Chapter 323: Rescuing the Fugitive Black Widow
"You know me?"
Daredevil Matt Murdock stared at the unfamiliar man before him.
Though he was blind, his misfortune had turned into a blessing—he'd gained radar-like hearing.
"No offense, no offense, you infamous Lady-Killer Lawyer Matt," the man replied with a cupped-fist salute. "The name's Motherf***er Man. I specialize in fighting for justice for the disabled. You're obviously blind, and I'm clinically insane. Clearly, we should support each other and build a harmonious future together."
"…"
After a long silence, Matt awkwardly said, "Well… thanks, I guess."
"No need for gratitude. I, Motherf***er Man, never expect anything in return for doing good."
With that, Allen turned and waved. "I've got stuff to do. Try reaching out to the Justice League."
"Alright."
Meanwhile, at Stark Tower—
Wolverine's tracking signal vanished from the map.
At the same time, Tony received a distress call from Peter—of course, regarding the sudden disappearance of Aunt May.
Given the father-son-like bond between the two, Tony couldn't possibly ignore it.
A collective frown spread among the heroes. Something about this all felt off.
The abrupt kidnappings of heroes' families seemed too calculated—almost like a ploy for sympathy.
But when even heroes who supported the registration act began facing similar incidents, that suspicion was dropped. Still, the situation was spinning out of control.
"Investigate the Court of Owls first. Rescuing the hostages comes before anything else."
To promote the act, they had to prove they could protect the families of heroes. Without that, no amount of persuasion would be convincing. Worse, it could lead to the disintegration of the Avengers.
In reality, the Comedy Troupe had been busy orchestrating abductions, secretly imprisoning victims.
The goal was to divert the Justice League and Avengers' attention toward rescue missions.
That gave Allen the perfect chance to sneak around and strike from the shadows.
Of course, a single Wolverine probably wouldn't raise many red flags. The Avengers might not even have noticed he was missing.
So, more kidnappings were needed to make a real impact.
Right now, the situation was incredibly chaotic.
Many Avengers were hunting down former allies who had defected to the Justice League.
For example, Natasha—still holding on to reason—was firmly opposed to the act, while Falcon volunteered to apprehend her.
In the city streets, Natasha darted through alleys in her signature skin-tight suit, skillfully avoiding the drones scanning from above.
Falcon, outfitted with the military's latest wing-suit tech, hovered in the skies, searching for her.
As a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, Natasha naturally refused to follow official legislation.
Falcon, on the other hand, was military-born and staunchly supported the act.
Perhaps Steve Rogers' departure had shaken up their original alliances.
A shadow dropped from above, blocking Natasha's escape route.
"Don't struggle anymore. I don't want to fight an old comrade," Falcon warned.
Trapped between Falcon ahead and the drones behind, Natasha found herself in a bind.
"Sam, I don't want to fight you either."
Her elite training as a spy ensured she stayed calm under pressure.
"I hope you won't hold it against me."
Falcon lowered his goggles—an intense fight was inevitable.
Thud!
Thud thud…
A basketball suddenly bounced in front of Falcon.
They say the quickest way to stop a Black man from violence is to toss him a basketball… or offer watermelon and fried chicken.
"Who's there?"
Both looked toward the rooftop.
Someone was clearly lurking nearby. Otherwise, how would a basketball just fall from the sky?
Falcon figured the guy must have bad aim—the ball missed him by a mile.
Taking advantage of the distraction—
Natasha fired an EMP pulse at the nearest drone, the surge instantly frying its control chip. That left her free to focus on just one enemy: Falcon.
"Damn, it's an ambush."
Sensing the danger, Falcon immediately spread his wings, ready to escape into the sky.
But just as he lifted off, one side suddenly lost lift. He looked down—some stranger was clinging to one of his metal wings.
The basketball had been a mere diversion. Allen had used stealth to sneak up on him.
Wham!
With only one wing active, Falcon flipped upside down and slammed headfirst into the ground, instantly knocked out.
"Widow~"
Dragging the unconscious Falcon behind him, Allen strutted over to Natasha and flashed a smug grin. "Did my daring heroics make your heart skip a beat?"
"Not in the slightest."
Natasha gave him a cool once-over. Why's this lunatic from Gotham showing up in New York now?
Then, she noticed something odd poking out of Allen's collar.
Rip—
"Hey! What do you think you're doing, you pervert?!"
Allen quickly covered his chest with both hands, looking utterly scandalized and short of breath.
Natasha's sudden grab had genuinely gotten him worked up.
"What's wrong with you? Why the hell are you wearing a bra?"
That's right. She'd glimpsed a hint of lace and instinctively pulled at it—just to confirm.
Sure enough, it was a black lace bra… with two holes cut out. No sane person would do this—except Allen. For him, it felt par for the course.
"You shameless creep," Allen huffed as he buttoned back up. "I only wear it to make my pecs look bigger! So embarrassing that you called me out like that!"
Then he squinted at her. "Wait… Widow, were you jealous just now? Your face totally said 'rage mode activated.'"
"Don't flatter yourself."
Back in her cold, aloof mode, Natasha scoffed. "As if I'd ever be into you. Keep dreaming."
"Typical—won't admit what you really feel."
Allen smirked mischievously. "An eighty-something-year-old cougar lusting after a guy in his twenties? Tsk, shame on you—oof, ow ow ow, what are you—?!"
The moment he said "old woman," Natasha went full beast mode.
She slipped behind him and locked in a judo chokehold.
One arm around his neck, the other pinching his nose, she growled, "Call me 'old woman' again. I dare you. You get one more try."
Ever-defiant, Allen refused to back down. "Old… baby."
"You little idiot."
Furious, Natasha switched techniques—shoving both fingers up his nostrils and stirring them around like chopsticks.
"IT'S GETTING HARD! IT'S HARDENING!"
…Huh!?
Startled, she let go instantly.
Natasha stared warily at the bulge in Allen's pants.
It looked… alarmingly sizable.
"Hands where I can see them!"
But it was too late—Allen's hand was already inside his pants.
"Stop right there!"
Natasha shouted, fearing the worst.
But instead of what she expected, Allen pulled out… a cardboard tube.
Beaming, he asked, "What were you hoping to see?"
"What the hell is the point of carrying a cardboard tube in your pants?!"
This wasn't the first time she'd seen him stash random junk on his body. His armpits, his butt crack… now his crotch, too?
"There's a point!"
Allen proudly explained, "I got tired of wiping my butt every time I pooped. So now I just stick this tube up there. When I'm done, I yank it out—voilà, no need to wipe! Genius, right?"
"…"
Have you considered how people with hemorrhoids would feel?
Also—who the hell can even fit that up there?!
"Wait up, Widow! I've got tons more inventions—super practical, all designed with the human condition in mind! Wanna see?"
Natasha had had enough. She turned to leave without another word.
Allen grabbed one of Falcon's wings and dragged the guy along while chasing after her. "Wanna know who's behind the hero family kidnappings?"
"Who?"
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