"It's Iron Man. But the X-Men aren't here yet. Is it really safe to go out?"
Gabriela's voice was tight with anxiety. She wasn't afraid for herself, but for the terrified children huddled behind her.
"It'll be fine. Don't worry, I'll take point," Peter said, his voice confident.
He checked his internal clock. Based on the distance from Westchester to this godforsaken black site, the Cavalry shouldn't be far behind.
If Spider-Man said it was safe, Gabriela had to believe him. And as for Iron Man? Despite his tabloid reputation as a narcissist, when the armor was on, he was the gold standard of protection.
"Alright, kids. Move out."
They were close to the exit. Peter led the way, climbing out of the hatch first. The makeshift backpack of stolen clothes had already been webbed away or discarded; he was back in full hero mode.
"Seriously, Mr. Stank, I never expected to run into you here. I mean, this place isn't even on Uber Eats!"
Peter's voice cracked slightly through the mask, the adrenaline of the escape mixing with his usual nervous energy. Whether it was the exhaustion or a slip of the tongue, the name came out with a peculiar deviation.
"Wait, hold on. Pajama Boy—" Tony's faceplate hissed open, revealing a weary expression. "Did you just add a... unique suffix to my name?"
"Sir," Jarvis chimed in smoothly from the suit's external speakers. "Voiceprint analysis indicates a 90.7% phonetic similarity to the elderly delivery courier you encountered in 2014. If you recall, he addressed you as 'Tony Stank'."
"Oh, God..." Tony's facepalm rang against his helmet with a metallic *clink*. "Jarvis, delete that file immediately. Why do you even keep that?"
"Apologies, sir. My protocols require me to retain all interactions. And, as a reminder, Colonel Rhodes noted that the moniker 'unexpectedly captures your essence.'"
Tony rolled his eyes toward the heavens. "Kid, don't call your savior 'Mr. Stank'. It's bad form."
"Sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter rubbed the back of his head. It was an honest slip of the tongue.
Well, the kid apologized. What was Tony going to do? Ground him?
He certainly wasn't going to argue with a teenager in a homemade suit who had just busted out of a torture lab.
Peter glanced up at the drone swarm, confirmed the perimeter was secure, and blew a sharp whistle.
"Coast is clear! Come on out!"
The heavy blast doors groaned open. First came the mercenaries, hands raised high, eyes darting around in fear. Leading them was Donald Pierce. His earlier arrogance was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of defeat and shame.
Behind them came the children, led by Gabriela with her shotgun. It was a surreal sight: hardened professional killers being marched out like POWs by a nurse and a kindergarten class.
"Wow. This looks like a Michael Bay movie," Peter exclaimed, surveying the tanks and armored vehicles waiting outside. He swung up to a vantage point. "Drone swarms, tanks, heavy infantry... seriously, who's the production designer on this?"
"Cut the chatter, Pajama Boy. I should be in the Maldives sipping a Negroni right now, not fishing a certain Little Spider out of a black site because he face-tanked a rocket," Tony grumbled, shaking his head.
"Strictly speaking, it was an illegal kidnapping *after* the rocket. And for the record, my back still hurts," Peter retorted, though his eyes were scanning the horizon for the X-Jet.
"Spider-Man! What did you do with X-24?!" Captain Lister roared, finding his voice after seeing the defeated Donald Pierce. "I know you killed him, you tight-suited Mutant freak!"
Instantly, the soldiers raised their rifles, aiming directly at the Wall-Crawler.
Peter threw his hands up theatrically. "I knew it. Mr. Stark, I thought you said the situation was under control?"
Tony frowned. He descended into the no-man's-land between the soldiers and the escapees.
"Captain Lister, I suggest you stand down. Unless you want me to live-stream those very unethical experimental logs to CNN right now?" His tone was relaxed, but the threat was razor-sharp.
"Do you think a few drones and a data leak threaten us? Mr. Stark, you have no idea who backs this project." Lister regained some confidence. He had powerful friends in high places.
"I don't know who signs your checks," Peter interrupted, spotting a shape in the clouds. "But the people who actually run this show just arrived. And their timing is impeccable."
*BOOM.*
A sonic crack split the air. The clouds parted violently as a sleek, jet-black aircraft tore through the sky. It went from a speck on the horizon to hovering directly overhead in seconds.
The Blackbird.
"The X-Jet..." Lister's face fell. He pointed a trembling finger at Peter. "You... you actually called the X-Men."
The vertical thrusters kicked up a storm of dust as the jet touched down. The soldiers instinctively lowered their weapons. Aiming a gun at a Mutant when the X-Men were present was just a complicated way of committing suicide.
The ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss.
First out was Wolverine. Unlit cigar, claws ready, eyes like a predator.
Then Cyclops, his ruby quartz visor glowing. Storm, white hair flowing in the wind. Iceman. Pyro.
Finally, Professor Charles Xavier glided out in his hover-chair. The bald telepath needed no weapons; his presence alone silenced the battlefield.
"I am Charles Xavier." His voice was calm, yet it seemed to project into the mind of every soldier present. "We received a distress call regarding illegal experimentation. Under Article 7, Section 3 of the Mutant Rights Act, I am taking jurisdiction of this scene."
The Mutant Rights Act was a flimsy shield, often ignored by politicians, but legally binding on soldiers.
"The X-Men are really here!"
"We're saved!"
The children cheered, the sound like a tsunami of relief. Gabriela lowered her shotgun, tears streaming down her face. They were finally safe.