American comic book: Absolute Spider-Man

Chapter 113 Replicated Chest Cannon

When the second person walked in, Peter smelled a completely different scent.

That was the regional head of the security department; records show he was in charge of handling the bodies of people killed by the superhumans who ruled Vought for various reasons.

He sat up straight in the chair, his back more professional than a legal advisor's, his hands resting naturally on the armrests, his heartbeat as steady as a straight line.

Peter asked him if he regretted what he had done. He was silent for a moment, then lowered his head and began to speak in a perfectly husky voice. He said he regretted it, but because he knew too much about Walter's dirty laundry, he could no longer back out.

He said that he had been working at the Water Security Department for years, and every day when he got home from get off work, he didn't dare to look into his daughter's eyes.

He said he was just following orders and that he had never hurt anyone personally, but he admitted that he had guarded the gate for the murderer. When he said this, he even covered his eyes with his palm and his shoulders trembled slightly.

His tone paused precisely where a pause was needed, and he choked up precisely where a sob was needed.

Then he lowered his hand, looked directly at Peter with the posture of a redeemer, and said that he was willing to spend the rest of his life making amends to those he had indirectly harmed.

Peter's heart rate remained completely still throughout the entire performance.

His pheromones were perfectly clean, and his pupils did not show any dilation of capillaries associated with genuine grief when he choked up.

His heart actually quickened slightly as he delivered his lines.

Peter thought that the adrenaline surge in a gambler's heart rate as the dice were about to land made him think this guy was really something else—he should have gone to Hollywood as an actor.

It's a waste of his talent, but he never had the chance anyway.

Sun dust clung to his ankles, dragging him from the chair toward the corner.

A wisp of solar dust transformed into a sharp blade, severing his carotid artery. He clutched his neck, staring at Peter with resentment.

Amid Ashley and the legal advisor's gasps, Peter shouted, "Next!"

By the time Peter had finally finished interrogating all the non-superhuman employees in Water Tower, hundreds of corpses had piled up in the spacious conference room.

The only twenty or so living people stood around the conference table, looking at the clear boundary between the dead and the living.

Those who are forced to leave, unable to withdraw, and still repenting can survive.

Those who sell their souls to their countrymen for money, status, and power will only become a dead body in a corner.

The person sitting behind the table never argues, never explains, and never makes a mistake.

In the meeting room filled with the stench of blood, Peter stood up from his leather chair and stepped onto the pool of blood.

He said to Ashley and the other survivors behind him, "Please wait here for me a moment, there's still a second half. We'll judge those super-giant babies together then."

Peter walked around the pile of corpses that hadn't been completely moved in the corner, crossed the empty corridor, and pushed open the door to Homelander's room.

It was a suite located on the southeast corner of the top floor of the Water Tower, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Manhattan skyline, which were now completely blocked by solar dust from the outside.

The room's interior was extremely ostentatious: one wall was covered with the covers of Chinese magazines, and a row of unopened baby bottles sat on the coffee table.

Peter didn't linger in the room, which smelled of milk and hairspray, and went straight to the vertical cryogenic chamber opposite Homelander's bed.

A thin layer of frost covered the glass of the cabin, and through that frost, you could see a man with a stubble beard, but who was breathtakingly handsome.

Her looks are only slightly less striking than Peter's.

Old popsicle—no, foot-licking boy, soldier boy.

Peter pressed his palm against the glass of the cryo-chamber.

Sun dust slipped from his fingertips, spreading down the frost on the glass surface, through the sealed joints of the bulkhead, and seeping into the skin of the tenth soldier boy.

The crimson nanocrystals extended downwards, penetrating subcutaneous fat and muscle fascia, and touched the slowly burning radiation core inside the ten-soldier boy's body.

It was a complete built-in radiation system, with every cell undergoing continuous radioactive decay.

This type of radiation is harmless to ordinary biological tissues under normal circumstances, but when released in a concentrated manner as a chest cannon, it can produce radiation greater than TNT.

Even more terrifying destructive power.

In addition to physical damage, radiation can precisely destroy the molecular structure of Compound V, turning superhumans modified by Compound V back into ordinary people.

"On Friday, we will analyze the mechanism of this radiation system and determine whether it can be reproduced."

"Analysis complete. The radiation system within the soldier boy's body is essentially a cellular isotope decay field formed by the long-term interaction between the V1 primary serum and external radioactive materials. His chest cannon is a directional, concentrated release of this decay field. Solar dust can reproduce the energy waveform of this decay field on a microscopic scale. Replication is feasible, sir."

"Let's do it now," Peter said.

"Replication has begun. Solar Dust is reconstructing a complete radiation decay field generator within your armor's nanoarray, estimated to take forty-seven seconds."

Peter sensed that his armor was changing.

At the microscopic scale of the armor, the lattice structure of each nanocrystal begins to recombine.

The Sun Dust was synchronously replicating the innate energy core deep within the soldier boy's chest cavity within his full-body armor, replacing the cell-level isotope decay field accidentally activated by the Soviets in a radiation experiment with an artificial radiation decay field generator, with precision calibrated layer by layer, from the organ level to the cell level, then to the molecular level, until a perfect match.

His back began to heat up, and the nanoarrays between his shoulder blades released faint afterglows of hard X-rays as they reconstructed, while a golden halo rose on the surface of his crimson armor.

Peter could feel an unfamiliar power gradually taking shape within his armor.

Before leaving the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Peter spent a few minutes in the core of the sun to recharge his armor.

Now, the energy of the armor is being transformed into another form.

When it is fully activated, he can unleash the chest cannon like a soldier boy.

"Replication complete, sir. The radiation decay field generator inside your armor has been activated. For first-time use, a low-power test is recommended."

Peter raised his right hand, palm up.

The armor's nanoarrays converged into a tiny golden dot in his palm, and he released an extremely weak directional pulse into the air above his palm.

The air molecules emitted an extremely faint blue glow the instant they were struck by the pulse. The energy of the entire pulse was precisely controlled and dissipated before it even hit the ceiling.

Peter clenched his fist, retracted the light spot, and the golden halo on the surface of the armor faded away.

"Replica complete," Friday said. "You can now unleash directional radiation pulses from anywhere covered by your armor, with adjustable energy output. The maximum power is expected to cover the entire Vought Tower. The destructive effect on Compound V is identical to the original chest cannon."

"Notify all superhumans inside the Water Tower to report to the top-floor conference room."