George's officers got Mysterio down in no time, and into the back of a squad car. They had to be quick, of course. Otherwise the webbing keeping Mysterio from falling would dissolve, and he was of no good to them dead. The criminal's gloves had been removed, just in case he woke up and tried another of his illusions. Other officers scouted the area and made sure Mysterio hadn't hurt anyone else. George and Officer Yuriko Watanabe had the task of handing Mysterio over to Ryker's. It would be a long drive. For the first time today, George yawned.

Yuriko: Something the matter, Captain?

George: I'm tired, but I'm always tired, so it's not that. I've been thinking about Y/S/N. Him being so young, and having so much untapped potential, he's like a young Spider-Man. A lot of different groups and organisations are gonna want to get at him.

Yuriko: Like S.H.I.E.L.D?

George: Like S.H.I.E.L.D, yes, but not just S.H.I.E.L.D. There's that Brotherhood group with Mystique too. The kid's got a good head on his shoulders, but you're very gullible at that age. I don't want him falling in with the wrong crowd.

Yuriko: There's not much we can do. Especially in our position.

George: And that's what worries me.

They stopped at a red light. The streets had cleared up after Y/S/N left, so there was little in the way of traffic, and the fact it was 3AM at night also accounted for that.

Yuriko: Do you think we should tell S.H.I.E.L.D about him? You know, Y/S/N?

George: We both know what S.H.I.E.L.D would turn the child into their next supersoldier, so no. Besides, they have eyes everywhere. If S.H.I.E.L.D want him, they'll know exactly where to find him. Whether he likes it or not.

Yuriko: That's true.

George: Say, it's 3AM, and I haven't had anything since my bagel at lunch. What do you say we stop at a McDonald's drive-thru?

Mysterio slept through the entire conversation. At the mention of a McDonald's drive-thru though, he may have lifted his head in interest.

Yuriko: But you hate McDonald's. Wait. (sighing) This is another one of your tests! George!

Yuriko playfully punched George's shoulder. She also would have been excited at the prospect of fast food. Even if she knew the effects it would have on her body afterwards, the food tasted too good for Yuriko to care much.

George: Just making sure you've still got those keen deduction skills.

Ryker's. A prison built on, funnily enough, an island. Originally Ryker's started life as a means to deal with the number of superhuman criminals growing at an alarming rate. Another prison, this one called The Raft, was later built and had a similar purpose in mind. Ryker's, no longer the only prison of its kind in America, diversified. Psychos too dangerous to be kept in anything less than solitary confinement, and those who commited crimes too heinous for even their fellow inmates to sympathise with, were also sent to Ryker's.

Guards escorted Mysterio to his cell. His helmet had been taken away from him, his fancy costume replaced by the orange jumpsuit worn by everyone else. George checked his watch. 4AM. This had not been the first time he'd taken a supervillain to Ryker's, and though he maintained a sense of hopefulness, George had no illusion that this would the last time either.

George: Any last words, Beck?

Mysterio: Gesundheit.

Two more guards led George and Yuriko out. Bars of crackling energy replaced the metal bars synonymous with prison cells. Ryker's still predominately housed supervillains, and most of them could bend metal with their bare hands or telekinetic assistance. Anyone who tried bending the energy bars would be in for a high-voltage surprise. Alone, and with no conceivable method of escape, Quentin buried his head between his hands.

Mysterio: (talking to himself) Oh, woe is me. My latest plan, and my movie career in ruins...and my defeat delivered at the hands of a child...

Shocker: We hate him just as much, but do you mind keepin' it down, Beck? Some of us are tryin' to get some shut-eye!

Rhino: Yeah, and I'm counting how many bricks are on this wall! 57, 58, 59…

…

The revelation that Y/S/N had been the one to stop Mysterio came as a shock, when just hours before they had seen him destroy Midtown National Museum and countless other landmarks of the 'old Midtown', as the gentrified generation put it. Then there was Silver Sable and two Y/S/N/'s being sighted together, which further confounded things. But those who had seen Y/S/N, the real Y/S/N, enter the tent could profess his innocence. Others still needed clarification. Clarification from somewhere they trusted.

Trish: Good evening, people of Midtown and beyond. This is Trish Tilby with the, admittedly very late, evening news. A source that would like to remain anonymous has given us further developments concerning the Y/S/N case. The Y/S/N seen flying across Midtown, destroying various buildings and landmarks, was a drone created by supervillain Mysterio. The real Y/S/N did battle against Mysterio, and ultimately defeated the villain before he was transported to Ryker's Island. In addition, the source also discovered Mysterio's true identity; former special effects designer and Beck Productions CEO Quentin Beck. We deeply apologise for any inconvenience and confusion caused.

Jessica hung her coat up on the door as it creaked open. She'd been meaning to get it fixed for a while now. There was just always something more important she had to do. Like dealing with clients, or handing in her findings about Mysterio to the local news station. She didn't like the news. Didn't watch it, didn't agree with it. What significant effect would knowing about some war in a middle-eastern country have on her life, anyway?

Jessica made some coffee, took off her shoes, changed into lacy, black lingerie and sat down on the couch with the covers pulled over her body just in time to see her findings on national television. Despite her thoughts on TV, it was all to help clear her cute little boyfriend's name, and so she couldn't help but smile.

The cup of coffee replaced the bottle of wine she had on most nights. Ever since meeting Y/N, she'd been meaning to quit her drinking habit too.

…

Contrary to what her vaguely European accent might suggest, Silver Sablinova was no Russian. Her origins, and base of operations, was in the kingdom of Symkaria. Most not in the region were left in the dark as far as its existence went, and soldiers patrolled the Symkarian borders from sunrise until sunset. She preferred the extra security, not for any diplomatic reasons, but because foreign mercenary organisations would surely replicate the Wild Pack's training regimen if they ever laid eyes on it.

When the Wild Pack started training, morning's sun had just erased the last few streaks of dusk. Silver watched them from Castle Symkaria as her men fought off the remaining Doom-Bots. They were about to finish in record time, although Silver kept her praises to herself. After all, she couldn't give them too much credit. Then they might start to slack. Sandman fashioned his hand into a hulking, grainy fist and, after bringing it down with a mighty slam, no Doom-Bots remained.

Sandman: That's the last of 'em, Sable! Can we go to sleep now? It's quarter past five…

Sandman shouted. His voice did not need to carry far, as the group were training on castle grounds and within Silver's line of sight.

Sable: Very well. You may rest for the night, but I expect to see you all up early! Good work, gentlemen.

With a groan, the Wild Pack trudged their way back inside, retiring to their cabins for what remained of the night. Silver had a similar idea. There were about a hundred rooms in Castle Symkaria, one for every possible function you could imagine, and though Silver had known the vastness of these halls since childhood, she had yet to give them a proper exploration. More important things occupied her attention than childish curiosity.

Silver turned off the light, and then turned the lock on her door. She changed into a white lace nightgown drawn tight around her chest and hips. She smiled privately at the thought of what the young boy she'd tried hunting down earlier would think of her wearing something so revealing. She had a thing for young boys. Especially ones that young.

Silver had not seen the boy she was currently fantasising about since their battle in New York. What had become of him? Curled up in bed and with a glass of wine in hand, Silver tuned in to Midtown News, to see Y/S/N's fate. She was concerned. And maybe, just maybe, infatuated.

Trish: Good evening, people of Midtown and beyond. This is Trish Tilby with the morning news. We now have more information on the Y/S/N and Mysterio case. Mysterio, revealed to be Quentin Beck, the former special effects designer and CEO of Beck Productions, has been taken to the raft by Captain George Stacy and Officer Yuriko Watanabe. There is no information yet as to when, or if Beck will be released, along with Herman Schulz the 'Shocker', and Aleksei Sytsevich, the 'Rhino'. We will update you with further developments. For now, this is Trish Tilby, singing off.

The news did not alleviate Silver's concerns. Not one bit. Mysterio may have been powerless, but she knew he could be just as threatening as any of the other villains Y/S/N had faced, especially to a rookie. A rookie that Silver had a feeling would be needing her help soon. Very soon.

…

Y/N: I'm fine, mom.

Mom: Are you sure? You're sure that horrible man didn't hurt you anywhere? Because if he did-

Y/N: I'm telling you, mom, I'm fine, and there's not much you can do to Mysterio anyways! He's in prison, remember?

Mom: Oh. You have a point there, sweetie

Much like a certain white-haired mercenary, you were curled up in bed, and in a way, both because of Mysterio. You had insisted to your mother that you could walk just fine and it was "just a limp". When it turned out it was not just a limp, and every bone in your body refused to work, she laid you down and pulled the covers over. Effectively, you were bedridden. So much for everything being alright.

Mom: But you are not fine! I do not want you leaving this bed until you've made a complete recovery. Trying any heroics when you're like this will only make your injuries worse.

Y/N: But-

Mom: No buts! Except yours, staying put in that bed.

Y/N: Aww…. (I better hope there aren't any other heroes taking a break, too. Wait a second. This isn't that bad. Staying at home means no school, no homework, and best of all…mom's cooking!)

Your mouth nearly salivated at the thought. Some say that a mother's love is expressed through her cooking. If that was the case, then your mother loved you a hell of a lot.

Mom: Now get some rest. You've earned it, dear.

After planting a soft kiss on your forehead, expressing her love through that also, she closed the door to your bedroom and left you alone. A whole day in bed. You had no idea what you would do for the day, or if your recovery would be that short, but you knew the first thing you'd do upon waking up: See if the Y/S/N: The Movie disc you appropriated from Beck Productions still worked.

…

One minute, Anastasia Hardy is getting ready to close up shop, go home for the night. The next, some vandal in a cloak flies through the window. How long has it been? How long has she been out for? A few minutes? A few days?

Voices surrounded her. Male ones, similar in their coarseness to the street fare you can find on the subway, or walking through the more volatile areas of the city that continue to exist, no matter how much money the Hardy family throws towards fixing them. But her thoughts should be elsewhere. She should be thinking about how she has no clue where she is.

And in all honesty, she doesn't care. She just wants to go home.

Anastasia: Mmf..mmf!

?: Sounds like our sleepin' beauty has woken up from her nap, boss.

Anastasia: Mmf!

If she could, she'd punch him, curse him out until my voice died out, but her hands have been tied behind my back, mouth covered and vision obscured. That is all she knows for certain.

?: Hearing her struggle is like music to my ears! What do you think she's saying, Hammerhead?

Hammerhead: Should we take off the tape?

A moment's pause.

Hammerhead: You got it, boss.

The one called "Hammerhead" followed his boss' silent orders. She had little to thank him for, but following a sudden gasp she could breathe properly again, and speak. Letting her anger spill out into words would be easy. It always was.

Anastasia: (struggling in her chair, attempting to break free) Whoever do you people think you are? Nobody kidnaps Anastasia Hardy and gets away with it! By tomorrow you'll all be in prison, and on the front page of the Daily Bugle!

?: Ha! As if the Big Man can't just buy it outright! The Bugle, and that poor excuse of a charity you run.

Hammerhead: Lady, just play nice and cooperate.

Anastasia: And why would I do that with a bunch of criminals? Thugs? Gangbangers?

Hammerhead: Because if you won't play nice, we won't either.

?: And you wouldn't want us doing anything bad to you, would you? Or was being drugged not enough?

Immediately, the tip of a blade pricked against her neck. It's the one who had the orange cloak. His breath is cold, and makes her own breathing draw that much shorter.

Anastasia: (gasping between words) I'm not afraid of you.

?: Oh, but , you are. You're very afraid of me, and you know it. You also know that I could plunge this knife deep into your neck, and you'd be powerless to stop me.

Hammerhead: Are you crazy?

?: Well, actually…

Hammerhead: Big Man wants her alive. Drop the knife.

The knife fell. In those few seconds he held it, I considered that I may have lost my life.

?: Hmph. Well, I was only trying to have some fun.

Hammerhead: There'll be plenty o' time for you to get your sick kicks later. (Why the boss keeps around a loose cannon like the Hobgoblin, I'll never know.)

Hobgoblin: Hope so. Is he calling her now?

Hammerhead: Yeah.

Nobody speaks, and then all goes silent, save for the buzz of a ringing phone.

?: Hello?

Felicia Hardy. Her daughter. The Black Cat, for as long as she can remember, and age can do funny things to a person's memory. Felicia used to be such a nice girl. The kind of daughter you can show off to other moms and make them jealous. But then Felicia, sweet, adorable Felicia, grew up and Anastasia, of course, sent her to the best university that old money could buy. Then, either something happened to her or she did something, because Felicia was never the same after that. Neither one knows why. Did she spoil her too much?

But, that's the past. Now, Anastasia can't be happier. To hear the voice of her daughter again brings her a joy nothing else can match.

Anastasia: Felicia! They're holding me hostage, Felicia! The Hobgoblin, and some other person! Help me!

Felicia: I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't worry, mother, and whatever you do, stay calm.

The phone cuts off, and she waits. Waiting, and believing, is all she can do.