Spider-Man Peter's Unpaid Avengers

Look at me. I am Peter Parker. I don't have millions in my bank account. I cannot pay my allies. But I possess something that no Kingpin and no Thanos can ever control: the absolute trust of the mightiest alliance on this Earth.Every single fiber of this forty-card security matrix breathes a flawless, relentless economy. Look closely!And don't you dare attack me. The very millisecond the villain even formulates the intent to test my defense, my Spider-Sense triggers. A lightning-fast, purely mechanical interrupt right in the enemy's timing window. I draw a card. Just like that. My mind operates faster than your algorithms. I do not start my phase with a hand; I start it with a logistical arsenal of six highly synergetic options.I discard • Black Cat. She never sets foot on the field. She is transformed into a pure, cold-blooded energy cell in my discard pile. Why? Because not a single blemish is allowed to stain the purity of my anthem. The battlefield remains sterile. It remains absolute. It remains purely AVENGER.I anchor • The Triskelion into the orbit of our logistics. My limit shatters from three to four. And then I activate the ultimate regulatory loophole: Stinger enters the operational base. Her text overrides the law: she does not count against your ally limit.There they stand. Five unpaid Avengers. A wall of flesh, shields, and pure ideology. Captain America, Vision, Goliath, Giant-Man, and little Stinger. And towering above them all is the relentless directive: Mighty Avengers paired with Team Training.This is no simple board state. This is an administrative meat grinder. Every single activation of my army permanently generates the equivalent of plus physiology and combat modifications—round after round. When Goliath returns from the afterlife via Make the Call, he strikes for eight unstoppable damage thanks to my modifications. He takes the consequential damage, but my Team Training keeps his vital signs stable. He stays on his feet. He does not die for me—not yet.I do not defend myself. I do not back down. I use Back Flip to let the inevitable vanish into the absolute void of my acrobatics, while my unpaid task force absorbs the villain's attacks like a living fortress. And if my body ever grows weary, I retreat into the shadows for a split second. Aunt May is already waiting. Four damage—erased. A free resource generated. And in the very next breath, I am back in the suit, launching myself into the air to plant a final, game-deciding Swinging Web-Kick for eight crushing damage right into the villain's face.My deck is not a theory. It is the flawless execution of absolute value. The front stands. The board is locked. And the file of the Avengers is officially closed.