A/N: Much thanks to ElessarII for reviewing this chapter. If there was ever someone I would take to a haunted island, it'd be you. Even though you'd probably hate it.
Please review to let me know how you like it!
Check out my Instagram the_a_i_1502 for fanart for this chapter!
MCU Context
Peter Parker: Dark Side
In all of the movies and the comics featuring Spider-Man, one thing remains common; Peter Parker is unequivocally a pretty light and easy-going guy, as is his alter-ego. 'Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man' and all that.
In my fic, he's going to be different. Mass Effect, as a universe, is dark. In some cases, much darker than MCU, especially with the tone the recent movies (Captain Marvel, Far From Home) seem to be heading towards. This isn't gonna be a happy fic, especially not for Peter Parker.
I'm not going to make him broody or evil. But he will be a product of his environment, his experiences. We all saw the first hint of this in the Far From Home trailer when Peter was devastated by the death of his mentor. I am going to be exploring the very real consequences of the post-credits scene in the movie, now and later. It's not going to be a very in-depth exploration, I don't think, but there will be hints of it scattered in this fic, enough to make him and his choices sound rather OOC at times.
Far known to sea and shore,
Four square and founded well,
A thousand years it bore,
And then the belfry fell.
- Far Known to Sea and Shore, A. E. Housman
July 23rd, 2024
LOCATION: Gran Viale Santa Maria Elisabetta
Lido di Venezia
He wants to leave for the island immediately.
Isabelle Collins shakes her head. "The harbor is closed for the night, or at least until the fog around Poveglia lifts. No gondolier worth his license is going to row us there, and even if I could manage to bribe us a boat - the coast guard will be monitoring the Lagoon."
"I went through E.D.I.T.H.'s usage history - I saw them, Riva and Snow and the rest of them," he mutters, his fists clenching. "They're right there, ten minutes away and you want to wait?"
She eyes him for a long moment. "Still have a few rage issues you need to get off your chest, Parker?"
Peter snarls wordlessly, then moves to brush past her, but she shifts slightly, blocking his path. He resists the urge to break something, and she seems to recognize it, her eyes turning watchful.
"In the condition you're in, it won't be very hard for me to stop you," she says quietly. "Imagine what Riva and his army of drones will do to you."
He glares at her. "Are you here to arrest me, Agent Collins?"
She arches her eyebrow. "Happy's a little too fond of telling tales, I see." Then her eyes narrow sharply and she inclines her head. "Wait, no. It was Fury, wasn't it, who told you I rejoined S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Why are you here?"
She sighs. "Wanted to keep an eye on my brother's investment," she admits quietly.
Oh.
Oh, of course, because he cannot think of a single reason why Isabelle Collins of all people would be here, in Venice, because she's never once shown any kind of interest in him when he'd been mentoring under…
Under…
She's not here for him.
"Right," he says bitterly. "E.D.I.T.H. Makes sense…," he swallows, looks away, " - you can take her after I've found the proof I need."
It's the very least that he deserves, after the monumental fuckups he's managed to make with the technology, and with his life.
When he looks back, her face is wiped clean of all emotion, and for a second, it makes him think that he's pegged her wrong, but then she nods. "There's something else," she says and tells him about the lone survivor of the real estate crew that had gone missing more than a week ago. E.D.I.T.H. had translated part of the conversation he'd heard eavesdropping on the bartender's conversation with her, but she provides him with more details on what F.R.I.D.A.Y. found.
It's a very thin lead, but it might lead to something.
"It's a psychiatric ward," he argues, shaking his head. "We're not going to be able to just walk in."
"You're not," she agrees, withdrawing a new mask and slipping it on.
"But I can."
LOCATION: Santa Maria Elisabetta Hospital
It had been laughably easy to demand a visitation for the survivor, one Vittorio Silvani, once F.R.I.D.A.Y. had manufactured some evidence confirming a distant relationship between him and Isabelle's chosen veil.
She has less than fifteen minutes before visitation times are done for the day, so she hurries through the plain-walled corridors and stops in front of a double-door. She waits until the hallway is clear before opening the fire doors and standing aside to let Parker sneak in.
Her eyes flick towards the surveillance cameras, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. hums in response - the AI has already hacked into the hospital's abysmal security system, so they're in the clear; up until the receptionist decides to dig deeper and discovers that the disguise doesn't hold up to even the first layer of scrutiny.
"I thought I told you to get an orderly's uniform," she says, eyeing his stolen attire as he balances a tray of empty plastic medication cups on one hand while tying his laces with another.
He straightens and meets her eyes.
It feels like being gutted.
He'd mentioned E.D.I.T.H., and she has known that ever since she'd heard Tony's will, but she hadn't remembered until now. Or perhaps she hadn't let herself think of it.
Of the sight of those familiar, blue-tinted glasses - because the last time she'd seen those, the last time…
Her lungs feel tight, too tight, and her fingers are numb. She swallows past the dryness in her throat futilely. Darkness is encroaching in the corners of her vision, oh no no not now!
"... so I thought it'd be more prudent to knock out a security guard and borrow his uniform," Parker is saying.
His words spark a bolt of concern through her, which helps shove away the memories of ash and blood. "Better hope it was a hard hit, then," she says, thankful that her voice sounds a lot less strangled than she feels.
He shrugs. "Didn't punch him. Just cut off his air supply until he lost consciousness." He sounds utterly nonchalant about this, as though taking the route of violence has always been his first resort. Unease coils in her belly, and it mixes sourly with her residual panic.
She shoves her trembling fingers into her pocket and falls in behind him. A few doctors pass by without giving them a second glance, for which she is glad because gathering her scattered thoughts is taking all of her concentration.
Isabelle had mistakenly believed her home, her birthplace would be the one location to remain unaffected by her demons. But now, now… Venice, serene Venice, is forever marred with the invisible weight of that deceptively-innocuous pair of glasses.
"Here we are," Parker says quietly and pushes open the door to patient room no. 34.
The most colorful thing in the room is the patient himself, sitting still and quiet in a wheelchair. Everything else is almost horrifyingly plain - the plastic mattress covered neatly by white sheets, the desks, and the set of drawers, even the heavy curtains pulled across secured windows.
She makes sure the door is open just a tiny bit and looks over the survivor.
Vittorio Silvani is blond and blue-eyed and looks nothing like what she would expect of a real estate agent. He doesn't respond, doesn't even look up when they approach him, just keeps staring out of the window. She isn't surprised by it - the receptionist had warned her that whatever Silvani had seen in the fog had shut him down completely.
"Well, he's not going to be of any use," Parker mutters. She shoots him another glance and then goes to kneel in front of the patient.
His eyes don't track her fingers. "Oh, I don't know. I think Mr. Silvani still might be able to tell us something. Pass E.D.I.T.H. to me, will you?"
"What?"
She looks up at him, points to the glasses. The…loss of control in the corridor, while unfortunate, had given her an idea. "Time's a-wastin'. I think she can help."
He hesitates, but hands them over, then blinks when she slides them onto Silvani's nose. "What are you doing?"
"E.D.I.T.H., record, and archive memories of the 11th of July."
"Voice authentication confirmed: Stark, Isabelle Morgana. Activating B.A.R.F. protocol - accessing the subject's hippocampus. Please stand by." The lens glows blue.
"B.A.R.F., like Mr. Stark… Tony's 2016 MIT speech? Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing… he never did get around to fixing that acronym, did he?"
It's easier to dissociate when the glasses are on a stranger's face. "You never used it?"
"I… only got them recently and I've used them for, well…"
"Avenging," she finishes for him. "It's not all they're good for."
"How do they work for you? I thought only I had access to all the functions."
"You do," she agrees, " - when it comes to the defense systems like drones, satellites, and all the comm systems she can hack into. But this…," she points to E.D.I.T.H. scanning the survivor's memories, " - is for therapeutic pursuits. It can't be weaponized. Tony made sure of that."
"Memory recorded and archived. Would you like me to project?"
Parker's ears prick, and he half-turns towards the door. She eyes his arm - all the hairs are standing on end. "Damn it - we've been made."
"Did they discover the unconscious guard?"
He shoots her annoyed look, which she ignores. She can fear footsteps in the distance. "Belay that," she tells E.D.I.T.H., sliding the glasses off the man's nose. She hesitates, then places a hand on the blond patient's shoulder. Words escape her, so she just squeezes lightly, sighing when he remains unresponsive.
They duck out of the room, stride down the corridor, and exit the corner just as the doctors and orderlies enter from the other end.
"We need to get off the streets," Parker says as they hurriedly make their way down the fire stairs and burst out into the night. Alarms are ringing in the hospital already, and he glances back one last time. "Find somewhere secure where we can watch the recording."
She exhales deeply. "I think I know a place."
LOCATION: Palazzo di Carbonell
Lido di Venezia
The Palazzo has always seemed to her to be frozen in time, stuck in the age it was created in, filled with echoes of memories she could do well without. But it had been the first safe space she could think of in Venice, and she had known when she'd broken out of the hospital that it was time to stop avoiding portions of her past.
A part of her had been expecting the villa to be in a state of disrepair after having been uninhabited for decades, but when she finally emerges from the cellars, she's not surprised to see the interior fresh and clean, as though it'd been just yesterday she'd left this home and made New York City her permanent place of residence.
The upkeep and maintenance of the Palazzo are still paid for by Stark Industries, and as such, it's a perfect spot for them to hide.
Parker pauses in front of a painting in the living room. "Maria Carbonell," he reads from the nameplate. "You look like her."
It might be personal bias, but every time Isabelle has laid eyes on this portrait, her mother always seemed to be glowing. Maria's eyes sparkle as her fingers run over the keys of the grand piano that still stands in the parlor, untouched since the day she died. "She was a lot more beautiful."
The weight of the silence that follows settles in her bones and Isabelle lets the distant echo of her mother's choked sobs as she breathes her last play out in her mind.
"I always thought her last name was Collins," he says softly. "That's why you… well, you took up that name when you joined S.H.I.E.L.D., right? Because Stark was a name too heavy, and people could take advantage of your family connections to hurt you."
It's the first time since she stumbled upon him a few hours ago that he doesn't sound… angry, so she lets the familiar agony wash over her as she thinks back to a time before she'd lost everything.
It's easier to remember her mother as a half-French, half-Italian beauty, unburdened and unbroken by the weight of the name 'Stark'. "Her parents anglicized her name so she would have an easier time finding a husband in the States."
She turns away. "C'mon, we got work to do."
The ballroom is smaller than she remembers - the space had been positively cavernous in her childhood, with its huge arte nouva chandeliers, tall, heavy curtains, and intricate frescoes adorning the walls.
They move to the center of the room, and she nods at Parker, who shoves on the E.D.I.T.H. glasses. "On the way here, I programmed her to show us only the highlights of whatever Silvani saw that drove him nuts. No time like the present, right?" He barely gives her a warning before activating the B.A.R.F. recording.
The ballroom disappears, replaced by broken, crumbling ruins of a corridor whose existence she had long forgotten.
Midday sunlight streams through the broken window panes. The derelict building is heavily overgrown with vegetation, worn with weather and time. Cobwebs sway in the wind, framing the word 'Reparto Psychiatria' graffitied on the walls.
A group of individuals is standing at the other end of the hallway. She recognizes Silvani among them. They're laughing and joking amongst each other, completely at ease, unaware that they're little more than memories.
That's when she hears it.
The moaning.
It reverberates through the walls, as though emerging from the very building itself. The trees seem to sway in response to it, the leaves rustling uneasily as the moan gains in volume, followed by muffled, distant cries and sounds of wet, hacking coughs that send chills down her spine.
"What was that?" Silvani asks. His lips don't sync with the words being spoken - the crew is speaking Italian. E.D.I.T.H. must be translating for Parker's benefit.
The other members of the crew look at each other and shrug uneasily. "Probably just the trees."
The memory flickers into holographic limbo, which then resolves itself into another one.
They're at the shores of the island, where the same group of men is peering into the contents of a large fishing net.
"Is that… ?" one exclaims, rearing back.
"Human bones. And rotten fish," Silvani replies, yanking the net closer. "They were just… floating there when I came to see what we caught."
The other man swallows visibly. "Maybe we shouldn't fish here again."
Silvani's sweating in the evening sun and his face is flushed. "This is not the only thing. You've seen it, too, haven't you - the mysterious lights at night, like distant bonfires in the forest. Enzo went to investigate, and he never returned! We looked everywhere. And then the screams, the… the floating figures in the corner of the vision! This island is no place for the living."
The third man scoffs. "Oh, please, not this again. Enzo just got spooked, like you; there's a boat missing - he probably left for Lido. You're letting the local legends spook you - but you may be right about one thing," he looks distastefully at the fishing net. "We can't eat anything that grows on this island, not even berries. We should take turns getting supplies from Lido."
A third memory fizzles into existence.
It's a moonlit night. They're outside, and Silvani stands alone beside a giant hole in the ground, littered with a massive pile of bones and skulls. There are two fresh bodies amidst the remains - the two individuals who'd been talking to Silvani.
"What the hell is it?" Parker whispers, horrified.
"Plague pits," she explains in a low voice. "Victims of the Black Death, tossed into giant holes like this when burning them proved to be too expensive."
The moonlight hits the bones at an angle, and something shimmers over them.
"It is said that some were still alive when they were thrown in."
Her words prove prophetic. The bones start to rattle in a non-existent wind, then seemingly animate themselves and start crawling up the steep walls of the pit. The groaning, fresh bodies are more sure of their movements; rotting flesh and bleached-white finger bones reach out towards Silvani, who shrieks and slips, tumbling into the pit. The bones and the bodies swarm over him, eager, almost desperate in their attempt to rend the flesh off his skin. His screams slowly peter out.
More memories flicker by, faster and faster.
There's one of a man flying through the corridor after having been shoved by an invisible force, which manifests itself into a woman who screams in his face.
Another of a woman, being choked against a wall, huge lacerations bleeding down her face.
Images of ghostly figures screaming in the asylum's operating rooms, being sawed open, having their brains electrocuted, and going through other insane, nonsensical horrors.
A final memory bombards them, and Isabelle knows it's final because they're at the top of the infamous bell-tower.
It's night, and there are no stars, nor moon in the almost unnaturally black sky. Wind whistles through the trees, far down below. She looks around the belfry, once repurposed into a lighthouse, and now a haunting ruin for all those who grew up with the legends.
There's a ghostly figure standing perilously close to the edge, a beak-nosed plague mask obscuring his face. A white coat flutters around him. Silvani, whose figure is more solid, stands a way back, eyes wide, and intent on the first one. The apparition shudders in the howling wind, then bunches on himself. His hands claw and he runs his nails down his face, then throws his head back and emits a bloodcurdling scream before throwing himself off the edge.
Parker makes an aborted motion with knees bent, as though only just realizing that this is just a memory, no matter how realistic, and there would be nothing he could have done for the ghostly figure even if it had been real.
He breathes, then walks over to the edge to stand beside Silvani.
She doesn't go to them, because she knows what they'll see.
The apparition, the doctor - still alive and twitching when he hits the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His last sight, that of the infinite multitude of ghostly victims that he had created surrounding him, convalescing into a dark green mist and pouring into his mouth, choking him with the horror of his own actions.
Parker inhales sharply, stumbles back, then rips off E.D.I.T.H. from his nose. The recording fizzles out as static, plunging them back into the moonlit ambiance of her ballroom in the Palazzo. He switches on the lights, then stares at her. His face is green.
"Oh, God."
She'd shooed Parker to bed to catch up on what sleep they could catch up on before F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerts them to the disappearance of the mysterious fog around Poveglia, which is when they'll depart for the island.
She herself is too keyed up to sleep, so she goes through the footage twice more. "E.D.I.T.H.?" She murmurs, pausing the video, her eyes on the motionless figure of Silvani.
"It's certainly a possibility, but I can't ensure a hundred percent guarantee."
It's not a confirmation, but it's close enough for it to spark a hint of satisfaction. She rubs a hand down her face. Her eyes feel crusty and sore, and her bones seem shaky. She drops into an armchair next to her mother's portrait.
"Don't let me sleep, FRI," she murmurs.
July 24th, 2024
Somewhere on the Venetian Lagoon
"You're off your game, Parker," she says, guiding the stolen toppetta along the water. She keeps an eye on him as he winces visibly, and rubs his forehead.
"It's fine," he snaps, then sighs when she raises her eyebrows. "It's just… I've been feeling weird since… since Beck exposed me in NYC. I keep sensing threats everywhere. It's just information overload, nothing else. It won't be a problem."
"Better not be."
She'd insisted he wear his own veil as well - she wants to remain anonymous from Riva and his cronies for as long as possible. They hadn't bothered with suits, either - he had his shooters and extra web-fluid canisters, while she… well, even without weapons, she is never really defenseless.
Especially in Venice.
"You're saying that… what, all of it, was just an illusion?" he shakes his head. "All the things he saw were just projections by Beck's illusion drones?"
His attempt to change the subject just reinforces her concern, but she lets it go and hopes she hasn't made a mistake in allowing him to tag along.
She gestures towards the water. A mist wafts up from the Lagoon, obscuring their tracks from the mainland. "This was carefully planned right from the get-go. I think the real-estate crew got separated almost as soon as they stepped foot on the island, or perhaps soon after the first memory when the moaning started."
"The other members in the memory," she continues, weaving through the Lagoon, " - Enzo, who disappeared, the bodies in the pit - all of them were probably just… holograms that Silvani interacted with. He probably didn't even know that his teammates were long gone."
"Gone… as in dead?"
She shakes her head and course-corrects to account for the slight wind that's picked up. "Imprisoned most likely. They probably singled out Silvani because he seemed to be more… susceptible and superstitious, and he'd be perfect for a statement. I can't be sure, but none of their profiles indicated that any of the Stark ex-employees following Riva have any homicidal tendencies. No, that was just… Beck."
Parker runs a hand down his veiled face. "So the cops must've ended up the same way - locked up somewhere, probably being haunted by ghosts that aren't real. How can you be so sure, though? I mean - after everything - is it that hard to believe that ghosts are real?"
Her mouth quirks up. "I'm not contesting that ghosts exist. I'm just saying that everything that sent Silvani packing from one asylum to another was just too… perfect. His memories fit with all the legends almost too well."
"These were stories that we - me and Riva, native Venetians - grew up with," she continues. "The moaning of ghostly patients, the pits with hundreds of skeletal remains, the doctor who jumped off the bell-tower and got consumed by a mysterious green fog made up of his victims? All legends, all bedtime stories to scare us to sleep, to warn us off Poveglia."
She pulls up to the little-known cavana on the eastern coast of the island, which is just as run down and broken as it had been decades ago, and moors the boat to a pole before stepping out. Poveglia is deathly silent, with not even the birds daring to make their nests here, where so many have been lost; another thing that hasn't changed.
Parker winces again when he thinks she isn't looking, then takes a deep breath and shoves on the E.D.I.T.H. glasses. "Do you have a guess for where they'll be keeping them?"
She shrugs. "Riva's sticking to the mythology of this place, so I'd suggest the prison facilities. The only thing is - I've never discovered the prisons, so we'll have to do some digging. The biggest area of the island is the burning fields - we're going to have to split up to cover the whole region."
The Burning Fields
Poveglia Island
There's only one legend about the island that she's ever been inclined to believe - that of the burning grounds. It is said that so many plague victims had been burned in mass pyres in these fields, that the soil is little more than human ash.
She'd always been horrified by the tale, but it no longer troubles her, because she thinks it'd have been so much better to be dead before you got turned to ash.
Thanos hadn't bothered offering her that courtesy.
The bridge is shrouded by a faint mist - natural, not an illusion, she can feel the moisture - and Parker emerges from the trees when he spots her coming. He shakes his head as he falls into step.
"I didn't find anything. We need to look at the buildings," she says as they walk along the bridge. "It's been decades - maybe I missed…"
Her earpiece crackles at the same time E.D.I.T.H. glows blue. "Skipper, something big's coming. The power just went out across the Lido boardwalk."
Parker exchanges a startled glance with her. "Riva is tapping into the electricity grid in Lido to power his drones," she explains. "It's why the power outages always seem to happen concurrently with the fog."
His eyes flicker over her shoulder and widen. "Only thing is," he swallows, " - it's not fog."
She whirls around, and her eyes lock onto the mass of mud and water bubbling out of the water in the canal. It rumbles as it rises up into a misshapen, twenty-five feet tall, vaguely humanoid thing.
"That's a new one," Parker mutters. His voice is low, but still somehow seems to carry across, because the thing spots them on the bridge, and roars, mud spittle flying out of its mouth. A huge ball of mud comes flying out of its raised, crooked arm, aimed right at them.
They both dive out of the way, in opposite directions, only just avoiding being pummeled by the sphere that collides with the bridge. The neglected, rusted construction, already centuries old, caves in under an impact that seemed far too powerful, even for a ball of caked mud.
Isabelle meets Parker's gaze across the now deformed bridge, and the look in his eyes confirms her suspicions - illusion.
She nods, then as one, they launch themselves at the mud monster.
She doesn't have his powers; she can't sense the drones, so she just attacks indiscriminately, weaving her own waves of water, drawn from the canal, around the massive thing. She catches a few drones, their sleek, white exteriors being crushed under the pressure of her attacks, and the illusion spasms, pixelating rapidly.
She makes the mistake of thinking that the creature couldn't possibly touch her because it doesn't have any physical mass, so she doesn't bother dodging to avoid its lumbering arms. The hit is hard enough to send her careening dangerously towards the trees before Spider-Man's web snags her waist and yanks her into the woods.
"That thing packs a wallop," she mutters, as he sets her down gently. She wipes the mud, which is all too real, from her eyes. She is already caked with the stuff, and grimly anticipates a further mess the longer this takes.
In the canal, the Mud-Thing roars with rage, its huge, warped head swiveling back and forth in search of its target.
"Concussive blasters," Parker explains, massaging his temples. "Dialed up to eleven, too, from the looks of it. Riva's getting desperate - he must've recognized us, despite the veils."
She looks at him carefully. "You can't sense the drones, can you?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head. "There's too much input… it's everywhere, they're everywhere, I can't… pinpoint."
She exhales quietly. "We need to split up." She raises a hand when he goes to argue. "This thing is nothing but a big ass distraction," she points to the monster slamming its gigantic fists in the canal, making big splashes.
Her words trip over each other as she rushes to explain. "I spotted boats docked near the cavana when I parked - they're planning on making a break for it. Get to the mainframe - they'll probably be in the buildings - use E.D.I.T.H. to hack into the drones and stop them, okay?"
"I'm not leaving you out here to face that thing by yourself!"
"I'll be fine," she says, with far more confidence than she feels. "But only if you go now and bring down that thing from the inside."
He glares at her, his fingers fisting, then curses foully. She's never heard words like that from his mouth before, but she has no time to confront him now. He nods, then looks at her with a hard glint in his eyes. "Be careful," he whispers, and it sounds like a command.
An echo of a smile trembles across her lips. "Never," she whispers, just before launching herself out of the woods.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" she growls, as once again, her attacks seem to barely make a dent.
"Some kind of force field, equipped with powerful shock absorbers? I don't know - but what I can tell you is that he's draining almost all of the power from Lido now."
"Any suggestions?"
"Avoid the monster's attacks - I'll try and pinpoint any readings from the drones."
She dives as another mud ball comes flying at her, retaliating with a wide blast of water that takes down at least one drone. But she's having to rely on luck more than skill at this point. "Should be easy - it's an abandoned island - there's not much in here that can emit electrical signals, right?"
As though prompted by her words, a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, and she feels the following thunder's rumble in her bones.
"Do you like tempting fate?"
The visual interface in her veil flickers on, and green circles pop up on the HUD, highlighting anything electrical. She shoots forward and shoves a freezing fist through an invisible drone, and yanks out the wires.
Electricity sparks across her skin and it tilts dangerously, but she uses the momentum to slam herself into another one, which is emitting some heavy heat - lasers. She times her impact so the drone jerks and its line of fire tears through a third one.
A powerful concussive force rips through the drone beneath her, blasting her into the broken bridge. The railing bashes against her forehead, hard enough to leave her dazed for a moment. The HUD flickers; the veil must've been damaged by the impact. She peels it off, lets it drop into the water.
She grabs the steel railing and vaults herself on the bridge as the monster whirls towards her. It throws its meaty arms forward and a blast of thick, viscous mud comes shooting towards her.
In a swift move, she intercepts the mud blast with a huge wave of water, groaning under the pressure as her feet skid backward, rapidly approaching the broken edge of the bridge. She closes her eyes and focuses; torrents rise up on either side, holding back the pressure wave of mud advancing towards her.
Her eyes are clenched shut, and there are pillars of water that she's trying to sustain, which is why she doesn't hear F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's frantic screams in time.
Isabelle doesn't notice the first bullet puncturing her middle, but she feels the blazing heat of the subsequent ones. She stumbles, and her attack falters for just a moment, but that's enough - the waves of water she'd been holding up crash and the blast of mud hits her head-on.
She goes crashing into the drone that had shot her from behind, over the shorn edge of the bridge, and onto the other end. The impact drives the breath from her lungs - which are searing hot - everything is searing hot, burning through her, and she can't even scream because it hurts too much to even breathe.
Her fingers probe at the holes - holes! - on her and come away wet. She can feel the bullets that hadn't passed through, that are still inside her. She can feel their wrongness, piercing her soft insides, and her fingers strain towards the water… but for the very first time in her entire life, it doesn't respond to her.
Through her dwindling vision, she sees the mud monster breaking into a million pixels as the drones reveal themselves, dozens of them surrounding her. Parker, her mind whispers, or perhaps it is F.R.I.D.A.Y., yelling through her earpiece, and the word should mean something, she knows that, but for the life of her, she can't tell what it is.
But it is important - that much she knows.
Her bloody fingers wrap around the broken steel railing of the bridge. With a force of will she didn't know she possessed, she pulls herself forward - groaning as she does so - and rolls down the shattered edge of the bridge and into the canal below.
It hurts worse than the bullets had.
She screams as the water penetrates her, probes her insides, and it feels like being ripped apart only to be made whole again. Isabelle sinks, almost insensate with agony, barely responding as her body tries in vain to fix what she'd broken.
Darkness is encroaching in her vision, and she would smile if she had the energy - darkness is peace, darkness is quiet, darkness is Tony and Jarvis and Howard and Maria.
The painting in the Palazzo's lounge flashes across her mind. Maria's brown eyes, sparkling with joy as her fingers make music.
Her mother's eyes, brilliantly bold.
Morgan's eyes.
Her own snap open, and she shoots out of the canal, huge waves of water following in her wake. Her senses are heightened now, and her heart is beating twice as fast underneath the single block of ice that her body has turned into.
She hovers until she's level with the drones who turn as one towards her, their movements slow and sluggish in her eyes.
"You wanted an elemental?" she says, and her voice is almost serene. Her eyes burn cold.
"You got one."
They don't stand a chance. She is everywhere at once, and she moves so fast and punches so hard she wouldn't be able to recount her own actions later on. Her waves tear through the machines, leaving ripped wires and short fires in their wake. She unleashes her fury and sorrow and hatred and when she finally stills and hovers over the broken remnants of the bridge, the canal is significantly drained.
The shore is littered with smoky, sparking drone corpses. She holds on tight to the adrenaline fighting to leave her body - it's the only thing keeping her going at this point and she isn't done yet.
"Isabelle!" F.R.I.D.A.Y. never calls her by name - she must've been trying to catch her attention for a while.
"What is it, FRI?" Her words feel strange, heavy on her tongue.
"Spidey's in trouble."
She turns towards the island with the ruins. Light flashes from within the broken buildings, and if she strains her ears, she can hear explosions. Above her, thunder rumbles and she barely feels the rain pelting her frozen form.
"I'm on my way."
It's just one sentence, and it whitens out his vision.
"Peter," E.D.I.T.H. 's voice crackles through the earpiece. "Collins just went down; F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's called in emergency services."
The church disappears, replaced by the vision of a battlefield smothered with ash and blood, a victory that's not a victory. It crashes on him all over again, the despair that feels like home inside him at this point, that hadn't left his side since the day Tony, his mentor, the only father he'd ever known, had sacrificed his life for the universe. For… for him.
And now… his sister had done the same.
He screams, and launches himself at a drone, kicking it so hard it goes crashing into a wall and disintegrates on impact. He pitches a web to another, swings across, reverse-somersaults and sticks to the wall, then yanks hard enough that the machine smashes into three more.
Riva had a bigger group than he'd expected; a dozen minions yelling and running about. He'd barred the door, so they're trying to escape his fury and pieces of their own creations raining down upon them by smashing through boarded windows and ducking underneath desks.
His webs have snatched up guns and batons and a whole horde of improvised weapons, and he's been trying to bank his rage, keep his promise to Collins, but now she's dead, isn't she, because he hadn't been there, watching her back like he was supposed to.
There's no point holding it in anymore.
He smashes his fist onto a man's nose, thick satisfaction running through his veins at the feel of blood beneath his knuckles, then twists around and kicks the stomach of another who'd been creeping behind him. His arm comes up to block a plank of wood aimed at his head, and he grabs the offender's neck and headbutts him hard. He crumples at Peter's feet.
His blows are fast, and he takes down enemy after enemy with no thought for care or consequence. When the last of the minion has been incapacitated, either by his webs or his fists, he pauses and breathes.
His neck prickles and he twists away just in time to avoid a bullet whizzing past his head. He isn't fast enough, so it still manages to skim the side of his ear.
Riva is standing on the ruins of the altar at the other end of the church, a gun in his violently trembling fingers. Behind him, through the holes in the ceiling, Peter can see lightning flash.
His hand snakes out, the web-shooting out faster than the lightning, and he snatches up the gun as it careens towards him. Riva's eyes are wide, and he backs up until he hits the wall as Peter strides towards him.
"Peter," E.D.I.T.H. begins, but he mutes her and shoves the glasses in his pocket.
His world narrows to one point - the end of the dark, lonely tunnel he's been walking in for the past few months has only one figure, illuminating his future.
William Ginter Riva.
Nothing else matters, there's nothing out there for him, no one.
The older man tries to run, but another web shoots out to pin him to the crumbling, graffitied wall. Peter's hands are steady as a statue when he points the gun at Riva's chest, whose pants darken with the evidence of his terror.
"Please, please, please … you're a hero, you're an Avenger. You don't kill."
"I killed Beck," he snarls. This close, he can hear Riva's frantic heartbeat. "I killed thousands of Outriders. I have killed."
To his utter horror, Peter feels tears trembling at the corner of his eyes. "You destroyed my life. You killed my friend. You took everything from me."
"Not everything," a familiar voice replies softly.
He twists around, points the gun at the intruder who'd snuck up behind him - an impossibility under most circumstances.
But the figure is an impossibility.
A humanoid figure carved out of ice hovers above the aisles. Her frozen form is heavily streaked with what looks like blood, but she is undoubtedly recognizable.
"Izzy?" His voice breaks on a sob.
She touches down next to him. Her features are prominent on the ice, as though cleverly sculpted by a master artist, and he can see the compassion shining in the depths of her eyes even through the cold. "He hasn't taken everything from you."
He whirls around and presses the muzzle of his gun against Riva's chest. "Don't you see?" He waves his free hand at the destruction around him. "There's no mainframe, no recording of what he did! There's nothing! He's destroyed it all! I have nothing left!"
She moves into his line of sight, and he meets her gaze helplessly, uncaring of the tears dripping down his face. "You still have your soul."
He knows what she's saying, what she means by that, but he couldn't care less. All he feels is rage, and all he wants is vengeance. "He deserves to die for what he's done!"
"That's not for you to decide." Her voice is calm, and it makes him want to rage, against her, against the world. His hands tremble, but her eyes don't leave his.
"Why do you care - you're only here for E.D.I.T.H., anyway!"
Her expression falters for the first time, then softens. "Peter… I came to Venice looking for you. Because you are my brother's best investment, not her. He put his time and effort in you, because he thought you were worth it."
Her voice is hoarse, rough but utterly, completely convinced. "Don't you dare prove him wrong."
Tears blur his vision and his hands tremble harder, but her own fingers reach out to slowly curl around the revolver and tug it gently from his grip. He wipes his face with his elbow, then nods.
He isn't able to stop himself from punching the lights out of Riva, though.
She nods approvingly, then looks at the scene of devastation around them, not sparing a single glance at the figures on the walls still struggling against their web binds. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. will get something out of this," she says, and it doesn't sound like consolation, just confidence. "We just have too…" her words stutter to a stop and her eyes widen.
He barely catches her before she crumples.
The ice is slowly melting off her form, revealing her skin, which is waxen and far too pale. She jerks in his arms, once, twice.
"What's happening to you?!" he demands, his hands hovering over her form frantically. He finally grabs her shoulders, ignoring the biting cold, and rolls her to her side so she doesn't choke on her own blood.
She retches red-spotted phlegm, and he wipes it off with trembling hands. "Bullets still inside me…" she gasps. Her eyes widen, and she starts wheezing, her fingers clawing at her chest.
The water that had held up her form is almost completely gone now, and he sees the holes in her suit where the bullets had gone through. "No, no, no, no, no! E.D.I.T.H.!" He screams, slamming on the glasses and unmuting her.
F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's measured voice comes through instead. "A bullet penetrated her chest. There's a first aid kit on the western shelf." Webs whizz out to snag it. "There's a sterile dressing packaged in plastic in the kit. Peel off the paper, tape the sterile end over the hole firmly. It'll form a chest seal."
He does as told. It seems to have an immediate effect, as Isabelle calms somewhat, but the water pouring off her body is being replaced with blood, of which she's losing a lot. "Where are the emergency services?!"
"Almost here," F.R.I.D.A.Y. explains, still almost abnormally calm. "You know how to make a tourniquet?" When he nods frantically, she directs him to make one above the gaping hole in her thigh.
"Place the gauze on the wounds in the lower abdomen and apply pressure. "
Isabelle stiffens, her eyes roll back to her head and she starts convulsing. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.?!"
Just then, the door bursts open, and a bald, burly man comes crashing through, a gun in his hand. Behind him, medical professionals in scrubs carry in a stretcher, as a woman hurries over to him.
"It's okay," she tells him in a British accent. "You can let go now… we'll take it from here. It's okay." She turns to the others. "Over here!"
He hears snatches of hurried conversations through the ringing in his hand as he backs off from the seizing patient. His hands, painted with blood, are trembling violently. Only certain phrases stick inside his mind; " - multiple GSW… ", " - no sign of pneumothorax… ", " - hypovolemic shock… "
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
The burly man from before is staring intently at him, grip tight around his revolver, and Peter knows what he's going to say even before he says it, even though the gun's not actually pointed at him. He closes his eyes, raises his arms above his head, and falls to his knees.
"You're under arrest on suspicion of murder and multiple accounts of attempted homicide. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence."
The handcuffs click around his wrists with a finality that seems absolute.
General Context
Poveglia
I did a lot of research on this. I hope it pays off. Any Venetians out there, feel free to point out errors in the comments down below; I've done my best, but I've never been to Italy so all I got is the Internet. If I've crossed any cultural taboos, I apologize - I've tried to be as respectful as I possibly could.
Poveglia Island. In real life, rumored to be one of the most haunted locations in the world. Abandoned, off-limits to the public.
The site of a hospital which was once used to isolate Black Plague victims, then a few hundred years later was repurposed into a mental asylum where the inhabitants were tortured by an insane doctor who loved lobotomies.
Really creepy place. Bell-tower especially.
Really wanna go there one day, but alas.
The island that's closest to Poveglia is Lido di Venezia, or Venice Lido.
Pellestrina is an island south of Lido. Chioggia is a small town at the very bottom of Pellestrina. Tightly-knit people; aren't super fond of outsiders.
Medical Stuff
I'm not a doctor; all of my expertise, once again, comes from the internet. Any mistakes, feel free to point them out in the reviews.
MCU Context
Maria Collins Carbonell
In the comics, Maria Stark was born Maria Collins Carbonell. I have no idea what the 'Collins' was for so I just made something up. Bet you wondered why Isabelle Collins was a 'Collins' despite being Tony Stark's sibling.
I made her Italian cuz Tony Stark was half-Italian in one of the comics. I made her the heir of a wealthy family who had a palazzo (mansion) in Venice and everything, where Collins was born.
Tony, on the other hand, was born and raised in Manhattan in the Stark Mansion. This is canon.
Another doubt you may have had (at least I'm imagining you had) - Why is her name 'Isabelle' instead of 'Isabella', because the latter is the actual Italian version of the name?
Maria was half-Italian, half-French herself. It was a coin toss. I was comfortable with Isabelle (French version), so I rolled with it.