"Yes, sir?"

A proper butler is never shaken by anything, and Jarvis has perfect control over his synthesized voice, so there's not even a quiver.

"I'm gonna need you to unlock a gun for me."

His voice is measured and careful and a little distant.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to shoot Master Stark or Captain Rogers."

"I'm not gonna shoot them. Trust me, I'd fucking love to put one in Asher right now, but I've got better self-control than that."

"I hope you understand why I am skeptical, sir."

“...I promise I’m not gonna kill anyone I didn’t hate three hours ago.”

There's a clicking sound. "Your gun is unlocked, sir, but I remind you that my reaction time is significantly faster than a human's."

“Thanks, J.”

There’s only one way he can think of to get them all out of here alive.

“I owe you one.”

He’s not really looking forward to this. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

He puts his pistol against his own head and pulls the trigger.

Jarvis does not stop him.

Asher would probably have some feelings about this but he's not actually processing anything about this situation. 

He's clutching Sasha's body close to his chest like a child with a stuffed animal. 

Sasha's body is limp and unresponsive. 

He doesn't move, doesn't speak; there is nothing he could say that would help. He keeps a hand on Asher's shoulder. 

Eventually he looks up and sees Deadpool's body. 

"Did Deadpool just shoot himself to get a break from this situation? I can relate."

It's not a good joke; there's a desperate, hysterical edge. 

"Don't," he says, softly. "Joking about it doesn't make it go away, it just makes it worse." 

It doesn't sound like a reprimand; it sounds like he's speaking from experience. 

Asher's breathing fast. 

"I don't, I don't know how to not joke about things."

"I know," still very soft. 

"...Don't kill Kingpin's people."

"I won't.

Can I ask why not?" 

"--If I have another death on my conscience right now I will jump off Stark Tower without a suit."

He nods, very seriously, and stands up and goes to deal with Kingpin's people, and leaves Asher to hold Spiderman's — Sasha's — body there. 

Asher puts Sasha's body down. He kisses his lips. They're cool.

"Jarvis, can I get the suit back on?"

"Are you really sure that's wise, sir?"

"I think right now I know exactly who I hate."

He stops, waits, doesn't comment.

And he's flying.

"Let's go rescue baby Hitler."

And they go,

and leave Spiderman's — Sasha's — body there on the sand. 

It's hard for him to think through the haze of-- everything-- but he doesn't have to, he lets instinct and muscle memory handle it. He feels distant from his own body, like it's a video game where he's controlling the character.

Someone turns on the hate beam again; he feels the sound vibrating his teeth. Jarvis turns on his music but he cuts it. Listening to music he likes grates more than the hate beam. 

He can-- turn the feelings. They're going to boost up his hate? Well, okay, but these people made him kill Sasha, and Marlo is objectively an extremely annoying person but he didn't make Asher kill Sasha, and there is no one in the world he viscerally hates as much as everyone who was involved in the production of that fucking hate beam. 

And he's not going to kill anyone. Kingpin is the person Asher hates most of all, and Kingpin doesn't give a shit about the lives of his minions, but he sure as hell cares about whether they turn state's evidence against him. He is aware vaguely that most of the time this is not his objection to killing people. He doesn't care. 

Asher briefly considers destroying every computer in the building, but decides it would be more efficient to bomb the place once all the people are out. Stark Industries still has some bombs in storage from when they canceled their weapons contracts, enough to turn this place to rubble. It's hard to say he looks forward to it, because it's hard to imagine looking forward to anything, but he contemplates the mental image with a certain satisfaction. 

Eventually, Asher tracks down the person operating the beam, knocks them out, moves the beam safely away from the person's body, and explodes the ray. He doesn't feel happy about it. (He doesn't know if he can feel happy.) But the satisfaction is there.

He wonders if at some point he will start calling that satisfaction "happiness." 

Destroying the ray doesn't have a noticeable effect on how much he hates everyone here.