Marvel: Pay to Win Gambling 31

Chapter 31: Questions beyond Answers

Vigilantes loved the night. So did villains. 

This one was definitely the latter.

“They say your kind fetch a good price.”

I stayed tucked behind the alley wall, listening in.

“Hundreds of thousands for the weak ones. A million or more if they're powerful.” The man spoke lazily, pacing slow circles around the injured Angel like a bored dog sniffing dinner.

“But I’m not an idiot,” he went on. “Going after the real monsters? Not worth it. I’d rather bag ten like you.”

Villains and their weird habit of monologuing their crimes. Not that I was complaining. It made life easier.

He was talking about mutants—hunting them.

But who was paying? And why?

“W-Why me?” Angel croaked out, clutching a bloody bullet wound on his forearm.

“Oh, bad luck.” The man gave a theatrical shake of his head, the lower half of his masked face twisting into a grin. “Wrong place, wrong time. No backup. No lookouts. Honestly, you made it way too easy.”

This guy... this villain was a special kind of lunatic. Smart too, unfortunately.

Normally, I’d have stayed the hell out of his way. But I was an X-Man now. Helping people was part of the gig.

“Don’t worry,” the man said with a casual shrug. “I won’t kill you. Dead mutants don’t pay.”

Angel visibly relaxed—until the man’s grin widened.

“But see, they didn’t say anything about hurting you. Snapping a wing or two.” He chuckled. “That’s fair game.”

Angel paled, finally realizing how deep in he was. His wings weren't strong yet. His wallet wasn’t saving him either.

“I-I can pay triple!” Angel stammered. “Let me go!”

The man actually stopped, rubbing his chin like he was seriously considering it.

“I mean... loyalty’s overrated,” he mused. Angel’s face flickered with hope.

“But no.” The man sighed, sounding almost regretful. “If I cross them, I’m the one who gets broken.”

He cocked his gun and aimed it square at Angel’s head.

“Come quiet—or come in pieces.”

That was my cue.

Xavier would have a stroke if I bailed on a mutant bleeding out in an alley.

Activating my electromagnetic field, I created a invisible bubble that would deflect any metallic projectile—and stepped into the light.

“Or maybe,” I said, keeping my walk calm, “you’ll be the one leaving in pieces.”

Was I worried? Yes. Extremely. Showing it? Not even a little.

The man turned his head lazily toward me, gun still on Angel, looking more amused than alarmed. Like I was the warm-up act at a bad circus.

“Need something?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

I shrugged. “Saw the news last week. A masked shooter hitting cops from half a mile away—never missing. Not even once.”

He beamed under the praise.

“Quite the record, huh?” he laughed. “But funny—I haven’t heard of you.”

“For your sake,” I said, “you should’ve kept it that way.”

And just like that, he froze.

Not emotionally—physically.

Gravity pressure locked him down mid-step. A trick I’d been practicing. Apply just enough force to pin someone without turning them into jelly.

He made a gurgling noise through clenched teeth.

“Ah, sorry.”

I eased the pressure on his mouth so he could talk.

“What... are you?” he hissed, barely able to twitch.

Instead of answering, I turned to Angel, who was still blinking like he hadn’t processed any of this.

“Maybe think twice before ditching the Professor’s team, Angel,” I said mildly. “Wouldn’t be bleeding if you’d stayed close.”

He bit his lip, too shocked to argue.

“I... asked who you are!” the villain growled. “You with him?”

Him?

“And who exactly is him?” I asked, casually probing.

“The masked devil,” he spat. “And his little gang of psychos.”

Ah. That devil.

“Nope,” I said. “Wrong club.”

The man looked ready to spit more venom, but I cut him off.

“I’m part of the group that protects the ones you hunt. And unlike the others you’re used to, I’m very much out of your league.”

He bared his teeth, blood starting to drip from the corner of his mouth as he grinned.

“We’ll... see.”

Then, faster than I could blink, something small and sharp shot straight at me.

A jagged white blur—moving so fast it would’ve punched a hole through my skull.

Would’ve—except it didn’t.

I watched it drop a few inches from my face, bouncing harmlessly against the ground.

“Seriously?” I grimaced, realizing what it was. “You just broke your own tooth and tried to shoot it at me?”

The man chuckled weakly, but the disgusted look on my face was genuine.

“You’re not the first crazy with a trick up his sleeve,” I said, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder. “Good thing I’ve got gravity on my side.”

Without my field up, even someone with god-tier reflexes wouldn’t have dodged that.

And tonight, I didn’t plan on dying to a glorified human slingshot.

“What kind of monster are you?” he couldn’t help but ask, blood dripping from his mouth.

And honestly? Fair question. Even someone like Storm would've been toast if that projectile tooth had hit her dead center.

But there was no bullet that could beat my electromagnetic field, and no non-metal that could get past my gravity field.

“The kind you’re out hunting,” I said, stepping closer. “Now, who’s the one paying you to go after us?”

Angel wasn’t the priority right now. The answers sitting in Bullseye’s mouth were.

Yeah. The man in front of me was Bullseye. Poindexter.

The superior hunter. The psycho marksman.

He spat again —really making a habit of that —and this time the blood almost splattered my boots.

“If I talk, I'm dead anyway,” he said with a grimace. “And whatever you can dish out, they can do worse.”

Not gonna lie, he nailed my next move before I even made it.

Still, I tried.

“You sure about that?”

His entire body slammed into the ground, gravity pressing so hard it probably squeezed his lungs like empty toothpaste tubes.

He groaned as dark tentacles sprouted from the ground, wrapping around his legs, locking him down.

“I can tear you in half.”

He was barely breathing, but he still managed a laugh —one of those mad, broken ones. “D-Death, torture… that's not how you break me,” he huffed. “They b-break minds. Bodies... s-souls.”

I frowned.

My brain went into overdrive, flipping through every scumbag organization I could think of. Hydra? AIM? The Hand? They all fit and none fit at the same time.

“Who are they?” I asked, voice low.

Bullseye’s body twitched, trying to move and failing miserably.

“H-He alone could wipe you out," he gasped. "And he’s afraid of them.”

“He who?” I squatted next to him. “Who are they?”

I eased the pressure around his head, cranking up my defensive fields even more just in case he tried something cute.

He chuckled, deep and broken. “If I'm dying tonight," he said, "I’m dying clean. Not with their nightmares chasing me.”

“What do—”

“No move!”

Angel’s shout cut across the air.

I realized it a second too late.

Bullseye bit down —on a molar. Not to launch it at me.

It was a bomb.

“FUCK—!”

The blast hit me like a sledgehammer to the senses. My gravity field caught the physical shrapnel, but sound? Sound was a different monster.

My ears rang. My vision blurred.

Bullseye’s head exploded like a watermelon under a truck, painting the alley in crimson.

I staggered, rubbing my eyes, blinking through the spray of blood and gore.

“I-Is he dead?” Angel’s voice shook. “Are you okay?”

I was fine —sort of —but Bullseye?

Angel didn’t need an answer.

The man was just a headless corpse now, still twitching.

“Yeah,” I muttered. Shaken. Way more shaken than I wanted to admit.

The Sentinels had already left enough scars in my head. But seeing a man blow himself up just to avoid talking?

That was a whole different level of nightmare fuel.

“We need to get the hell out of here.”

The explosion had been loud. Too loud. Sirens would be on us in minutes, and I didn’t want to be around when the vultures behind Bullseye came looking.

If... if they weren’t already.

And deep down?

I had a bad feeling they were.

…

…

—Peter Benjamin Parker ‘Spider-Man’—

Peter had just barely managed to bust a branch of the Russian mafia Bratva’s human trafficking ring.

Kidnapping girls. Shipping them overseas.

He’d gotten hurt —nothing new —bullets grazing his suit, bruises everywhere, but he’d saved them. That was what mattered.

Now, perched high on a tower, he watched from the shadows as cops herded the girls to safety. He was patching up his wounds, more tired than he cared to admit.

“You did good,” came a voice behind him. “But don't pull a stunt like that again. You could’ve taken one in the head.”

Peter flinched slightly, but relaxed when he saw the man behind him —red suit, devil horns, mouth uncovered.

Not exactly a comforting face, but it was familiar.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

And he meant it. If not for Daredevil, he’d be dead right now, probably bleeding out on the street.

“You don’t have to show up tomorrow,” the older vigilante said. “I’ll handle it. Things are getting worse in Hell’s Kitchen, and it’s starting to spread across the city.”

Peter didn’t really get the full picture. Half the stuff Daredevil said flew over his head. But even he could tell —the streets were changing. Getting darker.

“But things will be okay, right?” Peter asked, a little too much hope in his voice. “You’ll be fine?”

He looked up at Daredevil like a little brother would.

Daredevil smiled, just a soft one. “I will. Both answers.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he believed it. But that was the vigilante life, right?

Jumping into fires and praying you didn’t get burned too badly.

In Peter’s eyes, Daredevil was the ideal. The vigilante he wanted to be.

Funny thing? In Daredevil’s eyes, it was the other way around.

“Stay out of Hell’s Kitchen for a few days,” Daredevil said. “I’ll have people watching my back.”

Peter didn’t know much about the “people” Daredevil mentioned, but he had caught glimpses. 

“Watch over your neighborhood,” Daredevil added. “I’ll call if I need backup, Spider-Man.”

Peter nodded. “Then... stay safe, man.”

Daredevil gave a small nod back. “You too.”

Peter fired a webline and swung off into the night, leaving the devil standing alone on the rooftop.

And for the first time in a long time, Daredevil felt something he rarely admitted to.

Fear.

“This...” he muttered to the empty skyline, voice barely a whisper.

“This is worse than The Hand.”