Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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Moving the gun aside, Henry said,

"You seriously want me to shoot? I'm not sure I wouldn't hit you by accident."

Truth be told, he just wanted to let Tony Stark suffer a bit more. It's not like those two idiots could actually beat each other to death with their bare fists.

"Fk!"**

"Aargh—!"

One was Tony cursing, the other the attacker howling in frustration.

But if it was just those two going at it—one of whom Henry had already dealt with—this fight would last until the heat death of the universe. If Stark took a punch to his smug little face, Henry might even clap in appreciation.

However, having ignored his surroundings due to the earlier altercation with the spoiled fat brat, Henry's Kryptonian super-senses finally came back online.

He picked up on multiple people rapidly converging on the villa, encircling it. The closest were already at the perimeter walls, preparing to scale them.

Judging by the shifts in airflow and body posture, many were already armed—rifles or handguns.

And these weren't paparazzi with telephoto lenses and flashbulbs—they were bringing guns that fired lead, not BBs or paintballs.

Even at the rear gate, two more vehicles were speeding in. Henry wasn't about to bet on whether they were allies or more assassins.

So, without hesitation, he aimed and fired—nailing the thug grappling with Tony Stark.

The guy was mid-pounce, and even after taking several punches to the face, hadn't changed course. He slammed into Tony and tackled him to the ground—mission accomplished, sort of.

Unfortunately for him, Henry's shot had hit him square in the chest, near the small pulmonary artery. It was a carefully chosen target—based on the medical knowledge Henry had absorbed from library textbooks.

If treated quickly, he might survive. If not, he'd bleed out. Simple as that.

And now, the unconscious attacker—a solid 200-pound sack of meat—was crushing Tony under his full weight.

"Mrrrgh—Fk,"** Tony groaned from beneath the human meatbag.

Henry walked around the car just as Tony finally shoved the guy off.

Looking at the bloody face of the now-comatose assailant, Henry asked,

"I didn't hit you, did I?"

"You goddamn bastard. I'd rather you had shot me. At least then I wouldn't have been flattened by this whale." Tony wheezed, pissed off and winded.

Before he could get to his feet and resume yelling at Henry, the front gate burst open again—two more vehicles storming through with roaring engines.

Definitely not a good time for banter.

Henry didn't care what kind of spoiled brat Tony Stark was—he yanked him by the collar and dragged him toward the house.

By sheer coincidence, Tony managed to scoop up the pistol he'd dropped earlier.

Henry didn't run toward the pool to warn the others—it was too exposed. Yelling out there would make him a perfect target.

And Henry wasn't interested in testing his Kryptonian bulletproof-ness in front of a crowd.

So instead, they dove inside the villa.

Taking cover behind a marble countertop, gunfire erupted from all directions. Tony Stark, reckless as he was, didn't charge out guns blazing. He crouched low beside Henry, gun in hand but wisely holding fire.

"Aren't these kinds of parties supposed to have private security?" Tony hissed.

**"Shouldn't they be doing something?"

Henry snorted.

**"The event company strictly forbade us from carrying firearms. You think it's a good idea for a bunch of coked-up trust fund babies to get their hands on weapons?

"Hell, their self-control's worse than a junkie on withdrawal. If it was just somebody else getting shot, fine. But when they blow their own brains out—or someone else's—that's when the organizers can start prepping for a lengthy offshore vacation."**

"Damn, now you've got me wanting to plant a Claymore mine here. Add a timer, see how long they last. Maybe we'd finally get a proper thrill outta these spoiled bastards." Tony muttered.

"Honestly, I think it'd make a great hangover cure. Even the drunkest guy here would sober up instantly." Henry said, shooting Tony a knowing look.

That look made Tony shift uncomfortably. Thinking back to earlier—when he'd been the first to resist despite having a gun to his head—he wasn't exactly sure why he did it. It hadn't been bravery. Just… impulse?

To distract from his own awkwardness, Tony reached out and said,

"Tony Stark."

A formal introduction, finally.

Henry was surprised. He didn't want to leave the future Iron Man hanging—literally—but still hesitated. Did he really want to get mixed up with this ticking PR timebomb?

In the end, he shook the hand.

"Henry... Henry Brown."

There were no sparks, no fated connection, no tingling sense of destiny. Just a brief, dry handshake. Tony didn't really like other people's body heat anyway.

Casually racking the pistol slide, Tony checked the chamber.

"So. Should we deal with the guys out front?"

"Uh… shouldn't we, I don't know, call the cops first?" Henry asked.

He was also silently screaming: Why are you like this? You don't even have the damn suit yet!

But thinking about it more, it made sense. A kid desperate to prove himself—starved of paternal validation—could easily end up doing reckless crap.

Of course, Tony had no idea the guy crouched next to him was a dimension-hopping Kryptonian judging him from the inside out.

Tony pulled out a flashing device from his pocket.

"Already sent an alert. My private security will be here within twenty minutes. Way faster than arguing with some granny over at 911."

Henry blinked.

**"Then we should wait for help. Don't you think we're outnumbered, and most of the guests are basically walking hostages?

"Even if you don't care if they live or die, how many rounds do you have in that pea shooter?"**

Before Tony could answer, a new wave of attackers burst into the villa's front hall.

They didn't say a word. They just raised their rifles and opened fire.

Bullets sprayed across the room. The marble counter held—for now—but shards and dust exploded everywhere.

Both Tony and Henry hunkered down, minimizing their exposed surface area. The countertop might block bullets temporarily, but focused fire could definitely chew through it. It was cover, not armor.

"So what now?" Tony growled. "You planning to just sit here and die, pussy?"

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