Crossroad 1.2 - Taylor Hebert
22 January 2011
Evening crept over Brockton Bay at what felt like a snail's pace. I had hidden my costume in my room upstairs hours ago in preparation for the activities to come. Dad returned from Winslow right as I finished dinner. Lasagna, my favorite dish, was on the menu for the evening. It always made me feel better. It was Mom's signature recipe. Always helped melt away the nerves and the butterflies.
"Well, little bug, I think this is it," Dad sighed over his Italian goodness. "We obviously don't have the money for a legal battle. They've promised to look into the situation; keep a closer eye on you and the 'accused'. They've sworn never to let something like this happen again. Not that I really believe the lip service, the bastards."
"Better than nothing, I guess," I mumbled before shoveling my own dinner into my mouth. The familiar flavors helped to battle away the disappointment. Not that I was really surprised. Brockton Bay was kind of a shithole, and Winslow High reflected that swimmingly. Members from all three major gangs recruited from Winslow. Both Empire Eighty-Eight and the Azn Bad Boys actively recruited Caucasian and Asian students respectively. The Merchants just picked up anyone down on their luck, which was usually the poor or the homeless.
So no, I wasn't surprised that the administration of Winslow goddamn High wouldn't actually act. Sticking their neck out would involve getting off their ass and doing something, which would be the worst thing in the world. Worse than getting shoved into a locker full of muck and bugs and shit. Yeah.
"Yeah, better than nothing," Dad speared his pasta, more violently than I had expected. A familiar scowl formed across his face. I knew it well; I had seen it nearly everyday since Mom died. A face of quiet rage and frustration. Anger at the world, its injustice, and his inability to change it.
I'd change it, Dad. I would.
The rest of dinner proceeded in a familiar, comfortable silence that had surrounded us for years.
* * *
Nightfall had
finally arrived and Dad had
finally gone to bed. I had preemptively slipped into my superhero costume. A stupid, risky decision in hindsight. Dad could have easily walked in or called for me, and I'd have very little in the way of damage control. Whatever, though. He'd gone to bed as expected and I was left suited up staring at myself in the full-body mirror I had brought up from the basement—a normally Herculean task made easy with my super strength.
I kept my gaze locked against my own mirror self, my mask clutched firmly in hand. My heartbeat thumped and reverberted, drowning out all other noise. I opened my mouth, letting a breathy sigh escape my dry mouth. Nervous was an understatement.
C'mon, Taylor. It's now or never. Besides, you're gonna be so much more scared in a little bit. Chin up.
A glance at the alarm clock behind me announced the time to be 11:04PM. Dad would absolutely kill me for sneaking out, especially this late at night. Brockton Bay was dangerous at night, especially to young women.
"Fuck it," I whispered my usual hype-up mantra, slipping on my crimson mask. The large, round lenses stared back at me.
I smiled, visible slightly under the full face mask. First night as Spider-Woman, young heroine of Brockton Bay. Let's do it.
Tearing myself from the staring match against myself—I totally won, by the way—I made for the window. I unlatched the locks and using my handy sticky powers, carefully eased the window open. Thankfully my fingers detached from the glass, a testament to my training. I crawled through the new opening, out into the night, and onto the roof.
A quick examination revealed no prying eyes, and no light from Dad's window. No curious Dad. Good, I had been quiet enough. With one last look back into my bedroom, I eased the window back closed and began the descent to the grass below. With the grace of a trained acrobat, I landed onto the lawn with near silence. I grinned beneath my mask once more. I was getting better already.
Determination surged within me. Yeah, I think I got this. I think.
I kicked off the ground, soaring higher than I meant to. Aiming for the neighbor's roof across the street, I landed ever so gracefully. I stumbled slightly, frantically searching again for witnesses.
"Jumping needs a little work," I grumbled, preparing myself for resumed rooftop leaping. I, well, lept off the roof. "And away this little spider goes!"
* * *
Nearly fifteen minutes of hopping from residential rooftops led me to the southern commercial district. Here skyscrapers belonging to corporations I didn't know, or care about, sprawled. I stood at the foot of a particularly tall, glassy building towards the edge of the district. For what felt like the billionth time, I stared back at my reflection and contemplated my life's choices.
"Now… Now or never, girl," I breathed, turning my gaze to my gloved hands. Anticipation overpowered the anxiety buzzing within me. "Now or fuckin' never."
Holding my breath, I placed my hands onto the wall. As expected, they stuck. I lifted a foot up, placing it against the glass. It stuck. The next foot followed. It stuck.
I began to climb.
I refused to look anywhere but up as I ascended up the reflective tower. A deafening symphony of wind, fabric against glass, and my own breathing was all I heard. My heart thumped against my chest, hard. A steady rhythm was established. Right, left, right, left.
Without warning, a particularly strong gust of cold, January wind battered against me. I was sure it would yank me off the building, but to my surprise it didn't. Oh thank God. My heart rate only increased.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Up. Only Up.
Flapping sounded overhead. Birds. They would be nesting at the top of the skyscraper. I was getting close, I realized. A resurgence of determination filled me once more, quickening my pace.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Rig—
My right hand made no surface contact initially. I had made it to the top. Slowly, ever so slowly and carefully, I pulled myself up onto the roof of my bane of existence for the past ten minutes. I sprawled out onto the hard surface, gazing up into the starry night sky and catching my breath.
"Holy shit," I laughed, placing a hand onto my chest. "Holy shit, I'm crazy. This is crazy."
I brought my hand back up, over my face. I turned it over, examining the faint bulge left by my web shooter. "Not crazy enough."
I scrambled to my feet, returning to the rooftop edge. The stunning nighttime view of Brockton Bay stretched over the horizon. Despite the crime, the issues, dirt and grime the city dealt with, I couldn't help but catch my breath at the sight.
Skyscrapers and other buildings of varying sizes rose from the lit asphalt grid below, twinkling with the lights of a hundred thousand offices. Everyday people, going about their everyday normal lives; Crunching in the overtime. All of them absolutely oblivious to the moronic teenage girl standing atop a skyscraper, laid bare to the winter elements.
I glanced down, swallowing hard. I shouldn't have done that. "Oh what is that? Like four-hundred, five-hundred feet? No biggie!"
"Either these shooters work and I get the biggest adrenaline rush of a lifetime," I looked forward, away from the street below. "Or they don't, and the itsy-bitsy spider goes splat."
I closed my eyes, tilting my head up to the sky and jogging in place. Letting out a final sigh, I cracked my neck and straightened my gaze once more. I let my eyes open, adjusting to the mask's lenses once more.
"I'm Spider-Woman."
I jumped from the building's edge. I pressed my body tight, legs together and arms against my sides. Wind violently rippled against my rapid, arrow-like descent. The nearest skyscraper grew closer and closer. Time for the ultimate field test.
Raising my right arm, I aimed my wrist at the advancing tower, ignoring the wind resistance. I pressed my middle and ring fingers into my palm, triggering the web shooter. On contact, a sticky string of ivory webbing spewed from my wrist. It traveled with an impressive velocity—faster than I was falling—and connected with the intended target. Test one success.
Now time for test two: durability. I continued to let gravity take its hold on me until I hit the length of my web. At the apex, I began the hypothesized swing back upward.
"Hooooly shit," I hollered and laughed. After a brief moment of swinging from the skyscraper, I hit maximum height. "Oh no— release, release!"
Frantically I fingered the web shooter once more, cutting the string of webbing. I wasn't worried about leaving a mess, oh no. My synthetic webs were designed to dissolve after a few hours. No muss, no fuss. What I
was worried about, however, was my return to free-falling.
"I don't even like Tom Petty!," I shouted to myself, raising my left arm and firing off a second string of webbing at the next building. As expected, it made perfect contact and leveraged me further into the night sky. Test two, a great success.
A second rhythm was established tonight. Right thwip, release. Left thwip, release. Repeat, don't fall.
It took no time at all to reach the western edge of the commercial district with the speed I was soaring through the air. Very apparent was the lack of towering buildings to latch onto. Well, shit, guess it was time for test number three.
I latched a web against a nearby building corner, letting my momentum carry me around the adjacent side. Now sailing northbound, I resumed my beautiful web swinging through the city. Test number three, movement, was a success. It wouldn't do me much good if I couldn't
turn different directions on the fly, now could it?
I whooped and hollered as much as I dared in the dead of night, lest I attract attention. I was still getting a feel for my powers, and I didn't want to alert any prowling gangsters. It was a challenge as great as web swinging, it felt. The adrenaline rush I felt from soaring several hundred feet above my doom made it hard to keep subdued.
Practice, Taylor. You're here to practice.
Right thwip, release. Left thwip, release. Repeat, don't fall.
* * *
I continued swinging around the city for what felt like hours, keeping close to familiar territory. Practice made perfect, and whatnot. Swinging from building to building seemed to become second nature after a while, letting me sprinkle in fancy moves. Here and there I flipped and spun through the air, slid across rooftops, and launched myself from various outcroppings, like bank gargoyles. Why did they always have gargoyles? Creepy.
More than once I spotted the movement of unseemly figures. I knew from living in this wretched city that the Empire Eighty-Eight made their home practically all over the commercial district. I had been swinging over the heads of Nazis all night, it seemed.
Nothing law-breaking had caught my eye, just the usual prowling. I really wanted to knock some skulls, as awful as that sounded. It was probably the adrenaline talking. Yeah, definitely the adrenaline. I was a superhero now, sure, but that didn't mean I could just attack people not actually getting up to mischief, even if they
were Nazis.
I landed on a squat brick building, rolling to a stop. Almost on instinct I stepped to the edge of the roof. Rather than leap, as I had done numerous times tonight, I brought myself into a low crouch. Observing the near-dormant street below helped instill a peace within me, slowing my still rapid beating heart. I hoped, if I was planning on doing this again—and I did—that I'd get over the adrenaline high it left me in.
Across the street below, a single dark figure emerged around the corner to my right, striding down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Some place to be, perhaps?
As the individual moved closer and under the illumination of a working street lamp, a woman was revealed. Heavily bundled, hood pulled tight, and hands firmly in coat pockets, but definitely a woman. Or a girl, actually. Couldn't have been older than myself, by the look of things. What was she doing out so comically late?
Gradually the young girl approached the center of my vision, entered it, and moved straight through it. As she neared the end of the block, trouble reared its ugly head. She made the mistake of passing a dark, obscuring alleyway in the middle of E88 territory. Four Empire mooks slithered out, surrounding the poor girl. It was painfully obvious they meant to brutalize her, evident by the metal bats and drawn switchblades.
"Ohh that's not good," I stood from my crouch, beginning my intervention. I halted just as fast. What was I doing? I barely knew how to handle my powers and I
just figured out web swinging. What made me think I could step directly into crime fighting?
Why was I second guessing? I was a superhero, wasn't I? Fighting crime was in the job description. Mouse Protector wouldn't hesitate to save someone from being assaulted in the streets.
But could I really just, I don't know,
jump right in? I didn't know how to fight, I hadn't even begun to train. Based on the damage I left in my basement, would I leave craters in these men, too? I didn't know anything, yet.
A shrill scream tore me away from my inner struggle. The gangsters had amped their harassment of the young girl straight to assault. A larger, buffer brunette man had grabbed hold of her arms, twisting them in place behind her. She struggled and writhed, but the wall of muscle contained her with ease.
One of them, a pale bald man, seemed to be the leader by the orders he barked. He grabbed one gangster beside him, a shorter, thin boy who couldn't have been older than sixteen, and handed him a bat. His terrified baby face dotted with wisps of facial hair gave away his age—and his inexperience. At least I wasn't the only one.
Oh, man. I hadn't noticed it before due to her raised hood and the nighttime darkness. The girl wasn't white. And this was an Empire Eighty-Eight initiation.
The question was answered for me, right then and there. I'm Spider-Woman.
Confidence and anger flared from within, powering my leap off my rooftop perch. I fired off a string, connecting with the opposing building and swinging. I landed with surprising ease and silence onto the streetlamp illuminating the conflict below. I finally got a good look at the racist goons.
Baldy was built himself; Not as big as Muscle, but was still solid. The third guy stood off to the side, waiting. He was a heavier-set man, with obviously dyed blond hair. Fatso, I'd call him. The last was the Kid, a teenager I swore I'd seen at Winslow. I probably had, honestly. Hellhole of a school.
"So is this a regular thing, orrr…," I spoke finally, spooking the gangsters. "'Cuz this isn't really what the term 'picking up chicks' actually means."
How they didn't immediately discover my aerial position, I didn't know. All four of them, including the girl, who I could now see was an attractive black girl. Mystery solved, there.
"You too chicken shit to show your face, or somethin'?," taunted Baldy, who was frantically scanning for my location. His grip on his switchblade tightened. "Bitch."
"You know it, dude," I replied. It wasn't a total lie. My heart hammered away in my chest, threatening to break my ribs. I attempted to mimic Mouse Protector's quippy banter. "Hey but don't worry, we can set all of you up an eHarmony page easy-peasy. I can see it now—"
Kid whimpered like a scared puppy, Muscle held firmly onto the girl, and Baldy spun around faster than a top. Fatso, however, began to wisen up. He slowly looked up, and locked eyes with me. "—I can see it now: 'I like long walks on the beach, spontaneous adventure, and assaulting teenagers on the street.'"
"Jesse she's—," Fatso began, getting cut off by Baldy's outburst.
"A dead bitch, yeah," Baldy snarled.
"No, man. She's—," Fatso tried once more, but this time
I interrupted.
"Up here, chrome dome," I quipped, aiming my web shooter. A second later, a sticky string of web connected with Kid's feet, wrapping them together. I lept backwards off the streetlamp, yanking Kid to the ground. As I landed on the sidewalk below, he was hoisted into the air, dropping his bat and hanging upside down from the lamp post. I quickly cut the web, leaving it sticking to the lamp.
Baldy stood before me, switchblade brandished. Fatso stood to my left by the street, his own bat raised. Muscle, behind me, still didn't let go of the girl, instead backing away with her down the sidewalk.
"The fuck are you supposed to be?," Baldy spat, glaring at me with the same attitude one gave garbage. "The 'Red Smear on the Fucking Asphalt?'"
"No but that one was a close second," I side-eyed Fatso as he inched nearer. This wasn't going to end well. "I settled on 'Spider-Woman,' though."
"Well Spider-Cunt, you picked the wrong night to fuck with us," Baldy grinned, signalling Fatso. He hastened his movements towards me, quicker than I expected. His metal bat swung
hard, aimed directly for my head.
Time seemed to slow. My heart pounded in my chest. Baldy's malicious laugh echoed through my head. The girl's screams and pleads slowed. All I saw was the blunt force trauma barreling straight for my face.
On some unknown, untested reflex, I craned my neck to the side, ducking under Fatso's swing. He stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him. He seemed just as surprised as I was, but I wasn't going to let an opening go unpunished. I grabbed the bat with one hand and kicked Fatso square in the chest, sending the flabby Nazi flying across the street. I dropped the bat and fired a blast of webbing at him, gluing him square to the street.
"Get the boss, now!," Baldy snapped, advancing towards me with his blade. Behind me I heard a squeal, a thump, and the scraping of concrete. Muscle must've thrown the girl and ran, presumably for their 'boss'.
"Is this about the dating profile thing? 'Cuz we can do offline as well," I dodged backwards, away from his deadly thrust. I kept backing away, contrasting his advancement. "I hear Fugly Bob's has speed dating nights."
Baldy didn't reply with words, only frustrated grunts as he slashed and stabbed at open air. I dodged and weaved with reflexive ease, which concerned me slightly. In this moment, however, I was thankful for my innate ability to avoid impalement.
"Yeah this is about the dating thing," I fired a string at his knife-hand, yanking the blade from his grip. I spun into a roundhouse kick, slamming my foot directly into his jaw. He went sailing towards Fatso, and I hopped on one foot.
"Ow ow ow," I winced, firing a shaky blast at Baldy. It hit home, trapping him beside his fellow white-supremacist. "They always make it seem so easy, dammit!"
A groan from behind silenced my pain, and I spun around to view the source. The girl was, indeed, thrown to the ground. She was sitting up, nursing her wrists where Muscle had held her. I approached slowly, and she shied away.
"Hey, dude, I'm one of the good guys," I raised my palms in the universal sign for "I mean no harm".
The girl visibly relaxed, but still eyed me cautiously. I tried not to take it personally; She was just scared.
"You okay? They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?," I crouched beside her, placing a gentle touch on her shoulder. I gave her a once over, looking for any obvious injuries. As I raised my head up, our gaze met. She really was beautiful, with dark skin and high cheekbones. A few strands of purple-dyed hair had fallen out of her hood and over her face.
"No. No I'm fine," the girl replied, looking back down at her wrists. "Thanks… What'd you call yourself? Spider-something?"
"Spider-Woman," I corrected. How was that difficult to remember?
"Never heard of you, Spider-Lady," she smiled. Oh, this was on purpose.
"Yeah, well. First night out," I confessed, sighing. Movement to my right caught my attention, pulling my eyes from the girl. Two large figures were making their way down the street, and
fast. Muscle and the Boss?
"Glad I could help with your debut, Ms. Spider," the girl began nervously, following my gaze. "But I gotta run. I was headed to my brother's and—"
"Yeah, go," I cut her off. I gave her one last reassuring pat on the shoulder before rising to my feet. "Get outta here, I got this."
There was no argument, no reassurance. Just the familiar sound of sneakers on concrete as she ran away, hopefully directly to her brother's place. Why she had to run straight into Empire territory to get there was beyond me. Just plain stupid of her, but what's done is done. Now I just hoped she got home safe, and I did, too.
I turned towards the approaching men, my breath catching in my throat. Muscle had gone and got the boss alright. The boss was a parahuman, a familiar cape. I had seen him on the news and PHO plenty of times.
He towered over both Muscle and I easily, which was terrifying on its own. Muscle and I were not short people by any means. From head to toe, skin and hair and eyes, the man was unnaturally smooth and white. Not Caucasian—literally the color white. Alabaster.
The cape forgoed the usual identity-concealing mask and skin-tight costume. Probably giving up hiding years ago, he instead donned black combat boots, military cargo pants, and a black leather jacket over a red t-shirt.
Wailing and pleading came from all three goons I had webbed in place as soon as Alabaster, their boss, came into view. I stepped into the street, consigning myself to my fate. First night out, sure, but I'd make sure these bastards saw bars by the end of the night. Four–or five, if I got Alabaster—less gangsters off the street, not assaulting innocent people.
Alabaster and Muscle returned, stopping their sprint a yard or so away from me. The two Nazis glanced around the street, noting their trapped and screaming buddies. Alabaster mean mugged me harder, his face contorting to a cruel scowl.
"This is the scrawny bitch who took you all down?," he asked incredulously, waving his hand my way. "This little girl?"
"Spider-Woman," I said, crossing my arms. "You're… Oh what's your name? I'm sure I know it?"
"Are you being ser—"
"Oh it's on the tip of my tongue? Moon Knight? No, that's more your boss…"
"You're actually fucking with me, right?"
"Hold on, dude," I raised my hand, cupping my chin and pretending to think. "Captain Caucasian? Mister White?"
I noticed a vein bulge on his forehead as his fists clenched in rage.
"Dazzler! That's it!," I slapped my fist into my palm defiantly. "Yeah, you're the Dazzler!"
"And you're dead, kid," Alabaster snarled, rushing towards me without warning. Much like Fatso's bat swing, Alabaster moved much, much faster than I had expected. The hulking white monster barreled over me in an instant, swinging a massive fist. I couldn't dodge or weave, so I blocked. I raised my arms, locking them together over my front, and ducked my head low. The blow connected with my defense, sending me flying down the street.
I recovered quickly, flipping in the air and landing in a crouch. I rose to my feet and let out a shaky breath. "Sufficiently dazzled."
Alabaster roared, kicking off towards me again. I was ready this time, however, and fired a web blast directly into his face, obscuring his vision. As his advance devolved into a frantic stumble, I slugged him with two rapid punches of my own directly into his face and stomach. He reared back, blood flying.
Whoops, I didn't mean to hit him
that hard. I needed to work on that. Come to think of it, I probably hurt those mooks more than I meant to. Oh well, concerns for later!
Alabaster ripped the web from his face, snarling like an animal. Blood streamed from his nose, but he didn't seem to notice or care. A second later, the flow stopped and he stood up straighter as if my blows meant nothing. He let loose a cruel laugh and rushed me down once more.
I panicked, firing a string at a nearby trash can and swinging it into Alabaster's side. He was forced to block it, slowing down slightly. The window granted me enough time to throw a spinning kick into his face and inch backwards. Much like previously, he was launched backwards and recovered with no issues a moment later. Shit.
This precarious dance of dodging, weaving, blocking, and carefully striking the ivory menace carried on for some time. Each time I landed a blow, he recovered immediately and responded with his own bone-crushing blows. He may have tanked my attacks forever, but I couldn't handle his for much longer.
I made a mistake. A piece of asphalt tripped up my feet as I stumbled backwards, away from the murderous cape. I left him an opening; an opening he took. He stepped forward and swung a heavy fist into my stomach. I was sent soaring, and this time I didn't recover immediately. Skidding and rolling on the street, I coughed up blood into my already crimson mask.
"Oh yeah I'm feeling that tomorrow," I groaned, clutching my stomach and pushing myself to my hands and knees.
"You ain't gonna be feeling shit for much longer, little spider," taunted the approaching Alabaster. For once he took his time getting back to me. I noticed his battered, broken hand—the one he struck me with—fall down to his side. In an instant, it contorted itself back to pristine condition.
"Oh that's gross," I struggled to my knees. "That's so gross."
"Let's me hit as hard as I can with no worries," Alabaster boasted, strutting towards me.
"Oh-oh yeah okay, that's cool, dude," I rose on unsteady legs. I wasn't about to get my ass kicked tonight. Letting out a very, very shaky breath, I slowly steadied myself and straightened.
As I took a fighting stance, a low rumble began echoing off the surrounding buildings. I seemed to notice it first, but eventually Alabaster heard it too, eliciting a pause in his step. He growled angrily and started backing away.
"Yeah you'd better back off," I taunted, stepping forward. I didn't know why he was on the backfoot now, but I'd take advantage of it. With each advancing step, he retreated, and the distant rumble grew closer. What the hell was that?
Suddenly a figure emerged from my left, tackling me to the ground. A fist connected with my jaw, hard. When I could see my new attacker, I groaned. I had forgotten about Muscle, and he had gotten the drop on me. Shit.
Without skipping a beat, I aimed and fired, sticking to a discarded metal bat from earlier, and yanked it. The weapon collided with Muscle's face, forcing him to back off, clutching his face. Curses and threats spewed from his mouth as he stumbled away. I frantically scanned for Alabaster, and found him towards the end of the block, running away. The hell?
Muscle recovered from his stupor, blood pouring from a nasty head wound. His heavy swings lacked the speed of Alabaster, the Dazzler. I'd bet money that they'd still hurt just as bad, probably more. I wasn't willing to take that bet, though, and dodged. After a moment of maneuvering the fight, I rapidly fired two web blasts at Muscle, throwing and sticking him to the wall of a building.
I stopped and caught my breath, hands on knees. I craned my neck up, exhaled sharply, and straightened again. Examining the street, I grinned under my bloodied mask.
Littering the street were four Empire Eighty-Eight gangsters in various states of bindings. Kid hung from a streetlamp by his webbed feet, Baldy and Fatso were pinned to the street under webbing, and Muscle was secured firmly to a wall. No Alabaster, but I could cope. I had single-handedly fought off four goons and a cape, and saved a girl from a horrific beating.
I was so caught up in the aftershock that I didn't notice the massive Tinker-tech bike roll to a stop a few feet behind me. The rumbling silenced and the bike creaked, finally alerting me to the newcomer. I turned slowly, clutching my ribs, and for the second time tonight my breath caught in my throat.
Armsmaster was striding towards me, halberd in hand. The cobalt armored Tinker towered over me as well. He wore a visored helmet, but the bottom half of his face was exposed. His lips were drawn tight between his short-cropped dark-brown beard. Everyone knew Armsmaster, he was the leader of the Protectorate ENE. The guy
had to be in his thirties; there's no way.
"You do this?," Armsmaster questioned, nodding to the mess of a street. I turned around, following his gesture.
"Oh, uh, yeah, I did," I replied, turning back to the veteran hero and placing my hands on my hips. "I'm okay, by the way."
"Got a call from a girl, said she was saved from Empire thugs on this street," he ignored my last statement. His gaze hardened on me. "Guess that was you."
"Yeah totally saved the day. Or, well, the night, I guess," I beamed under my mask, staring right back at the man. "These four sexually frustrated dudes were about to assault that girl when I stepped in."
"I see," he replied bluntly, not touching my jab.
"Oh, yeah, and Alabaster showed up. Big, creepy dude. Insisted I call him the 'Dazzler'," I shrugged. "I totally rocked his world, by the way."
His silence was deafening.
"Okay, dude, jeez. He rocked
my world," I crossed my arms, shifting my weight to my right foot. "He turned tail and ran, probably…"
Oh man I should've realized sooner. The rumbling was Armsmaster's brick shithouse of a motorcycle, and Alabaster was running from
him. Dammit.
"Probably when he heard you coming. You really oughta put a muffler on that thing," I extended my hands out to my sides. "Like a big one, dude. Heard you coming from probably
more than a mile away."
"Noted," Armsmaster grunted, pressing a finger to his helmet. "Battery, I need a crew here now. Got four arrests, don't have the space."
A few seconds of silence went by before he spoke again. "Understood. Armsmaster, out."
"So. Scale of one to ten, how good did I do?," I asked, straightening.
"Property damage on the sidewalk, street, and even nearby businesses," he pointed at the cracks in the sidewalk and street, the crumpled trash can, and Muscle, bound firmly to a wall.
"Assailants bruised and bleeding, and scattered up and down the block," he continued his barrage of criticisms. I shrunk as he spoke nothing but truths.
"Worst of all, you left the girl you had
saved to participate in risky combat against another cape," Armsmaster frowned. "Like a complete novice."
"It's ah… It's my first night out," I managed, completely deflated. He was right, to an extent. I probably shouldn't have let that girl run off on her own, even if she insisted she'd be fine. This was still Empire territory.
"You did just fine, kid," he grumbled, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Better than me on my first outing."
"Really?," I replied, confidence slowly restoring. "I mean I know my bad guy grouping could be better, but really? Better than you?"
"What's your name, kid," His lips curled into a small smile as he let his hand fall back to his side.
"Spider-Woman," I beamed, hands back on hips.
"Hm," Armsmaster grunted.
"I mean… The webs, the wall crawling, the strength," I began, stretching a finger with each factor listed. I gestured to my chest. "The
spider."
"You produce your own webs?," he asked warily.
A sly, hidden grin formed on my face. "Oh yeah, you know it, dude. Fangs and venom, too."
A grunt was the only reply I received. I sighed, shaking my head. "Man. Tough crowd tonight."
"You ever thought about joining the Wards?," Armsmaster questioned, returning to his original stoic expression. "You'd learn how to do
this better."
"I, uhhh," I stuttered. Truth be told I
hadn't thought about it. Since the locker incident, my thoughts have mainly been on superpower self-discovery. I really hadn't thought about joining the Wards, or any other team. "No, I haven't."
"Well, think about it. Seriously. There's a reason the program exists. Makes sure young heroes like you don't end their careers early."
Dead. He meant dead. Which I mean, yeah, was a valid point.
"Yeah I'll think about it, thanks," I shrugged. "So do I just call 1-800-ARMS, or something?"
"Here," Armsmaster replied, reaching behind his waist. He pulled out a familiar yellow business card with red lettering, and handed it to me.
"Yeah my suit doesn't really have pockets, so…," I turned the card over in my hands. "ARMSMASTER - PROTECTORATE - 1-800-ARMS". Huh, well alright then.
"Don't lose it," he replied bluntly.
"Right," I turned back to gaze upon my handiwork of the evening. "So what now? 'Cuz I've been out for hours and I'm exhausted."
"Normally I'd ask you to accompany me back to PRT HQ, but I've already got your statement," he tapped his helmet.
"Oh, helmet cam. Cool," I held my tongue from making any witty quips. The man was already acting as a saint by letting me off the hook.
"So can I just…," I pointed over my shoulder, gesturing for my departure. "Y'know."
He grunted his approval and started back towards his parked bike.
"Cool," I turned to leave, preparing a jump. I looked back over my shoulder and waved. "Hey I'll see ya 'round, Armsy!"
Armsmaster turned back around to see me leap into the night and begin my web swinging trip back home.
