The man wielding the heavy machine gun spoke crudely and unpleasantly, but his shots were ruthless and precise. Whenever one of the bugs sent flying by the Spider-Men briefly lost control of its body, the metal torrent of bullets arrived right on cue and blasted it apart in midair.
Suppressive fire was what Deadpool did best. His aim might not have been especially accurate, but his reactions were fast.
If the Olympic Games allowed heavy machine guns, he actually wanted to enter some sort of skeet-shooting event.
Perhaps realizing things could not be salvaged, the remaining bugs on the street temporarily retreated. The next time they returned, it would probably be with an even larger army.
Still, this "retreat and regroup" bought them some time. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents took the opportunity to reorganize the civilians and, under the cover of the spiders and Deadpool, rushed into the subway station at the street corner in one go.
The rotary machine gun had run out of bullets, so Deadpool casually shoved it into a trash can in the subway station. Cousin had given it to him anyway, so he did not care.
Feeling the large holes the bugs' weapons had punched through his body, he barely stuffed his severed intestines back into his abdomen. Then he looked at his black-and-red uniform, then at Spider-Man's blue-and-red one, and his eyes lit up.
"Hey, bro, you fought pretty well just now. Looking at your build, you've got a nice ass. You work out a lot, right? I like working out too—the adult kind. Heh heh." Like they were old friends, he slid over to Peter's side and hooked an arm around Little Bug's neck. "Oh, right, I've never seen you in New York before. Out having fun with your chicks today?"
Thanks to the