[A/N]: The Second goal of the week is 400 Power Stones for 2 more Bonus chapters. If you're enjoying the story, drop a stone, leave a comment, and show some love.
------------------------------------------------------
"BAT!" Jonah called from above, his voice carrying pride that made his chest swell. "FETCH, BOY!"
He hurled another Sentinel downward like a very angry baseball. Bat's eyes tracked the incoming robot, his body adjusting mid-flight with instinct that transcended training and entered the realm of "bulldog logic" (which was to say: see target, bite target, repeat until everything stops moving).
The bulldog caught the Sentinel in his jaws at full speed. The impact created another sonic boom. Robot and dog tumbled through the air in a ball of golden light and sparking circuits before crashing into Central Park with enough force to uproot several trees and create a new water feature.
Bat emerged from the crater moments later with the Sentinel's head still clenched in his jaws like a trophy. His tail wagged furiously, and if dogs could grin, this one would have been visible from space.
"Good boy!" Jonah landed beside his dog with a thump that cracked pavement, giving him a head scratch that probably dented several Sentinel processors still stuck in Bat's teeth. "Who's a good boy? Who's the best boy? You are! Yes you are! Better than Spider-Man! Much better! You don't even need webs!"
The display of affection between man and dog, both glowing with golden power and covered in robot parts, was somehow both heartwarming and terrifying in equal measure.
More Sentinels converged, drawn by the destruction of their fellows like moths to a very angry flame. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, their adaptive systems combining data and learning from each defeat.
Jonah looked at the approaching swarm, at his bulldog standing ready beside him, at the city he'd spent his entire career protecting with words that he now had to protect with fists.
His mustache bristled with anticipation.
"Alright Bat, remember what I always say about Spider-Man?"
The dog barked once, affirmative.
"That menace needs to be stopped? Well today, WE'RE the menace!" Jonah's grin was absolutely manic, the kind of expression that made reporters flee and advertisers nervous. "Let's show these toasters what happens when you threaten the free press! Freedom of speech includes the freedom to punch robots!"
They charged as one.
What followed wasn't a fight so much as controlled demolition set to a soundtrack of barking and editorial commentary that would have made the founding fathers weep with pride.
Jonah moved through the Sentinel swarm like a wrecking ball with a journalism degree and anger management issues. His fists found weak points with precision that came from decades of finding weaknesses in arguments and corrupt politicians. Every punch was accompanied by commentary that would have made his editorial page proud.
"Freedom of the press!" CRACK. A Sentinel's chest caved in like cheap armor.
"Right to assembly!" SMASH. Another robot's head exploded into sparks and indignation.
"Separation of church and state!" CRUNCH. Adaptive plating crumpled like paper under a deadline.
"Due process of law!" BOOM. A Sentinel's torso folded in half at an angle that definitely violated its warranty.
"And that one's just because I DON'T LIKE YOUR FACE!" CRASH. The Sentinel embedded itself in the side of a building (which was probably owned by that hack at the Bugle's competitor paper, so bonus points).
Bat fought with the same stubborn tenacity that made bulldogs famous and insurance companies nervous. He latched onto legs, arms, heads, anything he could reach. Once his jaws closed, they didn't open until metal broke or someone offered him a treat.
One robot made the mistake of grabbing Bat's jowls, trying to leverage him off, which showed a fundamental misunderstanding of bulldog psychology. The dog's eyes narrowed with an expression that clearly said "big mistake, bucket of bolts." He bit down harder, his neck muscles bunching with power that could crush diamonds ,and literally tore the Sentinel's arm off at the shoulder like pulling a drumstick off a turkey.
The robot stumbled backward, sparking and probably experiencing whatever passed for robot confusion, before Bat hit it at full speed like a furry golden missile with anger issues. The impact sent both dog and machine tumbling through three buildings, a dry cleaner, a tax attorney's office, and a vegan restaurant that Jonah had always hated anyway, before they finally stopped in what used to be a Starbucks.
Bat emerged from the rubble with a venti caramel macchiato stuck on his head like a hat. His tail wagged with absolute joy and possibly caffeine anticipation.
"Don't drink that!" Jonah called, smashing two Sentinels together like cymbals in what was probably the world's most aggressive percussion solo. "You know caffeine makes you hyper! Last time you had coffee you chewed through my desk!"
The battle raged across Manhattan with the most unlikely duo since peanut butter met jelly.
But as all temporary powers did, the golden light began to fade.
Jonah felt it draining, felt the strength leaving his muscles, the youth evaporating from his bones. His body remembered it was fifty-five and tired and had high blood pressure and a doctor's appointment next Tuesday that he'd been avoiding.
The suit dissolved into motes that drifted upward like golden ash. His suspenders reformed around him, now torn and smoking but still recognizable (they were good suspenders, had served him well for twenty years). The mustache remained magnificent, because some things transcended even cosmic power.
He collapsed to his knees in the middle of a crater surrounded by scrapped Sentinels, breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was personally offended by the whole experience.
Bat landed beside him with a thump, the golden light fading from his fur. The dog transformed back into his normal squat bulldog shape, jowls returning to their usual magnificent droop. The cape vanished, though a small piece remained stuck in his collar like a souvenir.
They knelt there together, man and dog, exhausted and normal and somehow disappointed by the return to reality.
"Mr. Jameson!" Johnny Reed appeared from the rubble of the Daily Bugle building, tears streaming down his face as he ran toward them. "You saved me! I thought I was dead, and you just... you just..."
He wrapped his arms around Jonah in a hug that the editor normally would have rejected with prejudice and several choice words about professional boundaries and personal space.
But Jonah just hugged him back, one hand reaching down to scratch Bat behind the ears. "That's what we do at the Daily Bugle, kid. We protect our people. Even useless interns like you and that menace Parker. Speaking of which, where is that fellow? Probably off taking blurry photos while I'M doing the real hero work!"
Johnny laughed through his tears. "I'm not completely useless! I can change ink colors..."
"Useless," Jonah interrupted, but his voice carried affection rather than venom (though he'd deny it if anyone asked). "But you're still one of mine. And nobody threatens one of mine without going through me first. That's Daily Bugle policy. I think it's in the employee handbook. If it's not, it should be. Robertson, make a note!"
He looked at the destruction around them, at the dozens of scrapped Sentinels, at the hole in the Daily Bugle building, they had insurance, probably, at his trembling hands that minutes ago had punched through military-grade adaptive plating like it was cardboard.
"Though I gotta say," Jonah added, a grin breaking across his face despite everything, "that was the most fun I've had in forty years. Spider-Man eat your heart out! J. Jonah Jameson just saved Manhattan and he didn't even need spider powers to do it! Just good old-fashioned American grit and a willingness to punch anything that moves!"
Bat barked in agreement, his tail wagging with pure satisfaction.
Robbie Robertson emerged from the building's wreckage, his camera still somehow functional in his shaking hands. "Boss, I got it all. Every second. The whole fight from start to finish. This is going to be the front page for a month."
Jonah's eyes lit up with that trademark gleam that every Daily Bugle employee knew meant he'd just thought of a headline (and probably several follow-up stories, a week-long series, and possibly a coffee table book). "Get it ready for print, Robertson! Front page, full color, biggest headline we've ever run! 'DAILY BUGLE EDITOR SAVES MANHATTAN: SPIDER-MAN NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!' No, wait, make it bigger! 'J. JONAH JAMESON: REAL HERO, UNLIKE THAT MENACE SPIDER-MAN!' Actually, get Parker in here, I want photos of Spider-Man NOT saving the day for once!"
"Sir, I'm pretty sure Spider-Man was fighting Sentinels at Midtown High and saved like a twenty or so students..."
"IRRELEVANT!" Jonah repeated louder, his mustache bristling with renewed vigor despite his exhaustion. "I want photos of that wall-crawler! Clear ones! I want to know what he was doing while I was doing his job for him! Probably off taking selfies or selling pictures to that hack at the Bugle's competitor! And get me a list of everyone who's ever sued us! I'm sending them all personally autographed photos of me punching robots! They can put THAT on their mantles!"
Around them, golden motes continued to fall across Manhattan, other people accepting Gaea's gift, other temporary heroes rising to fight. But in that moment, standing in a crater surrounded by robot parts with his bulldog beside him and his staff safe, J. Jonah Jameson felt something he'd never admit to anyone.
Peace.
He'd spent his entire career crusading for truth, for justice, for holding the powerful accountable through the written word. He'd exposed corruption, taken down criminals, and made enemies of everyone from the mob to City Hall to that wall-crawling menace who kept bringing him blurry photos.
But today, for just a few minutes, he'd gotten to protect his people not with words but with action. He'd become the kind of hero he'd spent decades claiming didn't need costumes or codenames (take that, Spider-Man), the kind that fought not for glory or recognition but because someone needed saving and he was too stubborn to let them die on his watch.
And it had felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
"Come on, Bat," Jonah said, standing with effort and wincing at the protest from his very normal, very tired old knees that were definitely not designed for superhero work. "Let's get back to the office. We've got a newspaper to put out, and this story isn't going to write itself. Plus I need to call our insurance company. They're going to love this."
The bulldog barked once, agreeing, then immediately sat down because walking was hard and his stubby legs were tired and there was a perfectly good human right here who could carry him.
Jonah picked him up with a grunt, cradling the sixty-pound dog against his chest despite his screaming back. "Yeah, me too, boy. Me too. But we did good today. Real good. Better than Spider-Man would have done, and don't let anyone tell you different."
They walked back toward the Daily Bugle building, toward the newsroom that had been partially destroyed but would be rebuilt, toward the staff that had been saved and would spread the story of their curmudgeonly boss who'd become a superhero for exactly long enough to save their lives and then immediately went back to yelling about deadlines.
Behind them, the scrapped Sentinels sparked and died.
And in newsrooms across the city, in social media feeds across the globe, the footage of J. Jonah Jameson and his bulldog Bat becoming heroes and absolutely demolishing dozens of Sentinels went viral with the speed of a really good scandal.
Within hours, it had been viewed 200 million times.
The comments section was a beautiful disaster:
"J. JONAH JAMESON IS LITERALLY OMNI-MAN I'M SCREAMING"
"The mustache stayed. THE MUSTACHE STAYED AND IT WAS GLORIOUS."
"That man just used a Sentinel as a baseball bat to hit other Sentinels. This is the greatest thing I've ever witnessed."
"His DOG became a superhero. HIS DOG. I love everything about this."
"Somewhere, Spider-Man is watching this and laughing his ass off while also being lowkey terrified."
In the Daily Bugle office, Jonah sat at his destroyed desk, cigar somehow still miraculously intact (good cigars were hard to kill), and began typing his editorial with Bat snoring at his feet:
"DAILY BUGLE EDITOR SAVES MANHATTAN: A LESSON IN REAL HEROISM (UNLIKE THAT MENACE SPIDER-MAN)"
The first line read: "Today, this reporter learned that anyone can be a hero when someone needs saving, even a cranky newspaper editor and his magnificently jowled bulldog. Though I still maintain that Spider-Man is a menace and should be arrested, I will grudgingly admit that temporarily having powers was... adequate. Unlike Spider-Man's skills, which remain terrible."
He paused, considered adding another paragraph about how he'd done it better than Spider-Man would have, then decided that was what the entire rest of the article would be about.
Bat's tail wagged in his sleep, dreaming of robots and righteous violence and possibly that Starbucks macchiato.
And somewhere, Gaea smiled.
Because sometimes, the most stubborn people made the best heroes, especially when they refused to admit they'd enjoyed it.
Even if they'd never admit it afterwards.
[A/N]: Support my work and get early access to chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max_Striker.
If you wanna hang out, join my Discord server- https://discord.gg/XxGEYk2PM5