Sorry for the delay. Enrollment's been wonky due to corona and I don't have much motivation. Doesn't help that reviews have trickled down, though that's understandable considering the story is dragging and RL circumstances. Hopefully it gets better soon :)
The second part of the prison arc. One more and we can get to the end.
BTW, I put up the finale vote again and it seems like Spider Island is catching up with 26 votes to Devil Breath's 29.
anon3415: I'm using a throwaway cause I don't wanna be found out. Alright, so I need advice. I heard three of my classmates saying they were gonna try summoning a demon in a few days after school. Thought it was nothing but I definitely saw them buying stuff like candles and pentagrams on the mall. What do I do? A year ago I would've left them alone but I saw the Times Square Demon and heard stories about Spider-Man exorcising people and now I'm scared...
reply from Joe B.: First things first GTFO out of that school. Seriously, GTFO! I live in the apartment building where Spider-Man saved that girl and it wasn't pretty. She was crawling on the walls, hissing latin and shit.
reply from OuTLAWon5: Could you tell the school?
reply from anon3415: Worst thing that'll happen is that they get suspended then they can just go back home and do it there. I don't want them delayed, I want them to not summon a fucking demon at all!
reply from Terrabreaker133: So is there like a law against summoning demons? Any cops here who can give advice?
reply from danielson654: Cop here. Last I checked there's no actual law against that, at least not yet. Problem is narrowing it down. Not every person who uses youwebs videos to try and summon ghosts or demons will actually do it. We can't arrest people just for playing with ouija boards. There's thousands of kids doing it cause they don't know any better.
reply from Spinerette: Might not be the right person for this but I've hung around Pete enough to comment. According to him 99% of people who use ouija boards won't actually get possessed. You need to have strong connection to be used as a meatsuit. Most people will, at worst, get some creepy flickering lights.
reply from anon3415: Still, I really don't like this. Even if they get suspended and do it at home one of them could be 'special' and get possessed then the next thing you know the entire classroom's getting hit with poltergeist shit.
reply from Spinerette: Hm...gimme the name of your school in a PM, anon. I'll see if I can do something.
reply from anon3415: OMG thank you thank you!
Prison wasn't that difficult to get used to. Two meals a day, a (cold) shower and an hour of recreation 'outside' every three days. Boring, but in his line of work boring usually meant safe.
It helped that most of the prisoners knew not to tangle with him after the 'show' almost a week ago. Power plays were an everyday part of life in here and taking down Albino - apparently one Alberto DiLorenzo, known by the street name 'Fade' for being able to turn invisible - was enough for most of the other prisoners to give him a wide berth. Now they were sizing him up, trying to see if he was better to be part of their gang or getting shived in the lockers.
"Anything new on Murakami?" Peter asked softly. Murdock sat across from him, neither of them touching the slop on their plates. Processed meat, stale veggies and a stack of beans on the corner. He missed pizza with Gwen. He wondered what the rest of them were doing now. No contact in or out so far and he couldn't exactly ask the warden to make a phone call.
At least the two of them managed to get a table to themselves, thanks mostly to the other inmates giving him a wide berth. He didn't expect it to last long. Fear had a habit of dissipating in places like this if you didn't keep upping your stakes.
"Nothing much. From what I've gathered he's been keeping his head down and hasn't made any trouble. A real model prisoner, that one." Murdock smiled and looked him in the eyes. Even with the new face and contacts to mask his blindness Peter still found it odd to actually look the bastard in the eye, "Incidentally I've heard that Mr. Crest - or Benjamin Poindexter, as he's called now - is in here with us."
"I know..." Peter made a sideways glance to his old friend. He was eating and chatting with one of the other inmates - some poor bastard who had the luck to be colored blue, of all things - and smiling like all was right in the world.
Looking at him now, he hated to admit how much he wasn't different from how he knew him. It would've been easier if the Hand made him unrecognizable; at least then he wouldn't have been killing his friend. But no, they brought him back and the only thing they changed was what he considered acceptable targets. Was he always like that, he wondered, so close to the edge that it'd only take a little nudge for him to start brutalizing teenage girls just to hurt him.
"Your heart rate is picking up pace. I suggest you calm yourself."
"Don't worry about me. I'll deal with him when it's time..." Easier said than done, much as he hated to admit it. Without his powers he had some of Stick's training and the muscle mass he built up from his nighttime escapades. Good enough to carry him through any street brawl or a short gunfight, but fighting someone like Bullseye? He didn't like his chances. Even being a kid again would've been more convenient. Least then he still had his gifts.
"If you're certain. To change the topic, I've heard some rumors. Apparently someone's been hiring out fighters."
"What for?"
"Typical fight club. My guess? Murakami's using it to try and find the best to be used as the Hand's new soldiers. I doubt it's a coincidence that this iteration started not long after his incarceration" He leaned in closer with a grin, "We should get ourselves involved. Even assuming that it's unrelated improving our reputation can only help us."
"You seem like you're acclimating quick..."
"When in Rome." He leaned back and shrugged, "Even if that doesn't interest you the contraband they trade around should be appealing. I've heard that they're even trading in coffee and alcohol." Peter ignored Murdock's knowing look. Ever since he lost his powers coffee and whiskey tasted far better than before. After a week in this place it wasn't an exaggeration to say he'd kill for a cup of black joe.
"...How do we get in?"
"I expect that you'll be invited at some point considering the show you put on a few days prior. I believe you'll only have to wait."
He did get an invitation, but it was for a different kind of club. Peter stripped out of the red, short sleeved (better to avoid prisoners sneaking shivs somewhere) jumpsuit and stepped into the shower room. He kept his underwear on, mostly for the sake of having some kind of privacy. They were already watched 24/7 and he'd take whatever meager alone time he could get.
The shower was cold. Again he found himself missing the hot shower back at Gwen's apartment. It wasn't like he wasn't used to worse - it was nothing compared to baking Middle East foxholes and cold Siberian caves - but he'd gotten more complacent since he got back to the city. He was used to having something (and someone) to come back to at the end of the day.
His spider-sense blared softly. Peter eyed a rotund inmate - one Fred Dukes - whisper something to the guard that he couldn't make out. It was brief, but he definitely saw the guard eye him then chuckle, "Alright, fine, you guys have your fun."His eyes narrowed and he looked around the room as the guard left. It was just Dukes and two other, skinnier inmates left. Everyone else was gone.
And now all three of them were heading straight for him. Perfect.
Dukes came up behind him, "I like your scars, Walters. Where'd you get em?" His spider-sense was loud now, drowning out the sounds of rushing water around them. The two other inmates stood on his left and right with an all too familiar look in their eyes.
"...You picked the wrong target, idiots." He turned around and glared at Dukes, "Turn around or I'm gonna shove something else up there, and I can guarantee you're not gonna like it."
Dukes didn't look deterred at all, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'll have my fun either way."
Peter kicked him in-between his legs. Hard.
The big bastard fell like a sack of bricks. The skinnier inmate to his right grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back, "Hold him still!" The other one with the scars advanced on him. Peter kicked him in the gut then shot back and hit skinny's nose with the back of his head.
Skinny's grip loosened. Peter broke free of the hold, turned around and hit him square in the throat, "I warned you." He elbowed Scars in the jaw and grunted in pain as Dukes suddenly shot up and tackled him to the wall. Felt like he got hit with a truck.
"You shouldn't have done that!" Dukes snarled at up him. Peter sneered back and jabbed both thumbs against his eyes. Dukes screamed and let go of him, giving Peter a chance to knee the tubby bastard in the gut and shove him away.
His back was throbbing painfully and he already saw the two other inmates rising to join their friends, 'Really good time to gimme my powers back, Spider-God,' he thought. They were advancing on him now, more angry than anything. He didn't know if that was good or bad considering what they planned, '...Still nothing, huh? You're not gonna have a pawn much longer if this keeps up.'
Peter ran up the opposite wall then jumped straight for them. They didn't see the sudden attack coming and he punched Dukes right in the jaw as he landed, "What the-" He hit Scars next, tripping him to the floor and stomping on his face right before Skinny threw a punch aimed at his face. He managed to block the hit - thank you, Stick - and headbutted him as he was going for another blow.
It hurt more than he expected.
He was about to kick Dukes again when his spider-sense screamed. His collar activated with a soft ping and he was forced to the ground on his knees, "Back it up!" The guards shouted as they stormed into the room, "All of you back in yours cells now!"
They didn't beat him, but that was the only good thing he could say about the entire thing. They dragged him back to his cell without even a check-in at the infirmary and dumped him inside along with his clothes without another word. No solitary, much to his surprise. He didn't know if it was pity and them knowing he was just defending himself or because they thought solitary would've been too good for someone like him. He couldn't get attacked if he was alone in a room, after all.
This place was hellish, but it was about what he expected. Just a year ago the prison system was a joke. Clowns in costumes busted out every other weekend and no one ever really expected anyone to to ever actually be punished. Now the guards here were beating it into them: they were all ants and none of them were getting out. Cruel, but in a lot of ways effective.
He wasn't too sympathetic. This place was filled with murderers, rapists, human traffickers, terrorists and lawyers; not people you tend to pity.
Right now he was sitting on a bench 'outside' for his allotted hour of sunshine and fresh air...well, a simulated one at least. Peter looked up blankly at the cloudless, baking 'sky'. It was a good facsimile, but that's all it was - a fake. They were still inside, still trapped like rodents while an oversized sunlamp and a pretty picture of clouds allowed them to pretend they could be outside for just an hour.
"Hey." Peter looked up and raised a brow at the person who approached him. An older man, at least in his 50's judging by the white hair and pale, wrinkled skin. He didn't let it sway him. Beware the old man in a profession where men usually died young.
"The fuck do you want?" he sneered.
The old man laughed under his breath, a raspy noise that sounded that more like a wheeze than anything, "You can calm down the rabid dog act. Ain't gonna try and get ya like Dukes did." He walked - limped - closer and sat a small distance away. Peter eyed the cane he held in his right hand. It was a drab green and dirty, a lightweight plastic by the looks of it. Couldn't even snap it in half and use it as a weapon.
"Not looking for friends, old timer."
"Me neither." He leaned forward with both hands holding onto the cane's head. They sat in a tucked away corner that allowed them a decent vantage point of the 'playground' they were in.
Peter already saw the gangs that made up this place. Most of the freaks stuck together, if only because a lone Gifted was an easy target in this hellish playpen. He caught the blue tinted weasel from before hanging out with a pair of guys who had craggy, rocky skin and another that looked like his flesh was barely keeping itself from spontaneously combusting.
He even recognized a few of them. Some of Jack's Lanterns took up their own little corner of the yard and there were a couple of bikers from the Dogs of Hell he busted over a year ago for dismembering a prosecutor and his entire family for putting their boss away.
The other gangs were more of the same. People from the same outfit outside, friends of friends who figured they could cozy up...and a few others that grouped together because they were reasonably sure they wouldn't get shanked while they weren't looking. There were a few outcasts like him, but he could count those on one hand. Places like this you needed as much bodies as you could put between you and everyone else.
Which made the old man stick out even more.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" the old man rasped. Peter didn't say anything, "Strip a man down to his basest level and you see the animals they truly are. Most of them have all but given up the thought of ever being outside, content to just squabble amongst themselves for whatever scraps they could gnaw on." Peter rolled his eyes. Why did so many people nowadays try to act so profound and above it all?
"They're the size of ants trapped in a dollhouse. If they did still think they could get out they've got brain damage." Damn, he needed a smoke. Or a shot of something hard and bitter, "Don't act like you're any better. My guess is you ain't exactly leavin' any time soon, old timer."
That was something he only thought about rarely. Gwen and a lot of the other heroes were content to drop the bad guys in jail and let the courts sort them out. A life sentence was just that - life. Second you were in these walls you'd eat the same food, wear the same clothes and stare at the same walls till you croaked your last. No family, and the only friends you'd have were the shields you used.
Killing them outside seemed almost merciful. Least then they'd breath their last free instead of trapped in a concrete coffin. He'd prefer that to rotting in some prison.
It was gruesome, in a way. He'd been through enough funerals to know how painful it was when no one showed. Martin, Urich, Bullseye...dying with maybe two people who really cared that you were actually gone with everyone else showing up for the sake of appearance. That was what waited for most of them. When Murdock died, when Punisher died, when Bullseye died (again)...there'd be no one there to give a final farewell. They'd cut off and hurt anyone who might have cared.
Just a year ago he thought the same would happen to him.
"Maybe." He coughed and Peter saw flecks of blood at his fingers before he wiped them away, "But some of us got livin' to do."
"You call being here living?"
"You're right. Surviving seems more appropriate." Another wheezing laugh, "But what's the difference, huh? We're all living on borrowed time. Time bandit gets all of us in the end."
"...What do you want? I doubt you came here to discuss philosophy with a hired killer. If you're asking me to shiv someone for you then you better have something to make it worthwhile." He wouldn't kill anyone for some wannabe kingpin, but a shiv on its own was worth its weight in gold here. He'd definitely feel a whole lot better having something sharp in his hands.
"Eager, aren't you? No, nothing like that. People heard about your 'disagreement' with Dukes and his cronies in the showers and now they're interested. You're a scrapper, and Hammerhead's looking for those." Peter raised a brow. Hammerhead? He knew he was in here -Cin and Summers were really thorough - so he shouldn't have been surprised he was involved. Guys like Hammerhead were ticks. They latched on to whatever they could get.
"And what are you supposed to be? The messenger?"
"Yes, so don't shoot me." His smile was crooked. Unnatural, like his face wasn't used to making that kind of expression, "You're free to accept or refuse, but my advice? Use it to get closer. It can only help you in your goal."
Peter pursed his lips, "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"The reason Spider-Man is willing to trap himself in such a prison." Peter didn't react. He didn't scream, gasp or look like he'd been punched in the face. Instead his eyes narrowed by the barest amount and his grip on the side of the bench became tight.
"...How much do you know?" No point in denying it. If the old bastard knew then he was either part of the Hand or, much less likely, someone else Page sent. Neither really appealed to him.
"Not as much as you'd think." He coughed and sat up straighter, "Got the tingle at the back of my head when you got to this place." Spider-sense. His most consistent gift tended to be finicky. Not like Gwen's where it just didn't work half the time but it seemed selective on warning him about other Spiders. Sometimes he got small blares when they were near but it never wanted to warn him if they decided to punch him in the jaw.
"Never seen you before."
"You wouldn't. I've spent the past 30 years in this place," he said, "I was an acquaintance of the previous Madame Web, the one who didn't go on picking fights with demons. Though I hear that she's really growing into the role."
"You're a stranger then." Meaning he couldn't trust him.
"If you're worried about whether I'll expose your identity, don't. Not only do I lack any sort of proof I don't see how it'll help me. Being in debt to a crippled mob boss the size of an ant is hardly appealing and none of the guards would exactly be keen to reward me. I just thought it was appropriate to make my presence known to another Hunter. It's been decades since I saw another."
"I'm gonna have to disappoint you, then. I'm not too keen on the hunter, secret society thing you guys have going."
"Yes, you and Spider-Woman both, I assume." He chuckled wryly, "It is such an irony. To think that the chosen of Anansi would be so cut off from those who worship him. Ah, but in that way we're similar. I'm an outcast myself."
"Good for you." Peter wasn't in the best mood. Dealing with Teresa's side always brought out the worst in him, even if he was good at it. Demons, ghosts, vampires, immortal ninjas...he missed the days when all he had to worry about was a mook in a suit with more greed than sense, "Look, just stay the hell out of my way. I'm not here for you and you're not here for me. I've got my own things to worry about."
"Of course." He chuckled one last time and stood, "But before I go, a proper introduction is in order. You may call me Ezekiel. And you?"
"Don't act like you don't already know." Jack made damn sure every person in the city knew who he was, "Thanks for the message, but if it's all the same to you I don't wanna talk again."
Before he could say anything Peter stood up and made his way elsewhere to wait out the rest of their 'outside' time. The side of Peter's mouth twitched. Ezekiel. He hadn't heard the name from Teresa but Cindy told him all about her world's version. If they were in any way similar then he definitely couldn't trust him.
Spinerette: Alright so a bunch of people have been real entitled lately, expecting things and favors from the Avengers, and I feel like I should do a PSA.
1. Your taxes do not pay our salary. People keep telling us this and it's getting tiring. The Avengers are a U.N affiliated group (seriously, it's right there in the website) and we get our funding from Wasp and Tony Stark. Just about all of the merch money goes to various charities so don't even try that.
2. The Avengers are officially tasked with intervening in specific conflicts that fall under certain jurisdictions. This does not include us all appearing for your kid's birthday party. If your kid really does have cancer then I'm sorry, but we're not required and if we have other things to do you can't expect us to drop everything to play mascot.
3. You are not entitled to dates, web rides, free concert tickets or whatever else because you liked all of our headbook pages and buy a bunch of our merch. If I'm not busy I sometimes give kids rides, but that's it.
4. You cannot 'rate' our performances. If you have a legitimate complaint then you can file it at the Avengers law offices here but 'Spider-Woman didn't give me a ride!' or 'Hawkeye refused to go on a date with me!' are not legitimate complaints. We're heroes, not taxi drivers and escorts.
5. We are not a police force. If you see something like a drug deal or a theft in your neighborhood please contact your closest 911 operator rather than us. We understand these are actual crimes but there are only 6 of us and we can't be on call for every single things.
6. This rule only applies for Spider-Woman. No, you cannot ask her to unmask. I unmasked because I wanted to but there's a very clear stipulation in the Avengers roster that members only have to be identified to other Avengers and certain individuals.
reply from Omakanerd: And let the floodgates open...
reply from Saintess: This all still seems suspect and unfair. I asked Spinerette when she was swinging overhead to just pop in for my son's party. Wouldn't have taken five minutes and it would've made his day.
reply from baconcatdog: Yeah. Like how hard would it have been to say hi?
reply from Spinerette: The last time I got asked personally I was busy. With what, you ask? Oh I was trying to save a kid who got kidnapped. So tell me, why does your kid having a better party more important than a kid getting back home to his parent?
reply from Saintess: Well you didn't have to be so rude! And it was just five minutes! It wouldn't have killed you!
reply from Spinerette: No, you're right. Next time the police or the fire dept gotta go somewhere I'll stop them for five minutes to say hi to my kid. I mean that crime in progress or that raging fire can just wait, right? What I need is much more important.
reply from Omakanerd: Lol.
reply from Kill Frag: Burned.
reply from Saintess: Egotistical *&^*! Blocked!
Being in prison was an odd experience, Echo mused. Odd yet also familiar. The similar uniforms, the way they were treated more as numbers than individuals; it all reminded her of her time training under the Hand. The main difference she noticed was the gender segregation. The Hand cared not for your sex, only how useful you were. Some women were handed off to be breeding stock if they proved too weak or too injured to be combatants, but the same could be said of the men who became breeding studs instead. Fresh blood was a commodity that couldn't be replaced.
Which brought her here.
Her own gender was a benefit now. The Hand came to this prison to bolster their ranks and that included women. The rest of the group - Defenders, the city called them, though none of them aside from Daredevil in jest referred to themselves as such - were in another part of the prison entirely. If she saw anyone the Hand attempted to recruit then her task was to keep them imprisoned and, failing that, ensure the Hand couldn't use them.
Echo carefully observed the rest of the inmates in the feeding hall. She hadn't said a word since she arrived a week prior and it hadn't taken long for the rest of the prisoners to understand she was incapable - or unwilling - of speech. It suited her fine. A few of the other prisoners were wary at first, but as soon as they realized she couldn't expose their secrets they treated her as nothing more than a mild curiosity to ignore.
Most of the prisoners here fit with the intelligence they were given. Murderers, terrorists, kidnappers. All things she could be accurately described being as well given her long history with the Hand. It allowed her a unique insight into who would be prioritized for recruitment.
The one that drew her attention was one in particular. A woman, always with a cocky smile on her face despite the circumstances she found herself in. Karla Sofen, better known by the name Moonstone. She was defeated by Spider-Woman and a few others a year prior and had been imprisoned ever since.
Her mindset and physicality would've been appealing to the Hand. She was powerful, well above the other prisoners, and she had a mercenary attitude to match. If the Hand found a way to release her from her confinement then they would gain her services in turn. She had to ensure that wouldn't happen. The loss of the Black Sky made the Hand desperate enough.
But how to do so?
She'd been trained to kill and it was second instinct for her to plan how to do so as soon as she entered a room. Which ones to kill first, who would prove troublesome to incapacitate and anything she could use to accomplish her task. Her imprisonment limited her options. The utensils were made of a lightweight plastic, not even good enough to create a makeshift weapon, and the collars ensured compliance. As soon as she made to attack someone she would be restrained.
Echo didn't let it get to her. She had done more with less in the past and would continue to do so as she drew breath.
She finished her meal and awaited the time till she returned to her cell. The imprisonment brought out some of her old habits. Back in the Hand's facilities her time was rigidly scheduled - a rigid 4 hours of sleep, a breakfast meant to ensure her nutrition then training and sparring the rest of the day till it started all over again. At times she went on missions, but those were always when she was watched over by another to ensure compliance.
Except for that one...
"Hey, move it, mute." One of the guards shoved her roughly into the hall. Echo didn't look back in her direction and trudged back to her cell. So far she hadn't seen much in the way of recruitment apart from the blonde woman. It was obvious. While she always held a smug sense of superiority it had been amplified the past few days after another prisoner whispered something she couldn't make out. An offer from the Hand presumably.
She returned to her cell and the door behind her with a light hiss. Echo removed her boots and shifted into a meditative position on the bed. Some of the other prisoners mocked her at first, throwing jeers her way for her 'meditation bullshit' and other such crude names, but like the rest of their insults it eventually passed when they saw she never reacted to them. She would've been a poor assassin if she let words bother her.
The light shut overhead. Echo took a deep breath and let her thoughts drift elsewhere. Here in the cell she was incapable of doing her task so there was little need for such rigid attention.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
Echo didn't open her eyes or show any reaction that she heard the voice. Because he wasn't there. She wasn't sure if it was a deficiency unique to her or all previous Black Skies shared such an affliction. At times, even when the thought was nothing more than an errant stray, she would receive visual and auditory hallucinations. She never told anyone else. The Hand would've purged her mind once more.
Perhaps it was a side-effect of her thoughts about her daughter.
She took another deep breath. Dwelling served nothing, that had been instilled in her for years now, and yet even now a part of her continued to reminisce of...'happier times'. Of the mission that she failed, of her handler falling as well and herself being left for dead. She would have - should have - died there, but the ingrained instinct to survive bade her to crawl away and search for aid till she became too weak.
That was when he found her. Amistad Penalba, a man who lived on the outskirts of town. He could have left her to die. She was covered in wounds, yes, but the weapon she clutched in her hand should've warned him away.
"You should come back inside. It's freezing out here."
Instead he nursed her back to health. She remembered her first action upon waking: grabbing her sword and placing it right against his neck. He'd calmed her down, assured her that nothing and no one was going to hurt her and that he was only there to help. She had ignored every instinct she had to cut his throat and leave.
So she stayed. She never talked, but he didn't seem to mind. It was...different, being with him. There was no training, no rigidly enforced schedule. For those first couple of months she recovered from her wounds and after that...
"Hey, is something wrong?"
It was odd, being with him. Truly odd. She had no reference to draw from. Sometimes the Hand sent assassins undercover to gain trust before killing their targets - a honey trap, to use Bakuto's words. Not her. She was a weapon, nothing more and nothing less.
The Hand thought she was dead. It wasn't an odd assumption to make - her handler had died and his body had been disposed off by vultures, so it was fair to guess that she had shared his fate. She had a new lease on life, uncertain as it was, and despite her expectation Amistad hadn't thrown her out. He was a bit of an outcast by his own definition, staying at the edge of town and living day to day as a repairman. The town knew and valued him, but he didn't have friends.
She supposed that was why she stayed. She was an outcast as well, an assassin presumed dead and with no master to follow. And Amistad's acceptance of her was an unexpected boon. She had no doubt she could sell her services elsewhere or survive via theft or other such means, but his unsaid offer drew her in.
She didn't know if it was love, gratitude or something else, but it only took months for them to join together and for that union to bear fruit. Aracely. He was the one who chose the name. He said it was the name of his grandmother, the woman who cared for him when he'd been abandoned by his own parents. She didn't refuse. The Hand referred to her by many titles - Black Sky, Assassin, Disciple - but never a proper name.
"Maya?"
It wasn't her name. He called her that out of convenience, because a woman with no name accompanying him to town would have drawn attention. She accepted. It felt different, having a name.
But she became careless. Shortly after Aracely's birth Amistad insisted they take her to a festival the town was doing. She'd been reluctant at first, to which he teased for for being an 'overprotective mom'. He was always like that, so quick to try and bring a smile to her face. It worked, at times. The last time she'd smiled was when she'd been with them.
It was after that when the Hand realized she was alive. Someone had taken a picture and she'd been present. The internet wasn't as prevalent 16 years ago as it was now but the Hand had their methods. Even a single glimpse of her face was enough for them - for Bakuto - to track her down and soon enough they gave her the first orders she'd received in over two years.
Kill Amistad and return to the fold.
She should have fought, should have refused their orders, but the years of slavery - for that was what it truly was - and brainwashing had numbed her. And so she waited outside, certain that he would come to check on her.
"Maya...why did you...?"
That was when she ended his life. She would never forget the look of betrayal in his eyes as he died, the feeling of his blood on her fingers as she drove the knife in deep. She did her best to make it quick. Bakuto had been watching to ensure she followed his orders.
She made sure to call the police before leaving. She couldn't take Aracely with her, but she could ensure she would taken to an orphanage. It did nothing to make up for what she'd done, but at least now she had a chance to live without the Hand interfering in her life.
Until they came for her anyway 15 years later and something inside Echo snapped.
Her hold on her right knee tightened by the barest amount. They didn't know of their relation, and even if they did she doubted they cared. To them you were only as valuable as you were useful, and her abilities were very useful. Echo didn't know if it was something from her bloodline, Amistad's or sheer luck like so many who gained powers in this world. Her own status as the Black Sky was chance, after all.
The others were aware of their relation. Daredevil was content to poke fun while Spider-Man kept his thoughts on it to himself. Moon Knight understood her reluctance to reveal their connection to her, which she appreciated. Daniel was...difficult. He continually insisted that she try to become a family, as if 15 years of abandonment could be so easily rectified.
Perhaps it was due to his own circumstances - being orphaned at a young age as well and craving parents - or perhaps it was gratitude for her saving him during Arcade's torturous game. She didn't understand why he focused on it so much. Saving him was the pragmatic choice. She could survive the fall given her abilities whereas he was at risk due to the drugs disrupting his chi capabilities. It was an easy choice to make.
The way he acted was annoying. And reminded her of Amistad too much for her liking.
It wouldn't work. Even if she hadn't murdered her father 15 years of abandonment weren't simply repaired with such ease. Better she put it from her mind.
The time passed in a blur as she continued to meditate. Outside of their designated feeding times and showers most prisoners spent all their time in the cells. Suited her fine. Until she could find a way to deal with Moonstone she saw no purpose in interacting with the other prisoners.
And so she stayed until the alarm suddenly blared overhead. Echo opened her eyes and looked up blankly as the door to her cell suddenly opened, "..." She put her shoes on slowly and watched as all of the prisoners rushed out of their now-unlocked cells and began to attack the guards in earnest. A riot? Likely organized by the Hand. It was a risky undertaking, but she supposed using the other prisoners as distraction and cover made sense.
She was about to step out of her cell when three inmates suddenly stepped in. Echo raised a brow when the one in front, a muscled woman with dark skin, grinned and raised a shiv, "You're Ava, ain't you?" Ava Strauss, her fake name. Echo didn't react and just stared at her through half-lidded eyes, "Sorry to say, but we got told that if we wanna ride outta here then you gotta go."
Echo surged ahead and hit the woman in the throat before she could react. The other two stepped back, both shocked, and she used it as a chance to grab the falling shiv. Echo slashed the woman's throat then stabbed her in the gut, "Shit-" One of the two screamed. Echo pinned the one to the left against the wall and stabbed her three times in the stomach then once through her jaw.
The last one tried to hit the back of her head. Echo ducked, swept her leg to knock her to the floor then stabbed the makeshift weapon to her forehead. Echo pulled the shiv back, ignoring the slight spurt of blood and stood up properly, "..." She looked down at the bloodstained weapon. Crude, but it would do. From what she'd gathered Moonstone was difficult to injure with blunt force trauma but blades and bullets worked just fine.
She looked down at the prisoners again. They were told to kill her specifically, so she could only assume that the Hand knew they were here. She had to stop this before they escaped with their new recruits.
DeusDraconis: So Spider-Man's from like the 30's right? Does that mean he's...you know?
reply from Crimson Tiger: What? Old?
reply from DeusDraconis: No like...racist or sexist or something. Back then it wasn't exactly equal.
reply from Kurai Akuma: I dunno. I don't see him saying anything racist and he seems to get along really well with Spinerette, Spider-Woman and Striker. Then again he did kill a lot of ninjas...
reply from nicobunmo: Ninjas led by a white guy lol.
reply from DeusDraconis: But what about other sexualities? Back then people didn't even know anything but straight and gay, and gays weren't treated well.
reply from nicobunmo: Spider-Woman is bi and they get along great, right?
reply from Dark Spider: I really don't care. Don't care where you came from, don't care who or what you wanna sleep with or if you identify as an attack helicopter. As long as you're not hurting anyone else and don't bother me with it you can do whatever the hell you want.
reply from DeusDraconis: 'Bother you with it'? Are you saying that people of alternate lifestyles bother you? Cause that's what I'm getting here.
reply from nicbunmo: Oh boy here we go...
Spinerette sent a private message to StrikerNotBombshell:
Spinerette: Why did you answer that with Pete's account?
reply from StrikerNotBombshell: He gave me his account pswd and told me to handle the online stuff while he was in the slammer. Seemed like how he'd answer it, yeah?
reply from Spinerette: Last I checked he didn't know about the attack helicopter meme.
reply from StrikerNotBombshell: Eh, close enough. Those triggered assholes would've been offended no matter what I said. Besides he doesn't give a shit. He doesn't care about this social media shit.
reply from Spinerette: I don't think he's gonna be happy when he comes back...
Peter knocked the goon down to the floor and stomped his face in.
"Is that all you've got?!" he shouted. Ezekiel was right. The day after their little chat the blue skinned criminal - Jazz, he called himself - sent a message from Hammerhead. An...audition, so to speak. Go through some of the the mooks at the bottom of the rung and he could start earning some favors. The price for this little brawl? A single cigarette with promises of more.
It was more than worth it.
Peter kicked the twitching bastard - a guy who murdered his entire family then left the heads dangling somewhere - one last time and trudged to the side with his one coffin nail. He wasn't the only one fighting. The Hand cast a wide net and people were all too desperate to fight for what little creature comforts Hammerhead offered. Coffin nails, whiskey, coffee, chocolate...anything to remind them there was more than just these walls. That they were still human.
He took a long drag and eyed Hammerhead nearby. He still remembered his threats from a year ago. All those promises of getting out of prison in a day and seeking bloody revenge on him and Gabriel. And look at him now. Still stuck in prison and confined to a wheelchair cause of what he did. Some people might have felt guilty crippling a man for life, but Peter thought he got off easy considering everything he did.
Peter closed his eyes and hummed. The cigarette felt like heaven after a week of prison food. He eyed the bottle of whiskey stashed nearby. A part of him was tempted to risk nabbing it when they weren't looking. Maybe Gwen was right about him needing help...
The fights came and went. Anyone who lost was tossed aside without a care while the rest of the prisoners placed bets on whatever they had. According to what he overheard the warden didn't know what happened down here. Hammerhead bribed a select few guards and in exchange he gave them a cut of whatever he made. Sometimes the guards themselves came down to make their own bets, but they were absent now.
"Alright, ya mooks! Last one!" Hammerhead screamed. He definitely looked worse off than when he saw him last. Apart from the wheelchair his bulky physique was gone, replaced by a thinner, much less intimidating figure. The only thing left of the Hammerhead he fought a year ago was that messed up dome of his.
Peter was going to cut in again - could always use another smoke - when someone else stepped up, "I'll take this one." Bullseye grinned and cracked his knuckles. Peter bit back a scowl. He noticed him before, but he did his best to ignore him. Apart from Ezekiel no one else but the rest of their little group knew who they were and the last thing he needed was drawing any more attention.
Him fighting was a surprise, though. Peter assumed the Hand brought him here to support Murakami and yet here he was.
Unlike him and the others he made no attempt to disguise his face. A few of the prisoners whispered, probably recognizing him, and one in particular stepped forward, "You are Bullseye, yes?" Vodkalky - Rhino to the rest of the city - looked down at him with a malicious grin. Unlike Hammerhead he was walking fine and he was sure the Hand wanted him too. Guess those powers really helped out, "The one who is the friends with Spider-Man?"
"Ex-friends, blue guy. We had a bit of a difference of opinion." The bald man's eyes flickered over to where Peter sat. Just a coincidence, had to be, "If you're thinking about the whole revenge thing I wouldn't try it. He hates me right now."
"Heh, I am not believing you." He cracked his hands, "We fight."
"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you."
It was pitifully short. Bullseye ducked back to avoid his clumsy swipes and, after a quick flip back, pulled something from the inside of his jumpsuit, which Peter realized after a quick glance were the cut-off prongs from one of the plastic fork.
Then he tossed them straight at Vodkakly's eyes.
Against all known laws of physics, the little bits of plastic punched clean through both sockets. Vodkalky screamed, stumbling back with both hands covering is bleeding face. Bullseye whistled a jaunty tune and, after a quick skip forward, suddenly lashed out and kicked the blue skinned mutant in his right knee. Peter heard the impact all the way from his own spot and watched as Vodkalky fell to the ground with his leg bent forward at an unnatural angle.
He raised his left hand up desperately, "W-Wait-"
"Nope." Bullseye stomped down on his other leg just as hard. A few of the prisoners winced in sympathy but far more were already cheering or exchanging their contraband. Bullseye stepped back and put a hand on his chin as he admired his handiwork, "Hmm...not my best work, but I'd say it's at least a six out of ten." He turned to Peter, "What about you? What do you think?"
"...Five out of ten," he muttered.
"Really? Man, you're harsh." He shrugged and walked back to the crowd.
"Alright, ya mooks, that's enough!" Hammerhead screamed, "Show's over! Back to your cells, and remember: any of ya wiseguys say anythin' and you know what'll happen."
"Hmm..." Peter finished off the last of his cigarette and stomped what was left underfoot. Going from what he gathered he and the rest of the winners would get a message later tonight. If they wanted out they'd just have to nod in the affirmative. Easy enough, he thought. Once he got his invite he'd find a way to get a message to the rest of the group on where they were gathering.
He was almost to his cell when one of the guards suddenly called him, "Hey, Walters. Warden said he wanted you at the clinic."
"...Why?"
He slapped cuffs on his hand, "Don't ask questions. Just follow me and keep your mouth shut."
So he did. Peter kept his face passive and ignored the rough shove of the Goliath of a guard as soon as they were outside. The orderly, a Black man who looked to be in his 40's with a nametag that said 'Woods', greeted him warmly, "Hey there. Sorry about this, just needed to do a check in. Found something odd in your file." Well, he was friendly. That and the same size as him, though that was more for practicality. Hard to do stuff like blood tests or sewing skin when you were twice the size of your patient.
"Just get it done."
He sat on the nearby chair and looked down at his cuffed hands. What the hell was going on? The files should've been foolproof, "Tch..." He looked up at the lazily moving camera on the corner here they were being watched, "...How's it going there, doc?"
Spider-sense.
Peter stood and ducked back. The orderly suddenly lunged at him, right hand raised with a syringe. The needle stabbed against the hard cushion and Peter kneed him in the face. The syringe cluttered to the ground and Peter kicked him in the chest, "Working for the Hand or someone else?" He didn't say anything and just lunged at him again.
Peter rolled under the wide blow and kicked him in the back. The older man hit the wall and Peter grabbed him by the back of his neck before slamming him facefirst into it. Another hit, this time a back elbow. Peter blocked it and smashed his head against the wall two more times before slamming him on the ground. A final stomp to his face knocked him out.
"Shit..." He made his way to the door and tried the door. Locked. Something was wrong. The guard should have heard what happened and rushed in already, "They planned this." He smashed his bound hands against the door in frustration and and stepped back. Had to be a way to get out of here.
There was a paperclip on the desk. It took some work but eventually he managed to unlock the cuffs, "Now how do I get out of here..." The door didn't have a knob. It was a electronic, like most everything else here. He supposed it was a lucky thing vibranium cuffs still used lock and key.
The sudden ringing of a cellphone reached his ears. Peter knelt down next to the unconscious orderly and pulled the phone out of his pocket. He took a deep breath and answered the call.
"Spider-Man."
"Gao..." Should've known. She had her hands in every pot.
"It is you. I had my doubts at first, but your reflexes are second to none." Peter turned around and glared at the camera. It wasn't moving now and stood frozen, looking directly at him, "Oh yes, it was quite a show."
"What were you planning to do? Just kill me with an injection? Seems sloppy."
"No. I would've taken you, tried to understand how your patron empowers you. Killing you was a last resort. It opens the risk of your benefactor making another pawn. Ah, but perhaps they wouldn't come after us."
"You're scared. I can hear it."
"Not scared, more curious. I wonder, why do you insist on conflict with us? Matthew attacked you, I understand that. We did not support the Beast straying and patiently awaited a victor without interfering. We would've been content to leave you be but you insisted on starting a conflict that had no reason to pass. You cost us our wayward patron and we would've let you go. But now you're here, following Murakami even to prison and allying yourself with our prodigal student Matthew. Why?"
"Let me guess. This is the part where you tell me me this doesn't have to end this way. That we can still end things if I just walk away."
"No. You were a foolish child and you've cost us dearly. Alexandra, our bases in Japan and elsewhere, all the men you've killed. The time for a ceasefire has long passed. I'm merely curious on why you started this. You have no stake in this conflict. You are not a member of the Chaste. Our activities never harmed you."
"You think that's enough? Just cause you were doing horrible things out of sight I wouldn't care? Did you forget? I'm Spider-Man, and I clean up trash like you."
"Ha, so brash and egotistical even now. Fine then, let's see how long that lasts now that everyone in this prison knows who you are."
The call cut out. His spider-sense blared just before the door unlocked and he heard the alarms screaming overhead, "...Fine. Hope you enjoy the show." He sneered up at the camera and tossed the phone up at it, cracking the lens. Always hiding behind screens and proxies. At least Murakami got his hands dirty.
He stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. His spider-sense was louder now. Danger on the other side, 'Tell me something I don't know...' The door opened with a soft noise and he saw an inmate straight across from him with a manic grin on his face. It was one of the Lanterns he put away over a year ago, 'Hm...' Two more to his left. At least the right was a dead end.
The one in front charged towards him. Peter dodged the punch and hit him with a quick right hook before slamming the side of his head on the corner wall. His spider-sense rang and he let go to just barely manage a block from one of the two to his left.
Peter punched him in the throat and grabbed the other one's right arm then slammed him to the floor. He only managed two hits before his spider-sense blared again and the first inmate grabbed him by the shoulder, "Pin him to the wall!" A fist impacted against the side of Peter's face. His vision swam from the force of the hit and before he could fight back the second inmate grabbed his other shoulder while the third stood up with demented grin.
"Hold him still!" The third one pulled out a shiv and stabbed right for his face. Peter ducked the blow, the shiv scraping the wall right above his head, and kicked him right between the legs. He stomped on the inmate holding his right shoulder and managed to shove him away when the second one hit him twice . Once on his left cheek and the other on the back of the head.
Peter grabbed the back of his legs and, with a quick heave, they were both on the floor. Peter ignored the breath being knocked out of throat from the impact and tried to grab for the shiv, "Fuck you!" The second inmate grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back. Peter punched him in the face three times and tried to grab for the makeshift knife again when the third inmate stood up shakily and accidentally kicked it away.
Peter stood up only to take another blow at the right side of his face and a knee to the gut. Peter spat out bits of his non-existent lunch and, as the the inmate pinned him to the wall and the others started to recover, desperately reached for the shiv again.
Peter's next hit didn't quite hit him in the legs, but it was enough to loosen the inmate's grip. Peter fell and scrambled for the weapon, "Don't let him-" The third inmate grabbed at his back and was too slow to to notice the shiv in his hands. His next wears were a deafening scream as Peter slashed the knife across his face another, shorter yell when he jammed it in his forehead.
The first inmate screamed and tackled him to the wall. The impact knocked him senseless and he was on his knees when the second inmate ran and kicked the left side of his head. He started hitting him again, punching at whatever he could reach while the first inmate kicked at him. Peter grit his teeth and cursed himself for even attending Hammerhead's little fight club. Without his powers he could feel tired and the injuries weren't just healed overnight.
Peter grit his teeth and tackled the first inmate to the wall in return. The second one got a backwards kick to the stomach and stumbled back next to the dead body of his fellow Lantern, "Go to hell!" Peter screamed, all patience lost. He punched him in the face almost half a dozen times before he dragged him through the door back to the clinic. They fought on the floor before Peter saw the discard syringe lying on the floor.
He grabbed it and stabbed the Lantern right at the side of the neck. He kept pushing till the needle was all the way in then shoved him. The inmate trashed around and tried to reach for the needle when Peter stomped him the throat twice. He stopped moving after that.
The last inmate charged into the room. Peter barely dodged his enraged tackle and the Lantern crashed against the old chair. Peter grabbed him by the back of his jumpsuit and tossed him across the patient bed at the center of the room. Peter looked around briefly and spotted the stethoscope still hanging on the orderly's neck. That'd work.
He unfurled the stethoscope and wrapped it around the face-down Latnern's neck. He choked and struggled, hands desperately reaching back to knock him away. Peter grit his teeth and placed his knee at his back to keep him pinned to the floor.
It wasn't long afterwards that his struggle grew weaker. Peter kept the length wrapped around his neck for another 30 seconds before he stumbled back and sat against the wall. He panted and winced, trying to ignore the parts of his body that throbbed from their hits, "Damn it..." He stood up and glared one last time at the cracked camera. Gao must've been laughing her head off.
He stumbled outside and, after only a little hesitation, grabbed the impaled shiv. He wiped the excess blood away on his pants and kept it close. The makeshift blade was small, more a switchblade than a knife, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He had to be careful here. Dukes and his cronies were easy cause they were reckless, so sure that he'd be intimidated that all they'd have to do was bend him over. This was a sobering reminder of how vulnerable he was without the Spider-God's gifts.
He heard the signs of the riot nearby and cursed. How the hell did they pull this off? Every inmate was collared and even if they weren't there were normal sized people outside. This shouldn't be possible.
He stopped at the corner of the hall when he spotted the lone prisoner rifling through the pockets of a dead guard. Judging by the bodies of the other inmates around him the guy didn't go out without a fight. Then again, he thought, it must've been easy when he was twice everyone's size.
Sadly numbers always won out in the end.
Peter grabbed the inmate and, before he could react, slashed his throat then stabbed him in the gut. It was the way Stick taught him - a slash or a stab to the throat to keep them from screaming and stab in the gut to make them bleed out. They were dead in seconds.
Footsteps coming. Peter scowled and, seeing no other option, ducked into the nearby cell. This one didn't have the clear, bulletproof glass of the other rooms. Must've been solitary.
Peter shut the door and kept quiet. The room was dark, blindingly so. Without his powers he barely saw anything. At the center of the room was an upright cage that looked more like an iron maiden than anything fit for human habitation, "What the hell...?" He stepped closer, knife gripped tightly. The footsteps outside passed by. He was about to turn around and forget the whole thing when he heard laughter.
Rough, raspy laughter that felt like sandpaper against his skin. And all too familiar.
"Peter..." He stepped back and the voice came again from the contraption, "I know you're there, Peter! I can't see and I can only hear out of one ear but I'll never forget you. Your voiced, the way you walk...there's no mistaking it. You're there, aren't you?"
He should've kept his mouth shut, should've just walked away and risked it outside, but he found himself answering anyway.
"Jack..."
The Alphazone: Guys...I have a confession to make. I went out with Spinerette on a date before she exposed her identity. The date was okay. Nothing spectacular, nothing bad. Average. I would've just moved on but then she unmasked like a couple of days later and now...fuck. It's like...it doesn't matter who else I date, I had a chance with Spinerette and I fucked it up. Every time I turn on a TV I see her and no other date can compare.
reply from Ninjadude96: Uh...you might wanna go to a therapist. Sounds like you've got Super Envy.
reply from Chris Valdez: Have you tried contacting her again?
reply from The Alphazone: Yeah. She just said that the date was okay but she wasn't interested in picking things up again. It's...fuck, that shit hurts. I tried going on a date a week ago and all I could think about was that I could've been going out with Spinerette now if I pushed and made more of an effort. I think I love her.
reply from solarflare4: Alright, I'll say this sincerely and from the heart: get some fucking help. You're convinced that you would've made this perfect couple if you just 'tried harder' but doesn't the fact that you had an average date when you didn't know her really telling? You saw her without the mask and the date you got was 'average'. Now because you know she's a Superhero you're convinced it's suddenly a romance for the ages? No dude. You have a celeb crush. Get over it and move on.
reply from thelastofme: Wouldn't put it so harshly but agreed. Like I have an ex who got her big break and now she's starring in webflicks movies and making mad bank. I'm not gonna suddenly have an epiphany that what we had was a true blue romance. Move on, find someone else and you'll be happier.
reply from The Alphazone: I can't! I've tried already! Fuck it, I'll just go see her at her work. If I can make my case face-to-face she'll understand.
reply from thelastofme: Poor Spinerette. No wonder she made her dating profile private...
Second part of the prison arc done along with our first Echo POV. We at least get a bit more context on her backstory. Writing her was difficult since she can't be as emotional as the other POV characters so I tried to make her narration robotic and barely there to contrast the much more personalized main characters. We only get some brief glimpses of characterization.
Some people were probably hoping for more inmate interactions or seeing one who wanted to repent but putting it in a maximum security prison made it difficult. Generally speaking places like these are full of the worst kind of scum. We at least get Ezekiel, who was a last minute addition. If Spider Island wins then I can definitely tie him to it.
And yes I totally stole the inmates fight from Daredevil S3. I did add some changes to it, though, so it's kind of its own thing. At the very least DD didn't strangle someone with a stethoscope...
Questions:
1. So what do you guys think, finish up the prison arc first or take a break outside with Gwen doing her college thing/tackling Morbius? People seemed to want lighter stuff judging by the Cindy omake.
2. Speaking of omakes, would you guys be interested in one for Noir and Mary Jane? Unlike the Lana and Cindy ones it'll be much darker in tone due to taking place in an alternate version of the Carnage arc. Rather than marriage (Lana) or continued dating (Cindy) it would be much more uncertain. Especially if I tackle it as a cheating scenario like Gwen assumed it to be.
Someone also suggested Peter/Murdock, but I don't think that'd work...
Review answers:
Saint Danielle: I...don't think peter/matt is viable. As for another peter/lana, not sure what it'd be about.
rc48177: Chapter 112 of Looking Glass.
Hardlight: No prob. Hopefully you review future chapters :)
