Chameleon

3

"In the Shadows"

“Our place…” Teresa recited to herself as she reached the front lawn of the old Parker house; one that her father claimed to be where he and her mother lived in. He’d always said that she should visit the place sometimes and that she would always have a home here, but Silver Sable had been bleeding the Wild Pack dry lately and she had no time even to leave the countryside of Symkaria to rest. “What was it like?” she whispered to herself as she made her way toward the locked door with realtor info dangling by a sticky nail.

She was born just months before her mother’s death, and years after that she was raised inside facilities where the closest things to her parents were monitors, documents, and utensils. The scientists and agents occupying the same facilities weren’t more than ever-changing faces. One time, back when she was planning her escape, she overheard mentions of Project-X and a brief discussion about ‘hunting him down’ and ‘cloning’; a mention of such would later lead her to volunteer on an infiltration mission involving the said project.

A site of horror, that place was.

Basins of dissolved biomass.

Tubes of underdeveloped or outright deformed fetuses adorning the walls and labeled ‘failed’.

Dissected corpses of defective male subjects; ranging from preschoolers to teenagers in age.

That’s when she disobeyed the first time and burned the facility down against Ernst’s order; leading to the Wild Pack teaching her a lesson about discipline later, but it was worth it.

That was shortly before the dreadful Ernst himself was assassinated by an unknown assassin that got past his guards; one of the first few ‘faces’ she wore. His successor and daughter, Sylvia, never suspected a thing; she inherited fully her father’s obnoxious confidence in the loyalty of the pack to see the truth.

Silver Sable might see them as her soldiers, but they are mercenaries, and some even start to become turncoats as of late. Victor Von Doom’s promises of peace at the cost of surrender touched many of the supposedly loyal soldiers and drove Sylvia even more desperate and ruthless.

She got tired of it all, and the news of her father’s arrest was all that she needed to cut ties.

Teresa navigates through the unfamiliar layout and alien decorations she has never had a chance to enjoy; her father’s achievement trophies, and her mother’s pictures on the walls.

A set of charred framed photos caught her curious, but Teresa ignored them as she made for the back and the pool that was supposed to be there. The pool itself is dirtied and abandoned; signs of life barren from the whole scenery signifying the absence of her father from the place contradicting his preaching. Teresa made laps around the pool, looking for a chain as hinted.

“What are the odds…” Teresa mumbled as focused on the only chain she saw; the one connected to the drain plug; surely an odd choice for a pool. With the help of a long stick, the chain got caught and yanked, draining the entire pool in minutes. She jumped down towards the camouflaged box situated at one corner of the pool, blended visually by the water earlier.

The entire thing is covered in a transparent polymer film, sealing it from the water and protecting the contents inside. She dragged it to the center of the pool and started tearing the film off until she was met with a buttoned digital lock, one with numbers accompanied by dialects. She thought up two options; HORSEMEN or APOCALYPSE from the things her father said.

“Let’s see…” she punched in the latter choice, confidence in the dramatic flair of her father, and it unlocked with a satisfying ‘click’. Teresa opens the lid to find a collection of similar-looking devices and a notebook bound in a leather strap.

“Mary Fitzpatrick…that’s mom’s,” Teresa mused as she read through the first few pages of the notebook after hauling the container into the vacant living room. “…genetic research into the latent mutagenic agent, or X-gene, inside approximately 2.35% of the human population…” Her eyes skimmed and caught familiar words, recalling the hell hole facility, but the notes ended there on the topic; seemingly her mother shifted her interests, but there were names with highlights such as ‘H.McCoy’ or ‘Lehnsherr’ or ‘Howlett’.

She recognized Howlett, there might be some scattered documents inside that hellish facility mentioning this name or something; she didn’t pay much attention to it back in the day.

She perused and landed on a marked page, describing the conceptualizations of her mother’s ambition in artificial mutation through controlled procedures. The topic goes on for almost the entire book until the last few pages change to describing crucial elements needed to bring about such drastic changes inside the body of homo-sapiens erectus.

“A primer will be needed to prepare the body…” she retraced the penned words, looking at the devices that were labeled by her father’s wavering handwriting due to his conditions, spotted one that should be read as ‘PRIMER’ instead of ‘PBIMEB’.

“A catalyst goes in second, to collect the altered cells…” Another device confirmed its purpose with her eyes and a short decryption of the wavered writings. “…and an activator to start the process…and the repercussions…” Teresa finished with a deep thought, contemplating between the thing her grieving father wanted her to do, and what she as a person should be doing.

What she had read from the notes indicated a different kind of a person than what her father depicted her mother as, Mary wouldn’t be wishing for something as sinister and catastrophic as this forced evolution thing her father has been adamant about for four years. Judging from the plans and the highlighted properties, these compounds are hydro-soluble and that’s how you start a nationwide pandemic, even globally given enough sufficient ratio if they are to be duplicated in mass.

“Would mom want this?” she mumbled, looking around while stalking the abandoned house that once must have been like a sanctuary for her parents. The smiles of Mary adorned the walls and desks, drawers with crayon marks all over them like a toddler who has too much in his head trying to ease the mental load off himself. Dinosaurs, horses, bats, trees, planes, a simple and basic math equation that a toddler shouldn’t be bothered with.

“Another kid…P...e...+...e…r...?” Teresa traced the scribble with squinted eyes, confused at it for a moment before it dawned on her “Peter? That’s his name?” She looked at all the photos that got a part of them charred to obscure a person underneath, this Peter, possibly.

But why?

Was he dead and that caused her father or mother to destroy the reminders? That’s why her father never mentioned him before. Her mother, the lovely smiling and caring eyes Mary Parker she saw in these.

Would she want to put others in torture and pain?

Would she want to rid others of their liberty?

Would she want to do this just as Richard, her grieving husband, thought so?

She’d killed, many, that’s the reality of a war she’d been forced to fight in, and even some since she came here to reunite with the only family she had left.

But those eyes were not of the same man she remembers despite the scarcity of them spending time together in the past. He was always busy, this or that to do to actually stay around long enough or to take her with him away from the tyrannical grasp of Ernst; he left her in the care of a man who was consumed by war and used her as a pawn than keeping his words about taking care.

She couldn’t decide whether she should be following his commands just like she did so under Silver Sable and her late father, or not.

There’s a sense of familiarity to this place inside of him, buried so deep he forgot the existence of such.

Peter stopped, or rather Felicity’s car, in front of an abandoned house in the suburb of Queens, he looked over the front porch of the building that Yelena tied to the Chameleon with hooded eyes and a nag in his brain screaming for him to remember something.

“We are here,” Felicity announced as she cut off the engine, opening the glove compartment as she leaned over his legs to take out a pair of Beretta PX4s and handed one to him.

“…what?” Peter looked at her with bafflement and appalled on his face.

“Precaution? Ever heard of it?” Felicity raised her brows at him with a look of ridicule as if it should be a well-known fact that they should be armed. He politely declined the firearm by pushing her extended hand away and deployed his web shooters on both wrists, then started loading web cartridges in them. “Be my guest,” Felicity shrugged and deposited the extra one back into the compartment.

Both got out of the sedan and stalked to the front together, with Peter instinctively putting himself in front of Black Cat, putting a tiny smirk on her lips that he didn’t see. “What now?” Felicia inquired quietly, relying on the superhuman’s sensitive senses to gain an advantage. She saw him concentrating and listening to any noises inside, and after a minute or so he gave her a thumbs up. Peter elbowed the door to assess the lock, and it struggled but was adamant in its place.

“…I take it you didn’t have a lockpick with you, right?”

“Is that really a question, Parker?” Felicia squinted her eyes at him.

“Well, we don’t know if…anyone gonna buy it later?” he offered with a sheepish and nervous grin.

“Just kick the damn door down,” Black Cat exhaled dramatically with a groan.

“Maybe I can just—” his offering got cut short by Felicity’s boot colliding with the wooden door, which is surprisingly sturdy that it transferred the impact force back into her leg, eliciting a moan of pain from the Cat, “—forced it open. Are you okay?” Peter shot his hand out to catch her arm as she stumbled backward.

“I’m fine…” she whimpered out as the lingering pain still ricocheted in her leg muscle. “I thought it would be like in the movies.” She hissed as Peter sported a teasing smirk.

“Lot to learn, you still have, my padawan,” he commented with a shake of his head and an amused smile, grabbing the knob with his hand, and twisting it with his super strength that was superior to her chemically enhanced one. He gestured with a flair for her to get inside first like a gentleman. “Mademoiselle,” he said with a little bow, deliberately delivering a bad French to tease her.

“Un tel charmeur,” the platinum-haired woman snorted while taking his offered hand and leading him inside. As they stalk the living area, Felicity trips over something, and Peter’s Spider-Sense blares screamingly; following the honed instinct he gathers the still confused Black Cat up in his arms and flings both out through the doorway with web-slingshot as the IEDs planted inside the house triggered. Balls of flames and hyper-compressed heated shockwaves slammed into them as Peter twisted midair and used his back to shield Felicity from the blast that almost knocked him out. Out of desperation to find a purchase, Peter randomly shoots webbing until one latches onto the still-standing pillar of the blown house, making them stop flying abruptly as the momentum or sheer luck turns Peter’s body under Felicity like a cushion for the platinum-haired woman when they landed on the crude asphalts; ignoring his pain and sores, Peter hugs her head in the cage of his arms and hovers over her fetal-positioned frame.

His Spider-Sense came in clutch as it warned him about a huge piece of debris flying his way, among many smaller signals, and he did the only reasonable thing; he positioned his and Felicity’s bodies so that it would only collide with him instead of both.

The decision harbored a risk of broken bones and maybe internal damage, but he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt if he could help it.

And oh boy how it hurts like a motherfucker.

“You okay?” Felicia asked in a worried tone after the fire was a bit tamed and the paramedics released her from their cares, approaching his laying form with a bracer over his left shoulder where the patch of wall slammed into his body. Cuts and blisters on his face and neck are all healed by his spider-powers, as he claimed, but the serious ones might take a bit more time.

He glances sideways at her approaching form, eyes scanning over her with concern despite the bruise he has over half of his face and dried blood in his ears, and lets out a grunting smirk with his usual quippy personality “Tis but a scratch, milady!” it managed to put a tiny smile on her face.

Felicia hesitates a little, contemplating the situation and how she feels about all of this, before putting her hand on his left one on his chest, squeezing it softly to convey her gratitude along with a smile. “Thanks…my black knight,” Felicia said whispery, yet his sensitive ears still picked it up.

Peter widened his smirk into a grin, enjoying the knowledge that she definitely watched Monty Python.

“All right, now mind telling me what were you two doing here?” The senior fireman crossed his arms and looked at them expectantly, squinting his eyes at the brunet who got more injuries and the white-haired young woman. The woman sported a brief look of contemplation before taking the arm of the man in hers, hugging it firmly to show the intimacy between them.

“We are looking to buy the house for a while,” Felicity delivered it so convincingly that even Peter, due to the mild headache, almost bought it. “My fiancé here decided to take a little tour before closing the deal, but I think we’ll have to find a new one now, right?” Felicity has that forced sweet smile on her lips, betrayed only by her eyes, and Peter plays along as he makes a saddened face.

“Shame,” the fireman said, looking back at the charred ruins with a sense of nostalgia in his voice, “the folks that lived here abandoned it a long time ago, didn’t know it was still in the market, to be honest.”

“You knew them?” Peter inquired, seeing the possibility of gaining intel.

“A bit; I used to live in the neighborhood when they moved in, moved out after a while when the station relocated,” he answered with a little nod, “The wife, Mary Parker, was a good neighbor to have.”

Felicia widened her eyes as she felt her faux fiancé tense up immediately at the name; aside from the former owner sharing the similarity in their last name with him, Felicia didn’t know much about the vigilante other than his aunt’s name.

“The husband, on the other hand, got this…chilly vibe around him? Like, you can tell he’s a trouble just by looking at him.” The fireman continued with a snort, “Not that I wanna shit on the man or anythin’, but he made me nervous.”

“Wha—” Peter’s voice cracked a bit before he cleared his throat, “What’s his name?”

“Oh! Uh…” The fireman tries to recall his memories while a thousand questions flow through Peter’s head, “Rick…or…Richard! Richard Parker! Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Parker?” Felicia prodded him lightly, a bit concerned at how detached he’d been since those names were spoken to him. “What’s wrong?” the NYFD cleared the area half an hour ago, and she’d called in an Uber since her sedan toppled over by the blast of the explosion. He became quiet, confused, and sporting an almost permanent grimace.

They sit beside one another on the opposite curb from the destroyed house, the app said their ride should be here in about five minutes; Felicia groaned internally at the added fees for a trip back to Manhattan.

“Say something, please; it’s weird when you are the one who’s quiet.” Felicia pleaded with him playfully, trying to understand the source of his turmoil. She saw him shift a bit, straighten his back, and arched it again like he was indecisive of what he should do.

It took almost two minutes for him to respond.

“…those are my parents’ names…” he whispered with a wavering voice and uncertain notes, confusion plagues his mind, and maybe a fit of panicked terror as well. “Richard Parker was my dad’s, and Mary was my mom’s…but if this was their house, it means…” he slowly brought his hands to the sides of his head, bundled his brunet hair into fists, pulling them frustratingly with a grunt.

‘Oh, shit’ Felicia thought to herself; this house should be one of Doc Ock’s safehouses, and it was also the most recent one he used accordingly what Black Widow dug up for them. She looked at him, attentively, while noting the stress oozing from his being and the seethed anger within.

“…the doctors said his brain suffered severe damage, nothing like they’ve seen before…” Peter mumbled, mostly to himself, recalling the general report of the villain after his administration at the institute. “…I’m no lobotomy expert or anything, but I know radiation damage when I see one; it was on me back when I was bitten by that spider, only much smaller…” he croaked out, feeling like vomiting at the speculation he came up with after knowing this. “…It must’ve been Strange’s spell…fried parts of his brain, turning him into a psychopath or something!” Peter raised his voice, sounding angrier.

“Hey, it might just be a coincidence.” Felicia offered, afraid of touching him in this state, so she opted to just verbal comfort.

“…It’s fucking not…” he practically growled at her, a flash of wrath passes through his usually warm eyes as he whipped his head sideways, and a grimace turned his kind face into a demonic façade. “I know what I saw, Felicity!”

“Look, Peter,” she tried using his name, hoping it would convey to his stressed mind a sense of familiarity, “I understand that what you saw implied, okay? But it could just be a coincidence; that man has been using those arms for who knows how long?” his agitated body seems to relax a little “The mental load of controlling four separate mechanical arms would be deadly to anyone,” she recited what he had ranted about after the Siege when he caught her stealing something again and ended up having another rooftop munching session with El Huerto’s tacos.

He stood in his spot, breathing deeply and heavily to try to calm himself, his brain running on overclocking speed to analyze the data provided to him on this supposed ‘revelation’ of the year.

“Look,” Felicia started again, having enough confidence to approach the distraught man and laying her hand lightly on his arm, “let’s talk when we get back, yeah? We are still a bit confused with the bomb and all that, maybe a drink will help?” she offered with an unsure smile; she had to check in at the club, anyway, might as well befuddled two birds with one whiskey.

Dear God, his lame puns were contagious.

“…you make strawberry milkshakes at your club?” he finally sighed and inquired with a weak smirk, but Felicia took it with a soft chuckle and then squeezed his arm just a bit to reassure him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t let him go like this,” Felicia hissed through Peter’s phone as the man slumped all of his body weight onto one of her shoulders as she dragged him through the reception and into the private lift leading straight up to her penthouse; it would be a bizarre sight for a bartender to have a private suite, but she didn’t befriend anyone enough to care.

“What do you mean?” the other end inquired lowly with a hint of confused anger seeping through the speaker; it was Gwen Stacy’s voice and Felicia just loves to tease the smaller woman whenever she can.

“I’m hauling him to my room, that’s what I meant,” Felicia got a smirk on her face when she heard an exaggerated exhale.

“Get your paws off him, Cat; at least buy me a coffee date and talk it out first before you do anything to him,” Gwen’s words elicited a high brow out of her.

“I didn’t know you were his pimp, Stacy. Way to go, sister!” Felicia teased still, stopping at the door as she fished for her card.

“Very funny, Cat,” Gwen mockingly cackled, “Is he okay?” concern laced within the question.

“Just wasted.”

“Since when did he drink alcohol?”

“Since I’m the bartender,” Felicia answered nonchalantly, closing the door behind them and navigating the not-so-heavy body of Spider-Man to the couch and depositing him onto the cushion. “Look, Maxine,” that name sure frustrated the smaller blonde, she knew it, “He’s going through some heavy shits right now, I just helped him relax a little,” Felicia said while shredding her leather jacket off and hung it on the rack, then she kicked off her boots and let her hair down; she cut them short to around the crook of her neck instead of the upper back length as before as they are easier to maintain and tucked into a balaclava.

“What’s going on?”

“…let’s just say it’s world-shattering…” Felicia offered, mindful to leave the explanation to him.

“You do know that we are talking about ex-Avenger Spider-Man, right? A world-shattering shit for him is kinda, like, our doom as well by default?” Gwen groaned, bemusedly, with annoyance.

Felicia looked at the slurry form of the subject of their discussion on her couch with furrowed brows, but her adamant conviction won, “It’s emotional; I’ll let him tell you about it tomorrow by himself.”

“Felicity, what’s going on?” Gwen’s voice turned serious and worried.

“It’s personal, Maxine,”

“Since when did you care about privacy?” The question was meant to be a tease, Felicia could tell by the tone of voice, but it put the inquiry in her mind.

Since when?

“Alright, then,” Gwen relented after a moment of silence, “Make sure he’s okay, please?”

“Yeah,” Felicia answered simply, her heart swelled and deflated all at once.

“Thanks. Now I gotta call Sue, bye!”

Felicia, after taking a shower to rinse all the dirt and grime off her, dressed in her gym clothes and got back to the couch just to find Peter Parker face-down on the floor while the lower half of his body was still on the couch. “Parker?” she prodded, but he kept snoring, “Parker?” Felicia tried again, only to receive an incoherent mumble as a response.

She patted his cheek firmly, hoping he would register it and stir awake; he kept lightly snoring like he couldn’t be bothered by the force that she applied. “Parker!” Felicia vocalized into his ear, and that seemed to do the trick.

“…huh?”

“Get up,”

“…five minutes,”

“Nope!” Felicia ‘pat’ him again on the same spot and that seems to rouse him as she intended.

“Ouch!” he caressed his cheek lightly, squinting his eyes at her with a little pout, “we should be discussing the limits of our foreplays, you know?” alcohol only accentuated his flirty nature, it seems.

“Get a shower, I won’t have a smelly drunk in my house.” Felicia tosses a spare towel at him.

“Wait, your house?” He snapped his head around, taking in the surroundings with confused eyes.

“Get. A shower.” Felicia emphasized and Peter quickly nodded, making his way towards the direction she pointed out for him.

Felicia sat down in front of her dresser, starting her night routine while her mind wandered to the question brought up by Gwen Stacy earlier.

Since when does she start to care about his personal matters?

Felicia was so caught up in her thoughts that Peter started her with a prod of his finger on her shoulder, she whipped her head in his direction and fumbled a bit at the display of his toned muscles; the scars he had only made the map of his skin more defined and picturesque.

“Sorry about that,” Peter got his apologetic smile on and got the towel on his shoulders, “I was gonna say thank you for letting me crash here,”

“Um…it’s fine! Don’t mention it!” Felicia averted her eyes from his abs and pectorals, away from his quizzical eyes as well, but the faint blushes on her cheeks were visible. Peter got a little smirk on as he took the towel off and purposefully stretched his athletic body to chase out the knots and sores from the blast earlier in the evening. He hissed a bit at the discomfort in his shoulder, but they were significantly lesser.

“I hope the couch is comfortable,” Peter mused as he made his way to the furniture, but his wrist got caught in Felicity’s hand. “Cat?”

“…it’s a big bed, and the couch is for my cats; they usually saunter in late at night, you’ll get clawed if they find you on it.” Felicia offered halfheartedly, trying to put on a nonchalant façade at the implication of her statement.

“You sure?” Peter whispered to her, his head being mindful, but his biology reacted as naturally as it was designed to; and there is no way she didn’t see it.

Felicia contemplated for a moment, thinking back to the question, and concluded.

“I am.” She answered with certainty, nodding at him with a look in her eyes that barred any argument.

He stood nearby, letting her finish her routine, and silently took her hand as Felicity led them to the fluffy bed full of cute plushies and a Spidey XXL one. He chuckled a bit at that, while Felicia snorted.

“The Zenith are hiring? If this is what a bartender can afford, I’m game for anything.” Peter jokes quietly with her as both still lounge their backs against the headboard, enjoying the serenity of the night and the moonlight poem on her window curtains.

“A spot for exotic dancers is still vacant if you want.” Felicia retorted with a smirk.

“You saw me in actions, Cat, which should be enough resume.”

“I don’t know…there are some girls there that are waaay flexible than you.” They whispery giggled along as their hands rested quite close, separated by only a small gap of hesitancy.

After a stretch of silence, Peter shift to get into a more comfortable position, “Let’s get some shut-eye; ‘night, Felicity.” He announced and made for a turn away from her.

“…Felicia…” he heard Black Cat whisper into the night, and he stopped himself from turning away from her and settled back in the previous position after scooting up.

“Felicia…” she said with a solemn smile, looking at the play of shadows rather than at her side. “a name for luck and happiness, that’s what my parents wanted it to be.” She continues, feeling his warmth draw near but still at a reasonable boundary in his mindful actions.

“My dad…he was the original Black Cat,” she heard a surprised noise, letting out a tiny smile before continuing “If you think I’m good, my dad did all of it without high-tech gears or indestructible claws or bulletproof suit. He’s the best in the business.” Felicia recalls the time when she discovered her Papa’s gears and costume and put it on just for fun; that resulted in him chiding her quite harshly and banning her from messing with anything relating to his nightly activity.

“He got so mad when I asked him to train me, to teach me to be as good as him; eventually after the Blib I decided to become one anyway, not that he’s still around to lecture me about it.” Felicia got a sad look on her face, and she felt Peter’s hand brush against hers, asking in silence if she wanted comfort. Felicia scooted over closer until their shoulders touched and her fingers slotted between his.

“We became who we are, not because of what our parents were. I chose to be a thief just like my dad, but you became a hero unlike your dad,” Felicia put an air quote around the speculated word, eliciting a small chuckle from the vigilante beside her, “What I’m trying to say, Peter; is that you will always be the Spider-Man, a hero, a symbol of hope, regardless of who Doc Ock is.” Felicia took a deep breath and turned to him, looking into those eyes obscured only by the filtered moonlight. “Don’t doubt that.” She felt his hold tighten, and the hesitant exhales of hot breath washed over the side of her neck from their proximity.

“Thanks…Felicia,” he whispered to her, pronouncing her name so sweetly she was convinced of the meaning tied to it.

“Felicia Hardy, nice to meet you,” she brought their joined hands up and gave it a firm squeeze, smiling a little when he reciprocated the gesture.

“Peter Parker,” he replied.

“Let’s call it a night, Peter,” she whispered after they had been tentatively drawing close and stopped just as the tip of their noses hovering away from one another by an inch.

“Yeah…Good night, Felicia…Fel? Licia?” he smirked as he went through nicknames, and Felicia snorted while pushing his face away playfully.

“Hold your horses, Casanova, we are not that close,” turned away from his to hide a happy smile at one of the names, and present her back.

“Yet,” Peter announced and pulled the cover over her. “I’ll go with Fel, by the way,” he finished with a cackle when she threw a pillow into his face.

Early in the morning, they would find themselves shifted through the night, with Felicia tugging her head under his chin while Peter draped his arm over her protectively.

“What are you doing here?” a maintenance man asked another of his crew when he found her in the area that was not assigned.

“Jimmy wanted me to check something under the floodgate, said it might need more grease in the gears or something.” Teresa, in another disguise, answered as best she could by blending lies and bits of conversation she’d heard since they’d arrived at this water pump station.

“That slacker…” the maintenance man shook his head with a sigh, “get it over with, then come find me and Manny at the substation, all right?”

“Got it!”

Teresa waited until she was sure he was not going to pop back in and assembled the distribution device she hauled from the Parkers' residence with the instructions left by her dad.

During the Siege, as these locals seem to be dubbed as such, her father deployed the primer of the mutagenic agent through water systems and via air particles when the cloaking device exploded, spreading nanite carriers to all the denizens in addition to what they would get from drinking the tap water.

Given the time passed since her father’s arrest, most of the affected population should already have harbored a fair amount of mutagen inside their bodies by now; with the administration of the Catalyst and the Activator should complete the process for those who are susceptible to genetic mutation.

She divided the batch into three devices, one for each reservoir, and the people of Manhattan would know nothing about it or how just simply drinking water would change them. The first went for the reservoir on the north side of the plant, the second was already planted at the east one, and now the last will be set for the south. Teresa looked around again and threw the device as near the center of the reservoir as she could after activating the dispersion system.

“Monica?” she heard the maintenance man voice his surprise and cursed to herself; she should’ve taken care of the face like usual. “But…what?!” Teresa worked quickly to shed her mask and threw it into the reservoir, taking the overall out and leaving the water station through narrow paths. When she was out of the plant’s vicinity, Teresa fished for her burner and dialed the quick call number.

“It’s done, now about Doctor Octopus’s extraction…Yes, I understand…Of course, Mister Essex…I’ll be in touch, be sure about that…the offer is interesting, but I’ll pass.” Teresa groaned silently at the ever-pushing evolutionist. “Please, give my regards to Miss Darkhölme.” She quickly ended the call and destroyed the phone.

‘Better get out of this city.’ Teresa mused internally as she made her way through the night.