Writer's Note: Hello Everyone. Very sorry about the lengthy delays with this latest chapter. To cut to the chase, my computer crashed, and then there was a virus and spyware infection. Regardless, I still hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, R&R!

Acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Carol Danvers was fairly upset, methodically tapping her fingers on her desk, awaiting the lab reports following the fiasco from downtown Manhattan. Obviously she was frustrated. That kid seems to attract trouble wherever he goes, she mused to herself, staring out of the window.

The kid Danvers was talking about was Peter Parker. Even something as mundane as a meeting in a Starbucks had quickly transformed into something much more dangerous, culminating with a comatose journalist and the discovery of a sniper rifle perched behind a billboard, with the very obvious conclusion being that the target was either Parker or Urich, the reporter now lying in a hospital bed, fighting for survival. Sometimes-

"Director Danvers, the test results came back from the lab."

Danvers swiveled around in her chair at the sound of Channing's voice. "And?"

Channing held up a manila folder before responding with a, "You're not going to like this."

"Well, we'll just have to see about that," Danvers replied, reaching out and taking the folder. Immediately upon opening it she found a photograph of Mary-Jane Watson, Parker's on-and-off girlfriend. "What's this doing in here?" She asked, holding the photo aloft.

"I was about to get to that," Channing said, standing perfectly still. "After running several tests and scans, Ms. Watson's DNA is the one which keeps coming back the most."

"Impossible. There's no way she can be connected to this."

"Actually ma'am, if you look at Kendall's report, there is a mention of Murphy, his partner, noticing Ms. Watson across the street, exiting the building where the rifle was later found. The way I see it, that sounds like reasonable suspicion to me."

Still skeptical, Danvers quickly skimmed through the rest of the report. The DNA computer scans, the fingerprints, the report by Kendall, it all checked out. After realizing that Watson may have in fact fired the weapon, she looked back up at Channing, her mind sifting through the information in front of her, trying to determine the next best plan of action. "Where did we get this DNA sample?"

"Well," Channing replied, "we obviously didn't have any samples on hand, so we called the Baxter Building, which willingly provided DNA and blood samples from—"

"Wait," Danvers said, interrupting Channing, "why did they have samples of Watson's blood? Did they run some tests on her?"

"In a way, yes. If you recall, Ms. Watson was kidnapped by one of Parker's clones, and an unknown quantity of OZ was injected into her bloodstream. After she was exposed to the OZ, she then transformed into a figure similar to Norman and Harry Osborn's…alternative personas."

"You mean like a monster."

"Uh…yes. Anyways, after this revelation, Doctor Richards, with the assistance of Doctor Storm, took her back to the Baxter Building and managed to cure her of her affliction, and, well, that's where we got the samples," Channing finished, clearly relieved with having completed the lengthy explanation.

There was a brief moment of silence. Danvers was uncertain of what to do next, searching through the printouts, reports, and photos, again, vainly searching for some clue hoping to direct her towards what to do next. So far, nothing popped up. From her perspective, this may have been circumstantial evidence, not enough to warrant a follow-up questioning. Or rather, that's what she would have liked to believe, were it not for the obvious fingerprints on the gun, the stomach contents, and the backpack, all of which possessed some form of DNA evidence which, judging from the documents she held in her hands, clearly pointed to Watson as the prime suspect. Sighing resignedly, she turned toward Channing and handed the folder back, saying, "Alright, I guess there's no other way around it. Send a team out to Watson's house along with heavy backup."

Channing took the folder while raising a skeptical eyebrow, "We're sending men over? But why? Even if it is her, why not just have the local law enforcement pick her up? We-"

"-Because according to Watson's history, she was exposed to OZ. Now, I'm not entirely sure if the OZ cure worked on her, but if it didn't, than I'd rather we handled it instead of having a few local police come by and end up becoming victims to an out-of-control monster," Danvers, said, finishing Channing's sentence.

"Yes ma'am," Channing said, before leaving to make the necessary preparations.

Mary-Jane Watson quietly opened up the side door to her house hoping not to wake her mother. Looking up at the clock, she noticed it read one-thirty in the morning. Ordinarily she would feel a twinge of remorse, knowing that her mother had probably gone through several worrying fits, as was her overprotective nature. But as of now, she had far bigger problems to worry about than what her mother might say to her the next day, problems which she still didn't completely grasp.

MJ, given the rather bizarre and eerie circumstances which had transpired within the parking garage, had immediately left the building soon after hearing that mysterious voice, which seemed to materialize out of nowhere, sprinting when she heard her name called. Despite her numerous traumatic experiences, she was never as paranoid as today, pacing around the city, always looking behind her, worried that she might get caught.

Ultimately, MJ herself wasn't even sure what happened up in the third floor, much less why she was running or whom she was running from. Despite the scare that occurred when she immediately knew what kind of weapon it was, the far more ominous fright was seeing Urich's body lying down on the street, his head surrounded in a bloody halo.

But what was worse than the possibility she had killed Urich was that insidious voice she heard in her head. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it seemed almost as if there was another mind inside of her. One which wasn't her own.

Obviously, MJ spent most of the day trying to push this gruesome thought out of her head. Instead, she tried to spend the time pondering how exactly she ended up in the middle of the city, especially since the last thing she could remember was lying down on her bed, writing within her diary.

But now, as she quietly made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, desperately hoping to put this nightmarish day behind her, she suddenly began to feel this eerie sensation, almost as if someone were whispering in her ear, except there was nobody present. Hoping that she might find succor in her bedroom, she quickly darted inside closing the door in the quietest manner possible.

MJ surveyed her room, quietly listening and waiting, hoping that the voice she had heard was nothing but her imagination.

A few minutes passed. Still deafening silence. Not realizing that she was holding her breath, MJ quietly let out an audible gasp of relief.

Look under the bed. NOW.

The voice came in a boom, so loud it caused MJ to drop to the ground. What-who-who was that? She was beginning to sweat a little now, realizing her pretenses were for naught. Please, please just leave me alone. I don't want this. I just want to—

SILENCE.

MJ, half-kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, looked around her room again. There was no one in the here aside from her. Am-am I going crazy? Who-who's speaking to me? Who-

LOOK. UNDER. THE. BED.

The commanding voice, deeply resonant, frightened her immensely with the prospects of what might happen if she did not obey. Therefore, MJ followed the authoritative voice's instructions, pulling her droopy bedcovers aside to peer under the bed. Despite the incredible level of darkness, she nevertheless could make out the outline of what appeared to be a small box. Reaching out, she grabbed it, and pulled it out from under the bed. It was locked.

Left pocket.

MJ hesitated for a moment before relinquishing, reaching into the left pocket of her pants, pulling out a key which, judging by the size of the keyhole on the box fit perfectly.

Okay, this is getting too weird. I'm just going to go-

OPEN. THE. BOX.

MJ thought about it for a second, not really wanting to know what was in there. After a few more seconds of consideration, she began to place the key on her nightstand, when suddenly, to her horror, her arm began to move slowly towards the box, as if it possessed a mind of its own.

MJ struggled against opening the box, but to no avail. It was as if some other force was manipulating her arm. Slowly, the key was inserted, and turned, causing the box to open with a click. Following this, her arm then slowly tilted the lid up, and what MJ saw next caused her feel a tad queasy.

Inside the box were several passports, each one registered to a different government. One was registered to France, another to Germany, Italy, Switzerland, and so on. In addition to the myriad passports, there were also various currencies, from Euros to dollars. But perhaps the item which grabbed her attention the most was a small handgun, a Smith and Wesson Model 1006, complete with a sound suppressor and a magazine.

Seeing this caused her head to reel slightly. Nevertheless, she was mystified by this small treasure trove in front of her. Instead of closing the box, she reached into it, pulling out several of the passports, a sense of dread curiosity pulling her towards them, half hoping they weren't hers, half wondering if they were. Opening one of them, she found her photograph inside, a small, red-headed face staring rather neutrally back at her.

The fact that MJ didn't remember getting her picture taken for a passport, much less several, resulted in her feeling as though she might be in the midst of a mental breakdown. She certainly was deserving of one, given how she had been thrown off a bridge, genetically altered, and so on. Not wanting to push through the contents of this mysterious box any longer, she quickly closed the box, stood up, and kicked it under the bed. Pausing to collect herself, she soon found her gaze drifting towards the mirror on her make-up table, and what she saw caused her to almost scream, although she was far too shocked to be able to muster the air.

Instead of her normal reflection, she was staring back into something which, to her, was frightening and hideous, as though some sort of nightmare beast had stepped out of her dreams and into her room.

This odd entity was approximately the same height as her, frozen in the same teetering pose MJ now found herself in. The shape of this, this thing, was humanoid, and the color of it was a deep dark purple, with jagged strands of black crisscrossing its body. It possessed long talons and claws, which appeared capable of shredding almost any substance. The most frightening feature though was the head, which seemed startlingly similar to a human, possessing hair, eyes, and a mouth. But these similarities only made it that much more terrible and grotesque, as the eyes were an empty white, with no pupils to be seen, while the mouth, almost appeared to be fanged, frozen in some sort of grin which made it seem as if this abomination had lockjaw.

All of this was far too much for MJ to be able to process. She would have screamed quite loudly, although she still too terrified to be able to speak.

Wh-what—

This…this is who we are.

Wait-what?...No, no, that's impossible.

You and I…we are…one.

MJ felt as though she might pass-out, which would have been merciful, but that was not the case. Instead, she merely tottered backwards, hitting the door of her closet and leaning on it, still staring numbly at the monstrosity in the mirror, continuing the otherworldly mental conversation.

I-no…no. That, that isn't possible.

But it is possible. It is true. We are united in mind and body.

Under lighter circumstances, MJ might have felt compelled to grin; given the rather banal tone conversation was taking. Already she could imagine Peter making a few sarcastic quips, mocking the rather serious tone the creature was taking.

Remember the night two days ago? We became one that day.

MJ, at the creature's questioning manner, flashed back to two nights ago, remembering the vile experience she had endured. Suddenly, it clicked. The colors of the ghoulish figure were very similar to the amorphous blob which had grabbed her Friday night. Still, this revelation did not relieve MJ of her stress. Rather, it compounded it. Thus it made sense that soon put on a stubborn veneer of denial, perhaps as a defense mechanism for what she was currently experiencing.

You do remember.

Even in her current circumstances, MJ somehow managed to find the ability to speak again, which was impressive, given the exacting toll this ordeal was having on her mental functions.

"I-I don't believe you," she whispered in a barely audible tone.

Then I will show you.

What MJ experienced next was something which topped everything else she had gone through so far. The creature seemingly vanished from the mirror, and the next thing she felt was an intense stomach pain, as if someone had just punched her in the gut. This caused her to reel, collapsing onto the floor of her bedroom. After that, she suddenly began to feel something slippery and cool on her hands, her neck, her legs, and her entire body. Almost as if she was getting doused with ink. Withdrawing her hands from their current positions, which were cradling her stomach, she watched in terror as miniature purple-and-black tentacles emerged from within her hands.

As a result of witnessing the small tentacles extruding from her tiniest pores, covering her body, MJ finally, mercifully, lost consciousness.

Knock-knock-knock.

Mrs. Watson!

"Just ring the doorbell!"

"Look, just let me try knocking once more, okay?"

"You do realize that ringing the doorbell would get a quicker reaction than knocking, right?"

Knock-knock-knock.

Agents Kendall and Murphy were standing at the Watson's front door, waiting for someone to answer. The mood between the two could best be described as sour, given the fact that it was currently one in the morning and neither had gotten a chance for a much-needed rest.

"Alright, look. She can't hear you, okay? Let's just ring the doorbell now!"

"Fine," was Kendall's reply, throwing his hands up in the air, "you do it!"

Murphy gave nothing more than a sigh, before extending his index finger to press the doorbell. But before he could hit it, the door opened up, and there was Mary-Jane Watson's mother, dressed in a pink bathrobe.

"Hello?" Mrs. Watson asked groggily, along with a yawn.

"Mrs. Watson, hello. My name is Captain Jack Kendall, and this is my partner and associate, Richard Murphy," Kendall said, launching into his officious persona, "and we are both agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. We need to ask your daughter a few questions, is it okay—"

Mrs. Watson immediately snapped awake after the mention of S.H.I.E.L.D. Cutting off Kendall, she asked, "Oh my God! Mary! She-she never came home! I-I was staying up all night waiting for her! Is-is everything all right? What's going on!"

Now it was Murphy's turn to step up. "Ma'am, please. If you'll just relax we'll explain-"

All of a sudden Kendall shouted out, "Jesus Christ," and roughly pushed Mrs. Watson to the ground, informing Murphy to, "get her out of here!"

No sooner had Murphy hit the ground and helped half-drag, half-pull Mary's mother out of the foyer did he hear several loud gunshots go off, shortly followed by a sharp thunk. After making sure that Mrs. Watson was safely around the corner, Murphy then snuck a peek back into the foyer, in an attempt to determine what it was that Kendall saw. Looking around, he saw nothing, save for Kendall's weapon, which was now lying on the ground. As for Kendall, Murphy couldn't locate him at first, scanning the nearby vicinity. After a few more seconds, he soon managed to make out the faint outline of a man's shoe, closely followed by a leg, and then…Murphy managed to get a general idea of what happened. Quickly speaking to Mrs. Watson, all the while taking out his weapon and trying to fiddle for his radio, he said in a low voice, calm but urgent, "Alright ma'am, I'm going to need you to remain calm, and stay right here. I'm going to radio for backup, but I should warn you that it may take a few minutes for them to get here. Under no circumstances should you move unless I give the word, okay?"

Mrs. Watson didn't say anything, only nodded, too frightened to speak. Now that they understood each other, Murphy switched his radio on.

"Roger," the technician said. "ETA for backup is in five minutes."

"So what did he say?" Asked Agent Sharon Carter, leader of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s anti-power-terrorism task force.

The technician put down his headset in a methodical manner, pausing to collect his thoughts before saying, "We have one agent down on the premises and a civilian present."

"Who?"

"Watson's mother."

"Shit," Carter said, brushing a hand through her long, wavy red hair. A natural redhead, Carter had since dyed her hair blond, for stylistic purposes, if nothing else. Yet when Carol Danvers became the new head of S.H.I.E.L.D., Carter determined it was prudent to change her hair color to its natural hue, so she wouldn't have to worry about appearing to be a suck-up, "get me Danvers on the line."

Given how the upper echelons of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command structure didn't have time to deal with every single mutant or genetic anomaly, Carter's task force, first constructed under Nick Fury, was built for that exact purpose. In the past, she had dealt with everything from Hammer Industries to Otto Octavius to the general public, especially with that whole clone debacle. Unfortunately, Danvers was keeping Carter's group on a very tight leash, especially since this was intended to be a low-tech, covert mission, which meant that evacuating the entire neighborhood would fly directly against the meaning of the word, "covert." Now that she had casualties on her hands, as well as the fact that Watson's mother was in danger…

"Uh, Agent Carter?"

"Yes?"

"We've patched you through to Danvers," the technician said, handing her a headset.

Immediately upon placing the headset over her head, Danvers engaged her in conversation. "What's going on over there?"

"We sent Kendall and Murphy over there, and we just received reports that one of them is down."

A moment of silence on the other end. "Which one?"

"Which agent," Carter asked aloud, "gesturing with her other hand for the technician to feed her the name.

"Yes, Carter, which agent is down?" Asked Danvers, her tone conveying a certain curtness.

"Agent Kendall," Carter answered, reading off of the techie's notepad.

Another brief pause on the other end of the line. "So what do you want?"

"I'm asking permission to engage in order to ensure the safety of Watson's mother," was Carter's straight-forward reply.

After another moment of quiet contemplation, Danvers, on the other end of the line, complied. "Fine, but just get her and Murphy out of the house. Following that, leave it to the Hulkbuster units. Are we clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

And with that, she hung up.

Upon asking for permission to enter the Watson's house, Carter already knew that she and her team would have limited capacity to assist in the arrest. She was inside of a small S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue surveillance van, similar to the one that had watched over the Parker's house when Norman Osborn managed to escape from the Triskelion. It wasn't much, but then again, this was supposed to be simple. Now that she had received permission from Danvers, she instructed the driver to pull up to Watson's house.

While the van was speeding along the empty suburban streets, Carter experienced a minor moral dilemma. She flashed back to when she and Agent Woo apprehended the mysterious figure from Hammer Industries, following the televised beat-down of Octavius at the hand of Spider-Man. Carter still felt as though these, these genetic "freaks" should be destroyed, not locked away, not, as she put it, "poked and prodded." And yet, Carter was now beginning to have second thoughts about destroying them, especially when it seemed as though these, "freaks," were getting younger and younger. First Harry Osborn, and now this. But as the van rounded the final corner and pulled up to the house belonging to Mary-Jane Watson, Carter managed to put her internal debate aside for now. She had bigger things to worry about.

As they got out, Carter issued directives to her team, comprised of six men.

"Okay, Jenkins, you and Randall stay behind me. Watch your fives and sevens. Smith will take the rear, and the rest will cover the back entrance, with the exception of Carson. You stay with the van, and keep us in the loop with HQ. Let us know when the cavalry arrives. Everybody got it?"

She looked around. They all nodded.

"Good. Let's get this done."

After stepping over Kendall's body, Carter and her squad did a quick sweep of the room. It was dead-still, causing her hair to stand up on end. She didn't like how quiet it was. It felt like a trap, like an ambush, almost as if-

"Carter, do you read me?"

The sound of Carson's voice in her ear startled her, resulting in her heart beating faster than normal. "I read you. What do you have?"

"Made contact with Murphy again. He's still got Watson's mother with him. Says they're in the living room."

"Which is..?"

"Three paces to your left."

Silently instructing Jenkins and Smith to stay in the foyer, Carter and Randall made their way into the living room, weapons sweeping the room, darkness making even the most mundane item appear ominous. After a few seconds, Carter was about to radio back to Carson informing him that Murphy nor Watson's mother was nowhere in sight when Randall gestured towards a nearby door, with the implication being that the pair might be in there.

Silently making their way to the door, Randall swiftly kicked it open while Carter thrust her weapon inside.

Murphy and Mrs. Watson were present within the room Randall had just kicked open. It was the bathroom.

"Jesus Carter, watch where you point that thing," Murphy whispered somewhat harshly to her.

"Sorry," she said, lowering her weapon before turning to face Mrs. Watson, who was seated on the toilet. "Ma'am, I'm Agent Carter, and this is Agent Randall from S.H.I.E.L.D. Are you okay?"

Mrs. Watson turned to face her, but did not speak, only shaking her head no.

Carter ventured a joke, in hopes of relieving the tension, but abruptly had her attention redirected when she heard two quick slicing sounds, followed by Randall shouting, "Down!"

Spinning around, she caught the slightest glimpse of some sort of swift-moving figure rushing Jenkins and Smith, who barely had time to raise their weapons before they were brutally cut down, throats spilling blood. Carter couldn't really make out who or what the figure was, but she had a pretty bad feeling she could infer who it was.

Instructing Murphy to stay in the bathroom, she shut the door and, along with Randall, opened fire on the beast, while quickly moving towards cover in the form of furniture. After making her way to rather large easy chair, she attempted to make radio contact with Carson, hoping that she would make it out of here alive.

While a rather surreal battle was developing within the Watson household, Peter Parker was safe within his own household, trying hard to sleep. It wasn't working.

Why didn't I try to save him?

Peter was continually haunted by the moment when Ben Urich had been shot and had collapsed onto the pavement, constantly flashing back to it.

What did I do wrong?

After he had been shot, Peter had taken the briefcase which that scientist had given to him and had quickly changed into his Spider-Man persona. The rest of the day had been spent meticulously combing through the block, hoping he find the person responsible. To say that he was feeling bad would have been an understatement. He was feeling disgusted with himself. It seemed as though people, people he cared about, were still getting killed, even though he was right there with him.

If only I-

Peter's train of thought was suddenly cut off upon hearing a distant but rather loud droning noise, which almost sounded as though it was coming from right above his house. Looking out his bedroom window, he noticed a rather large transport floating overhead, emblazoned with a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

What the-? S.H.I.E.L.D.? Here? Now? Peter paused briefly, before realizing, with some resignation, Ugh. May as well get the costume on.

A few minutes after, Peter had changed into his costume and leaped out of his bedroom window, feeling the rush of cool air on his body before connecting with the ground, only to use it as a springboard to land on a nearby neighbor's rooftop, and then leaping off of that rooftop, landing on another, and another.

While in the past Peter might have been more cautious with landing on other people's rooftops, he didn't care right now. He didn't even want to follow the large transport, but what choice did he have? Besides, the main reason why he chose to follow the ship was in the vain hope that wherever they were going would lead to the culprit that had attempted to kill Urich, which would give Peter some much-needed satisfaction.

Let's hope that's the case, Peter thought to himself, continuing to leap and bound across the neighborhood.

Writer's Note: Okay, so this was longer than usual. As for the big surprise, that's still coming up. Yeah, I know, I promised it last chapter. Sorry. Still, I hope this has more than enough surprises to keep you entertained, and if not, then my apologies, I'm just getting back into this writing thing. Anyways, R&R (as always).