Chapter Text
The rain poured down in torrents, the droplets pelting her hard, dripping off the edge of her hood and splattering onto the curved lenses of her mask as she raced forward, her feet pounding across the rooftops, propelling her off the side of one, and onto the next as fast as her legs could carry her, straining to keep her pace with the getaway car haphazardly swerving through the streets below.
It had been five weeks, thirty-eight days, since she'd been bitten by that spider in Doctor Connors' lab.
Gwen leapt and landed atop the next building, her feet skidding slightly on the rain-slick roof, but she didn't break her stride for a moment, closing the distance with the opposite edge and launching herself off of it, over the alley, and onto the next roof.
It had been thirty-five days since Ben's murder.
The car's tires squealed, kicking up rainwater and threatening to skid out as it took a sharp turn, changing course, and she followed, her eyes glued to the vehicle, her vision narrowed, and her senses focused entirely on the target and its reckless path through the streets below.
Twenty-two days since Gwen had found the fate of Ben's killer, and told Peter the truth. Since she'd gotten the Lucky Lobo arrested and the case closed on Carradine and Ben's murder.
Another turn, another jump, her outstretched hands finding the side of a taller building, sticking to the glass surface, and scrambling up the slick wall, flipping over the ledge and onto the roof, sprinting towards the opposite end, and promptly diving off the edge.
Twenty-one since she'd donned the mask, the one Peter had made for her, for the first time.
She sliced through the air, plummeting toward the street, reaching out a hand and firing a strand of webbing, the line streaking through the air and hitting the side of the car, the web fluid adhering to the wet metal in an instant. With a decisive yank, the webbing went taut and she shot towards the car, the pavement flying by below her.
And she'd spent every day, every hour, every single second since trying to live up to her promise.
Gwen landed on the trunk of the car in a crouch, the impact jostling the vehicle, and the driver's eyes widened as he caught sight of her through the rearview mirror, the shock and panic clear on his face.
Every night, without fail, she'd gone out. Whether or not it was a school night, or whether or not she'd had a lot of homework, or a big test the next day, she didn't care. She'd still gone, and she'd done anything and everything she could.
He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the engine revving loudly, the tires squealing as they fought for traction on the rain-soaked pavement, and the car sped forward, puddles kicking up as he swerved and careened down the, thankfully, mostly empty streets. His attempts to shake her as desperate as they were futile, his panicked movements not even making her flinch, much less shifting her from her perch.
Carjackings. Robberies. Drug deals. Assaults. Attempted murders. Anything and everything in between. If the police scanners picked up anything, if she heard anything, if she saw anything, she was there.
And it was hard.
But it was getting easier. Or rather, she was getting stronger. Smarter. Faster. Better.
The driver paled, the terror only growing on his face, and the car swerved wildly again as he dove for the seat next to him, fumbling as he grabbed his gun, his arm slinging across the back of his seat, his hand trembling, struggling to steady the barrel enough to aim it at her.
Her senses had honed, becoming almost overwhelmingly precise, until now they worked on nothing but instinct, trained through experience to filter out the natural noise of the city and focus on the relevant sounds, like the heavy footsteps as a group of thugs tried to surround her, or the creak of skin as someone tightened their fist to throw a punch, or the sound of a switchblade springing open, or the sharp hiss of a knife cutting through the air, or the telltale click of a gun being cocked, or the whistle of a bullet flying towards her.
Each and every one easily picked out from the rest, processed in an instant, and reacted to accordingly, part instinct, part practice and repetition, and part instantaneous, split second decision making all at the same time.
His finger tensed, the movement ringing in her ears, her senses tingling in the back of her skull, and, before he could pull the trigger, her arm was darting forward, glass shattering and spraying over the back seat as her fist put a clean hole through the back window, and, without slowing, she shot a web, jamming the muzzle of the gun. And with a yank, ripped it from his hands, sending it clattering under the back seat.
Her webs had likewise become second nature, like an extension of her body. A weapon to disarm and immobilize, to trip and to blind. A tool to stop cars, to catch falling objects, to create barricades and distractions and a hundred other things, all at her literal fingertips with a flick of her wrist, and a tap of her middle and ring fingers to the triggers built into the palms of her gloves.
The thug let out a startled cry, and the car swerved dangerously, nearly crashing into a building, before he quickly grabbed the wheel again, jerking it sharply, the vehicle righting itself and racing forward.
And her other skills had only improved. She had read and researched and learned how to fight, improving on her sloppy tactics, and learning real technique.
How to better throw a punch, a kick, a proper uppercut, or a jab. She'd invented and taught herself moves to take advantage of her now intrinsic acrobatic skill and flexibility.
Midair split kicks, flip-kicks, and aerial somersaults, and had trained herself to do them without a second thought. And, most importantly, she'd learned how to find and exploit every weakness, every opening, and every mistake her opponents would inevitably make.
How to be not just a stronger, faster fighter, but a smarter one.
Extricating her arm from the broken window, she crawled up over the trunk and onto the top of the car, leaning over to peer upside down into the windshield, the white bug eyes of her mask staring blankly into that of the driver as she lowered a hand to give him a silent little wave, and watched as his face went completely slack.
Individually, each was a small improvement. Important, of course, but not significant enough to make her as effective as she could be. As she needed to be.
Together though?
She flipped forward over the windshield, her feet landing on the hood of the car. She braced herself, her body lowering, and her muscles tensing, as her hands shot out, webs streaking from her wrists, and attaching to the street below, pulling taut in an instant. She leaned backwards, the muscles in her legs, arms, and core straining, her heels digging into the hood, denting the metal beneath her as she held the lines, bringing the car to a sudden, sliding, screeching halt, the back tires lifting off the ground, and the entire vehicle almost flipping over. Sending the driver face-first into the steering wheel, the airbag deploying, his foot leaving the accelerator, and the wheels finally spinning to a stop.
She released the webs, and flipped off the hood, landing in a crouch on the sidewalk as the car slammed back down onto the street with a loud splash, and a groan of protesting metal.
Gwen waited a beat, taking a deep breath through her mask, before she rose to her feet, and strode toward the side of the car, and, with a single hand, she grabbed the driver’s side door and ripped it from its hinges, tossing the now useless hunk of metal aside and leaning over to stare down into the car.
The criminal's eyes widened, his mouth opened and closed as his words failed him, the rain pouring down, soaking his hair and clothes, and running down his face.
"You- you- what are- wh-" The driver sputtered, before finally regaining some control over himself, his hands trembling as he frantically fumbled for the passenger seat and the duffel bag resting there, no doubt stuffed with the cash he'd stolen.
Gwen sighed, and rolled her eyes under her mask, her hands shooting forward, a web striking him square in the chest, and then another, and then another, the strands wrapping firmly around him, and sticking him tightly to the seat even as he struggled and strained against his new bonds, his voice raised in a wordless shout.
She ignored his struggles and curses, her senses tingling as the sound of sirens reached her ears, growing closer, the red and blue lights cutting through the shadows of the downpour, marking her cue to leave.
She'd done her part. They'd take it from here.
So, with a two-fingered salute to the webbed-up almost-escapee bank robber, Gwen turned and ran across the street, leaping up and onto a dumpster, then a nearby fire escape, and finally scaling the side of a nearby building, pulling herself up and over the ledge, and onto the roof, then the next, then the next before finally pausing, stopping to retrieve her phone from the pocket built into the inside seam of her suit. She hunched over, using her body to try and protect the device as best she could from the deluge of rainwater.
The screen lit up, illuminating the black, white, and pink of her costume, and she did a double-take at the time on the screen.
5:39 am
Gwen swore under her breath, shoving the phone back into her pocket, and breaking into a sprint.
She'd managed to completely lose track of time. Again.
It was a school night... School day? Pre-school portion of the morning? Point was, she had school, and her alarm would go off at six on the dot and she had to be ready at six-thirty, meaning she had to be back at her apartment, out of her suit, into a change of clothes, look somewhat presentable, and have all her stuff ready for school in the next fifty-one minutes, give or take, or Dad would realize she was gone, and realize she was sneaking out again and start to ask the kind of questions she couldn't answer, and-
Gwen cursed again, pushing herself harder, leaping across a gap between buildings, and scrambling up the side of the next.
She was going to have to really hurry.
With each successive night, her patrols had gotten more ambitious. Lasting longer, going further, creeping further and further away from Queens and deeper and deeper into the heart of Manhattan where there were more people, where there were more police, and where the crime was denser and more frequent.
Which also meant the commute home was getting longer, and longer, and even with her expedited mode of travel, getting all the way from her current position in south Midtown Manhattan back to her apartment in Queens wasn't a particularly quick trip. She was barely faster than a speeding car, and only because she could cut over rooftops and avoid traffic, and that was before even considering that she had to cross the East River, which always slowed her down.
She could still make it though.
Probably.
–~🕸️~–
Gwen just barely made it back, crawling up the wall of her building, onto the fire escape that still made her wince every time it squeaked and groaned, and then slipped through her window just in time to be graced with the absolutely wonderful shrill beeping of her alarm blaring. She slapped the snooze button with a little more force than strictly necessary, but still without shattering the thing.
She tugged her hood off her head, and peeled her mask off, letting her messy, wet ponytail fall down her back, several loose strands fluttering in her face, droplets of rain steadily dripping from her bangs and the tips of her hair, her soaked suit forming a puddle on the carpet beneath her.
Gwen grimaced at the sight. It had been pouring the last twenty-four hours with no sign of stopping anytime soon, and while her body could handle the cold and her suit's material could handle the water, she was less than fond of the resulting mess she'd had to deal with.
Gwen darted to her door, opening it a crack, and listened for the sounds of Dad stirring, taking in the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the coffee pot, and the soft sounds of him talking to himself, mulling over whatever case he was currently working on.
Ensured he wouldn't spot her in her suit, she crept across the hall to her bathroom, and silently shut the door behind her. She stripped off her gloves, then undid her web-shooters and set them and her phone on the cracked countertop, tugged her boots and socks off, then the rest of her suit, wrung each piece out over the sink, and draped it over the towel rack, hoping by some miracle they'd dry at least a little in the few minutes before she'd have to put them back on.
She turned on the shower, and stepped in, quickly rinsing off, scrubbing the sweat from her skin, and the scent of the rain and the city from her hair. Before just as quickly turning the water back off, stepping out, drying herself, clicking her web-shooters back on around her wrists, and pulling back on the, predictably, still damp and cold top and bottom halves of her suit, the material sticking unpleasantly to her still wet skin.
Gwen took a deep breath, the chill of the air and her suit sending a shiver up her spine, but her body rapidly adjusted, compensating for her internal temperature until she no longer felt the cold. One of the many quirks of her... whatever it was that the spider had done to her, as far as she could tell.
She stepped out of the bathroom, darting back into her room, crossing over to her closet and pulling on her outfit. A pair of jeans, a long-sleeve shirt and a hoodie over her costume.
She'd taken to that. Wearing her suit and her web-shooters constantly under her clothes. Partially because it was the most practical option, not having to try and hide it in her room where Dad could find it, not having to change as much, and having it on her just in case. And partially because it was just...
It felt like a part of her.
The way the fabric clung to her, the slight pressure of it against her skin, the weight of the web-shooters on her wrists... it was... comforting.
Gwen grabbed her backpack from its spot propped up against the foot of her bed, throwing the necessities in, haphazardly stowing her notebook, pencils, calculator, textbooks, and finally carefully burying her gloves, boots, and mask at the bottom of the internal pocket. She zipped it up, slung the bag onto her shoulder, and gave one final glance to the clock.
6:23
Made it with time to spare.
Gwen made her way back out into the hall, and down to the kitchen, where she was not surprised to see her dad already up and sitting at the table, his tie loosened, his jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and his attention fixed on the file he'd spread across the table.
He didn’t look up at her as she walked in, but offered her a small wave. "Hey, sweetie. You sleep alright?"
"Yeah." Gwen nodded, returning his smile, the lie slipping easily off her tongue. Even on the most quiet, good nights since she'd started this, Gwen had only gotten maybe around three or four hours of sleep at a time. Usually it was more like two. And she hadn't gotten so much as a wink in the last twenty-four hours.
But Dad didn't need to know that. Gwen had yet to hit the limit of exactly how little sleep she could function on, but she'd yet to notice any negative side effects, so she was just going to keep pushing, and if or when she hit that wall, she'd deal with it then, and not before. "You?"
"As well as I can." He hummed, still engrossed in his paperwork, the tension in his jaw obvious.
She had seen that look more and more as the weeks had gone on. He'd tried to hide it, especially from her, but she'd picked up on it regardless. Whatever case he was working on was stressing him out, and it was only getting worse.
She'd just hoped it wasn't... well, her.
Officially, according to the NYPD and the Mayor and the city, she didn't exist. She was, depending on the day, either an elaborate internet hoax concocted for clicks or a local cryptid made up by a sensationalist media who still couldn't prove she existed.
Unofficially, the NYPD's file on her had only gotten larger as her footprint had gotten bigger and bigger. They still didn't have anything concrete. Some eye witness descriptions, a sketch or two, and webbing samples that they tried to test but couldn't because it dissolved after an hour.
They were getting frustrated. And they were assigning more and more people to figure her out. What she was. Who she was. What she was doing. Why she was doing if. And Dad could very well be one of them.
But it didn't change anything. If he was or if he wasn't, she still couldn't let him suspect. And she still couldn't stop.
Gwen's smile faded, her hand falling on his shoulder, and squeezing lightly.
He finally glanced up at her, his eyes softening, the frown fading, and his shoulders slumped. He reached up and placed his hand over hers, his calloused fingers warm and familiar against the back of her hand.
After a moment's pause, he cleared his throat, gently tugging her hand off his shoulder and rising from his seat, shutting the folder and slipping it into his briefcase, before straightening his tie and slipping his jacket back on, and giving her a small, tired smile.
"C'mon, I'll give you a ride. I don't want you walking in the rain more than you have to."
Gwen returned the smile, hoping it didn't look as pinched as it felt. "Thanks, Dad."
–~🕸️~–
School dragged, and the day crawled on.
Gwen did her best to pay attention, but even when she tried to solely narrow her focus to whatever the teacher was droning on about today, she inevitably, and far sooner than she'd like to admit at that, found her thoughts drifting to other things.
To the suit she had on underneath her clothes. The web-shooters on her wrists. The patrol routes she was already plotting out for tonight.
And to the person sitting in the desk next to hers, diligently scribbling down notes she'd most likely copy from later on a chapter she was almost certain he'd already read, his soft brown hair falling into his face, the ends curling over the edge of his glasses, his bright, yet warm brown eyes darting back and forth across the page, his free hand tapping his long, dexterous fingers along the edge of his desk in rhythm with the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-
Stop it. Focus.
Gwen swallowed, her grip tightening on her pen, her gaze fixing itself firmly on the board, willing the heat in her face to die down, and trying to force herself to listen-
Just in time for the bell to go off, signaling the end of class, and the start of lunch, the other students rising from their desks, the sound of papers rustling and backpacks zipping echoing in the classroom.
Gwen rose from her seat, shoving her textbook into her bag and slinging it onto her shoulder, her gaze flitting towards Peter, watching as he packed his own bag, and rose to his feet, giving her a small, awkward smile as he did.
Gwen returned it and fell into step next to him, the two making their way to the door together, and out into the hall, joining the throng of other students rushing towards the cafeteria, their shoulders occasionally bumping into each other, their hands brushing.
It was still strange. After the... after everything that had happened, how... right this felt.
It should have been uncomfortable and constantly tense, or awkward at least, and there were those moments, at times. Long silences, and lingering gazes, shadows passing behind Peter's eyes. He didn't talk as much as he used to, and neither did she, the memory of everything still heavy and pressing down on them.
But, despite that, they had found a rhythm again. Something familiar, yet new.
Not worse, or less than before, just... different. Like them.
"So, uh..." Peter spoke up, breaking her train of thought, as the two retrieved their lunch trays, and sat down at their usual table. "Did you get a chance to look over the notes I sent you about the project we're supposed to be working on? In history?"
Gwen winced, her gaze dropping to the tray in front of her. "Uh... not yet. Sorry, I've just been... busy."
Peter shrugged. "I can take care of it, and then get you the notes before we have to present it."
"You don't have to do that..." Gwen muttered, glancing down at her tray of increasingly unappetizing looking food. "Again..." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Maybe we can work on it today? Before... y'know."
Peter's lips broke into a small smile. "Yeah. Okay."
They lapsed into a silence that was almost comfortable, their knees occasionally bumping against each other, the faint, but very real contact sending a small jolt through her each time it happened.
But she never pulled away.
–~🕸️~–
The rest of the school day had passed, and before long, Gwen and Peter were out the front door, trudging through the still unrelenting downpour, the wind howling and driving the droplets near sideways, completely bypassing the umbrella Peter had brought and drenching the both of them within minutes. It was a short walk to the subway station, a quick ride, and an even shorter, albeit soaking wet last few blocks to reach Peter's building.
They stepped into the lobby and shook off the worst of the water, dripping puddles forming around them as Peter fished out his keys and gathered the mail from his mailbox. Gwen's eye caught a flash of red on a couple of the envelopes as he quickly shoved them into his bag, but, after a moment’s hesitation, she decided against asking about it. If he wanted her to know, he'd tell her.
She didn't... she had no right to pry, not anymore.
Peter sighed as the two trudged past the still-broken elevator and up the stairs, the two climbing to the fifth floor, and then walking the short distance down the hall to his apartment, and finally stepping inside.
It was silent, empty, like it had been every day she'd come here in the last month.
"Aunt May picked up some overtime." Peter offered, as he did pretty much every time they came in. Gwen had only seen May a couple times since... well, that night.
And each time Gwen had wanted to tell her the truth, the same way she'd told Peter, the same way she wanted to tell her dad.
And each time she didn't. She couldn't.
And each time that gnawing, aching, empty feeling came again anew, and she could do nothing but try and keep moving anyway.
"So... y'know. It's just us."
"Yeah." Gwen nodded, her gaze falling on a picture on the wall, one of dozens like it. Ben, Peter, and May, all there, all smiling, their arms wrapped around each other. "We should, uh... we should probably get started on that project."
Peter nodded, toeing off his shoes and slipping off his jacket as Gwen did the same, before heading down the hall to his room.
It had gotten simultaneously cleaner and more cluttered since the night they'd finished the suit. The scattered clothes and dishes were gone, the random junk picked up for the most part, and the old prototypes of theirs returned mostly untouched and still assembled to their boxes. Something that had filled her with an unquantifiable sense of relief.
But the room itself was still a bit of a haphazard mess. Web-shooter components, a small chemistry set that Peter had somehow gotten from the Midtown Science lab at some point, a few of his textbooks, a few of hers that she'd left there, and random ripped out pages and notebooks full of sketches and designs and notes, mostly scrawled in his handwriting but with some contributions of her own, littered his desk and the surrounding floor, all organized in some strange fashion that she knew made sense to him, but she couldn't begin to decipher.
Peter dropped his backpack next to his desk, and plopped himself down in his chair, opening his laptop, and almost instinctively booting up the police scanner. His eyes roved over the different frequencies, the chatter filling the silence, the voices buzzing quietly in the background.
Gwen set her bag next to his, and leaned over the back of his chair, her gaze flitting briefly from his face to the screen
"Seems to be pretty quiet." Peter hummed, leaning back a bit.
"For now." Gwen sighed, a beat of silence passing as Peter still fixated on the screen, before she spoke again. "Peter?"
"Yeah?" He glanced up at her.
"The history project?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure." Peter nodded, turning his attention back to the computer, the police scanner still humming in the background as he pulled up the document containing all his notes scribed from his notebook and, more often than not, at some point emailed to her. "I, uh, I've already got most of the notes for the introduction, and the conclusion. And the bulk of the main points. And a few of the slides. All that's really left is the rest of the details, and maybe a little bit of research to fill in some gaps."
"Yeah, okay." Gwen let out a breath. "And it was… something about the American Revolution?"
"The Industrial Revolution." Peter corrected, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.
"Right, right. That." Gwen nodded, her eyes darting across the screen, as Peter scrolled down. "What was our angle supposed to be?"
"How the Industrial Revolution changed society and culture in America. The social implications. That kind of stuff."
"Right." Gwen sighed, leaning down and grabbing her history textbook out of her backpack, and opening it, flipping through the pages, pretending she had any clue where to look for the right chapter. "I'm... pretty sure I remember us talking about that."
"Uh-huh." Peter glanced up at her, his brow quirked and a slight smile on his face as Gwen retreated to sit cross-legged on his bed. "I… uh, I did the reading, and took notes, so you can just read mine if you want and start on finishing the slides, I think-"
Peter was interrupted by the loud buzzing of his phone, the vibrations causing it to rattle loudly against the surface of the desk where he'd set it down.
"One sec." Peter muttered, turning and grabbing his phone, holding it up, and squinting at the screen, his brow immediately furrowing, and the smile fading from his face.
Gwen sat up a little straighter. "Something wrong?"
"Oh, uh, no. Well, kinda, it's just..." Peter glanced up from his phone, his expression turning pinched and apologetic. "Your biggest fan just put out the evening edition."
Gwen groaned, falling back onto Peter’s bed, to stare up at the ceiling, the history textbook she was pretending to read slipping off her lap onto the bed next to her, instantly and easily forgotten by the both of them, her schoolwork yet again consumed whole by the Spider.
“It’s-”
“I know.”
The Daily Bugle. While the police and the city were content in pretending they thought she was some local conspiracy, the Daily Bugle had been unwavering in their coverage of her. And worse still, they were scarily accurate.
She didn't know what kind of people the publisher, J. Jonah Jameson, had working for him, but she was starting to think he ran the most extensive spy informant network in New York, and the Daily Bugle was secretly a front for the CIA or something.
Because every night, ever since she'd taken down Lucky Lobo, no matter where in the city she was, or how quick or quiet she'd been, or how few witnesses there were, the Daily Bugle had a story laying it out, with details the cops didn't even have, on the front page by the next afternoon.
And it was always the same. 'MASKED MENACE STRIKES AGAIN AT UNDERGROUND DRUG RING.' this, 'COSTUMED CRIMINAL BRAWLS IN THE BRONX,' that. Etcetera and so on.
Of course Gwen hadn't expected her efforts to go unnoticed, or thought that only the police would take an interest. And she wasn't stupid, she knew that people wouldn't understand what she even was, and they'd be... scared of her.
But seeing it so plainly written out, the headlines and articles declaring her a threat, the wild theories and speculation about what she was and what she wanted, the suspicion and the anger, and the fear, all before they could even prove she was real...
It wasn't... it wasn't meant to be like that. That wasn't her, that wasn't what she was doing, and she didn't want...
It didn't matter. She was doing this anyway. And she would deal with it.
Gwen let out a slow, deep breath, rubbing her forehead. "What's he calling me today?"
"Uh..." Peter glanced down at his phone, grimacing. "New York's nightmare."
"That's a new one." Gwen deadpanned.
"Yeah..." Peter trailed off, his eyes scanning the screen, his brow furrowing, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "You crashed a car?"
"Not- not crashed." She protested, her face feeling suspiciously hot as she sat up. "More like... stopped? Stopped a car. And the guy inside it." Gwen's tone turned defensive, and a little petulant. "Who robbed a bank, by the way, I'm guessing they forgot to mention that part."
"No... no, they did." Peter's eyes skimmed over the article, before his whole body stiffened, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he glanced up to meet her gaze again, worry written across his face, far deeper than it was only a moment ago, far more serious than just concern for her feelings. "Were you in the Upper East side last night?"
Gwen raised an eyebrow, Peter's sudden shift in tone setting her on edge. "No? Why?"
Peter's eyebrows knit even further together. "You should see this." He tossed the phone at her, and Gwen effortlessly caught it out of the air, and glanced down at the article.
'NEW YORK'S NEWEST NIGHTMARE STRIKES AGAIN!' blared the headline in bold text, accompanied by a blurry image, a grainy, pixelated thing clearly ripped from a security camera, so laughably low quality that even Gwen genuinely didn't know whether or not the blur was actually meant to be her or some errant pigeon that had flown by the camera.
'In what is becoming a nightly occurrence for the people of New York, last night saw the elusive and highly dangerous masked individual strike again, this time recklessly interfering in a high-speed chase between the NYPD and a suspect fleeing the scene of an armed robbery. Anonymous eyewitnesses report the masked individual ambushed the stolen vehicle as it sped away from a nearby bank, forced it to crash, and subdued the driver, who was subsequently taken into custody, before disappearing.
But this wasn't the only criminal activity this masked menace was responsible for last night. Eyewitness reports have come in with news of a shocking robbery and disturbing attack at the DeJean's Jewelry store located in the Upper East side.'
Gwen's brow furrowed, her frown deepening, the Bugle's less-than-flattering portrait of her and her night's activities long forgotten, as her finger scrolled down the screen, her eyes darting across the page, the tension in her shoulders growing.
'Details are still scarce, but the Daily Bugle has learned through its exclusive sources that at approximately 2:10 am last night, DeJean's, a high-end jewelry store, and the flagship of the DeJean’s brand was the scene of a brutal attack. One or possibly multiple assailants descended on the store, forcing entry by shattering the front window, causing extensive damage, ruthlessly assaulting the lone guard on duty, beating them unconscious before forcing the safe open, and fleeing the scene with a reported $250,000 in stolen merchandise.
How the crime was committed, what exactly was stolen, the identity of the victim, and the true extent of their injuries remains unknown at this time, but the Bugle has been able to confirm that the security guard was transported to a nearby hospital, and is currently in critical condition. The Bugle has heard they're expected to recover, but is unclear when or if they will be able to provide the police with any descriptions, or leads to their attacker.'
Gwen swallowed, her stomach knotting, glancing up at Peter, who looked as confused and worried as she felt, before looking back down at the phone, continuing to read, a sickening, twisting feeling bubbling up in her gut.
'Regardless, based on the description of the attacker's power and savagery, the Daily Bugle has reason to believe that this brazen robbery may be the work of the same masked menace terrorizing our city. Yet, despite this new outrage, the NYPD and the city itself is still unwilling to take action.
While the NYPD has released a statement saying that they are still investigating the incident, the department, as well the DA and Mayor's office, have once again refused to officially acknowledge or comment on the existence, much less nature, of this highly dangerous masked individual, despite repeated calls to do so from concerned citizens and this very newspaper. We at the Daily Bugle reiterate: this is not a prank, not a publicity stunt, not a hoax, and not an urban legend, despite how many times the Mayor, the NYPD, or any other establishment of authority may try to say otherwise.
The Daily Bugle implores our government officials to cease their willful ignorance, and address the clear and present danger that has made a home for itself in the streets of this great city, before innocent lives become the cost of their stubborn refusal to act.
If you or someone you know has any information pertaining to the identity, intentions, or activities of this menace, or any concrete evidence of the masked figure, the Bugle is offering a guarantee of absolute confidentiality for anyone who comes forward with information and a substantial monetary reward for any and all legitimate, verifiable, and clear photographic evidence of the individual.
Stay tuned for further updates as this story continues to develop. And stay safe New York.'
Gwen stared, her breath catching in her throat, the guilt and shame roiling and clawing at her. This wasn't meant to happen. She... she was supposed to be there. Wasn't that the whole point of all this? To be there so she could stop things like this? So that people wouldn't get hurt?
And yet here she was. She hadn't even known it had happened.
"I don't- I... I was listening to the scanners, and... and I was close to the area. There wasn't anything around then. No reports of a robbery. No- no police dispatch. Nothing." Gwen shook her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, the web-shooters on her wrists a leaden weight against her arms. "I should've..." She let out a long breath through her nose, forcing herself to stop. "It doesn't make any sense."
Peter opened his mouth, the conflict evident in his expression, but his words failed him, and after a moment he just sighed and shook his head. "No.. it doesn’t. I mean... a store like that, there's no way someone could've just... walked in there without anyone noticing. It has to have cameras and everything, right?"
"Right..." Gwen let out a breath, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to focus. "Right. Can you-"
"On it." Peter nodded, turning to his laptop again, his fingers flying across the keys, the screen splitting, and displaying several different tabs, his breach into the NYPD database, quickly finding building records in the area, and then finally, schematics of the DeJean's store. "Looks like they upgraded security a couple years ago." He pulled up the permits for the renovations, blueprints that didn't exactly show where all the new security equipment was, but with all the new wiring installed, it was not exactly hard to guess. "Replaced all the old windows, installed motion-activated lights and alarms. Top of the line stuff."
"And none of that went off?"
"Not according to the police report." Peter shook his head, his eyes scanning quickly over the screen. "They said they didn't even get a 911 call until twenty minutes after when they think the attack happened."
Gwen rubbed her temples, letting out a long sigh. "So either the security system was broken, or-"
"Or they disabled it somehow."
"Did they cut the power?"
"I mean..." Peter's brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked between the various schematics and building records. "One sec, lemme just..." Peter typed rapidly, pulling up another screen, and a graph that she didn't pretend to understand. "Oh, uh, yeah. Automatic power grid systems registered a small surge in the lines feeding into the store around 2:06. It... it wasn't a cut, it was an overload. Breakers automatically tripped, and... they took out the whole block. Would have definitely taken out most of the security systems."
"Figures." Gwen muttered. "So we have nothing."
"Well, uh..." Peter paused, peering at the screen. "Not... necessarily... when they upgraded their security, the new cameras, they're not connected to the same power as the rest of the store. See? They have to be battery-powered. Meaning they’re not CCTV, and if they’re not CCTV, they have to be cloud based. Which would mean the footage backs up to a remote database continuously, which means that all I have to do is..." Peter trailed off, his brow furrowed, his fingertips deftly dancing over the keys, almost a blur of motion. "There."
The screen shifted, the blueprints and permits disappearing, replaced by a handful of security feeds, each displaying a different angle.
A couple were of the street outside, an exterior view of the prized corner lot that the building stood on, the sidewalk, only inhabited by a couple late-night stragglers, the gold-lettered sign declaring the building as a DeJean's, and the large double doors that stood proudly below it, flanked by huge plate windows on either side.
Another, a wide-angle view of the front counter, of the shelves and cases currently bare of any jewelry, undoubtedly stored in the back overnight, a cash register sitting off to the side, and the floor and walls decorated with dark, rich wood.
Another of a small, cramped office, the desk littered with paperwork. Another, the employee break room, where a lone security guard sat, slouched in his seat, the top half of his uniform unbuttoned, and his head thrown back, his cap tilted down over his face.
And finally, one of the backroom and the large, wall to ceiling vault door set into the wall, a small control panel next to it, a small light on it pulsing steadily.
Even through the night-vision filter of the cameras and with her absolute lack of knowledge on the subject, it was pretty obvious it was state-of-the-art stuff.
Gwen glanced up at the time displayed in the bottom corner of the feed. 1:32 AM.
"So, if the robbery happened around 2 AM..." Peter muttered, tapping a few more keys, bringing the feed speed up to four times normal, and Gwen rose from the bed, walking over to his desk and peering over his shoulder, her hand finding its place on the back of his chair as the two watched as the footage rapidly sped along, the minutes flying by in seconds.
1:58
2:02
2:06
And suddenly, the feed turned to static.
"What the-" Peter frowned, leaning in. "That shouldn't- how did it just-" Peter clicked through the footage, skipping ahead again and again and again, but there was nothing but more static and snow, even up to a timestamp of only an hour ago. "There's no skip, no cut, no loss in connection. The battery power's still running, they're still updating in real time, they're just... not recording." Peter finally glanced back up at her, his brow knit, the look of confusion written plainly across his face. "But... that... that doesn't make sense."
Gwen was silent for a moment, watching the static play, a strange, creeping sensation crawling up her spine. "This wasn't a smash and grab. They had to know what they were doing.” She glanced down at him, meeting his gaze. “We still don't have anything on-"
"The Maggia? No. Lobo's trial for... everything isn't for another month, and the police have tried getting the rest of them to take deals, but no one's talked." Peter sighed.
They'd kept an eye on the police's progress on finding the other Maggia remnants besides the ones that Gwen had taken down alongside the Lobo, but there was no sign of them. Gwen hadn't stopped a single crime she could tie back to them, no matter how much she was convinced they were somehow involved, and the NYPD hadn't found any leads to go off of either.
"The police don't have any leads, and the DA's office is still working on getting all the other guys a conviction, and making sure they can pin down the Lobo. It's pretty much a stalemate. If this was Maggia... we would have no way to know it."
Gwen bit her lip. Something... something about this had her senses prickling, whispering to her that this was… off. Wrong, somehow. She couldn't say why, couldn't say how, couldn't explain it. Just… something.
She turned away from him and quickly tugged off her shirt and pants, revealing the black, white, and pink suit beneath, grabbing her bag and fishing out her gloves, boots, and mask, and quickly pulling them on, before finally pulling her hood up over her masked head and securing it in place.
Peter turned in his chair to find her clad in the full suit, his brow furrowing. "What are you doing?"
"Something about this doesn't feel right." Gwen answered, adjusting her braced gloves, making sure her web-shooters fit properly under them, the trigger of the web-shooters lining up with the ones built into her gloves. "If they could wipe out all the security systems and the footage like that, then why break in like that? They can hack all the systems, but they can't pick the lock? Or think of a better way in than smashing the front window? It doesn't make sense."
"Are you going to...?" Peter trailed off, the question left hanging.
"I'll start with the store." Gwen answered, her voice firm and decisive, imbued with that little zip of confidence, of certainty that the Spider, and the mask gave her. "Maybe they missed something. And... I want to see what it looks like in person."
Peter nodded, the worry in his eyes not lessening, but he didn't protest, instead turning back to his laptop and tapping away at the keys. "Okay... Okay. Um, I guess I can keep an eye on everything. Like, if they update the police report, or, y'know, if they get the power back up or anything else happens with the grid. And.. If you call me when you get there, maybe... maybe we can figure it out?"
Gwen hesitated, but nodded, stepping back towards the window, opening the curtain and throwing the latch. "Yeah. Okay."
She slipped outside, closing the window behind her, and leapt out into the city, and the storm that engulfed it.
–~🕸️~–
Darkness had fallen over the city, a combination of the rapidly sinking sun and the thick cloud cover overhead, bringing the night to New York a couple hours early. Leaving the occasional strikes of lightning over the city to illuminate in flashes the high-rise buildings of the Upper East Side, cleaner, and quieter, and nicer than large swathes of rest of the city, the home of the city's richest residents, and its most opulent businesses, high-end establishments, and the flagship store of the DeJean's international jewelry and diamond brand.
Gwen perched on the roof of the building next door, peering down at the store below through the mist and the dark.
Dejean's was a relatively small building, taking up the bottom floor of a prized corner lot, and had naturally been cordoned off, tarps stretched over the entire storefront, where a small group of cops lingered outside, leaning against a couple NYPD cruisers that were parked on the street, the slowly flashing red and blue lights atop them and the lightning the only illumination on the block, each of the streetlights surrounding the store dark and dead, and the surrounding windows black.
Gwen's senses prickled, a low thrum at the base of her skull, and she swallowed. She needed a closer look. But with the street blocked off, and the cops guarding the entrance, and the tarp stretched over the whole store... she'd need to find another way in.
She retrieved her phone from her suit, wincing as she exposed it to more of the downpour, but she pressed on, and, after a moment of fumbling, her gloved fingers dialed Peter's number.
It only took a moment for him to pick up.
"I'm here." Gwen murmured, the wind and the rain almost drowning her voice out. "They've got the place roped off. Can't get in through the front. There isn't a back door or anything, right?"
Peter was quiet for a moment. "Uh... no, not that I can find. Just the main entrance, and the windows. You might... wait..." Peter trailed off. "Actually... maybe... That could work. Okay. Um, the building has an external HVAC unit. And a vent. On the roof. But it's... industrial size. It'd be tight. Really tight, but you might be able to... y'know... crawl through it. Um... You should be able to make a straight shot down, take a curve to the left, then right to the show room vent, then..."
It was an insane idea, ripped right from a bad movie, but at this point she barely even blinked at the suggestion. "Okay. I'll call you back when I'm inside."
"Okay."
Gwen hung up the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She'd have to do this quietly. She took a breath and reached out her arm, holding it steady a moment before firing.
The web-line shot across the gap, and stuck to the roof of the DeJean's building, and Gwen stuck the other end of the line to the edge of the roof she was crouched on, forming a makeshift web tightrope four stories over the street below.
Gwen gave the line a small, experimental tug, satisfied as it strummed and held before stepping onto the web, and beginning to shimmy her way across. She'd done far more dangerous things since becoming the Spider, but honestly she preferred being shot at, and getting actually shot for that matter, over this.
There was still something about the long, open stretch beneath her, the distance, and the drop, that sent her heart racing. Sure, it didn't bring the same sense of terror, the same crippling nausea and vertigo that being any more than a couple stories above the ground once did, and she could deal with it.
But, that said, her dealing with it was usually only in the split second of each leap between one building to the next, not suspending herself over a drop with the rain and the wind driving against her, threatening to shift her balance ever so slightly and send her tumbling-
She finally made it to the other side, crawling onto the rooftop before finally straightening, and shaking the tension from her body, willing her heart rate to slow.
There. That wasn't so hard.
Gwen stepped over, her eyes falling on the HVAC unit, the metal box ducts gleaming in the intermittent lightning strikes, and she made her way over, and knelt in front of it, running her gloved fingertips against the seams, testing the grate, before gripping the corners, and, with a small grunt, she wrenched the whole thing free, wincing as the screws formerly holding it in place shot off in every direction.
"I'll... uh, I'll fix that later." Gwen muttered to no one in particular, setting the grate aside, and peered inside.
The duct was dark, the shadows stretching into the distance, before abruptly turning straight downwards, the shaft leading down and out of sight.
Gwen shook her head, and leaned forward, sticking her hands to the smooth metal sides of the duct, and slowly, carefully, began worming herself into the duct.
It was a tight fit, the space barely big enough for her to crawl on her stomach, her shoulders and elbows pressing into the walls on either side, her head and her hood constantly scraping the top, the whole process far less graceful and silent than she'd hoped, but she pressed on nonetheless. And, after several minutes of slowly, painstakingly crawling down the duct, the walls tight against her, her breathing loud and echoing, every little scrape and thump she made making her wince, she eventually, finally, came face to face with the right vent.
Gwen tilted her neck, trying to angle her head to see through it down into the show room, but she could barely move, let alone peer through the tiny slits in the metal. But she couldn't hear any footsteps, or voices, or anything, only the quiet murmur of the rain pattering on the tarp covering the store front, and the occasional rumble of thunder.
"Okay, okay." Gwen muttered, swallowing, reaching out, and carefully pressed the edges of the grate, testing its give, before pushing down on the middle of the vent, only putting a small amount of her strength into it, intent on slowly and carefully popping the thing off-
Only for it to, naturally, rip right off the ceiling, and plummet toward the ground. Gwen just barely managed to lunge forward, her arm sticking out and shooting a web, which caught the grate a split second before it hit the ground.
Gwen let out a slow, hissing breath, and carefully set the grate down on the floor, before releasing the web, and carefully crawling through the now open vent, her shoulders squeezing tightly as she inched out head-first, and managed to crawl out onto the ceiling, before dropping down, and landing in the middle of the DeJean's show room.
Or rather, what was left of it.
She'd expected it to be like any of the other B&Es she'd stopped, a window smashed, some glass on the floor, maybe a couple of the shelves or display cases toppled or broken, the safe probably breached somehow in the quickest way possible, either with a couple explosives, or some specialized equipment or just opened normally if they had some kind of in, and all the contents gone. It was a robbery, Gwen knew how they worked, she'd seen a couple handfuls of them both in progress and the aftermath.
But this was nothing like what she'd seen before.
Gwen turned in a small circle, taking it all in in silent, stunned horror.
It looked like a bomb had gone off.
The entire front wall, where the doors and the plate windows had been, were gone. Just... gone. The glass was shattered into a fine dust, the doors had been ripped from their hinges and were lying in a crumpled heap, twisted and warped, and even the window frames had been torn from the brickwork, and the metal bent and contorted around a single point, as if folded in half by a giant.
The floor was covered in broken glass, a uniform layer of sparkling dust on the hardwood, and a thin layer of water pouring from outside, the tarp the police had put up doing little against the storm, and the rest of the displays and show cases had been smashed to bits, and... there were two gouges, jagged furrows dug deep into the dark wooden floor, as if some sort of giant animal had raked their claws through the store, dragging from the entrance all the way to just in front of the counter, where the twin gashes stopped.
The end of one of them was a clean cut, the claw marks disappearing into nothing, while the other... the surrounding boards were ripped up, the wood wrenched upwards, and a chunk taken out of it, as if the claw had struck something, and the force had torn the wood apart... and there on the far side wall, lined up nigh perfectly with the end of that furrow, was a dark brown stain dripping down a small, cracked crater in the wall, the dark wood crumbling around it.
Blood, and the impact point, no doubt from the guard, as if they'd been... batted across the store, and into the wall, as if they were nothing.
Gwen shuddered, but forced herself to keep moving, her boots crunched and splashed in the puddles and broken glass, as she slowly stepped toward the counter. The dark marble of the surface was chipped and cracked, large splintering fissures running across its smooth face, and there was eight, small incisions drilled straight into it spaced evenly apart, and-
Gwen easily leapt across the counter, and landed with a small splash on the other side of the counter, where, there the twin furrows were again, carved into the hardwood, and joined by a second set, overlapping and interweaving with the first, and leading through the back door. Gwen's heart beat faster, her blood thrumming in her veins, her senses still prickling, the feeling, the strange, creeping, crawling feeling of unease and wrongness that she couldn't shake only growing stronger as she followed them, past the door to the break room, past the office, and there, in the backroom, at the end of the clawed gouges, was the vault door.
It wasn't hacked. The control panel didn't show any signs of being tampered with. The door itself was still on its hinges, the locks still engaged. It wasn't blown up or melted.
It was... shredded. Ripped apart. Like someone had taken a knife to a piece of tinfoil.
Large gashes crisscrossing across the door, forming a strange, random pattern of overlapping X's, each one cutting deep, mangling the metal, and cutting off shreds and chunks of steel that now littered the floor, forming a crude opening, a jagged, gaping, toothy mouth. More than large enough for her to easily step through without catching herself on any of the sharp, serrated edges.
Her breath caught in her throat. This definitely wasn't the usual petty crooks, or thieves, or Maggia. She wasn't even sure whatever did this was human. The only person that could even do anything like this was... her.
If it even was a person.
Gwen took a slow, steadying breath, as she stepped before stepping forward, and carefully, pulled herself through the makeshift doorway, and into the vault.
The vault wasn't large, at least, not as large as she'd been expecting. It was maybe about the size of her closet, maybe a little bigger, the walls lined with heavy-duty drawers, haphazardly pulled out and hanging from their rails, a handful scattered on the floor, some of them dented and torn.
But Gwen's gaze was focused on the ground. It was...
The vault was ransacked. Without question. But it wasn't... looted. None of the drawers had been completely emptied, there were still plenty of gems and jewelry still inside, and littering the floor, gold, silver, faceted gems and diamonds all glittering in the dark. As if whoever had just... lost interest halfway through their robbery and dropped them.
Why? Why would-
Gwen's train of thought came to a screeching halt and crash, her teeth sunk into her lip so hard she nearly tasted blood as she finally glanced up, her gaze finding the far wall, opposite from the door.
And there, carved into the thick steel wall, in rough, uneven lines scrawled with such haste and fury that there were small chips in the metal where the lines were cut too deeply, was a... a symbol.
Two lines, meeting each other at the bottom, forming a steep 'V', and just above it, not quite touching the first lines, another line, extending a few inches past either point of the 'V', forming a crude, uneven, slightly crooked triangle.
Gwen swallowed hard, her senses on edge and uneasy, the crawling feeling of dread rising from her stomach and up her throat.
Whoever... whatever this thing was. It disabled power for the entire block without anyone noticing or calling the cops, it tore through the walls and the vault like it was made of tin foil, only to leave hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry and... this.
This wasn't like anything she'd dealt with before, anything she'd seen since she'd put on the mask. The destruction, the sheer power required for the thing to just rip its way into the vault and tear the safe apart, the disregard for the jewels or the money, the way it had came and went without any sort of attempt at stealth, yet was still gone without a trace, like the thing had known that no one was going to find it, no one could stop it, no one could threaten it.
This wasn't a robbery.
It was a statement.
Gwen scrambled back through DeJean's, barely pausing to pull the grate back up behind her and quickly reaffix it with a web, before crawling back up the duct and onto the roof, the rain and the wind beating against her as she jumped to a neighboring rooftop, and then another, putting a little bit of distance between herself and the scene, before she finally stopped. She slipped her phone out again, a barrage of missed calls from Peter lighting up her screen, and quickly dialed his number, and held the phone to her ear, her teeth biting her lip as the line rang, and-
"Gwen!" Peter answered halfway through the first ring. "There you are-"
"Jameson was right." Gwen cut him off, her words breathless and rushed. "Well, kind of right. It wasn't me, obviously. But it was... Peter, it was someone- something- like me. Something as strong- maybe stronger- than me. I don't know, but..." She shook her head, trying and failing to settle her racing thoughts, and the pounding of her heart. "Whoever- whatever- did this, they didn't do it for the money. This was- this was just to prove that it could do it. And it's going to do this again. Soon."
"Gwen just-"
"You were tracking the power grid, right? I need you to keep an eye on that. If there are any more isolated blackouts... that's where it'll be." Gwen continued, barely even hearing him.
"Gwen-"
"If you can call me, and get me a location when it happens, then I can-"
"Gwen." His voice finally cut through her panicked rambling, and she stopped, a heavy, shuddering breath escaping her lips. "That's why I was trying to call you. Another block just went dark."
Gwen's heart stopped in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry, her hand tightening around her phone. "Where?"
"Midtown. Around 5th Avenue and 60th Street. Two minutes ago-"
Gwen didn't wait for him to finish, hanging up the phone, shoved it back inside her suit, and immediately took off running, leaping from the roof of the building and landing on the side of the next. Her feet stuck to the glass and concrete as she ran along the side of it, a blur of pink, black, and white, before finally reaching the far corner, and leapt up, and onto the next.
Two minutes. 5th Avenue, another high-end shopping district, not far from where she was now.
Two minutes. It might still be there, if she could just-
Gwen gritted her teeth, pushing herself faster and harder. Every second that passed was agony, every bit of distance felt like an eternity. The buildings and street lights blurred around her, as she jumped from one rooftop to the next, until, finally, she came to the edge of a roof, overlooking the intersection.
Her uneven, heavy breath caught in her throat, and the pit in her stomach grew just a bit tighter, her senses prickling, setting her on edge.
It was worse even then where she'd just come from. The street lights and stoplights were dead, the stores and shops along the avenue dark, and there wasn't a single pedestrian on the sidewalk, not even the occasional late-night straggler, not a soul in sight.
At least... not anymore.
It hadn't waited for the street to be abandoned, like it had with DeJean's. There were umbrellas scattered, blowing around in the wind, overturned shopping bags abandoned, left in the middle of the sidewalk, there were cars and taxis, still in the middle of the street, sitting with their doors wide open, and the keys still in the ignition, drivers and passengers long gone.
They must have fled when the power went out. But... why wouldn't they just drive away? Why leave the cars, or the keys still inside?
She jumped quietly to the side of the next building, and the next, moving down the street, scanning the darkened buildings, the empty street, the empty shops, the abandoned cars and the scattered umbrellas and-
There.
Another luxury storefront. Shattered glass from the broken pane windows covering the street, glittering like snow in the intermittent flashes of lightning, the remnants of the doors warped and lying in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk, and the telltale gashes in the sidewalk, the concrete gouged right through.
Gwen swallowed, her fingers shaking slightly, before slowly lowering herself down the side of the building, dropping the last ten feet to the ground, her boots splashing in the rainwater as she hit the pavement, and carefully crept forward, her eyes and ears straining, her senses prickling, reaching out, trying to find any sign of...
There. A sound. Faint, drowned in the noise of the rain, but there, coming from inside the store. A screeching groan of protesting metal tearing and twisting.
It was still inside.
Gwen's boots crunched on the glass, as she slowly, carefully stepped her way around the stopped cars, drawing nearer to the entrance of the store, and the darkness inside. The closer she got, the more her senses tuned into the shadows of the store, the louder and clearer the noise became, a high-pitched, grating shriek, like a blade against a whetstone, and beneath it, a deep rumble, low and constant.
And... the air was... wrong.
It was like static, the air almost thick, and charged, and... heavy, and the longer she was near, and the closer and closer she got, the more and more her senses prickled, warning her in some way, against something she couldn't quantify, but could feel, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, and her heartbeat racing, her fingers twitching, her nerves on fire.
Gwen stepped up to the storefront, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and took a deep, slow breath, forcing the unease down, before, finally, stepping through the open doorway, her boot crossing the threshold-
Gwen's senses screamed all at once, but even she was too late to react as something- Something large and heavy and dark and fast beyond even what she could comprehend shot out of the shadows, and slammed into her, throwing her backwards.
Pain shot through her as she went flying back, hitting and flipping over the hood of a car, before she crashed backwards into the asphalt, the back of her head hitting the street hard, stars exploding across her vision, her ears ringing as rain splattered onto her lenses, only further distorting her view of the night sky.
But in that split second between her hitting the ground and her world fading to black, a bolt of lightning splintered across the sky, the brief, blinding flash casting an outline of shadow already far above her, only just visible before disappearing into the clouds, and for a split second, only split second and no longer, she saw it.
Huge, broad, and pointed, viciously sharp, stretching across the sky, and cutting through the storm.
Wings.