Chapter 451: Prisons Are For Getting Out OfAs the resident humanitarian of the Avengers, Hank Pym made regular visits to the Raft. He believed in psychological counseling for the inmates. Today was no exception. He stood in a reinforced observation booth, reviewing the file of the supervillain known as the Red Ghost.
The Red Ghost was severely delusional. Following the highly publicized success of the Fantastic Four, Ivan Kragoff had inexplicably convinced himself that Reed Richards had plagiarized his life's work. Kragoff claimed hewas supposed to be Mister Fantastic. To prove it, he designed a hideous green spacecraft, loaded three trained primates into the cockpit, and launched himself into a cosmic ray storm.
Against all biological logic, he and his monkeys survived. They mutated, gained superpowers, and immediately launched a deranged revenge crusade against the Baxter Building. They failed, naturally, and Richards had them shipped to the Raft.
"Mister Kragoff," Pym said, pressing the intercom button while an Ultron sentry hovered nearby, scanning the prisoner. "I've been reviewing your cognitive baselines. There is a significant, measurable decline in your scientific retention. You're losing your technical knowledge."
Pym frowned at the readouts. "Can you explain why this is happening?"
Kragoff grabbed the reinforced glass with both hands. "For absolutely no reason, Pym! Hahaha!"
Pym sighed, released the intercom button, and walked away.
As he moved down the cell block, Pym noticed a shift in the atmosphere. The prisoners were restless. They were pacing, muttering, tracking the Ultron sentries with predatory focus. Pym pulled out his Starkpad, tapped into the Ultron network's acoustic surveillance algorithms, and traced the anomaly to its source.
The behavioral disruptions were all radiating outward from one specific inmate: the tech-thief who called himself the Wizard, Bentley Wittman.
Pym stopped in front of Wittman's cell.
Inside, the young, arrogant prisoner was casually dragging a piece of white chalk across the concrete wall, working through a complex fluid dynamics equation.
"Mister Wittman," Pym said, his voice flat. "We need to talk."
Wittman didn't flinch. He didn't even turn around. He just finished a calculus bracket. "What seems to be the problem, Dr. Pym?"
"I'm looking at the acoustic logs," Pym said, crossing his arms. "Why are you actively communicating with the other inmates through the ventilation grates? Why are you agitating them? Do you fundamentally misunderstand the purpose of this facility? The ultimate goal here is rehabilitation. We are trying to reintegrate you into society."
Wittman stopped writing. He slowly turned around. A cold, mocking smile stretched across his young face.
"Reintegrate into society?" Wittman chuckled. "That is your first, catastrophic miscalculation. Look around you, Doctor. How many of the monsters in these cages are capable of returning to a normal life? Hmm? You vastly overestimate human nature."
Wittman stepped closer to the glass. "Honestly, it makes me question your reputation as a supposed genius. Especially after seeing the structural reality of this prison."
Pym narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"You locked the most dangerous predators on the planet inside a single pressurized tin can, sank it to the bottom of the Atlantic, and called it the perfect cage." Wittman tapped his chalk against his leg. "And perhaps it is. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. But every closed thermodynamic system has a breaking point. Under enough pressure, the vessel inevitably shatters."
"You think you can escape?" Pym scoffed. "Impossible. The math doesn't support it."
"We don't need to escape, Dr. Pym," Wittman said softly. "We just needed to wait."
Wittman stepped to the side.
Pym's eyes fell on the wall behind the prisoner. Beneath the complex equations, Wittman had written four words in massive, bold chalk letters.
Today is the day.
A deafening, mechanical groan echoed through the steel bulkheads.
In a single instant, the Raft plunged into absolute darkness.
High above the submersible prison, Max Dillon floated in the freezing ocean currents. Electro.
Everyone believed Electro had died in the catastrophic fallout of the Genosha crisis. They were wrong. Doctor Otto Octavius had recovered his scattered, living-plasma remains, stored them in a specialized containment tank, and painstakingly revived him.
Otto hadn't saved Dillon out of charity. First, Peter Parker had defeated Electro before Dillon could fully master his plasma state. Otto knew Dillon's raw power ceiling was astronomical, making him the perfect heavy-hitter for his developing Sinister Six. Second, breaking into the most heavily fortified black-site prison on Earth required a very specific skeleton key.
It required a being capable of absorbing virtually limitless amounts of electrical energy.
Electro smiled, his body erupting into blinding blue light. He slammed his hands against the Raft's external power conduits. He didn't just overload the system; he drank it.
He ripped the electrical current straight out of the Raft's twelve redundant arc reactors.
Inside the prison, Tony Stark's prized energy cages sputtered and died. The massive titanium blast doors, designed to slam shut during an emergency lockdown, froze in their tracks without power. The hovering Ultron sentries dropped from the air like dead weights, their optical sensors fading to black.
Pym reacted instantly. The moment the lights cut out, he slapped the regulator on his belt. Pym Particles flooded his suit. He shrank to the size of an ant, diving through the ventilation mesh into Wittman's cell, intending to knock the instigator unconscious before the riot could start.
A blinding arc of stray, ambient electricity from Dillon's external drain suddenly ripped through the cell block.
The current caught Pym mid-leap. The shockwave slammed him brutally into the concrete wall.
Pym groaned, struggling to stand at half-inch height as the sparking electrical fires illuminated the cell.
Otto Octavius looked down at the tiny hero. "I want you to fully understand the scope of your failure, Dr. Pym. You aren't just dealing with a few restless inmates."
Otto smiled. "You are dealing with all of them."
Pym didn't waste time arguing. He scrambled backward, diving into a micro-fissure in the baseboards and slipping away into the prison's structural framework to survive.
Otto turned his attention to the cell door. Electro drifted down the corridor, his body crackling with excess voltage. He ripped the heavy steel doors off their hinges with a casual wave of his hand.
"Where is my equipment?" Otto demanded, stepping out of the cell.
"Right here, Doctor," Electro buzzed, dragging a heavy, magnetically sealed evidence crate behind him.
Otto kicked the crate open. Inside lay his original titanium tentacles, heavily modified and interwoven with the dormant, reanimated symbiote tissue of the Grendel dragon.
Otto stripped off his orange prison shirt. He turned his back to the harness. The mechanical claws snapped to life, their neural-interface needles driving violently into the cloned spine of his new body. Otto gasped, his muscles arching as the neural handshake completed. The titanium arms hoisted him off the floor, stabilizing his failing motor functions.
Doctor Octopus had officially returned.
"Pilot the Raft toward the nearest coastline, Max," Otto commanded, his metallic tentacles flexing in the dark. "We are going to dump every inmate in this facility onto the mainland. Give the Avengers a city-wide catastrophe to keep them busy."
Otto reached into the crate, retrieving a few specialized tools. "And turn the emergency lights on. I have a few friends to collect."
With the power grid dead, the cell blocks dissolved into total anarchy. Inmates poured into the corridors. Otto ignored the riot, using his tentacles to walk along the ceiling, navigating directly toward the maximum-security isolation wing.
He ripped the reinforced door off a specific cell.
Mac Gargan sat inside, confined to a medical wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.
Otto stepped inside, holding a custom-fabricated cybernetic spinal column. He didn't ask for permission. He drove the artificial spine directly into Gargan's ruined back, fusing the cybernetics to his nervous system.
Gargan let out a raw, agonizing howl. His hands gripped the armrests of the wheelchair. The metal crumpled under his grip.
Slowly, Gargan stood up.
"Doctor Octavius," Gargan grunted, rolling his shoulders as the artificial spine whirred. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed, Gargan," Otto replied coldly. "Honestly, if you hadn't already undergone the Scorpion genetic modifications, I would have left you to rot."
Gargan's lips peeled back in a feral, hateful grin. "Spider-Man. I dream about him. He and that blonde telepath scrambled my brains and took my legs."
"Spider-Man is an obstacle to all of us," Otto said, his mechanical arms lowering him back to the floor. "Which is precisely why I am assembling a specialized roster. We will dismantle him together."
Gargan cracked his neck. "We? Who else is on the payroll?"
"You will meet them shortly," Otto said, turning toward the corridor. "Welcome to the Sinister Six."
Chapter 452: Witness the Sinister SixDoctor Otto Octavius did not waste time. His mechanical tentacles carried him swiftly down the darkened cell block.
He stopped in front of Aleksei Sytsevich's reinforced door. The massive Russian sat motionless in the dark, staring at the floor. He slowly raised his head.
"Doctor Octavius," Aleksei rumbled. "They said you were dead."
"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, Aleksei," Otto replied smoothly. "I am alive. I am younger. And I am revitalized."
Otto stepped closer to the glass. "I am assembling a team. We are going to crush Norman Osborn. We are going to destroy his empire. And we are going to eliminate our single greatest shared obstacle: Spider-Man."
Aleksei stared at him. He didn't move a muscle. He clearly had no interest in petty vendettas.
"I anticipated your reluctance," Otto said, tapping a titanium claw against the floor. "I have been reviewing Oksana's medical files. I have formulated a cure for your wife's illness. Furthermore, once Spider-Man is dead, I will surgically remove your permanently bonded bionic armor. Not even Tony Stark could figure out how to do that."
Aleksei leaned forward. "You cure Oksana first. Then I pay my debt. Yes?"
"It is a deal, Aleksei."
Otto moved to the next cell. The Rhino required no special equipment. Aleksei simply stood up and rammed his shoulder through the reinforced concrete wall.
Dust cleared. The adjacent cell held a specialized physical barrier. Rhino smashed through that, too.
A mountain of dry sand poured out from the fractured containment unit. It swirled upward. The granules locked together, forming the face and torso of Flint Marko.
"Mister Baker," Otto said, using the Sandman's real name. "Your talents are incredibly versatile. Would you care to join an enterprise dedicated to killing Spider-Man?"
Marko frowned. "Spider-Man broke the Hydra death curse binding my soul. I don't owe him a grave. I have no reason to fight him."
"You have an excellent reason," Otto countered. "You are a highly publicized, former Hydra operative. If you leave this prison today, society will never accept you. You cannot secure legitimate employment. You will spend the rest of your life hunted. Join me, and I will pay you an obscene amount of money."
Marko fell silent. His sandy brow furrowed. He slowly narrowed his eyes.
A few minutes later, Otto's growing procession reached the isolation block.
Total chaos reigned in the corridor. Escaped inmates were actively brawling in the dark.
Herman Schultz stood in front of Quentin Beck's cell door. The Shocker had pried open a destroyed Ultron sentry. He had ripped the repulsor emitters out of its chest cavity. He had jury-rigged a crude, handheld shockwave transmitter to blow Beck's lock.
Herman turned around. He spotted Otto.
"Otto?" Herman scowled. "Word on the street was you died."
"I am perfectly well," Otto said. "Prepare yourself, Herman. Your opportunity is arriving."
Herman didn't hesitate. He raised his improvised shockwave transmitter. He aimed it dead at Otto's chest.
Otto didn't blink. A titanium tentacle lashed forward like a whip. It slapped Herman across the chest. Herman flew backward. He slammed into the steel bulkhead and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Otto sighed. "There are actually people who believe Hank Pym's rehabilitation nonsense. How pathetic."
Inside the cell, Quentin Beck crouched in the corner. He clutched his head. He trembled violently.
Otto gestured with a claw. Sandman flowed through the broken door. Marko grabbed Beck's wrists. He forcibly pried the illusionist's hands away from his face.
Otto stepped inside. He produced a newly fabricated light-particle controller. It was a sleek, domed helmet. He lowered it firmly over Beck's head.
"Listen to me, Quentin," Otto whispered. "Spider-Man never actually removed his mask in the dark. He played you. He used basic psychology to shatter your confidence."
Beck's trembling slowed. "Perhaps you are right, Doctor Octavius."
The projector hummed to life. A holographic suit of armor rippled over Beck's orange jumpsuit. Swirling green mist flooded the cell floor.
When Beck spoke again, the terror was gone. Mysterio's theatrical, booming voice echoed through the mist.
"This time, Mysterio will not be a fool."
High above the Atlantic, Peter Parker tapped his earpiece frantically.
The Avengers' comms channel was pure chaos. Hank Pym's Ultron program had just finished decrypting a massive data cache. Advanced Idea Mechanics completely controlled the U.S. Avengers' tactical equipment. The U.S. Avengers were currently providing a security detail for President Ellis at a public event. Intelligence flagged an imminent Ten Rings assassination attempt on the President.
Captain America immediately mobilized the core Avengers roster to intercept A.I.M.
Then the news alerts hit. Terrorist attack helicopters were actively bombing Tony Stark's Malibu mansion.
Then Kitty Pryde checked in. The X-Men had located Senator Kelly in Washington. Mystique's Brotherhood of Mutants was actively assaulting his rally.
Then, the Raft's biometric data feed flatlined.
Total blackout.
Peter didn't waste time. He sent a priority distress signal to the Fantastic Four. He raised his hands. He concentrated. He channeled his magic and sparked his Sling Ring.
A circular portal of golden sparks tore open the air.
Peter stepped through. He brought Pietro and Wanda Maximoff with him. Magneto had authorized their deployment on the strict condition of absolute caution. Beside them, Kitty Pryde stepped through a secondary portal, vectoring back to Washington to secure Senator Kelly.
Peter, Wanda, and Pietro materialized inside the Raft.
Emergency sirens wailed. Red strobe lights cut through the dark. Inmates rioted in the corridors.
"Keep your guard up—" Peter started.
A sonic boom cracked the air. Pietro vanished in a silver blur.
Peter dropped his shoulders. He looked at Wanda. "Be careful out there, Wanda. See if you can locate Hank and Janet. I'll sweep the lower levels."
"Watch your own back, Spider-Man," Wanda warned. Crimson energy flared around her fingers. She drifted down the adjacent corridor.
Peter pressed forward alone. He raised his hands. He wove a quick incantation. He cast a localized mystic amplification spell, supercharging his Spider-Sense to sweep for invisible threats.
Nothing. No precognitive flashes. Just dead silence.
Why didn't I catch a glimpse of the future?Peter thought. There is literally nothing around me—
Air pressure violently shifted.
Peter crossed his forearms over his chest.
A concussive blast slammed into his guard. Peter flew backward. He twisted mid-air. He landed in a crouched slide against the concrete floor.
He channeled his bio-electricity. Golden sparks danced across his knuckles.
Then, the sparks died. The electrical current vanished completely.
Three figures stepped out of thin air. A holographic cloaking field dropped away.
Mysterio hovered on the left. Mac Gargan stood in the center. Gargan's legs hung limp and useless, dragging across the concrete. A massive cybernetic tail sprouted from a heavy spinal brace, lifting his paralyzed body entirely off the floor.
And on the right stood Max Dillon. Electro.
"Max?" Peter gasped. "How did you even survive?"
"Surprised, bug?" Electro crackles with blinding blue voltage. "You're gonna be a lot more surprised in a second!"
Peter's Spider-Sense finally screamed. The warning didn't originate from a single direction. It blared from everywhere at once.
Peter planted his hands to backflip away. His feet didn't move.
Thick, shifting sand clamped over his boots. It rapidly climbed his calves.
"Sandman?" Peter groaned, straining against the grip. "Seriously? I literally lifted your death curse. You're welcome, by the way."
Flint Marko rose from the steel floor behind him. Sand hardened like concrete around Peter's limbs.
"Sorry, Spider-Man," Marko muttered. "I thought about it. I'm just not cut out for the civilian life. Nothing personal."
A deafening roar rattled the cell block.
Aleksei Sytsevich charged out of the shadows. The Rhino lowered his horn. He plowed straight through Sandman's torso.
The sand shattered. Peter broke free. He launched himself into the air. He grabbed onto the Rhino's massive, armored neck to stay off the ground.
He tried to stick his fingers to the ceiling. His wall-crawling failed. Electro had completely drained his ambient bio-electric charge.
Peter kicked off the Rhino's chest. He landed on the floor with a clean backflip.
"What is this?" Peter quipped, shaking out his numb hands. "The Losers' League? Who is running this circus? If I knew we were doing team-ups today, I would have worn the black suit."
"You really should have brought the symbiote, Spider-Man."
The voice was cold. Familiar.
Four titanium tentacles snaked out of the darkness. The metallic claws dug into the concrete walls, hoisting a man into the flickering red light. He wore green-tinted goggles.
Peter froze. His jaw dropped behind his mask.
"DOC OCK?" Peter breathed. "You're still alive?"
Chapter 453 First Battle Against the Sinister SixDoctor Otto didn't pull names out of a hat when he built the Sinister Six. Every single slot was calculated.
Electro wasn't just the heavy artillery; he was a walking generator with an area-of-effect discharge that could strip an ecosystem of voltage. Since Spider-Man's wall-crawling adhesion and bio-electric stuns relied on his nervous system's internal current, having Dillon on the field meant Spider-Man was suddenly running on empty.
The Scorpion filled a very specific, nasty niche. Scorpions are the evolutionary predators of spiders. Simply having Mac Gargan on the board was enough to dial Spider-Man's precognitive Spider-Sense back from a hyper-aware radar down to a sluggish, basic survival reflex. Of course, Spider-Man had spent the last year sharpening his instincts past that handicap, but it still forced him to fight blind in the margins.
With those two neutralizing Spider-Man's core advantages, Mysterio stepped in to shatter his perception. Beck didn't need to win a slugfest; he just had to scramble Spider-Man's spatial awareness so hard that every punch landed on empty air.
And that wasn't even the final layer.
The Sandman operated as a living anchor. Flint Marko didn't need to be flashy. He just needed one opening to turn himself into a ton of wet concrete, trapping Spider-Man's limbs against the floor. Once the Spider-Man was pinned, the fight was functionally over.
Finally, the Rhino was the sledgehammer. Unstoppable momentum, designed to turn Spider-Man's ribs into dust. If the first charge didn't finish the job, Alexei would simply turn around and plow through him again.
With Doctor Octavius steering the operation, the Sinister Six was a precision instrument built for one specific purpose: the execution of Spider-Man.
Individually, none of them could clear the gap. But combined, they stripped away Spider-Man's tricks layer by layer, forcing him into a corner where raw stats were supposed to win the day.
So far, the chess moves had been flawless. Every gear had meshed. And yet, here they were, utterly failing to put the kid down for the count.
It was genuinely humiliating.
From Spider-Man's perspective, the six guys currently trying to cave his skull in fell into distinct categories. Electro and Scorpion were unrepentant thugs. Otto was a bitter criminal mastermind playing out a personal grudge. Marko was a mercenary with zero moral compass, entirely transactional. Mysterio was a theatrical lunatic hiding behind a helmet. And the Rhino... well, Alexei's exact reasons for joining the payroll were still murky.
Mysterio's easy enough to deal with if I just pull his bowl off, Peter thought, backflipping off a structural pillar as a slab of concrete whizzed past his ear. The Rhino's basically a walking tank with a loyalty card. But the other four? No holding back.
"So, what is this, a Halloween reunion?" Peter quipped, his voice tight as he ducked under a swinging titanium tentacle. "Two guys who were supposed to be pushing up daisies showing up uninvited? What's next?"
He twisted mid-air, avoiding a bolt of blue plasma that melted the floor tiles where he had been standing a second ago. He locked eyes with the scientist hovering on metallic legs.
"So, Otto, you finally bit the bullet and upgraded to a clone chassis? Very Silicon Valley of you."
Otto adjusted his goggles, a thin, humourless smile stretching across his lips. He gestured for the rest of the team to tighten the net. "Your time with Osborn has taught you how to dig through classified files, Spider-Man. But it won't save your skin. You're completely outmatched here. We're going to bury you in this vault."
"Appreciate the thought, Doc, but I've got a tight schedule! Plus, I really don't plan on dying at the hands of a recycled boy band!"
Peter launched himself off the wall, but a wall of heavy sand slammed into his path, forcing him to twist sideways. Even with his magical training and the subtle, hard-won resilience of his modified biology, the sheer volume of restrictions they were throwing at him was staggering.
Otto had crunched the numbers, but he was still underestimating what a Spider-Totem could pull out of its back pocket when pushed.
With a muttered incantation, Peter flicked his wrist. A shimmering, golden runic shield flared to life around his torso, hardening into a mystical barrier that instantly vaporized the incoming sand grains before they could latch onto his suit. At the same time, a sharp pulse of localized magic cleared the static from his optical nerves, burning right through Mysterio's complex light projections.
Mysterio stumbled back, clutching his fishbowl helmet with a strangled gasp. "No! That's impossible! The light spectrum is absolute!"
Peter didn't give him a breathing window. He dropped low, sweeping his leg to catch the Scorpion across his artificial spine. Gargan shrieked as the mechanical tail thrashed wildly.
"You know, Marko," Peter panted, ducking a massive, grey fist from the Rhino while jabbing an elbow into Sandman's shifting shoulder, "you're a mercenary working for a shadow Nazi cult. Did you really think they were going to give you a pension plan?"
Marko grunted, his sandy torso reforming with a wet, heavy sound. "Shut up, bug."
"And you, Gargan! Your tail looks like a kitchen appliance from the seventies!"
Stripped of his bio-electricity and running on a dulled Spider-Sense, Peter was still dismantling them through sheer, bloody-minded improvisation. He ducked under a clumsy swing from the Scorpion, drove a heavy right hook straight into Gargan's jaw, and spun on his heel to close the distance on Mysterio.
He reached out, his fingers hooking into the rim of the glass dome. "Come on, Quentin, let's see what you actually look like!"
"No! I won't let you gaslight me again!" Mysterio wailed, thrashing blindly.
Peter paused, genuinely bewildered by the panic in the illusionist's voice. "Gaslight you? What are you even talking about? I don't even own a gas stove!"
Off to the side, Doctor Octavius stood on his tentacles, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the wreckage of their formation. He hadn't joined the fray directly, preferring to observe the variables.
My initial assessment holds, Otto thought, his metallic claws digging into the concrete. The kid is adapting too fast. Standard supervillain equipment isn't enough to put him down. We need a fundamental paradigm shift. The Sinister Six, in its current iteration... is simply obsolete.
Of course, there was one glaring exception on the field who wasn't struggling at all.
"Hey, Spider-Man!" Electro roared, his entire body flaring into a blinding pillar of white-hot current. "Let's see how smart you feel when I fry your nervous system!"
A massive surge of electricity washed over the corridor. Peter dropped to one knee, his muscles locking up as the voltage overrode his motor functions.
Before he could push through the shockwave, a low, metallic groan echoed from the deep foundations of the Raft.
It wasn't a sound from the cell blocks. It was structural.
Suddenly, the floor beneath them shuddered violently. A deafening grinding noise drowned out the hum of Electro's plasma. From every corner of the submersible prison, massive, reinforced steel bulkheads began to buckle, warping inward as if an invisible, incomprehensible weight was crushing the entire facility from the inside out.
The Raft's external momentum abruptly died. The multi-ton fortress ground to a dead, catastrophic halt in the middle of the Atlantic currents.
"What's happening, Dillon?!" Otto roared, his mechanical arms whipping around as he fought to keep his balance on the shifting floor. "Why did we stop? Move the prison! Dillon, get us moving!"
Electro dropped his hands, staring blankly at his glowing palms as the ambient energy flickered and died. He stumbled back, his voice thick with panic. "That's—that's impossible! All systems are pulling maximum draw! The grid is live, but the structure... the structure is expanding!"
"What do you mean it's expanding?!" Otto bellowed. "Then what the hell is that noise?!"
Peter didn't need Dillon to explain. A cold knot twisted in his stomach. He knew exactly what was happening.
There was a prison hidden inside the prison.
A Pym-shrunk containment mansion, tucked away in the deepest vault of the Raft. It was built specifically to house radioactive anomalies and existential threats like Baron Strucker—though Strucker was currently just an old man with broken legs, thanks to Silver Sable.
The mansion served a singular, terrifying automated function. It was the ultimate dead-man's switch.
If the Raft was ever completely compromised from the outside, and the Avengers failed to intercept the breach in time, the security protocols would automatically trigger. The shrunken facility would instantly revert to its original, colossal scale.
It wouldn't just break the prison. It would utterly obliterate it.
The Raft was about to cease being a submersible supermax and become a sinking, isolated tomb at the bottom of the ocean.
Chapter 454: What Do You Think the "A" on My Head Represents?!While the Raft drifted dead in the Atlantic currents, a blinding flash of repulsor light erupted from the cliffs of Malibu.
Tony Stark traded a few quick words with Pepper Potts, stepped off his balcony, and let his newest armor bleed over his skin. He shot into the sky.
Miles away, Aldrich Killian watched the live satellite feed from an A.I.M. attack helicopter. He leaned toward the monitor. Something was wrong with Stark's suit.
It carried the classic hot-rod red and gold plating, but the look was entirely alien. The chest housed a glowing, hexagonal arc reactor. The armor itself didn't look bolted together; the plating flowed and overlapped like metallic liquid, mimicking the musculature of the human body rather than a walking tank.
"Shoot him down," Killian ordered.
He knew a single gunship wouldn't drop Iron Man. He just wanted to gauge Stark's new baseline.
Tony didn't bother evading. The chopper fired an air-to-air sidewinder missile. Tony accelerated, intercepted the warhead mid-flight, caught the burning fuselage with both hands, and hurled it completely backward. It slammed through the helicopter's tail rotor and detonated.
Back in A.I.M. headquarters, a tactical analyst frantically tapped his console. "Boss, the proximity fuse didn't trip! The targeting radar didn't even paint a thermal signature! He's running completely cold!"
Killian frowned. He waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever upgrade he's running, leave him to the Super-Adaptoid. Ping the Mandarin. Tell him it's time to act."
High above the Pacific, Tony banked sharply east. "JARVIS, sit-rep."
"Spider-Man has breached the Raft," JARVIS reported smoothly. "However, I have lost all external telemetry. The facility is in total blackout. Ultron is completely unresponsive."
"Great. Let's see what we can multitask," Tony muttered, opening a secure channel. "Cap, talk to me."
Captain America was currently inbound to Pittsburgh. President Matthew Ellis was scheduled to deliver a highly publicized speech. Against all tactical logic, the White House had rejected Secret Service lockdown protocols. Instead, Ellis's "close advisors" had convinced him to use the military U.S. Avengers for security, specifically to project American strength against the Ten Rings terror threat.
"Tony, how about we just let the Mandarin bag him?" Tony asked, deadpan. "I feel like our President isn't going to learn anything about A.I.M. unless he spends a few hours zip-tied to a chair."
"We can't do that, Tony," Steve Rogers replied, his voice flat.
"Why? Because you're Captain America? Because protecting a guy actively funding our enemies feels weird no matter how you slice it."
Steve's tone hardened. "Because if Matthew Ellis dies today, it triggers the timeline that builds the Nimrod Sentinels. We let him die, the world ends."
"Pretty sure that apocalyptic future actually kicks off because I die, but sure, take the credit," Tony quipped. "When do you hit the ground?"
"We are landing at the venue now. What's the status on the Raft?"
"I forwarded the blackout data to the Baxter Building. Reed and the Fantastic Four are looking into it."
The Avengers' Quinjet touched down on the Pittsburgh tarmac. Steve marched down the ramp, his vibranium shield strapped to his forearm. Thor, T'Challa, and Bruce Banner flanked him.
They didn't make it ten yards.
Colonel James Rhodes, fully armored in War Machine plating, stepped into their path. A squad of U.S. Avengers personnel formed a blockade behind him.
Rhodey raised a gauntlet. "Sorry, Cap. You can't pass."
Steve stopped. He kept his posture relaxed, deliberately keeping his hands away from his shield. "We have highly classified intelligence regarding the President's safety, Colonel Rhodes."
Steve knew the tactical reality. The U.S. Avengers legally held jurisdiction. If the real Avengers forced their way in without hard proof, the media would frame it as a rogue paramilitary coup. It would make Ellis an easier target for A.I.M. Steve's plan was simple: establish a joint security perimeter and babysit Ellis until the threat passed.
But Rhodey didn't budge. "I'm sorry, Captain. We are responsible for the President's security today. The Avengers do not have clearance to enter the venue."
Steve let out a slow, heavy sigh. "Are you implying the Avengers are a security risk, Rhodey? Or do you honestly believe my team is incapable of protecting a single VIP? I am a soldier. We received actionable threat data, and we came to assist."
"The U.S. Avengers are sufficient to protect the President," Rhodey recited stiffly.
"What if they aren't?"
"You're doubting the capabilities of the U.S. military."
"I am ensuring perfection," Steve said, stepping closer. "You know exactly what happens if the Ten Rings make good on their broadcasted threat today. The fallout is catastrophic."
"Nothing will go wrong."
Steve stopped. His blue eyes swept the perimeter. He looked at the surrounding rooftops. He looked at the civilian entry gates. He looked at the lack of choke points.
"Really?" Steve's voice dropped an octave. "The speech starts in ten minutes. Where are your elevated reconnaissance posts? How many suspicious individuals have your scanners flagged? Why are your snipers not anchored on the high ground?"
Rhodey stared blankly through his visor. None of those protocols were in place. "The U.S. Avengers will take full responsibility for—"
"If bullets start flying into that crowd, are you going to take responsibility for the body bags?!" Steve roared, closing the distance and jabbing a heavy, leather-gloved finger against War Machine's chest plate.
"You greenhorns bypassed basic Secret Service screening! You haven't detained a single high-risk individual! You're letting thousands of unchecked civilians walk straight to the podium, and the only tactical action you've taken today is stopping the Avengers?!"
Steve stepped directly into Rhodey's personal space. He tapped the center of his blue cowl.
"Look at my head, Colonel! What do you think the 'A' on my head stands for?! France?!"
Rhodey actually flinched. He took a rigid step backward. "The... the Avengers will integrate with our operational grid. We need to establish proper firing lines."
"Thank you, Colonel," Steve said coldly.
Over the encrypted comms channel, Tony Stark burst out laughing. "Cap, I would pay a billion dollars for the live footage of you screaming at Pentagon brass."
"I don't care, Tony. Just get here," Steve said, power-walking toward the main stage. "Ultron's data was right. A.I.M. has completely compromised the U.S. Avengers' network. Rhodey isn't acting like himself."
Tony fell silent. He pulled up his orbital HUD. A live satellite feed showed the Raft belching thick black smoke into the Atlantic, while Carol Danvers hovered in the airspace above it, glowing with binary energy.
"This might get a little complicated, Cap," Tony muttered, pushing his thrusters to maximum. "I'll be there as fast as I can."
Chapter 455: A Surprise Attack on A.I.M.Carol Danvers hovered in the Pittsburgh airspace. Golden, concussive energy crackled around her fists. She scanned the perimeter for unauthorized bogeys. As the newly appointed aerial security lead for the U.S. Avengers, her orders were absolute: keep the skies clear for the President.
A sleek, red-and-gold streak blasted through the cloud cover.
"Hold it right there, Stark," Carol barked over the comms. She banked hard, cutting off his flight path. "What are you doing in my airspace?"
"Would you believe I'm just here to perform my civic duty?" Tony's voice filtered back smoothly. "Cap is already down there."
Carol narrowed her eyes. Her fists glowed brighter.
Tony didn't raise his gauntlets. His faceplate retracted with a sharp metallic hiss. He wasn't smiling. "A fully loaded Longbow Apache just leveled my Malibu living room. I want to ask the President exactly how a rogue gunship bypassed his shiny new security network."
Carol frowned. Her glowing fists dimmed slightly. "The President doesn't know anything about that. If you want answers, ditch the armor. The Secret Service won't stop Tony Stark in a tailored suit. If you're here to back up Cap, follow the chain of command."
Tony smirked. "Do I look like a chain-of-command kind of guy?"
He tapped his chest. "See you on the ground, Colonel."
Tony strolled into the convention hall wearing a crisp, dark suit. He didn't look like a man whose house had just exploded.
He scanned the room. The U.S. Avengers maintained a tight defensive perimeter around the stage. Jack of Hearts and Darkhawk flanked Steve Rogers. Miguel Santos stood near the Hulk. Ares leaned against a concrete pillar, chatting idly with Thor. The Super-Adaptoid—publicly branded by the Pentagon as Citizen V—stood at rigid attention.
Tony stopped in front of the War Machine armor.
"Hey, Rhodey," Tony said casually. "How's the new gig?"
The War Machine faceplate didn't move. A synthesized voice filtered through the external speakers. "Sorry, Tony. I am on official business. Step back."
Tony's eyes went cold. He found a folding chair and sat down.
This wasn't Rhodey.
A.I.M. controlled the U.S. Avengers' tech. They had hollowed out the War Machine armor. Rhodey was a hostage. Tony blew a bubble with his chewing gum. He pulled out his Starkpad. JARVIS highlighted thermal anomalies across the gathering crowd. Every third civilian glowed with unstable, localized heat signatures.
Extremis. Walking bombs. A.I.M. had rigged the entire room.
Tony tapped a mobile game on his screen. He waited.
Back at A.I.M. Headquarters, Killian's monitors suddenly flashed red.
"Boss! We have a catastrophic breach!" the analyst screamed.
Killian gripped the edge of his desk. A live feed showed a massive S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier dropping its optical camouflage directly over their roof. Nick Fury's Thunderbolts were fast-roping onto the facility.
"Activate the backup plan!" Killian roared. "Order the Mandarin to strike the venue immediately!"
He slammed a fist onto his keyboard. "Let S.H.I.E.L.D. tear this building apart! The Extremis labs aren't here! The Ten Rings foundries aren't here! James Rhodes isn't here! This facility is completely clean!"
"Sir," the analyst interrupted, his voice trembling. "The unauthorized military project. The Cosmic Cube containment lab. It's still active in sub-level four."
Killian's blood ran cold. "Get Griffin! Shut down the Cube labs right now!"
Tony pocketed his phone. The President hadn't taken the stage yet.
Tony casually walked back over to the War Machine armor.
"Hey, buddy," Tony said. "I've got a quick question."
"Sorry, Tony. I am on—"
Tony didn't let the synthesizer finish.
Liquid metal surged from his tailored sleeves. The nano-plating snapped into a rigid, gold-titanium gauntlet around his right forearm. Tony drove a brutal, rocket-propelled punch straight through the center of the War Machine chest plate.
Metal shrieked. Sparks showered the floor.
Carol Danvers ignited her fists. The Super-Adaptoid lunged forward.
Tony ripped his arm out of the chassis. He casually tossed the hollow, sparking War Machine armor straight into the charging Super-Adaptoid.
"It's completely empty," Tony announced to the room. "So where is Rhodey? Bleeding out in some A.I.M. basement?"
Carol froze. Her energy flared, but she held her ground.
Before anyone could react, a massive digital screech echoed through the hall.
Darkhawk's armor locked up. Jack of Hearts dropped to his knees. Miguel Santos staggered backward. A.I.M. had built their gear. JARVIS had just bricked it.
Only Ares and Carol Danvers remained standing. They didn't rely on A.I.M. circuitry.
They watched in stunned silence.
Sleek, aerodynamic pieces of red-and-gold armor shattered the ceiling skylights. The plating flew across the room, snapping seamlessly onto Tony's body. The hexagonal arc reactor flared to life.
"Don't bother thanking me," Tony said. His faceplate clamped shut.
"So," Carol said, her fists still glowing. "War Machine is a drone. The crowd is rigged to blow."
"Exactly," Tony said, his repulsors whining. "Now step aside, Colonel. I'm going to dismantle the U.S. Avengers."