Felicia Hardy sits on the catwalk above the warehouse, transfixed by the scene below her. Weeks ago, when they took over this place using funds secured by Flint Marko during Black Tarantula’s hectic siege on New York, it was nothing more than an empty, dusty, tetanus-filled hell hole. In a matter of a week, it became a fully functioning drug factory and lab, and is now running nearly autonomously. The place is spitting out kilo after kilo of the most potent synthetic heroine the market has ever seen. Their organization is raking in boatloads of cash because of it. She enjoys that, even if her employer seems to not care.
Her employer is the real reason she can’t help but watch what is going on below her. The four, snaking, slithering metal arms crisscross across the room, protruding from the back of Otto Octavius. The first time she had seen the arms, she had been in awe. He designed them to help with delicate experiments as the disease that was taking his fine motor skills progressed. The tentacles, as he called them, were more precise than he could be thanks to a microcontrol chip implanted directly into his cerebral cortex. They weren’t meant to help build his criminal empire, but that has all changed.
Doctor Octavius himself has changed, if she is being honest with herself. This great man had saved her from a life on the streets. He saved her from a life as a contract killer. He offered her something more than that. A chance to remake the world.
Pushing drugs isn’t her idea of remaking the world. She knows Octavius is out for vengeance. She’s seen it in him before. But this time it’s different. Maybe it’s the progression of the disease. Maybe it’s the fact that Spider-Woman and Osborn have mucked up his best laid plans. She doesn’t know for sure, because the good doctor has become insulated in the past months. Now he only speaks to her when he has orders.
She isn’t angry. Not yet. He keeps the money flowing freely, so she has what she’s here for. But she’d be lying if she said she isn’t worried.
“My dear,” Octavius’s voice approaches as the tentacles extend, reaching him up to the catwalk she is sitting on, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”[color=a2d39c][/color]
“Anything you want, Doc,” she smiles wryly. “I’ve been sharpening my claws all day hoping for some play time.”
“I can always count on you,” he smiles. “I need you to go out on patrol. Whispers have gotten back to me that our Spider friend has entered our fair neighborhood. I want you to watch her. See if she gets close. If she does...discourage her from getting closer. Understand?”
“You got it, Doc,” she grins before slinking out of the open skylight.
The cold, December air hits her like a jolt of electricity, and the hairs on her arms stand at attention. The excitement ripples through her, causing her muscles to coil up like a snake about to strike.
She likes her new life. Her old one was one that could have ended in untimely death at any moment, and her new one keeps her flush with cash. But she would be lying if she said she doesn't miss the fights. There's nothing like a good one to get the blood pumping.
Tonight, she would have her fight.
**********
I can almost smell the desperation as I swing over the Bronx. If I didn’t see many people out on the street during my initial crossing into this part of the city, it is now a veritable desert. The Bronx looks like something out of a post apocalyptic building. I’ve seen a few cars tipped over or with their windows broken, street signs strewn across the roads, and buildings looted. Hallmark signs of a riot, for sure.
Staying inside isn’t something I begrudge the people of the neighborhood. I would do the same.
A twinge of guilt crosses my chest as I survey everything that’s gone on here since the Raft incident. I had no idea it was this bad here. I knew cops felt like they weren’t welcome, btu from the looks of it the people who live here don’t feel it either. I should be here more. I could be doing more to help them.
Then again, I have no idea if I could even clean up an entire portion of New York by myself. So far the best I’ve done is put away few mobsters and drug pushers. Do I even have the ability to make real, lasting change in this city? Or am I doomed to constantly chip away at the edges of New York’s problems, moving on to new problems, which fresh ones replace the old, like scabs over a scraped knee?
I’m so lost in my own thoughts I almost miss the scream emanating from an alleyway below. Changing my direction, I break for the sounds. Landing on a rooftop above the alley, I slink to the side, looking down to find two men wielding crowbars backing a scared shopkeeper into a corner with nowhere to go.
“You didn’t pay up this week,” one of them says, smacking his hand against the crowbar. “We warned you what would happen.”
“Please,” the scared man scuttles backwards on his hands, the slushy dirt in the alley staining his pants. “I can’t get any customers with what’s going on!”
“Not our problem,” the other guy shrugs sarcastically. “But it certainly is yours.”
He raises the crowbar menacingly before bringing it down swiftly towards the shopkeeper. Instead of the sickening sound of metal connecting with bone, however, the only thing that echoes through the alley is the clang of the crowbar hitting the concrete after I yank it out of his hand with some webbing.
“Oh looks like someone’s got a case of the dropsies,” I say as I land on a car parked in the alley. "Do you play for the Giants? Because I swear I saw a guy drop a ball just like that. Then again, it is the Giants, so that's not really all that surprising."
"It's the Spider!" the other guy yells out in alarm, dropping his own weapon and fumbling for a gun in his waistband.
"It's the goon who yells out obvious things!" I call back, attacking his hand to his hip with a web. Somersaulting off the car, I land between the two men, "Now, let's be a good group of criminals and go home. Spider-Woman doesn't want to have to do anything you might regret."
The first man doesn't listen, of course. He picks up his partner's crowbar and lunges at me clumsily. I move out of the way in more than enough time, spin around, and drive my palm into his chest. He's lifted off the ground and slams into the car, leaving a sizable dent in the pea green door of the sedan. His body makes a damp thud as he hits the ground, scrambling to his feet and running off. His friend runs after him, his hand still stuck to his him. From my vantage point, he looks like someone singing "I'm a Little Teapot" running the hundred yard dash.
Chuckling, I give my hand to the cowering man, "Don't worry. They won't bother you any more."
"Yes they will," he responds, reluctantly taking my outstretched hand. "But next time there will be no one to protect me. And they will do worse than rough me up."
"I...," is all that manages to come out of my mouth. Usually I get thanked for saving people from getting beat up by crowbars.
"Don't worry, sir," a voice comes from behind me. I turn to find almost a dozen people standing in the entrance of the alley, brandishing everything from bats to guns. "We'll take care of you from here on out. Free of charge."
My eyes narrow in suspicion at the newcomer, "And who might you guys be? Extras from the set of The Warriors?"
"Says the person dressed in a spandex suit," the guy shoots back, pointing at me with the bat.
"Okay, first, it's not spandex," I raise my hands in defense. "Second...that doesn't matter."
"No, it doesn't," the man responds with a smirk. "Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to come with us."
A snort of laughter filters through my mask, "Yea? That so? Who do you think you are?"
"We're the Pale Horses," he sneers. "And you're on our territory now. The Bronx is under our protection. Our boss would like a word."
"Jesus he knows I'm here?" I recoil in mock panic. Looking the group over, I can tell I'm not gonna fight my way out of this one. Plus, they're not wrong. They may be a gang, but as far as I can tell their only crime is clashing with the police. Which, to be fair, isn't the best thing in the world, but nor is it the worst. They're boss may or may not have some information to help me too. "What is he, psychic?"
"No," the leader with them shakes his head. [color=440e62]"But he's got eyes everywhere."
"Fine," I shrug, realizing that I don't have much of a choice. "Let's have a chat."
**********
"Well, well, well, Spider," Felicia muses to herself as she watches the hero go willingly with the gang who thinks they run this place. They've only been allowed to stick around because they keep the police out of Otto's hair. Otherwise, he already would have sent Marko to take the lot of them out. "Walking into the stable, are we? What are you up to?"
Still, if they end up willing to work with the Spider-Woman, they may need to be taken out sooner rather than later.
Unless she can just take out Spider-Woman tonight. Then all that worry goes out the window.
She likes that option.
