Patriot still lay facedown with his ass in the air, his whole body looking like a national flag someone had yanked off its pole and failed to fold properly.
It was hard to tell whether he had been knocked out or was too embarrassed to get up.
He had probably been knocked out. With his brains, the second option would never have occurred to him.
Chen Mo took a look.
Then another.
In the end, he couldn't help himself.
"I take back what I just said," Chen Mo said. "It's not just a little lacking in perkiness. It's seriously lacking. Not even close. Just looking at it, I can tell it would feel nowhere near as good as the captain's ass."
Steve, the United States' conscience (cross that out), America's Ass (check), held his shield, still wearing that classic Captain America expression.
Solemn.
Upright.
Captain America raised his shield and swung it at him.
Chen Mo flipped backward and hung upside down like a spider from the broken upper half of the factory's outer wall, his feet pressed against its surface, his entire body hanging at an angle at the edge of the firelight.
He gave Steve the middle finger.
Very quickly.
Very clearly.
And very conveniently for the photographers among the superheroes' diehard fans to capture.
Natasha stood in the shadows of a half-demolished office building in the distance, watched this unfold, and sighed softly.
"Those two are getting more and more addicted to acting."
Matt Murdock stood beside her, his head tilted as his ears picked up vibrations in the air.
"There really is something up there," Matt Murdock said. "Very high up. Barely noticeable. The clouds and city noise are masking the engines, but it's not a civilian aircraft or a police helicopter. They must have taken