Hey, I'm still alive! Lol. I know this chapter is a bit dark, but the next one should be much "lighter". (Or at least have some happy scenes.) Also, as a general note to everyone, I will be referring to characters in costume by their codenames and characters in normal clothes by their real names. And yay, I finally hit fifty reviews! Thanks so much everyone! I'd like to thank Tokoyo for once again proving to be an outstanding beta!
Moonjava – So glad you like it! Yeah, I know tons of "spider-kids" stories have come out recently after the latest movie, but I think we finally made it past the crazy rush. I hope this next chapter meets your expectations.
Angie King – Sorry about the imagery in the last chapter if it was kinda confusing. I try, but it's hard. And I hope this chapter answers at least some of your questions!
giveGodtheglory – Thank you! That's what I'm aiming for.
Trekkie in a TruckerHat – Thanks a lot! I like your stories too!
jjonahjameson – Wow, that was quite a compliment! Tell your husband thanks very much! And I think you may find this next chapter very interesting.
Crolynx – Oh, I wish I could tell you more about the prologue, but that would just ruin the whole plot. But what I can tell you is that you may already be familiar with the caller…
Xaris of the Fish – Hmm, I wondered if you'd ever review. Thanks! Lol. It was definitely motivation to finish this.
And unto the story!
The Death of Innocents
"How do you spell 'invited'?" May hollered from her room.
Mary-Jane twisted slightly to stretch out her cramping back muscles. A piece of red hair slid from her ponytail into her eyes. With a sigh, she replaced it and bent down once more to finish picking up the colorful wooden blocks that littered the house.
"Mooooooom!" screamed May.
"I – N – V – " MJ started, but was interrupted by the shattering of her grandmother's fine hand painted vase.
Dropping her armload of toys, she whipped around the couch in time to spot her son standing on a chair beside the windowsill, his arms still outstretched for the shiny object that now lay on the floor in pieces.
"Ben!" she groaned.
Mary-Jane picked him up just as he began to wail loudly. Nicole walked out of the kitchen, drawn away from her incredibly boring homework by the noise. "What was that?"
She looked down at a shard of blue and yellow porcelain by her foot. "Oh."
"Mommy!" May yelled again. "How do you spell 'invited'?"
Mary-Jane winced. Ben was refusing to be quieted and had resorted to drooling all over his mother's shoulder while shrieking in her ear.
Nicole ignored her younger sister. "When's Dad gonna be home? I don't get this stupid science stuff."
"I don't know, honey," said Mary-Jane, running for a rag to wipe up her shirt. "He's out."
"Yeah, well, he's always out," scowled Nicole, crossing her arms and slumping onto the couch.
MJ returned with a soiled cloth and a thrashing toddler. "Don't talk about your father like that, Nicole." She scrubbed fruitlessly at her sleeve once more. "He's given up more for this family than you know. Your dad has a lot of responsibility."
"What about responsibility to his family?" She stormed up the steps to her room.
"Nicole!" said Mary-Jane, horrified. "Nicole Parker! You get back here this instant!"
Her daughter ignored her.
Mary-Jane wiped her forehead distractedly with the slimy rag, made a face, and sat down exhaustedly.
"HOW DO YOU SPELL – "
"Get a dictionary, May," MJ called wearily, popping a pacifier into Ben's mouth.
A silent shadow sprang from rooftop to rooftop of the sleeping neighborhood, against the backdrop of the still bright New York City. Had anyone been watching, they might have noted that the figure's arcs became more even, the landings became more controlled; the very movements themselves became increasingly fluid.
Fantasma landed in a crouch after performing a particularly graceful leap. So this was what it was like to throw yourself effortlessly into midair, speeding away from all of the problems behind you. The thrill of her powers had taken hold. It felt like nothing could catch her now.
As she started to jump to the next house, Fantasma felt her foot catch on something. Her ankle twisted awkwardly and she flopped clumsily forward. With a sort of half bounce, the purple clad girl toppled off the edge of the roof.
Fantasma squeezed her eyes shut for a minute. She hadn't exactly landed with the painful thud she'd expected, and yet she wasn't falling anymore either. Finally, she dared to take a quick glance around.
The world had turned sideways! Her shoulder was to the sky and the house next door had become her ceiling.
In shock, Fantasma nearly let go of the wall she was clinging to. When she realized what was going on, she dropped sheepishly to the ground, hoping no one had seen her.
"Graceful," she grumbled.
Fantasma straightened up, brushing imaginary dirt off of her costume in an attempt to regain some of her dignity. The noises of fighting attracted her attention and she limped around the side of the house.
Across the road, several larger, rundown, and uninhabitable-looking houses cast an ominous shadow over the otherwise quiet street. Rather brusque movements could just barely be made out in the alleyway between them.
Curiously, Fantasma scurried over the potholed pavement and toward the muffled grunts, doing her best to become nothing more than a flitting wraith. She pressed herself up against the front wall of one of the decrepit houses.
After a quick second to catch her breath and calm down, the masked girl strained her head around the corner and stared into the dark alley.
The sight that met her eyes was both gruesome and horrifying.
Two boys were deep into what appeared to be a brutal fight. Although they stumbled about in the shadows, it was clear that the larger one was winning. His victim, a kid no older than herself, was trying pitifully to fend off the smashing blows of his opponent.
"Stop! You win!" the badly beaten boy shouted, but his words were slurred as a stream of blood spilled out of his broken nose.
For a split second, Fantasma wondered why the younger boy didn't run for it. Then a particularly well aimed punch caught him off guard in the jaw and sent the kid hurtling in her direction.
Blood splattered on the ground about him as he landed in a crumpled heap, staining the dank alley an ugly red. For what seemed like an eternity, the boy didn't move. At last, he struggled into a sitting position, one leg twisted at a weird angle; it was broken.
His short, once blond hair had been matted in different directions by his attempts to quickly smear the blood off his face. He sat there, glaring scathingly at the other kid who hung back in the darkness of the alley.
"What, are ya afraid tuh come an' finish me off? 'Fraid that some punk might see ya wailin' on an innocent kid?" the boy taunted. "That'd ruin yer rep now, woodn'it?"
The bigger kid snorted in disbelief.
"Don' think I'm innocent, huh? Ya little – "
Fantasma winced at the expletive.
The boy continued, painfully raising a shaking arm to point accusingly at his attacker who had begun pacing, as though considering finishing what he had started.
Fantasma forced herself to remain motionless. She could feel the horror and righteous fury welling up inside her, begging to be let loose on this murderous creature who dared to call himself a human.
"I know yer true colors now. If ya let me go, I'll tell everybody that yer a murderer." The kid lifted his head defiantly. "Come on, now. Come an' get me, Spider-Man."
At this, the familiar red and blue vigilante shot out of the shadows, grabbing the kid by his shoulders and lifting him into the air. The boy refused to cry out as a pair of gloved hands slammed him into the wall, and then dropped him.
Fantasma pulled her head back in disgust, bile rising in her throat. She closed her eyes, unwilling to believe that Spider-Man – no, she reminded herself firmly, her father – was going to kill a kid.
The sickening image of the unconscious boy, whose name she did not know, lying slumped against the bloodstained bricks spun dizzily in her mind's eye. But the worst part by far was seeing her father standing vindictively over him. Somehow, Fantasma knew with a cold certainty that that picture would haunt her for years to come.
As the numbness of shock began to seep away, the vague formation of a thought began to take place in her mind. At first, it seemed a purely impossible. But when it started to sink in, Fantasma felt a growing need to act on it.
Turning slightly to the side, she stared into the alley again, glaring at the man she knew as 'father'. Some way, somehow, she had to intervene and stop him.
Fantasma felt her mouth grow dry and her fingers clammy. She had to be going crazy! What was she going to do against the Amazing Spider-Man?
She didn't think he'd ever looked so tall before. The dim light that leaked into the alley outlined all his well-toned muscles, making him appear stronger and more powerful than ever. It occurred to her for the first time what petty thieves must see when Spider-Man crashed their party.
But no matter; that kid needed her help. The hero inside her stepped in, telling her to grit her teeth and just do it. It pushed aside the fact that the line of good and evil had just been smeared into uncertainty in her mind.
Taking a deep breath and clenching her fists, Fantasma braced herself for an ugly fight.
Suddenly a sharp crack rent the air, followed by a small shower of dust and pebbles. The already stagnant air gained the odor of burning bricks.
"I'd leave that kid alone if I were you, Bub," growled a gruff voice.
Fantasma waved the smoke away from her face and squinted in the darkness.
Her eyes briefly took in Spider-Man standing with his back to her, apparently stunned, a large hole in the wall not far to the side of his head. The object of his gaze was hard to miss.
In the back of the alley stood three people, all of them wearing costumes, but only one had bothered to cover up his eyes. The burly, black-haired man who had spoken was carrying six very long knives and eyeing Spider-Man wolfishly. He was flanked by another man wearing dark red goggles and an African-American woman with streaming white hair who was floating a foot or so off the ground.
True to his nature, Spider-Man recovered almost instantly and even made an attempt at his usual witty comments.
"Hey, long time no see, Wolvie." He gave a light wave that was met by icy stares from the trio. If it hadn't been for the mask, he might have completely disintegrated. As it was, Spider-Man looked pretty pathetic.
Fantasma glanced between him and the three unfamiliar people. He obviously knew them.
The woman spoke. Her voice was rich and strong, unwavering; the very essence of confidence. "What are you doing?"
Spider-Man glanced uncertainly at the senseless, bloodied boy.
"Yeah, that's what I'd like to know, Spider."
Fantasma watched the guy with dark glasses take a step forward. 'Wolvie' stuck out an arm to stop him, knives and all. Fantasma heard him mutter, "Watch it, Cyclops."
Cyclops shot him a reproachful look, but refrained.
Fantasma watched apprehensively as 'Wolvie' held out one of his hands in a harmless gesture, but the knives made it look rather unfriendly. Spider-Man began backing away cautiously.
All of the sudden, he dropped into a crouch and sprang onto the wall. By the time Cyclops had fired some sort of red laser out of his eyes, explaining the earlier blast, and 'Wolvie' had lunged for the red and blue superhero, Spider-Man was gone.
The whole world was spinning in dizzying circles. Fantasma stood, transfixed and frozen in an endless second of time. Nothing was real anymore.
Spider-Man's a murderer, Fantasma thought, devoid of all feeling. It felt like her very heart had been ripped from her chest and smashed up against the wall with that kid.
Suddenly, the reality of it all crashed down on her like a tidal wave. Her head was screaming. Her heart was pounding. Her breath was coming in short, uneven gasps.
MY DAD'S A MURDERER!
Fantasma flew up the wall and ran.
She ran over rooftops, leaping the spaces between houses and hurtling recklessly toward the city. Her legs no longer felt like they were connecting with anything solid. She was flying, flying away, and the world was only a comforting blur of dim light.
Fantasma crouched precariously on the edge of a railing. Her eyes stared unseeingly downward, not taking in the sickening height or the flashing lights of cars racing along below.
Her mind was working overtime, trying to figure everything out at once. Dr. Camdon was dead because of Odrade; yet Spider-Man had been trying to kill that boy. He probably had, for that matter. Who was the one in the right now? They were both responsible for the death of innocents.
And she was supposed to choose between the two?
Fantasma threw her head back, clenched her fists, and screamed, loud and long.
After her voice had turned to gravel, Fantasma bounced away into the darkness to find a new perch away from curious eyes.
She landed on a gargoyle. His name was Bruce, but she would not discover that until later.
Fantasma gritted her teeth and dug her fingers into Bruce's stone head. She knew what she had to do, but was feeling utterly terrified at the thought of doing it.
The wind had picked up. It pressed itself against a hunched figure, throwing her hair about her face and mixing small droplets in with the brown locks. A glow had begun to appear in the east.
As Fantasma felt the first rays of gold touch her icy cheek, she looked up. The sun was rising. It gave some much-needed confidence to the lonely girl.
She dried her tears on the back of her hand and slowly raised her head, her jaw set. She would go back to the underground basement and agree to join them. Her little brother and sister would not get hurt or involved. Maybe Allie and Jake could even be talked into leaving with her.
Her face dark, Fantasma pulled off a glove and stared expressionlessly at the half-moon shaped scar. She knew that she had made a mistake in ever leaving home, but it was clear to her that her problem would not be so easily remedied now. Unless she could undo the group from within, she'd have to worry about blackmail for the rest of her life. But it would take time. Time and willpower.
Fantasma tossed her head, loving the feel of her long tresses tumbling about in the wind. She smiled defiantly at the rosy horizon.
"Maybe I screwed up before, but I'm gonna fix it," she told it resolutely. "Whatever happens."
The young girl stood up and straightened her back, balancing easily on the stone and staring forward. The sun seemed to be leisurely illuminating the darkened metropolis at its own pace. Even the great New York City couldn't hurry it along.
Fantasma watched the shadows being cast back as the light crept steadily westward, turning the hopelessness of night into the glowing warmth of day.
Her spirits buoyed, she briefly saluted a few staring pedestrians before lunging away.
Cyclops stared intently into the dark sky where Spider-Man had disappeared only a moment before. His eyes traveled around the edge of the alley.
"Wolverine, do you understand what just happened?" The white-haired woman looked questioningly at him.
Wolverine grunted an indistinct reply and began sniffing. The other two remained silent but alert.
Abruptly, Wolverine stopped short and narrowed his eyes. "That's weird."
"What's weird?" asked the woman, watching the burly man closely.
Wolverine began stalking around, smelling the air like a dog. Catching an odd scent, his head turned quickly to the left.
"Hey, Storm," interrupted Cyclops.
"Yes?" She nodded at him, her attention still focused on Wolverine.
He pointed further down the alley.
"That kid's gone."
