Ruins everywhere—mangled walls, severed girders, scorched steel.
The brass who'd come to enjoy a "live demo" wore matching grim faces now. As for the man in charge—Stryker—his expression was the darkest of all.
He'd escaped.
The "ultimate weapon" Stryker had poured time and blood into did not end the way he'd planned; it had fled instead of falling fully under his control.
"Kill him! Bring me his head!"
Stryker roared, snapping the order at the man beside him—David, a tracker, sharpshooter, and one of Weapon X's deadliest enforcers.
Back at the farm, with Saitama and Logan pitching in, the chores wrapped up in no time.
"Thank you both. Please—eat with us," said farmer Travis, grateful as he and his wife set a table heaped with food in thanks.
Logan felt awkward. While changing earlier he'd accidentally popped his new metal claws and sliced a sink in half—along with the heating pipe.
These were good people. And he was trouble.
Worse: his instincts prickled. Danger was closing fast.
"Thanks!" The bald freeloader didn't stand on ceremony. Saitama lifted a bowl and started shoveling rice. After all the farm work, he was actually a little hungry—even heroes for fun need fuel.
Logan was just reaching for his chopsticks when Saitama, already finishing his first bowl, paused. The boiled-egg face showed a rare flicker of puzzlement.
"Trouble's coming. We should step outside for a bit."
Outside, a gunship corkscrewed over the farm, fire-control painting the buildings in angry red.
Up above, David sneered and thumbed the trigger.
To him, "Wolverine" was a clown—just another piece on Stryker's board.
"Goodbye, idiot."
A medium air-to-ground missile screamed earthward, a white tail lashing the sky. In David's mind, he already saw the blast-bloom—rolling smoke, a furnace wave ripping outward, a hundred-meter crater gouged from the fields—
"Oh? Don't just toss missiles around."
A voice, calm and unfamiliar, breathed in his ear.
David jerked—and stared.
A figure hovered outside the cockpit, one hand casually gripping the missile by its nosecone.
OMG.
Ghosts? Hallucination?
His jaw dropped into an O. He panicked and yanked the cyclic back.
Boom—
The missile detonated midair. The shock front slapped the helo like a giant's palm and sent it tumbling.
At the farmstead, Logan jolted so hard his bowl nearly fell. He stared out at the blossoming fireball and climbing plume.
The whole place rattled on its foundations.
A heartbeat later—
Logan blinked. For an instant it felt like Saitama had… left the room for one second?
"What was that?" Farmer Travis blurted. His wife gaped, just as lost.
The four of them set their bowls down and hurried outside.
A mangled helicopter lay smoking in the field—proof enough that something had exploded.
"Down!"
Logan hurled the old couple aside.
Bang.
The blunt, heavy thunder of a large-caliber shot—an anti-materiel rifle.
An invisible sledgehammer slammed him. Logan grunted, blown off his feet.
Across the wreck, David—soot-black and half-fried—rose with a Barrett-level brute in his hands. Even adamantium bones couldn't shrug off that kind of impact without flinching.
"You! You almost killed me!" He recognized the man who'd caught the missile and snarled. The muzzle swung to Saitama.
He squeezed.
Bang.
The bullet spun, tearing a shriek out of the air as it knifed downrange. From its path, the farmer and his wife were inside the kill cone. Against a round that could chew through armored plate, human bodies were paper.
Saitama's brow creased.
The old couple didn't even have time to react.
The slug arrived—and a yellow suit, red gloves, and a white cape flashed into place in front of them.
Saitama's forehead met the round.
David pumped a fist. "Yes! Die, you—"
Clang.
A cathedral-bell note rang across the yard. Sparks burst from the impact point. The anti-materiel round—meant to bite through tank armor—crumpled and shattered, tinkling into the dirt at Saitama's feet.
…Huh?
David's eyes bugged. Lifelong hunter, pecked by the goose.
This was impossible. No human skull could stop that. Not even a mutant—no mutant was that absurd.
And yet he'd just watched it happen.
A low growl rolled over the field.
Logan sprang out of the debris. Wounds zipped shut before the naked eye; in a blink he was whole. The new metal claws slid free with a clean, hungry whisper.
Target: David.
Training took over. David ripped his sidearm free.
Bang bang bang bang—
A perfect string—draw, present, fire—each round stitching toward vital zones.
Useless. The hits staggered Logan for a fraction—but only a fraction.
Schlick.
Logan was already there. The claws punched into David's gut.
He hated people who killed civilians on a whim—especially those who'd aimed at the two farmers who had shown him kindness.
"Goodbye," Logan said through his teeth. "And Stryker's next."
A twist. Inside, everything became red confetti.
David crumpled, eyes wide with unwilling shock, and didn't move again.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!]
[[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]