July 15, 2009

The back room of The Talon—a half-abandoned nightclub blurted M.I.A.'s Bad Girls. It served as one of The Owl's many front businesses—being dimly lit, the air thick with cigar smoke and broken promises. Black Cat strolled in, casual but calculating, her sharp eyes landing on the man she was here to see.

Seated in the booth like a king surveying his domain was Mason "Mace" Vendrelli, one of The Owl's top lieutenants. A man known for his love of high-stakes gambling and low-stakes loyalty. His black suit was sharp, but the gold rings on his fingers were sharper—all trophies of the debts he'd collected over the years.

Felicia leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Mace. It's been too long. You're still rocking the 'mobster who wants to be a Bond villain' look, I see."

Mace smirked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Felicia Hardy. You always have that mix of charm and trouble written all over you. So, what do you want?"

Felicia's grin was razor-sharp. "The Iron Web auction. Where's it going down?"

Mace's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked to his men, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Interesting ask," he mused, taking a slow sip. "People whisper, but they don't like saying much. However… I happen to know exactly where it's happening. Problem is, that kind of information is expensive."

Felicia rolled her eyes, already slipping a small diamond-studded USB drive from her belt and tossing it onto the table.

"Bank heist in Prague, six months ago. Security blueprints, vault schematics, and the access codes to the bidding accounts. Call it an early Christmas present."

Mace picked up the drive, inspecting it as if it were a rare treasure. "Now this is why I like you, Hardy."

He nodded, signaling one of his grunts. The man slid a folded slip of paper across the table.

Felicia unfolded it. One glance and she grinned. "Osprey Tower. Rooftop. Midnight. Fancy."

Mace chuckled. "Only the best for our dear underground elites."

Felicia was ready to turn to leave when Mace's voice stopped her.

"Shame, though."

She turned back, raising an eyebrow. "Shame about what?"

The lights flickered—then cut out completely.

A click-clack of safeties switching off. A half-dozen red laser sights snapped onto her body.

Mace sighed, almost regretful. "That info was expensive. But so are you."

Felicia took a breath. "Well. This is awkward."

A neon light blinked on.

Felicia flips the table, sending whiskey and bullets flying as she vaults over the bar. A goon lunges—she kicks off a barstool, twisting midair, and lands a heel to his jaw.

Bass drop in the song.

Mace pulls a gun—Felicia knocks a hanging bottle loose, shattering it into his face.

Wide shot: The room erupts into chaos—goons tripping over furniture, guns going off wildly.

Felicia grabs a cue ball from a pool table—hurls it off a wall, bouncing it straight into a thug's forehead.

A knife comes at her—she dodges, grabs a bar rag, and whips it around his wrist, twisting it so hard he drops the weapon.

Mace, stumbling back, snarls: "Someone shoot her already!"

Felicia slides across the bar counter, grabbing a bottle and spraying a lit match over it—instant fireball distraction.

She flips over the counter, smashes a chair leg into the last guy standing, then grabs Mace by the collar.

She yanks him close, her voice playful but sharp. "Here's the thing, Mace. If you sell me out again? I'm coming back, and next time… I'm taking more than just your intel."

Mace, half-blinded by whiskey and fire, coughed. "Noted."

Felicia winks, grabs a duffel bag off a knocked-out goon, and saunters toward the exit.

Felicia stepped into the night, tapping her earpiece.

A pile of unconscious Hammerhead goons littered the alleyway, their weapons scattered around them. Silver Sable stood among them, barely winded, adjusting the sights on her pistol before holstering it.

Her earpiece crackled to life.

"Sable? We've got a location. Hope you're ready for a party," came Black Cat's unmistakable voice.

Sable smirked, wiping a streak of dust off her sleeve. "Let me guess, you had to beat the answer out of someone."

"Define beat," Felicia teased. "I prefer to think of it as creative negotiation."

Sable chuckled dryly, tapping her comm. "Osprey Tower. Midnight. It lines up."

"Lines up with what?" Felicia asked, her curiosity piqued.

Sable crouched beside one of the fallen men and pulled a small, black-marked data chip from his pocket. She'd taken it off a lieutenant who had too much confidence and too little aim. With a flick of her wrist, she slotted it into a wrist-mounted scanner.

A holographic interface projected in front of her, decrypting the files. The data scroll was dense, but one name repeated itself: Black Cipher.

"They weren't just bodyguards," Sable said, eyes narrowing. "They were guarding information."

Felicia's voice sharpened. "What kind of information?"

Sable's gaze flicked across the decrypted text. Iron Web—Prototype Build 2.0. AIM Subdivision: Black Cipher. Pending Sale.

"I've found our third party."

Felicia went quiet for a beat. "Black Cipher? I've stolen from AIM before, and I've never heard of them."

"You wouldn't," Sable said. "Black Cipher is a splinter faction. They're AIM scientists who broke off to avoid oversight. They specialize in covert weapons—hacking tech, cybernetic warfare, deep infiltration tools." She clenched her jaw. "They aren't just selling the Iron Web. They've enhanced it."

Felicia let out a slow whistle. "So we're looking at the most advanced cybernetic hacking system... being sold off to the highest bidder."

Sable stood, stepping over a groaning goon. "If the wrong people buy it, it could be used to take down banks, military systems, national security protocols. It's beyond dangerous."

Felicia sighed. "And, more importantly, it's dangerous to us."

Sable nodded. "We can't let it stay on the market. We have to end this auction before it begins."

Felicia hummed in agreement. "Guess it's time to regroup, gear up, and crash this little soirée."

Sable checked her watch. "We have less than twenty hours before midnight."

Felicia's grin was audible. "Plenty of time to cause some chaos."

Sable allowed herself a small smirk. "Meet me at the rendezvous in one hour. We plan from there."

Felicia chuckled. "See you soon, partner."

The comm cut out.

Sable looked down at the unconscious men at her feet. The world of weapons dealing had just gotten a whole lot messier.

And tonight, she and Black Cat were about to clean house.

The safehouse was a sleek blend of luxury and practicality, nestled deep in the Upper West Side, away from prying eyes. Silver Sable sat at the edge of a leather couch, peeling off her tactical gloves, her muscles still tense from the night's fights. Across the room, Black Cat stood at a steel table, flipping through a folder of forged identities with the practiced ease of someone used to slipping into new lives.

Then, Sable's phone buzzed.

She stiffened. Unknown Number.

Felicia barely glanced up. "That sounds important."

Sable ignored her, stepping into an adjacent room. She pressed the encrypted earpiece into her ear, voice neutral. "Report."

A brief pause. Then, the voice, distorted and unreadable. Calm. Male. Unidentifiable.

"I assume you have the Iron Web?"

Sable exhaled slowly. "Not yet."

A silence stretched. Then:

"Unfortunate."

Sable leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing. "It's an active sale, not a simple retrieval. I have a lead, but it takes precision. A misstep, and it disappears forever."

The voice didn't react. It never did. Whoever this man was, he was a professional—detached, calculating.

"A challenge. Unexpected, but acceptable," the benefactor mused. Then his voice turned sharper. "But do not forget, Silver, that you are still on my payroll. Your priorities remain aligned with mine."

Sable's grip tightened. "I don't need reminding."

Another pause. Then, the line cut.

She exhaled, composing herself.

And that's when she heard it.

A quiet shuffle.

Her head snapped toward the doorway.

Felicia stood there, arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips—but her eyes were sharp, scanning. Calculating.

Sable narrowed her gaze. "How long have you been listening?"

Felicia gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, you know… just long enough to hear you're answering to some very shady voices."

Sable's expression remained unreadable. "It's a contract."

Felicia tapped her chin. "Right, right. A contract that needs you to steal a high-level cybernetic hacking system, huh?"

A beat. Then, Silver Sable countered. "And what about you? You wouldn't be here if there wasn't something in it for you."

Felicia's smirk widened. "Touché."

The silence between them held a thin, unspoken tension.

Finally, Felicia let out a breath and tossed a manila folder onto the table between them. Fake IDs, high-roller credentials, and detailed auction schematics.

"Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous," she teased. "Now, let's get ready for a night of crime, shall we?"

Sable took the file without a word.

The mistrust lingered, but for now, they had a bigger target.

Midnight. Osprey Tower.

The private penthouse of Osprey Tower was transformed into an exclusive marketplace for the world's most dangerous clientele. Wealth draped the room in shadows and excess—marble floors, chandeliers refracting low golden light, and a panoramic view of the city glowing beneath them. Armed guards in tailored suits lined the walls, subtly shifting as new guests arrived.

At the center of it all, overseeing the event with the quiet confidence of a queen surveying her empire, stood Sunset Bain—Madame Menace.

She cut an imposing figure in a gunmetal-gray silk dress, her silver-blonde hair swept into a flawless twist. A serpentine bracelet of microdrones coiled around her wrist, subtly adjusting as she raised a glass of deep red wine.

She smiled—not warmly, but with the confidence of someone who knew the room already belonged to her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she purred, stepping onto the auction platform, her voice amplified through the hidden speakers. "Welcome to Osprey Tower—and welcome to an evening of… opportunity."

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the room.

Felicia Hardy, draped in an elegant black dress, subtly adjusted the small earpiece hidden beneath her cascade of platinum waves. Somewhere in the crowd, Silver Sable—disguised in a crisp, tailored suit—kept her distance, scanning for exits, guards, and anything that smelled of a trap.

Sunset Bain gestured toward a velvet-draped pedestal beside her.

"Tonight, I offer you the rare, the dangerous, the revolutionary. Artifacts of war. Tech beyond borders. And, for those with the vision to wield it—power."

With a flick of her wrist, an automated drone removed the first cloth, revealing a sleek prototype pulse rifle—an experimental S.H.I.E.L.D. design that had mysteriously vanished from their armory.

Bidding began instantly.

A black luxury sedan pulled up to the private entrance of Osprey Tower, its windows tinted to conceal the two passengers inside. A uniformed valet opened the door, revealing Felicia Hardy, draped in a silk emerald gown, stepping out with effortless grace. Her platinum hair was styled into an elegant wave, and she wore a diamond-studded mask, giving just the right touch of mystery.

From the other side, Silver Sable emerged, wearing a sharp, midnight-blue tuxedo tailored to perfection. A pair of wireframe glasses rested on her nose—just enough to play the part of an unassuming investor rather than a deadly mercenary.

As they approached the velvet rope entrance, two heavily armed guards blocked their path.

"Name?" one of them grunted.

Felicia flashed a glowing holo-badge from inside her clutch. "Lana Moreau, investment consultant for Stark's former defense contracts." She smiled. "A girl needs hobbies."

Sable adjusted her glasses, handing over a forged identification chip. "Ivana Volkova, acquisitions officer for Von Doom Industries." Her voice carried a crisp, authoritative edge.

The guards scanned their credentials, exchanging a skeptical glance.

Felicia tapped a delicate silver bracelet on her wrist—a hidden disruptor sending a subtle electromagnetic wave through the scanners. The security screen glitched momentarily before displaying cleared access.

The guards stepped aside. "Welcome to Osprey Tower."

Felicia took Silver Sable's arm and sauntered into the grand auction hall.

Crisp jazz music. A golden chandelier glowing dimly overhead. Dozens of power players from the criminal underworld—arms dealers, black-market brokers, and corporate warlords—mingling over champagne and whispered deals.

A tray of champagne flutes passed by. Felicia plucked one without hesitation, handing another to Silver Sable.

"I'm surprised you drink on the job," Sable muttered, swirling the liquid.

Felicia smirked. "I find it helps me blend in."

Their attention shifted to the auction stage.

At the center, Sunset Bain—Madame Menace—stood in full command, exuding an air of absolute control.

"That's her," Felicia murmured under her breath. "Sunset Bain. Tech mogul, arms dealer, and—" she took a sip of champagne, "all-around bad news."

Sable's expression remained unreadable. "She's a problem."

"Tell me about it."

On stage, Bain gestured toward the latest item—a sleek Stark-Tech gauntlet, modified for high-yield plasma bursts.

"Starting bid: four million."

The auction erupted in numbers. Neon bid paddles flickered.

Felicia's smirk widened. "Oh, it gets better."

As if on cue, the next item was unveiled.

A mechanized containment chamber rose from the floor, the glass plating sliding open with a hiss.

There, suspended in a magnetic field, was the Iron Web.

The glowing nanofiber mesh pulsed faintly, alive in its containment.

The crowd fell into a hushed awe.

Sunset Bain raised her glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, behold—the future of cybernetic warfare."

Felicia exchanged a look with Silver Sable.

Madame Menace, clad in a sleek crimson power suit, took center stage, her expression one of controlled arrogance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, letting the anticipation linger. "You are not just looking at a weapon. You are looking at the future of control."

She gestured to her left, where a cybernetically enhanced mercenary was led onto the stage by two of Bain's enforcers. The man's body was riddled with AIM-issue neural augments, his metallic arm twitching involuntarily.

"With the Iron Web, control over cybernetic enhancements is no longer exclusive to their users." Bain's lips curled into a serpentine smile.

She tapped a wrist-mounted interface.

The Iron Web flickered to life.

Its thin nanofiber strands unraveled like silken threads, latching onto the mercenary's exposed circuitry. He barely had time to scream before his body stiffened unnaturally, his movements no longer his own.

Bain's fingers danced over the interface.

The mercenary suddenly pivoted, his weaponized arm snapping up, aiming directly at the gathered crowd. Gasps rippled through the audience as he moved like a marionette on invisible strings.

"With just a signal—" Bain flicked a control.

The mercenary dropped to one knee, bowing his head as if in submission.

"I can turn even the most dangerous enhanced individuals into obedient weapons."

A beat of silence.

Then, the bidding war exploded.

Paddles shot up instantly.

"Fifty million!"
"Seventy-five!"
"One hundred!"

A representative from Hydra raised his bid card with an unshaken smirk.

From the other side, a Hellfire Club envoy, dressed in an obsidian silk suit, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. "The Club is willing to go much, much higher."

Black Cat and Silver Sable stood at the periphery, champagne in hand, their expressions carefully neutral.

Felicia's voice was low, amused yet deadly serious. "Looks like your worst-case scenario is playing out."

Silver Sable took a slow sip of her drink. "Remind me again of the plan before I shoot someone."

Felicia exhaled, masking her tension beneath a playful smirk. "Get close, sabotage the bid, and steal the Web before Bain figures out what hit her."

Sable's jaw tensed. "That plan better work."

Felicia glanced toward the bidding war, where the numbers were already soaring past a quarter-billion dollars.

"Oh, it will." She downed the rest of her champagne, placing the glass on a passing tray. "It just has to be very, very fast."

The bidding war reached its peak. Numbers soared past three hundred million dollars, an obscene sum for a weapon that could turn the world's most dangerous enhanced individuals into pawns. The Hellfire Club's envoy leaned back, unbothered, as if this was pocket change. Across the room, Hydra's representative signaled another bid, his fingers tapping impatiently against his seat.

Then—

"Five hundred million."

The room fell into a hush.

All eyes turned toward the new bidder.

A tall, poised woman in a midnight-blue tuxedo sat near the front, an amused smirk on her lips, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. She twirled a gloved finger at the auctioneer.

Madame Menace barely masked her surprise. "A generous bid," she purred, tilting her head. "And what does Von Doom Industries consider you to be?"

Sable lifted a platinum-plated invitation from the auction's elite tier. "Someone who doesn't like to lose."

Madame Menace smirked. "Sold."

The gavel struck once.

Twice.

"Five hundred million to Madame Volkova for Von Doom Industries."

Silver Sable—right now Madame Volkova—gave a slow, satisfied nod.

From her position near the bar, Black Cat resisted the urge to smirk. "Nice touch," she murmured under her breath.

Sable's voice came through her hidden earpiece, crisp and professional. "Move fast. We don't have long before Bain verifies the credentials."

Felicia moved.

She weaved through the crowd, her disguise impeccable. Her emerald dress shimmered under the chandelier lights, matching Sable's, reinforcing the illusion that they were part of the same elite syndicate.

She approached Bain's private servers, where a small team monitored the auction's finances. She had studied the system layout—they were processing payments in real time.

Slipping behind a distracted security tech, she smoothly lifted a data spike from her clutch and slotted it into the system's main interface.

The screens flickered. The numbers scrambled.

Madame Menace's expression darkened as the system froze mid-transaction.

"The transfer isn't processing." One of the techs frantically tapped at the console.

Felicia smiled to herself. Perfect.

Silver Sable rose from her seat, maintaining the cold poise of a woman who had just won half a billion dollars worth of cutting-edge technology. She moved towards the stage as if inspecting her prize.

"Madame Bain," she said smoothly, her Eastern European accent flawless, "I would like a demonstration of ownership before we finalize the transfer."

Bain hesitated, narrowing her eyes. "You doubt my word?"

Sable's smirk was sharp. "I doubt many things, darling."

Bain exhaled, then nodded to her enforcers. "Very well. Bring the Web down."

The containment chamber unlatched. The Iron Web was lowered onto a secure stand, its gleaming nanofibers shimmering like liquid metal under the light.

Sable's fingers twitched. Almost there.

Felicia's voice crackled in Sable's ear. "System's locked. Five seconds before they notice."

Sable gave a subtle nod and moved.

With a flick of her wrist, she snapped a smoke charge from her bracelet and slammed it onto the ground.

BOOM!

The auction hall exploded into chaos.

Felicia was already in motion, vaulting over a table as the crowd panicked. Security scrambled to contain the situation, but the moment's hesitation was all she needed.

Sable ripped the Iron Web from its stand, flipping it over her shoulder like a duffel bag.

"Got it," she snapped.

Felicia sprinted toward the exit, swiping a tray of champagne and hurling it at the first two guards who reached her. They slipped, colliding into a table in a perfectly timed domino effect.

Bain, coughing through the smoke haze, shouted in fury, "STOP THEM!"

Black Cat vaulted over the auction railing, grabbing onto the chandelier above as bullets ripped past her. She swung in a perfect arc, landing beside Silver Sable.

"The whole 'bidding five hundred million dollars' thing?" Felicia grinned. "That was a nice touch."

Sable kicked over a table to block approaching guards. "Let's discuss it after we're not getting shot at."

They sprinted through the side doors, alarms blaring behind them.

Madame Menace, still coughing through the smoke, watched them disappear with murder in her eyes.

"This," she growled, "is not over."

Silver Sable and Black Cat burst onto the rooftop, the stolen Iron Web secured in Sable's grip. Below them, the city stretched out, bright and indifferent to the chaos unfolding at its heights.

Felicia grinned, her heart racing. "I love when a plan comes together."

Sable shot her a look. "We're not out yet."

Right on cue—

WHAM!

The rooftop access door exploded inward, blown off its hinges. Dozens of armed men poured onto the roof. At the front—Hammerhead and The Owl, side by side.

Hammerhead cracked his neck, his titanium-plated skull gleaming under the moonlight. "You broads are really starting to piss me off."

The Owl's razor-sharp nails gleamed as he smirked. "Running around my territory, stealing from people who actually matter. Bad move, ladies."

Felicia sighed. "Oh, great. Two guys I was hoping would stay out of my life."

Silver Sable's grip tightened on the Iron Web. "We don't have time for this."

"Yeah, well—" Felicia started, but a new voice cut through the night air.

"I think you'll find that time is exactly what I control."

Silver Sable and Black Cat froze.

A deep hum reverberated through the rooftop.

Heather Tucker.

Time manipulator. Former member of the Mutant Liberation Front. Someone who, in the wrong hands, could turn seconds into lifetimes.

And judging by the smirk on her face?

She was absolutely in the wrong hands tonight.

Felicia exhaled sharply. "Oh, hell no."

Hammerhead smirked. "See, me and The Owl figured you'd be slippery, so we called in someone who can slow things down a bit."

Tempo raised a hand, fingers crackling with golden energy.

Sable lunged.

Too late.

Everything lurched.

The world distorted, twisted, slowed.

Sable felt like she was wading through molasses. Her gun was halfway out of its holster, but it might as well have been frozen in place.

Felicia's leap turned into an agonizingly slow motion arc, her limbs sluggish, her reflexes dull.

Tempo grinned.

The Owl stepped forward, casually plucking the Iron Web from Sable's near-frozen grip.

She couldn't stop it.

Couldn't even react.

Felicia watched, helpless, as Hammerhead strolled over—moving at normal speed—and drove his fist into her stomach.

In slow motion, she doubled over, gasping.

Sable tried to counter, but it felt like moving through water. She could barely lift her arms before Tempo snapped her fingers—

And time snapped back to normal.

The sudden acceleration threw both women off balance.

Before they could recover, The Owl's goons swarmed them, striking hard and fast.

Sable caught a blow to the ribs and staggered. Felicia ducked, flipping over a crate, but it was too little, too late.

Tempo snapped again.

Time lurched forward—too fast.

Sable tripped, her body thrown off rhythm.

Felicia tried to dodge, but the world shifted around her, sending her straight into a roundhouse kick from one of The Owl's men.

She hit the ground hard.

The Owl turned the Iron Web over in his hands, admiring it.

Hammerhead dusted off his suit. "See? Told ya this was a better plan."

Tempo smirked. "Always happy to help the highest bidder."

Sable forced herself up, her body screaming in protest. "No—"

The Owl waved a lazy hand. "Yes."

Then he vaulted off the rooftop, the Iron Web in hand.

Hammerhead followed. Tempo snapped her fingers once more—

And the villains vanished in a blink, time shifting them out of reach.

Sable punched the ground in frustration.

Felicia groaned, watching the bad guys get away with their prize.

"Ugh. I hate it when the muscle actually does its job."

A gunshot cracked past them.

Security sirens wailed below.

"Time to go," Sable growled.

Felicia tapped her grapple line, already sprinting toward the edge of the building. "You coming?"

Sable didn't hesitate. They dived off the roof together, swinging into the night.

Behind them, Osprey Tower swarmed with chaos.

The Iron Web was gone.

Tempo had tilted the fight against them.

But they weren't done yet.

Author's Note: Hello everyone, I hope you enjoyed this scene. getting Black Cat and Silver Sable to go through some crazy action set pieces like these was entertaining to do. And they get to fight their own X-Men villain on top of that: Tempo. I have ideas for how she can be utilized later on and how she could have her story expanded on in the future. Not to mention we have not seen the last of the villains or the extent of their plans which will all be unveiled in the future. I hope to see you all then.