July 10, 2009

The early morning haze clung to the narrow streets of a rundown industrial district in New York City. The faint hum of distant traffic mingled with the occasional crash of broken glass as a group of tattooed gang members loitered outside a graffiti-covered warehouse. This was the domain of the Iron Wolves, one of the city's most notorious street gangs, known for their brutal efficiency and willingness to align with anyone offering the right price.

Inside the dimly lit warehouse, Nyoirin Henecha sat at the head of a large steel table. He cut an imposing figure in his dark, tailored suit, the faint glint of gold accents on his cufflinks a stark contrast to the grime surrounding him. Across from him sat Marcus "Grinder" Hayes, the Iron Wolves' leader, a heavily scarred man with an intense gaze and a reputation for ruthlessness.

"You don't usually see a man like you down here," Grinder said, leaning back in his chair. His voice was gravelly, his tone skeptical. "So, tell me—what's a fancy yakuza boss like you want with my Wolves?"

Nyoirin's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Mutual benefit, Mr. Hayes. You've built quite the reputation in this city—territory, resources, manpower. Yet I can't help but notice you've been... stagnant, especially after the chaos caused by Synapse."

Grinder narrowed his eyes, the insult barely veiled. "Watch your tongue, suit. We've been holding our ground just fine."

"Of course," Nyoirin said smoothly, spreading his hands. "But imagine what you could achieve with proper backing. I can provide your Iron Wolves with weapons, technology, and financial resources beyond anything you've ever dreamed. In exchange, I require your assistance in securing... certain territories and handling specific adversaries."

Grinder raised an eyebrow. "Territories? Adversaries? Sounds like you're looking to start a war."

Nyoirin leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "War is already here, Mr. Hayes. The Hand seeks to dominate this city, and they won't stop until they have achieved complete control. They are relentless, skilled, and utterly merciless. Aligning with me ensures not only your survival but your ascension as a true power in New York's underworld."

The gang leader stroked his chin thoughtfully, glancing at the men flanking Nyoirin. Silver Sable stood to his right, her silver hair catching the faint light as she exuded a cold, professional menace. On the left, Taskmaster adjusted his hood, the skull-like mask giving him an unnerving presence. Bullseye lounged against a nearby wall, idly flipping a knife between his fingers with deadly precision.

"You've got some heavy hitters with you already," Grinder said, nodding toward the mercenaries. "Why bother with us?"

Nyoirin's smirk widened. "Because the Iron Wolves know these streets better than anyone. Your network is invaluable, and your men are... adaptable. Together, we can crush The Hand and anyone foolish enough to stand in our way."

Grinder glanced at his lieutenants, who exchanged uncertain looks. Finally, he turned back to Nyoirin. "Alright, suit. You've got yourself a deal—for now. But if you screw us over..."

"You won't live to regret it," Nyoirin finished for him, his smirk never faltering. "I assure you, Mr. Hayes, our partnership will be most fruitful."

As the two men shook hands, the tension in the room thickened. The Iron Wolves had just been drawn into a battle far larger than they understood, and their alliance with Nyoirin would only complicate matters for the heroes trying to keep the city from descending into chaos.

Outside, the mercenaries exchanged glances. "This'll be fun," Bullseye muttered, his grin wicked.

Silver Sable didn't respond, her eyes focused on the horizon. Taskmaster chuckled softly. "Fun? More like a payday. Let's hope these Wolves can hold their own, or we're gonna be cleaning up their mess."

As the Iron Wolves began gearing up for their new alliance, the first seeds of their involvement in the war for New York were planted. The city's heroes would soon face an even greater challenge as new factions emerged, all vying for control amidst the chaos left by Synapse's devastation.

The morning sun filtered through the grand windows of the Xavier Institute, casting long beams of light across the polished floors of the War Room. Despite the serene atmosphere outside, tension crackled inside the chamber. A holographic map of New York City hovered above the central table, glowing red with points of conflict.

Professor Charles Xavier, his expression grave, studied the map intently. His fingers lightly tapped the armrest of his wheelchair as he turned to address the trio standing before him.

"This escalation cannot go unanswered," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The Hand's presence in New York has grown far more dangerous than anticipated. They are exploiting the devastation caused by Synapse, preying on the city's vulnerability. If left unchecked, their influence could spread beyond Hell's Kitchen."

Wolverine crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "I've tangled with these Hand bastards before. They don't quit easy, and their numbers just keep coming. You want us to cut the head off this snake?"

Xavier nodded. "Precisely. I need the three of you to infiltrate the city, locate their central operations, and dismantle their leadership. This will not be an easy mission. The Hand operates in shadows, and their resources are vast. We don't know how deeply entrenched they've become."

Nightcrawler stepped forward, his golden eyes narrowing with determination. "Ja, Professor. We will do what is necessary. But why not send more of us? Surely this task demands the strength of the entire team?"

Xavier's gaze flickered with a hint of regret. "If only that were possible, Kurt. There's another situation requiring our attention—a growing crisis that threatens mutantkind globally. The rest of the team must focus their efforts there."

Gambit, leaning casually against the table, twirled a playing card between his fingers. "Let me guess. We're the lucky few who get to dive headfirst into ninja territory while everyone else saves the world?" His smirk faded as he glanced at the map. "Not that I'm complainin'. Someone's gotta handle these Hand goons before they start callin' the shots in the Big Apple."

"You three are uniquely suited for this mission," Xavier replied. "Logan, your experience with the Hand and your tracking skills are invaluable. Kurt, your ability to teleport will provide the mobility needed to navigate their strongholds. And Remy, your adaptability and resourcefulness will be essential in situations where subtlety is required."

Wolverine grunted, pulling his claws out for emphasis. "Subtlety's not exactly my style, but I'll play nice—until they make it impossible."

Nightcrawler offered a faint smile. "I will ensure we work as a team. And if the situation demands it, we will do what we must."

Gambit flicked his card into the air, letting it land neatly on the table. "Well then, looks like we got our orders. New York won't know what hit it."

Xavier's tone softened. "I trust all of you to approach this mission with precision and care. You must tread carefully—the Hand is skilled in manipulation, and they will exploit any weakness." He hesitated briefly before continuing. "And... if you encounter Psylocke, assist her however you can. She may be in the midst of something far more complex than we currently understand."

Wolverine raised an eyebrow. "Psylocke? What's she got to do with this?"

"I have reason to believe she may be connected to The Hand's movements," Xavier admitted. "Though the specifics elude me, I sense that her situation is... precarious. Proceed with caution."

The three X-Men exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They were no strangers to danger, but the stakes felt heavier this time—personal.

Xavier leaned forward, his gaze steady. "May fortune guide you, my friends. New York needs you, and so does Psylocke. Good luck."

With that, Wolverine, Gambit, and Nightcrawler turned and strode out of the War Room, their purpose clear. The mission ahead was daunting, but they knew they were the best hope to counter The Hand's growing influence.

As they boarded the Blackbird and set a course for New York City, each of them silently prepared for the battles to come, knowing that the shadows of Hell's Kitchen would soon reveal the true depth of The Hand's schemes.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Peter's apartment, casting soft golden light across the modest but tidy living room. Betsy sat stiffly on the couch, dressed casually, yet there was an air of elegance she couldn't quite conceal. She glanced at the ticking clock, her hands clasped nervously. Meeting Aunt May wasn't something she had expected to feel anxious about, but here she was, heart racing as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

The door opened, and Aunt May stepped in, carrying a small bag of groceries. Her kind face lit up with a warm smile. "Oh, you must be Betsy! Peter's told me about you. It's lovely to finally meet you."

Betsy rose, offering a polite smile as she extended a hand. "And you must be Aunt May. It's an honor—I've heard so much about you."

Aunt May chuckled, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. "All good things, I hope. Peter can be a bit of a scatterbrain when it comes to details, but I can tell he's quite fond of you."

Betsy's cheeks flushed slightly, and she gestured for May to sit. The older woman obliged, settling into an armchair across from her. "I, uh, hope I haven't caused him too much trouble," Betsy said softly, glancing down at her hands.

"Trouble? Nonsense!" Aunt May exclaimed. "Peter's been happier these days. A little distracted, perhaps, but he's always had a lot on his plate. And from what I can see, you're a big part of what's keeping him grounded."

Betsy hesitated, her gaze distant for a moment. "It's been... complicated lately. Adjusting to everything, trying to find where I fit—it's been harder than I expected."

Aunt May tilted her head, her expression gentle. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"

Betsy nodded, choosing her words carefully. "Let's just say life has thrown some unexpected changes my way. And while I'm trying to adapt, it's been a challenge figuring out who I am in the midst of it all."

May leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees. "Change is never easy, my dear. But it's a part of life, isn't it? It shapes us, helps us grow. And sometimes, it takes the people we love to remind us of who we really are."

Betsy looked up, her eyes meeting May's. "I don't want Peter to feel burdened by what I'm going through. He has enough to deal with already."

"Peter has a big heart," May said with a knowing smile. "And he's stronger than he seems. Whatever you're facing, I'm sure he's more than willing to stand by you. Love isn't about avoiding burdens—it's about sharing them."

Betsy's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Aunt May. That means a lot."

May reached over and patted her hand. "You'll find your way, Betsy. And don't be afraid to lean on Peter—or me, for that matter. We're here for you."

The dimly lit alley echoed with the distant hum of New York's early morning bustle, but here, in this pocket of darkness, silence reigned. Spider-Man crouched atop a fire escape, his sharp gaze scanning the gathering below. The Hand's operatives moved with precision, their crimson robes blending into the shadows as they formed a circle around a hooded figure holding a gleaming artifact.

"Okay, Spidey," Peter muttered to himself, "time to crash their little cult meeting before they summon a giant ninja kaiju or something."

With a leap, he descended, webbing two guards together mid-air. "Hey, guys! I wasn't on the guest list, but I brought snacks. Or, well, fists. Mostly fists."

Chaos erupted as The Hand warriors unsheathed their blades. Spider-Man flipped and dodged their attacks with ease, his quips as sharp as their weapons. "Seriously, do you guys have a Groupon for matching outfits, or is it just a bulk deal?"

Despite his banter, Spider-Man stayed focused. These weren't ordinary thugs—they moved with uncanny precision, their strikes coordinated and ruthless. But then, the crowd parted, revealing a towering figure clad in black-and-red armor.

"Ah, great," Peter muttered. "Let me guess—you're the boss battle?"

The warrior stepped forward, his voice deep and resonant. "I am Karasu Tengu, master of shadow. You are an intruder who will not leave this place alive."

Peter raised a hand. "Okay, love the theatrics, but let's see how you handle this!" He shot a web toward Karasu, who sliced it mid-air with a flick of his blade.

"Noted," Peter said, somersaulting to avoid a counterattack.

Karasu was fast—almost too fast. He wielded twin katanas with deadly precision, forcing Spider-Man to rely on every ounce of his agility. The fight was a blur of movement, with Peter dodging strikes by mere inches.

"Gotta hand it to you, Tengu," Peter quipped, ducking a swipe. "You're really giving me a workout. You do CrossFit, or is it just all this ninja stuff?"

Karasu didn't respond, his attacks relentless. But Peter had faced worse, and he wasn't about to let this guy win. Timing his movements carefully, he used his webbing to disarm one of Karasu's katanas, then delivered a powerful kick to his chest.

Karasu staggered but didn't fall. Instead, he pulled a small dagger from his belt and lunged. Spider-Man dodged, then wrapped Karasu in webbing, binding him to a nearby wall.

"Okay, big guy, take five. Now, let's see what's got all your buddies so riled up."

Spider-Man approached the artifact, which pulsed with an eerie, crimson glow. It was a small, intricately carved orb etched with ancient symbols that seemed to shift and shimmer in the light.

As Peter reached for it, Karasu growled, "You cannot stop us. The Orb of Yamato will unleash chaos upon this city. It will bend the very fabric of reality to our will."

Peter froze, his hand hovering over the artifact. "Orb of Yamato? Okay, sounds bad. Like, really bad. So how about I just take this and—"

Before he could finish, the orb flared with energy, emitting a wave of heat that knocked him back.

Karasu laughed, his voice echoing through the alley. "Fool. You do not understand its power. The Hand will rise, and this city will burn."

Spider-Man scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. "Yeah, well, I've got a strict no-burning policy. Guess I'll have to ruin your little doomsday party."

He quickly webbed the orb, yanking it free from its pedestal and securing it in a makeshift web pouch. Karasu roared in fury, but Spider-Man didn't stick around to listen.

Swinging into the night, he glanced down at the glowing orb. "Great. Another mystical artifact of doom. Just what I needed."

But his humor couldn't mask the growing unease in his chest. The Hand was more dangerous than he'd realized, and if this artifact was as powerful as Karasu claimed, the stakes had just skyrocketed.

Peter tightened his grip on the web pouch, determination hardening his features. "Guess it's time to call in some reinforcements."

The city was quiet in the early hours, a rare moment of peace in the sleepless chaos of New York. The faint hum of distant traffic mixed with the gentle rustle of the breeze sweeping over the rooftop of Peter's apartment building.

Betsy Braddock sat cross-legged on the rooftop, her violet hair catching the faint glow of the moon. Her eyes were closed, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she focused on her breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Yet no matter how deeply she breathed, her mind refused to quiet.

You're wasting time, a voice whispered, sharp and cold. There is strength in action, not stillness.

Betsy's brow furrowed. "You again…" she muttered under her breath, her voice low and tense.

The voice was familiar now—a distinct cadence that didn't belong to her, no matter how it resonated in her mind. Kwannon. The memories of the ninja assassin she now shared a body with were seeping further into her consciousness, blurring the line between their identities.

"I'm not wasting time," Betsy said aloud, as if arguing with herself. "I'm trying to make sense of this—of us."

There is no 'us.' There is only what must be done. Hesitation will get you killed.

Betsy clenched her fists, her calm exterior cracking. "You don't get it, do you? I'm not like you. I don't fight just to survive—I fight because I believe in something. Because I care about the people I'm trying to protect."

There was a moment of silence in her mind, and for a brief second, Betsy thought she had silenced Kwannon's voice.

But then it came again, quieter this time, almost thoughtful. Caring makes you weak. Attachments are a liability.

Betsy's eyes snapped open, her frustration bubbling over. "No! Caring is what makes us strong! It's what keeps us grounded, what gives us something to fight for. Without it, we're nothing but weapons. Tools for someone else's agenda."

The words echoed in the stillness of the rooftop, carried off by the wind. Betsy let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping as the tension drained from her body. She closed her eyes again, this time focusing not on stillness but on the faces of those she cared about—Peter, Aunt May, her brother Brian, Faiza, and the X-Men.

"I don't know if I can keep this up," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know if I can hold onto who I am with you in my head, pulling me in another direction."

Then let go. The voice was soft now, almost seductive. You'd be stronger if you embraced it—embraced me.

Betsy shook her head, her resolve hardening. "No. I won't lose myself. I'll find a way to balance this, to make it work. Not for you, but for the people I love."

Kwannon's voice faded, retreating into the recesses of Betsy's mind, leaving her alone once more. The quiet was almost unsettling, but Betsy welcomed it, even if she knew it was temporary.

She stood, gazing out over the city skyline as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. Her hands tightened into fists, not in anger, but in determination.

The first rays of dawn barely peeked through the towering skyscrapers as Spider-Man swung through the city, Faiza Hussain close behind on the ground. The streets were eerily quiet, an unnatural stillness that set Peter's senses on edge.

Landing gracefully on the corner of a building, Peter spotted three familiar figures lurking in the shadows of an alleyway below. One of them stood tall with wild hair and a surly demeanor—Wolverine. Beside him was Gambit, his trademark trench coat flowing slightly in the breeze as he casually shuffled a deck of cards. Nightcrawler lingered in the shadows, his golden eyes glowing faintly.

Peter leaped down, landing lightly on the pavement. "Well, if it isn't the X-Men's finest. You guys on vacation, or did someone send you?"

Wolverine crossed his arms, his voice gruff. "Vacation? Kid, we're here because we smelled trouble. And from the looks of things, we were right."

Gambit smirked, flipping a card in his hand. "Don't sound so surprised, mon ami. We keep tabs on the big cities, especially when something smells this rotten."

Nightcrawler stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. "Ja, and from what we've heard, you've been having quite the ordeal with The Hand."

Faiza caught up, her staff in hand, and glanced between the mutants and Spider-Man. "It's good timing, then. The situation's escalating faster than we can manage. The Hand's been relentless, and it feels like they're building toward something big."

Peter nodded, the tension evident in his posture. "I was actually thinking of calling you guys. Things have been getting out of hand—pun not intended—and Betsy's been... dealing with her own issues. I figured the X-Men might be able to offer backup."

"Betsy?" Gambit raised an eyebrow. "You mean Psylocke? She's here?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, his tone softening. "But she's been through a lot lately. Let's just say she's not exactly herself right now."

Wolverine grunted, clearly piecing together part of the story. "Well, you're lucky we're here. The Hand doesn't mess around, and if they're active in this city, they're up to something nasty."

Before Peter could respond, a faint noise caught his attention. His spider-sense tingled, and he turned toward the horizon. "Hold that thought," he said, his voice tense.

In the distance, shadows began to move unnaturally fast, converging on a nearby block. The distinct crimson and black uniforms of The Hand's ninjas became visible as they scaled walls and darted through the streets.

"Looks like they're not wasting any time," Faiza muttered, gripping her staff tightly.

Spider-Man crouched, readying his web-shooters. "We've got company. Time to see how well you X-Men handle New York hospitality."

Wolverine unsheathed his claws with a metallic snikt, a feral grin spreading across his face. "Oh, we'll handle 'em just fine."

Gambit charged a card with kinetic energy, spinning it between his fingers. "Let's make some noise, eh?"

Nightcrawler vanished with a bamf, reappearing on a nearby lamppost to get a better vantage point. "They're spreading quickly. We must stop them before they cause more harm."

The group moved as one, sprinting toward the incoming threat. Peter's heart raced—not just from the thrill of the impending fight, but from the lingering worry about Betsy. As he swung into action, his thoughts strayed to her.

Stay safe, Betsy. Please.

With that silent prayer, Spider-Man dove into the chaos, his webbing flying as the battle began in earnest.

Author's Note: Hello everyone, so here we are introducing the X-Men now that things have gotten as escalated as they have. It also marks for a major development point for Betsy now that she is closer to fully embracing who she is after all this time. We certainly haven't seen the last of The Hand of course now that the plan has only begun to be really heating up.

I would to thank Musiclover64 for the review and will answer this much: Currently I don't have any plans to introduce X-23. I'm currently debating what kind of obstacle (if any) I should be given to Peter in his relationship. I guess Silver Sable could probably work if I managed to work it in but I'm also considering if it should be Gwen or not. Maybe we'll see further down the line how that turns out and hopefully I'll have a better answer.

For everyone worried about this decision I'm trying to make: Shinobi Shaw will appear in a later volume and will be Betsy's big challenge in case you're wondering. I actually have this storyline planned out and hopefully it won't have to change too much in order for us to get there.

On top of that, I might be changing the next volume a bit because I hope I might be able to address Nothingspecial43's point of how I established the romance too early for the main couple. Hopefully I'll find a way to fix the issues and make for an overall better experience going forward.

That's what I've got so far so I hope you all at least enjoyed what's here for now. I'll do my best to take any suggestions if you want me to consider them. I hope you all look forward to what is to come in future as this story continues to progress to the greater conflict.