient.
He raised the megaphone again.
"I'm not a violent person," he announced coldly.
"But you're forcing my hand."
He looked around slowly.
"Huo Ethan."
"I know you're in this town."
"And I know some of you must know him."
He raised a single finger.
"One minute."
"Starting now, every minute that passes…"
"I will kill one person."
"Until he appears."
---
A small boy was suddenly dragged away from his mother.
The child screamed as he was pulled toward James.
His mother wailed desperately, trying to reach him.
James smiled cruelly.
"Children represent the future."
"And I love crushing hope."
He pointed the gun casually at the child's head.
"Remember."
"You only have one minute."
"The next child might be yours."
Then he began counting.
"60…"
"59…"
"58…"
---
The square fell into complete despair.
Inside the line of terrorists, Ethan clenched his fists tightly.
Each second felt heavier than the last.
"10…"
"9…"
"8…"
His breathing grew shaky.
"3…"
"2…"
---
Suddenly…
Ethan stepped forward.
His fists loosened.
His voice trembled slightly.
"Let the boy go."
"I'm here."
---
All eyes turned toward him instantly.
Ethan slowly removed the scarf covering his face.
His thin, exhausted features were revealed under the harsh spotlight.
But the townspeople didn't feel relief.
Instead, they felt deep sadness.
They had seen this situation many times.
Even if Ethan surrendered…
The terrorists would still do whatever they wanted.
---
James smiled triumphantly.
He released the child.
The little boy ran back to his mother crying.
Then James turned back to Ethan.
"You caused us a lot of trouble," he said calmly.
His gaze moved downward.
"Nice clothes."
Ethan forced a weak smile.
"They're a little big."
The townspeople began fleeing the square as the terrorists allowed them to leave.
Once the civilians were gone, Ethan slowly lowered the pistol he was holding.
He had done everything he could.
If he attacked or committed suicide, the terrorists would simply massacre everyone.
James watched him closely.
"How many of my men did you kill?"
Ethan answered honestly.
"Four."
James raised his gun calmly.
The muzzle pointed directly at Ethan's leg.
Without hesitation—
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
---
But the expected pain never came.
Instead—
Boom!
Boom!
Two heavy impacts slammed into the ground beside Ethan.
A gust of wind rushed across his face.
Confused, Ethan slowly opened his eyes.
Two figures stood beside him.
One in front.
One behind.
One suit of armor was gold and red.
The other was black and red.
--------------------------------------------------
100+ chapters available in patreon🔥🔥🔥🔥
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31
----------------------------------------------------- .