The upper half of its skull and its lower jaw were forced into an extremely unnatural one-hundred-and-eighty-degree angle, exposing ruptured blood vessels and jagged broken edges of bone.
The mutated giant crocodile's massive body convulsed violently once. Then, as if all its strength had been drained in an instant, it collapsed like a boneless sack with a thunderous crash onto the shattered asphalt, kicking up a cloud of dust. Dark red blood poured steadily from the torn wound in its head, spreading rapidly across the ground.
The crisis ended so fast that many of the people who had fled hadn't even gotten far. The scene fell into an eerie silence, with only the faint wail of police sirens coming from the distance.
At that moment, a red-and-blue figure swung down nimbly from the outer wall of a nearby building and landed steadily not far away. It was New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He had originally rushed over after hearing the commotion, only to witness a scene that completely overturned his understanding of physics. The white eye-lenses on his mask widened in shock, and his mouth hung open wide enough to fit an egg inside (if the mask allowed it).
"Whoa… this… I…"
"H—Holy Shrimp!" (He almost said a different word, but remembered there might be younger viewers and changed it in time.)
Spider-Man stared at the bald man in that cheap-looking hero outfit, then looked at the crocodile corpse lying on the ground in a miserable state, feeling like even his spider-sense was about to short-circuit.
Only then did Saitama seem to notice someone else was there. He flicked off some sticky fluid and broken scale fragments that had gotten on his gloves. His face returned to that calm, expressionless look, and he muttered in a low voice:
"What a pain."
Then, as if nothing had happened, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets (if his tracksuit even had pockets) and continued strolling toward the supermarket sale, leaving Spider-Man standing there in disarray—along with a whole street of pedestrians who were gradually snapping out of their shock and starting to whisper among themselves.
Not long after Saitama returned to his temporary place, before the water for his cup noodles had even finished boiling, a device on Genos's wrist projected a hologram. In the image appeared the one-eyed director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, wearing that perpetually stern expression like the world owed him money.
"Mr. Saitama. Genos. An emergency has occurred in the West Side's Third Industrial District," Fury said, concise and forceful. "A batch of old 'Age of Ultron' war robots sealed for destruction have suddenly been activated, and all of them have been implanted with efficient killing programs. They've broken out of the storage facility and are now demolishing half the district. Conventional weapons can't effectively break their armor. We need your assistance."
Genos immediately straightened up. "Understood. We should depart at once!"
Saitama glanced at the kettle, which was letting out a soft whine, then looked at his disciple's "mission-accepted" face, and sighed again.
"…Alright."
When the two arrived at the West Side industrial district, what greeted them was a battlefield in utter chaos. Thick smoke billowed into the sky. Flames danced inside shattered buildings. The screech of laser fire and the constant boom of explosions filled the air.
There were dozens of war robots, each about three meters tall, with rough, bulky frames and red-glowing optical sensors. They were spread out in a skirmish line, using arm-mounted laser cannons and live ammunition weapons to unleash frenzied fire on anything that moved—people, vehicles, buildings, all of it.
Although their steel-plated bodies were riddled with bullet marks, just as Fury had said, they were largely still intact. The firepower of the police and the arriving S.H.I.E.L.D. agents could only barely slow their advance.
(End of Chapter)
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