So...surprise! A few people wanted it, so here's the actual last chapter before I take a break. A dual-POV with both protagonists getting more or less equal amounts of focus.
And hey, we passed 300 reviews! ...Kinda, since there a few double reviews, but we'll pass it for real at the end of this chapter.
Anyway, just something to note: Is everyone fine with the supporting characters on both sides? One guy elsewhere noted that the Hero and Anti-Hero lines also seem to be gender lines: All the ideal heroes are female, all the anti-heroes (barring Felicia, and even compared to Noir she's the mildest) are male. I tried to balance it out a bit more with supporting casts of equal opportunity, but the main teams still have a weird dichotomy.
No one minds this, right? I mean I never planned for gender to be a main thing in this story, but I gotta acknowledge the possible unfortunate implications of this...oh, and to follow the advice of Yoface; you don't have to answer if you don't want to. It's just my own personal question.
Another day, another bank robbery.
It was a tale as old as time: Some guy worked for something, some other guy decided he wanted it and clubbed the first guy over the head with a rock to take it for himself. At this point Gwen could repeat it word for word from memory, but she'd heard enough of it from Mr. McCoy's philosophy classes or playing the Mushroom Cloud games that the whole 'man's inhumanity to his fellow man' spiel had been drilled into her head with a jackhammer.
Basically, bad guys did bad things and it didn't matter if it was cavemen with clubs or criminals with high-end assault rifles. Crime was crime.
As was the case now. A hostage situation at the steps of the Unity bank - Four bank robbers wearing (poorly made) president's masks and dark suits, each of them carrying loaded assault rifles and screaming their list of demands at the cops in what sounded like a Russian accent. A short distance away Gwen saw the cops shouting something back about not being able to follow their demands for a 'chopper'.
'Seriously? A fucking chopper? What do these guys think this is, Paycheck?' Gwen narrowed her eyes. Two of them were hanging out at the entrance, but the other two were holding up two hostages with guns pressed right besides their heads. She was too far away to see if their fingers were on the trigger, 'Let's just assume they are. Better safe than sorry...'
She had to do this fast. Swinging in a wide arc, she made her way behind the building and lowered herself into a crawl when she reached the wall hanging above the back entrance, 'No one saw me yet...I hope.' She licked her lips nervously and opened the circular window as silently as she could. The Bank wasn't the largest - definitely nothing compared some of the fancier places in the city - but it was just enough that she could see the hostages lined up in a row from the entrance to the counters.
Good thing people never looked up.
She jumped, firing two shots of webbing and pulling the guns away from the closest two with a sharp tug. She barely caught sight of them looking up, their mouths agape in shock, before she delivered two kicks to their faces that knocked them to the ground, 'Oooh, that's gonna leave a mark...' The two at the entrance turned back to look at the sudden commotion, practically jumping when they caught sight of her and their knocked out buddies.
"Hey, what the fuck-"
"Hope you don't mind me crashing the party!" Gwen rushed towards the pair, only one of them managing to raise the rifle even halfway before she reached them, "Woah, didn't your moms ever teach you not to play with guns!?" She grabbed the two rifles from their hands and smacked them both in the gut with the butt-end of it. The two doubled over and groaned in pain, leaving her free to toss the guns at the wall with two bursts of webbing keeping them secure.
And...done.
"Well...that was easy." She looked back at the still-stunned hostages, many of whom were staring at her with wide-eyes and open mouths, 'Not the reception I expected, but at least no one got shot. I'll take it.' She pushed open the glass doors and waved at the cops, many of them visibly relaxing when they saw the kneeling robbers next to her, "Hey guys, a little help here!"
Fifteen minutes later and the hostages were safely ushered out of the bank, the robbers being cuffed while the two that stayed conscious were being read their rights. She'd gotten complaints about her whole 'knocking everyone out shtick' making it hell for the precinct. Apparently they'd been getting abuse charges filed against them by lawyers desperately grabbing for any little inch they could get. 'Take them in conscious if you can' was something she'd heard way too many times at this point.
"Good work, hero." One of the officers clapped her shoulder, offering a smile that she could only return with a wave and a cheerful 'Just doing my job, officer'.
It still felt weird, not having to worry about leaving the crime scene because there was a 50-50 shot that the officer in charge wanted to lump her in with the criminals she'd just stopped. Now here she was standing with the crowd watching the perps get taken away while the people around her stared at her in awe or threw congratulations and praise her way. It almost reminded her of her first two years after being bitten.
And to think, all it took was two months for her to go from menace to mascot...
A tug at her side caused her to look down and meet the gaze of a girl who looked no older than nine, an older man who must have been her dad standing behind her with a supportive smile, "Can I have an autograph?" She smiled up at her, one hand offering a pen while another raised an obviously shopped picture of her and Cap posing back to back. To be honest it kind of scared her just how many times she'd seen pictures like that; sometimes it was Cap, sometimes She-Hulk, other times it was someone she'd never met like that ladybug-based heroine in Paris.
"Uh...sure." She did her best to stand confidently and signed her name at the bottom, making sure her handwriting was a tad fancier than her usual scrawl; a piece of advice her dad gave her just in case someone tried to link her and her civilian identity together. Why he thought 'they' (seriously, who was he talking about?) would link a Superhero to a middling band drummer she had no idea, but she ended up following the advice.
It didn't take long for the floodgates to open. As soon as she gave the signed picture back more people from the crowd came towards her, offering more pictures or shirts or (somewhat weirdly, though not unexpectedly) their own arms for her sign. Gwen nearly swung away to avoid the feeling of suffocation as people surrounded her, each of them offering praise or questions she'd long since gotten used to: 'Are your webs real?', 'Is it true you're friends with She-Hulk?', 'Will you marry me?', 'I always knew you were innocent.' and other such things.
She must have spent at least ten minutes signing whatever they threw at her before she finally managed to find an opening to excuse herself, "Well, it's been fun you guys, but I really gotta go! Crime to stop and all that!" She bit back a cringe at the forced cheer in her voice and broke out into a swing before someone could shove something else in her face.
'Yeesh, and I thought the cops shooting at me was bad...' She picked up her backpack from a nearby rooftop before jumping into another swing. It wasn't as if it was the first time she'd been swarmed by sudden fans, but turning nearly every crime scene into a mosh pit got real old real fast the first five times it happened, 'Can't believe its only been two months. Feels way longer than that...'
Two months...she swung higher to avoid the cheering of the crowds below when she passed over them. It only took about a week after the release of the data on a few select news stations and papers (that Jameson couldn't control to spout whatever hate he wanted) and Cap vouching for her 'grit and integrity' for nearly everyone to do an absolute 180. Now she was running from crowds of people who wanted her autograph and asked for her hand in marriage rather than the ones cussing her out and calling her a menace.
And to be completely honest? She didn't know what freaked her out more.
It wasn't that she liked being a pariah, of course not, but it reminded her far too much of the days when she just got her powers. She'd wanted to have fun back then, wanted the attention of others because she became special from a random spider bite. It was her right, wasn't it? She didn't ask for her powers so what was the shame in indulging in a little harmless ego stroking? It wasn't like she hurt anyone by making appearances on the Tonight Show or anything.
Now it was the same song being sung in a different tune. Entire groups that disavowed her turned around, each claiming that they 'always had faith in her' or that 'they made a wrong judgement call' and that they hoped she 'always knew they supported her', "Yeah, right..." She rolled her eyes and let herself fall for a bit, the wind rushing past her before she released another webline. Swinging around New York always helped her think; occasional noises aside.
This was what she wanted, wasn't it? She didn't work her butt off for three years because she wanted approval, but she certainly didn't begrudge the rare few thank you's that she got when she just got her stomach kicked in trying to stop the villain of the week. Well, here it was; the cheering crowds, the little kids asking for her autographs and the Hipsters claiming that they 'liked her before it was cool'. She went from zero to hero...
...So why did it feel so damn bitter?
'You know exactly why...' She sighed and landed on a relatively high building. Ever since she'd been declared innocent every reporter in the city wanted to get an interview. 'Her side of the story', they said, because they were only interested now after Cap vouched for her. Not before when Jameson was riling them up like the villagers in Frankenstein and they were ready to basically crucify her with torches and pitchforks.
"God, when did I get so whiny?" She let out another sigh and sat at the edge of the building, heels clicking against the concrete wall. She'd agreed to an interview with the Fact Channel, mostly on the recommendation of MJ and the others, and did her best to be honest: Yes, her best friend (not that they knew that...) had turned into a monster at prom, but he wasn't the devil. He wasn't completely innocent, she knew that, but he was a person with flaws and all. A human being, not a monster or boogeyman.
And most importantly the Parkers were innocent. That they'd raised him with love and care and they had no idea what he'd turned himself into. They weren't responsible...
And how did that work out for her? She clicked her tongue and pressed her hands together tightly. People always needed someone to blame, someone to think badly about so they could feel better about themselves, and after she was declared innocent they needed someone else to consider the 'big bad' of the story. Peter...her Peter was already dead, so who else could they turn to but the couple who did nothing but raise him with selfless love and care?
She found herself swinging towards Forest Hills again, her thoughts running back to the interviews. She'd done her best, practically gone up buildings just to declare Ben and May faultless for what happened that night at prom, but people didn't listen. She knew it was coming, it was one of the reasons she hesitated to reveal the truth, but seeing it first-hand made all declarations of their innocence feel like piss in the wind.
It only took a few minutes for her to get to her house. Thankfully it was noon and apart from a few of the older neighbors tending to their gardens the place seemed almost abandoned, 'At least one thing hasn't changed...' She swung to her room from the backyard and changed into a more suitable pair of jeans, sneakers and a red jacket. It wouldn't do to have Spider-Woman running around Forest Hills; the last thing she wanted was a swarm of paparazzi all over the place.
The house was empty, as expected. Her dad was with Jessica and Kate at the office...and the presence of her friend made it particularly clear that 'working' wasn't a euphemism for something. She wouldn't deny that it still kind of freaked her out that the two were continuing with their...thing. Maybe it was wrong of her to judge all things considered, but she liked to think having a few reservations were normal.
The chilly april air hit her as soon as she stepped out, "Yeesh, good thing the costume's insulated..." She pulled up the collar of her jacket tighter against herself and trudged over to the Parker house. If she was lucky then maybe-
"Lizard Parents...?" She blinked in momentary surprise at the sight of the Lizard effigy hanging on the tree, a sign hanging on its neck spelling out the words she'd just said, "Are you fucking kidding me?" She scowled and made to rip it off the tree in question, but someone beat her to it.
Someone hopped over the fence, jumping and grabbing the effigy and pulling it off the tree with a grunt. For a second she almost felt hopeful, that maybe he'd come back to see the Parkers, but when she saw the face under the green hoodie she immediately deflated, "Flash? Is that you?" she asked, stepping over the fence and making her way towards him.
"Gwen?" The brunette football player blinked, his expression of surprise brief before he gave her a wide smile, "Hey, Gwen, it's you! Didn't even see you there!" He clapped her on the back. A few years ago that would have had her stumbling, but stick-em powers did a lot to help with balance, "Man, how long's it been?"
"A few months, give or take." She gave a weak shrug and smile of her own. Flash had always been friends with the Parkers; mostly out of admiration for Uncle Ben; or, as he was known in certain circles, The Midtown Tiger. He'd never been friends with Peter, though it wasn't for lack of trying. They just didn't have the same interests. As far as she could tell they never really argued, but they weren't exactly the jock and nerd friends you'd see in a sitcom.
She looked down at her feet before speaking up again, "What brings you here, Flash?"
"Probably the same thing as you, just visiting the Parkers. Doesn't look like they're home, though..." He sighed and rubbed the back of his head, lips dipping down into a frown. It looked wrong on someone she remembered as being able to give Betty a run for her money in the cheer department, "You, uh...seen the news, right?"
"It's been two months, Flash. You'd have to be living under a rock not to notice all this shit..." she said, her tone coming out more nasty than she'd intended. She exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose, "...Sorry if I sound annoyed, it's just..." She bit her lower lip. Because she was responsible for all this? Because it was her fault that the Parkers went from being beloved members of the community to outright pariahs? She had a mask to hide behind, they didn't. The cussed out Spider-Woman, not Gwen Stacy...
She laughed, the sound bitter and soft. What did it say when Jameson was one of the few people defending them on the news? Granted he was probably doing it to cover his own ass, but hell it made it difficult to even enjoy his tanking approval ratings; usually that would have at least gotten a snort out of her.
"Hey, I get it." He clapped her on the shoulder gently, a warm smile on his face, "None of us were expecting that to happen, you know? I mean...Peter being the midtown high lizard..." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked a loose stone down the sidewalk, "Man, you shoulda heard King the other day. He was bragging about how he 'took on that freak'. Fuck, I was tempted to punch his lights out right there."
"So, King hasn't changed at all, huh?" Gwen rolled her eyes. She shouldn't say she was surprised; it took all her effort not to kick that guy in the crotch hard enough to make his balls burst sometimes.
"Nah, you know how it is. Sometimes some people just don't wanna grow up."
They shared an awkward moment of silence before they both left the yard, the unlikely pair sitting at the edge of the sidewalk seemingly without a care. Gwen had to admit she never really talked to him much; he was mostly a friend of Glory with Betty making some rather...choice comments about his 'short-shorts'. Like his relationship with Peter the two of them never really took off.
"So...how've you been?" he asked, coughing awkwardly when she didn't immediately answer, "I mean...all this media on Peter with Ben and May in the crossfire, you been dealing any nosy reporters?"
"Nah. Me and Harry were friends with Peter, but friends don't really count as much compared to family when it comes to looking for scapegoats..." She tucked her knees closer to her chest, "Besides, people are more interested in my dad right now. He was 'always right' about Spider-Woman, so everyone's eating their words. His little scandal turned him into the unsung hero..."
She should have been pleased, right? Her dad's reputation was fully restored, she didn't drag it down with her like she did a lot of other things...but again she could only feel a sense of bittersweet victory. Her dad never cared for his reputation being shot, and the knowledge that the Parkers accepting being crucified didn't help her at all when she'd visited them a few days ago. No matter how many times she came to offer support it always felt hollow.
"Heh, yeah...Spider-Woman." He hummed, "You know, I talked to Ben and May a week ago, but it's weird...the way they talk about Spider-Woman, I mean." He leaned back and stared looked up at the downcast skies, "I'd have thought they'd be resentful, but they seem like her biggest fans. I mean I know she's a hero, but...ah, it's nothing." He shook his head, "They still seem bummed about something, but it's not about this press bullshit. You get me?"
'Peter...' She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. It'd been two months since she and the Parkers had seen him. Despite Cap's assurances they could never pull anything on him, and the few times she caught wind of any news it was after seeing one of his 'exploits' on the evening newscast.
An alley full of thugs hanging upside down and stuck to the walls with black webs; angered criminals screaming at anyone who'd listen that 'The Spider' was coming for them and that they needed to 'kill him before he made jokes out of all of them'; and even a video someone pieced together from security footage of him taking down a group of bikers in an apartment building.
The media showcased him as much as they could, almost as much as they did her. She'd done her best to be positive when they'd asked her about him, claimed he was a good person who killed only when he had to and that they'd parted amicably, but as expected no one really listened to her. One Spider had been venerated, so another had to be dragged through the mud.
People came up with insane theories - That he was a Supervillain that she'd failed to reform and now he was up to his 'old crimes' again; that the two of them were rival heroes (which some people were far too eager to spread around...); or maybe he was just an insane guy with a mask who had a mental disorder.
The last one worried Uncle Ben and Aunt May more than anything; he'd gotten worse. The footage with the biker gang showed him dragging someone down a flight of stairs or kneecapping them with that gun of his. No one died, but it was a close call for some of them. And every time she checked in on the Parkers - which was less than she would've liked... - their expressions always said the same thing.
'Do you know where our son is?'
"Gwen, you alright?" She felt flash tapping her arm, "You got quiet all of a sudden."
"Just distracted is all..." She mumbled. Ever since her reputation did a 180 she'd always been busy. Fighting crime, charity appearances (Cap assured her it was good for morale), band gigs which she refused to flake out on...it got to the point where she had to quit her job at Mr. Albie's bodega because she couldn't make the hours. She still had a few savings stocked up, but she definitely needed to find something new because the hero gig wasn't something that paid very well.
...Maybe she could trademark herself? The money from the action figures and hoodies would set her up for life.
"Well, you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me." He clapped her shoulder again and stood up to leave, "I know we weren't that close, but I'm a good listener if you need to vent."
"Yeah, sure..."
She just sat there, maybe waiting for the Parkers or because she just wanted a small moment of peace to herself. In all honesty she would've been lying if she said it was all wrong to her. She couldn't deny the rush of pride she felt when the police congratulated her on handling a crime or when she saw the news and found out that rapist or mugger or murderer was properly convicted. Even the little girl asking for an autograph sent a warmth through her chest, even if she felt egotistical indulging in the attention. There was always a pride before a fall and all that.
Seeing her face plastered on a billboard advertising 'Chrome Energy Drink: It's what all the heroes use!' and people buying into it? Not so much. Maybe it was whiny of her, but she was hoping her newfound lease on innocence meant she'd be considered a full-time hero, not some kind of advertisement board like Commander fucking Shepherd. Maybe it worked for She-Hulk, but she was still reeling.
Eventually she heard the telltale ring of her phone and she answered it without even looking at the name, "Yeah?" She wasn't worried about surprise calls from Murderdock anymore. Ever since that meeting at Jess' office he'd been a fucking ghost.
"Gwencent, where you at?" It was MJ. Gwen couldn't stop herself from smiling; the redhead could still infuriate her sometimes, but she and the rest of her friends brought a sense of normalcy she desperately craved. The surprise of her identity had already rushed away and now apart from a few snarky comments from Watson about giving them a heads up when she decided to use her enhanced speed to up her tempo it was the same as always.
After everything that's happened having an anchor was nice...even if they would've complained about being considered her rocks.
"Back home in Forest Hills, why?" Gwen furrowed her brows. MJ sounded kind of worried, "Practice isn't for another few hours, right-"
"You should probably watch the news, Spider-Gwen." God, why did she insist on that nickname? Was it petty revenge for the couch thing? Cause she apologized for that...well, then she did it again when MJ fell asleep in the middle of practice after giving her shit for not attending. All was fair in revenge schemes, right? It wasn't like she couldn't have the occasional fun with her powers now and then.
"Why? Did New York blow up while I wasn't looking?"
"Har, har." She could practically feel the eye roll from the other side of the line, "No, Spidey. There's a hold up at a jewelry store. Bunch of guys dressed in jumpsuits, capes and fucking fishbowls on their heads. Calling themselves the 'Mysterios' or some other bullshit. Spider-Woman should probably make an appearance."
"Oh...guess it's Tuesday again." She mumbled back a 'thanks' and rushed back to her house, changing back into her uniform in record time. She had her problems, but there was no rest for the wicked.
Time to be a hero again.
Everything had a price.
Peter had seen enough on the streets to know that there was almost nothing someone would give up when they were desperate: Their morals, their dignities, their beliefs...everything could be bought once someone sunk low enough. What good was your pride when you were starving in the gutters? Or your morals and dignity when Joe Blow gave his up and was living in a fancy house in downtown while you had nothing?
This even happened when it came down to someone's fellow man. How much did it cost to break someone's hand? To threaten the lives of their loved ones? To murder? Back home it was five dollars...five dollars to snuff out someone's life, and most of that was for cleaning up the blood afterwards. He knew some people who'd do it for less, and they didn't like being at the other end of the equation when he got his hands on them.
Since he'd gotten here he'd seen more and more things he wished he could forget, but some things were just a bit too familiar. The dollar changed, values went up and down in a flux, but it still drove people to madness. Technology and values advanced, sciences created and debunked theories, but that also meant new lows for people to sink to: New drugs, new ways to control people, new laws to pass yourself off as the saint while you robbed everyone blind.
New ways to lower people down to how much value each and every part of them could get you...
Peter's crouched low on the rafters and looked down at the room below. Eight guys, most of em weren't even carrying guns. The room was wide, easily able to fit twice the number of goons occupying it with space to spare. Either someone was really confident no one would ever find this place or they thought that eight guys would be enough to stop anyone that managed to get past the condemned building they considered a hiding spot.
Wrong either way.
'Four lights...can't miss.' He pulled out his revolver and shot quickly, four bullets rushing through the air and destroying the bulbs with a loud pop. Immediately the room was bathed in darkness, the panicked shouts of the idiots below coming soon afterwards. Same things as always: Screaming at the others wanting to know what was going on and the sounds of bodies colliding with one another cause they couldn't see in the dark.
He didn't have that problem.
Mopping up the rent-a-clowns went by in a blur. He'd been at this long enough that it was almost second nature to him; a broken nose here, a shattered kneecap there and eventually they were all laying on the ground, either unconscious or soon-to-be. He webbed them down almost absentmindedly and made his way to the door at the far side of the room.
'Soundproof...' He traced a hand across the leathery material and frowned. Looks like Spector's intel was right...or was it Grant? He found it hard to tell with him even now, 'Now lets see if the second part's true.'
As soon as he opened the door he was hit by the smell of blood and disinfectant, the odor pungent enough that he almost retched. The room was brightly lit, almost blindingly so compared to the cheap fluorescent lights in the room behind him. Lined up in neat rows he saw bloody metal tables, some of them carrying unconscious people of both sexes who took in shallow breaths.
And in front of one of the tables with his back turned towards him Peter saw a surgeon, his figure not even moving to face him at the sound of the door opening.
"Why must you bother me now?" he said loudly, tone laced with annoyance as he continued his work. European by the sounds of him, "I'm working as fast I can, and you can tell Mr. Owlsley that he paid for competent work! If he wants to sell these items at a reasonable price they need to be in the best condition they could possibly-"
That was as far as he got before Peter grabbed the back of his head and smashed him down on the table, a painful crack resounding around the inside of the wide confines. At the force of the impact one of the coolers crashed into the ground, spilling its contents, 'A liver...' He grimaced and looked down at the red organ, trying to ignore the foul mix of blood and water on his boots. The body on the table was dead...snuffed out for this.
Everything had a price...and now these bastards found a way to take even the smallest things that made someone human so they could sell it for themselves. Their kidneys, their hearts, their eyeballs...anything was fair game from what he'd seen. All just to line a little more money in their pockets.
"Wait, who are-"
Peter smashed his head down on the table again, a mix between a scream and a choked cry coming from the well-groomed cremlin, "I'm asking the questions." He turned him around and pressed him against the table's surface, one hand on his neck and the other holding onto his revolver, "Where's Owlsley's base of operations? I want an address..." He pressed the revolver against his kneecap, "Talk. I'll only ask once."
"I-I don't know what you-"
Liar
The sound of the gun discharging was almost deafening given their close proximity, and his screams were even worse. He saw the cremlin's face scrunching up in pain, the blood seeping down his leg and dripping onto the dirty floor. Before he could throw up even a token resistance Peter webbed his feet to the sides of the table, 'That should hold him for a while...'
"Y-You crazy son of a bitch! My...My fucking knee..."
"Crazy? Big talk coming from someone like you." He shifted the barrel to his other leg, trying to ignore the way the depraved surgeon's legs feelbly trashed against his bindings, "I want an address. All that you can give me, unless you think Owlsley's worth being crippled for."
"N-No, please!" His eyes stared down at the loaded gun, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, "I...I only know...two places...and neither of them are where he stays fully..." Peter frowned and inched his finger closer to the trigger, "No, no, no! Y-You might find him there! He has multiple places he uses, b-but even if you don't find him you can get f-files and other people that are important to his organization! I swear!"
...He wasn't lying, "Alright, tell me the addresses."
"Th-There's one place not far from here, it's called the Seventh Heaven club. I met him there once, h-he owned the place and wanted to meet me there with a job offer. A-Another one is an office near 9th avenue, he n-named it The Brickhouse. Th-That's all I know, alright!? I'm not lying."
"I believe you."
PEter pulled the trigger and ignored the cremlin's frantic yelling of 'I'm gonna bleed out!' that came afterward, "Shut your trap. You're not gonna die..." He webbed his hands to the table, "Well, at least not if the police get here first. Where's your phone?"
"S-Side p-p-pocket..."
He picked through his pockets and picked up the (obviously expensive) smart phone and tapped the 'emergency call' button, dialing 911. It only took two rings before he heard the female voice on the other side, "911, what is your-"
"Organ trafficking ring. Doctor and a bunch of thugs, each of them caught red-handed. Trace this phone." He ended the call and placed the phone on the table, taking one last look at the crying surgeon, "When the police get here you're going to tell them everything you know. And if I see you out of prison before you served your time..." He put the barrel of the gun between the older man's legs and fired, the empty click of the cylinder resounding at the action, "I'll take the last thing you have of value. Clear?"
"Y-Y-Yes!"
Peter sighed and made his way back to the other room, already texting one address each to Castle and Bullseye. The two would never work together, but separately they were both capable and it was better to raid the two safehouses at once before Owlsley caught on to one of his operations being compromised. He just hoped the two wouldn't get themselves killed pulling it off.
'Time to leave.' The cops would be here soon, and it wouldn't do for 'The Dark Spider' to be found here; they'd find some way to pin this on him because everyone in this madhouse was an irrational idiot.
But first...
He eyed the duffel bag full of money lying on the table. Organs evidently sold for a lot in this place, and these guys were counting the payoff. Even from where he stood he could see stacks upon stacks of the long green, even more lying in messy piles across the table. They were making money hand over fist from those poor bastards, 'The police can take care of them better than I could...and they need witnesses.' Hopefully this place wasn't as corrupt as back home.
He grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, leaving the rest of the stack where it lay. It'd look way too suspicious if all the money was gone...but he could take enough to compensate those who had to suffer for their sick 'business ventures'.
It didn't take him long to leave and find a place to change. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly the most prosperous of places either here or back home, and finding abandoned corners was practically second instinct by now, '...This thing itches.' He shucked off the mask Spector let him and grimaced down at it. The black fabric clung to his skin and made it hard to breath. How the rest of the clowns in this place didn't suffocate was beyind him.
He paused only to remove the thin body armor armor Castle gave him and stuffed it into a crack he was sure no one could see, "Can't walk around with that thing...should never have let Bullseye near it." He sighed. What possessed Bullseye to think that spray painting a black spider symbol at the front of the thing (along with the back of his jacket, though at least that was excusable) was a good idea he had no clue, but the damage was done. Peter would just have to deal with it.
He jumped back down onto the street, taking out a cigarette and putting it between his lips before lighting with with a quick flick of the lighter, '...That should keep me calm.' He took a light drag from the coffin nail, exhaling in relief when he felt himself relax. Back home most newspapers didn't like reporting on the bad effects of nicotine - too many businesses tied up in media - but here everyone was spouting about how wrong it was to smoke. It didn't matter to him none; if he could survive being burnt to a crisp by little miss lightning bolt then a few cigarettes wouldn't be any worse.
...Besides, it kept his head nice and quiet. Not much else did.
The walk to the homeless encampment was quiet, broken only by the occasional sounds of car horns beeping in the distance. It allowed him the think, the cigarette dulling his senses just enough that he didn't have to worry about voices at the back of his skull.
Well...first off his name was dirt- Wait, he had to rephrase that; the Parker kid's name was dirt. Two days after his disastrous last meeting with White Widow every news outlet was singing the same tune: Peter Parker was the Midtown High Lizard, and Spider-Woman was innocent of any wrongdoing. He didn't have much thoughts on it save wondering how it took so long for them to figure it out. Did they really just think that monster disappeared into smoke?
And then of course there was her newfound fame. Now that she was innocent she was the new trend, the greatest thing since sliced bread by the way people talked about her. He couldn't go ten minutes without running into one of her billboards or the giant television screens propped up everywhere singing her praises. She got more cheering than the president...then again if the head of the oval office had powers he'd probably be more interesting to a lot of people.
Peter rounded the corner and threw away the spent cigarette, stamping it underfoot before picking up another stick from the pack. Even now he could see one of her billboards, the surface spattered with a bright colors and a picture of her holding out a can in front of her with the caption of 'Chrome Energy Drink' at the bottom. He was avoiding her just fine, but her presence was everywhere. It was like fate liked to remind him that he'd made no headway in finding Octavius ever since he left her.
'Not like I didn't already know that...' He lit the end of the stick and tried to calm himself. Grant promised to try and help him, but he was just one man. A well-off one, but a man nonetheless. He wasn't expecting much, but some part of him couldn't help but hope anyway.
The homeless encampment didn't look much different from when he'd last seen it. Situated under a bridge that lead to some kind of highway, the wide space was filled with tents, crude metal structures and burning barrels...one of the few things that hadn't changed at all, admittedly. Still, he missed old man Stevens from home; it was pretty rare to see someone using a newspaper as a jacket and then using the leftovers as toiler paper.
The place was like a miniature maze, covered in broken fences, cheap concrete and rusty metal. A few looked up when they saw him, but most were content to continue what they were doing and act like he didn't exist, which was fine by him.
It didn't take long to find Crawley. Even by the standards of this place he wasn't doing well: Nothing more than a cardboard box to his name and the same pair of clothes he'd seen him in days ago. He would've felt pity if he didn't know for a fact that it was self-imposed. Some sort of self-sacrificial thing...who knew what his deal was. Spector, Grant and Lockley knew him and he was a source of information, that was all that mattered to him.
"By jove, it's you!" The old man looked up at him with an open smile, showing off his stained teeth. He talked fancy for a bum, but it didn't do much to hide the stench, "Did our mutual friend's advice lead to a satisfactory conclusion?"
"More or less. Some dead, but the rest of the ones I could save are in the police's hands..." And likely going to be kicked back to the streets the second they got a testimony, "Here, I assume you know what to do with this..." Peter dropped the duffle bag next to him, the bum unzipping it with obvious excitement, "...Don't get careless. A homeless camp suddenly spending thousands of dollars is going to attract the wrong kind of attention, and the mob doesn't like their money being taken."
"But of course, old chap! I know how to avoid conspicuous spending habits!" He gave him a cheery salute, "Oh, and father Martin is around here somewhere! Might you perchance greet him? The man brought company with him, a fair lass to whom you might enjoy making the acquaintance of."
"Right..." He waved a goodbye to the crazy old coot and searched for the priest. Maybe talking with someone sane would help calm him down.
He was already on his third smoke by the time he found the priest at the outer edge of the camp, his hands pressing a piece of white cloth on an old woman's right arm. Not too far away he saw someone that definitely looked like she didn't belong; a pretty blonde dame dressed in typical spring-wear far too clean (and pricey...) to look natural in a place like this, her hands holding onto a digital camera.
She stuck out like a sore thumb...though he supposed he shouldn't be one to talk.
"Please hold still, Ms. Cardenas. The cut may not be deep, but we don't want it to get infected..." The priest grabbed the old woman's left hand gently and led it to cloth, "Now, keep pressing down firmly and the bleeding should subside eventually. I'll be back with disinfectant and a meal for you and everyone else here, if I'm able."
"Thank you, father..." She gave him a grateful smile and walked away.
Father Martin Li...no relation to the 'elusive businessman' Martin Li, though according to the priest it was an easy mistake to make when Peter had asked him about it at first. He met him not too long after he decided to donate most of his winnings from his first victory in the cage fights. He would have preferred leaving it as an anonymous donation, but when someone gave more than ten grand in a single pop even priests tended to ask questions.
He didn't know how much the man really knew about him, but he seemed to know enough not to question where the donations were exactly coming from and just learned to put it to good use. For his part Peter tried to avoid making comments about an Asian man who managed to become a priest. Back home even the churches had their prejudices, despite claims to the contrary.
"Out here again, Father?"
The older man looked up at him in surprise, his pleasant smile never waning despite his sudden appearance, "Doing what I can, Mr. Reilly. I assume you're here to do the same?" At Peter's nod the priest's smile widened ever so slightly and he stood up to face him properly, "It's lucky I found you at this time. It's been a while since you came to our humble parish."
"Didn't have much to give..." He shrugged.
"While your donations are appreciated, it's not a requirement to visit His home. You are always welcome, as is anyone-"
"Hey, sorry to interrupt here." The girl interrupted, her voice loud and easily cutting through the priest's soft words, "Martin, you gonna introduce me to your friend? He doesn't look like the rest of the guys here."
"Ah, my apologies." He let out a soft chuckle and gestured to him, "This is Ben Reilly, a man to whom I made the acquaintance of a few months prior." He gestured to her now, "Mr. Reilly, this is Norah Winters. A reporter from the Daily Bugle I met a few days prior."
"The Bugle?" He raised an eyebrow. The bugle spent most of its time either slandering Spider-Woman or, as of recently, slandering him for lack of a better scapegoat...still, at least they weren't blaming Ben and May Parker for that dumb kid's mess.
"Yeah, yeah, I know: We were wrong about Spider-Woman, Robbie let Mayor Jameson have too much control bla bla bla." She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out in distaste, "Heard it all before, though in my personal defense I've only been in the Bugle for a few months so it wasn't anything I could control..." Her eyes suddenly narrowed, "...Hold on, have I seen you somewhere before?"
"I'm a white guy with brown hair, try half of New York and you might be able to see the resemblance..." Peter scoffed. Most people wouldn't note anything more than a resemblance between him and Parker unless they got it in their skulls that he'd somehow come back from the dead. He aimed to keep it that way, "You spending time with journalists now, Father? Thinking of a change in career?"
"Not particularly. Miss. Winters is searching for something and she asked for my help."
"And I came here with him to fulfill my quota for community service pictures," She shook her camera and smiled cheekily, "Anyway, there's a rumor going around that there's a serial killer stalking the alleys at night. One of those religious motifs kind of guy, if you trust the grapevine." She pursed her lips, "I'm starting to think it's a wash, though. No one's saying anything and Martin doesn't know anything about a bible thumping serial killer."
"While her words are crude, her motivations are admirable." Father Martin sighed, "Sadly, I was of no help. According to her information, those who were killed were drug addicts and women who debase themselves for lack of other choice. People such as those are lost to us and many in society don't care even if these poor people lose their lives."
"Hm..."
He spent a few hours helping out Father Martin after that, mostly to help take his mind off things. Bullseye and Castle both responded eventually, both of them claiming Owlsley wasn't in either safehouse although they'd managed to find a few important people in his organization. Spector would be happy, at least, and maybe that favor would grant him just a little faster searching.
...Though he could have done without Bullseye sending him a 'selfie' of himself and a guy who looked like he was about to puke his guts out. Bullseye had a fondness for hitting people in their nerve centers...
'Need to get some rest...' Peter took out the last cigarette from the pack and tossed the container to the wayside. Father Martin insisted on staying late, and of course he couldn't leave the guy to walk back to the chapel all on his own. Call him pessimistic but he got the feeling the priest's robe wouldn't do much to dissuade any desperate enough punk looking for a bit of cash.
He was almost at his apartment before he heard it, '...A gunshot?' Not that it was particularly rare to hear in this part of town - it was practically his signal for to put his mask on - but there was something odd about it, 'Didn't sound like a pistol...' And his spider-sense was blaring like crazy. He put on his mask; he had to check it out.
The alley was abandoned of human life by the time he found it...and he wished he could say he was joking about that; the only thing that remained was a still-warm corpse with its head completely blown off, the only remains being bloody chunks of meat splattered across the alley.
"...Not even a revolver could do this. Must have been a shotgun." He knelt down to take a closer look, eyes falling over her attire. "Prostitute..." It wasn't rare to kill a sex worker either here or at home, but something about this felt a tad more deliberate than a client who refused to pay, "Couldn't have hid the shotgun, and even most prostitutes wouldn't go down a dark alley with some guy brandishing something like that."
Peter gave her another once over and raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of something that definitely didn't look like it belonged, "Crosses carved into her wrists..." The wounds were fresh...and precise. She would have been struggling, how did-
Rapid footsteps came up from behind and he felt something sharp stabbing into the back of his neck, "Turn around. Slowly." A female voice whispered. Peter raised his hands and turned to face his assailant.
'...Lori.' He grimaced. Nearly three months and she didn't look much different, save the switchblade she was pointing right at his neck. Her expression was murderous, though through it all he saw a hint of fear, 'She's scared of something...probably thinks I killed her.'
"Why...Why would you..." She looked past him to the rapidly cooling corpse, "What did she ever do to you!? Why-"
"It wasn't me," he interrupted. He didn't have time to for long and drawn out breakdowns, "I heard the gunshot and came to investigate. That's all."
"And why should I believe that, huh!?"
"Because I haven't stabbed you with your own knife yet."
"Wha-"
Before she could react he twisted her arm and grabbed the knife from her hand, releasing his hold on her just long enough for her to turn around and find the blade nearly touching the skin of her throat and causing her eyes to widen in shock, "You-"
"I could kill you right now, but I won't. Because I didn't kill this woman and I don't want to kill you." He folded the switchblade and offered it back to her, the older woman accepting it reluctantly, "Now, you seem to know what's going on so tell me everything you know and just maybe we can prevent another innocent person from getting killed."
Alright...now I'm taking a break :) This is probably a better spot to leave off, anyway. We know how the two leads are doing and the new status quo for each:
Gwen's somewhat angsty given what she had to sacrifice and blames herself for people being stupid, but things are looking up and she's about to fight Mysterio. Still, all in all despite her angst her superhero life is getting better and her hard work has finally paid off and now she's one of New York's beloved superheroes. As mentioned before her solo villain is Mysterio, the master of illusions.
Meanwhile Noir's even worse than before and is basically channeling his inner-Rorschach and Bigby Wolf: Committing acts of needless brutality, generally acting like more of a jackass rather than trying to be diplomatic and, most heinous of all, committing acts of underage smoking and littering! He's clearly slipping down the morality slope with just those two(sarcasm). Anyway, his solo villain is Sin Eater; the serial killer who killed Jean DeWolff in Spidey canon turned Jack the Ripper wannabe in Looking Glass.
First thing first: Do I actually show Gwen's Mysterio story? This might seem a weird question to ask, but Sin Eater was the only one I actually properly planned for while Mysterio was mostly there to show Gwen was also busy with her own life. Do you guys wanna see it? I mean I have a plot as backup in my suitcase if so, just say the word. If not we can focus exclusively on Sin Eater.
Also, give any other advice, suggestions or comments you might have on where the story should go. Since I'm taking a break I'm open to ideas :)
Oh, and just a detail note: Noir's current attire is reminiscent of Arkham Knight Red Hood currently. Don't worry, he won't keep it for long; too conspicuous compared to his normal clothes, hence why he had to ditch the body armor for later use :P It should leave once his (even more) emo phase passes.
Review answers:
Master-Xavier - Long response again, huzzah! Anyway, I'll reply in a PM. You can respond via review or whatever cause I'm always happy to hear your thoughts on the current chapters.
Jajo Camello - Well, hopefully you have better luck reviewing ;) Anyway, not sure if it's a government agenda but I'll take it under advisement note.
Cloudstrel - It feels unearned, doesn't it? I mean one of the signs of a Mary Sue is when they get things with no effort and heroes get their powers through no active action on their own. Feels cheap.
Krolikson - Well to be far Marvel NYC is also filled with Supervillains who keep the heroes busy, so it shouldn't be that difficult to justify a criminal not moving elsewhere.
Yoface - I did mention before that I don't expect answers, particularly when I made the three part question. Anyway, hope this chapter did a good enough job expanding on the universe at least a tad: Gwen shows the bright and colored hero life, Noir shows the gritty underbelly.
Mingyu - Well, Noir indicates he became a chain smoker to try and dull his mind so he can avoid the schizophrenia effects of the serum...weird, but hey. Also, yeah, lack of positive examples kinda bugs me. Thanks for the longer than usual review :D
Henchmen213 - Update given ;D Have fun with Logan.
Cyclopz - Huh, nice to see another Noir fan. Not enough of us guys around. Anyway, here's more realism and angst for Noir.
Persin - Uh...I already update like every 3-4 until my current break. What more could you want? :X