Herman Schultz, the Shocker, self-proclaimed master of safe cracking and a notorious criminal, suddenly found himself with the most unexpected and challenging task of his life. As he stared into the innocent eyes of the newborn, he knew his life was about to change in ways he could never have imagined.
My Little Shock (Spider-Man Villian Parent Fic)
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Issue 1: Nine months later
- Pronouns
- He
Someone knocked on my door. For anyone else, this might have been normal, if a bit unusual, given that it was the middle of the night. But I wasn't anyone else. I'm Herman Schultz—or The Shocker, if you prefer—a wanted supervillain. So this was either the S.W.A.T. team, the webhead, or Frank Motherfucking Castle. Peeking through the peephole, ready to blast whoever it was into next week, I didn't see the barrel of a gun or the glint of a police badge. Instead, there was a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket lying on my doorstep.
"What the hell?" I muttered, unlocking the door and cracking it open just enough to peek outside. The street was empty. No sign of whoever left this mysterious package, which made me briefly worry that Castle had left me some explosive present. But I quickly shook off that thought—he was in Harlem, fighting his suicidal war against Hammerhead. Still, confusion flickered through my mind, momentarily dulling the ever-present fear of being arrested or worse. I opened the door wider, and the bundle shifted, emitting a soft coo.
"Holy crap," I muttered, dropping to one knee. Gently pulling back the blanket, I found myself staring into the wide, innocent eyes of a newborn baby. She blinked up at me, her tiny hand reaching out and grasping my finger—completely unafraid, which was not the usual reaction to my mask.
Instinctively, I scooped her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. I guessed she was a girl, judging by the pink blanket. She let out a contented sigh, her tiny breaths warm against my skin. It was surreal—something I never imagined I'd experience, especially after Spider-Man had wrecked my face so many times that it killed any chance of dating, let alone having kids.
Feeling a chill, even with my suit on, and seeing the baby squirm in discomfort, I quickly shook off the surprise and took her inside, away from the cold night air.
As I carried the baby in, my mind raced with questions. Who would leave an infant on my doorstep? Did they get the wrong address? Was this kid mine? My heart pounded as I laid the baby down on the couch, making sure she was comfortable and wouldn't fall off.
Looking around my modest hideout, I realized just how unprepared I was for this situation. I had no idea how to care for a baby—the closest I'd come to raising a kid was babysitting my younger brother when he was twelve. And my lair? Definitely not child-friendly. But I couldn't just abandon her. Despite my criminal career, I had a code—a line I wouldn't cross. And that line definitely included leaving a helpless child to fend for herself. I'm a thief, sure, but I try to keep my crimes as casualty-free as possible.
With a sigh, I started making my hideout as baby-friendly as I could. I rummaged through my junk, gathering blankets, pillows, spare clothes—anything that might be useful. I even managed to swipe some baby formula and diapers from a nearby convenience store, though I had no clue how to prepare the formula properly. Luckily, the internet exists. I even started working on a makeshift crib.
Hours passed as I worked, interrupted by the baby's crying. I clumsily tried to care for her, mimicking what I'd seen in movies or read in books. Changing diapers was an exercise in fear and disgust, but it did confirm that the baby was a girl. I fumbled with the tiny buttons on her clothes and rocked her gently, humming a tuneless melody in an attempt to calm her. It didn't work—not until I turned on the TV and switched it to a channel that played white noise.
As I watched her drift off to sleep to the sound of TV static, I couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. This wasn't how I expected my night to go. I was supposed to be planning my next heist, not taking care of an abandoned infant.
But looking down at her peaceful face, a strange calm settled over me. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just the absurdity of the situation catching up to me.
Sitting there in the dim light of my hideout, the weight of the situation sank in. What should I do now? The logical part of my brain told me to call the authorities, to hand the baby over to someone who knew what they were doing. But a softer, more compassionate part of me resisted.
If I handed her over, how could I be sure she'd end up in a better situation? Foster care and orphanages didn't guarantee a good life. And I had no desire to end up back in jail. Given my own rough childhood, I couldn't shake the protective feeling I had toward her. Maybe I could take care of her—at least until I figured out what to do next.
I gently placed the baby girl into the makeshift crib I'd been working on before she started crying. It wasn't my best work, but it would have to do for now. Stripping off my suit, I lay down on the bed next to the crib. Tomorrow, I'd probably need to take her to a doctor, just to make sure she was okay. Filing that away for tomorrow, I finally drifted off to sleep.
"What the hell?" I muttered, unlocking the door and cracking it open just enough to peek outside. The street was empty. No sign of whoever left this mysterious package, which made me briefly worry that Castle had left me some explosive present. But I quickly shook off that thought—he was in Harlem, fighting his suicidal war against Hammerhead. Still, confusion flickered through my mind, momentarily dulling the ever-present fear of being arrested or worse. I opened the door wider, and the bundle shifted, emitting a soft coo.
"Holy crap," I muttered, dropping to one knee. Gently pulling back the blanket, I found myself staring into the wide, innocent eyes of a newborn baby. She blinked up at me, her tiny hand reaching out and grasping my finger—completely unafraid, which was not the usual reaction to my mask.
Instinctively, I scooped her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. I guessed she was a girl, judging by the pink blanket. She let out a contented sigh, her tiny breaths warm against my skin. It was surreal—something I never imagined I'd experience, especially after Spider-Man had wrecked my face so many times that it killed any chance of dating, let alone having kids.
Feeling a chill, even with my suit on, and seeing the baby squirm in discomfort, I quickly shook off the surprise and took her inside, away from the cold night air.
As I carried the baby in, my mind raced with questions. Who would leave an infant on my doorstep? Did they get the wrong address? Was this kid mine? My heart pounded as I laid the baby down on the couch, making sure she was comfortable and wouldn't fall off.
Looking around my modest hideout, I realized just how unprepared I was for this situation. I had no idea how to care for a baby—the closest I'd come to raising a kid was babysitting my younger brother when he was twelve. And my lair? Definitely not child-friendly. But I couldn't just abandon her. Despite my criminal career, I had a code—a line I wouldn't cross. And that line definitely included leaving a helpless child to fend for herself. I'm a thief, sure, but I try to keep my crimes as casualty-free as possible.
With a sigh, I started making my hideout as baby-friendly as I could. I rummaged through my junk, gathering blankets, pillows, spare clothes—anything that might be useful. I even managed to swipe some baby formula and diapers from a nearby convenience store, though I had no clue how to prepare the formula properly. Luckily, the internet exists. I even started working on a makeshift crib.
Hours passed as I worked, interrupted by the baby's crying. I clumsily tried to care for her, mimicking what I'd seen in movies or read in books. Changing diapers was an exercise in fear and disgust, but it did confirm that the baby was a girl. I fumbled with the tiny buttons on her clothes and rocked her gently, humming a tuneless melody in an attempt to calm her. It didn't work—not until I turned on the TV and switched it to a channel that played white noise.
As I watched her drift off to sleep to the sound of TV static, I couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. This wasn't how I expected my night to go. I was supposed to be planning my next heist, not taking care of an abandoned infant.
But looking down at her peaceful face, a strange calm settled over me. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just the absurdity of the situation catching up to me.
Sitting there in the dim light of my hideout, the weight of the situation sank in. What should I do now? The logical part of my brain told me to call the authorities, to hand the baby over to someone who knew what they were doing. But a softer, more compassionate part of me resisted.
If I handed her over, how could I be sure she'd end up in a better situation? Foster care and orphanages didn't guarantee a good life. And I had no desire to end up back in jail. Given my own rough childhood, I couldn't shake the protective feeling I had toward her. Maybe I could take care of her—at least until I figured out what to do next.
I gently placed the baby girl into the makeshift crib I'd been working on before she started crying. It wasn't my best work, but it would have to do for now. Stripping off my suit, I lay down on the bed next to the crib. Tomorrow, I'd probably need to take her to a doctor, just to make sure she was okay. Filing that away for tomorrow, I finally drifted off to sleep.
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Issue 2: Uncle Aleksei
- Pronouns
- He
The baby's soft breathing was the only thing keeping me grounded. My eyes cracked open to the faintest light spilling into the hideout, and for a second—just a second—I thought maybe it had all been a dream. That maybe, just maybe, the baby sleeping in the makeshift crib wasn't real. I blinked, trying to shake off the hazy remnants of sleep, but no such luck. There she was, nestled in a pink blanket, one tiny hand peeking out as if to remind me that no, this wasn't a dream, and yes, I was responsible for a human being now.
I groaned into my hands.
"Why me?" I muttered, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Of all the psychos in this city, why me?"
I hadn't even had time to fully process what my life had turned into. I was supposed to be planning a heist today, not playing Mr. Mom. I leaned back against the wall, already feeling the crushing weight of responsibility closing in.
Then came the knock.
Not just a light tap on the door, but a full-on pounding that rattled the hinges and sent a jolt of irritation up my spine. The baby stirred and, before I could even hope otherwise, she let out a shrill cry.
"Ah, c'mon! Now?" I cursed under my breath, stumbling to my feet. Her cries echoed through the room like a wailing siren, loud enough to make me wince. I tried to hush her, but the knocking only grew louder, more impatient.
"Give me a break!" I groaned, pacing over to the crib and picking her up. "Shhh, it's okay. It's—ugh—really, really not okay, but we'll deal."
She wasn't having it. Her little face scrunched up, and the crying intensified. Great, just great.
Who the hell was banging on my door at this hour? SWAT? Castle? No... no way Frank would knock. He'd blow the door down and ask questions later.
"Alright, alright!" I yelled toward the door, shifting the baby awkwardly in my arms as I stormed over. "I'm coming!"
I yanked the door open, ready to blast whoever it was into next week with my gauntlets, when I froze.
Standing in the doorway, taking up nearly the entire frame, was Aleksei Sytsevich, better known as the Rhino. His massive bulk barely fit through the opening, and his thick arms crossed over his chest like some overgrown linebacker. A dumb grin spread across his face.
"Herman!" Aleksei boomed, far too chipper for this time of day. "You ready for the job, or did ya forget already?"
I felt all the tension in my body hit me at once. I had forgotten. Completely. We had planned a heist today—one that involved careful timing, explosives, and a vault filled with enough cash to make me seriously reconsider my whole 'villain on the run with a baby' situation.
I sighed, running my hand over my face, as the baby in my arms whimpered again.
"Uh… yeah, about that..." I started, but before I could even get the words out, Aleksei's booming voice cut me off.
"What's that?" He pointed a massive finger toward the bundle in my arms.
I winced as the baby cried louder. "It's... look, it's a long story, alright? I don't have time to—"
"Is that a baby?" Aleksei squinted, bending down slightly to peer at the pink-wrapped bundle. "Wait, wait, this is a joke, right? You're screwin' with me?"
I shook my head, feeling the weight of the situation sink in further. "Nope, no joke."
His brow furrowed. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. She just... showed up on my doorstep last night. I was gonna call you, but, uh... this kinda happened instead."
For a moment, Aleksei just stared at me, his thick brow furrowing in confusion. Then he chuckled, the sound so loud it vibrated the floor.
"Herman Schultz, father of the year!" he laughed, slapping his knee. "You, with a kid? That's rich!"
I glared at him. "Yeah, it's hysterical."
But Aleksei wasn't laughing anymore. His gaze dropped to the baby, and as if on cue, her cries picked up again. His face shifted, no longer amused but... curious. He straightened up, a little too carefully for someone his size.
"Can I see her?" he asked, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
I hesitated, but what the hell—at least he wasn't trying to throw me through a wall. I turned the baby toward him just a bit, and Aleksei leaned in close, his beady eyes examining her tiny face.
"She's got your eyes," he said, completely serious.
"What?" I blinked. "What do you mean she's got my eyes?"
"I mean, the kid's got your eyes," he repeated, pointing. "See? Same shape. Kinda squinty."
I squinted at him. "Yeah, okay, now you're just creeping me out."
He shrugged, standing up straight again. "What? I know these things."
"Since when are you an expert on babies, Aleksei?"
"My ma was a birth assistant back in Russia," Aleksei said with a grin. "Helped deliver like, hundreds of babies. She taught me a few things, y'know? For when I'm gonna make her a grandma."
I glanced up at him, deadpan. "Yeah, well, given that you wear a Rhino suit twenty-four-seven, I don't think your mom's gettin' those grandkids anytime soon."
Aleksei smirked. "You'd be surprised how often I gotta explain that to her."
I couldn't help but snort. This was surreal. Rhino—giant, thickheaded Rhino—talking about babies like he's got a soft spot for 'em. The thought of him trying to wrangle a kid into one of those gigantic arms was ridiculous.
"Uncle Aleksei," he suddenly declared, puffing out his chest like this was some kind of honor. "Yeah, I like that. I'm her uncle."
I blinked, mouth opening to protest, but nothing came out. Did I really want to argue with him about this? I had bigger problems—like figuring out if this kid was even mine.
"Uh, sure, but we don't even know if she's mine yet," I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "There's no proof."
Aleksei's grin didn't falter. "Pfft, easy. Doctor can do a blood test."
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "And what doctor's gonna do a blood test for a wanted supervillain without callin' the cops or CPS on us?"
Aleksei's eyes lit up like he had the answer to the meaning of life. He raised a finger triumphantly and jabbed it toward me.
"I know just the guy."
I was already regretting this. "Aleksei, if you say 'the guy' is—"
"C'mon, I'll show ya!" Aleksei interrupted, grabbing my arm with his massive hand and dragging me out the door.
There I stood. Outside Doc Ock's lair. A goddamn baby in my arms. Aleksei grinning like an idiot beside me.
Dr. Otto Octavius himself stood there, arms folded across his chest, mechanical limbs twitching behind him like impatient serpents.
I glanced at Aleksei, then back at Ock, whose expression was an unsettling mix of annoyance and confusion.
"This is the doctor?" I whispered.
Aleksei smirked. "That one."
The baby cooed softly in my arms.
I groaned into my hands.
"Why me?" I muttered, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Of all the psychos in this city, why me?"
I hadn't even had time to fully process what my life had turned into. I was supposed to be planning a heist today, not playing Mr. Mom. I leaned back against the wall, already feeling the crushing weight of responsibility closing in.
Then came the knock.
Not just a light tap on the door, but a full-on pounding that rattled the hinges and sent a jolt of irritation up my spine. The baby stirred and, before I could even hope otherwise, she let out a shrill cry.
"Ah, c'mon! Now?" I cursed under my breath, stumbling to my feet. Her cries echoed through the room like a wailing siren, loud enough to make me wince. I tried to hush her, but the knocking only grew louder, more impatient.
"Give me a break!" I groaned, pacing over to the crib and picking her up. "Shhh, it's okay. It's—ugh—really, really not okay, but we'll deal."
She wasn't having it. Her little face scrunched up, and the crying intensified. Great, just great.
Who the hell was banging on my door at this hour? SWAT? Castle? No... no way Frank would knock. He'd blow the door down and ask questions later.
"Alright, alright!" I yelled toward the door, shifting the baby awkwardly in my arms as I stormed over. "I'm coming!"
I yanked the door open, ready to blast whoever it was into next week with my gauntlets, when I froze.
Standing in the doorway, taking up nearly the entire frame, was Aleksei Sytsevich, better known as the Rhino. His massive bulk barely fit through the opening, and his thick arms crossed over his chest like some overgrown linebacker. A dumb grin spread across his face.
"Herman!" Aleksei boomed, far too chipper for this time of day. "You ready for the job, or did ya forget already?"
I felt all the tension in my body hit me at once. I had forgotten. Completely. We had planned a heist today—one that involved careful timing, explosives, and a vault filled with enough cash to make me seriously reconsider my whole 'villain on the run with a baby' situation.
I sighed, running my hand over my face, as the baby in my arms whimpered again.
"Uh… yeah, about that..." I started, but before I could even get the words out, Aleksei's booming voice cut me off.
"What's that?" He pointed a massive finger toward the bundle in my arms.
I winced as the baby cried louder. "It's... look, it's a long story, alright? I don't have time to—"
"Is that a baby?" Aleksei squinted, bending down slightly to peer at the pink-wrapped bundle. "Wait, wait, this is a joke, right? You're screwin' with me?"
I shook my head, feeling the weight of the situation sink in further. "Nope, no joke."
His brow furrowed. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. She just... showed up on my doorstep last night. I was gonna call you, but, uh... this kinda happened instead."
For a moment, Aleksei just stared at me, his thick brow furrowing in confusion. Then he chuckled, the sound so loud it vibrated the floor.
"Herman Schultz, father of the year!" he laughed, slapping his knee. "You, with a kid? That's rich!"
I glared at him. "Yeah, it's hysterical."
But Aleksei wasn't laughing anymore. His gaze dropped to the baby, and as if on cue, her cries picked up again. His face shifted, no longer amused but... curious. He straightened up, a little too carefully for someone his size.
"Can I see her?" he asked, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
I hesitated, but what the hell—at least he wasn't trying to throw me through a wall. I turned the baby toward him just a bit, and Aleksei leaned in close, his beady eyes examining her tiny face.
"She's got your eyes," he said, completely serious.
"What?" I blinked. "What do you mean she's got my eyes?"
"I mean, the kid's got your eyes," he repeated, pointing. "See? Same shape. Kinda squinty."
I squinted at him. "Yeah, okay, now you're just creeping me out."
He shrugged, standing up straight again. "What? I know these things."
"Since when are you an expert on babies, Aleksei?"
"My ma was a birth assistant back in Russia," Aleksei said with a grin. "Helped deliver like, hundreds of babies. She taught me a few things, y'know? For when I'm gonna make her a grandma."
I glanced up at him, deadpan. "Yeah, well, given that you wear a Rhino suit twenty-four-seven, I don't think your mom's gettin' those grandkids anytime soon."
Aleksei smirked. "You'd be surprised how often I gotta explain that to her."
I couldn't help but snort. This was surreal. Rhino—giant, thickheaded Rhino—talking about babies like he's got a soft spot for 'em. The thought of him trying to wrangle a kid into one of those gigantic arms was ridiculous.
"Uncle Aleksei," he suddenly declared, puffing out his chest like this was some kind of honor. "Yeah, I like that. I'm her uncle."
I blinked, mouth opening to protest, but nothing came out. Did I really want to argue with him about this? I had bigger problems—like figuring out if this kid was even mine.
"Uh, sure, but we don't even know if she's mine yet," I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "There's no proof."
Aleksei's grin didn't falter. "Pfft, easy. Doctor can do a blood test."
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "And what doctor's gonna do a blood test for a wanted supervillain without callin' the cops or CPS on us?"
Aleksei's eyes lit up like he had the answer to the meaning of life. He raised a finger triumphantly and jabbed it toward me.
"I know just the guy."
I was already regretting this. "Aleksei, if you say 'the guy' is—"
"C'mon, I'll show ya!" Aleksei interrupted, grabbing my arm with his massive hand and dragging me out the door.
There I stood. Outside Doc Ock's lair. A goddamn baby in my arms. Aleksei grinning like an idiot beside me.
Dr. Otto Octavius himself stood there, arms folded across his chest, mechanical limbs twitching behind him like impatient serpents.
I glanced at Aleksei, then back at Ock, whose expression was an unsettling mix of annoyance and confusion.
"This is the doctor?" I whispered.
Aleksei smirked. "That one."
The baby cooed softly in my arms.
Issue 3: What's Up Doc?
New
- Pronouns
- He
The lair of Dr. Otto Octavius was about as welcoming as you'd expect from a man nicknamed "Doctor Octopus." A mixture of sterile lab equipment, ominous mechanical arms clanking in the background, and the faint hum of machinery filled the air.
I sat on a cold steel chair, wincing as I rubbed the fresh bandage on my arm. Across the room, Octavius was busying himself with one of his machines, his mechanical appendages clinking as they worked alongside him. In his organic hands, he held a small vial of my blood, the result of a "quick" DNA test.
I scowled at Aleksei, who leaned casually against a wall, grinning like he didn't just drag me—and the baby—into the lair of one of New York's most infamous mad scientists.
Doc Ock turned toward me, his face calm but with a faint hint of annoyance, like he had better things to do than play babysitter for my existential crisis.
"Well, Mr. Schultz," he began, holding up a clipboard. "The child is biologically yours. Born full-term, remarkably healthy considering your… questionable genetic contributions."
"Great," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "But maybe next time, warn me before you jab a needle in my arm like you're collecting samples for your next evil experiment?"
"I hardly see the point," Ock replied dryly, his metal arms moving with unsettling precision as he filed away the blood sample. "Your discomfort is of no consequence to me. The child was more cooperative, of course."
I froze mid-grumble, narrowing my eyes. "Wait… you were gentle with her, right?"
Doc Ock arched an eyebrow, glancing between me and the baby, who was snoozing in a makeshift bassinet cobbled together from lab equipment.
"I'm a scientist, Schultz, not a monster," he said, sounding genuinely offended. "I handled her with the utmost care. It's not her fault her father is an imbecile."
I didn't even argue with that. My attention was already on the baby, checking to make sure she wasn't traumatized by Doc Ock's creepy appendages. Her tiny chest rose and fell steadily, and she didn't so much as stir. Still, I hovered closer to her, just in case.
´Uncle Aleksei´ snorted from across the room. "You're already actin' like a papa bear, Herman."
"Shut up," I muttered, but my eyes stayed on her. "I just… she's fine, right? You're sure?"
Doc Ock sighed, exasperated. "As I said, she's healthy and yours. Beyond that, I care very little for your domestic affairs."
"Speaking of domestic," Aleksei cut in, his tone casual. "Now that you know she's yours, you remember the mother yet?"
The question hit me like a slap to the face.
I leaned back against the counter, blinking as my memory tugged me back to a day I'd been trying to forget—one of the most insane, world-shattering days of my life.
Nine Months Earlier...
We all thought it was the end. Hell, it probably should have been. There we were, a bunch of lowlife crooks and wannabe kingpins, packed into some rich jerk's penthouse for a party none of us deserved to attend. I remember the champagne flowing like water, the sound of laughter and jazz filling the room. And then…
The laughter stopped.
The music cut out.
Every light in the city dimmed, and the sky itself seemed to open up, revealing a massive, celestial figure looming above us. His voice thundered across the planet, announcing his intentions as casually as someone ordering takeout.
"I will consume your world."
The air felt thick, heavy. People screamed. Some dropped to their knees, praying to gods they probably didn't believe in five minutes earlier. Others ran, their panic so loud it drowned out everything else.
Me? I froze.
Then I felt a hand grab mine. I turned, and there she was. A woman I'd been flirting with earlier in the night—tall, sharp-eyed, and way out of my league. I'd been striking out, of course. She'd made it clear she wasn't interested in anything I had to offer.
But now? Now she looked at me, then back at the literal world-eater in the sky, and something shifted in her expression.
"Fuck it," she said.
Before I could respond, she grabbed me by the collar and kissed me like we were starring in some apocalyptic rom-com. Well as far as we knew we were.
I blinked, shaking off the memory. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice thick. "Yeah, I remember her."
Doc Ock raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Charming. Now, if you're done reminiscing, let's discuss the matter at hand. You are a fugitive, Mr. Schultz. Your occupation and lifestyle are fundamentally incompatible with raising a child. The logical solution is to relinquish her to a suitable guardian."
My jaw tightened, and I looked down at the baby again. Ock's words stung because they weren't wrong. What kind of life could I give her? I was a wanted man, constantly on the run. I couldn't even guarantee her safety, let alone give her a stable home.
But handing her off? That felt... wrong.
I hesitated, brushing a finger against her tiny hand. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft coo that hit me square in the chest. My stomach churned.
"I'll think about it," I said reluctantly, though the words felt like a punch to the gut.
"You'll do more than think," Ock replied sharply. "You'll act. That child deserves better than whatever pitiful excuse for a life you could provide her."
I scowled, but before I could fire back, Aleksei stepped in, grinning as he clapped me on the back hard enough to make my teeth rattle.
"Hey, we'll figure it out," Aleksei said, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "C'mon, you don't want her growing up in a lair like this anyway. No offense, Doc."
"Offense taken," Ock replied, unimpressed.
I found myself standing outside my brother's apartment, clutching the baby in my arms. My palms were sweating, and my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. This was the right thing to do. She needed family—real family—who could give her a better life than I ever could.
I knocked on the door. Nothing. Another knock, harder this time. The baby stirred and let out a soft whimper.
"No, no, no, don't start," I pleaded, bouncing her slightly to calm her down. "It's okay. We're okay."
Her whimper turned into a full-blown cry, and panic bubbled in my chest. "Alright, alright, I get it. I suck at this. Just—please, stop crying!"
The door creaked open, and I immediately launched into an apology, still focused on the baby. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry for just showing up like this. It's been a hell of a day, and I just—"
I stopped mid-sentence as I looked up, expecting to see my brother. Instead, I was greeted by a face I hadn't seen in years.
"Hi, Herman," said my father, his voice low and even.
I froze. The baby's cries faded into the background as I stared at him, my heart sinking to the floor.
"Hi Dad...."
I sat on a cold steel chair, wincing as I rubbed the fresh bandage on my arm. Across the room, Octavius was busying himself with one of his machines, his mechanical appendages clinking as they worked alongside him. In his organic hands, he held a small vial of my blood, the result of a "quick" DNA test.
I scowled at Aleksei, who leaned casually against a wall, grinning like he didn't just drag me—and the baby—into the lair of one of New York's most infamous mad scientists.
Doc Ock turned toward me, his face calm but with a faint hint of annoyance, like he had better things to do than play babysitter for my existential crisis.
"Well, Mr. Schultz," he began, holding up a clipboard. "The child is biologically yours. Born full-term, remarkably healthy considering your… questionable genetic contributions."
"Great," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "But maybe next time, warn me before you jab a needle in my arm like you're collecting samples for your next evil experiment?"
"I hardly see the point," Ock replied dryly, his metal arms moving with unsettling precision as he filed away the blood sample. "Your discomfort is of no consequence to me. The child was more cooperative, of course."
I froze mid-grumble, narrowing my eyes. "Wait… you were gentle with her, right?"
Doc Ock arched an eyebrow, glancing between me and the baby, who was snoozing in a makeshift bassinet cobbled together from lab equipment.
"I'm a scientist, Schultz, not a monster," he said, sounding genuinely offended. "I handled her with the utmost care. It's not her fault her father is an imbecile."
I didn't even argue with that. My attention was already on the baby, checking to make sure she wasn't traumatized by Doc Ock's creepy appendages. Her tiny chest rose and fell steadily, and she didn't so much as stir. Still, I hovered closer to her, just in case.
´Uncle Aleksei´ snorted from across the room. "You're already actin' like a papa bear, Herman."
"Shut up," I muttered, but my eyes stayed on her. "I just… she's fine, right? You're sure?"
Doc Ock sighed, exasperated. "As I said, she's healthy and yours. Beyond that, I care very little for your domestic affairs."
"Speaking of domestic," Aleksei cut in, his tone casual. "Now that you know she's yours, you remember the mother yet?"
The question hit me like a slap to the face.
I leaned back against the counter, blinking as my memory tugged me back to a day I'd been trying to forget—one of the most insane, world-shattering days of my life.
Nine Months Earlier...
We all thought it was the end. Hell, it probably should have been. There we were, a bunch of lowlife crooks and wannabe kingpins, packed into some rich jerk's penthouse for a party none of us deserved to attend. I remember the champagne flowing like water, the sound of laughter and jazz filling the room. And then…
The laughter stopped.
The music cut out.
Every light in the city dimmed, and the sky itself seemed to open up, revealing a massive, celestial figure looming above us. His voice thundered across the planet, announcing his intentions as casually as someone ordering takeout.
"I will consume your world."
The air felt thick, heavy. People screamed. Some dropped to their knees, praying to gods they probably didn't believe in five minutes earlier. Others ran, their panic so loud it drowned out everything else.
Me? I froze.
Then I felt a hand grab mine. I turned, and there she was. A woman I'd been flirting with earlier in the night—tall, sharp-eyed, and way out of my league. I'd been striking out, of course. She'd made it clear she wasn't interested in anything I had to offer.
But now? Now she looked at me, then back at the literal world-eater in the sky, and something shifted in her expression.
"Fuck it," she said.
Before I could respond, she grabbed me by the collar and kissed me like we were starring in some apocalyptic rom-com. Well as far as we knew we were.
I blinked, shaking off the memory. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice thick. "Yeah, I remember her."
Doc Ock raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Charming. Now, if you're done reminiscing, let's discuss the matter at hand. You are a fugitive, Mr. Schultz. Your occupation and lifestyle are fundamentally incompatible with raising a child. The logical solution is to relinquish her to a suitable guardian."
My jaw tightened, and I looked down at the baby again. Ock's words stung because they weren't wrong. What kind of life could I give her? I was a wanted man, constantly on the run. I couldn't even guarantee her safety, let alone give her a stable home.
But handing her off? That felt... wrong.
I hesitated, brushing a finger against her tiny hand. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft coo that hit me square in the chest. My stomach churned.
"I'll think about it," I said reluctantly, though the words felt like a punch to the gut.
"You'll do more than think," Ock replied sharply. "You'll act. That child deserves better than whatever pitiful excuse for a life you could provide her."
I scowled, but before I could fire back, Aleksei stepped in, grinning as he clapped me on the back hard enough to make my teeth rattle.
"Hey, we'll figure it out," Aleksei said, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "C'mon, you don't want her growing up in a lair like this anyway. No offense, Doc."
"Offense taken," Ock replied, unimpressed.
I found myself standing outside my brother's apartment, clutching the baby in my arms. My palms were sweating, and my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. This was the right thing to do. She needed family—real family—who could give her a better life than I ever could.
I knocked on the door. Nothing. Another knock, harder this time. The baby stirred and let out a soft whimper.
"No, no, no, don't start," I pleaded, bouncing her slightly to calm her down. "It's okay. We're okay."
Her whimper turned into a full-blown cry, and panic bubbled in my chest. "Alright, alright, I get it. I suck at this. Just—please, stop crying!"
The door creaked open, and I immediately launched into an apology, still focused on the baby. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry for just showing up like this. It's been a hell of a day, and I just—"
I stopped mid-sentence as I looked up, expecting to see my brother. Instead, I was greeted by a face I hadn't seen in years.
"Hi, Herman," said my father, his voice low and even.
I froze. The baby's cries faded into the background as I stared at him, my heart sinking to the floor.
"Hi Dad...."
Issue 4: Hi Dad
New
- Pronouns
- He
The ticking clock on the kitchen wall was deafening. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one dragging longer than the last as I stared across the table at my father. He stared back, a permanent scowl etched into his face, his eyes as sharp and cold as they'd been my entire childhood.
The silence was unbearable, but I wasn't about to break it. Neither was he.
Marty finally cleared his throat, trying to cut through the tension. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "You're saying you found a baby on your doorstep, took her to Doc Ock to confirm she's yours, and then came here because... what? You want me to take her?"
I nodded, grateful for something to focus on other than my father's piercing glare. "Yeah. That about sums it up."
"And you thought this was a good idea because...?" Marty pressed, his tone tinged with exasperation.
"Because it's the right thing to do," I shot back, more defensively than I intended. "Look, Marty, I'm not exactly in a position to raise a kid, alright? I'm wanted, in case you forgot. If the cops don't find me, someone else will—Spider-Man, the Punisher, take your pick and she would get caught in the crossfire."
"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," my father muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
I flinched, my fingers unconsciously massaging the palm of my other hand. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said, leaning back in his chair, "you've turned into a goddamn punchline. A gimmick. The Shocker. You can't even pull off a decent heist without getting your ass handed to you by some spandex-wearing freak."
My jaw tightened, and I could feel the heat rising to my face. Marty shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to find a way to defuse the situation before it exploded.
"At least I'm not a wannabe drug lord," I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Selling to your sons' classmates? Real classy, Dad."
The room fell deathly quiet. My father's face darkened, his glare cutting straight through me.
"You little—"
"Alright!" Marty interrupted, raising his hands. "That's enough. Both of you."
For a moment, no one moved. Then my father pushed back his chair and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. The door to the guest bedroom slammed shut a second later.
I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "What the hell is he even doing here?" I asked, turning to Marty.
Marty's expression hardened. "He's dying, Herman."
"Good," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Marty just stared at me, his expression unreadable. I looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear. "Sorry," I mumbled. "That was... sorry."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you here, Herman? Really?"
I hesitated, glancing down at the baby in my arms. She was sleeping now, her tiny fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. "I need her to have a chance," I said quietly. "A real one. And that's not gonna happen with me."
Marty's expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You really think I'm the best option?"
"You're better than me," I said, forcing a bitter smile. "That's gotta count for something."
We sat in silence for a while, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Marty reached for a bottle on the table, pouring himself a drink.
"You know," he said, his tone lighter now, "we've finally got something in common, you and me."
"What's that?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"We're both dads now," he said with a wry smile. "And uncles."
I chuckled despite myself. "Guess we are."
He leaned back, swirling the liquid in his glass. "You ever think about Mom?"
"All the time," I admitted, my voice quieter.
Marty's smile faded. "I still can't believe you broke out of jail to go to her funeral."
"Of course I did," I said, straightening in my chair. "What kind of son wouldn't?"
Marty shook his head, but there was a hint of what I hoped was admiration in his eyes. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"
"Yeah," I said with a smirk. "I get that a lot."
Eventually, the baby stirred, her tiny cries breaking the comfortable silence. I shifted her in my arms, trying to soothe her as Marty reached for a bottle.
"So, what's her name?" he asked, his voice casual.
I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. "Uh... she doesn't have one yet."
Marty frowned. "You haven't named her?"
"I figured that'd be up to you," I said, shrugging. "You'll be the one taking care of her."
Marty set the bottle down, shaking his head. "No way. Only a parent gets to name their kid."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me. He wouldn't be budging.
"Fine," I muttered, glancing down at the baby. I thought about it for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Then, without really meaning to, I said, "Diane. Her name's Diane."
Marty smiled, the tension in his expression easing. "After Mom?"
I nodded, my throat tightening. "Yeah. After Mom."
"It's a good name," he said softly.
We were feeding Diane when someone knocked on the door.
I froze, my eyes darting to the door. "You expecting someone?"
"No," He said, his voice low.
He stood up, moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. His face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked, my pulse quickening as I stood up.
"It's the cops," he whispered, backing away from the door.
My heart sank. I clutched Diane tighter, my mind racing. "Shit," I muttered, standing up. "I need to get her out of here. Now."
Before I could take another step, something hard collided with the back of my head. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before falling.
I turned, my vision swimming, to see my father standing there, his fist still clenched.
"You son of a—"
Before I could finish, the door burst open, and the room was flooded with shouting voices and the sound of heavy boots. SWAT officers stormed in.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was Diane's tiny face, her cries as she was ripped from my arms.
The silence was unbearable, but I wasn't about to break it. Neither was he.
Marty finally cleared his throat, trying to cut through the tension. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "You're saying you found a baby on your doorstep, took her to Doc Ock to confirm she's yours, and then came here because... what? You want me to take her?"
I nodded, grateful for something to focus on other than my father's piercing glare. "Yeah. That about sums it up."
"And you thought this was a good idea because...?" Marty pressed, his tone tinged with exasperation.
"Because it's the right thing to do," I shot back, more defensively than I intended. "Look, Marty, I'm not exactly in a position to raise a kid, alright? I'm wanted, in case you forgot. If the cops don't find me, someone else will—Spider-Man, the Punisher, take your pick and she would get caught in the crossfire."
"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," my father muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
I flinched, my fingers unconsciously massaging the palm of my other hand. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said, leaning back in his chair, "you've turned into a goddamn punchline. A gimmick. The Shocker. You can't even pull off a decent heist without getting your ass handed to you by some spandex-wearing freak."
My jaw tightened, and I could feel the heat rising to my face. Marty shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to find a way to defuse the situation before it exploded.
"At least I'm not a wannabe drug lord," I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Selling to your sons' classmates? Real classy, Dad."
The room fell deathly quiet. My father's face darkened, his glare cutting straight through me.
"You little—"
"Alright!" Marty interrupted, raising his hands. "That's enough. Both of you."
For a moment, no one moved. Then my father pushed back his chair and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. The door to the guest bedroom slammed shut a second later.
I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "What the hell is he even doing here?" I asked, turning to Marty.
Marty's expression hardened. "He's dying, Herman."
"Good," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Marty just stared at me, his expression unreadable. I looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear. "Sorry," I mumbled. "That was... sorry."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you here, Herman? Really?"
I hesitated, glancing down at the baby in my arms. She was sleeping now, her tiny fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. "I need her to have a chance," I said quietly. "A real one. And that's not gonna happen with me."
Marty's expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You really think I'm the best option?"
"You're better than me," I said, forcing a bitter smile. "That's gotta count for something."
We sat in silence for a while, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Marty reached for a bottle on the table, pouring himself a drink.
"You know," he said, his tone lighter now, "we've finally got something in common, you and me."
"What's that?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"We're both dads now," he said with a wry smile. "And uncles."
I chuckled despite myself. "Guess we are."
He leaned back, swirling the liquid in his glass. "You ever think about Mom?"
"All the time," I admitted, my voice quieter.
Marty's smile faded. "I still can't believe you broke out of jail to go to her funeral."
"Of course I did," I said, straightening in my chair. "What kind of son wouldn't?"
Marty shook his head, but there was a hint of what I hoped was admiration in his eyes. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"
"Yeah," I said with a smirk. "I get that a lot."
Eventually, the baby stirred, her tiny cries breaking the comfortable silence. I shifted her in my arms, trying to soothe her as Marty reached for a bottle.
"So, what's her name?" he asked, his voice casual.
I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. "Uh... she doesn't have one yet."
Marty frowned. "You haven't named her?"
"I figured that'd be up to you," I said, shrugging. "You'll be the one taking care of her."
Marty set the bottle down, shaking his head. "No way. Only a parent gets to name their kid."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me. He wouldn't be budging.
"Fine," I muttered, glancing down at the baby. I thought about it for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Then, without really meaning to, I said, "Diane. Her name's Diane."
Marty smiled, the tension in his expression easing. "After Mom?"
I nodded, my throat tightening. "Yeah. After Mom."
"It's a good name," he said softly.
We were feeding Diane when someone knocked on the door.
I froze, my eyes darting to the door. "You expecting someone?"
"No," He said, his voice low.
He stood up, moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. His face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked, my pulse quickening as I stood up.
"It's the cops," he whispered, backing away from the door.
My heart sank. I clutched Diane tighter, my mind racing. "Shit," I muttered, standing up. "I need to get her out of here. Now."
Before I could take another step, something hard collided with the back of my head. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before falling.
I turned, my vision swimming, to see my father standing there, his fist still clenched.
"You son of a—"
Before I could finish, the door burst open, and the room was flooded with shouting voices and the sound of heavy boots. SWAT officers stormed in.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was Diane's tiny face, her cries as she was ripped from my arms.
Issue 5: New York's Finest
New
- Pronouns
- He
The hum of the engine buzzed in my ears as I came to, my head pounding and my hands aching from the cuffs biting into my wrists. I blinked, my vision clearing just enough to make out the confines of the police cruiser around me.
"Ah, hell," I muttered, leaning back against the seat.
This was not how I planned for my day to go. Then again, when did anything in my life go as planned?
The cruiser hit a bump, jostling me against the hard plastic divider separating me from the cops in the front seat. I cursed under my breath, glancing around to assess my situation. Through the windows, I spotted a convoy of police cars surrounding us. Lights flashed, sirens off, but the sight of them made my stomach churn.
There were too many of them—at least a dozen cops that I could count, not including the driver and his partner up front. And then there was Captain George Stacy, standing by the sidewalk near the lead car. He was locked in what looked like a heated argument with someone.
My blood ran cold when I saw who it was.
My father.
His posture was as self-assured as ever, his expression locked in that smug, self-righteous sneer that made my fists itch to connect with his jaw. Worse, he was holding Diane's blanket, the soft pink fabric bunched carelessly in his hands like it didn't mean anything.
It meant something to me.
My jaw clenched, my mind racing. I had to get out of here, but my options were limited. I cursed myself again for not bringing my gauntlets. They'd stayed behind at Marty's place because I didn't want to draw attention to myself in front of the neighbors. Fat lot of good that did me now.
Even if I'd brought them, the cops would've taken them anyway.
"Think, Herman. Think," I muttered under my breath.
My gaze dropped to my hands, to the cuffs digging into my skin, and then to the fake ring on my finger. A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. The ring was porcelain—hard enough to make an impression, if used right.
I tested it against the window. A dull clink echoed in the cruiser and a small crack formed.
I grinned.
With a sharp punch, I shattered the cruiser's window, sending glass shards raining down the side of the car. The nearest cop turned toward the noise, his face twisting into surprise.
Before he could do anything I lashed out, grabbing him by the neck with my cuffed hands and yanking him halfway into the car. His head hit the frame with a dull thud, and his body went limp.
I maneuvered his unconscious body out of the way right before gunfire erupted. Bullets slammed into the side of the cruiser, shattering the remaining windows and ricocheting off the metal frame.
"Jesus!" I ducked down, pressing myself against the floor of the car as the hailstorm of lead continued.
The police man's belt was still within reach. I fumbled for his keys, my fingers scraping against the metal as bullets whizzed past. Finally, I grabbed them, twisting awkwardly to unlock my cuffs.
Click.
The cuffs fell away, and I flexed my wrists, ignoring the ache. I grabbed the cop's gun, checked the safety, and holstered it. I didn't plan to kill anyone—not unless I had no other option The baton on his belt was more attractive weapon for me.
The gunfire slowed, then stopped. I waited, listening to the shouts of the officers outside. They were regrouping, planning their next move.
The next sound I heard was the distinct clink of metal canisters hitting the ground.
"Tear gas? Really?" I groaned, covering my mouth and nose as white smoke began to fill the air. My eyes stung, my throat burned, and every instinct screamed at me to get out of there.
I spotted another cruiser parked nearby, its windows rolled down slightly. Gritting my teeth, I bolted toward it, dodging blindly through the haze. Bullets followed me, one grazing my arm and sending a sharp jolt of pain through my body.
"SHIT!" I hissed, clutching my bleeding arm as I reached the car.
The door was unlocked. I threw it open, scrambling inside just as another volley of shots rang out.
Inside, I found what I needed: a gas mask. It was stashed on the passenger seat, along with a riot shield.
"Thank you, NYPD," I muttered, slipping on the mask. The relief was immediate, the burning in my lungs easing as I adjusted the straps.
With the mask on and the baton in hand, I felt a little more like myself even without the gauntlets.
The first cop to open the door didn't stand a chance.
I kicked it open, slamming it into his chest and sending him sprawling backward. Before he could recover, I was on him, using his own body as a shield as the others opened fire.
"Hold your fire!" one of them yelled, but it was too late.
I shoved the dazed officer into the nearest car, grabbing his sidearm and tossing it out of reach. The others were closing in, their weapons trained on me.
I glared, twirling the baton in my hand. "Let's dance."
The first two came at me together. I ducked under a wild swing from one, jabbing the baton into his ribs before twisting around to disarm the other. A quick elbow to the jaw sent him sprawling, his weapon clattering to the ground.
The next officer was smarter. He kept his distance, firing a taser at me. I dodged, grabbing the wires and yanking him forward. He stumbled, and I used his momentum to slam him into the side of the cruiser.
There weren't many left.
I grabbed the gun I grabbed at the beginning and fired a warning shot, hitting one officer in the leg. He went down with a scream, clutching his knee. The two remaining ones grabbed him after I hit the ground near their feet, forcing them to retreat as I kept shooting being careful not to hit them in anything vital until I ran out of bullets.
"Schultz!"
The voice cut through the chaos, commanding and sharp. I turned to see Captain Stacy, his gun trained on me, his expression hard.
"Drop the weapons!" he ordered.
I hesitated, my grip tightening on the baton while letting gun fall.
"I don't want to shoot you, but I will," Stacy warned.
I glanced at Diane's blanket, still clutched in my father's hands even as he covered behind a cop car. Rage boiled in my chest, and I made my decision.
With a flick of my wrist, I sent the baton spinning toward Stacy. He dodged, but the distraction was enough for me to close the gap. I grabbed his gun, twisting it out of his hand and tossing it aside.
"Looks like it's just you and me now, Captain," I said, my voice muffled by the gas mask.
Stacy didn't flinch. He came at me hard, his fists flying with surprising speed for a guy his age. I blocked his first strike, countering with a jab to his shoulder. He stumbled but recovered quickly, landing a solid punch to my ribs.
The fight was brutal. Every punch, every block sent jolts of pain through my already battered body. Stacy eventually got his hands around my neck and squeezed. I started seeing black spots but I wasn't going down. Not here. Not now.
With a final, desperate move, I reached for the taser on Stacy's belt. I jammed it against his side, pulling the trigger and sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He screamed then collapsed, unconscious.
I showed him off me and looked around seeing all the cops either unconscious or too busy trying to stop their bleeding from their wounds.
But I didn't have time to celebrate. My father was still standing there, his expression a mix of shock and fury and more police sirens were in the distance.
I marched over, ripping Diane's blanket from his hands.
"Fuck you," I spat out, shoving past him to where Marty was holding Diane.
"Herman, wait—" Marty started, but I didn't let him finish.
I grabbed Diane, cradling her against my chest as I made my way to one of the abandoned cruisers.
The engine roared to life, and I slammed on the gas, leaving the chaos behind me.
"Ah, hell," I muttered, leaning back against the seat.
This was not how I planned for my day to go. Then again, when did anything in my life go as planned?
The cruiser hit a bump, jostling me against the hard plastic divider separating me from the cops in the front seat. I cursed under my breath, glancing around to assess my situation. Through the windows, I spotted a convoy of police cars surrounding us. Lights flashed, sirens off, but the sight of them made my stomach churn.
There were too many of them—at least a dozen cops that I could count, not including the driver and his partner up front. And then there was Captain George Stacy, standing by the sidewalk near the lead car. He was locked in what looked like a heated argument with someone.
My blood ran cold when I saw who it was.
My father.
His posture was as self-assured as ever, his expression locked in that smug, self-righteous sneer that made my fists itch to connect with his jaw. Worse, he was holding Diane's blanket, the soft pink fabric bunched carelessly in his hands like it didn't mean anything.
It meant something to me.
My jaw clenched, my mind racing. I had to get out of here, but my options were limited. I cursed myself again for not bringing my gauntlets. They'd stayed behind at Marty's place because I didn't want to draw attention to myself in front of the neighbors. Fat lot of good that did me now.
Even if I'd brought them, the cops would've taken them anyway.
"Think, Herman. Think," I muttered under my breath.
My gaze dropped to my hands, to the cuffs digging into my skin, and then to the fake ring on my finger. A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. The ring was porcelain—hard enough to make an impression, if used right.
I tested it against the window. A dull clink echoed in the cruiser and a small crack formed.
I grinned.
With a sharp punch, I shattered the cruiser's window, sending glass shards raining down the side of the car. The nearest cop turned toward the noise, his face twisting into surprise.
Before he could do anything I lashed out, grabbing him by the neck with my cuffed hands and yanking him halfway into the car. His head hit the frame with a dull thud, and his body went limp.
I maneuvered his unconscious body out of the way right before gunfire erupted. Bullets slammed into the side of the cruiser, shattering the remaining windows and ricocheting off the metal frame.
"Jesus!" I ducked down, pressing myself against the floor of the car as the hailstorm of lead continued.
The police man's belt was still within reach. I fumbled for his keys, my fingers scraping against the metal as bullets whizzed past. Finally, I grabbed them, twisting awkwardly to unlock my cuffs.
Click.
The cuffs fell away, and I flexed my wrists, ignoring the ache. I grabbed the cop's gun, checked the safety, and holstered it. I didn't plan to kill anyone—not unless I had no other option The baton on his belt was more attractive weapon for me.
The gunfire slowed, then stopped. I waited, listening to the shouts of the officers outside. They were regrouping, planning their next move.
The next sound I heard was the distinct clink of metal canisters hitting the ground.
"Tear gas? Really?" I groaned, covering my mouth and nose as white smoke began to fill the air. My eyes stung, my throat burned, and every instinct screamed at me to get out of there.
I spotted another cruiser parked nearby, its windows rolled down slightly. Gritting my teeth, I bolted toward it, dodging blindly through the haze. Bullets followed me, one grazing my arm and sending a sharp jolt of pain through my body.
"SHIT!" I hissed, clutching my bleeding arm as I reached the car.
The door was unlocked. I threw it open, scrambling inside just as another volley of shots rang out.
Inside, I found what I needed: a gas mask. It was stashed on the passenger seat, along with a riot shield.
"Thank you, NYPD," I muttered, slipping on the mask. The relief was immediate, the burning in my lungs easing as I adjusted the straps.
With the mask on and the baton in hand, I felt a little more like myself even without the gauntlets.
The first cop to open the door didn't stand a chance.
I kicked it open, slamming it into his chest and sending him sprawling backward. Before he could recover, I was on him, using his own body as a shield as the others opened fire.
"Hold your fire!" one of them yelled, but it was too late.
I shoved the dazed officer into the nearest car, grabbing his sidearm and tossing it out of reach. The others were closing in, their weapons trained on me.
I glared, twirling the baton in my hand. "Let's dance."
The first two came at me together. I ducked under a wild swing from one, jabbing the baton into his ribs before twisting around to disarm the other. A quick elbow to the jaw sent him sprawling, his weapon clattering to the ground.
The next officer was smarter. He kept his distance, firing a taser at me. I dodged, grabbing the wires and yanking him forward. He stumbled, and I used his momentum to slam him into the side of the cruiser.
There weren't many left.
I grabbed the gun I grabbed at the beginning and fired a warning shot, hitting one officer in the leg. He went down with a scream, clutching his knee. The two remaining ones grabbed him after I hit the ground near their feet, forcing them to retreat as I kept shooting being careful not to hit them in anything vital until I ran out of bullets.
"Schultz!"
The voice cut through the chaos, commanding and sharp. I turned to see Captain Stacy, his gun trained on me, his expression hard.
"Drop the weapons!" he ordered.
I hesitated, my grip tightening on the baton while letting gun fall.
"I don't want to shoot you, but I will," Stacy warned.
I glanced at Diane's blanket, still clutched in my father's hands even as he covered behind a cop car. Rage boiled in my chest, and I made my decision.
With a flick of my wrist, I sent the baton spinning toward Stacy. He dodged, but the distraction was enough for me to close the gap. I grabbed his gun, twisting it out of his hand and tossing it aside.
"Looks like it's just you and me now, Captain," I said, my voice muffled by the gas mask.
Stacy didn't flinch. He came at me hard, his fists flying with surprising speed for a guy his age. I blocked his first strike, countering with a jab to his shoulder. He stumbled but recovered quickly, landing a solid punch to my ribs.
The fight was brutal. Every punch, every block sent jolts of pain through my already battered body. Stacy eventually got his hands around my neck and squeezed. I started seeing black spots but I wasn't going down. Not here. Not now.
With a final, desperate move, I reached for the taser on Stacy's belt. I jammed it against his side, pulling the trigger and sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He screamed then collapsed, unconscious.
I showed him off me and looked around seeing all the cops either unconscious or too busy trying to stop their bleeding from their wounds.
But I didn't have time to celebrate. My father was still standing there, his expression a mix of shock and fury and more police sirens were in the distance.
I marched over, ripping Diane's blanket from his hands.
"Fuck you," I spat out, shoving past him to where Marty was holding Diane.
"Herman, wait—" Marty started, but I didn't let him finish.
I grabbed Diane, cradling her against my chest as I made my way to one of the abandoned cruisers.
The engine roared to life, and I slammed on the gas, leaving the chaos behind me.