. . .

. . .

"Good, Sophie's here." I nodded when she walked into the tense atmosphere. "Who's going first?" I looked between Kate and Harley.

"I'll go." Harley pushed himself off the wall and moved to stand before all of us.

"You're looking for Stark weapons." I began with what I knew about Harley. "They're calling him a traitor," I stated, breaking the silence as we discussed the situation.

"I'm calling it a setup," Harley countered firmly. "I interned with Stark for a few years. He has a vault—well, had a vault. Sub-basement of Avengers Tower, triple-thick, lead-lined. It was where he kept his bad inventions. Inventions too dangerous for anyone to use."

Kamala, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, tilted her head in curiosity. "So why would he even invent them in the first place?"

Harley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He couldn't help what he thought of. The guy's mind was always running at a million miles an hour. But he could control what he sold. At least, I thought he could, until a few weeks ago."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What happened a few weeks ago?"

"Stark was away in Hawaii," Harley explained. "He came back to find a hole under his vault, leading straight down to the sewer. Someone cleaned him out completely. And now, his so-called 'bad' inventions are showing up on the black market."

Gwen, seated cross-legged on the floor, raised an eyebrow. "But why run? Why not tell the authorities, ask for their help?"

Harley let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Apparently, it's not too big a leap for people to imagine Tony Stark cutting a hole in his own vault and making some money on the sly."

I crossed my arms, skepticism creeping into my voice. "Really?"

Harley shrugged, his tone defensive. "I'm just telling you what people are saying. Stark's got a lot of angles, and not all of them make him look good."

I leaned back slightly, my eyes narrowing as I considered the information. "Seems Stark does have a lot of angles," I admitted, my voice even.

Harley pointed at me, his expression brightening slightly. "Now, that's the kind of help I need."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"To clear Stark's name," Harley said with determination.

I shook my head, pushing off the counter I'd been leaning against. "No, that's not how this is gonna work. We're going to get those weapons off the market, we're going to expose the Kingpin, who's undoubtedly behind this, and you are going to help us."

Harley straightened up, his posture suddenly more alert. "How can I help you guys?"

"You worked alongside one of the most brilliant minds of our time," I said with a shrug. "Surely, you have something that can help us."

Harley nodded slowly, his mind clearly racing. After a moment, he added, "Before he disappeared, Stark went overseas to lay low. He didn't want anyone tracing this back to him, not until he had solid proof of who was responsible."

Sophie exhaled sharply. "So, we're on our own for now."

I glanced around the room, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "Not entirely. We've got enough to go on. Let's focus on the weapons first—track them down, stop them from hitting the streets, and take out anyone standing in our way."

Gwen smirked. "I like it. Who needs sleep anyway?"

"Exactly," I said, pointing over at her with a smile. "So," I turned to Kate, starting to question her now. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Kate straightened up, eager to answer. "I, uh, started taking martial arts when I was five. Then archery a year later. My mom always said I had too much energy, so... you know, sports."

I raised an eyebrow. "So you've never done the hero thing before, never considered it?"

She hesitated, glancing around at everyone, "I don't want you to think I'm some total newbie. I mean, I could've held my own back there. Some people even call me the world's greatest archer."

"Yeah?" I asked, my tone skeptical but playful. "Are you one of those people?"

Kate gave a sheepish smile. "Well, one of them, yes."

Kamala giggled softly, scribbling something in her notebook. Peter glanced at me, his lips twitching as if holding back a laugh.

I turned to Kate again. "So, still wanna join the team?"

"Uh, yeah!" she replied enthusiastically, almost bouncing in her seat.

"Great," I said, leaning against the counter. "But now that you've answered some of our questions, I've got a few more."

"Okay, hit me," Kate said, leaning forward.

I softened slightly, noticing her nervous energy. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good. Oh, yeah, no, I'm fine," she replied, nodding too enthusiastically to be convincing.

Peter gestured for me to sit down, his eyes scanning me with concern. "Take a break, Maggie. Let's start from the beginning."

I exhaled and sank into the chair beside him, looking directly at Kate. "I found Armand dead," I said bluntly, watching her expression shift. "I'm sorry. I know it's a lot."

Kate's brows furrowed. "Are they the ones who killed my mom's fiancé's uncle?"

"Your mom's fiancé's uncle?" Harley chimed in from the corner.

"Armand the Third," Kate clarified. "Of at least seven."

I shook my head, my tone neutral. "I don't know. I wish I did."

Kate looked down, her fingers twisting in her lap. "So... what now?"

Kamala leaned forward, her notebook forgotten. "We figure out who's behind all of this, and we stop them. Together."

Gwen smirked, stepping closer. "If you want in, Kate, you're gonna have to keep up."

Kate looked up at all of us, determination flickering in her eyes. "I can do that."

"Good," I said, pushing myself upright. "Because things are about to get a lot more complicated."

"So what do we know?" Peter asked, looking to me for the answers.

"Okay," I started, exhaling slowly. "Here's the deal. The gala was a setup—I'm sure of it. The auction in the back was selling stolen Stark tech and other black-market goods. And then... the explosion happened."

"Explosion?" Kamala repeated, her eyes wide.

"Yeah," I nodded, my voice steady. "They set off a device to create chaos, probably to cover their tracks. But the Russians weren't the only ones there. There were others, bidding on items they had no business owning."

Peter frowned. "What kind of items are we talking about?"

"Weapons," I replied grimly. "Dangerous ones. I think Kingpin might be involved—his fingerprints are all over this."

Harley muttered a curse under his breath. "That explains the Stark tech."

"I was trying to get as much intel as I could," I continued, "but then things went sideways. We barely got out before—"

I stopped mid-sentence, my head snapping toward the window. My heart rate spiked as I focused on the faint noises coming from outside—muffled voices, footsteps crunching against gravel, and the distinct sound of a weapon being loaded.

"Maggie?" Peter's voice cut through the silence, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Shh," I whispered, raising a hand.

The room went still. Everyone's eyes were on me as I tilted my head, listening intently.

"What's wrong?" Kate whispered.

"Shit" I murmured.

"Shit?" Kate repeated with worry.

"Hey, girl in black!" The harsh shout from outside sent a chill down my spine. The room froze, every one of us on alert. I turned toward the window, narrowing my eyes.

"That doesn't sound good," Kate commented, her voice low as she tensed.

Before I could respond, I glanced back at Kate. "Oh no. Get down!" I urged, tackling her to the ground just as the first flames started to rise from the carpet near the window. I could feel the heat building in the air.

"Well, you've got your diamonds. And you've got your pretty clothes. And the chauffeur drives your car. You let everybody know." The next song on the playlist started playing.

"Soph, Kamala, fire!" I barked the orders urgently as I ran to the window, eyes scanning for the source of the danger. Sophie and Kamala quickly rushed to the fire, stomping out the flames that had spread to the old carpet, but I could hear them getting louder outside.

"But don't play with me 'cause you're playing with fire."

"We got a little surprise for you!" the Russians shouted, their voices taunting from below.

Peering through the broken window, I spotted a group of them standing in the street, bottles of fire ready to throw. My stomach twisted as I took in the sight.

"Show yourself!" one of them yelled, grinning like they had the upper hand.

"Come on! Throw it!" they all cheered, their voices rising in excitement as they prepared for their next attack.

Just as I was about to react, the next Molotov cocktail flew toward us, arcing through the air. My instincts kicked in, and I reached out, catching it mid-flight, the flames licking at my fingers. Without thinking, I hurled it back down at them, a satisfying crack of glass followed by the eruption of flames. Several of them screamed as they were caught in the blast.

But they were relentless.

Another one took aim, another Molotov in hand. Just as it left his grip, Gwen and Peter swung into action, webs flying out and grabbing the bottle from his hand. They yanked him off balance, and in one fluid motion, the bottle dropped back down on the group below, dousing them in flames.

"Your mother, she's an heiress. Owns a block in Saint Johns Wood. And your father'd be there with her, if he only could."

"Put him out, he's on fire!" one of them yelled in panic, but they were too late. Chaos broke out as they scrambled to put out the flames engulfing them.

I couldn't help but laugh a little, though it was more out of relief than amusement. "That's all you got? Come on! Throw another one!" They shouted back,

But before they could throw another, Gwen and Peter webbed them all up, pulling them together like ragdolls. They struggled in the sticky webs, but there was no escape.

"Hey! Get outta here!" A voice rang out from below. Stan, came striding out, shaking his head. "Thank you, Spider-Man!" he called, waving at the spider heroes.

The sound of sirens echoed down the street as the police arrived, their lights flashing in the distance. It didn't take long before they took the Russians into custody, still struggling against the webs.

"We should get out of here," Peter muttered to the group, looking toward the entrance. "We don't want to stick around too long."

Nods of agreement spread around the room, and without another word, we slipped out the back entrance, heading for the shadows as the chaos unfolded behind us. We agreed to meet up again later, all of us silently thankful for the quiet that followed the storm.

As Kate stepped through the door, she was met with the familiar warmth of her apartment, but the moment her mother, Eleanor, saw her, her face twisted with concern.

"I was so scared. What happened to you?" Eleanor's voice trembled as she rushed over to Kate, her hands hovering as if unsure whether to touch her. She looked her daughter up and down, her eyes scanning for any signs of injury.

Kate gave her a reassuring smile, trying to calm the panic in her mom's eyes. "Nothing. I went out the back," she explained, her voice steady, even though her mind was still replaying the chaos of the evening.

But Eleanor wasn't entirely convinced. "That was crazy. An explosion? Some kind of black market auction?" Her voice quivered with disbelief as she leaned against the kitchen counter, clearly still in shock from the events that had unfolded. "I can't believe what's been going on in this city lately. You didn't—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I thought you were going to be okay. You are okay, right?"

Kate nodded, trying to mask the exhaustion that was starting to set in. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassured her, though the tension in her body told a different story. Her mind was still racing, the images of the fire, the Russians, and the chaos flashing behind her eyes.

"I just need to go to bed," Kate added softly, knowing she couldn't keep her mom from worrying. "It's been a long day."

Eleanor looked like she wanted to protest, but she simply sighed and nodded. "Alright, just... be careful next time, okay? And let me know if you need anything."

"Of course," Kate said with a small, tired smile. She made her way to her room, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. She shut the door behind her and let out a long, shaky breath, grateful for the brief moment of quiet before tomorrow's problems would start again.

. . .

Question of the day: Would you rather be friends with Kate or Harley?

. . .