193. Blind Spots and Open Circuits. (Patreon)

Maya Hansen POV:

We were already outside the mansion.

The night air was thick, humid, clinging to my skin as the men carried an unconscious Pepper toward the car. Everything was moving according to plan accordingly and there was no unnecessary noise.

Then the world went white.

Not light but the obliteration of vision itself.

A super flare.

The kind of tool only one organization on Earth used with that particular cruel elegance.

Spartan Command.

My vision detonated into pain. My retinas screaming as if someone had poured molten glass behind my eyes. I staggered, hands flying up too late, my breath tearing out of my lungs in a raw, animalistic sound. Around me, the men yelled. Their voices were short, panicked cries of instant agony.

I knew exactly what this was.

Spartans had used these flares in peacekeeping missions, counterterrorism ops, black sites raids that officially didn’t exist. Their purpose wasn’t subtle. Blind nearby targets, snipers and overwhelm the senses then use the noise of pain to hunt.

How did I know all this?

Because once... once... the Spartan PMC had been forced to submit their loadouts and equipment capabilities to the UN. A concession. A single olive branch in exchange for operating without impunity.

Within a week, every listed system had been obsolete.

They had replaced conventional slug throwers and laser rifles with exotic plasma weapons, energy lances, railguns that laughed at armor and distance alike. The paperwork had been a lie, a magic trick, a magician showing you one hand while the other rewrote the battlefield.

Peter Parker and the Petty Officer Master Chief Frank-01 has direct command over Spartan Command and PMC.

The civilized nations of Earth had been bamboozled and they didn’t even know how badly till it was too late.

My mind raced through possibilities as the pain slowly receded. Is this it? I wondered. Did Parker and Stark give up on Pepper? Are they tying up loose ends?

Seconds passed. Maybe more. Time felt unreliable.

Slowly, agonizingly, my vision returned.

Pepper was still there.

Unconscious but alive.

Relief and dread tangled together in my chest.

“Go after them!” One of the men snarled, wiping tears from his burned eyes. “We can still...”

“No.” I snapped, sharper than intended.

They froze.

“We leave,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Now.”

Something was wrong. Not with the plan but with the situation. The flares hadn’t been followed by a slaughter. No Spartans emerged from the shadows. There was no execution. These meatheads are made using my own serum. In paper they beat a Spartan IV easy but in practice the Spartan slices them into flaming ribbons using their superior equipment and tactics.

It was a warning or worse. They had done what they wanted and they left.

The car peeled away from the curb, engine roaring into the night. I stared out the window, heart pounding, unable to shake the feeling that I’d just missed something catastrophic.

I didn’t know it yet but Peter Parker had already outmaneuvered everyone.

And by the time we realized it, it would be far too late.

Peter POV:

Harley Keener’s garage was held together with wooden planks, rusted nails and sheer stubborn optimism.

A miracle, really.

There was a rust-eaten car in the corner, power tools that had seen better decades, naked bulbs hanging from wires like they were afraid of the dark, and the unmistakable fingerprints of a misunderstood genius scattered across every surface.

Tony and I fit right in.

My War Pattern Helios Mk. III was unfolded across the center like a metallic altar, panels open, light crawling along its surfaces as it functioned as a supercomputer that happened to also be an armor suit capable of committing war crimes.

Tony was pacing, fingers dancing across holographic interfaces with manic familiarity.

“Tony,” I said, not even looking up from my own code, “why are you hacking A.I.M again? Clanker copied their entire mainframe. Twice. With backups.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony replied, waving a hand. “I know. But I’m checking for something amiss. Something your all-seeing, all-judging AI overlord might have missed.”

“May you die from a heart attack, Mr. Stark." Clanker said pleasantly.

“Love you too, Skynet.” Tony shot back without missing a beat.

I snorted.

Tony suddenly froze. “Oh,” He said. “Oh, that’s cute.”

“What?” I asked, pushing my glasses up my nose.

“Air-gapped server,” He said, grin spreading. “Someone thought they were clever.”

I sighed. “Of course they did.”

“Establishing quantum entanglement connection,” Tony continued, fingers flying. “Annndddd… we’re in.”

I leaned closer as data spilled across the displays.

“It’s a dossier,” I said. “Private investors.”

Tony whistled. “Oh look. Harry Osborn. Biggest contributor. A Hundred million from his personal trust fund.”

I blinked. Then shrugged. “Huh.”

Tony stared at me. “That’s it? ‘Huh’?”

“Shit happens.” I said calmly.

“Man,” Tony said, shaking his head, “he kicked you in the metaphorical nuts after you cured him.”

I shrugged again. “I'm still breathing and still moving. Net positive.”

Tony paused, then did that uncomfortable wince he got when he was about to ask something that dug too deep.

“Okay,” He said slowly. “I don’t get it.”

I kept typing.

“When you were in high school,” Tony continued, “you drank a lizard formula based on an incomplete regeneration serum, went feral, altered your biology on a fundamental level and lived. Why couldn’t you cure Osborn’s Retroviral Hypodysplasia?”

I sighed and leaned back. “The Lizard serum,” I began, “first altered CDK1, Cyclin B1, CCNB1 genes responsible for cell division and mitosis pacing. Then it went after keratin genes. HOXC13. That one controls hair and nail growth. Reprogrammed it into claws and scales.”

Tony listened, uncharacteristically quiet.

“It rewrote most of my genome,” I continued. “Changed my biology so fast my brain couldn’t keep up. I wasn’t Peter Parker when that serum was in my veins. I was a cold-blooded murder lizard.”

“Catchy.” Tony muttered.

“At best,” I said, “you can alter about eighty-nine percent of the human genome. Any more than that and you’re not modifying, you’re rebooting. Retroviral Hypodysplasia is scattered across ninety-one percent of Harry’s DNA.”

Tony winced. “So… no fix.”

“No fix,” I confirmed. “Extremis alters about seventy-eight percent. Spartan IV augmentation goes to eighty-seven before biomechanical enhancement. Older Spartan IVs needed the Lazarus procedure just to stay operational.”

Tony leaned back, rubbing his face. “Man. You made a biological miracle in your uncle’s basement.”

“Don’t remind me.” I huffed.

“I wish I’d found you before your… special incident,” He said, making exaggerated air quotes.

I rolled my eyes. “You can call it what it was. A stupid decision. I’ve seen the worse outcome. I’m glad it wasn’t mine.”

The armor chimed softly.

J.A.R.V.I.S flagged a call. Audio only.

Names scrolled past.

ELLEN BRANDT.

MRS. DAVIS.

I smiled.

“Got our ticket.” I said.

The Helios Mk. III folded in on itself, panels sliding seamlessly into place as it wrapped around me.

Tony’s grin matched mine. “You ready?”

“Born ready,” I replied. “Regretfully so.”

Outside, Harley Keener waved enthusiastically as we stepped out into the cold night.

I waved back.

Then we took off.