The moment Stark finished speaking, his weapons systems unleashed hell. Countless projectiles streaked through the laboratory like metallic rain, each capable of tearing through flesh and bone with horrifying efficiency.
Peter froze in momentary shock as the barrage approached. The man hovering before them was clearly no longer human—at least not entirely. Whether he was a full robot or some cybernetic hybrid with mechanical prosthetics replacing vital organs, Peter couldn't determine. The implications were staggering either way.
His hesitation nearly proved fatal. Fortunately, Deadpool tackled him to the ground just as bullets tore through the space where he'd been standing. The mercenary's intervention saved Peter's life, though not without consequence—two bullets found their mark in Deadpool's posterior.
"Holy cinnamon-glazed buttcheeks!" Wade shouted, sprawled protectively across Peter. "I've been shot in the ass! Again! Why is it always the ass? Is this some kind of running gag that the writer thinks is hilarious? Well, joke's on you, buddy—I happen to be VERY sensitive about my derrière!"
Peter grabbed Deadpool and fired a web line toward a support column, yanking them both away from the hailstorm of munitions. They scrambled behind a cluster of glass containment units, temporarily obscured from Stark's targeting systems.
"Uncle Deadpool," Peter whispered urgently, "how's your... um... backside?"
"Almost healed," Wade replied through gritted teeth. "Just wait... nature's doing its thing. Like watching a YouTube video of a wound healing, but in real-time and WAY more uncomfortable. The things I do for this franchise, I swear..."
With a grotesque ding sound, two flattened bullets dropped from his healing flesh onto the floor. Deadpool picked one up, examining it like a souvenir.
"You know, in some cultures, getting shot in the butt is considered good luck," he said, pocketing the bullet. "Not in any cultures that actually exist, but I'm trying to stay positive here."
He immediately drew his Desert Eagles, his body language shifting from pained to enraged. "That's it—I'm officially pissed off! I'm going to turn his Ice Monkey face into modern art! I'm thinking something cubist. Very Picasso. Eyes where the mouth should be, that kind of thing."
"He's transformed himself into some kind of robot!" Peter hissed. "The guy's completely lost his—"
His spider-sense suddenly flared, sending electric tingles up his spine. "Move! He's found us!"
"Spider-sense tingling? Isn't that trademarked?" Deadpool quipped as he dove for cover.
The warning came just as a new volley of bullets shredded through their cover, shattering glass and spilling preservation fluid across the floor. They ducked and rolled away from the assault, but the suppressive fire was too intense for counterattack.
"Screw this!" Deadpool shouted as they sprinted toward their entry point. "We'll get our revenge next time! Let's bail! This is what we in the mercenary business call a 'strategic retreat,' which is French for 'running away while maintaining our dignity'! It's a very sophisticated military tactic!"
They raced toward the exit, only to find their escape route blocked by two colossal security robots. Each mechanical sentinel stood nearly four meters tall, their massive frames filling the doorway completely.
"Oh come ON!" Deadpool exclaimed. "Who ordered the Metal Gear Solid DLC? This is getting ridiculous! I swear this mission is on nightmare difficulty, and I only packed enough ammo for normal mode!"
With synchronized precision, four Gatling guns elevated from the shoulder mounts of the robots and rotated toward the intruders.
Peter and Deadpool halted their charge and immediately reversed direction, fleeing like startled rodents as superheated tracer rounds chewed up the floor behind them.
"Any brilliant ideas?" Peter called out, leaping over a fallen containment pod.
"Don't worry, my eight-limbed apprentice!" Deadpool narrowly avoided a burst of gunfire. "I've got one last trick up my sleeve! And I mean literally up my sleeve, not metaphorically. Though technically it's in my pouch, not my sleeve, so I guess it's metaphorical after all. I'm confusing myself now."
"Whatever secret weapon you've been saving, now would be the perfect time!" Peter shouted as he dodged another hail of bullets.
"You know how in anime, when things get really desperate, the main character pulls out their ultimate special move?" Deadpool called back. "Well, prepare to be amazed by my ultimate technique!"
Deadpool reached into one of his many pouches and extracted a small black device. Peter's eyes widened with desperate hope.
"Is that another black hole bomb?"
Deadpool grinned beneath his mask. "Even better! Behold the Great Summoning Technique! The ultimate secret weapon passed down through generations of mercenaries since the ancient times of... I don't know, like 2007?"
He pressed a button on the device, which emitted a series of electronic beeps. Within seconds, a connection was established.
"911, please state your emergency," came a professional female voice.
Peter stared in disbelief as Deadpool yelled into the device: "Police! Help! Tony Stark has gone insane! He's turned into a homicidal robot and is trying to kill us! We discovered his secret underground laboratory where he's conducting illegal experiments on mutants! He's also littering! And double-parking! And he doesn't recycle! Please send help immediately! This is definitely not a prank call!"
Peter's hand connected with his forehead in exasperation. "THAT'S your great summoning technique? A phone call? By the time the police arrive—if they even believe you—we'll be ventilated corpses!"
"Hey, don't underestimate the power of local law enforcement!" Deadpool protested. "They've been competently handling noise complaints and cat-in-tree situations for decades! I'm sure they're fully equipped to deal with a cybernetic billionaire genius with a god complex!"
Before Deadpool could further defend his questionable strategy, a miniature missile detonated directly beneath him, sending him airborne.
"I believe I can flyyyyy!" he sang as he soared through the air, before his tune changed to, "I was WRONG! I cannot fly!"
Peter instinctively fired a web strand that caught Wade mid-flight, preventing him from slamming into the ceiling.
"FUCK!" Deadpool howled. "My ass hurts AGAIN! This is officially the worst day for my butt since that time I sat on a beehive dressed as Winnie the Pooh! Long story, don't ask."
Peter's gaze shifted to a disturbing sight several meters away. "I think your posterior pain might be the least of our worries right now."
Deadpool followed Peter's line of sight to his lower body and cursed loudly. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me! I've been bisected! This is exactly why I don't do sit-ups—because clearly my core strength is insufficient!"
The explosion had separated his torso from his legs, which lay several feet away.
"Great, now I'm going to need to buy two pairs of pants," he muttered. "Do you think the top half should wear shorts? I feel like shorts would be appropriate."
Their situation deteriorated further as Stark and the two security robots converged on their position, forming a triangle of weaponry with no possible escape route.
"This is what we in the business call a 'Mexican standoff,'" Deadpool informed Peter, "except we're vastly outgunned and I'm currently in two pieces, so it's less of a standoff and more of a 'we're completely screwed' situation. Not sure what the Spanish term for that is."
Despite the hopeless odds, Peter positioned himself protectively in front of Deadpool's injured form. "You'll have to go through me first!"
"Aww, that's adorable!" Deadpool cooed. "Look at my little Spider-Sidekick, all grown up and making heroic last stands! I'm so proud I could cry. Actually, that might just be blood loss. Hard to tell at this point."
A cold smile spread across Stark's face. "I accept your terms."
He raised his arm, the whine of his charging arm-mounted laser signaling imminent death.
"Well, this has been fun," Deadpool announced, addressing no one in particular. "Make sure my obituary mentions my fantastic hair. You can't see it under the mask, but trust me, it's spectacular."
Just as the weapon reached full power, a peculiar distortion appeared in the air behind Peter—a perfectly square black portal materialized silently, its edges crackling with arcane energy.
Before Peter could register the anomaly, a large hand emerged and seized him by the back of his suit collar. With irresistible force, he was yanked backward into the dimensional gateway just as Stark's laser discharged.
The beam struck the ground where Peter had stood a millisecond earlier, instantly melting the reinforced flooring into a bubbling crater.
"Plot armor strikes again!" Deadpool exclaimed, witnessing Peter's miraculous rescue. "I KNEW we weren't going to die here. This is only chapter 151! Way too early for a tragic ending!"
Deadpool, still separated from his lower extremities, cackled maniacally at their unexpected salvation. "Too slow, you glorified toaster! Just wait until next time—I'll be bringing a giant magnet and a bathtub full of water! Also, I'll probably bring better insults, because even I know that was weak. Cut me some slack—I'm literally cut in half right now!"
He raised both middle fingers in Stark's direction. "Sayonara, Ice Monkey! Say hi to the blue screen of death for me! Make sure to update your anti-virus! Don't forget to empty your recycling bin! I could do this all day! Actually, I can't, because I'm being rescued!"
A second portal materialized beneath Deadpool's bisected body, and he plummeted through the dimensional doorway with a triumphant whoop.
"GERONIMOOOOOOO!" his voice echoed as he fell through the portal. "Wait, can I still say that? Is that culturally insensitive now? COWABUNGA IT IS!"
Stark's eyes flashed emerald green as he stared at the space where the intruders had vanished. He remained motionless for several minutes, apparently processing the implications of their escape and the powers involved.
Eventually, he retracted his weapons and addressed the security robots. "Sanitize this facility. Completely."
Peter's disorientation lasted only momentarily before his enhanced senses adjusted to his new surroundings. To his astonishment, he found himself standing on an expansive terrace suspended in space.
The vast emptiness of the space stretched in all directions. Before him blazed the brilliant sun, unfiltered by atmosphere; behind him hung the blue jewel of Earth, serene and impossibly distant. Despite the impossible location, he felt normal gravity beneath his feet and breathed easily.
Nearby, Deadpool writhed dramatically on the pristine floor, his severed lower half positioned awkwardly beside his torso.
"Someone reattach me properly!" Wade demanded. "I don't want to regenerate naturally—the growing pains are worse than being dismembered in the first place! It's like the world's worst case of pins and needles multiplied by a thousand!"
He glanced at his legs. "Plus, I have no idea if these are even mine! What if I accidentally get someone else's legs? I could end up with the legs of a ballet dancer or a professional basketball player! The balance would be all wrong with my upper body! I have a very particular center of gravity that I've spent years perfecting!"
From an adjacent chamber, Jason emerged with an amused expression. "Wade, are we sure it's growth pain you're worried about, or is it that you don't want Vanessa to see you in this condition?"
"Seriously?!" Deadpool exclaimed. "I'm literally in two pieces, and you're choosing NOW to expose my insecurities? What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? And FYI, I rock the bisected look! Women love a man who can detach his lower half—it's very convenient for long-distance relationships!"
He dragged himself a few inches across the floor with his arms. "I spent three months in that psychopath's laboratory, and neither you nor Blade bothered to rescue me! What happened to 'no man left behind'? I thought we were blood brothers! We did the whole 'cut our palms and shake hands' thing and everything! Do you know how many communicable diseases I could have given you during that ceremony? That's commitment!"
Jason shrugged apologetically. "This misunderstanding isn't my fault. We had an agreement to wait for your distress signal, which never came. But let's move past that—as compensation, I restored your facial appearance, didn't I?"
"Oh sure, throw THAT in my face—my beautiful, restored face!" Deadpool snapped. "No matter how you spin it, my forgiveness will cost you at least three chimichangas, a pony, and a subscription to Disney+. I need to catch up on The Mandalorian, and I refuse to pay for another streaming service!"
He glanced around the space station. "Also, nice digs! Very Star Trek meets billionaire tech bro aesthetic. Love what you've done with the place! The whole 'floating in space' thing is a nice touch. Very exclusive neighborhood, probably keeps the property taxes low."
Deadpool continued his theatrical complaints while dragging his bisected body indoors, leaving Peter standing in bewildered silence.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine!" he called back to Peter. "This isn't even in my top ten worst injuries! Remember that time I was just a head in a jar for like six months? Or was that in a different timeline? The multiverse makes continuity SO confusing!"
Jason turned to the young hero with an apologetic smile. "Don't worry about him. There's a regenerative healing pool inside that will have him back to normal within thirty minutes. It's a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Peter Parker."
Peter fidgeted nervously. "Likewise, Mr. Jason. I can hardly believe I'm actually meeting you in person!"
Jason gestured to the crystal decanter in his hand. "Care for a drink?"
Peter's eyes widened. "I'm not old enough to drink alcohol!"
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "You've already battled villains and stood against tyranny. I think the drinking age is the least of your concerns—but I won't insist."
He guided Peter toward the terrace railing, from which they could observe the entirety of the floating island below. What had once been a barren artificial landmass had transformed into a bustling community. Research facilities, residential quarters, and even recreational areas were clearly visible. Scientists and technicians from various nations moved purposefully between structures.
"We currently have nearly a thousand residents," Jason explained. "That number increases weekly."
Peter gaped at the impossible spectacle. His scientific mind struggled to reconcile what he was witnessing with known physical laws.
"I've seen the Space Island from New York countless times, but standing here is something else entirely! This defies every principle of physics I've ever studied. The gravity feels exactly like Earth's, the air is perfectly breathable, and the temperature is comfortable despite being in the vacuum of space. How is any of this possible?"
"Magic," Jason replied simply. "Or perhaps more accurately, science so advanced it appears magical to current human understanding."
A mischievous smile played across his face. "If you're genuinely interested in learning, I could teach you."
Peter's eyes widened in shock. "Seriously? You'd actually teach me magic?"
"Why not?"
Peter stared at his own hands uncertainly. "Do I even have the necessary aptitude for it?"
Jason's response carried absolute confidence. "If I say you have the talent, then you have it."
From inside, they could hear Deadpool's voice echo through the hallway: "Hey, does anyone know which half of me is supposed to go in the healing pool first? Top or bottom? Because I'm getting conflicting information from both halves, and they're being VERY vocal about it!"
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