Basic Instincts
Chapter 2
“Basic Instincts”
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Susan Storm's apartment]
This morning is typical, just like every morning for the past few days where she wakes up with a fit of intense headache and nausea; the pregnancy test came out negative, all fifteen of them, so it’s not that. Peter wanted to stay home again to take care of her, but Gwen gritted through her pain, shooed him away to work, and told Susan Storm to keep him there for at least a couple of hours; his future depended on it, after all.
She can take care of herself…for a while.
“Motherfuck…” Gwen groaned with a grimace, hands clutching her head desperately trying to chase away the throbbing pain. She dragged herself towards the bathroom of the apartment; they’d practically moved into Susan’s apartment to cut the expenses and the biochemist did have a moderately luxurious place for them to indulge.
Like a high-pressure shower? A toilet with a bidet? Who in their right mind would not take that opportunity?
The cupboard was always filled with various supplements and medicines, most of which were provided by Susan’s tendency to be overprepared. Gwen took a couple of aspirin pellets down her throat with a gulp of tap water and navigated herself into the kitchen to peruse the fridge for snacks.
All the symptoms make it seem like she is getting pregnant with Peter’s kid, but she is not, yet something is definitely wrong with her body; call it feminine intuition, if you will. Her muscles are sore and occasionally hurt, her sight is blurred, she gets an episode of vertigo from time to time, and she’s always hungry; as in having to eat something every hour due to the cravings, she had already burned through the fridge once or twice.
She flopped tiredly onto the couch, sighing heavily from the constant exhaustion, and decided to enjoy some recorded shows for a bit before cleaning the apartment.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Somewhere in the city]
“Parker…are you sure about this?” Johnny Storm nervously turns his head to the side, spying a crouching Spider-Man with a chicken wrap in his hand while half of it is already in his mouth.
The blond stood on the edge of the Empire State in his newest adaptive suit, featuring more blues than blacks or greys. The winds swept by, staggering his footing a little and causing him to yelp in surprise as a line of webbing attached to his back, pulling him into a proper stance instead of tumbling down towards the streets.
“Careful with that, or Sue will cut my head off.” Peter playfully chided with a mouthful from his position, maintaining the webbing as a makeshift lanyard for the younger Storm. He shoves the last remnant of his brunch down messily, licking the sauces and crumbs off his lips and releasing the webbing strand. He leaps effortlessly from his perch to Johnny’s side, looking down at the ever-busy streets of Manhattan. “I’m…around 78% sure you won’t hit the ground.” The rolled-up mask showed his encouraging grin along with a thumbs up.
“Run that through me again, would you?” Johnny nervously looked down at the minuscule spots of people and speeding cars, swallowing audibly, sweat collecting on his forehead and neck despite the high-altitude temperatures and the chill running up his spinal cord.
Spider-Man chuckled lightly and pulled his mask down, “According to our latest analyses, your kinetic energy output was enough to propel your entire mass forward. You just have to regulate the energy transaction rate by constantly absorbing charged particles in the air and shooting them out through your lower body. Like a rocket—" His body language was a telltale sign that a pun started cooking, but Johnny cut him to the finish line.
“Like a Rocket Man,” Johnny sang a verse of Elton John’s hit song with a chuckling voice, his nervousness lessened a little afterward. “I’m still cautious about leaving the naming in your trust, Spider-Man, but RocketMan is indeed a decent candidate.”
“Bah! It represents nothing about your powers except for the fact that you might be able to fly.” Peter waved the name off dismissively, “But if you insist, my future-older-but-little-brother-in-law,” Peter teased with a smug “I propose we redesign your suit to have fins, you know, for aerodynamics?”
“No, thank you.” Johnny scoffed. “So, I just force them out from behind, correct?” Spider-Man nodded with a hum.
Peter watched over the city as his lenses zoomed in on CRUD vehicles patrolling the city following as dictated by Mayor Harris. The need for Spider-Man’s intervention became less and less; he felt a slight pang of frustration at that fact but was also relieved that the city had changed for the better, at last.
“Do you think the police are going to be happy about our little test flight?” Johnny crouched to match the vigilante, starting to absorb the energy around himself, making his arms and legs glow rapidly.
“Absolutely. They are a welcoming bunch,” Peter replied sarcastically, rechecking the capacity of his web fluid out of precaution “Remember the emergency button,” Peter indicated to the center area of his chest. “Keep calm, I’m around if you need my help.” The vigilante then shot himself off the building in an arch with a powerful jump, rolling forward a couple of times before shooting a line of webbing at a nearby building to swing.
“Oh dear…” Johnny mumbled as he gathered some distance from the edge, preparing for a short sprint. “All right!” Johnny sprinted off and jumped into the air, gravity pulled him down as he screamed in a mix of excitement and fear. The world around him slowed and the air rammed into the front of his body deafening all sounds, even his voice.
Johnny forced the collected energy out from his legs and palms in a torrent of flame, leaving a trail of fire as his body was propelled forward with great velocity. “Whoo!” His eyes were protected behind a specialized pair of goggles so he could see clearly while flying. Johnny could feel the air pressure as he parted his way through them, exhilaration coursing through his whole body as his thrusters increased their power. The flame vortexed around himself as he reabsorbed them as fuel. It felt so liberating to soar through the sky at such speed, barreling forward to create some cool afterburner as he dips and rises in altitude and accelerates himself.
“This is amazing!” Johnny cackled loudly as he spread his arms to lessen his fall, a sound of Spider-Man’s web-shooter came from his side as a webbing latched onto his shoulder. He felt a tug when Spider-Man used his body as a pivotal point to swing forward with a double thumbs up at the end of the pendulum, before the blur of red and black twisted mid-air to shoot another line and swing again. Johnny feeds his inner core with more energy and goes faster, catching up to the contorting form of his sister’s paramour.
“Lookin’ good, Spidey!” one of the people on the roof greeted them cheerily as Peter, but then they saw Johnny’s aflame body flying by and yelped in surprise. “Who’s that?!” flashes of cameras and shutters of smartphones ring around them as Johnny leads the duo through the air. Johnny, mindful of his radiation area, flew near one of the populated rooftops and saluted the people with charming smiles and a bit of extravagance. Johnny corkscrewed away with a round of cheers and applause, bearing a broad smile on his flushed face.
“Johnny?” Spidey’s voice came through an earpiece.
“Yeah?”
“Race me to the E 41st, will you? There’s a fire at a hospital!” Spider-Man huffed into the microphone as he rapidly shot his webbing to swing faster and gain altitude for more momentum. Another web line attached to the top of Johnny’s back, “Imma give you a little boost!” then he started exerting his super strength and using his body as a pivotal point to swing the flaming man around in a circle, imitating a slingshot maneuver of spaceships. Peter guessed the general direction and tossed the blond mutated with tremendous force.
Johhny gritted his teeth as his body pierced through the air upward in an arch, gaining initial velocity never before had been attainable by himself. At the peak of his ascend, Johnny exerts his stored energy to ignite the thrusters at his feet and his hands with a joyous laugh, “FLAME ON!” and he propelled himself so fast the scenery became a blur. He might not have the reflexes to deal with the top speed, but the planned route in his mind compensates for that efficiently enough, allowing the living flame to reach his destination safely.
“Spider-Man, I’m at the site!” he said into the earpiece, descending quickly by cutting off the thrusters under his feet and using his hands to stabilize. “Should I get inside and rescue the civilians?” Johhny paces about at the side of the main building, spying a raging fire that engulfed half of the facility in its blazing fury, sirens and horns of NYFD come from a far distance.
“The building might crumble, just control the fire!” Spider-Man huffed through their communicators, “I’ll help the boys clear the road!”
“That’s easy to say…” Johnny mumbled with hooded eyes at the wrathful blaze in front of him; he felt the temperature but not nearly as intense as he did before the transformation. He shoots his hands forward, concentrating his mind, and calls the fire to him akin to what he was able to with charged particles in the air. “Come on…” Johnny grunted with his eyes closed and his muscles tensed, concentrated further, visualizing the raging fire obeying his will and command. Johnny tuned out the screams of desperation from his mind and focused on absorbing the fire into himself, his fists clenched as he felt the constant invasion of energy seeping through the tip of his fingers and slowly spreading to the entirety of his arms, cascading to his chest and collected at the core of his being. Johnny grunted and huffed at the ever-rising temperature within himself, opening his eyes he saw two streams of fire connecting his outstretched arms and the charred building. Johnny gritted through the extraordinary intensity of heat enveloping his whole body, melting the specialized goggles away from his glowing skin and destroying the earpiece, but the experimental material of the adaptive suit remained undisturbed.
The cement pavement underneath his feet starts to crack and darken from the intense heat, and the nearby bushes and foliage catch fire by just being in the proximity of the human mutate. His grunts turned into guttural growls as the intensity climbed higher and higher, to the point where a spherical area around him dried off at a rapid rate.
Peter was done with moving the last van obstructing the road, making a clear path for the fire department to get to the hospital, and he slingshot himself using two light poles to the hospital after Johnny Storm’s communicator cut off. Drawing near, he felt the dryness and heat in the air that radiated from a single small point rather than the building. His Spider-HUD read the approximate temperature of 187°C at the spot where he assumed to be Johnny Storm. The mutated pyromancer stands with his hands outstretched forward with all of his exposed body not being obscured by the specialized blue suit casting an explosion of light and condensed energy, his lenses automatically narrowed to compensate for the intense photon bombardment.
“Johnny?!” Peter called through the humming of energy surrounding them, seeing that the fire had died down and the NYFD started doing their things. “Johnny, can you hear me?!” he raised his voice, trying to get closer to the white-hot figure burning the small circle around himself, but the new gauntlets he got from Kate Bishop as a belated birthday gift collecting heat and made him hisses. “Johnny!”
The blinding figure turned his head towards the call, “It’s okay, Spidey, I got it.” Something akin to a smile appears on the parted lips. Peter watches on as the color changes from white to yellow, then to orange, and then adapting a crimson hue around the man as the reading temperature descends to about 103°C, a moment later Johnny Storm completely absorbs the fire into himself as his glowing skin dimmed until normal; his surface temperature reads 40°C.
“That…was awesome!” Peter exclaimed as some of the firemen gathered around them as well. “You might wanna think of some catchy name before I got that for you, buddy.” Spider-Man teased as he approached the blond after he’d sure about the proximity, gesturing to the gathered audience. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Johnny replied.
“I’m gonna get inside and help the boys, okay?” Peter made for a departure but stopped when Johnny called for him.
“Need any help?”
“Nah. You’ve done great already, man.” Spider-Man saluted and leaped away towards the group of firemen preparing for search and rescue. “Spider-Man report for duty, sir!” Spidey elicited a round of cackles and shaking heads before the chief threw the vigilante a hard hat. “Like usual?” His question was met by an affirmation nod from the squad leader, and Peter got inside the building first accompanied by the occasional ‘thwip!’ sounds of his web shooters.
“Thank you for that back there, kid,” the chief approached him with a welcoming presence, his mustache smile eased the awkward tension a bit. “You friends with the Webhead?” the older man offered a bottled water which he took with a nod of gratitude.
“More like acquaintances, truly.” After a gulp of water to satiate his dry throat, Johnny chuckled, “Or you can say that he has been guiding me through this superhero thing.”
“Looking to join the big league, eh?” The chief inquired with a chuckle.
“Maybe, maybe not. I haven’t decided yet,”
“What’s the problem?”
“The significance of it all, I suppose?” Johnny spoke again after a long moment of contemplation, watching evacuees making their way out of the recently burning building, one by one. “Take Spider-Man, for example; he did it for what? Fame for a faceless icon? Unclaimable favors?” The blue-cladded blond shrugged with confusion.
“I don’t know either, kid,” the chief chuckled, looking up and saw a couple of survivors being rappelled down via a strand of webbing each with Spider-Man standing above them at the blown-open wall. “Maybe he just wanna help? Whoever he is, he was raised right; few would’ve been so willing to do it as he did. Iron Man had the government endorsement and Captain America was a famous soldier, but him?” Spidey saluted to the firemen below before getting back inside to continue the rescue. “He’s just a guy who wants to do right by people and do good things because he can” The chief then patted him firmly on his shoulder, “Ask anyone and they will say that Spidey is telling us we can do better, that we can be better. To help not just because it was our job or we have to, but because we can.”
Johnny thought about the chief’s words and hummed an acknowledgment after a moment. “Still, it would be better to get something tangible from doing this rather than just emotional satisfaction, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.” The chief nodded and pursed his lips in agreement. “You have a job, son?”
“Um…not really? I mean, I did some odd jobs here and there but nothing permanent at the moment.”
“How about you join the department?”
“A firefighter?” Johnny widened his eyes curiously at the mustache man, thinking about it. It can be a way to utilize his powers while gaining some benefits along the way, and maybe it will deter Susan from nagging him about adult responsibilities. But then Spider-Man and some of the firefighters make their way out of the building with charred bodies in their arms; some even are what used to be babies.
The chief quickly attained the horrifying scene while telling Spider-Man to step aside and take a break. Peter stood in place momentarily, hands clenched and those white lenses squinting.
“What do you mean the babies are missing?” Peter asked one of the maternity ward nurses after they had successfully evacuated all the survivors and the casualties were accounted for. NYPD insisted on him and Johnny leaving the scene, but Peter stayed anyway. The blond many presses are hounding him as he is the new face and has no intention of covering his identity.
“We counted them this morning before the fire, and now with all the…bodies here,” the nurse has a solemn and nauseated look on her face, glancing at her side to the laid bodies being tended to at the moment with a well of tears collected in her eyes. “There are five or seven missing from the roster unless you guys left some inside the ruins.” The nurse alternates her heartbroken eyes between Spider-Man and the squad leader in front of her. Both men looked at each other with each shaking their heads as a form of confirmation.
“We scoured the entire building, ma’am, all of them are here.” The firefighter replied, his expression falling into one of confusion. “Are you certain you are not stressed and misremembering the information?”
“No! I did my job correctly, sir! There are missing babies!”
“Okay, I believe you, miss…?” Spider-Man cut in between the two.
“Patel.”
“Miss Patel,” Peter said as calmly and reassuringly as he could muster after a tragedy such as this. “What can you tell me about the missing babies? Is there anything specific about any of them? Something that might give whoever did it a reason to take them?”
“No. Nothing. They were just normal babies!” Nurse Patel exclaimed with frustration, looking as lost as one can be. Before Peter can come up with another question, Detective DeWolff rushes in and stands between him and the nurse.
“Spider-Man! I want to ask you and your associate to leave the investigation perimeter, immediately!”
“Detective!” Peter squeezed the enthusiasm out of his glum mood as much as possible. “Nice to see you again!” He offered his gloved hand for her to shake, but Jean DeWolff got a bemused expression on her face as she rejected the pleasantry. “Aw…” Peter slumped his shoulders dramatically at that.
“I give you one minute to take your friend and get out of the vicinity.” She leaned in closer with hard eyes and decreased her volume to a whisper, “You know how the mayor is with vigilantism. Just go.”
“Usual spot? Something to drink or eat?” Peter replied kindly.
“Surprise me,” Jean got a little smirk and fell back into her strict police officer façade again. “Get going!”
“Alright, alright! Jeez…” Peter raised his hands in the air to signify a surrender and traced his way towards Johnny Storm, who was engaging in quite a lively conversation with one of the reporters, especially the cute ginger at the front. “Come on, buddy, we gotta go!” Peter announced chirpily as his hand flattened on the top of his girlfriend’s brother’s back, preparing a high jump.
“We are leaving?”
“Yep!” and before any reporters can bombard him with questions as well, Peter jumps with his super strength and swings away with Johnny’s yelp of surprise accompanying them.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Central Park]
Peter hung around a secluded area of Central Park an hour and a half past noon, waiting for the blonde detective with a paper bag of Jerome’s takeout. He didn’t know what she wanted but going with the favorites couldn’t hurt, right?
Since Detective Watanabe and Detective Drake had been relocated to other precincts following their promotions, Jean DeWolff had become somewhat of his insider in the NYPD of this region; contrary to her belief, he took Jessica Jones’s words to his heart, most of the time. His Spider-HUD shows the feeds from many Spider-bots he’d planted around their meeting spot in case some police or CRUD agents are nearby. The image resolution reminds him of that salvaged TV he dumpster-dived before he got the spider bite when the old TV fired itself following an electrical power surge.
The alcoholic P.I. and Daredevil are still on Wilson Fisk’s case as usual, he offered a helping hand once and got reasonably rejected because of his notoriety issue.
‘Spider-Man was too big of a player if we want to keep things quiet; we’ll call if we need your help, okay?’ Jessica said to him once after the Siege settled down and the Kingpin himself returned, conveniently, from his business trip off-state. Despite being besties with Felicia Hardy, Peter could hardly get anything related to Fisk’s syndicate out of her more than what Black Cat’s willing to part with. He didn’t get her sometimes and was completely lost trying to understand why she did anything most of the time; it’s like playing with a cat, pun intended.
Speaking of the devil, Black Cat’s text comes in as he is about to fish his phone out.
>>> U free tonight?
<<< Well. Hello. Thank you for asking! I’m fine, how about you?
>>> …
<<< Gotta check in with G first
>>> What’s wrong?
<<< Headache, nausea, fatigue,
>>> …congratulations? 🤰 ?
Peter chuckled with a cough at the reply.
<<< No! She’s not pregnant 😂
>>> Oh
>>> She’s, okay?
<<< idk, gotta check first
<<< Why do you ask?
>>> Can use some of your special help tonight, and I need a plus-one
<<< Sound fancy?
<<< Should I dress up?
>>> Formal suits, preferably black
>>> Got some?
Peter quickly perused his gallery and sent Felicia one that he had taken with the girls before the gala at the city hall.
<<< So?
>>> 🤌
>>> 8 PM, my place?
<<< Call u later
He looked at the time and around, searching for the familiar disguise usually worn by the detective.
Not long after he spotted her; a brown coat, a big pair of shades, and a dark-haired wig, walking towards the isolated bench with caution. Out of precaution about the Chameleon, Peter activated a filter over his lenses that can penetrate a layer of the polymer composite used in the mask. Seeing no alarming signs, he deactivated it and waved to the undercover detective.
Jean DeWolff took her seat beside the masked vigilante and quietly took the takeout into her hands, casually eating lunch while Spider-Man sat on his side of the bench with attentive eyes on the surroundings.
Jean started relaying the information she got from Nurse Patel and the others about the fire and the missing babies, detailing everything she got from the medical personnel and what they could salvage from the CCTV. The suspect is a Caucasian man named Frank Greens, a trainee nurse who started working just a month earlier.
“Any criminal records before this?” Spider-Man asked, his eyes never laid upon her.
“None. No apparent motivations either.” Detective DeWolff shook her head as she finished the takeout and set it aside, taking a drink out of a water bottle, “The case is under investigation now, you’ll have to sit this one out.” Her words elicited a disappointing grunt from the Spider-Man. “This is our job, Spider-Man. If there’s someone like Gargan or Sytsevich or Doctor Octopus running around again, I would gladly let you take care of them.”
“So, I’m just here to deliver you food and got nothing in return?” Peter playfully jabbed and the undercover detective shook her head with a low chuckle. He then presented a device to her. “Single press for a distress call, I’ll be there.”
“What’s this? A Spider-something?” DeWolff inspected the device thoroughly as it does bear a resemblance to a spider in design.
Spider-Man chuckled at the playful criticism and nodded his head, “It’s a Spider-Tracer; effective range about 8 miles on a good day.”
“You and names.” DeWolff snorted and stored the tracer inside her pants pocket. “Thanks, Spider-Man.” She made a stand and took the trash in her hands, crumbling them into a ball for easy disposal. “The offer still stands; the force can use someone with your skills and talents.”
“You just wanna see my dreamy face!” Peter followed her with a lighthearted tone, “Besides, I don’t do well with a 9-to-5 job.” Spider-Man shrugged his shoulders dismissively at her offer.
“Lazy?” DeWolff harbored a smirk on her lips.
“Packed schedule.” He leaped into the air and shot his webbing sideways to start swinging away from the scene.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Osborn Manor, 0744 PM]
Norman Osborn announced his arrival inside Curt Connors’ lab with a call to the geneticist, his hand clutching the handle of a briefcase tightly. The billionaire suave his trek shortly towards the main area and set the briefcase down on top of the metallic table.
Doctor Curt Connors, disheveled and sleepless, made his way up from the lower platform with various chemical vats and tanks alongside many gruesome experimental subjects consisting of mammals and reptiles. He opened the case and inspected the content inside with a curious look that then turned into a morbid uncertainty.
“How come you gathered this amount of stem cells?” The question hung in the air with only Norman’s detached smile as a reply. The imposing man rounded the table and stood beside the disheveled scientist with a firm grip on both of his shoulders, the emerald orbs of the taller CEO looked down upon the procured necessities inside cutout black polyurethane slots with underlying glee.
“Don’t concern yourself with such a trivia inquiry, Connors. Whatever you require, I can get them for you; that’s our deal.” The usually casual tone was laced with a tinge of demand that was so subtle the sleep-deprived Doctor Connors did not catch. “Advancement requires sacrifices, as the old saying goes, my friend.”
“Mister Osborn…I…”
“You want Billy to have a failure as his father, Curtis?” the grips tightened, and the tone of voice shifted slightly. “What would dear Martha think of you when you’d lost so much time already just to come up with nothing?” The words have their intended effect as the gifted geneticist shuts down his protest. “We are so close to changing the world, Curtis. Yourwork will be immortalized as one of the most influential scientific discoveries throughout the entire history of mankind!” Norman enthusiastically urged the scientist and succeeded flawlessly as the shoulders under his palms relaxed.
Curtis Connor took a deep breath and silently nodded his head in agreement.
“Excellent! Now, as your employer, I must insist you take care of yourself immediately.” Norman clapped his hands loudly and right on cue his butler came in with a covered tray of aromatic food, as well as some vitamins. “Eat your food and the vitamins, then take a nap. An exhausted brain is a limping wolf.” Norman smiled reassuringly while patting the geneticist’s cheeks firmly.
As Curt Connors sat down at the small adjacent to eat the first meal in about two days, Norman excused himself along with the butler. Both walked along the stairway leading upward to the basement section of Osborn’s manor in Upstate New York. Minutes passed by as both men climbed the stairs onto the upper floor, just as they were about to reach the oaken doors to the vast living room, the butler stopped his employer and old friend with a stern look.
“What is it, Theodore?” Norman Osborn inquired monotonously, harboring a look of annoyance.
“I was supposed to carry out your commands and requirements, sir, but drugging Doctor Connors was a bit too far.”
“It’s for the best, Theodore. The man was too absorbed with his works that he might harm himself.”
“I understand, sir, but that was a bit too much in my book.”
“Don’t sweat it. I know what I’m doing.” Norman reassured and the butler retreated with a step. “You go ahead and take care of dinner; I have something to take care of.” He dismissed the butler with a wave of his hand, and the grey-haired man bowed courteously before departure.
Norman Osborn reached his study and settled down on a cushioned chair, leaning into the comfort with a heavy sigh. He then opened the left drawer and took a recording device out before labeling a tape with GR-32 / C. Connors and then loaded it into the recorder.
“Experiment B-3. Subject; Connors, Curtis. 15%. 67 hours after digestion.” Norman paused for a little, massaging his forehead firmly, “The subject showed signs of decreased fatigue and was able to withstand 48 hours of starvation, as well as more than 24 hours without sleep. An improvement, for certain, but in need of more modifications.” The billionaire CEO harbored a dark smile on his lips, the dim light in the study illuminated his emerald eyes as if they were shining.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Susan Storm's apartment]
Gwen opened her eyes with great difficulty, feeling her neck sore and her back aching despite the cushion that the bed provided. But how did she get to the bed…
A sizzle sounded from the kitchen along with a whiff of something so salivating it made her stomach growled. Making to move out of the position she was in, Gwen noticed that she was buried under a pile of covers that felt like another person laid on top of her by the weighted warmth. A moment later, Peter comes in with a tray of dinner and a collection of medicines, he’s wearing an apron to complete the homebody look. A worried smile plastered his lips as he set the items down nearby, touching the back of his hand on her forehead to check the temperature.
“Good afternoon,” Gwen mumbled against her fatigue and rubbing her eyes a bit, Peter’s chuckle reached her ears a moment later.
“It’s 7 PM now, Gwen,” Peter fluidly set up a dinner table of one at the nightstand with a stool and relocated her limp body off from the bed. “I found you asleep on the couch; how long were you out?” He stood behind her, offering his toned body as a backrest while monitoring.
“…around ten? I’m not sure.” Gwen shrugged her shoulders tiredly, devouring the combination of meat and vegetables on her plate like a starving wolf. Finished, Gwen let out a small burb with a contended sigh as she leaned her sunflower crown into Peter’s abdomen, relishing his sporty scent from swinging around the city in his superhero costume. She hummed approvingly at the relaxing head massage under his fingers. “What is it?”
“Huh?”
“You are awfully quiet, Pete. Something’s on your mind?”
“You sure you don’t want to go see a doctor about this?” Peter inquired with furrowed brows, resting his hand on the crooks of her neck. “You’ve been like this for a week now, Gwen. Something’s wrong.” He felt her slightly smaller hands atop his, squeezing them firmly; he thought the gesture was a bit more noticeable in terms of force than what he usually felt from people, but dismissed it.
“It took me years to save this much money, dude. It is just a headache with, maybe, a mild case of narcolepsy. I’ll be fine.” Gwen craned her neck backward a little to give Peter a reassuring smile, which he reluctantly accepted. A click from the front door and the greeting voice of the other blonde in their little paradise came and demanded their attention, Peter softly kissed the top of her head and took the tray out of their bedroom.
“Welcome home, Sue,” Peter exclaimed sweetly as he navigated to the mature blonde to peck her cheek and continue onward to the sink. “Can you help me convince Miss Stacy to go to a hospital? She’s very stubborn.” Susan Storm giggled a little before depositing her tote down on the couch followed by her shapely buttocks.
“We might have a better odd finding a cure for cancer, Peter.” Susan conceded tiredly as she groaned out playfully from her spot, resting her pretty head against the armrest.
“You know me so well, Sue!” Gwen chirped weakly from the bedroom, enjoying a groan from her brunet-haired man in the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner, darling?” the blonde biochemist questioned after stretching her exhausted body on the comforting furniture and raising her head to look in the direction of the inquired vigilante. Her answer came in the form of an apron-clad Peter Parker with a plate filled with the same meal he’d served Gwen Stacy earlier. “Thank you,” Susan smiled at him and ushered the younger man to take a seat with her. Peter complied and draped his arm over her shoulder, enjoying the tender frame of the blonde against his side while his fingers raked through her golden mane.
“How’s work today?” Peter started as he was sure the sleeping pills had already taken effects on the other woman in their apartment, relishing the quiet and satisfying hums from Susan Storm.
“Nothing interesting, most of the projects are still in the analyzing period at the moment.” Susan made sure to swallow the content in her mouth before speaking. “Aside from that, I made a bit of progress with Ben’s treatment.”
Peter checked the time on the wall, and it reads 7:20 PM. “Oh? Is it going to work?”
“I can’t be 100 percent sure, yet. Need more tissue testing.” Susan answered with faux enthusiasm, which the man she leaned upon caught on quickly.
“What is it?” Peter prodded her cheek with his finger.
“Our mutations differed vastly from one another despite the cause being the same and the altered RNA resembled so little of the mapped templates. It requires a tremendous amount of work just to grasp it, and I fear Ben might not have the patience.” Susan sighed deeply, sinking herself into Peter’s warm side furthermore.
“Can I help?”
“No offense, darling, but Gwen’s knowledge might be more appropriate than yours in this case.” Susan smiled reassuringly before planting a kiss at the corner of his playfully pouting mouth. “The company policies can be such a disappointment sometimes, otherwise I would have pushed for her recruitment immediately.”
They sat in intimate silence for a while, before Peter shifted away from her a bit, eliciting a look of confusion from the blonde bombshell.
“I should get going, I promised Black Cat that I would help her out tonight,” Peter announced and planted a loving kiss on her slightly parted lips.
“With what?” Susan inquired after he made his way into the bedroom. She had heard of this weird connection that her boyfriend established with the infamous thief before from Gwen a while ago. The white-haired woman seemed to be the target of double-standard treatment compared to criminals who took residents in the city.
“Something requiring a three-piece suit.”
“…are you certain that she didn’t just trick you into a date of some kind?” her tone might appear teasing, but the frown on her forehead tells another story.
“Nah. I’m not her type.” Peter dismissed it with a chuckle. Walking out of the bedroom with the set that Susan picked for him a while ago at the gala; a pair of trousers in dark-gray color, a burgundy shirt without a necktie, and a gray vest. As he was fixing his sleeves with complimentary cufflinks, Susan spied a pair of web-shooters under the fabric.
“Let hope it’s true, my dear Casanova,” Susan teased with a masked bitter tone; she couldn’t help but feel a bit threatened by an exotic beauty such as the feline-themed criminal.
“Aww, did the stunning Susan Storm feel a bit of jealousy for dear o’ me?” Peter crooned as he approached the blonde to give her a deep kiss on her lips, feeling how possessive her gesture became for a moment. “It’s 100 percent work-related, I’m sure about it.”
“Since when is dressing up in colorful skintight suits considered a job?” Sussan, feeling a bit better by his reassurance, playfully prodded the tip of his nose with hers.
“Technically speaking? Since Captain Rogers.” He smirked at the answer that he gave.
“Captain America’s weren’t so exhibitionistic as yours. Apparently.”
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[The Riviera]
Felicia, in a simple black dress with a deep neckline, finished her perfecting touch of makeup when she heard a notification from her phone, reading a text from Peter Parker announcing his arrival at the reception. Humming approvingly at his almost punctuality, Black Cat tucked a skeleton key device into her clutch and made way for the lift after closing the windows. The ride was short and accompanied by some instrumental music she bothered not to recognize, and she made her way out of the steel cargo as soon as the door slid open. Her emerald eyes sweep the hall until they fall upon the familiar face of the man who haunts her dreams as of late.
The suit he picked compliments his toned physique in such a way that Felicia couldn’t help but admire the contour of covered muscles and the chiseled shape resulting from excessive calisthenics as the man claimed. His hazel eyes met hers and that damn dorky smile greeted her again, causing a flutter of warmth inside her chest. Felicia composed herself just in time for the vigilante to approach her with an offering of his arm, which she took comfortably and familiarly. “That dress looks good on you, Cat.” He complimented her with a casual smile, leading her away onto the city night and an Uber for them to take.
“Why thank you, Spider. You do not look too bad yourself.” She settled in the back seat of the sedan alongside Peter Parker, and the car started moving after a moment. Minutes later, she presented a folded invitation card for him from her clutch. “Yours,” the emphasis is ignored by the driver, but Peter catches the underlying meaning of the item. He sported wide eyes after reading the name he was supposed to have for the evening and shot her a teasing grin.
“Invitations and names, sir, madame?” The receptionist politely greeted them with two big guards behind him, as he awaited the identification as requested.
Peter cut to the chase and happily replied with “Bryce Wane and Seline Chyle.” Then, they were let pass through the front with no complications thanks to Felicia’s excessive connections.
The platinum-haired thief now dyed her hair black and gathered it into a stylized bun, giving off a peculiar sight for the vigilante due to the associated image he had of hers with her naturally distinct color. “Shut your grin,” Felicia chided him after a while as they navigated through the vast hall filled with garish decorations, cocktails, appetizers, and a colony of fancy schmancy people of NYC.
“Bryce Wane and Seline Chyle? Really?”
“What of it?”
“Are you a fan of Batman, by any chance?” He got a shit-eating grin now while nursing a flute of champagne with her.
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was not specifically a fan of Batman, Spider. Night Wing, however,” Felicia trailed with a teasing smirk, sipping the almond-hinted beverage down her slender throat.
“Ah, I see…” The vigilante pursed his lips in acknowledgment with an implying tone that elicited a light smack of Felicia’s hand across his biceps.
“Focus,”
“What, or who, are we looking for?” Peter adopted a more serious tone, acting like a couple as usual in this type of ‘hang out’ between the two of them.
“A blond, the one by the piano,” Felicia nodded her head discreetly in the direction of the musical instrument, focusing on the man in a navy suit and a distinct red handkerchief. “I need his fingerprints,”
Felicia looks upon a scene where Peter approaches their target and proceeds to chattered him up with relative ease; the man has a knack for running his mouth, after all. The vigilante eyed the blond man’s champagne flute for a bit and then downed his own to match the exact level of transparent fluid before proposing a question to the navy suit, which resulted in the inquired party turning his eyes away after setting his flute of champagne down on the piano. Spider-Man quickly swapped the flutes so fluidly that Felicia couldn’t help but perk her brows.
Peter waved the man and returned to her side with the flute which he offered with a smirk. Felicia chuckled softly with a slight shake of her head and proceeded to retrieve a specialized invention she’d got from Phineas Mason for this type of work; a polymer composite film to extract fat residue imprinted by fingers on the sheer surface of the glass. “What’s that?”
“You are not the only one with toys,” then she deposited the film inside a built-in UV cure chamber to solidify the imprint. “Now, we just need to wait for an opportunity,” Felicia announced as she left the flute and motioned for her companion to follow. The disguised thief linked their arms together to sell the cover story and navigated her companion through the sea of wealthy people and some shady individuals of the underground circles.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Peter started as he followed Felicia’s guide by resting his hand flattened against the exposed area of her dress at the back and taking her hand with another as they glided along with the slow serenade on the dance floor.
“Hmm?” Felicia voiced her curiosity, looking at his thinking face inside the cage of his arm, flowing smoothly with the music as their similar heights were made prominent by her high heels.
“Is this related to your mother?” Peter swirls her lithe body around and reels her in to coil his arm around her waist as they follow the tunes. The frame of dark curtains around her face gave off a peculiarly mesmerizing sight.
“What of it?” Felicia wiggled her brows, “Can’t I just want to spend some quality time with Manhattan’s favorite menace?” Her reply garnered a look of disapproval on the vigilante’s face, Felicia rolled her eyes at his reaction with a tug of a playful smirk on her dark lips. “There’s a vault in the penthouse,” Felicia followed the general move of the floor and pressed her back against Peter’s chest, swaying her hips along with his. “My sources said there are classified documents, regarding my mother’s assassination.” Her eyes hooded a little at the mention of her late parents.
“Like, a thumb drive or some security caches?” Peter supports her arching body, mentally kicking himself as his eyes couldn’t keep off the glimpse of her exposed cleavage.
“Physical copies,” Felicia replied after coiling her arms around the back of his neck, their faces separated by mere inches. A satisfying hum escaped her as the callouses of his palms held her hip firmly.
“No stealing.” Peter brokered a deal with an expectancy, barring any argument from her. He saw Felicia roll her mesmerizing emerald eyes dramatically at his demand.
“You are an expert buzzkill, you know that?”
“Thank you.” Peter retorted.
They dance with one another, killing time following Felicia’s insistence that the opportunity will present itself soon. The music changed and the floor gained a more vibrant and warmer vibe. The first note played from the expensive auditory setups elicited a chuckle from Spider-Man as he poised himself and Felicia in a stance for tango.
“Would you be my Catherine Zeta-Jones?” Peter proposed with a charming smirk, his hand taking her fingers at arm’s length. Felicia wears a similar expression as the instrumental song slowly draws closer to the beginning of the play, she bows graciously in the manner of the song’s origin before firmly tugging his hand.
“Of course, señorBanderas,” The Eastern European woman replied sultrily and started circling him following the scene of an old movie that her dance partner referred to.
More than once, both came so close to one another that their hot breaths mingled, their eyes focused solely on one another and nothing else. Felicia moved so abruptly it would surely leave some sores on her muscles and joints, yet they’d never ceased the intensity in a chase towards their crescendos.
(**For reference, just look up “A very spirited dancer” scene from the Mask of Zorro, 1998**)
“Pizza?” Peter grunted as now he was clinging upside-down to the ceiling of an air vent leading to the vault, with Felicia comfortably laid atop his chest while his muscles flexed constantly due to the exertion of force as he was performing an inhuman task.
“In this dress?” Felicia inquired with an incredulous expression. “With all these dust and cobwebs?” she gestured to the state of their outfits after a short trip above the conventional route below.
“We can swing back to your place if you wanna change.” Peter refrained from shrugging his shoulders and stopped above a cover above the interior of the reinforced cubicle. “Hold tight,” he commanded and felt the tightening of her limbs around his body as he rearranged their position so that Felicia was under him. Peter placed his right hand at the center of the cover and yanked it up to loosen the screws, then pushed it outward to detach it from the vent. Peter attached a line of webbing to the vent and descended their tangled bodies down head-first, slowly. “Anything?” He questioned after spinning around for the infamous thief to scan for any hidden tricks.
“We are clear,” Felicia announced quietly with a nod of approval, then she witnessed vertigo for a split second as Peter Parker cartwheeled them mid-air to land on their feet. “Ugh, not a fun trip,” she mumbled to herself as her bare feet trudged towards the protected shelf filled with rows of folders and used the imprint to unlock the reinforcing slider, eyes alternating between searching for her desired object and the scatter of valuables on the table at the side. Peter, on the other hand, hawked her while cleaning his suit as best he could. Felicia stiffens a bit as the tips of his fingers graze near her spinal cord before the tightness of her dress increases just a little.
“Sorry, but the knots here were loose.” The vigilante apologized sincerely and quickly taking the resident at her side, his eyes taking a similar task as hers minus the allure of valuables.
“Thanks,” Felicia said with a hint of shyness and fluster, perusing the folders. “Anything that contains Sablinova, or Assassination.”
It took them about five minutes of constant research until Felicia found what she sought.
They quickly opened the folder and used their phones to take pictures of the contents inside, then with her arms around his neck again Felicia was launched into the air along with the vigilante and they made their way out of the building.
“So?” Peter asked with his mouth full, dangling his legs over the ledge of her penthouse’s balcony, with a box of Jerry’s MediterraneanClassic pie sitting between them. Felicia leaned against the rails, mirroring the vigilante in the direction of their faces, keeps zooming in and out of the taken pictures. Peter looked over to the time on the top-right corner of his phone.
“Almost identical to what we already knew,” the platinum-blonde exhaled with exhaustion, banging the back of her head against the metal rod softly in frustration. “If anything, it adds more questions than answers.”
“What do we know so far? And by we, I specifically referred to you because I didn’t know anything, just to be clear.” Peter gave her a flat smile.
“She was killed, here in Manhattan, in 2005 by Kraven the Hunter. Records from the embassy and the Under Archive show that Sara Sablinova was shot to death by a bullet, which contradicts Kraven’s modus operandi as far as we are aware.” Felicia list with a heavy heart.
“Yeah, that guy was able to ambush me, if he just used guns, I’d have been dead,” Peter replied with a grim realization, meanwhile the admission only deepened the guilt inside Felicia’s supposed frozen heart. “What’s the Under Archive?”
“An organization keeping discarded items and unwanted documentaries. Runs deep under the criminal world.” Felicia relayed to him and got a little smile at his pout.
“Somehow I felt like I’m so underprepared for this city,”
“Oh, you are, sweetheart.” Felicia retorted.
“The encouragement is very appreciated, Felicia.” He held a thumbs up mockingly.
“It’s just facts, Spider,” She continues, “How do you think someone like Wilson Fisk or Lonnie Lincoln was able to rule for so long?”
“Their charming personalities?”
“If by personalities you meant money, that’s partly why, but essentially, it’s a different kind of war on this side of the world. Constantly one-up your rivals by being the most resourceful.”
“Sounds exhausting.” Peter offered nonchalantly.
“If you want to be the one in charge, yes.” Felicia rakes her fingers through her recently washed hair, inspecting the leftover residue of the tempo dye. “That’s why I stick with kleptomania; far simpler and not much of a headache,” she said with a bit of a flair.
“I’m so proud of you to finally recognizeyourproblem, our sessions do help.” Peter feinted a tear of joy, mimicking a handkerchief dapping at each of his eyes; rightfully earned him a light smack on his shoulder facing Felicia. “Anything else?” He urged her after another slice rested comfortably inside his stomach.
“Nada,” Felicia said after a long ponder.
“…okay?”
“That’s all the facts that I know,”
“Noted.” Peter nodded and finished his last slice before standing up and looking in her direction, “You want some more help?” He saw Felicia shaking her head with an appreciative smile and shooed him playfully “Oh, yeah, the ‘I have no more use for you, get lost!’ gesture. Fantastic.” Peter dramatically flailed his arms around with exaggerated huffs.
“What do you want? A good night kisses?”
“Can I?” Peter displayed a smirk on his lips and quickly evaded a thrown olive from the platinum-haired woman. “Good luck with that, Cat. Anyway, I should get going,” He trekked to the lift and spun around a little with a bright grin, “Good night, Felicia.”
“Night,” Felicia waved a little as the lift slid closed and sighed heavily while letting the night breeze of the city envelop her lithe frame.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Near Central Park, 0924 PM]
Peter, even if in his civvy, couldn’t help but butt in when he heard a very recognizable thud of hard bone hitting flesh. Drawing near, his nostrils caught a whiff of smoke and an intense stench of hard liquor. After a short distance covered, the commotion between them could be heard and Peter felt a tinge of recognition at the hoarse tone coming from one of them. He peeks around the corner and immediately goes livid at the sight of a burly man with a ridiculous haircut.
“Hey! Let him go!” Peter announced himself in his shirt, maskless, and web-shooters disengaged. Recalling the inhuman strength of the short muscular man from their last encounter and briefly scanning the area for any blunt weapon; that metallic drainpipe seems handy.
“For the love of God, kid! Get lost!” The burly man glanced at him with a frown while his fist coiling the collar of another man’s shirt relentlessly. “This is the second time you jutted your sorry ass in my business!”
Peter was taken aback by the words as he was not in his red and black costume like last time.
“Go play hero somewhere else, Bub. I need to have a chat with this scrawny jerk here.” Thinking he got the upper hand on the vigilante, Logan turned back to his interrogation of one of Mystique’s associates, then he felt himself being yanked away from his terrifyingly reluctant conversation partner with a much greater force of strength. Logan tutted in frustration as the city’s self-proclaimed protector ushered Raven’s henchman away. “Damn it, kid! You know how hard it was to track one of them down?!”
“Absolutely none,” Peter shrugged off his shoulders with a smirk on his face.
“Get out of my face, Spider-Man. I have no time to play with you.” Logan starts to move but the vigilante relocated himself, showing some proficiency in close-quarter combat. The look of surprise was hidden with nothing and fully visible to his heightened senses. “That’s right, I know who you are. So, step aside.” Logan harbored a satisfying smirk on his bearded face.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, but I can’t let you hurt innocent people.” Peter played a façade as well as he could, but only saw the burly man tapping his nose firmly.
“You can’t fool this nose, kid, with or without your costume you smelled the same.”
“I feel so violated right now,” dropping the pretense, Peter rolled up his burgundy shirt’s sleeves above his elbows and deployed a pair of nano-gauntlets on his arms completed with the loaded web-shooters. “Shouldn’t you be behind bars right now?”
“On what charges? Doing my job?”
“Can I have a call with your parents if stalking girls at night or roughing up people in the alleyway is considered a job?”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Logan grunted but kept his talons sheathed, bending his knees a little and relaxing his body; the density of Adamantium skeleton alone should be enough to incapacitate Manhattan’s sentinel. The scent of sweat and blood should be traceable for another hour following the scrawny man’s escape route.
“What’s the matter? Afraid to lose another fight?” Peter prodded with his shit-eating grin, tensing his muscles and honing his sight.
“I’ll say it again, one last time; Get. The fuck. Off my face.” It might be a trick of the light, but Peter saw the obscured eye glow a little in the shadow.
“Nope.” Peter then evaded a quick jab aimed at his face with the help of Spider-Sense, and another around his stomach. Pirouetting away from a flying knee he countered the attack with an elbow strike due to how dense the man felt last time, his strike landed firmly but seemingly did no damage at all as the burly man kept on pressing with a few quick jabs and some hooks. Peter utilized boxing lessons and his Spider-Sense to counter, strike, and defend against his opponent.
“Get out of my way before things turn ugly, boy!” Logan frustratingly growled at the vigilante, calming his automatic response down from springing his talons in retaliation. He tries to land a substantial strike on the younger man, yet his attempts get diverted from their intended targets with superior reflexes and forces. Logan remembers well how he got washed more than a few times against Victor Creed, but Spider-Man possesses much more raw strength than both of them combined. “Come on, kid, I have work to do!” Logan then utilized the weight of his limb and momentum to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick that missed the mark, again, and opened a window for Spider-Man to counter.
“What a coincidence, I have one too! So, could you please surrender and turn yourself in? The boys in blues are my friends, mostly, just mention Spider-Man and enjoy your five-star treatment in the station!” Relying on his unnatural awareness, Peter dodged and weaved through the brutal onslaught. At one point he had to flip backward evading a full-body grapple and delivered a couple of impact webs at the burly man’s face mid-air.
“Ugh!” Logan exclaimed with disgust as he tore off the sticky substance. “Listen here, kid, you don’t know what you—” his words got clogged as another ball of rapidly expanding webbing landed over his mouth.
“I know that you beat up a guy half your size, and days ago you terrorized a woman.” Peter’s eyes narrowed and his brows drawn, “What's bugging me is why you’ve been released so fast? Some connections? Was it Tombstone, Kingpin, or someone else? Did you do something to the girl so she wouldn’t press charges?” Peter shot a flurry of webbing to pin the man to a wall and quickly got up close with his serious expression, all traces of playfulness washed off.
“Easy with the accusations, Bub.” Logan opted for a more diplomatic approach; his right wrist was in a preferable position to pop his talons, yet he decided not to do it as Spider-Man kind of reminded him about Steve Rogers back when he was serving alongside the Captain in the Howling Commandos, as in very headstrong and foolishly chivalric. “You are interfering in an investigation right now.”
“By whose authority?” Logan sees that the younger man disengages his contraptions, adopting a look of curiosity.
“Agent Emilio Garra, Homeland Security,” Logan answered with an annoyed expression, struggling a bit against the absurdly strong webbing. “I have my badge and ID within me, but I can’t reach it.”
Peter fished a tiny cartridge out of his breast pocket and threw it over to the supposedly superpowered government agent. “Just the badge and ID, okay?” He trusts his Spider-Sense more than he trusts his better judgment and backing up a little from the man’s reach. He watches closely when the burly man produces a badge for inspection.
“The code is my superior’s direct contact if you wanna confirm.” Logan offered after the badge was snatched so quickly from his hand.
Peter silently punched the number in and called, waiting for a moment before the other end answered with a calm greeting. “Um, hello? I ran into Agent Emilio Garra over here, sir. Might I confirm that he’s working with Homeland Security and here on an investigation as he claimed?” Peter’s eyes squinted with a doubt aiming at the man shorter than himself by around six inches.
Logan smirked as he saw Spider-Man’s eyes rapidly closing and going limp immediately. He sprung his talons and cut himself off from the webbing before retrieving his badge. “Sorry ‘bout that, kid, but ya insisted on being a pain in the ass.” Then he took the kid’s phone to greet the one on the other end, “Thanks, Charles, I owe ya one for that.” Ending the call, Logan tucked the device securely in Spider-Man’s pocket before hauling his athletic body up and depositing the limp body onto a chair of a closed coffee shop nearby. “Don’t worry, Bub, it’ll wear off before long.” Logan chuckled to himself as he finished setting up the pose of the Arachnid-themed vigilante, going for something cheeky befitting the most recognizable aspect of the man himself. Logan then starts retracing the lingering scent in the air that will lead him to that scrawny little rat.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Susan Storm's apartment]
“I’m back!” Peter announced quietly to the dark apartment, silent chatter can be heard from the bedroom to the right as he walked past the threshold. He’s still not sure how he ended up napping on a chair like that after leaving Felicia’s penthouse, maybe a bit too much champagne mixed with too many slices of Jerry’s?
He neatly folds the jacket and vest into a basket near the washing machine and rid himself of his shoes, then makes his way towards the fridge for a little snack; weird, it’s like he’s unknowingly doing some exercise earlier from how he needs something sweet right now. A pair of slender arms encircled his chest as a soft cushion pressed into his back, announcing the perpetrator’s identity with the size alone.
“You smelled sweaty, Peter; having fun?” The question was laced with a sense of jealousy, which only elicited a fit of fond chuckle from him.
“If you considered crawling through an air vent a fun thing to do, sure.” He felt Susan’s head presses into the base of his neck, tickled a little by the woman’s blonde hair. “I thought you guys were already asleep.” Peter then turns around to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead.
[Manhattan, New York. Mid 2028]
[Central Park]
Logan tracked down the scrawny man to the Pinebank Arch in Central Park, directly leading to an abandoned maintenance door. He sniffed the air around the door and the stench intensity seemed to be emanating from inside. Grabbing the rusted knob firmly, Logan exerted his enhanced strength on it until it gave, and he quickly slipped inside into the dark and cramped space. He can see a little better in the night than normal people, but not in complete darkness like this, so he fished a zippo and lit up the small confine he found himself in.
It's a generic storeroom that janitors and park attendants used back in the 70s and older until the city relocated them to new locations with more organized management and such. He remembered one winter when he took an odd job like that for about a month before Sabretooth would eventually give him the infamous ‘happy birthday’ spectacle; the massacre made a headline in the 1948s and was a terror for the citizens for a whole year after. That fight ended with Victor losing an arm when he got his guts mauled. The poor mortician must have been so confused when he snuck out of the morgue.
Logan, ignoring the smell of burning gas, feels around for any drafts or loose panels that would explain the significance of this escapade. He rummaged in vain through shelves that still contained expired chemicals and broken equipment, one tattered overall, an old face shield, and a broken clipboard.
Crouching down to the dust-covered floor, Logan’s trained eyes saw footprints leading into a wall to his left with one of the prints cut in half by the pane of gypsum obscuring what should be a secret opening behind it. Felt around the rims of the rectangle plank, Logan found a loose section held together by something on the other side.
“Yeah…alright.” He mumbled to himself after making sure of the locking bar’s position through the crack and springing one of his bladed talons, then slipped it into the crack to dismantle the whole metallic object like cutting through butter. Twisting his fist to pry open the slot for his fingers and pulling the cover open. “Wish they’d sear my nerves off like they did Ajax.” He mumbled with a grunt as he retracted the Adamantium blade inside his big forearm and felt around until his fingers landed on a lever switch, illuminating old lamps along the wall on the right leading down to the underground section.
Logan stood his ground and inhaled the air deeply into his lungs, categorizing odors and lingering scents rushing up from below but got nothing but the overwhelming barrage of rot and iron, Logan started descending the cement stairway.
His ears open to even the faintest of footsteps, eyes scanning the entire open area at the end of the path. An ovular-shaped room lined with medical equipment and experimental compartments looking newer than the bricks themselves tells him that they were quite frequently used not so long ago; the sight alone churned his stomach despite a lifetime of grim and dark existence.
Deformed human fetuses floating in a transparent liquid inside glass bottles. Hacked corpses and carcasses. Decapitated and lobotomized heads.
The big platform at the center housed around half a dozen infant corpses cut open at their backs and their spinal cords ripped off and laid atop the bloodstained surface. “Holy fucking Christ…” The Wolverine grimaced with disgust and sadness, while his seethed anger flairs in his chest. This is cruel even by Raven’s standards; he remembers their misadventures back in the late 1890s which left deaths on their wages, but those weren’t on this level of depravity and terror. She was a ruthless bitch, but all her kills always serve a purpose.
What benefits does she hope to gain from mutilating babies? This seemed to be the work of someone else in her association, someone who couldn’t care less about morality or basic decency.
“Don’t tell me it’s that motherfucker again…” Logan grumbled while messaging the bridge of his nose. That’s when a foreign scent entered his nostrils, and his body reacted automatically by springing his talons when a blood-curdling roar came from behind, over his head. A glowing pair of emerald-colored eyes, the tiny face of a young girl, a lithe body made for acrobatics and stealth, and those double sets of twin talons on each of her knuckles rained upon his surprised mass. “What the— Ugh!” The little girl was way faster with her lesser mass when she evaded his jab to land a stab through his neck, making him cough up a spittle of crimson liquid. Another jolt of sharp pain shot up from his stomach where he got kicked with her metal-capped boot along with a thin blade that pierced through his abdominal muscles and messed up his intestine by her thrashing.
Logan, using his massive arms and superior strength, grabbed her by the neck and then slammed the little girl face-first into a nearby wall, leaving a crater there as her growling mess slid down to the floor. Gathering his dangling bloody guts back into the gash before his healing factor would have closed it up, Logan maintained an eyesight on the dizzied girl in front of him. She has dark-colored hair, her face might be an Asian or a Latina by his passing glance, clad in a black fiber body suit with no paddings or armor of any kind. The bone talons on her hands still sprung but the one on her foot slowly retracted as he watched. Her mangled face rapidly mends itself just like his does, albeit a lot faster.
Opposing sets of growling echoed inside the chamber as both circled one another, their talons sprung and ready to deal a killing blow.
“I guess you are the one Xavier mentioned,” With his neck healed, Logan cackled out darkly as he kept the little ferocious beast at her side of the room with his eyes, just like how he cornered a wolf in the wild. “Let’s talk, alright? I can take you to—” His offer was cut short by the sudden lunge of the mutant before him, aiming her bony talons at his head. He ducked a little just to get out of the trajectory before using his Adamantium talons to cut her side deep enough to graze the ribcage, eliciting a roar of pain. “Jesus, kid! Just stay in place for a sec—” He sidestepped her stab and retracted the talons on his right hand to punch some sense into the feral mutant dead on her jaw, flinging her lithe body to collide with the shelves of deformed fetuses.
“Stay the fuck down and listen!” Logan, ever the diplomat, used his left foot to keep her hand down and his right stomp down to break the bone protrusions off with a crunchy snap. The girl howled in tremendous pain and stabbed her enemy in the calf, resulting in him grunting with annoyance and breaking her remaining weapons with his hands. “It will grow back, so quit whining!” Logan then tied her hands with her feet on her back using a nearby silicone tube, “Now, as I was saying; there’s a place for someone like you, and I can take you there. All you have to do is stop trying to kill me.” He stepped back a little to inspect her more attentively.
No older than thirteen at most, pupils narrowed into a dot in each eye, foaming at her mouth like a rabid dog. “Stop struggling, kid, or you’ll—” her joints popped by her relentless twisting “Be like that.” Logan sighed heavily and made for a haul when her body went stiff before writhing in tremendous pain, her mouth screamed a silent wail as her body disintegrated before his eyes, melting into a pool of biomass in a matter of seconds. “Fuckin…” he mumbled in horror at the nightmarish sight, and a conclusion popped into his mind immediately by the telltale sign he saw. “Sinister’s clone puppet.”
As he ascended the stairs, Logan felt a sense of grief in his heart for the defective clone, along with indescribable sadness.
Maybe it was because of how she was brought into this world just to do the Mad Victorian’s bidding and thrown away like garbage.
Or maybe because in her final moment, Logan saw a glimpse of awareness behind those crazed eyes? A sight of fear, desperation, confusion, and pleading.
Another set of eyes that will haunt him in the night, alongside many hundreds of those who came before hers.
Logan emerged into the moonlight with a cigar between his teeth, nursing a cleansing waft of smoke to wash away the clinging scent of blood and grime. He fished a phone out and punched in the number of the Institute quickly, intending to report the recent event to the telepathic headmaster. “Charles, Mister Sinister is in New York…Yeah…It’s alright, I got this.” He ended the call and tucked the device into his pocket before letting out a quivering sigh, “…I fucking need a drink…” Wolverine grimaced and zipped up his denim jacket to mask the slash and blood on his white wifebeater, trekking through the streets of the Sleepless City with the girl’s torturous cries ringing in his ears.