Spider Gwen's Bad Field Trip. Chapter 8.

No Beta reader this time.

I followed the convoy for a few blocks as I tried my best to come up with ways to stop them. There weren't any great options to begin with, given that there were eight cars travelling in a big convoy, all down a fairly busy New York City street, because clearly nobody sleeps in the city.

You see, that made my job of stopping them a lot harder, because while I'm the type of Spider Gwen to punch, kick, pun, and bad pun my way out of trouble, I wasn't going to risk the lives of the rest of New York to do it. I'm here to protect lives, not end them.

But clearly these Underground asshats had no such qualms, which was a problem for me. Short of them having a major traffic accident, I couldn't see a way they wouldn't make it to Chinatown to go after Gary's people and anyone unlucky enough to get in between two armed gangs of Undergrounds.

So, like an idiot, I did the only sensible thing to do. I caused a major traffic accident.

I think I did well, especially considering my plan was to jump on the hood of the first car and try to kick the windshield in before the little convoy could reach any part of New York that was really populated at night.

I even got to see the stunned face of the Underground dude who was driving, but it turns out that my boot, for as heavy as it is, isn't very good at smashing reinforced glass. And oh, to make matters worse, the only success I found was the hapless Underground dude driving himself into a light pole.

And me into the brick wall behind said light pole, followed by the sidewalk when gravity decided I hadn't suffered enough yet.

Ow. That hurt. I'm used to pain and all, doing ballet for more than a decade, but being slammed into a wall hurts a lot more than even dancing with broken feet in pointe shoes, and I thought then I would drop dead right on the practice room floor after three steps.

"Hey!" I shouted like an idiot, staggering back up to my feet and pointing a finger at the Underground guy coming out of his wrecked car. "You could have killed me!"

The other Undergrounds in the crashed car gave me dirty looks, as did the Undergrounds in the cars behind them, their own cars being significantly better shape given they had avoided eating a light pole.

Speaking of said lamp pole, in hindsight I probably should have warned the Undergrounds that it was about to clobber at least half of their convoy, but I'm a villain and New York was going to have to deal with another major traffic jam in the morning.

Not that I was going to be there to see it, given that I webbed a boring looking department store across the street from the crash site and made a nearly graceful escape, minus the part where I kicked an Underground in the face on the way out, but hey, we can't all be perfect little angels, as much as my first ballet teacher insisted we could with a lot of practice, pain, and forced little smiles.

To my dismay, it took all of four seconds for half of the Undergrounds to scramble up and chase me, their rocket boots launching them right after me with far too much purple technicolour. Lazy jerks. Why couldn't I get an easy escape? Couldn't they just stay behind and deal with their car insurance bills?

And, of course, because I had the worst luck in this half of the multiverse, the window pane on the old office building I was trying to land on after fleeing the damn crash site shattered, well before I could even land on it. Why did I happen to fight the only gangsters who could aim properly when flying?

I did my best to look cool, but it was pretty hard to do when it was only wild momentum that carried me through the window, past the shattered glass, through six computers, as many office cubicles, and at least two potted plants before I skidded to an undignified stop as a groaning heap. But I was lucky. The Undergrounds had fared worse, given that three of their dudes had smashed through unbroken windows, and a fourth was sliding down yet another window that had somehow survived impact. Underground 3, windows 1?

Given that I wanted to save my webs for the guy slowly sliding down the glass window, I did the only sensible, if rather underhanded thing, and I went around introducing groins to my new boots.

My first victim never saw me coming, and I kicked him low, even before he could get off his knees. Given the sound of pain that came out of his throat, equal parts physical pain and dignity lost, I suspected that he wasn't going to get up anytime soon, and his friends would have to scrape him off the floor at any rate.

Victim number two wasn't quite as dazed as victim number one, but I still managed to squeeze in a little kick to his bits before he got up, and I got to see his little eyes through the holes in his mask widen, and a low groan escaped him, almost… almost as if he liked it. Needless to say, I was creeped out, and I introduced his chin to my other foot before he could ask for more.

"Don't mind Kevin," I heard the third Underground, this one a girl, chirp. "He's weird like that. Kick him again if you want, we don't mind."

I looked over to the third Underground that had gotten up, now one of eight Undergrounds standing in the room, and the only one to not be pointing a gun at me.

"If you're not going to kick Kevin, then I suppose you'll be cool with us turning you into swiss cheese, Mr… erm, Miss Spider?"

I looked over to the Underground chick, then back at the guns again, then down to Kevin, who I promptly kicked again, enticing another groan that was certainly not of pain.

"One more for the road?" The new speaker was a guy, and he sounded more amused than anything. "It's a pretty short road, so you might as well make it memorable."

I looked down at Kevin, then at my foot, then at the dark spot in Kevin's pants and decided against it. I would only have one chance more to stall for time, and if I leapt behind a cubicle maybe I could-

"Ringringringring, Banana phone! Ringringringring! Banana phone!"

I snapped my head over to the awful ringtone that was playing, as did the other Undergrounds. Bad music, like Pennyback, is never welcome, especially in the hands of gangsters.

"Who is it?" one of the Underground grunts snapped. "And why now?"

If I was in a book, I suspected the answer was plot armour, but I wasn't in a book, so erm… good fortune?

"It's the rich Karen," the Underground girl who encouraged me to kick Kevin snapped.

"What does she want?" The Underground guy sounded confused.

"He," the Underground girl corrected, lowering her gun away from my face. "The weird doctor is the regular Karen. The snarky lawyer guy is the rich one."

"The ninja accountant?" The words blurted out of my mouth and I regretted it as soon as they did, given that I was, once again, staring down seven rifles, with the only one not aimed at me being the girl calling the ninja accountant. "I mean, he's an accountant and he's also really sneaky."

There was a murmuring of agreement amongst the Underground guys and a few chuckles, but no one else lowered their rifles at me. Swing and a miss Gwen, swing and a miss.

"Alright nerds," I heard the Underground girl say, her voice sounding more annoyed than ever. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but rich Karen wants us back at the Tower in ten minutes or less."

"The fuck happened at Fisk Tower?" one of the other Underground dudes complained. "And why us? Don't they have guys there already?"

"Accountant man says that there's been an attack," Underground girl said. "And oh regular Karen has been smashed through a wall."

"Fun," came a third voice, dripping with sarcasm. "Do we still shoot the spider?"

"Hold on," Underground girl said, tapping something on her phone- the speaker option, given that the ninja accountant's voice came through her phone.

"Like I was saying, shooting a spider would cause a drop in our stock prices," the ninja accountant sounded very annoyed, as if he had been explaining to the Undergrounds three times. "Roxxon cannot afford another debacle, especially if a spider is found dead with Underground bullet wounds."

"What if we shoot him- erm, her somewhere else?" An Underground smartass asked.

"Considering that the police are already aware of your… position, I would advise against that course of action." The ninja accountant said. "Now, return, lest I consider your disobedience a reason to cut your paycheque."

"You heard the man," Underground girl grumbled as the line went dead, her head turning from the seven gangsters slowly lowering their guns back to me. "Alright spidey, you get to leave. No following us, unless you want us to fill your ass with lead."

I kinda stood back as I watched them bail out one after another, with four guys pausing to grab the two downed guys on the floor before hopping out the window, out of sight.

It was only then that the idiot that was Gary decided to call me.

"Spider," he hissed into the phone, in a way that made him sound like a snake. "What's going on?"

"Uhh," I said, inching back over to the broken windows and finding the dozen or so Undergrounds hopping over the snow-covered buildings in the distance. "Change of plans?"

"What the hell do you mean change of plans?"

"Look Gary, the Undergrounds got called back by the ninja accountant," I snapped into the phone. "Something happened at Fisk Tower."

"Well that sounds fun," Gary said. "And how did you find out about that?"

"Speakerphone," I chirped cheerfully. "Now, what are you going to do about it? Run over?"

"Fisk Tower is under attack by something?" Miles was speaking now, probably tearing the phone right out of Gary's puny little hands. "We need to go then, right now."

"How far away are you guys?" I asked Miles. "If you're all an hour away then I might as well go-"

"Get yourself captured?" Gary's snarky little voice sneered. "How many times has that happened in the last twelve hours? Three?"

"Gary, I will gladly introduce my boot to your face the next time we meet," I snapped. "Now, pardon me while I go off and be the hero of the hour."

I turned the call off after that, and then to make sure I turned the phone off, and I webbed my way back into the New York chill, waving down at the three police cruisers back down on the street. Poor bastards, I could only imagine the amount of paperwork they would have to go through in the morning.

It took me a few uneventful minutes to make it to Fisk Tower, hopping from building to building and keeping an eye out for other potential Undergrounds, but I couldn't really find any. Even by the time I reached Fisk Tower, there wasn't anything to be seen, mainly because the building seemed to have had its lights punched out.

Spooky. It made me wonder if I was about to become the first victim of a slasher film, you know, the really dumb girl walking into a spooky house with a killer camping the door and being instantly greeted with a knife to the guts.

So I decided to turn my phone back on and call for help. Peter or Gary could take the role of stabbing victim number one, for all I cared.

I tapped the stupid little screen once, then twice, then a few more times. It was a small phone, with a lot of buttons that I didn't know the function of.

Is it embarrassing to realize you have no idea how to turn your phone back on? Of course it is. But at least there was nobody to see me fiddling with the damn thing.

"Your phone isn't going to turn on in this weather," an annoyed, robotic voice said from behind me. "Go inside and get it warmed up, you idiot."

I looked at the little phone, felt foolish for a moment for not realizing the obvious, then felt panic.

How many ninjas were in this version of New York? And why did I happen to meet every last one? And why did they all have to sneak up on me at night? Couldn't one just give me their business card or something?

I did what any reasonable person would have done in that situation. I threw the icy little brick of a phone at the rough direction of the voice and booked it, launching myself to the roof of the closest building in sight and making a run for it.

I made good progress, especially since I didn't even bother to look back at the ninja, and I was safely inside a subway station with a pay phone within ten minutes of running into yet another ninja.

It was then, picking up the receiver to the pay phone, of course, that I realized that I didn't have the number to Miles, Gary, or Peter, because I had yeeted my phone at the ninja when making my escape. Shit.

"Are you going to use that or can I?" A voice, this one that of a tired teenaged girl asked, once again from behind me, and far too close for my liking.

"Sure…" I muttered, stepping aside as I tried to figure out a plan, an idea popping out juuuust as I had stepped aside. "Hey, do you know the number for Rio Morales? The councilwoman?"

"I do," the girl, a skinny teenager who was dressed in a white shirt and pants, far too lightly for the New York winter, replied, her dark eyes darting back to me. "But something tells me you really want to contact Miles, not his mom."

I blinked, scratched my head, and wondered why ordinary teenagers in this world also have the ability to read minds.

"As for your phone," she continued, pulling a little black brick out from her waistband. "Please don't use it as a weapon. It's not very good and I nearly cut it in half."

I laughed nervously at that. Who wouldn't?

And then it hit me. Not a physical blow, of course, head injuries usually leave me sprawled out on the floor, but you get the point.

But…This teenager was the ninja at Fisk Tower. And she had somehow run halfway across town on a frigid winter night in a T-shirt and jeans. Oh that's not good. Forget ninja. I was dealing with a ghost here.

"You're not going to kill me are you?" I asked the ghost-ninja-teen, who looked at me like I had asked for a Big Mack at a Wondy's.

"The last time I tried," she sighed, rubbing her forehead slowly, gingerly. "I almost levelled half of Harlem. I'm not doing that again. Hell, I don't even want to fight any more…"

For a moment, I wondered what the hell the not-ghost was talking about, but then I had the inclination to cross reference every supervillain New York had to offer in an attempt to not look stupid.

But then one came to mind, far above the others… but it couldn't have been right.

After all, Phin Mason had been evaporated by the end of the Roxxon Incident.

Right?

AN: Surprise. Who likes a zombie Phin? Ya boi does.

No beta reader this time. Chocolateowl is busy.

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