203. A City of Light, A Port of Frost. (Patreon)

Peter POV:

War always sounds loud in movies. Explosions, screaming, metal clashing against metal.

In reality, the loudest part is the thinking. The calculations, the angles and anticipating the enemy tactics.

A cryogenic weapon is easy to make. Any half-decent engineer with a grudge and a chemistry set could do it. Liquid nitrogen, compressed CO², a reinforced barrel and then boom, you’ve got yourself a flashy party trick that can freeze a lock or a limb.

But that’s not real cryogenics.

Real cryogenics is control over entropy. It’s telling heat, the most arrogant form of energy in the universe to sit down and shut up.

My Reverse Thermodynamic Ray doesn’t “spray cold.” It steals heat. It robs it from the air, from armor plating, from blood if it has to. A 100-meter corridor of thermal debt.

Extremis soldiers hate debt.

Another wave of glowing orange silhouettes rushed our position. Their bodies shimmered like molten glass under thermal vision.

I fired.

The arm mounted beam cut through them and the world crystallized. Flames died mid-flicker. Superheated skin flash-froze. Metal groaned as it contracted.

Tony whistled beside me.

“Do you ever get tired of being so good at killing, Peter?”

He said it casually but Tony never asks anything casually. There’s always a layer beneath.

I kept my aim steady.

“Do villains and assassins ever stop trying to kill us?”

A soldier lunged. I swept the beam across his legs. He toppled like a statue.

“No." Tony answered himself. “So my answer is also no.”.

Tony chuckled. “Consistent and Morbid. I like it.”

He adjusted Pepper in his arms slightly as he fired a volley of micro-missiles over my shoulder. They detonated in controlled thermobaric bursts, then he followed up with his own cryo blasts to neutralize the Extremis regeneration.

That’s the thing about Tony, people think he’s flashy.

He’s not. He’s efficient.

Pepper suddenly stirred and pushed off his arms.

“Allbitch Keeble is mine!!!!” she yelled mid-sprint.

Tony didn’t even hesitate. “Go get him, snookums!!!!”

I blinked. “You two need therapy.”

“We had therapy,” Tony said. “The therapist quit.”

Pepper hit the ground like a comet. Extremis heat flared around her as she tore through soldiers with terrifying precision. N0 wasted movement, no panic. Just clean, lethal intent.

I exhaled slowly.

“She’s good.” I admitted.

Tony smirked. “You’re the one who rewired her muscle-memory learning pathways and uploaded super martial arts in her brain.”

“Optimized,” I corrected. “And she did the rest.”

Below, Pepper reached Killian and began delivering what I could only describe as a board-meeting worth of pent-up rage. Every strike looked personal.

For a brief moment, I wasn’t thinking about the battlefield.

I was thinking about Gwen.

Four days.

Four days since I last saw my wife and the world already felt off-axis. Gwen is… gravity. The good kind. The kind that keeps your feet on the ground and your heart somewhere safe."

I muttered, “I miss my wife.”

Tony snorted. “You saw her four days ago.”

“That’s four days too many.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Married man.” I corrected.

Pepper suddenly leapt back as Killian erupted in a pillar of flame.

“DO YOU THINK YOU’VE WON??? LET ME SHOW YOU THE BEST I CAN DO!!!”

Hundreds more heat signatures appeared.

Tony and I shared a look.

Our speakers clicked on simultaneously.

“Cute.” Tony said.

“Shall we show him what we can do, Mr. Parker?”

I angled my cannons forward as distant blue-gold streaks lit the horizon. PMC support fire, Spartan units, Iron Man drones firing repulsor salvos.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” I replied.

“We shall.”

And winter fell on a field of fire.

Gwen POV:

New York without power feels… wrong.

Like a guitar missing two strings.

Like a song you love played half a note too low.

The city breathes electricity. Neon reflections, subway rumbles, apartment lights at 2 AM where someone’s still awake chasing a dream or a deadline.

Electro didn’t just turn off power.

He turned off rhythm.

I stared out the SUV window at the dark skyline, my reflection faint on the glass. Once upon a time I was just a drummer in a band, worrying about gigs and lyrics and whether my amp would short out mid-show.

Now I worry about national grids, hostile enhancements and geopolitical leverage. Sometimes.

Funny how life scales up.

“Clanker,” I said into my watch, “confirm infrastructure priority routing.”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker. Hospitals, life-support patients, JFK Airport and the Port Authority are running on Parker Industries remote generators. Estimated endurance: six to ten hours.”

“Good. Keep cycling load.” I said over my comms.

People like to think influence is about power.

It’s not.

It’s about responsibility.

A knock hit my window.

I didn’t even turn at first. “Not now, Harry. I’m busy.”

“Wait...please!” Harry blurted.

I slid the glass down halfway.

He looked… smaller than usual. Not physically. Just weighed down by choices.

Felicia stood beside him, silent but observant.

“We want to help.” Harry said.

My eyes narrowed.

Help.

The same word he used before investing in A.I.M.

Before Extremis, before betrayal wrapped in good intentions.

“You’ve helped enough.” I said coolly.

His voice cracked. “I want to help people like the other you. I want to be better than the ones you and Peter told me about. The terrible versions of me.”

That hit somewhere uncomfortable.

Because I’d seen those versions too.

Multiverse reflections of who we could be and what Harry becomes.

Dad stepped into view on the other side. “Give him a chance, kiddo.”

I exhaled slowly. Leadership means making calls you don’t fully like. Unlike other times Peter isn't here so it's my responsibility.

“Don’t make me regret this, Osborn.” I said.

Harry nodded like a man receiving a verdict.

“Dad, take Felicia to a bunker. I won’t have leverage points walking around.”

Dad gave a joking salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

I started the engine.

Halfway to the relay station, I spoke again.

“Hold still, Harry.”

He frowned. “Why....”

The ejection system triggered. The roof opened and the world dropped away for a heartbeat.

My attaché case unfolded into the Archangel of the Web Mk. II, wrapping around me in white-silver segments. Wings of hard-light and god alloy lattice formed behind my shoulders.

Harry’s Patrioteer Prototype armored him in star spangled, dark blue plating with white and red stripes.

He looked at his hands in awe.

I looked at him in warning.

“This isn’t forgiveness.” I said.

“This is probation.”

He swallowed. “Understood.”

I launched forward into the blackout sky, wind roaring past my helmet.

Somewhere out there my husband was fighting a man made of fire and here I was chasing a man made of lightning and also a glider riding crazy.

Rock and roll, I guess.

Just on a bigger stage and as I dove between powerless skyscrapers, I couldn’t help smiling slightly.

Because no matter how big the world gets…

I’m still the girl who loves loud music, good banter, and a genius husband who pretends he’s colder than he is.

He’s not.

He’s the warmest person I know.

Don’t tell him I said that.