God, my shoulder feels like it's on fire…
Spider-Man gritted his teeth and tried not to notice the searing pain in his flesh. It was only slightly muted by the web bandage he had sprayed on the bloody graze left where a bullet had winged him a few moments earlier, and he could feel his lifeblood oozing through the thin layer of webbing inexorably. Above him, Daredevil looped and twisted like a ballet dancer, gracefully avoiding pinging bullets and pumpkin bombs with an almost supernatural ease. Even Matt can't keep this pace up for long, he thought as he somersaulted through the air to avoid the heat and flame of a sparkle blast from the Hobgoblin's gloves. We need a way to get out of here, and fast. He swung a thick sheet of loose metal plating around to interrupt the arcing trajectory of a pumpkin bomb and heard it bounce off and explode off to his right, spraying little pieces of shrapnel all over the place, sinking them deeply into the ground like seeds made of twisted metal.
Where the heck did Hobby come from? Spidey thought to himself. Last I heard, he was sunning himself to death in the Caribbean. Why'd he come back all of a sudden? He watched as the Hobgoblin soared through the cramped surroundings effortlessly, blasting random gang members with sparkle blasts and filling the air with the stink of burning meat, all the while laughing his awful cackling laugh and hurling deadly pumpkin bombs. Can't have been because he liked the company. Kingsley hurled a brace of bombs at a good-sized stack of the packets of dope, and watched in satisfaction as they went up in a shower of burning white powder, scattering the cooking drugs all over the ground and causing them to liquefy under the intense heat. Daredevil leapt, aiming a precise kick at Kingsley's jaw, but the Hobgoblin simply elbowed him aside, laughing contemptuously. Spidey somersaulted, crossing his arms and shooting off a couple of weblines as he did so, snagging the edge of Kingsley's cape and one of the wings of his bat-glider. As he landed, he pulled hard, uncrossing his arms and dragging Kingsley and his glider in opposite directions, bringing Kingsley to earth and his glider into a wall. As he staggered to his feet, Daredevil hopped towards him quickly and tagged his long jaw with a hard right cross. The force of the blow clearly surprised Kingsley, but did not make him fall, which surprised Daredevil in his turn. Spidey leapt over the red-clad hero and landed a boot to the center of Kingsley's stomach, finally giving the other man pause, but not for long. Kingsley simply clenched his fist and backhanded his opponent across the face, filling Spidey's vision with blinding stars for a second or two. One thing's for sure, Peter thought as his jaw almost popped out of its moorings, singing with discordant pain. He still hits like a freight train on steroids.
Off away from the raging gunfire and cackling of the Hobgoblin, Ben Urich crouched, making hushed notes into a Dictaphone, having run out of notepaper, and trying desperately not to get noticed by the swarms of lowlifes that had overrun the dock in a matter of seconds. "We have a major situation here," he said hurriedly. "Seems like the Kingpin and Fortunato are really going to kill each other this time. Even Spider-Man and Daredevil aren't having any good effects on this whole mess – the Hobgoblin showed up and started blowing everything to hell. Can't see if it's Macendale or Kingsley." Ben knew that Macendale was supposedly nothing but greasy ashes and charred bones thanks to Kingsley, but he also knew that death was a fickle mistress and could, if she chose, release Jason Macendale from her cold fingers. It had happened to too many others for Ben to entirely discount the possibility that Macendale was on the glider just yet.
"Comfortable, Gramps?" said a rough, gravely voice behind him. Ben closed his eyes in futile frustration and fear. He'd been so absorbed in the battle unfolding in front of him, he'd forgotten to look everywhere else, too. He looked around and saw a barrel-chested blond man in a sharp Italian suit standing above him, clutching an Uzi. He raised his hands when the younger man pointed it in his face, jabbing it right under Ben's nose and squeezing the trigger so that one more twitch would mean Ben's brains and skull parting company. He froze while the young man stomped on the tape he had been recording on and crushed it into a heap of tangled recording tape and shattered plastic. He watched as the younger man put a finger to the small piece of electronic hardware pressed into his right ear, saying "Sir? We have a major situation here. Looks like the Hobgoblin is back and he's got a serious mad-on for Fortunato and yourself – he's flamin' all your dope with those damn bombs of his. Spider-Man and Daredevil are around too, doin' their good-guy schtick. Please advise."
The Kingpin steepled his fingers and sat back in his plush leather chair, the springs squeaking under his immensely muscular girth. "I… see," he said slowly. "Do what you can to preserve my heroin, Dolan – forget about the heroes and Fortunato for the moment. I promise you a healthy bonus if you can give me something to salvage from this." His lieutenant clicked off his radio and Fisk was left in the silence of his office, the only sound coming from the traffic down at street level. This whole development was puzzling – why had the Hobgoblin returned at all – Roderick Kingsley had been offshore somewhere content to leave his Hobgoblin identity on the shelf. What could possibly have made him want to come back? Why was he killing both sides in this dirty little turf war? Was he trying to get himself killed, or was he working for a third entity here – one that hoped to destroy both sides and then step into the vacuum thus created?
The idea was absurd, Fisk decided. Who would be mad enough to try and take down both the Kingpin and Fortunato at one stroke?
And yet… that very absurdity meant that he had not prepared for the possibility that it might happen.
Touché…touché…well played indeed.
The Kingpin smiled, finally. He was facing a clever opponent here.
The best kind.
Outside the Kingpin's home, Felicia Hardy screamed.
She screamed as the black-clad figure hurtled towards her, hands and arms outstretched as if to tackle her to the ground. She ducked out of his way nimbly and aimed a solid jab at his masked jawline, throwing him off his trajectory and sending him tumbling towards the ground in an ungainly, painful heap. Not wasting any more time, Felicia aimed her catspaw grapple at the corner of the Kingpin's house, snagging the edge of a drainpipe and preparing to swing away, after testing if it would carry her weight with one quick tug. She took a short run-up and leapt, arcing away from the house and up level with the house's roof. She tapped a stud on her glove twice in quick succession with her finger in order to detach the grappling hook's claws, and enable her to somersault out over the spiked fence that encircled the Kingpin's compound. Below her she picked out a suitable spot to land and tucked her legs in, cannonballing for maximum distance, before unfurling her long legs again and somersaulting gracefully towards the ground. She was nearing the ground when she felt herself being redirected, finding herself in the arms of the man she thought she had laid out. She yelped in alarm and tried to aim the heel of her hand towards the masked man's face, but he grabbed her fingers as they came back down to earth, saying "It's okay, Felicia. I'm not going to hurt you. I thought you were one of the Kingpin's guards – that's why I jumped at you."
Felicia felt her heart rise into her mouth when he said her name. As they landed, she said, "What were you doing here, anyway? Who are you? And how in blazes did you know my name?" The man in black shrugged.
"Too much to tell you here," he said. "Why don't we go for a nice morning latte and I'll tell you all about it then?" Felicia raised a silvery eyebrow.
"First you attack me, now you ask me out. You have a seriously weird idea of what constitutes a good pick-up routine, my masked friend." The man in black seemed to smile underneath his mask.
"After what I've been through recently, that's pretty tame," he said, raising his arms to either side. "So what do you say?"
"Why did we have to meet here?" said the lithe man as he stood in the dilapidated warehouse. "I wanted glamour when I started out in this business, and this isn't it."
"Perhaps you should have chosen to go into banking instead," replied his companion, who was seated behind a makeshift table formed of packing crates. "It's safer."
"Very funny. I thought I was supposed to be the comedian in this outfit."
"Based on past experience, I think the best that can be said about you is that you got the job done."
"I'm insulted. You ask Jonah Jameson what he thought of me, an' I bet he'll say I was a hoot." He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Can you get the lights fixed in here? I feel like I'm going to ruin my eyesight trying to pick you out." The seated man shrugged.
"What can I say? I like the atmosphere." He leant forwards and continued, "If it persists, I'll get it fixed. But for now I think I will keep it the way it is. You'll just have to make do." He paused. "Now, then. Kingsley is doing a fine job – I just received word that he's trimming the Kingpin and Fortunato's forces rather nicely – but I need you to make sure that he doesn't go overboard; I don't want everybody dead. I think a bloodbath would attract far too much attention from nosy press reporters and their ilk, don't you?" The other man tilted his head and smiled ghoulishly.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "I think I like the sound of that. Now, about my fee…" He rubbed the finger and thumb of his left hand together suggestively. His boss rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes. You will be well-paid, I assure you." The athletically built man nodded approvingly.
"All I needed to hear." He snapped his fingers and there was a bright flash of light as he disappeared, seemingly into thin air, leaving the room with a pulse of brightness that seemed to linger longer than ordinary light should. It gave the seated man pause to wonder how it had been achieved, but also a little gratitude that the other man was gone. Despite his jovial demeanor, he had a deadly air about him that seemed impossible to dispel, even in his absence.
"Why are you even here?" Felicia Hardy asked, curiously. "You're not one of the regular costumed crowd, so –" The black-clad stranger held up his hand.
"Yeah, I know. I hear that all the time." He shrugged. "I was listening in on your conversation with Peter Parker and his wife and I heard Parker tell you about that phone call he received from Ben Urich. I couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, now could I?" Felicia tilted her head, puzzled.
"Wait a second… why were you at the Parkers' house in the first place, anyway? They're not superhero-types. What could you possibly hope to gain from snooping around their house?"
The black-clad stranger smiled beneath his mask. "I thought you might ask that. I'm helping Peter on a personal case."
"So he asked you to help him out on a personal case?" Felicia made a face. "Someone who I've never even seen before? You'll have to come up with a better line than that, buddy. That makes your lame latte pick-up routine seem fresh!" She moved away from him slightly, and he could see her building up strength in her legs, ready to spring, so he quickly moved backwards a couple of paces, holding his hands up in front of his face defensively.
"I know this sounds weird," he said, "but Peter asked for my help, as Spider-Man. He'd got a tip-off about the Kingpin's plans and he passed it along to me. Spider-Man trusts me, Felicia, so you can too. I promise." Can't tell her I found it out searching for Kaine, he thought. There's no way she'd trust me then. "I have to go help Spider-Man – it sounds like he needs all the help he can get." Felicia stepped forwards and aimed her catspaw at the nearest vantage point.
"I'm coming too," she said. "Spider needs me." The masked man laid a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head.
"You can't. The Hobgoblin's ripping non-powered folks like you to pieces in there. There're people letting off God only knows how much ammo in there and it only takes one stray bullet to –" Felicia rolled her eyes and held up her hand.
"You sound like Spider," she said dismissively. "Look, I don't want to sound rude, but if he couldn't get me to stay away from here, what chance do you have? He's one of my oldest friends and I don't know you from Adam. I'm going, Mr. Mysterious-New-Super-Hero – I owe Peter that much, and I won't abandon him when he needs me. You can try and stop me if you like, but I'll beat you like a dirty throw rug if you do." She grinned. "That ought to show you that us non-powered folk aren't so easy to kill." The black-clad hero shrugged and then let his shoulders sag in defeat.
"All right," he said. "Come on. Peter could use our help."
Ben Urich watched as the Kingpin's agent finished speaking into his headpiece and then pointed his gun right at the center of Urich's head. "Nothin' personal, you understand, Gramps," he said coldly. "Strictly business." He tightened his finger on the trigger of his Uzi, and Ben waited for the searing, tearing pain of the bullets that would end his life, but they never came. Instead, he watched with a mixture of horror and relief as the man was hit in the back by a smoking pumpkin bomb and almost instantly became a charred mess of burning flesh and bone seared black by the heat of the bomb's blast. Ben looked up at the soaring figure of the Hobgoblin, who was still flying in long, lazy arcs around the pier, aiming sporadic sparkle blasts and bombs at the few hoods who were still trying to fight him, and decided that he'd got all the notes he needed. It was a pity that his tape had been destroyed, but he had more than enough scribbled pencil notes to write a story that would, he hoped, bring him a Pulitzer. He looked around briefly for Peter, but he knew that Parker was a smart kid and had probably got himself out of trouble a while ago, having got all the pictures he needed. In any case, as much as he wanted to go looking for his young friend, he knew that it was probably far too dangerous to risk taking even a cursory look-see, especially with the Hobgoblin flying around and so much lead in the air. He quickly made his way away from the pier and into the relative safety of the surrounding streets.
Spidey raised his arm and shot off a thin strand of webbing that arced towards Daredevil's back and snagged a spinning razor-bat. He knew that Daredevil had probably had it pegged thanks to his radar sense, but he thought it was better to be safe rather than bleeding. "I got your back, DD," he said as he quickly dodged a hail of lead that coursed from the muzzles of a group of the Kingpin's thugs. The group of hoods was trying to clear a path for themselves to the open, yawning door of the warehouse, and didn't care who they hit in the process. Bullets sang as they bounced off metal and packing crates alike, filling the air with splinters of steel and wood. Above them, the Hobgoblin laughed his obscene laugh and hurled a few pumpkin bombs their way. As tightly packed as they were, they were unable to move apart in time, and the bomb exploded with a wet splattering sound as shredded meat and shattered bone hit the floor of the pier. Spidey knew that he had to get out of here as soon as he could, and get Ben out of there too, before something similar happened to them. "Daredevil – I need you to go find Ben Urich," he said hurriedly. "He was here with me – I was taking pictures, he was reporting – I can't leave without him." Daredevil nodded imperceptibly and fired his billy club's line off towards a nub of wood that was about thirty feet away.
"I'll be back soon, Peter," he said. "Hold out until then."
Easier said than done, Matt, Spidey thought. The carnage around him was incredible; Fortunato's gang was gone – half of them dead or dying, and the other half wisely deciding that discretion was the better part of valor and high-tailing it out of the harbor as fast as they could go. The Kingpin's gang was more numerous but still in bad shape – not a one of them was unscathed, and not a one of them was not bleeding from some part of their body. One of the remaining Kingpin soldiers raised his bloodied hand and fired a burst of rounds from his Uzi at Spidey and the Hobgoblin, the screech of the weapon almost drowning out Peter's own spider-sense. Spidey leapt into the air, gracefully flipping and twisting so that the Hobgoblin was fully exposed to the inaccurate but still highly deadly cloud of lead. The Goblin laughed and fired a full ten sparkle blasts, melting the slugs in mid-air; all except one of them, which slammed into the nose of the glider and bounced around inside the nose for a while, mashing guidance systems and delicate circuitry with equal ease. The Hobgoblin lost his balance as the glider whined and careened towards the ground suddenly, and slipped out of the bootstraps that usually kept him anchored firmly to the glider's wings. He fell to the ground with a meaty thud, wheezing as the air was driven from his lungs. Spidey took advantage of the Hobgoblin's momentary disorientation to leap closer and slug him across the side of the jaw, knocking the wind out of him even further, but not preventing him from driving his own fist right into Peter's ribs.
"You don't win that easily, freak," he hissed, cuffing Spidey across the face with his other hand and dragging himself back up to a vertical base. "You should have stayed out of this while you had the chance."
"You know I wouldn't miss a chance to do this with my old pal Roderick Kingsley," Spidey retorted. "You must know you're my second favorite psychotic businessman in tights." He paused and shot two thick streams of webbing out to either side of the Hobgoblin's body, gluing his arms to his sides. It wouldn't buy him much time, but he knew that every second it did get him was precious, and so he laid into the Hobgoblin vigorously with both hands, aiming a hard right at Kingsley's body and then a left cross along the other man's masked jaw. Kingsley's eyes glazed over beneath the mask and Spidey thought that he might just have stunned the Hobgoblin enough to take him down for a while. He was about to web the Hobgoblin's mouth shut when a loud crack of what Spidey could have sworn was thunder echoed through the warehouse and a puff of smoke announced the entry of one of Spidey's worst nightmares.
"Jack O' Lantern?" he said, incredulously. "The hits, they just keep on coming..." He braced himself for an attack by the weirdly costumed villain, but it never came. Instead, the man on the circular hovering glider pointed his finger at the pathetic remains of the Kingpin's heroin shipment, and a ball of flame shot out and incinerated the remainder of the drugs.
Turning his blank-eyed head towards Spidey, he said, through the strange mouth that his mask afforded him "Top o' the mornin' to ye, lad. Step away from the Hobgoblin, if you will – he and I have business to do."
"Why should I?" Spidey said.
"Because if ye don't I'll do to ye what I did to that caped idiot Prodigy," he said, his voice becoming more threatening with every passing word. His pumpkin-headed grin began to grow larger and larger, and Peter felt himself sinking into the abyss once again. "No," he said through gritted teeth. "It's not real it's not real it's not real –"
"Ah, but is it all an illusion?" Jack said, his twisted grin arching upwards.
"How did you –"
"A good magician never reveals his tricks, lad. Now let me do my job and we'll both of us be happy, all right?" He floated closer to the trussed-up Hobgoblin. "Let me take this badly-dressed idiot back to the man who paid him, and we can all go our separate ways, hmm?" Peter staggered, his brain still a little confused and disoriented, and he was unable to prevent the Jack O' Lantern from gliding noiselessly over to where the Hobgoblin was lying encased in webbing. He reached down and slung the other villain over his shoulder.
"Let go of me, you meddling fool!" Kingsley snapped. "I had this job sewn up!"
"Of course ye did, Roddy, of course ye did. Which would explain yer boss hirin' me to back you up, wouldn't it?" He floated away from Spidey, Peter's brain still overwhelmed by the riot of information his senses had been fed, and towards the door of the warehouse. He turned when he reached the lip of the doorway, and waved a little goodbye to Spidey. "Thank ye for yer patience, lad. Couldn't've done it without ye." He turned to go, but was stopped by a boot to the side of his pumpkin-head mask, knocking him off his glider. Spidey saw that it was the same black-clad stranger that had helped him alongside Kaine at Osborn's country lodge. Kingsley fell to the ground heavily and managed to tear the webbing free from his body, some scraps of it hanging off his costume here and there, but could not move fast enough to strike at the black-clad hero that had prevented his escape. Spidey shook the confusion out of his skull and leapt towards the three men, and as he did so he saw the shapely form of the Black Cat assaulting the Jack O' Lantern alongside the mystery man. "Help Spider-Man!" the black-clad stranger said to her as Peter approached. The Hobgoblin took advantage of Peter's momentary distraction to land a good, solid blow to the side of his jaw. Peter felt something give that shouldn't have done, and he realized that he was going to feel awful in the morning. If he managed to get there, of course. Felicia cartwheeled to Spidey's side, her lithe, supple body neatly avoiding all of the Hobgoblin's sparkle blasts with only fractions of an inch to spare.
"Hey, Spider," she said in her smoky seductress' voice. "Is that a web in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"
"Do you ever stop?" Spider-Man said, firing off a line of webbing and swinging forwards to meet the Hobgoblin, who had retrieved his stock of bombs from his downed glider.
"No, Spider," Felicia replied as she evaded a singeing sparkle blast from the Hobgoblin's gloves. "But then I could say the same thing about you." She leapt in close to the Hobgoblin and kicked him savagely across the face, sending a trail of Kingsley's blood looping to the floor of the warehouse from his split lips.
"Harlot!" Kingsley snarled. "How dare you do that to me?"
"It's easy, slimeball," Felicia said, flicking the climbing claws out from her hands with a motion of her wrists and swinging them in wicked arcs towards Kingsley's bloodied visage, scoring neat lines across his battered face. "See?"
Spider-Man watched her draw back as he somersaulted closer to the Hobgoblin, who was staggering, clutching at his face. Got to make this count, he thought. Drawing back with his right hand, he gathered his strength in that arm and cuffed the Hobgoblin across the face with every ounce of strength he had. Even pulling his punch, he felt the Hobgoblin's body go instantly limp with the force of the blow and he was afraid that he might have done more than he'd hoped for. A momentary grunt from the Hobgoblin put his fears at rest, and Spidey turned his head to look at his black-clad companion. I can't let that guy fight Jack by himself. "Felicia, we have to help your friend – come on," he said urgently.
"Don't have to tell me twice, Spider," Felicia said, all traces of her former flirty attitude gone from her voice.
"Come now, lad, let's not prolong this any more than we have to," Jack said, as he made a fist around the black-clad hero's body with a massive gloved hand. "Let's just let me and me partner get on our way, and everything will be fine." The black-clad hero shook his head vehemently.
"This… isn't real… I know it can't be..." he said through clenched teeth. Oh, God, I think he's going to break my ribs…
"Ah, but who's the real authority on what's real and what's not here in this place, lad? Mad Jack knows, but no one else. Don't trust what the Spider says – trust yer old pal Jack to tell you what's real and what isn't, all right?"
"No," the stranger said. "I won't trust you."
"Ah, well, that's your mistake, then, lad," Jack said, the mouth of his huge pumpkin head engulfing the anonymous hero like a pit full of tar. "Your mistake." His laughter echoed nastily through his victim's ears, and the man in the trap simply shut his eyes behind his mask, praying for it all to go away. He opened them and found that Jack had regained his usual stature, but sprawled in a corner, stunned. Standing over him was Spider-Man and alongside him, the Black Cat.
"Uh… thanks," he said. "I guess I owe you one now."
"Don't mention it," Spider-Man said. "Let's call that me working on getting even." He looked up and saw that Daredevil was swinging in through the building's open entrance.
"Spider-Man! I couldn't find Ben – either they took him or he got out on his own. I know Ben well enough to know that he'd probably have done the latter. We should, too, if we want to be getting out of here alive."
"Aye, that ye should, lad," Jack said, rising from his prone position and calling his glider towards him.
Daredevil turned to face the oddly clad villain, but as he did so he noticed something that puzzled him immensely. What? Well, who would've thought? With his radar sense, he could tell that the Jack O' Lantern was flying over to where the Hobgoblin was lying prostrate, and was draping the unconscious villain over his shoulders. Then, he heard a fizzling noise and smelt the stink of powder on the air. As he did so he heard the others crying out in shock and pain. "What is it?" he asked urgently. "What happened?"
"Sparkle blast," Spider-Man replied, his voice hoarse with shock. "Can't see – you'll have to stop him for us."
Damn. Quickly unhooking his billy club from his leg, Daredevil found the Jack O' Lantern's heartbeat and threw his club with unerring accuracy towards the back of the villain's body, and had he been able to pinpoint it more quickly, the outcome would never have been in doubt. However, he had been just a fraction too late, and the club fell short. As he sensed the Jack O' Lantern getting away he heard the others finally beginning to regain their sight, their voices indicating their relief at not being permanently blind. He wondered how they would manage if they'd been robbed of their sight as he had, but without the benefits of his radar sense or other heightened senses. He supposed that he ought to be grateful that he would never get the chance to experience that. "Are you three all right now?" he asked, leaning closer to Spider-Man and putting a hand on his friend's back.
"Yeah," Spider-Man replied. "Give me a minute and I should be able to open my eyes without closing them straight away again." Daredevil could hear the relief hanging thick in his friend's voice, and couldn't help but smile at it.
"You should get going, my friend," he said, dropping a gentle hint that he was sure Parker would pick up on as he continued. "I suspect Peter Parker is on his way to the Bugle like Ben. Why don't you join them?" He heard Spider-Man move over to where the Black Cat was standing, her gentle scent of rosebuds and feminine perspiration alerting him to her location. Daredevil followed, but instead, moved himself to where the other hero stood. "Nice to see you again," he said softly to the black-clad stranger, with the faintest of conspiratorial smiles, before firing off his billy club's nylon line and swinging away into the night.
Spider-Man grasped the Black Cat's gloved hand. "Thanks, Felicia," he said, drawing up his mask so that he could kiss her on the cheek gently. Felicia leaned into the kiss, saying, "It was nothing, Spider. It's times like these I wonder why I ever let you go." She grinned as he coughed, embarrassed, and drew back from her slightly, pulling his mask back down over his mouth and wiping away a smudge of Felicia's plum-colored lipstick as he did so. She squeezed his shoulder and whispered, "Give my love to you-know-who, all right? I'll see you later, Spider." With that, she fired off her catspaw and was soon gone too, leaving Spider-Man alone with the mysterious man in black.
"Good to work with you again," Peter said, uncertainly.
"No problem. I enjoyed it," the other man said, clapping Spidey on the shoulder. "I guess I should be leaving too. And you shouldn't be leaving Mary Jane alone this early in the morning either, stud." Beneath his mask, Peter's eyes bulged. The black-clad hero smiled at this. Ah, what fun listening in at their home can lead to…
"Wait – how did you –" Before he could finish his sentence, however, his friend was gone, and he was left alone on the dock. He still felt a little uneasy that someone he hardly knew had been able to tell him the pet name given to him by his wife without looking under his mask, but the guy did have a point. He aimed one of his webshooters at the corner of a building and shot off a thin strand of web. I'm coming home, honey…
The warehouse was still dark, but Mad Jack's light illuminated it a little, the unearthly flame that surrounded his pumpkin-shaped head casting an eerie glow on the surrounding area. The Hobgoblin was sitting in a chair not far away, his mask off and a surly scowl on his face. "I had that job sewn up," he grumbled. "I had that dope burned. But then that wall-crawling idiot Spider-Man had to show up and everything was ruined. Why he was even there I don't know – he usually only bothers with things in Manhattan, and even he can't be everywhere at once. How did he know where to find me?"
"Maybe he tracked your stench, lad?" Mad Jack said finally. "You certainly leave enough hot air to make a trail that even a blind kitten could follow." That got the Hobgoblin out of his seat, his gloves' sparkle blasters crackling.
"Shut up, you… you freak! I've been in this game a lot longer than you have – so don't you presume to tell me how to run my own affairs!" Mad Jack simply folded his arms.
"Who said I was doing that, lad?" he said flatly. "I was only stating the obvious."
Before the Hobgoblin could reply, their mutual employer entered the room through a side door. "Well done," he said. "I commend you for getting the job done. This ought to put a sizeable dent in my competitors' business – you are to be congratulated." He stepped forwards to shake Mad Jack's hand, his masked face finally coming into the light. "You should be flattered. The Rose does not give such praise lightly."