Marvel: Unlimited Possession

C70: Helper

In mid-air, the bullet veered in a gravity-defying arc, twisting like a guided missile, and struck a Hand operative squarely in the skull from an impossible angle.

Luke Cage raised an eyebrow as the ninja crumpled at his feet.

Even though it wasn't the first time he'd seen Wesley Gibson's uncanny gunplay, the sight still got to him every time.

After all, the ability to curve bullets mid-flight like some kind of sniper sorcery was just... insane.

Then again, being bulletproof himself wasn't exactly normal either.

BANG—

Dodging a kunai launched by a grappling hook, Luke hurled the engine block he'd ripped from a nearby wreck into a cluster of crimson-clad assassins. Nearby, Jessica Jones was adapting fast—her brawler instincts merging with her aerial maneuverability. With each skirmish, she refined a rhythm that made full use of her flight and superhuman strength. Against the endless soldiers of The Hand, efficiency was everything.

"Watch it—Bullseye's inbound!"

Matt Murdock—Daredevil snapped his billy club up to parry a katana strike. Turning his head sharply, his enhanced hearing picked up the near-silent whizz of something unnatural slicing through the air.

The others tensed.

Jessica's expression darkened. She hadn't forgotten the ambush at the docks nor the smug, tight-lipped psycho in a black suit who'd nearly taken her head off with a damn toothpick.

Bullseye. The name alone was enough to trigger alarm bells. His aim was supernatural. He didn't curve bullets like Wesley, but his sheer accuracy turned anything into a lethal weapon.

"I'll handle him," Wesley said evenly, shifting his focus and swinging the muzzle of his pistol toward the dark figure crouched atop a derelict rooftop.

Bullseye's eyes narrowed at the sight of the shifting barrel. He slid into partial cover, exchanging the playing cards in his hand for a Glock tucked behind his belt.

Despite his own legendary throwing precision, he remained wary of Wesley's [Arc Ballistics]. Last time, he'd barely dodged death only surviving thanks to his quick reflexes and hyperkinetic spatial awareness.

Still, he wasn't the type to hesitate.

Bullseye fired first.

His skill extended beyond paper cards and scalpels—he was just as deadly with bullets. But Wesley didn't flinch. He wasn't just another gunman. As a clone projection of Li Ran like Ah Xing—he wasn't directly linked to the main body. Even if Bullseye landed a hit, the damage wouldn't travel along any chakra threads to the original.

And then there was [Adrenal Acceleration].

Wesley surged forward, time stretching in his perception, as he dodged each bullet with split-second precision. While Bullseye's marksmanship bordered on metahuman, his shots were still linear. Wesley's weren't.

He pulled the trigger again.

Bullseye's enhanced perception, a mutant-level gift if anyone had ever tested him, caught the bullet spiraling toward him in slow motion. But the bullet didn't fly straight—it twisted like a hawk on the hunt.

Snarling, Bullseye raised his weapon and fired not at Wesley, but at the bullet.

The two rounds collided mid-air with a pop like snapping knuckles. The curved bullet sputtered off trajectory and lost its arc.

"Gotcha," Bullseye smirked, lips curling upward.

But before the grin could fully form, four more bullets traced corkscrew paths toward him.

Shit.

His pupils contracted. His arrogant calm shattered.

Nobody said Wesley's [Arc Ballistics] was limited to single shots.

Even Bullseye, for all his pride, had to abandon his position and dive for cover, arms curled protectively over his face as the twisted rounds whipped through the air like heat-seeking vipers.

With Bullseye pinned down, the battlefield shifted. Wesley's suppressive fire neutralized Fisk's most dangerous enforcer. Luke Cage surged forward, a wall of unbreakable flesh, tanking katana strikes and shuriken. He bulldozed through the ninjas, clearing a path for Matt to toss a flare into the crates marked with the sigil of The Hand.

WHOOSH!

The blaze erupted, engulfing centuries-old contraband, dark artifacts, and smuggled weapons. Their stronghold was burning.

---

"This is the first time, Mrs. Gao," Wilson Fisk said coolly, his voice like velvet wrapped around a steel bat. "Clearly, things haven't gone as 'smoothly' as you claimed."

Bullseye had failed. Again.

The last few clashes with the Defenders had drained Fisk's manpower. Even for someone with his empire, two high-profile losses meant millions gone and worse, whispers spreading through Hell's Kitchen. The king's grip was loosening.

"It wasn't only your men who fell," Mrs. Gao said, her voice papery but steady. "They've acquired a strange ally—one who manipulates the path of bullets. Many of my best fell before him."

"I didn't ask for excuses, Gao." Fisk rose from his chair, cane clicking as he approached the ancient woman.

"If you can't deliver results, then perhaps it's time to... end our partnership."

Once, Mrs. Gao might've brushed off the threat. She'd been nigh-immortal, a high-ranking member of The Hand, her power sustained by chi stolen from others. But those days were fading. Her grip on longevity was slipping, and the Defenders' interference had set back their resurrection plans significantly.

They couldn't afford to lose Fisk.

Her lined face creased further as she recalled a past conversation—her encounter with a boy named Ah Xing.

"Perhaps... we need a helper as well," she murmured.

Fisk arched an eyebrow. "Helper?"

Mrs. Gao's lips curled in a quiet, unsettling smile. "Yes. An absolute power. One who walks between life and death."

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