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I dashed forward, my boots skidding across the slick floor, the chaos of the auction still echoing around me. In one swift motion, I snatched a nearby bottle of wine from the counter and hurled it at the back of one of the Russians heads. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack, and the man crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. I didn't waste a second. As gunfire ripped through the air, I dropped low, avoiding the spray of bullets, and swept my feet under the next Russian, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt.

"She disappeared!" one of the panicked voices shouted.

"I'm telling you, it was the girl in black!" another shouted, the urgency in their tone rising.

"She's here somewhere, bro! Keep looking!" Yet another voice echoed.

"Shit!" One of them cursed as I lunged at him, fists flying. He raised his gun at me, but I shoved it aside with one hand, twisting his arm until the gun fell to the floor with a clatter. Without hesitation, I drove my other fist into his throat, watching as he staggered back, gasping for air.

Behind me, I heard Kate shout, and in a split second, a Russian was down, hit squarely in the head by her. Her eyes went wide with fear, and before I could say anything, I grabbed her by the arm and yanked her toward the nearest exit, pulling her through the chaos.

"She's getting away!" a voice rang out behind us.

"Darling!" Jack's voice called out to Eleanor when he made his way outside to find her anxiously pacing.

"Where's Kate? She won't answer the phone," Eleanor asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"I don't know," Jack muttered, shaking his head, frustration clear on his face. "Are you okay?"

Eleanor's gaze softened as she met his eyes. "Yeah. Are you okay?"

Jack shrugged it off, trying to appear unaffected. "Yeah. I'm fine."

The sound of approaching footsteps caught my attention, and I whirled around, finding myself face-to-face with a hulking man blocking our path. Kate froze, and I knew we couldn't afford to hesitate. I took a running leap, reaching for a ceiling bar to swing myself up. I kicked out, trying to knock him off balance, but the man barely budged. Without a second thought, I wrapped my legs around his neck, swinging my body down in a quick drop, pulling him off balance and crashing him to the floor. I rolled out of the fall, popping back to my feet in a fluid motion.

"We gotta go!" I barked at Kate, urging her to move.

We ran, pushing past the debris of the destroyed wall, and into the streets. As we rounded the corner, we came face-to-face with another threat: the man with the weapon. He was holding the laser blaster steady, aiming it at us with deadly precision.

I shoved Kate aside, narrowly avoiding the blast of the weapon, and the two of us bolted down the street. We ducked into an alley, breathing heavily as we glanced over our shoulders, knowing the danger wasn't over yet. We weren't safe—not by a long shot.

The news anchor's polished voice filled the airwaves, the screen showing chaotic cell phone footage of the gala aftermath. Flames flickered in the background, and panicked guests stumbled out of the grand building. 

"We are following a breaking news story," the anchor began, her tone urgent. "A high-society gala was rocked by an explosion at Park Avenue and 72nd Street tonight. The cause of the explosion is still under investigation, but witnesses captured cell phone footage of a masked assailant fleeing the scene." 

The footage cut to shaky video of a figure in black darting through the shadows, disappearing into the chaos. 

"Some are calling this vigilante the new devil of Hell's Kitchen," the anchor concluded, her words heavy with intrigue. 

In the dimly lit corner of Josie's Bar, Matt sat with his arms crossed, the faint hum of the TV resonating in his heightened senses. Beside him, Foggy leaned forward, squinting at the screen as he nursed his beer. 

"Check it out," Foggy said, nudging Matt with his elbow and pointing at the screen. "Copycat strikes again." 

Matt didn't respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he processed the information. 

"Wait," Foggy added, sitting up straighter as realization dawned. "Wasn't Maggie there? You mentioned she had some event tonight for work, didn't you?" 

Matt's jaw tightened, his unseeing eyes narrowing as the news replayed the footage of the masked figure. 

"I did," he admitted, his tone clipped. 

"You don't think—" 

"Don't." Matt cut him off, his voice firm but low. 

Foggy hesitated, watching his friend carefully. "Look, I'm just saying, if she's there—" 

"She's not," Matt interrupted, but the tension in his voice betrayed his certainty. 

"Alright," Foggy relented, holding up his hands defensively. "I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to check in." 

"I'll call her," Matt finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Foggy gave him a nod, leaning back in his seat. "Good. Because we already know trouble follows Maggie wherever she goes."

Matt pressed his lips into a thin line, gripping his cane a little tighter.

"Welcome to our apartment," I said as I pushed the door open, stepping inside with Kate trailing behind me. The space was dimly lit, the soft hum of the city the only sound breaking the silence. I tossed my bag onto the counter as I walked further in, pulling out my phone almost immediately. 

The screen lit up with a series of missed calls from Peter, and I frowned, scrolling through the notifications. Kate paced behind me, muttering to herself about the night's events. 

As I wrapped a temporary cloth around the shallow wound on my arm, I dialed Peter back, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Peter's voice came through, tinged with genuine concern. 

"I'm fine," I assured him quickly, wincing when I pulled the cloth tight around my arm. "May's fine, too. I heard her heartbeat during the escape. She made it out safely." 

"Good. She's been worried about you," Peter replied with relief.

"No need to worry. I've got it handled." I reassured.

"Still. Should I tell her you're on your way home?" 

"Tell her I went home early to start writing up the story," I lied smoothly. "Or just tell her I made it out safe. Either way, she doesn't need to worry." 

"Alright, but you better not make me worry anymore either." He pointed out, the concern still in his voice.

"Since when do you worry so much about me?" I shot back teasingly, not understanding where all this concern was coming from.

"I've got lots of reasons." Peter hesitated, then shifted gears. "Anyway, I picked up a friend tonight on patrol, he says there were Stark weapons at the auction? What are we dealing with?" 

"What do you mean you picked up a friend?" I stressed.

"Don't worry about it, I'll explain later, but we need to get those weapons off the streets."

"The Russians have one weapon and a man named Jack Duquesne has another. I'm going to go investigate something quickly and I'm leaving a new recruit at the apartment, meet up with us there once you're done." I gave the orders. "You need to handle this one carefully." 

"I'll take care of it," Peter promised, his tone serious. "Just... stay safe, okay?"

"Will do." I ended the call and slipped my phone back into my pocket, my mind racing with possibilities. 

"Whoa. Okay, that was... that was crazy," Kate blurted out, breaking the silence as she paced the room, her hands gesturing animatedly. "But we're safe. We're safe." 

She paused and turned to face me, her expression somewhere between panic and determination. "What is going on with Armand? Threatening my mom and buying black-market weapons? Do you think he's connected to the break-in somehow?" 

I studied her for a moment, noting the anxiety in her voice. Without a word, I pulled my phone back out and tapped on the screen, then handed it to her. "Armand's address. Type it in." 

Kate quickly did as I asked, but as she handed the phone back, her expression shifted to one of resolve. "I can come with you. I can help," she offered, stepping forward. 

I shook my head firmly, slipping the phone into my jacket pocket. "No. You're too close to this one. You're going to stay right here and wait for me to get back, alright?" 

"But—" 

"No arguments, Kate," I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for debate. I turned and headed for the roof exit, pausing just long enough to glance back. "Stay put." 

Without waiting for a response, I disappeared into the night, the cool air rushing past me as I took to the rooftops once more.

I followed the address to a towering, upscale apartment building, its grand facade gleaming faintly under the streetlights. The lobby was quiet, and I opted for the stealthy route, scaling the side of the building to Armand's floor. The windows were tall and slightly ajar, making it easy to slip inside undetected. 

The room I entered was dimly lit, with a few scattered lights glowing faintly against the shadows. It was eerily quiet—no voices, no footsteps, not even the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. My senses heightened as I moved carefully through the apartment, staying close to the walls and avoiding any creaks in the floorboards. 

As I descended the staircase, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The living area sprawled before me, the faint scent of leather and cigar smoke lingering in the air. A side table caught my attention—a dish of wrapped candies placed neatly on top. 

"Monogrammed butterscotch?" I murmured to myself, picking up one of the gold-wrapped pieces and examining it briefly before pocketing it. 

Moving further into the apartment, I came upon a heavy wooden door that was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I stepped into what appeared to be an office. A soft, ambient glow came from a lamp lying shattered on the floor, its light casting jagged shadows on the walls. 

And there, sprawled next to the broken lamp, was a figure. 

Crouching down, I carefully rolled the man onto his side, the metallic scent of blood hitting me immediately. My stomach sank as recognition dawned—Armand Duquesne lay lifeless in a growing pool of crimson. His once impeccable suit was disheveled, his face frozen in a grotesque expression of shock. 

A sound startled me—a muffled voice outside the apartment door. 

"Mr. Duquesne? I have your dry cleaning, and I brought dinner," a woman called out, her voice calm and unassuming. 

I barely had time to react before the front door creaked open. I quickly made myself scarce, slipping out through the nearest window and pressing myself against the wall outside, hidden in the shadows. 

Inside, I heard the woman set something down, her footsteps drawing closer to the office. 

The silence was broken by a blood-curdling scream as she discovered the body. 

My grip tightened on the window ledge as I climbed higher, disappearing into the night once more, my mind racing with questions. Who had killed Armand—and why?

I was making my way back to the apartment, cutting across rooftops, when I heard the faint sound of hurried footsteps and panting below me. A girl was running, her breaths sharp and frantic. Curious, I shifted my path and climbed down to perch on a nearby fire escape. Below, Kate was sprinting down the street, her wide eyes darting around for an escape route. 

Behind her, a van screeched to a halt, its doors slamming as several Russians in tracksuits spilled out. 

"Where do you think you're going?" one of them called, his voice laced with mockery. "We only want to talk." 

Kate spun around, only to see another van at the far end of the street. Its headlights flicked on ominously, blocking her escape. 

"Hey, we got a little surprise for you!" another Russian taunted, laughing darkly. 

"We've got eyes everywhere," added another, their group now circling her. 

"Come on, bro. Why you makin' it so tough on us?" The leader sneered, stepping closer. "Just tell us where to find the girl in black, and we'll make this easy." 

Kate's gaze darted around, looking for an opening. She lunged suddenly, shoving one of the men hard enough to stagger him and create a gap in their line. She bolted down a narrow side street, her heart pounding. 

Spotting an unlocked car parked nearby, she yanked the door open, jumped in, and locked it behind her. The Russians were quick to follow, slamming their hands against the windows and pulling at the handles. 

"Open up, little girl," one growled. 

"Having fun without me, detective?" Spider-Man dropped down next to me on the fire escape.

"Get the weapon from their van, I'll deal with them." I ordered, focusing on observing the scene.

"Already ahead of you because while your friend is trapped in a car, my new friend is already looking for the weapon." Peter explained and I could practically hear the smugness in his voice.

"Then, you can get the girl and I'll deal with the Russians." He nodded along and prepared to swing in.

Another Russian began pounding on the window with his fist, the glass trembling with each hit. Kate pressed herself back against the seat, bracing for it to shatter. Her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the inevitable. 

Then, with a sharp thwip, the man was yanked away by a web, his shout of surprise echoing through the street. 

The Russian standing on the hood barely had time to react before a heavy metal bar sailed through the air and struck him in the head, sending him toppling to the ground. 

Kate's eyes shot open as she saw a masked figure leap off the car. I—the girl in black—was a blur of motion, fists flying as I took on two of the remaining Russians at once. My movements were swift and brutal, a sharp elbow to one man's jaw and a spinning kick to the other's stomach leaving them both sprawled on the pavement. 

The last Russian raised his weapon, but he didn't get far. A familiar figure swooped in, yanking the gun away with a web before delivering a clean, acrobatic kick to the man's chest. Spider-Man landed lightly beside the car, his red-and-blue suit gleaming under the streetlights. 

He opened the driver's side door, offering Kate a hand. 

"You're Spider-Man," she breathed, her voice tinged with disbelief. 

"Yeah," he replied, a grin evident in his tone. "And you're welcome." 

Kate climbed out, still in shock, her eyes darting between Spider-Man and I, my mask obscuring my face but my stance radiating quiet intensity. 

"Who... who are you?" Kate asked, looking directly to me.

"Let's go back to the apartment and sort all of this out." And with that I was walking off leaving them all to follow me.

The four of us trudged into the apartment, our footsteps heavy with the weight of the recent fight. Harley peeled off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scanning the room like he wasn't entirely comfortable yet. Kate, on the other hand, was a ball of restless energy, pacing back and forth while glancing at everything in sight, muttering fragments of thoughts to herself.

I was composed but clearly tense from the days events. Passing Peter on my way towards the counter I pulled off his mask and tossed it to him, hitting him in the chest with it as he gaped at me.

"Wha-what?"

"No need to be breathing through that stupid mask if they're joining our team. Now, call a team meeting, get Sophie, Gwen and Kamala here. We need to go over what happened, and I want everyone briefed." I gave the orders, walking over to the counter and pulling out my phone to play some music in the background.

Peter hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he took in the blood seeping through the cloth wrapped around my arm. "Before that," he said, his tone shifting to concern, "you need to sit down and clean your wounds."

"I'm fine," I argued, though my wince betrayed me. "Just send them a quick message."

"You're bleeding, Maggie," Peter countered, his voice rising just enough to stop me from brushing him off. "Sit. Down."

Reluctantly, I dropped onto one of the stools and Peter pulled up a seat beside me after sending a quick message to our group chat. He laid out the first aid kit that was kept on the counter and opened it up. He tugged off the makeshift bandage with practiced care, his eyes widening as he spotted the angry gash beneath.

"Hey you, you say you want to change the world. It's alright, with me, there's no regret."

"What is this? Were you shot at?" His voice rose in horrified disbelief.

"It just skimmed me," I replied dismissively, though my attempt at nonchalance didn't land.

Peter's jaw tightened. "You got shot at, Maggie. That's not nothing." He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he reached for a cloth and the rubbing alcohol. "Let me fix you up, okay?"

"Fine," I relented, though my jaw clenched as I braced for the sting.

"It's my turn, the circle game has brought me here. And I won't let down til every song is set."

Peter poured rubbing alcohol onto a cloth, his movements careful. "Alright," he said softly, his tone gentler now. "Just gonna clean it up."

The moment the alcohol touched the wound, I groaned, my head tipping back as my fists clenched against the pain. Peter's hands steadied my arm, his grip firm but careful.

"You realize now, you should have tried now, oh. The musics gone now, you lost it somehow."

"Don't want this getting infected. It'd ruin your week," he joked, attempting to distract me as he worked.

"That already feels like it's happening," I gritted out. "It's like my flesh is being burned."

Peter froze for a moment, his brow furrowing in concern. "No super healing powers, huh?"

"No," I bit out. "And it hurts like hell."

"Hey you, you say the race is much too fast. It's okay, with me, I'm keeping pace."

He worked quickly after that, his silence betraying how much my pain bothered him. Once he finished wrapping the wound with a clean bandage, he leaned back. "All good?" he asked, his tone tentative.

I gave a small nod, my shoulders relaxing a fraction. "Mmh."

At that moment, the door opened, and Gwen and Kamala walked in together. I gestured towards my bag on the table. "Gwen, can you grab the bottle of Advil in there?"

Gwen rooted through the small front pocket on my bag and tossed the bottle over without missing a beat, but Peter intercepted it mid-air, catching it smoothly and setting it on the counter in front of me. He added a glass of water with a raised eyebrow. "You're welcome," he teased lightly.

I smirked faintly, popping the cap off the bottle. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dork."

Harley, still leaning against the wall, chuckled quietly, muttering, "Is it always like this with you guys?"

Gwen tensed slightly, only now noticing the new people in the room. "Uh, who are these people?" She asked hesitantly.

. . .

Question of the day: Would you rather work with Harley Keener or Tony Stark?

Don't worry I've still got some more chapters for you all!!

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