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The buzzing chaos of the Daily Bugle hit me the moment I stepped off the elevator. Phones were ringing, keyboards clattered in a rapid-fire symphony, and the faint hum of office chatter was punctuated by Jameson's unmistakable bark echoing down the hallway.

"This isn't a coffee break! I want stories, people!"

I smirked to myself. Someone's in a good mood today.

"Morning, MJ," I said as I walked over to my desk, dropping my bag to the floor and tossing my jacket over the back of my chair.

MJ spun her chair around, her red hair catching the light as she grinned at me. She had a coffee cup in one hand and a notepad in the other, looking every bit the seasoned reporter she was. "Morning, reporter," she teased, taking a sip. "Busy day ahead. Jameson's got us all on edge—there's a meeting in fifteen. You should offer up your story ideas; it'd make his day."

I snorted, shaking my head. "Yeah, because nothing smooths things over like a little more chaos."

She grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Love the shirt, by the way." She nodded toward my faded Metallica tee, the logo cracked and worn from years of wear. "Very rock-and-roll of you."

"Thanks," I said, adjusting the hem. "Parker running late?" I glanced over at the desk beside mine, its cluttered surface empty of its usual occupant.

MJ leaned back in her chair, chuckling. "You know him. Doesn't matter how many watches that boy owns—he'll always find a way to be late."

I laughed, sliding into my chair and booting up my computer. The screen flickered to life just as a familiar whirlwind of energy burst into the room.

"Sorry, sorry!" Peter rushed in, his shirt askew and his hair a mess, juggling a camera bag and a coffee cup that threatened to spill over.

"About time you showed up," I quipped, not bothering to hide the smirk on my face.

MJ snickered, giving Peter a knowing look. "What'd I say? The boy's got no concept of time."

Peter shot us both a sheepish grin, dropping his things onto his desk just as the intercom buzzed.

"Meeting in the conference room! Now!" Jameson's voice boomed, loud enough to make a few interns jump.

MJ rolled her eyes, grabbing her notepad as she stood. "Here we go," she muttered.

I pushed back from my desk, grabbing my phone and a pen as we all filed toward the conference room. Another day, another round of chaos at the Bugle.

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, traitor?" The video recording started as the lights in the conference room dimmed and we all turned towards the screen. The grainy news footage displayed a bold headline: "Tony Stark: Traitor or Target?"

"Americans have long followed the career of inventor Tony Stark," the news anchor's voice declared over dramatic music, "from nepotism baby to weapons developer like his father. Even more have followed his private life. But his most recent exploits threaten to send this flyboy into a nosedive. Accused of selling weapons to the enemy, the owner of Stark Industries was recently called to Capitol Hill."

The video shifted to a clip of Tony Stark at the hearing. Dressed in an impeccable suit and exuding his trademark arrogance, Tony leaned back in his chair, his casual posture a stark contrast to the stern faces of the committee members.

"May I ask a question?" Tony asked, his tone sharp with attitude.

"Not until you answer the question already before this committee," the chairman shot back, his voice laced with impatience.

Tony smirked. "It's been so long, I don't even remember what it was."

"Did you knowingly sell military-grade technology to enemies of the United States?"

"Not knowingly," Tony replied, his smirk unwavering.

"Did you do it unknowingly?"

"Now, by definition, that would be impossible to answer," Tony quipped, drawing muffled chuckles from the room.

The clip ended abruptly, and the room plunged into silence as the screen went dark. Betty flicked the lights back on, revealing a conference room filled with somber faces. I sat opposite Ben, while MJ and Peter were seated beside me, their expressions a mix of intrigue and apprehension.

Jameson stood at the head of the table, pacing like a caged lion. "Stark's been waffling on the Hill, treating the whole damn thing like a joke! Yesterday was the final day of hearings, and guess what? Stark didn't show. They checked his half a dozen houses and his half a dozen offices... nothing. So as of this moment, Tony Stark isn't just in contempt of Congress—he's a fugitive from justice!"

Jameson stopped pacing and jabbed a finger toward Ben. "And we're going to write about it. Urich, you're on the story!"

I raised my hand, my voice steady but firm. "Mr. Jameson, I'd like to take the Stark story."

Jameson's eyes narrowed as he glared at me. "No, Murdock. You're covering the New York Thanksgiving charity gala Wednesday evening. Leave the hard-hitting stories to the pros."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from arguing, my hands tightening into fists under the table. Across from me, Ben glanced over with a sympathetic look but didn't say anything.

"Parker!" Jameson barked, snapping my attention back to him. "Get me some pictures of Spider-Man—real pictures this time, not blurry nonsense!"

Peter nodded, his usual sheepish grin firmly in place.

"Watson!" Jameson continued, turning to MJ. "You're writing about the increase in homelessness. It's gritty, it's real, and it's what this city needs to hear. Get it done!"

MJ scribbled a quick note in her notepad, her expression focused and professional.

Betty moved around the table, handing each of us thick folders filled with notes and resources for our respective assignments. I accepted mine with a tight-lipped smile, glancing briefly at the gala's details before looking back up at Jameson while Betty lingered near Peter.

"And remember, people," Jameson said as he headed for the door, "I don't want fluff—I want facts. The truth. If Stark's a traitor, we'll expose him. If he's not, we'll find out why the hell he's running!"

As the door slammed shut behind him, the room fell into a moment of tense silence. MJ leaned over toward me, whispering under her breath. "You'll show him one day."

I gave her a small smile, appreciating the sentiment, even as frustration simmered beneath the surface.

Peter glanced at me, his folder still unopened. "So... you going to that gala?"

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice," I replied, flipping through the pages with feigned interest. My thoughts, however, lingered on the Stark story—the one I should have been writing.

"If you want I could tag along to the gala, keep you company and take some pictures." Peter offered, following me over to our desks as I stood up from the conference table.

"I'll be alright in my own, I do need you to cover for me on patrol though." I said in a hushed tone.

"That, I can do." The boy claimed with pride.

I had been working steadily at my desk, the sun having recently set—I think—but the need for a break got the better of me. Pushing my chair back, I grabbed my mug and made my way to the break room for a cup of tea. 

"They were never stationed anywhere. They were terrorized and maimed. So tonight I set a vigil and my shadows all that's cast and the iron that's encased it. Is doing all that one could ask. And I never promise anything again."

When I returned a few minutes later, I noticed something strange. A folded piece of paper was sitting on my desk. Frowning, I picked it up and unfolded it. The note was brief, written in an unsteady scrawl: 

Meet in the alley in five minutes.

My gut tightened. I pulled my headphones down around my neck, listening out for irregular heartbeats. My eyes scanned the newsroom, searching for anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary. Everyone seemed engrossed in their work, no one looking my way or acting suspicious. Slipping the note into my pocket, I grabbed my jacket, shrugged it on, and headed toward the alley. 

"I never promise anything again. I never promise anything again."

The chill of the evening air greeted me as I stepped out into the dimly lit alley behind the Bugle. Shadows stretched long and dark against the brick walls, the faint hum of the city providing a distant backdrop. My senses were on high alert as I scanned the area. 

"Thank you for joining us," a voice spoke from the shadows, low and calm. 

Without hesitation, I lashed out, my fist connecting squarely with the speaker's face. 

"OW!" The figure stumbled back, clutching their jaw as the alley suddenly lit up in a burst of glowing energy. 

"Maggie!" Sophie's voice cut through the tension as she rushed over, her hands glowing softly as she knelt beside the groaning figure. "It's Peter!" 

I blinked as the light revealed Peter Parker, hunched over and rubbing his jaw with a pained grimace. 

"Us, Maggie! It's us*" Sophie insisted, glancing between me and Peter with wide eyes while Kamala and Gwen came up behind them as well, both snickering. 

"I know," I replied casually, crossing my arms as Sophie helped Peter to his feet. 

"Then what was that for?" Peter snapped, wincing as Sophie pressed her hands to his jaw, healing him with a soft glow. 

"Why would you leave a sketchy note on my desk," I said, my voice sharp, "telling me to meet someone anonymous in an alley at night? We have a literal kingpin after us, dumbass!" 

Peter straightened up, still rubbing his jaw despite the absence of pain. "Okay, fair point," he grumbled. "But it was supposed to be a secret meeting—hero business." 

"Maybe next time don't make it sound like a mob threat," I shot back. 

Sophie stepped between us, her glowing hands fading as she gave Peter a reassuring pat. "He gets it, Maggie. Now can we talk about why we're all here?" 

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, we have to do something about Stark. They're calling him a traitor, but he's a hero. And if his weapons are out there, they could end up in the wrong hands—like Kingpin's." 

I frowned, the weight of his words settling over me. "You think the kingpin is already making moves to get his hands on them?" 

Peter nodded. "It's not just possible—it's likely. We need to keep an eye out and figure out where these weapons are going. If we don't, a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt." 

I took a deep breath, considering his words. "Fine. We'll keep our eyes open. But next time, text me like a normal person." 

Peter gave a sheepish grin, while Sophie chuckled softly, the tension finally easing. 

"Noted," Peter said.

"Can we go now? It's cold out here." Gwen complained, holding her jacket tighter around herself.

"Yeah, you're all free to go. We'll have another meeting soon when we find anything." I told them as we started walking back, the city lights flickering against the walls of the alley. 

. . .

Night in the city hummed with its usual rhythm: distant car horns, the occasional murmur of conversation, and the steady hum of streetlights. I perched on the ledge of a nearby building, masked and silent, listening to the streets below. My patrol had been uneventful so far, but then a faint sound caught my attention—something metallic and deliberate. My senses sharpened as I turned toward the noise, spotting a figure darting up the steps of an old building. 

Narrowing my eyes, I adjusted my position for a better view. The figure, a young woman, was dressed in sleek black pants and a fitted purple top that immediately gave off Hawkeye vibes. She carried a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, and from the way she moved—quick, precise, and purposeful—I knew this wasn't just a random passerby. 

Intrigued, I decided to follow, keeping to the shadows as she worked. She pulled out a lock-picking tool, jiggling it in the heavy door's lock with practiced ease. But when the lock didn't budge, she let out a soft grumble, pocketed the tool, and resorted to scaling the wall instead. 

I couldn't help but be impressed as I watched her climb. Her movements were steady and confident, and the bow strapped to her back only added to her air of determination. 

From my vantage point, I saw her pull herself onto the roof and drop her bag. She rummaged through it, pulling out some gear. Her phone buzzed, and she fished it out, answering the call on speaker. 

"Kate, be careful," a voice on the other end warned. It was a friend, clearly nervous. "If we get caught, you're definitely getting kicked off the archery team." 

"Yeah, I know," the girl—Kate—replied with a shrug. "But a bet's a bet, Lola." 

Her casual confidence made me smirk. I shifted slightly to keep her in view as she sized up the bell tower across from her. 

"Okay, so the real question," Kate continued, taping up her hands. "Does the bell swing back and forth, or does the dangly thingy swing back and forth?" 

"It's obviously the bell," another voice—Jane—replied, her tone exasperated. 

"See? I would disagree," Kate countered thoughtfully. "I think it's the dangly thingy." 

"Nice outfit, by the way," Lola chimed in, clearly trying to ease the tension. 

"Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta dress the part," Kate replied as she set up her bow. She notched an arrow with a tennis ball stuck to the end, pulling it back with precision before releasing it. 

The arrow flew across the night sky and hit the outside of the bell with a soft thunk before bouncing off harmlessly. 

"Well, that was a bit of a letdown," Jane muttered dryly. 

Kate frowned, already digging into her bag for another arrow. "Okay, you know what? Just hang on. Let me fix this." She attached a new device to the arrow, aimed, and let it fly. This time, the arrow caught onto the rope inside the bell, and a deep chime echoed through the night. 

Kate cheered, punching the air triumphantly. "Oh my god! Yes! That was amazing!" 

Her celebration was short-lived as a low creak sounded from the tower. Kate froze, eyes darting toward the bell. 

"That's fine," she muttered, trying to convince herself. 

But it wasn't fine. The bell shifted, then cracked. 

"Right? I mean it gives it character. All famous bells have cracks," Kate reasoned aloud, her tone faltering as the bell gave way entirely, crashing into the tower below. 

"Oh, that's bad," she whispered, her face paling. 

The situation escalated as the entire top of the bell tower crumbled, sending debris raining down. 

"Hold it!" a security guard burst onto the rooftop, flashlight blazing as it landed squarely on Kate. 

From my spot, I saw Kate glance down at the street, where her friends were already running away, leaving her to face the music. She turned back to the guard, laughter bubbling out nervously as she gestured behind her. 

I couldn't help but admire her guts, even if her plan had gone spectacularly wrong. But as the guard moved closer, I decided it was time to leave. Kate wasn't in immediate danger—other than a stern talking-to and maybe a police report. 

Still, I made a mental note to check on her later. Her skill, determination, and sheer audacity were worth keeping an eye on. If she was bold enough to take on a bell tower for a bet, she might be bold enough to join the fight against something bigger. 

And with a city full of threats, I could always use more people like her.

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Question of the day: What do you think of Kate Bishop?

I've got at least five chapters to share with you all today, still catching up from my break the past month. These next few chapters are going to focus on one big event with the characters so I hope you all enjoy it!

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