655 C655 Clone Tag-Team

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The air crackled with tension as Wilson Fisk, his oversized military uniform straining against his imposing figure, stared at Peter with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?" Fisk's gravelly voice demanded, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the nonchalant figure before him.

"Oh, you know, just a friendly street magician," Peter replied with a smirk, conjuring a flower in his hand, which then turned into a handkerchief before disappearing in a plume of smoke. "Tada! Name's Pete. Pete the Amazing." He bowed, enjoying the perplexed expression on Fisk's face.

Fisk's frustration was evident as he clenched his jaw, suspecting that Pete had a hand in the sudden protective barrier that blocked his rocket. "Don't play games with me! Who are you? Are you working with the Prowler? Are you a terrorist as well?"

Peter raised a curious brow, his interest piqued. "Terrorist?" He asked, 'Is Prowler a terrorist in this world? Is it because he's fighting Centurion?'

The crime lord General's patience waned. "Enough of your nonsense. Men, open fire!"

Before the soldiers could follow their superiors command, the window from which Fisk had fired the rocket shattered, and a purple-clad figure soared out.

The Prowler, grenades aglow in both of his hands, stared down at Fisk with a barely controlled hatred burning in his eyes. As he hurled the glowing grenades, he unleashed a barrage of hate-filled words. "Die, you fat f*ck!"

Panicking, Fisk reacted swiftly, using his immense strength to grab the nearest military vehicle as makeshift cover, pulling it in front of him.

Meanwhile, his soldiers, caught off guard, weren't nearly as fortunate. The purple grenades exploded in a dazzling display of plasmic light, vaporizing the unfortunate soldiers caught in the blast radius.

Fisk, unscathed behind his makeshift cover, displayed a cold disregard for the lives of his own men. Ignoring the chaos around him, his eyes bore into Mateo, who landed between him and Peter. "So, the terrorist finally shows himself..."

"I'm not a terrorist." Mateo denies vehemently. "I'm a freedom fighter."

Peter sat back and listened in. 'Hmm, is the prowler actually good in this world?' He wondered, realizing that maybe he should have done some research while Mateo was knocked out. 'I guess I just assumed…'

As the confrontation unfolded, Fisk's seemed to completely forget about Peter, his attention remained solely on Mateo. "Call yourself whatever you want. But either way, you're a registered terrorist recognized by the federal government. Now, turn yourself in. The president would like to have a word with you before your execution…"

Standing with dozens of weapons aimed at him, The Prowler glared at Fisk with unbridled animosity. "No thanks, I'll have to impolitely decline." He said, holding up his middle finger. "I'll make sure to visit the president soon though. But since you're here, why don't I take your head to give to him as a gift to commemorate our first and last meeting?"

Grimacing at the clear disrespect he was being shown, Kingpin shouted, "Open fire!" He commanded his men, who didn't hesitate to squeeze their triggers. "Send this sh*t stain straight to the afterlife!"

Using his boots, which glowed in a purple light, Mateo leaped high into the air, dodging the hail of laser gunfire. "!"

Without hesitation, he descended before the formidable Kingpin, his foot poised to stomp, ready to use his powered boots to his advantage.

*Boom!* As he struck out, his boot blocked by Fisks forearms, the tech in his shoes activated, adding even more power to his kick.

Kingpins eyes widened as he was sent tumbling back into a nearby military vehicle, which was nearly flattened under his weight. "Ugh! Motherf*cker!"

The air was thick with tension and the clashing of weapons as Mateo's technological prowess clashed with Fisk's overwhelming strength and the military might at his disposal.

Amidst the chaos, a black ski mask concealed the identity of Mateo's uncle Aaron, who perched on the tower above, a weapon in hand. His assault rifle echoed with precision as he picked off soldiers, providing much-needed cover fire for his nephew. The muffled shots rang out as bodies dropped below, casualties of the escalating conflict.

Meanwhile, Peter sat back and watched the show, conjuring snacks to eat and a chair to make himself more comfortable. 'Hmm, they make a good team…'

Of course, he was talking about Mateo and his Uncle, who seemed to work in perfect unison. One up front, tanking and distracting the enemy, and the other picking them off from the back, thinning their numbers.

'It's just a matter of time before it's only Fisk left…' Peter watched as picked off another three soldiers in a row, his aim nothing to scoff at.

Seconds later, Peter's leisurely observation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Miles, who landed beside him, a worried look on his face as he watched Mateo and Fisk go at it.

Miles, eager to jump into action, asked, "Shouldn't we help them, Peter?"

Peter nonchalantly shrugged, offering Miles some of his snacks, though he didn't take any. "If you feel like it, go ahead. I'm just here for the show." He gestured toward the unfolding battle as if watching a thrilling movie.

Miles sighed, "Fine, I'll go help them myself..." he grumbled in annoyance as he walked off.

As the battle raged on, Miles weaved through the chaos to assist Mateo and his uncle. Spotting Kingpin's vice grip on Mateo's arm, Miles executed a perfectly timed kick, breaking Fisk's arm from the elbow and releasing his trapped counterpart.

"Aaarrrggghhh!" Fisk screamed in pain, his arm snapped in the opposite direction, a small piece of bone sticking out.

Fisk staggered back, clutching his broken arm, the pain etched across his face. He scanned the battleground with widened eyes, realizing the grim reality unfolding before him. "?!"

The once overwhelming force he had brought was now reduced to a scattered few, each falling under the precise gunfire of Uncle Aaron. Some didn't even know what hit them, too focused on assisting Kingpin with his fight against the Prowler.

Regret gnawed at Fisk as he witnessed the demise of his soldiers. He berated himself for his impulsive decision to confront the Prowler without a proper backup force.

But when their analysts gave him the location of a possible terrorist hideout, he was far too eager to wait for more soldiers, intent on capturing the Prowler to suck up to the president.

The arrogance that led him here now left him isolated, and the realization crept in that he was outnumbered and outgunned.

The remaining soldiers fell before his eyes, one by one, picked off by Uncle Aaron's precise shots. Fisk gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling within as he watched his once-formidable soldiers crumble.

Of course, Fisk's cold heart cared little for the fallen soldiers, focusing solely on his own predicament. Without his soldiers assisting him, or possibly even dying in his stead, he was left vulnerable.

He couldn't shake the impending doom that loomed over him, an unsettling awareness that he might lose. And in his business, losing usually meant death.

Mateo and Miles seamlessly worked together, a dynamic duo weaving through the chaos. Miles' agility and power was complemented by Mateo's quick thinking and tech, creating a dance of destruction that left Fisk on the defensive.

The crescendo of combat reached its peak as Mateo reached into his belt and tossed a handful of marbles forward. Miles didn't know what his counterpart was up to, but he was there to assist nonetheless.

Shooting two webs at Fisk, Miles pulled him toward the marbles, which seemed to activate due to the proximity, releasing an electric charge that spread, connecting every marble to one another.

The lightning danced around Fisk, restraining and electrifying him at the same time. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" He screamed as the volts of electricity coursed through his body, binding him on his knees.

As Fisk was captured, Uncle Aaron took aim at the last soldier standing, squeezing his trigger, sending the poor guy back to his maker. The once-formidable force that accompanied Fisk was reduced to nothing more than lifeless bodies on the cold, unforgiving ground.

Fisk, now devoid of his protective forces and restrained in a net of electricity, grit his teeth in pain as he stared up at Mateo, who walked up to him, removing his mask in the process. "So… That's what you look like… Ugh!"

Miles, catching his breath, looked at Peter with a proud grin. "Guess the show's over, huh?"

Peter nodded with a satisfied smile. "Looks like it. Good work everyone." He said, his snacks and chair disappearing as he walked over.

Fisk looked up at Mateo's hate-filled face, a spark of recognition flickering in his eyes. "Ugh… aren't you that traitorous police captain's kid?" he sneered, his voice straining from the pain.

Mateo, fists clenched, glared down at Fisk. "So, you remember my father?" he questioned sharply, his voice edged with anger and grief.

"How am I supposed to forget him?" Kingpin retorted, sneering under the continued electrocution. "It's not every day I get the pleasure of facilitating a state-sanctioned execution of a Police Captain. What? Did the big mean government kill your daddy? Is that why you became a terrorist?" he taunted, his words a cruel twist of mockery.

'Oh… Now everything makes sense.' Peter put all of the pieces together.

Enraged by Fisk's callous remarks, Mateo's eyes burned with fury. Without hesitation, he reached into his belt, pulling out a gleaming knife. In a swift motion, he plunged the blade deep into Fisks left eye, the knife sinking deep into the criminal mastermind's skull.

"Wait! Stop!" Watching in alarm, Miles tried to rush in and stop Mateo, but it was too late.

The blade was already buried in Fisk's head, and a gasp of finality escaped the crime lord General's lips. The electrocution was swift, leaving Fisk's lifeless form restrained on the ground.

Silence hung heavy in the aftermath of Mateo's swift and brutal act. The battlefield, once filled with chaos, now witnessed a chilling stillness as the reality of Fisk's demise settled in.

Mateo, breathing heavily, staring down at the fallen crime lord. The weight of his actions lingered in the air, a mix of vengeance and justice that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A/N: 1800 words :)

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