"Of course I meant it literally."
Ethan extended a hand, gripping the punk by the head and lifting him up for a closer look. The man's front tooth and two molars had vanished without a trace, his nose was bent out of shape, and his whole face looked pitifully wrecked.
Still, thanks to the serum that had already enhanced his body, even being flung dozens of meters by Venom and smashing into the floor with no buffer hadn't killed him.
It seemed the symbiote's regenerative ability was indeed remarkable. Normally, a test subject injected with an imperfect Super Soldier Serum would have their head explode within seconds—but this punk was merely fast asleep.
Venom's regeneration differed slightly from someone like Wolverine's healing factor. For instance, when Logan was impaled by a blade, his mutant genes would make his cells divide and replenish blood at thousands of times the normal rate to seal the wound.
The symbiote, on the other hand, first used its own tissue to bind the host's injury shut, then amplified the host's self-healing capacity.
And right now, that second trait—the ability to strengthen a subject's recovery—was exactly what was needed for creating super soldiers. As for the first trait, a similar regenerative serum existed in Zemo's vault, but it was toxic. Use it too frequently, and even if the wounds healed, the poison would kill the user soon after.
Listening to Ethan's words, Emma didn't immediately reply. She crossed one leg over the other, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed at the punk dangling in the grip of the Hulkbuster armor. Beneath the soft, perfectly fitted mask, her blue eyes shimmered with an unreadable light.
A few breaths later, she rolled her neck, her wavy golden hair swaying behind her. "I looked into his mind," she said. "It's dark, cruel, selfish—a textbook product of the wasteland."
"You want someone like that to become a good person? Like Peter Parker, or Steve Rogers?" She tilted her head slightly upward, meeting the Hulkbuster's gaze.
"Can you do it?" Ethan asked softly, his eyes meeting the lake-blue ones behind the mask. Emma's tone hadn't carried rejection or helplessness—only calm certainty.
"Of course I can. I just want to confirm something first."
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers crisply. The punk in the Hulkbuster's grip jolted awake—but judging by his twitching eyelids, it was far from a pleasant awakening. After all, unconsciousness was the body's self-protection mechanism. The only reason he could wake up now was because the White Queen had tampered with his mind.
"Uh… what happened to Venom?" he muttered, his voice thick with confusion. His gaze darted around the room, as if trying to piece together what had happened.
His numb brain struggled to recall, but his memories were a blur, like fog in the morning light.
Then his eyes fell on the Hulkbuster holding him—and his pupils shrank to pinpoints. The memories came flooding back. Just moments ago, he and Venom had merged, trying to tear apart the metal giant that had caused them both pain.
He had been driven by a wild, primal urge—anger and hatred uniting him with the symbiote. He'd thought he'd become unstoppable. But then, Venom had resisted him, even thrown him out, and after that… blankness.
Halfway through his recollection, his eyes bulged and his lips trembled uncontrollably. "Y-you… you—you—you—you—!"
Two barrel-sized cannons were aimed squarely at his forehead, their interiors glowing with an ominous blue light. Hot steam hissed from their vents, making sweat pour down his face.
Whatever courage the Super Soldier Serum had given him vanished instantly.
Watching the trembling, nearly incontinent thug before him, Ethan simply smiled. "Do you want to be a good man?"
"W–what?" The punk blinked, too dazed to process the question. But when the glow of the cannons grew brighter, his head bobbed like a pecking chicken. "Yes! Of course I do! I swear I do!"
Then, his lips quivered and tears streamed down his face as he wailed, spewing curses at his gang boss—calling him every evil name imaginable, from murder and robbery to not washing his feet before bed.
In his retelling, that gang boss was practically a supervillain who could out-evil Red Skull himself.
"It's all an act," Emma sighed, shaking her head. Outward appearances could lie, but the heart could not. And even if someone could deceive themselves, they couldn't deceive a telepath of the White Queen's caliber.
Still, she had to admit—the man's acting was impressive. He was really crying.
She thought of the attendants back in her mutant enclave, the ones tasked with performing plays—stiff as puppets, smiling at funerals and giggling during tragic scenes.
Why not just use mind control to make them perform properly?
Because then it wouldn't be fun. She enjoyed the reverence, not the performance.
"Her Majesty the White Queen is right," Ethan said flatly, staring at the still-begging punk. "How could someone like you ever change, hmm?"
"You won't change. Only death can."
The moment the words left his mouth, the punk went sheet-white, trembling silently as the eerie blue cannons reflected off his face.
"But I'll give you one more chance," Ethan continued calmly. "Because perhaps you weren't born this way. Perhaps it was this cruel world that made you so."
The blue light faded. The massive metal hand released its grip, and the punk collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand. Yet, grateful to be alive, he began kowtowing frantically, crying hoarsely:
"Thank you! Thank you, sir! I swear I'll be a good man! I'll never go back to the gang again!"
His obedience was almost pitiful, his forehead banging the floor with such force that even Pietro, watching from the side, winced and clicked his tongue.
Emma merely shrugged at the others, as if to say, Still acting.
Indeed, inside the punk's mind, he was already plotting. Once he got out, he'd use his enhanced body to kill his former boss, seize control of the gang, and raid Doctor Doom's rent-collection zone by the Liangma River—slaughtering the men, abducting the women and children.
Women for pleasure. Children to raise as future thugs.
And when his power grew, he'd come back and take revenge on that gold-and-red armored bastard.
Ethan had been right—villains like him could never change. No punishment could make them see their sins; no education could awaken a conscience that had long since rotted away—if it had ever existed at all.
They were all the same. To survive, they'd fake anything, do anything.
Touching her mask, Emma's eyes dimmed slightly. She pressed a finger to her temple, feeling the familiar throb of pain behind it. She was getting old. Every time she tried to use her telepathy seriously these days, her temples ached.
To read 30+ future chapters, head over to Patreon:
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554