1 | Sin City
Act 2
Chapter 1
Sin City
- - -
Manhattan
“…are we gonna be doing a staring contest for the rest of this afternoon?” Kate started, leaning against the backrest of her executive chair, narrowing her eyes inquisitively at the Russian sitting openly opposite her on a smaller chair with her arms crossed. “I have a meeting.”
“Just call Duquesne and let him cover for you like usual,” Yelena retorted, narrowing her eyes as if she were reading Kate like a book; an open one at that, despite the training she hoped would at least stick around more than the following hour of the lesson.
“I’m not doing shifts at the Compound anymore, Lena; I don’t have a reason not to show up.”
“You know so little about business, Katherine.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’d rather run on rooftops and play superheroes with your boyfriend back then.”
“I’m a fast learner!”
“We both know I have to explicitly reiterate every lesson to you three times over for you to get it.” Yelena countered calmly, stood up, and leaned forward with her hand resting firmly on the desk’s surface. “You are dismissing me.”
“Now you’re reaching—”
“Are you worried that I’m here to ask about your new boyfriend’s location?”
“I don’t have a new boyfriend!”
“Everybody saw you and Parker kissed during the tsunami, Katherine; it’s to be expected that you’d already be jumping back into his arms days after that.” Yelena hides her grimace masterfully, “Look. I am here today because…”
“Are we going to have to wait any longer?” John Walker, the U.S. Agent, moaned after a yawn as he lounged against the backrest of a couch. His replicated shield sits cozily against the armrest.
“You have somewhere else to be, Johnny Boy?” Yelena teased from her position, leaning against a southern pillar of this grandeur office, crossing her arms and observing the rest of the roster that Thaddeus Ross has been running around collecting like trading cards after the Flood.
Next to Mister American to his right was the Quiet One, the one who faced Spider-Man and managed to hurt him on their first bout, quite impressive. The silvery hood partially obscuring the ballistic mask shaped and formed in resemblance to a skull almost made her call them a Knock-off Punisher if not for the exact model and configuration of a foldable recurve bow that they used in combat and the techniques shown so far that gave her a dead-ringer on Natasha. Taskmaster, that’s the callsign she read about them on the dossiers Ross provided for her as his liaison for the Thunderbolts. No personal records or anything was there; they were like ghosts, and it bothered her.
She knew one of these ghosts that even the Red Room and most intelligence agencies around the world didn’t know anything about—the Winter Soldier.
That was possible because of HYDRA, and it keeps nagging at the back of her mind.
The three of them perked up and looked in synchronicity toward the swung door as the man who called them here finally arrived.
“Sorry for the delay, everybody.” Harrison Osborn walked into the room and closed the door after himself before approaching them, shooting his hand forward along with a polite smile. “Harry Osborn.” He introduced himself to her, and Yelena saw no reason not to return the gesture.
She shook his hand firmly and nodded, “Black Widow. " Then, the boy billionaire turned to his next target.
“Captain John Walker.” U.S. Agent greeted him next, proudly.
“…I respect it,” Harrison said casually at the silent treatment he got from Taskmaster. Then, she watched as he sauntered to his desk before pushing some buttons to darken the windows.
“Mister Osborn,” she called without a second thought “How can we be sure there won’t be another explosion in your building?”
“That’s a bit of a low blow, considering the bomber can do metamorphosis.” He retorted with a flat grin. “But don’t worry, my department has the best available techs to isolate and detect Skrull invaders.”
“So, you got your hands on Spider-Man’s tech?” she asked, keeping a smirk hidden.
“Improved upon it would be a better terminology…” he retorted with his eyes focused on her “…Miss Belova.”
His daddy’s Norman Osborn, after all. It makes sense. She shrugged, motioning for the heir to continue with the meeting…
“…they are coming for him, Katherine,” Yelena grumbled under her breath.
“Tell me something I didn’t already know about,” Kate sighed, leaning back into her chair and twirling a pen between her fingers.
“Ross has pulled all stops for this. CRUD and Thunderbolts will focus their efforts and resources on the mission to hunt down and arrest Spider-Man. The Avengers will be banned from entering New York City unless in direct response to category-4 or direr threats.” Yelena looked up at the archer, who was sporting a grimace “Since you two are demoted and not resigned, Thunderbolts and CRUD have authorized permission to arrest you. You will be spending your sentences in the RAFT under maximum security.” She saw the look of disbelief on the raven-haired woman, and it pains her a little that she had to be the messenger for this. “As for the Defenders…”
“Thank you for coming here,” Harry addressed the press. Casting his eyes discreetly to the script that rested on the podium. “I’ll try to keep it short because NYPD has more important things to do than providing security for my silly speeches.” He joked a little, gaining complimentary chuckles from the sea of people before him. Harry cleared his throat a little before continuing, “Preceding the tragic flood and the Skrull alien invasion on the city, The World Council had issued an arrest warrant on the vigilante Spider-Man on the alleged charges of stealing Avengers property and involvement in the Atlantic nuclear explosion, which resulted in the deaths of local wildlife as well as potentially contaminating the surrounding area with dangerous radiation.”
“A catastrophic event that OSCORP’s Research and Development department will be working alongside the world’s greatest minds at Stark Technologies and Richards Aerospace Company to repair the damage as soon as we can. However, Secretary Thaddeus Ross, the acting director of the Avengers, has promised to keep the will of the Council onward.” He locked eyes with the press, “Starting today, right at this second, New York City is a restricted zone. Enhanced Individuals are not allowed to express their powers without facing prosecution, and any attempt at hindering our effort in the apprehension of the vigilante Spider-Man will result in legal charges.” The commotion started almost immediately, rounds of chatter and gasps rolled back and forth.
“…Might as well speak in German…” Jessica grumbled under her breath. Looking around the sea of people she uses as covers. She slipped out of the crowd and quickly took a cab to a location she had texted the Defenders about. Jessica navigates the distance with a series of power jumps and occasional hiding as the Sparrow drones patrol the sky, looking for Spider-Man. Finally, she reached her destination at what’s left of the northern area of Central Park, devastated by the tsunami. Global Relief Union volunteers and members work alongside one another in clearing the debris and accounting for damages, some unfortunate animals at the zoo who couldn’t make it out of their pens died within its confine. As of this moment, she waited on the southern side of the central garden, sitting on the edge of the vacant sea lion’s exhibition with an earbud.
“I assume we are here because of the news?” Daniel Rand’s voice entered her ear, and in her peripheral, she saw a homeless-looking man casually taking a seat on the Eastern side of the exhibition, looking around slowly out of caution.
“Or maybe you just wanna have a drink?” Luke joined, probably taking the West.
“Don’t tell me you got another restraining order,” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen tapping his cane from the North, taking a seat like the others.
Jessica waited for another minute before looking back over to the rock formation, hoping to see a familiar red-and-black spandex-wearing vigilante perching there, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Spidey?”
“Off states, family’s matter,” Matt replied, folding his cane and taking his shades off, staring blankly ahead as his ears analyzed the volunteers chattering among themselves in case there’s unwanted attention about to be spared at their gathering “…what the hell is happening out there, Jess?”
“Beats me, Murdock.” The P.I. groaned with frustration, cradling her head between her hands, wanting to just take a swig of her flask now. “Can you do anything about it?”
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll look into it.” The Blind Lawyer replied with his phone weight heavily inside his jacket.
“I doubt it,” Danny interjected, coughing a little, “OSCORP is ruthless with an army of lawyers. I know you’re good, Matt, but your firm won’t survive going against them.”
“What about yours?” Luke inquired.
“Two-thirds of the firms representing Rand Enterprise are also on Osborn’s payroll, dude.” The Iron Fist replied with a grim chuckle. “The best we can do is build a case and try to find a loophole in their plan. Exploiting it.”
“I’m with him,” Matt added, nodding solemnly. “This is something we can’t punch our way out of.”
“That’s funny, coming from you, Horny.” Jessica jabbed playfully and chuckled at the blind ninja’s annoyed groan.
They sat there, enjoying the eerie silence of their surroundings of Central Park for the first time in their lives.
“…Castle got that one to talk,” Jessica reported, finally taking out a flask to take a swig. “Motherfucker’s one hell of a tough cookie, lemme tell ya.”
“Is he dead?” Luke asked, unsure.
“He’s alive,” Jessica replied, hearing Murdock’s sigh of relief, eliciting a soft smirk out of her. “Although Castle hauled about half of NYPD’s armory with him.”
“…I’ll keep an eye on him,” he heard Jessica cackled at the words and couldn’t help but chuckling along. His heightened senses caught an incoming projectile in an arc before he casually shot his hand out to intercept its trajectory, feeling the rectangular shape of a burner phone in his palm.
“Number 3 speed dial,” Jessica simply answered his wordless question. “In case you wanna have a midnight dinner date with him or something.”
- - -
The Bar With No Name (New Location)
Karen sat alone at the bar, nursing a glass of wine while rejecting several criminals who’d approached her since she came in, hiding her hair under a hoodie.
“You got some interesting idea for a meeting place, Ma’am.” A voice called, and she let out a huff before calling the bartender for him as he sat beside her. “Beer.” He ordered and took his cap off of his head, smoothing his tussled hair a bit.
It’s a familiar style, with the thick beard obscuring the lower half of his face.
“I don’t know any other bar you like,” Karen retorted with a reserved smile, sipping her wine as she turned a little to the side, facing him. “Good to see you again, Frank.”
They silently enjoy the proximity of one another, letting the night be carried away by muffled chatters and stuttering music in the background.
Eventually, Karen urged him to follow her with a tray of chips to a more secluded alcove, away from prying eyes and ears. They sat across from one another as she studied the Punisher again after so many years.
“I take it you got my contact from Red?” he asked, chewing on a couple of chips between his molar, looking at her freckled face framed inside a golden veil of her hair.
“Would you believe me if I say I opened a Yellow Pages?” Karen retorted, leaning forward, trying to look at the man across from her. “Why are you back, Frank?”
Castle quirked one of his eyebrows at her, “You say it like I’m unwelcomed here.”
She chuckled softly, taking a sip. “Well, it’s not that much of a surprise, right? I mean, look at what you did before you just…disappeared.”
He breathed heavily.
Inhaling the mixed chaos of gunpowder and blood.
So much blood.
His hands shake a little from all the recoils and kickbacks of the rifle, the shotguns, the pistols…
Grimes sticks to his skin like glue, slick with blood and congeal, cuts and bruises adorning almost every inch.
A moan sounded from somewhere among the pile of bodies inside the warehouse, and like a well-oiled machine, he discarded the emptied magazine to load another and the last in, chambered the first round with one smooth motion. He aimed, but before his trigger finger could do what it does best, the barrel of the gun was yanked away along with the entire firearm, signaling the arrival of one of the most prolific vigilantes in New York City.
Those pair of curved half-circles shine their starkly white contrast to the shadows surrounding the superhuman. His rifle was there in the Arachnid’s hand, and it got crushed under the unimaginable force exerted, like crumbling a paper bag. “That’s enough.” Spider-Man’s voice came up cold and seethed with controlled anger; the whites narrowed dangerously.
Frank knows he can’t fight back against this one. Unlike Daredevil, the kid got real powers, superhuman in every single aspect that made up a person.
Luke Cage has impenetrable skin, but physics still applies to Harlem’s invincible man. A well-placed high-caliber round against the side of his head, and he’ll be down.
Iron Fist can’t hurt you with that glowing fist if you shoot him by surprise.
Jessica Jones? She’s just as malleable as anyone. She might heal faster than average, but a fatal injury can still kill her.
Daredevil? He’d beaten the Devil before.
But the Kid?
No.
The first shot is the only shot you’ll ever take; then, he’ll be in your face in the blink of an eye.
If you’re lucky, he’ll joke with you a bit, getting you annoyed and distracted, and then he’ll knock the lights out of you with a single hit.
Spider-Man’s not as sharp as Red, but the superhuman strength and agility compensated for that.
He thought he saw something similar inside the Arachnid, but no.
Spider-Man still has that one thing he abandoned a long time ago—Hope.
Hope that people can do better. Hope that people can change. Hope that they will find the courage within themselves to at least give it a try.
That’s the thing that connects Spider-Man and Daredevil. Blinded by optimism. Drunken on ideals.
Another sound came from the other side, and he looked in that direction to meet a silhouette sporting a pair of short, spiky horns, eyes red under the reflected light.
“Jesus…” Spider-Man hissed, horrified, looking at the bloodbath as the Arachnid dropped silently to the floor. “I should’ve been faster…”
He scoffed at the comment. “Not like you being here would’ve changed much, Kid; these scums would still be scums, and I’ll still be shooting ‘em down.” His counter drew a displeased glare from the superhuman.
He doesn’t care.
They are dead. The Russians. Every. Single. One.
He knows that killing them off means so little to deter any who will take up the scraps and rebuild the shitty trafficking ring again and again and again.
But if so, he’ll be back and kill every single one of them again, and again, and again…
If they are here to work with the police and send him to prison, good, there are too many scums behind bars that are in dire need of his tender care. Depending on the location, he might be outnumbered by hundreds to one, but he sure as hell won’t lie down without taking as much of them down with him.
Rykers will be an obvious choice, and he has a plate full of Red’s and Spider-Man’s half-ass works waiting for him inside.
Instead of letting Spider-Man webbed him up, he saw Daredevil stop the young vigilante with a simple gesture. He looked at the Man Without Fear in confusion.
“What’s up, Red?” he heard a smug in his voice, “Wanna do the honor?” he spread his arms to the side, inviting the brawler to make the first move.
“…This has to stop, Frank.” That’s not Daredevil talking, no…
That was Matt Murdock.
“All this bloodshed and corpses lining the morgue.” The Daredevil motioned to the horrid scene. “It has to stop.”
He knows.
Deep down.
Matt Murdock still believes in salvation.
Even for someone like him.
It was almost comical.
Almost made him cackle.
Instead, he kept his silence.
And looked back at the dull eyes hidden underneath the mask of the Devil.
“It has…to stop.” Daredevil breathed heavily, handing a burner to him. “…Your friend gave it to Karen, and she asked me to give it to you.”
He looked down at the device, but all he see is a certain face.
Always hopeful. Always looking at him with the innocence that he doesn’t know how to interpret or understand it.
‘I want there to be an after! For you!’her words rang inside his head.
“DD?” Spider-Man interjected but stayed in place.
“It’s okay, Spidey,” Daredevil replied simply.
He looked long and hard, thoughts running around like an unleashed beast rattling inside a cage.
Finally, he reached out and took the phone, pocketing it without saying a word.
And he started walking away, leaving the vigilantes behind.
Before he was out of earshot, he overheard the last of the conversation between Red and Spider-Man.
“…you believe in second chances, right?”
“…yeah. Don’t know why I did that.” Karen mirthlessly breathed out, finished her wine, and sighed deeply. “I should’ve set you up for an arrest; Nelson, Murdock, and Page might get on the news.” She ended with a chuckle, signaling the bartender for another refill.
“Yeah, you should…” he let out a quiet laugh, chugging half of the second bottle down, relishing the bitter taste scalding his throat. “…Thank you, Karen.” He looked up and couldn’t help but mirror her smile.
They sat in silence for a while longer before she was on her fourth, and he stopped at the third.
“…what are you doing here?” she started, set the glass down, and leaned forward on her elbows. “Why are you back?”
Without hesitation, Frank fished a photo out of his jacket and tossed it on the table. “About a week ago, that bastard was impersonating me,” it might be the trick of the lights, but he might have seen Karen relax a little after that. “He’d been shooting up Kingpin’s and Tombstone’s men, citing them to a full-on war with one another.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Karen whispered, “Kinda curious why the shooting suddenly stopped,” she looked at him with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Anyways,” he continued, taking the last chip into his mouth, leaning forward as well “We are kinda on an investigation, seeing who he’s working for or with. Figuring out what they wanna do next.”
“So, typical Tuesday?”
“…I guess.” He answered with a stunted smile.
- - -
Linwood, New Jersey
Madani entered the room and immediately felt something out of place.
Her eyes scanned the room dimly lit by a streak of moonlight. Everything is in the same place she left them in this morning, except for one thing.
A vase with a single stalk of white lily has been relocated to the windowsill instead of its spot on the kitchen island.
She quietly reached for her pistol, deftly disengaged the safety, and propped it up into a *center axis relock; it’s harder for an opponent to get in range to disarm her before a shot can be fired.
“Your support hand’s kinda lower than it should be, Madani.” A voice came from a dark corner where her barrel was aimed at. Slowly, the face of a man she never thought she would be seeing again came into view, illuminated by the silvery glow of the night. “Cozy house.”
Dinah released a breath she had held inside with a scoff, engaged the safety, and locked the door before relocating herself to the kitchen island while keeping the interior dark. “Rocking the lumberjack aesthetic, huh? Castle?”
“I kinda like it, ya know?” Frank retorted, eyeing the folder on the coffee table as a signal for the CIA agent. “Got a shopping list I needed some help with.”
Madani took a cold bottle of water out of the fridge and drank half of it in one go before approaching the folder, picking it up with a curious glint in her eyes. “Is this somehow relating to the rumors about you getting back into the field back in Manhattan?”
“Kinda.”
She opened it and fished out the singular paper inside, with a candid photo stapled to it. She looked at the Punisher with inquisitive eyes before hopping onto the countertop and started reading. After a while, she looked up from the document and stared at him “…Poindexter? A name and a photo? That’s all?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged and got up, heading for the door. “No pressure.” He let out an uncharacteristic smirk before walking out of her house, leaving a confused and frustrated CIA agent alone with the file.
* CAR or Center Axis Relock system = a firearm fighting stance developed by Paul Castle (d. 2011) of Sabre Tactical to be used in limited space for better firearm retention, such as from inside a vehicle. It was loosely incorporated into the shooting style of John Wick in the John Wick franchises. *
- - -
Rykers Island Penitentiary
“The best I can do is ten minutes, Mister Fisk.” The man walking in front and leading the mountain of muscles clad in a white suit and deep purple shirt said, beads of sweat lining his forehead.
“That’s plenty of time, Mister Hoffman,” Kingpin replied calmly, a gemstone-tipped metallic cane firmly grasped within his hand.
“Make sure we are not disturbed, please,” Wilson demanded, and the warden nodded before leaving him inside an isolated containment cell. The tall and bulky crime lord looked further into the darkness at the corner of the cell and spotted a pair of dimly green eyes staring back at him with hatred. The intensity of which elicited a smug scoff out of him. He traced steps closer to the one hidden in the shadows for a few feet before he stopped, firmly hammering the butt of his cane down onto the concrete floor. “How are you, Mister Kasady?” Kingpin greeted with malice and disdain, looking at the pair of burning hatred mirroring back. “Comfortable? I’ve arranged this very cell just for you.”
Silence.
Good.
Fisk clapped his hands, and the single light bulb above their heads shone its piercing spear to chase away the darkness, revealing a gruesome and pitiful sight; the inmate was chained, stripped bare, and bruises and cuts lined his malnourished body. His hair was collected into a mess of clots and gunk left behind by various bodily fluids that were sprayed and dried on his person. Kasady shielded his eyes from the light with a low growl.
The smell is horrible. Repulsive even.
Which, to be honest, fits with the scum quite nicely.
“Sadly, Mister Kasady, I’m on a schedule today,” Kingpin said while taking off his suit jacket, folding it neatly before stabbing his cane into the wall to be used as a makeshift rack. He then fished a pair of gloves out of his vest, putting them on with grace and practiced ease. “Such a shame.” He announced and started wailing haymakers into the chained prisoner with sadistic glee on his face.
Each thud draws a spittle of blood and a weak groan.
Left.
Right.
Right.
Lower right.
Uppercut.
Left hook.
Right hook.
Jab.
Jab.
He reeled the last before shooting his fist in a straight right, embedding into the prisoner’s face, knocking the back of his head against the brick wall, and putting a little dent into it with a splatter of blood. The body slumped limbless but never reached the filthy floor, for the chains kept him levitated, his hateful eyes rolled to the back of his skull, and wheezing gurgles sounded from the broken face.
Wilson stepped back, degloved, and crumbled them into a ball before tossing it to the pile at the side, where various items were lying around, including some used condoms. “How long have you been in here, Mister Kasady? Two or three years, I take it?” calming himself down, Fisk took the jacket and draped it over his wide and gigantic body, buttoning casually while sporting a menacing smirk. “More years to go through, I suggest you try to settle in.”
Kingpin made it to the door, but before opening the metal slab, he looked back at the inmate again with burning hatred in his eyes. “…Consequences, Mister Kasady, is a vicious beast.” He said coldly, opening the door and taking a step out of the threshold, he stopped and added without turning back, “It’s a pity you did not have the mind to think of that before you assaulted her.” Fisk grimaced and got out of the cell.
- - -
Hellfire Club
Emma sits in her study for a while, wanting to be away from the constant music and chatters inside the club for a change. She leaned forward on her elbows, blue eyes casting at the smartphone laid atop a pile of financial reports and records, contemplating.
Eventually, defeated by curiosity, the White Queen picked up the device and quickly perused through the contacts before calling an unnamed number that she recognized.
The line rang a couple of times before a bleep sounded against her ear, and a groggy voice greeted back incoherently. “…Felicia?”
“Wha…who?”
“Your boss, dear.” The world-class telepath amusedly clarified, leaning into the cushion of the chair with a hum, “Don’t tell me a little vacation was enough to forget me.”
“…Emma?” the name finally came, yet the voice was still sleepy…with an additional groan from a deeper tone than her little kitten. “Why are you calling me at this hour? Something going on at the club?” there, a ruffle sounded from the other end, and what sounded like a grunted effort to push something heavy out of herself coming from Felicia.
“Are you alone?” she teased, suddenly feeling like a gossiping schoolgirl again.
“What’s the matter?” the masterful dismissal elicited a chuckle out of her a bit.
Emma chuckled a little and poured herself a shot of bourbon, enjoying the bitter bite before continuing, “I’m curious, when will you return?”
“Missed me?”
“It’s rather dull here without your constant insolence and sarcasm.” The telepath jabbed with a playful note. Then, she heard the sound of a toilet getting flushed, an event which elicited a grumble out of Felicia and a Cheshire grin out of her. “Felicia Hardy, is that someone I heard?”
“Give me another month or something,” the Black Cat quickly deviated, “Talk later,” and the line was cut.
“Girls,” Emma commented with an amused chuckle. The Pristine Perfection got up from her desk and took the flimsy coat draped over the couch in her arms, covering her ivory and flawless skin just enough to entice and invite searching eyes, the Queen descends upon the main hall of the club where those who couldn’t care less about how the financial loss they are facing from the disaster might affect their livelihood, the only certainty in their minds is that the club provided luxurious and alluring distractions.
She graced some of them with a corporate smile and lazily strolled through the sea of shallow minds surrounding her, drinking the sea of simple ecstasy, feeding from the collective of desires like forbidden nectar from the Apple of Hesperides.
The intensity is intoxicating.
She danced among them.
Flirts and laughs among them.
Enjoy their companies and superficial attractions.
Bathed in it.
Drunken by it.
Seeking the elusive spark of warmth that will not be diminished in the dawn of sunlight.
- - -
Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters
“I am glad you shared this with me, Jean,” Ororo said encouragingly with a touch of an amused smirk gracing her lips, her stormy-blue eyes cast at the redhead across from her.
Jean had approached her and said nervously about a conversation she wanted to have, so Ororo followed the telepath to a central fountain of the backyard garden where no one would interrupt them, intended to lend an ear for one of her oldest friends.
The unexpected topic, however, caught her a bit off guard after the redhead confessed about her growing interest in a certain Arachnid-themed vigilante.
“Don’t talk like I’ve just confessed a crush, Ororo. It’s not.” Jean groaned, craning her neck backward, and kept her eyes on the leisurely racing of the clouds above. “It’s just a simple curiosity!”
“Your demeanor says otherwise, sister.” The Windryder pointed out, smiling with a toothy grin, motioning the tip of her index at the ginger’s face. “A dashing blush might be hard to notice, Jean, but it’s there.” Ororo poked the telepath on her cheek with a giggle. “But just to keep it civil, I will take your word for it.” Storm leaned forward, thinking about Spider-Man and the short time they had spent around each other before the disaster that befell New York City. “After all, there is a possibility that your curiosity might not be based on carnal instinct. James and I ran into Peter before the bombing at OSCORP.” Ororo looked at the telepath and gestured to the side of her head, which Jean deduced the meaning immediately before touching the area with her fingertips.
The images flooded her mind, images of a crawling figure covered in darkness. Its stark white leaf-shaped eyes and spider symbol on its chest betrayed its identity.
Jean watched in horror as the creature, who she couldn’t believe to be Spider-Man, snarled its mouthless growls as prehensile strands sprouted forth from its back with hooked tips, spreading themselves like a twisted reflection of an angelic halo.
Eldritch in appearance.
And terrifying in presence.
This is not the Spider-Man everyone knows.
This is something else.
Something dangerous.
Something…ancient.
Something the fire inside her churns just by having the fading presence touch her mind.
Jean jolted out of the trance as a muffled scream of the fire inside her core rang inside her ears, shooting a headache up her head.
She collapsed onto the ground, writhing in agony, as the surroundings started smoking and catching fire.
Her blood-curdling scream shakes the entire garden, and Ororo hissed at the ambient heat transferred to her skin through air molecules. Shooting her hands up toward the clear sky, Ororo surged forth her powers and changed the meteorologic property of the air above the garden, calling forth dark clouds, and soon, a downpour of piercing rain cut through the heat that Jean’s thrashing body put off, water vapors rises from the telepath’s glowing skin and dissipated in the humid air. “Jean?!” she called, but her voice was drowned out by the redhead’s screams. “Jean!” she could practically feel the air molecules getting more and more excited by the uncontrolled waves of telekinesis.
If this keeps going, the Omega-level telepath might as well disintegrate the whole mansion and its denizen during her unconscious torment.
Ororo decided to call down a bolt of lightning, destroying the nearby small tree, hoping that the commotion would gain someone’s attention as she was not confident enough to let go of the rainclouds. Soon, a tinge of sulfur reached her nose, and Ororo breathed a sigh of relief “Kurt! Get Charles and Bobby here, now!” there was no verbal reply coming from Nightcrawler, but she could tell he heard her command via another intense smell of sulfur usually accompanying the spirited mutant’s usage of his teleportation.
Soon, the air felt colder, announcing the arrival of Iceman as the puddle of bubbling water around Jean started solidifying and turned into a bed of ice. “Keep going at it, Miss Munroe,” the young mutant gritted as he exerted constant waves of his thermos-kinesis onto the environment, fighting against the overwhelming heat coming off of the redhead.
“Set me down near her, Mister Wagner.” Charles’s alarmed voice cut through the downpour.
“Are you sure, Professor?”
“Jean’s telepathy is more potent than mine; it’s by nature’s designs that she couldn’t be influenced, but a direct contact might give us a chance.” With a bit of reluctance, Kurt eventually sets the crippled professor down near the screaming telepath, feeling the heat even through the rain and his furs.
“Be careful, Professor,” Nightcrawler yelled as he took a step back from the telepaths.
Charles, gritting through the searing heat slamming into him, reached out and palmed Jean’s forehead, pushing against the psychic barriers he’d taught her to construct permanently inside her mind.
“What the hell happened?” Logan asked his chocolate-skinned queen, leaning against the doorframe of the woman’s room opposite his. On the queen-sized bed lies the exhausted and unconscious body of Jean Grey. Ororo looked back at him with worries and guilt in her eyes, so much so that Logan couldn’t help but enter the quarter and quickly got to her side, planting a reassuring kiss on the side of her head, which managed to dissipate some of the frowns. “Ro?”
“…we were talking in the garden about Peter Parker,” the name put a funny twitch onto the burly man’s face, eliciting a weak chuckle from her. “Jean told me that after his visit, the thought of Peter often occupied her mind, just like Kitty’s,” she added with a smirk.
“Fucker’s too dangerous ‘round girls,” Logan commented with a scoff. “I take it she didn’t just collapse because she misses Webs, right?”
Ororo nodded and breathed a heavy sigh before elaborating, “No. I agreed with her that there was something…strangely curious about him. So, I invited her to witness that thing we ran into.” She looked at him, and it took Logan a few seconds before a realization hit.
“That slimy thing?”
“Yes. And somehow, seeing it in my mind sets her off.” Storm glanced at the sleeping redhead with confusion and sadness in her eyes. “She was convulsing. Screaming on the ground and almost burning the whole garden.”
“Ah, that’s why it looks like a Storm passed through our backyard,” Logan cut in with a smirk, eliciting a quiet giggle from Storm regarding his little wordplay, keeping his rough and calloused hand firmly on the goddess’s shoulder, caressing a soothing pattern onto her flawless skin. “So, Chuck dealt with it?”
She nodded.
“…there’s gotta be some way to get rid of that.” He added, looking with worried eyes at the woman whom he had yearned for without hope for years. The love subsided, as now he has a wonderful woman in Ororo, but the care and attachment to the redhead will always be there, just like it will for the others in the mansion.
They are almost like a family to him.
“I hope so as well, or at least a way to let her control it.” Ororo breathed out tiredly, leaning into Logan’s muscular front, basking in his inhuman warmth. “…I don’t agree with the way we are keeping her oblivious to these episodes.”
Logan kept his silence and tightened his hold on Ororo, bathing in her floral scent and tender skin.
“Mind if I join you?” a voice called from behind, prompting Rogue to avert her eyes from the moon.
“Coz not, Sugah,” the Southern Belle replied with a smile, patting the spot to her right as the petite teen casually phased through the rooftop. “Can’t sleep?”
Kitty nodded quietly and took a seat. Drawing her knees into her chest and resting her chin on them, hugging herself with a cloud of confusion over her head.
“Kitty?” Anna-Marie called, looking at the Deerfield girl with curious brows, poking her a little on her arm. “What’s eatin’ ya, Hun?”
Kitty didn’t immediately answer but just let out a sigh before nesting her face between her knees, hugging herself tighter like she was getting weary of the chill air.
“…I guess,” the petite teen started, unsure, “I don’t know what to do.”
“…with college?”
“No, I got that covered already,” the teen huffed a little, shrugging her shoulders. “A full-ride Com-Sci scholarship at MIT.” There’s a hint of pride in her tone, deservedly.
“Congrats!” the Mississippian exclaimed with a surprised glee, nudging the girl with her elbow smilingly, “Ah know ya got it in ya, girl!”
“Thanks.” Kitty smiled at the enthusiasm and support shown by the Southern Belle, but it died a moment later. “…I don’t know what to do with this…crush.” Pryde gestured inwardly into herself, putting a curious mirth on Rogue’s face. “I mean, like, Peter’s a cute guy and all, and he’s smart and funny and kind, and he’s a superhero too, but that’s not the point…”
Anna-Marie held her smile while listening to Kitty ramble on and on about the Arachnid with familiar frustration and confusion.
Everyone got them once or twice in their hormonal years.
An uncertainty regarding their attractions and the unknown paths they will be forced to take.
She’d them once as well, decades ago, back when she was just a teenager too.
Sadly, hers ended with a comatose boy, her almost first boyfriend, whom she unknowingly harmed by the awakening of her mutations.
“I mean, look at the women he surrounded himself with! Susan freaking Storm?! Kate Bishop?! Gwen?! They are, like, so pretty! How am I supposed to compete with them?” the girl pouted and keeled into herself, huffing frustratingly. “I’m just Kitty Pryde…”
“Who’s a valuable member of the X-Men,” Anna-Marie started with a smile, reaching her gloved hand over to pats softly on the petite girl’s head, soothing her. “Kitty Pryde, who can walk through walls and kick asses.” A smile returns to the girl’s face. “Kitty Pryde, who led the kids to a rescue mission when the adults needed help.” Anna-Marie pats the teen’s head softly before retracting her hand, gazing up at the moon again, seeing its brilliance dimmed a bit by passing clouds. “Ya got more than enough to compete with anyone, Sugah, not that you have to in the first place. Chin up and go get it!”
“…Thanks, Rogue.” Kitty smiled and leaned her head onto the Southern Belle’s shoulder a bit.
Down below, under the shade of a tree, Remy looked up with a dreamy eye at the Southern Belle on the edge of the roof, the glow of moonlight somehow made her even more beautiful than she already was. He hums and leans back against the tree, feeling the barks biting into his back.
“You know you are being a creep, right?” a voice greeted him from behind, which startled him a little, yet Gambit kept his good eye locked on Rogue, not wanting to avert his attention.
“Says the girl who’s hounding another girl like a shadow most of the day,” he retorted back at the woman. “Playing bodyguard?”
“Just strolling around,” Illyana dropped from the branch onto the grass quietly and rose to full height as she looked at Gambit with an incredulous look on her face. “Why aren’t you up there talking to her?”
“The same reason as yours, Mon Ami…” The charming thief retorted with a smirk, chuckling along with the Russian’s scoff. “…they deserve better than us,” he whispered to the night, the statement and sadness within resounding deeply with the younger Rasputin near him, keeping themselves frozen in deep thoughts and heartaches.
- - -
Undisclosed Warehouse
Frank couldn’t wipe the tinge of a smile off his face.
Talking with her again felt like a breath of fresh air.
Karen Page might be one of the very few people who he can sense that they genuinely care about people.
Even a cold-blooded killer like him could see that.
She’s too good for this Sin City.
As he neared the entrance of a warehouse where he’d been holding the imposter inside for days now, Frank noticed an anomaly above the metallic frame of the entrance.
The CCTV he’d put up there was destroyed, sporting a sharp, rectangular hole that pierced through its housing.
He quickly and quietly drew his Colt .45 out from the IWB holster and disengaged the safety in one smooth motion. With the phosphorescence iron sight trained on the entrance, Frank cautiously advanced to it with his ears honed automatically through years of practice to detect even the smallest of sounds coming from inside. Using the gap around a removed bolt, he looks through and sees only darkness inside, confused.
A whistling sound came from behind as a couple of glowing blades embedded into the metal slab near his head. It startled him, but muscle memories compelled his body to do a full spin and jut his pistol outward to the general direction of the attacker before firing a series of shots, following the swift silhouette moving from the open area to a cover nearby. Frank sprinted a short distance to find himself one as well, keeping the end of his barrel trained on the cover, ready to fire another shot if whoever was there decided to show themselves.
Four left.
His eyes kept alternating between the attacker and the door, fearing someone might burst out of it and caught him by surprise. Frank gritted his teeth, reminded of his hellish tour in Afghanistan, where he was surrounded and has been dealt a shorthand.
A clattering came, and he moved his gun in that direction before firing a shot.
Three.
Anticipated a retaliation, The Punisher rolled forward just as another glowing dagger zoomed in on his previous spot, surely would’ve embedded into his face if he stayed there. He kicked off into a sprint and decided to flank the attacker, wanting to diminish his enemy’s numbers as fast as possible. As he rounded the corner, his eyes caught a glimpse of white and fair hair rushing away into the open, he hastened his steps and managed to emerge from the maze of crates and industrial wastes in time to identify his attacker.
She, as her lithe frame would suggest, rushed away from him and aimed for another cover at the other side of the ramp. The attacker was dressed from head to toe in white. White beanie, white bomber, white sweatpants, hell, even her shoes were white. Frank aimed and caught her in sight, but a hesitation stopped his finger from pulling the trigger. The window of opportunity slipped by, and the girl or woman spun on her heels to throw another dagger at him.
Taking a high risk, he swings his arm down in interception to the incoming projectile, knocking the solid object to the ground. He quickly crouches and takes it in his hand before rolling forward and sidestepping into another cover.
Looking at it, a puzzled expression crossed his face.
The knife, or more accurately, the dagger, was made of a translucent material that was lighter than steel, which glowed in his hand and was wickedly sharp to the point that the edges cut shallowly into his skin just by holding it.
In hindsight, Frank didn’t notice that the alcohol in his system had been purged.
Flipped it into an icepick grip in his left hand, Frank quickly ejected a magazine and loaded a full one into the handle, making sure to tuck the discarded one into his pocket. Taking a few deep and short breaths, Frank rushed out of his cover and went in the opposite direction he saw the dagger-throwing girl run toward, wanting to get a drop on her.
This is some superhuman shit, just my luck.
He quickly but thoroughly scanned the area, keeping his pistol in CAR grip, relying on his hand and eye coordination rather than taking an elaborate aim for perfect accuracy. “Come on out, girl! Let’s talk!” he roared to the space, but no sound replied. “We ain’t seen each other before, and if you’re not one of Kingpin’s or Tombstone’s, we are cool!”
“So why did you still have your gun on?” a voice came, almost melodic in tone if not for the huffs evident from her running around.
Even Murdock won’t be this out of breath so easily. It’s either she’s not as super as the others, or she has little training. The Punisher deduced silently, eyes roaming the area with cautious sway, his index finger hovering outside of the trigger cage. “You attacked me, girl, forgive me for being cautious!” he heard a clattering again from his right but quickly moved to the left with a hidden smirk. “Get to the top of the pile and stop throwing these glowsticks at me, I promise not to shoot!”
“How can I trust you?!”
“Sometimes ya just gotta take a leap of faith!” Frank got out to the open and turned around, gauging the situation for a bit before ejecting his magazine, but not without slipping a round from it before letting it fall to the cement ground with a loud clang. “Your turn!” he waited, with a chambered round sitting eagerly in anticipation for the hammer. He got one shot; it was a big gamble, but he didn’t want to chase her all night if he could help it.
“Drop the last round!” her demand put a smirk on his face. He pulled the slide back, but instead of letting the round fly off, he kept it in place and dropped the one in his hand.
“Clear!” he announced, eyes alternating between the middle of the pile and the top, waiting.
Soon, the glowing figure climbed to the top in her all-white getup, seemingly illuminated by the moonlight.
Yep, a supes alright. Frank thought to himself, looking at the girl with attentive eyes. “Who are you?”
“I am the cleansing blade of justice.” The all-white girl announced, puffing her chest.
“Quit that shit and tell me who you are, girl.” Frank scoffed amusedly at the conviction in which she’d just uttered something so ridiculous it might as well come out of a fucking cartoon. “Are you some new vigilante running ‘round Manhattan I didn’t know about?” He asked despite thinking otherwise; there’s no way someone like this wouldn’t make at least some headlines alongside the Defenders.
“…Who I am is not important, Frank Castle,” the girl dismissed and produced a set of daggers out of thin air before throwing them around his feet, seemingly intended for them to convey some message. “Inside the warehouse, you will find a not. Do as written.”
“Sounds more and more like some kinda cult bullshit,” Frank commented with a chuckle, “Look, Miss Cleansing Blade or whatever the hell, I don’t have to do anything anyone tells me to do, alright? So, if you’re not here to be some crime lord’s lapdog, get lost.” He said with a hint of frustration before turning around and heading for the entrance.
“What if it has something to do with Amy Bendix?” the name stopped him right in his tracks.
Castle slowly turned around, anger permeating through every fiber of his being, the grip on the pistol groaned under suppressed rage. “…The fuck you say?”
“Read the note and follow the instructions, and you will see Amy Bendix again.”
Frank roared and quickly snapped his pistol at the glowing woman without hesitation or second thoughts and pulled the trigger, surprising her.
But before the bullet could pierce through her face, a pool of darkness manifested itself in front of her, swallowing the lead projectile into its unending void before a silhouette of a man appeared, draped in a flowing black cloak. He stared at them in confusion and disbelief, coexisting alongside a burning rage within. The cloaked figure gathered the glowing lady in his arms, and they imploded into themselves before disappearing from the scene, leaving an angry Punisher alone.
“…Fuck!”