Here I am in my apartment finally adding some decoration to my bedroom even though I've had it set up for a while. The mix of seafoam and teal walls make the place a bit more inviting silver and black bedding, a bean bag in the corner, a nightstand with a few weapons and some of my school work. A safe with money in it, some loose floorboards that may or may not have weapons underneath. There is a door leading to my bathroom which has a first aid kit, a nice sized bathtub and shower, and the necessities. Like the rest of the apartment, the decor is black blue and silver/gray.

Walking into the kitchen I get ready to make dinner for myself and my neighbor who always seems to be sneaking out of his firescape. Going through my cabinets, I avoid my large stashes of candy corn and chocolate to find some actual food. My cooking skills aren't great, but they're not bad either. Besides, anyone can make a burrito. Finishing my food I wrap up the extra plate and put my shoes on.

I'm about to leave when something rams into my window like a bug on a windshield. Great, another red vigilante, that makes 3. And they're bleeding out on my firescape, guess I'd better go fix that. Walking over, I open my window and glare down at the newest vigilante. They take off their mask revealing a face I know all too well. He smiles weakly.

"Hi Calliste."

And my only friend, the high school nerd and apparent vigilante, the one and only Peter Parker, promptly passes out.

…

Usually Peter is on the paler side, he is constantly and endlessly teased about it by everyone, especially after the summer when people come back with tans. I don't necessarily believe it's fair to compare him to me because my skin is, as I like to call it, a perfectly blended caramel chocolate shade. Right now instead of his regular lightened peach complexion, he was about as tan

As a generally decent person, I go through my bathroom cabinets for the first aid kit. Being myself, I don't necessarily feel bad when I pour the peroxide in his cuts. He awakens with a hiss, and I laugh as he glares.

Damn, I'm out of gauze, I think while dragging Peter with me as I finally go to deliver the extra meal.

…

"Matt," I yell before I start banging on the door. I never receive an answer though and his door creaks open on the first knock. There's a trail of blood leading to the bathroom and another red vigilante on the floor. *Siiiiiiiiigh* I put down the food and start treating Matt's wounds too. I shiver. Weird.

"What do you need help with now Calliste?", the older vigilante asks.

Well, I came for more gauze for this idiot but I found you bleeding out instead. Also why didn't you just call me for help, or Deadpool, or-" I am cut off by a wave of nausea but I hold it back and just shake my head.

Oh great, I'm sick now.

Body, shut up, we have more important things to be doing than weakly removing my amazing (not really) cooking.

Washing my mouth out in the sink, I go back to treating the fools.

Of course there's still the matter of the people who left two of the males in red this way. I feel sorry for them, well… Not really.

After harassing the two for information, I go off to finish what they started.

…

…

…

Why do these places always have to be so gross, I think as I slam another gang member into the brick in a dark, gross smelling, soggy alley. Of course the friendly neighborhood Spiderman is my fool of a friend and his self sacrificing ways. This is kind of fun though, I wish he would have asked for help earlier, then I would be doing this after sewing up stab wounds from crusty knives. Hygiene people, clean your weapons, they're disgusting.

After knocking out (and restraining) everyone but one person, I use the opportunity to get some information on Matt's thugs. Apparently they're at some place called "Sister Margaret's", what a weird name. But it seems to be a hub for the underworldly type. I'll have to sneak in though because it has been brought to my attention that I look younger than baby faced Peter (I am but I wouldn't tell him that). Popping some gum into my mouth, I pull my sunglasses on, call the police with a phone one of the gang members must have dropped and calmly walk away. What's with the gold and silver feathers everywhere?

…

…

…

~~song time~~

Definitely a bar, I can smell it from here, alcohol, cigarettes, and smoke from other burning things oozes from the area. It wafts out of the unassuming building, practically a beacon for the shady. Walking towards the structure, I run into Deadpool yet again, another member of what I'll start calling, the boys in red.

"Why are you here? Aren't you like 12? How did you find out about this place? Matt's gonna kill me and then kill me again when I come back-" the mercenary begins rambling. Lowering my shades, "I have some business to take care of." The headphones go in.

~~ Steel to my trembling lips, how did the night ever get like this?~~

I state coldly, punctuating my statement with the pop of my gum while pushing my sunglasses back up. Entering the building I scan the room and get ready to cross another thing off my bucket list, start a bar fight.

~~ One shot and the whiskey goes down, down, down ~~

I locate my 3 targets and goons as I walk into the bar. A few people look up with questioning stares, but soon pretend to resume their business when they notice Deadpool walking beside me. He walks off with the mention of someone named Weasle is I do a mental inventory of all my weapons.

~~ Bottom of the bottle hits, Waking up my mind as I throw a fit ~~

Two of my throwing knives slide into my hands with practiced ease. The next second they're embedded in the wall above heads. Warning shots. Some take notice at the abrupt way three people are standing others ignore them. The men glance around paranoia in their gazes. A pair of eyes lock on me and I smirk. Let the games begin.

~~ The breakin is takin me down, down, down ~~

Lunge, stab, block, duck, cut, stab, stab, stab. Adrenaline pumps through my blood as more and more people join the fight.

~~ My hearts beating faster I know what I'm after. ~~

I missed this. A good fight, especially with- No he's not here anymore. FOCUS. Oh cool, there's a rusty knife in my thigh, you sir deserve to be backhanded.

~~ I've been standing here my whole life, everything I've seen twice ~~

Oh shit, I think they hit something important. My legs are going numb, I need to wrap this up.

Deadpool stands on a table pointing his smoking gun to the sky. "I'm all for a good drunk brawl, but Weasle says you have to leave or he'll pull the trigger next." I shrug and pull at some rope tying my targets together with it and dragging them out after using zip ties. "Sorry it got out of hand, I just came to take out some trash," I comment, giving the merc my best feral wolf smile. Not so smoothly though, I end up biting my own bottom lip. Nice. Throwing a smirk back at Deadpool, reaching the exit. Why is he tilting his head like that? Weirdo. Also what is it with this city and the gold and silver feathers everywhere?

Leaving the thugs on the street and calling the police, I drop the burner (I borrowed it from one of them) on the sidewalk. Taking out my phone I take a selfie and laugh as the fools in zip ties and plasma rope struggle. The cackling continues all the way back to my apartment.

I walk in to find both of the idiots in red asleep on the couch (another photo for the album). I get a sleeping bag from my apartment and lay it out in Matt's living room. Staring and the ceiling I recollect the day's events.

Next Day (Back at Calle's apartment)

Standing in my kitchen at 7 in the morning, I try to teach Peter some cooking skills. It's mostly quiet except for the sizzling of bacon and the occasional, "flip that before it burns". I can tell there's something Peter wants to say to me but he just keeps his mouth shut. I can't complain though, it's quiet and the food isn't burning. Well, at least until I start talking. "Hey Peter, aren't May and Ben gonna wonder why you aren't home?"

And the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

"..."

"Peter? Wait, why are you crying?"

"Ben's dead. It's my fault, I killed him I-"

"PETER BENJAMIN PARKER. There is not an evil bone in your body and you can barely get the straw through a capri sun. You did not kill Ben, you couldn't have killed Ben. No matter what happened, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT."

"But he got shot and I could have done something. I could have stopped him, I-"

"Stop. It's not your fault, so just stop. Someone shot him right? That means we have someone to hunt down. Now sit down, eat breakfast, call May and get ready for school."