xp_logs | With Extreme Prejudice, chapter 3 (Reply)

Daredevil and Spider-Man are out on patrol and stop a confrontation between a group of mutants and the Friends of Humanity before it gets too violent.

Miles released his webline and somersaulted in midair to land cleanly on all fours on the nearest rooftop. When he sensed Matt join him, he hopped over to the edge and point down at the street below. Mostly empty except for half a dozen men, three wearing the armband emblazoned with the Nazi-esque logo of the Friends of Humanity. Given how they were bumping chests with the other trio, Miles easily deduced that those three were mutants.

"Oh, this is gonna get ugly if they don't chill . . ."

"FOHers don't know 'chill,'" Matt pointed out. Not unless Netflix was involved and even then he had his doubts. "You know they can't let it go for their macho pride. And the mutants can't walk away or use their powers, it's a catch-22," which meant they would have to intervene unless things got really ugly.

"I liked that book, it was funny," Miles said, leaping off the building and firing a web at a fire escape so he could rappel down safely to ground level. "So, hey, hi, guys," he greeted the assembling group, who all turned to look at him with a wide variety of expressions. One of them was even not hostile. "What's up?"

One of the FOHers, his face red (from impotent, bigoted rage or the cold? Miles couldn't tell), all but barked at him. "Get outta here, freak. This isn't your turf."

Teenagers. Matt followed and intended to stay out of sight, but decided to reveal himself thinking maybe the FOH would be more likely to back off if there were more. It was unlikely, but maybe. "Turf," he drawled, amused, "I didn't know this was a gang war. I thought those went out of style 20 years ago," he pulled his billy club out of its sheath.

The other mutant looked between the FOHer, Spider-Man and Daredevil, then very quietly, stepped back before turning to run.

Miles gave a thumbs up and nodded. "Bueno. At least someone has a sense of self-preservation. Now how 'bout you guys?" he asked the others. "Go home, have a beer, watch the Daily Show. I don't think people are giving Trevor Noah a fair chance. He's actually really funny. Jordan Klepper and Hasan Minhaj are really good, too, you know what I mean?"

"Better idea," replied one of the FOHers, reaching into the unzipped duffel bag he carried. Miles stepped back, hands instinctively going up, when he saw the butt of a rifle. "You all get out of here and go back to wherever you came from. New York's not for muties. Not anymore."

"Whoa whoa whoa, let's not go crazy. Put the gun down, coño, no one needs to get hurt."

"What did you call me?!"

"He called you 'friend,' you fuckin' idiot." That was one of the remaining mutants, who'd also raised his hands when he saw the gun. But as a mutant, he was naturally prepared to counterfire. He stomped his foot, sending shockwaves through the ground, like a miniature, localized earthquake.

"Language!" Matt called, throwing his billy club at the man with the gun, hitting his hand so he was forced to drop the gun. Of course, with that bag, who knew what other goodies were inside. He dropped from where he was, landing behind the FOHers. "Everyone likes having friends. They're important," he whirled, catching movement from one of the FOH thugs with his sonar. Countering his punch and engaging him.

The guy pulled a knife from a pocket and Matt just shook his head, grabbing his billy club back and using the built-in armor of his uniform to lessen the impact of the blows the guy attempted to deliver. "Friends don't hit friends," he pointed out, not going on the offensive. Yet.

When Matt disarmed the one thug, Miles fired a web to retrieve the fallen gun before anyone could take it for themselves. It was only a partial solution, as two other skirmishers didn't need weapons to be dangerous. The foot stomper's buddy stepped out from behind him, his hair turning to porcupine quills as he charged the FOHers. He tripped and fell before he could make it halfway, though, over a web tripwire.

"Sorry," Miles apologized. "Seriously, go home, guys. Enough is enough."

"Violence begets violence," Matt agreed, his thug now in a choke hold that he tightened until the guy stopped struggling. "And we want everyone to be friends. Not with us, we've got friends. But other people. So go, be friendly. Elsewhere."

Whirling, he used the guy he was holding to hit one of his buddies, "Spidey, make him stop being stupid!" he called, dodging and whirling, the thug he held forced to move along with him and act as his punching bag and shield. "Where'd you get 'em?" he growled, making the guy yelp, not wanting to get hurt any more. "The guns!" he added.

"The docks!" the thug muttered, trying to be tough in the face of utter defeat by some costumed guy in a red devil suit, "In Brooklyn! Okay? Lemme go!"

It was becoming a Spider-Man classic finishing move: disappear from sight and lay his hands on as many people as he could without being detected, and then after a three-second countdown, watch them all get the mother of full-body charley horses. When Miles reappeared beside Matt, his fingers were still sparking.

They all got the hint. Mutants or armed or no, they were outmatched against the masked vigilantes. The two mutants went one way, while the FOH trio went another, both shouting obscenities as they fled. And though the FOHer took his bag with him, he did leave behind the gun Miles had taken.

"This is a lot heavier than I would've thought," Miles said, hefting the weapon. "And it looks like something out of Call of Duty, you know what I mean?"

"No," Matt didn't play video games of obvious reasons, but he was at least familiar with that one. He took the weapon from Miles, unloading it, "And it's not a toy, like Call of Duty. Come on. Let's get out of here," because the cops weren't here yet, but that didn't mean they wouldn't show.