Avenging Arach-Knight #4

HUNDRED ACRE HORROR

ATONEMENT

The failure lay in a pile of rubble under a smoke-filled sky. Around him the city lay in ruin. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Buildings burned. None were left alive.

Including him.

Yet he could still see. Still hear. Still witness his own failure. Still feel the shame and the guilt and the overwhelming dread of his failure.

Through the smoke, something moved. A figure strode slowly towards the failure. It stopped just in front of him, its features momentarily obscured by smoke.

Yet the failure knew, even before the smoke cleared, the identity of the figure. When he saw them, he was unsurprised by the red and blues. The face was unobscured by the familiar mask. The failure had to stare Peter Parker in the face, and own up to his shame.

Peter was forlorn and somber, his accusing eyes unblinking. “You failed me, Gabriel. You failed us all.”

The failure felt his unbeating heart compress and shrivel. He knew that Peter was right. He had been the only one in the position to stop this, and he had failed. Everyone was dead. Killed in an explosion like no other. And he could do nothing to change that.

Peter’s face became accusing. He pointed at the failure. “You dared wear my symbol; corrupt my name. You dared lie to yourself and call this a tribute to me. You had the gall to call yourself my spiritual son.”

He spat on the failure. “You’re a goblin. Just like your father. You are no son of mine.”

Peter gestured around him at the dead city. “I would have saved them. If you had just listened to your dear dead sister and called me, I’d have stopped this. But you’re an Osborn, and too proud to ask for help. You control all you survey, don’t you? Arrogant! Prideful! Dead!”

A pumpkin bomb rolled between Peter’s legs. He glanced down at it, unconcerned. “Just like me."

The bomb exploded, and Peter evaporated into smoke. Behind him, another figure stood, laughing. He continued to laugh, maniacally, as he stepped into view. Purple and green. No mask.

“You did me proud, son.”

The failure felt his heart stir, a single beat in a dead husk. No.

Norman Osborn grinned like a jackal over the failure. He held Peter’s Spider-Man mask in one hand, and a pumpkin bomb in another. “All of this chaos, mayhem, and destruction. All while wearing his symbol. You’ve ruined his reputation and killed hundreds in the process. All without him ever being aware of what was happening until it was too late to stop it. No one has ever heard of Arach-Knight, but they’ve heard of Spider-Man. He will be blamed, hunted, killed.”

He regarded Spider-Man’s mask in his hand, as though holding up a prize trophy. “And what is beautiful, absolutely beautiful, is that you did this after rejecting me. This wasn’t a master plan you hatched as the Grey Goblin, the mantle I had hoped you would take.”

He turned the mask upside down and carefully placed the pumpkin bomb within. “No, you rejected me and embraced him, and you proved to be such a spectacular failure that you did as Arach-Knight what you would have failed to do as a goblin.”

The failure felt his heart beating. Then surging. No, he tried to shout, but no sound came. You can’t win. I won’t let you. I can think. I can feel. I’m alive, you asshole. I remember. I made it out the window. I’m somewhere outside. I’m unconscious, and there’s still a chance…

Rage filled Norman’s green eyes. “There’s no chance! You’re dead, Gabriel. Whether from the blast or from your injuries, whether immediately or gradually, you are dead. Flying Tygger killed you. She’s got the spirit of the Goblin in her. She’s my true spiritual heir. And soon, she’ll lay waste to all that you care about. A fitting punishment for your betrayal.”

He grabbed the mask like a sock with a bean bag inside it. He whirled it around. “Spider-Man’s legacy dies today. And so do you!”

He threw the bomb-laden mask. Spider-Man’s eyes raced right towards his face.

#

Arach-Knight pushed the ruined brick wall off of his body. His back ached. His ribs throbbed. He could taste blood. He shook his head.

He was standing in a debris field caused by the collapsing chimney stack, in an alley across from the former toy factory. Nearby he could hear the sounds of emergency vehicles, of medics and police and agents all scrambling to control the chaos. There would be agents trapped in the rubble.

He knew that the FBI would be fully occupied with the rescue efforts. They would have no idea that their suspect was still alive and threatening to blow up a chunk of Manhattan.

He wanted to stay and help the rescue efforts, but he knew that more would die if he didn’t leave now. If they hadn’t died already.

Arach-Knight felt panic rushing in. What if he’d been unconscious for too long? He checked the news feeds. The protest was ongoing. Lots of shouting, and name-calling, and news anchors from Fox News wondering what all of the fuss was about and nonsensical wonderings about was this protest anti-American, but that was it. No explosions. There was still time.

But not much, he realized. Flying Tygger had this all pre-arranged. She had a head start. If he was going to save as many people as possible, he had to be there, now.

“But you’re an Osborn. Too proud to ask for help.”

He held his throbbing head in his hand. This was no time for pride. There were police already on the scene. Flying Tygger was a cop killer. They’d act to stop her. They’d evacuate the crowd. That would buy him time to get there, find her, and take her down.

He called the nearest precinct to the protest via his mask’s headset, while performing a system check on his suit. He briefly explained to the cop on the other end of the line what was happening, then took to the sky.

His stomach was all knots. You can do this, he kept saying to himself as he rocketed towards city hall. Together, we can stop her. There’s still time.

For Mia.

#

“First, I would like to speak for all of the members of this committee by saying that it looks, it really looks bad for you as a company and as human beings that you would choose to attempt to intimidate this committee in this way. I mean, it is beyond the pale for you to parade this former Avenger, that disgraced team of houlagans, around these halls under the pretense of legal representation just to intimidate this committee into not throwing the book at you, which in my opinion we ought to, given the crimes for which you are accused.”

Congressman after congressman, each in his or her turn, had taken their sweet time in making opening statements about just how horribly Stacy Solutions’ handling of the Camp Minden “crisis” had been managed and executed. This despite the fact that the actual contract under which Stacy Solutions had been hired by the EPA had not been violated, and that the processing of what M6 artillery propellant they had found on site had been and still was being processed smoothly. In fact, the “crisis” in question had taken place for over a year and ended well before any of Stacy Solutions’ personnel had even set foot upon the base, had been discovered within a day of their presence on site, and had been reported to the FBI as soon as there was enough information available to actually make a difference.

None of that seemed to matter at the moment, as each member of the committee took time to score points with their electoral base and campaign contributors, reaming out Sarah Stacey for both the fact that hundreds of barrels had gone missing from the site before she ever arrived there, and had been used in the construction of bombs that had killed both civilians and government agents at the bombmaker’s farmhouse lair. Oh, and they took great pains to admonish her for not telling the EPA of the missing barrels as soon as they were discovered, before Sarah had ordered a recount just to make sure and while Rubix was probing into the mystery of where they had gone.

Sarah chafed at the bureaucracy and self-inflating nature of the questioning. It was a witch hunt, pure and simple, and they were more than happy to place the pointy hat on her head.

Beside her, Jennifer Walters took advantage of the current senator, a Tea Party flavor-of-the-month from some southern state, taking a breath between beratements and leaned into her microphone. “If I may ask the senator to kindly keep his remarks focused on the topic at hand, both the committee members and my client are most busy people and would be best served if needless aspersions on the character of myself and those with whom I served in the defense of this world. My presence, incidentally, is purely for the legal defense of my client. Any intimidation the senator may feel by my presence is not intended, nor does it play any part, intended or otherwise, in the defense I have prepared.”

Sarah smiled slightly. Jennifer’s interruption would ensure that the senator spent several more minutes wasting the committee’s time on anti-Avengers beratements, which was likely exactly her plan. Make the senator rail on and, frankly, look foolish, so that when the time came to be serious, his questions could be deflected with comments about this rant. And the senator was falling for it big time. She settled in. This was going to be a long hearing.

A text came through her new phone. It was Rubix. She was apologizing for the explosion, as though it had been her fault. Her text rambled on about sensor ranges and mechanical triggers and other things that made sense only to Rubix. The gist of it was that she was sorry, and that she’d understand if Sarah had to fire her.

When she saw the text was from Rubix Sarah almost stood up and shouted for joy. She gripped the phone with both hands and gave a silent cheer. Rubix was awake! And from what she gleaned from the rambling text, so was Dr. Odd. It was the first good news she’d had since the M6 went missing.

“Perhaps Miss Stacy does not appreciate the gravity of these hearings, otherwise she would not be playing with her cell phone at this moment.”

Sarah looked up at the condescending senator. “With respect, senator, but I have just received word that two of my employees whom were caught in the explosion have regained consciousness and are recovering well. I was just excited to hear such good news.”

The senator leaned forward onto the long, curved desk that he shared with the other members of the committee. “Well, I am glad to hear that, Miss Stacy. I only wish that your other employee, as well as the dozens of FBI agents that lost their lives at this badly mishandled tragedy, could say the same.” He leaned back, as though he were trying to be casual. “And I wonder if miss Bridget Duncan, the employee that died under your supervision, would want you to pay more attention to this investigation into the cause of her death, and whether she would feel slighted, just a little slighted, by the fact that her other boss, your brother, the absentee Mr. Gabriel Stacy, cannot even be bothered to make an appearance here at all.”

Sarah calmly took out a pistol and shot the bastard dead then and there.

Or at least, that was what she wished she could do. The senator’s cold and manipulative remarks made Sarah want to jump out of her skin. Her whole body tensed and her face went rigid as she stared at the pompous senator with dagger eyes. “I will thank you, senator, to not drag Bridget’s memory through the mud in this hearing just so that you can score rhetorical points with what you, who never met her and never cared a jot about her, think she might feel.”

The senator smiled. “Well, I certainly did not mean to offend anyone,” he said, disingenuously.

“Too late,” Sarah said with venom.

He continued unfazed. “...but it does beg the question of where your brother is, Miss Stacy. I would think that, given the seriousness of this investigation, he would make every effort to be here.”

Oh, sorry, senator. He’s far too busy shooting himself up with crazy juice and playing at being a wanna-be superhero. Sarah felt her isolation, the fact that her brother had essentially cast her aside, and resolved herself to her decision. Sure, she understood his desire to atone for what he’d done to Peter Parker. Yes, his desire to seek justice for that girl’s death was admirable. And ok, his investigation had actually wound up filling in the holes of her own against Bethany Sargent, this time. But his obsession had meant she alone was running their company. And if that was the way he wanted things, then so be it.

Let him be a superhero, if that was what he really wanted. She understood. And she could even forgive him the goblin formula, because she believed him when he said he’d meant it to save her life if needed.

But she couldn’t be a part of that kind of life. And she had a company to run.

#

He had raced the entire length of Manhattan to reach city hall. When he arrived at the park around city hall, he almost fell out of the sky from shock. It was impossible, and yet, here it was.

None of the protesters had been evacuated. In fact, a perimeter was being set up by the police around the protestors, keeping the crowds watching the event away. City hall itself had a police barricade nearly completed, preventing anyone from entering or leaving from the main entrance, and guards were posted at all other entrances. Behind it, Tweed Courthouse was also swamped with police. In effect, the police had placed a target on the metahuman protesters and their supporters.

To say that Arach-Knight was livid was a gross understatement. He was Hulk-raging furious. These were people, just standing up for their civil rights, and they were being treated like lambs for the slaughter. He wanted to spit inside his mask. He should have called Spider-Man. He’d have called the Avengers if they hadn’t disassembled recently. But no, he had called the police, despite all he had learned about their bias, in the hopes that a known cop-killer setting bombs in the heart of Manhattan would spur them to action. And yet, their response had been, as always, to protect only their own.

Keeping his distance so as to avoid being seen, he surveyed the crowd, the building tops, the alleyways. He used every sensor he had. He needed to find Flying Tygger. She’d be orchestrating this. She’d have a vantage point from which to watch as her work unfolded, and she’d have a trigger. She’d want to set the bombs off herself, so that she could get the maximum joy out of her vile efforts.

A maniac in a Tigger outfit shouldn’t be too hard to spot. Of course, it was possible that she had switched into civilian clothes to avoid detection, but she had no reason to think that anyone was coming after her, either. The FBI were licking their wounds and had never seen her costumed identity before anyway. She had no reason to think that the police knew to look for her, either. And she would think that the blast had taken him out as well. So he was counting on her staying in costume.

There! Several blocks from the protests, on the rooftop of the Stan Lee building, he saw Flying Tygger lying down, holding binoculars to her eyes with one hand and fingering a trigger switch in another. That horrible, childish grin was unmistakable, even without the ridiculous costume. She was obviously enjoying the show.

Time to change that.

He cut off his rockets and retracted his wings. Casting a web line, he silently swung between adjacent buildings, moving in towards the Stan Lee building from behind. He had to take her by surprise. Any mistake, and she would trigger the bomb.

He released his webline as he approached the building. He planned the arc of his swing so that when he came into contact with the side of the building it would be at the apex of his swing and thus noiseless. Clinging to its surface, he climbed up the wall quickly and quietly. He made the roof, and vaulted noiselessly onto its surface. Keeping behind air conditioner blocks and other rooftop obstructions, he made his way to striking distance from his prey.

He fired two webs, one from each hand. The first snagged the trigger switch, and he yanked it from her hand. The second, before she had time to react, cocooned her and stuck her to the floor. She shouted in surprise.

He ignored her, and carefully took apart the trigger device. He had done it. The crowd was safe.

Flying Tygger struggled inside her web. She spat and cussed. “How dare you be alive!? I said Ta Ta For Ever! That means you die! Don’t you Fiends have any decency?”

Yep, he thought, mad as a hatter. He tossed the remnants of the trigger device over the roof’s edge down towards the dumpsters in the alley below. "You know, for someone who hates metahumans, you seem extremely comfortable dressing up as one."

She fumed as she writhed for freedom. "What are you talking about? I'm no Fiend! I dress in tribute to the heroes of the Flying Tigers, and to the innocence of childhood, and to the greatness of our once pure nation, and..."

He rolled his eyes. She'd keep going forever if he let her. "You're a gadget-based super villain, just like your first victim, Humbug. And about as well dressed."

"You moron," she cried. "Humbug wasn't a meta-freak. He just had gear, like me. Hell, even Iron Man wouldn't be on my kill list if it weren't for the fact that he sides with you monsters! But he's a liberal loser like all of the freaks skulking at that mansion."

"Ok..." He was puzzled. "Then why did you kill Humbug?"

She grinned, evily. "He was supposed to sell me his gear, so I could use it in my arsenal. He reneged on the deal. Turns out he was just like the rest of you villains; he loved metas and just wanted to be like them. So I made him like they all will be when I'm done - dead!"

Shaking his head, he turned to overlook the park in front of city hall. “Well, I hope you enjoy the view. What you are seeing is freedom as it should be, not as twisted freaks like you pervert it to be. People, not fiends, people, fighting for their civil rights. Rights guaranteed by the Constitution you swore to protect as a soldier, and yet spit on every chance you get. And as soon as I hand you over to the police, I’m going right down there and join them.”

He felt a sense of belonging foreign to him as he glanced down at the crowd. “Either everyone is equal or no one is. That’s a wisdom that escapes bigots like you.”

Flying Tygger laughed that sick, high-pitched, childish giggle that sent chills down the spines of the sane. “Feel free to join the filth down there, freak. That way you can be flushed down the toilet with them when my darlings finish shitting on them all.”

With a sinking feeling, he glanced down at her. “I destroyed your detonator.”

More of that awful giggling. “Aw, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t have a back-up plan? All of my darlings have timers. Soon, they’ll clean up the streets for me.”

No! He leapt off the roof, priming his wings and flying at top speed towards the crowd. He pulled up the schematic he’d recorded while searching the factory’s foreman office. It detailed a plan for several stationary bombs, but also that she’d hand out dolls to protesters and onlookers before retreating to her observation point. That meant that there were multiple bombs moving at random through the crowd on unsuspecting people. And who knows how much time he had left. There was no way he could do this alone. And yet who could he call? The FBI were out of commission, the police were useless.

As he scanned the crowd and buildings for bombs, his eyes fell upon a familiar face as she entered city hall with some uniformed cops. He closed his eyes and exhaled. It was a shot. A long one. But he had no choice.

He placed the call.

#

She was here because of the bomb threat. In case bombs did go off, she’d be here to secure the crime scene, along with dozens of other detectives. There couldn’t be a brush-off of such a public massacre, if there was one. Inspector Coleman would have to do this one by the book. All because someone decided to do something about all of these freaks, and the politicians didn’t have the guts to say it was about time.

As she waited inside the main hall of city hall, she got a call. She glanced at the phone’s screen and beheld the masked face of the man whom she’d faced the other night. The one whom had humiliated her. Below his face was a name: Arach-Knight.

She felt every fiber of her being tense up with both rage and fear. This freak had threatened her career, injured her, and left her behind like so much garbage. How dare he contact her now!

She was about to ignore the call when it went through, on speaker, of its own accord. "Coleman, the bomber has dispersed bombs amongst the protesters and the crowd. Everyone, meta or not, is a target. The bomber wants a race war. We have to stop her, now.”

Nursing her wounded hand, she turned off speaker phone and raised the phone to her ear. "Bullshit," she spat. "You just want more police resources wasted on your dirty kind. Well, forget it."

Her eye caught movement out the window above the crowd. There he was, bounding from building to pavement and back to building, grabbing dolls from people or hidden in trees or trash cans as he went. "She just took out an entire FBI raid team and a chopper, and blew up her own lair in Mott Haven just to cover her escape. Check your sources. You'll see that I'm telling the truth."

There was something in the tone of voice that, much to her annoyance, rang true. It nagged at her, pricking at her conscience. She glanced at a uniformed cop by her side. "Call the Mott Haven precinct. Confirm if a bomb went off at an FBI sting there."

The cop got on her radio, while Arach-Knight kept talking. "Check your e-mail. I've sent you a map of all stationary bomb locations. Get your men to clear those bombs. They are all on timers. There are also mobile bombs hidden in dolls that have been distributed amongst the crowd. And send someone to arrest the bomber. I have her webbed up on the roof of the Stan Lee building."

The cop tapped Coleman on the shoulder. She looked concerned. "Precinct confirmed a massive explosion and an attack on the FBI sting. Lots of people dead. It sounds like a massacre."

Coleman felt sick. This freak was telling the truth. And trying to save people while she stood by, safe inside city hall, protecting people under no threat at all. She whispered into her phone. "I... I can't help you. Not you."

"Innocent people will die if you don't. Are you a cop or not? Now get out there and save these people."

The phone went dead. She looked at the map. It was doable. Hell, he was doing it. Not caring about distinctions between normals and metas. Trying to save everyone.

Was she a cop or not?

She hung her head low. Lately, only when it suited her. Only for the 'right' kind of victims. But not today.

She got on her radio. "I have a map detailing the locations of all potential bombs. We are coordinating with Arach-Knight. He has the bomber tied up and waiting for us to bring her in. City hall is not a target. All units, here's how we are going to do this..."

#

Sarah stood. Jennifer looked at her with surprise, but for the moment remained quiet. The senator and the rest of the committee waited in pompous silence.

This was something she didn’t want to do. She truly wanted to be Gabriel’s partner in their shared dream of making this a better world. But somewhere along the line, it seems, that stopped being Gabriel’s dream. He had traded that for a dream of heroics and idol worship. So, she braced herself, and did what she had to do. It was still her dream, after all.

“Senator, my brother is, technically, president of Stacy Solutions. When we forged the company, I wished to partner with him and make it a family business. However, my brother has proven, frankly, too immature and hot-headed to run a corporation. His lack of leadership placed me in a position to have to wait for his go-ahead to contact anyone about the missing M6, and I eventually had to go over his head and contact the FBI when I realized just how serious the matter was. Further, without his aid from our corporate office, I was unable to present a more technical response to the farmhouse search, which would have likely lessened or even prevented this tragedy. Thus, I would like to assure the committee that, should we retain this contract, Gabriel Stacy will be removed from his position, or indeed any position, in Stacy Solutions. I, and I alone, will run this company.”

The chamber was silent for a moment. The committee members whispered amongst themselves briefly. Then, the senator, an amused smirk growing on his wrinkled face, leaned back onto his desk. “Well, Miss Stacy, you certainly show no qualms about throwing your own brother under the bus. And I do feel sorry for you that you were so burdened with such an incompetent as you paint your brother to be, I really am.”

By the predatory stare and cocky smile on his face, Sarah could tell that was a lie. She returned his stare with a look of cold self-assurance that she did not feel.

“Nevertheless,” he continued, “the final decisions that led up to this disaster were made by you, Miss Stacy, not your brother. You led the FBI astray that your team, which included an untested mutant of uncertain loyalty and, if you don’t mind my amusement, a self-proclaimed wizard, could handle the explosives created by this bomber out of the M6 propellant that you were charged with keeping out of the hands of people like her to begin with.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. Uncertain loyalty, indeed. But that was not the smart fight to pick right now. “Senator, your records will show that the M6 in question was missing before we got there and was discovered by us almost immediately as a result of our first survey of the site.”

The senator leafed through his papers on his desk, or at least made a show of doing so. “No, Miss Stacy, your records show that, and that is all we have to rely upon, which, frankly, is not very reliable. You are asking us to take it at your word that the material went missing when you say it did. Hell, for all we know, you were supplying the material to this Bethany Sergeant yourselves and only ratted her out when she failed to pay you.”

Now it was Jennifer Walter’s turn to stand. She towered over everyone else in the room. She was commanding and stern, but not threatening. “Senator, my client has been under contract with the EPA for under a week. They had no prior knowledge of this, up until now, secret military dumping ground until they took the contract. The evidence we have shows that Bethany Sergeant was stealing from the base for months, maybe over a year.”

“Evidence can be doctored,” the senator grinned.

“True,” Jennifer said, unfazed, “but that does not mean that it has been in this case, and we have no reason to suspect that in this case. And even if, by some wild flight of fancy, we suppose Stacy Solutions would sell explosives, illegally, to someone like Miss Sergeant, you would still have to explain how several hundred barrels were relocated off base in the space of a few days.”

“Well,” the senator said, “how much can you lift again, Miss Walters?”

Sarah felt a little uncomfortable. Was this moron actually trying to provoke the She-Hulk to anger? While Sarah could see no sign of anger in her lawyer’s demeanor, and had no tingle from her spider-sense, and while she was sure that Jennifer had faced much more stressful situations in her legal career, she really didn’t like standing this close to a gamma-powered engine of destruction in a suit.

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “I will address your veiled slander at another time, but suffice to say that I was only retained by Stacy Solutions when you called my client to appear before you today.”

The senator waved a dismissive hand. “Well, superhumans are ubiquitous these days. A little teleportation here, some time travel there, and the chain of evidence is conveniently gone.”

Sarah had heard enough. “Senator, you accuse me and my company of doctoring a clear chain of evidence whilst you doctor up excuses for the evidence being clearly against your claims right before our eyes. The fact is that we had nothing to do with the theft of the M6, we reported it as soon as it was confirmed that our initial count was accurate, and we provided backup assistance to an FBI operation that went bad, which was neither the fault of my staff nor the FBI.”

The senator raised a scolding finger. “I’ll thank you to remember that you are addressing a United States senator, young lady. You have to convince me, not the other way around, that you are innocent of wrongdoing and deserve to keep this contract, and honestly you are failing to account for my entirely reasonable and unassailable speculations into how you have attempted to con the American public out of their taxpayer dollars with your fly-by-night sham company.”

Still standing, Jennifer rested her hands on the table before her. “Speculation, whether reasonable or not, is not relevant to the known facts. You can hand-wave away the evidence, but the public will not. In the end, we are all of us accountable to them. But we are not expecting you to simply take our word for it. The FBI was present and has full records of the events. We are confident that their records will match our own with regards to their involvement in this case.” She paused, giving the senator a challenging grin. “Unless you care to speculate that the FBI is involved in a massive conspiracy with Stacy Solutions to supply bombs to domestic terrorists and then get themselves blown up in the process.”

The senator folded his arms in a harumph. “That will do, Miss Walters.”

Sarah breathed out a gasp of relief. Finally, they had shut this senator up. She sat back down as the director of the Louisiana division of the FBI stood from her seat and made her way to the front of the room, carrying some paperwork with her.

On her way there, a man entered the room and approached the director, handing her some papers and whispering in her ear. Looking forlorn and thoughtful, she whispered something back, and the man departed.

Sarah didn’t like the look on the director’s face. She looked ashen, and there was the hint of a tear in her eye. What, Sarah wondered, could bring a hardened FBI agent to such a state?

After introducing herself to the committee, the director began. “I’d like to begin by dispelling this committee’s misgivings about how Stacy Solutions handled themselves at the Louisiana farmhouse incident. Both from our records before the explosion and from our investigation so far into the cause of that blast we can find nothing to fault them with. They provided us with crucial information at that time which allowed us to quickly and thoroughly respond.” She passed out copies of documents from her original pile of paperwork. “Here you will see that they followed every procedure we required of them, and took every precaution we prescribed, and more.”

As the committee reviewed the documents, she continued. “Further, I must, in my professional opinion, concur with the statements so far made by the defendant and her council. There is no trace of any evidence tampering, and all indications are that the stolen M6 was taken before their involvement.”

Sarah smiled thinly, but only because she was suppressing a wider grin, as she saw the senator’s face crumple in frustration. No political points for you, senator. Maybe you should take a vacation, perhaps sit on your back porch and drink some of that Tea Party tea you love so much.

“However,” the director continued, “I would also like to point out that information provided by Gabriel Stacy to our New York City branch has proven instrumental in the attempt to capture the outlaw Bethany Sergeant. He led us right to her hideout through his own investigations from his company’s New York headquarters. It seems he took a personal interest in seeing that this public menace be brought to justice, above and beyond his responsibilities as Stacy Solution’s president. So I would not be as quick as Miss Stacy to judge him as irresponsible.”

Sarah squirmed a bit in her seat. He had found her? And he hadn’t just run off and tried to take her on himself, but actually asked for help from the FBI? If that was the case, then why hadn’t he told her so?

Then Sarah remembered that she had blocked all of his calls. She glanced at her phone.

There were text messages waiting. From him.

Sarah rushed to open the texts, all the while ignoring the director’s further address to the committee. Of course blocking his calls wouldn’t have worked, any more than it would have worked for her. They were both tech geniuses; a block would be easy to bypass. She read the texts.

They laid out his efforts up until now, both as Gabriel and Arach-Knight (not a bad hero name, actually, she thought), and how he had handed all that he and Stacy Solutions knew over to the New York City FBI. He also stated that he’d supervise the raid on the toy factory from afar, in costume, just in case something went wrong.

And after that, he promised, as soon as he was sure Bethany Sergeant was in custody, he’d turn over his costume to Peter and be done with heroics. ‘I know that I’ve let you down, and if you really want me out of our company, I’ll write up a resignation letter as soon as this is done. Just don’t write me out of your life, sis. Please. You are all that I have left. And whatever you think my motivations were, I did what I did with our biological dad’s formula and Peter’s blood to keep you alive in case the worst happened. What else could I do? You’re my only family.’

Sarah sobbed quietly as she read. All she could think of was Dr. Greene’s off-the-cuff reply to her the other day. That’s what you do for family.

“So,” another member of the committee was saying. “You have caught her then? Bethany Sergeant.”

The director lowered her head slightly, then, taking a breath, looked his questioner in the eye. “You may have noticed that I received some additional information from an aide as I was coming to address you. It was the results of the raid. It seems that Bethany Sergeant has gone full supervillain, and was ready for us.”

Sarah went rigid. She could feel the blood rushing from her face. “Gabriel,” she whispered.

“She was using her ill-gotten bombs to make deadly dolls with which she targeted members of the metahuman community, any perceived allies of that community, and anyone she considered too far to the left in their politics to live. She was making them in an abandoned toy factory in Mott Haven. The FBI, again, following every precaution, surrounded the factory, but we were unprepared for the attack that followed. Immediately upon our breaching the perimeter, our advance teams were killed in explosions at every entrance. Flying bombs were launched out the factory chimney and took out a surveillance copter, which crashed and killed even more agents. Then, while our agents were regrouping and trying to rescue the crash victims, the entire facility exploded, presumably killing all within.”

Sarah’s throat went dry. She felt like she couldn’t catch a breath. Gabriel, as Arach-Knight, had been there. Had he tried to go in, when, as he had put it in the text, things had gone wrong? Had he been inside when the factory had exploded and collapsed? Was her brother dead?

Was she alone?

She had to get out of here. She had to call him. She had to know he was ok. She grabbed Jennifer’s arm. “I have to check on Gabriel. He’s obsessive when it comes to his projects. He might have been there, with the FBI, when the bombs started going off.”

Jennifer shook her head sympathetically. “We can’t just walk out of a congressional hearing, especially when it is about you. But if you want, I can have one of my aides call him.”

Sarah nodded numbly. “I just threw him to the wolves, and now I might have lost him forever. I feel like dirt.”

Jennifer placed her hand warmly on Sarah’s shoulder, then turned, picked up her phone, and made the call to her aide. Meanwhile, the director was fielding questions about the latest attack from various members of the committee.

“Have you confirmed that Bethany Sergeant was in the building when it exploded, director?”

“Our agents were approaching the building with that presumption, based on the intel provided by Mr. Stacy. We were not able to confirm this directly, but the nature of the attack suggests that she was present at least up to the moments before the explosion. We can’t rule out subterranean means of egress at this time.”

“No one was seen by your agents entering or leaving the building?”

The director hesitated. “Reports are confused between the time of the initial attack and the explosion, but we did have agents recording the events on video. It is a procedure that we have recently been testing in the field; we live-stream the video to our headquarters so that we have a record of what unfolds for internal review purposes. One of the cameras captured a figure in spider-themed garb pass through one of the windows into the building moments after the helicopter crash. We know it wasn’t Spider-Man, as we have confirmed reports of him in the financial district fighting an unidentified villain at that time.”

Sarah instinctively grabbed Jennifer’s arm. No!

Jennifer looked at Sarah with momentary surprise, her phone still at her ear. Then she closed her eyes and took a breath. “Oh,” she said. “He’s obsessive.”

Sarah withdrew her hand in a panic. She was an idiot. No one in the world had known about Gabriel’s costumed identity but her, and now she’d just broadcast that information as clearly as possible to a former Avenger.

Jennifer must have read Sarah’s thoughts. “Relax,” she said. “Client-lawyer confidentiality. Even still, I’ll keep trying to raise him. If he’s any good at what he does, I’m sure he’s ok.” She tapped a finger against Sarah’s upper arm and gave her a wink. “And you’re stronger than you look yourself, girlie. Watch that grip; a lesser woman would have needed a cast.”

Sarah nodded again. She didn’t feel very reassured. “Ok, I’ll remember that. Just find him, ok?”

The questions were still coming from the committee. “Any idea of any future targets she may be pursuing, presuming she escaped?”

“We can’t know for certain. However, knowing her hatred of metahumans, I would begin the search there.”

“Director,” spoke up an older woman on the committee. “I represent the state of New York, and I live in the Manhattan area. I am aware from this morning’s Daily Bugle that there was a rally for metahuman rights scheduled for today. It may even be ongoing. That’s a very big local target.”

“Thank you,” said the director. “I will, if you would excuse me for a moment, pass that information on to my superiors.”

“Jen,” Sarah began.

“On it,” Jennifer said. “Barb, keep trying to reach Mr. Stacy. Bye.” She switched to a news app and searched for the rally. Video began to play. “This is from the Bugle’s web page. They have a videographer on-site, evidently. The place looks like the police are worried about something. Look at all of those barriers, and all those cops. Wait; there! That looks like our guy. Love the costume.”

Sarah leaned in. The figure was darting from place to place, along building wall, in and around the trees of the park, and through the crowd, snatching up dolls and bringing them away to some unseen location. The costume was black with red trim, with a full-face mask with a big red spider serving as the mask’s dominating feature. From a red backpack jutted four spider-like limbs.

That was him. It had to be. He was alive!

Sarah sank into her chair. She was at once relieved and terrified. She knew from experience what was in those dolls. And he was out there, risking his life, to keep untold hundreds of people safe.

He was being a hero.

Sarah swallowed hard. She knew that he had done everything he’d done for all of the right reasons, and now he was working to make the world a safer, better place. He was still living their dream, just in a different way.

And she had abandoned him, despite knowing that he would never have abandoned her. If he lived, if they got to speak again, she’d do whatever it took to atone.

#

Faster. He had to move faster. He had never pushed himself this hard in his short life, and his body ached from the injuries he’d sustained in the toy factory explosion. Yet he couldn’t stop. Lives were on the line.

All around the park and throughout the surrounding area, police were busy evacuating people, normal and meta alike, and searching everyone for the deadly Pooh-themed dolls that Flying Tygger had distributed earlier. They were also combing the area for stationary bombs, also disguised like dolls, using the map that Arach-Knight had provided to Inspector Coleman.

He grabbed another doll from its hiding place inside a park trash can, adding it to the five he already had snatched up this trip. Leaping into the air, he flew past the crowd to the large construction site a few blocks away, the site of the Twin Towers tragedy a few years before. The police had designated an area there for disposal of the bombs, and had, with the help of the construction crew there, erected cement barriers around the dump site. He landed amongst the already-collected dolls and added his six to the mix.

He checked in with Coleman. “That’s all of the stationary bombs,” she said. “And we have accounted for all but one of the mobile ones.”

He took to the air in a rush. Almost all didn’t cut it. “I’m en-route back to you. Keep searching. There can’t be much time left.”

Coleman sounded defensive but also, for the first time since their acquaintance, professional. “My men have gone through the crowd with a fine-toothed comb. I’m telling you it isn’t here.”

A horrible thought struck Arach-Knight. He poured on the speed. “Coleman, what if one of the protesters went home early?”

There was silence on the line. “There’s no way we can check the whole city. If you’re right, then we’ll know who has the bomb when it goes off.”

His blood boiled. “Not good enough!”

He reached the park and landed on the roof of City Hall. He needed to find that bomb, and now. His mind racing, he tried to think of another way to search. Then, he remembered the trigger.

The bombs had to receive a signal, so they had electronics in them. He’d seen the inside of these bombs before, when he had analyzed the unexploded doll bomb from the Morlock crime scene. He knew the exact electronic signature that those bombs used.

He reconfigured his sensors to scan for that signature. Ignoring the multiple signatures from the construction site, he frantically scanned the immediate area. His only hope was that whomever had the bomb had just recently left the rally, and had not gone underground. Plus, it was an extremely weak signal, so he had to be relatively close to it to even pick it up.

He took to the sky, making ever-wider circles of the area, keeping as close to the ground as he could.

When he passed over Foley square, he saw it.

A mother and father were walking with their daughter. They were isolated, near the edge of the treeline. She was clearly a mutant, her skin was crystalline and blue. Her mom was holding the doll, a Piglet, while her dad carried her on his shoulders.

He rushed in, flying in low and fast. “Drop the doll and run! It’s a bomb!”

They all turned, their eyes growing wide at the sight of him flying towards them. The mom, purely out of shock, dropped Piglet. The girl, no more than six, saw the doll hit the ground. “Piglet,” she cried. In a blink, she was on the ground, and she scooped up the doll in a superhuman flash. She looked at Arach-Knight as he drew ever closer. “You can’t have it! It’s mine!”

Arach-Knight landed beside the family. He towered over the girl, his black suit silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. His spider limbs, still with webbing-strung wings weaved between them, spread out behind and beside him like a great predator.

He reached out to her. “You need to give me that doll. It’s not safe.”

The girl screamed. She ran like a blur past her parents and towards the street. Her parents called out to her, but in her terror she just kept running.

Arach-Knight, despite the futility, ran after her. “Stop, that doll is a…”

And then, with an “Oh, dear,” Piglet stopped the girl’s flight.

#

Arach-Knight sat on the steps of a nearby building as the crime scene detectives worked the scene of the girl’s death. Her parents were with a police counselor nearby, holding each other close and trying, and failing, not to sob uncontrollably. Inspector Coleman, despite this not being her precinct, was working the scene.

He sat with his arms resting on his knees, his head hung low. No one had bothered him up until now, not even the other detectives to get his statement. They didn’t need it, and anyway, he was sure he didn’t exactly look in the mood to answer questions.

Once again, he’d failed.

Her name was Molly. She was, in fact, six years old today. Her parents had brought her here to witness history, and to let her know that being different was ok. They had failed to warn her that some people didn’t think so, or that they would gladly kill to prove their point.

He felt a tear running down his cheek inside his mask. That was it. He couldn’t do this anymore. He was no Spider-Man. He had so terrified that child that she had actually run from safety and to her death. Heroes only cause fear in the guilty, not innocent children.

He’d go home, take off the suit, and destroy it. Peter didn’t need a terrifying getup like this. It was the kind of thing a goblin wore. He didn’t need it anymore, anyway. Flying Tygger, Bethany Sergeant, was in custody, and if there was any justice in the world, she’d end up at the Raft with all of those bad metahumans, or Fiends, as she liked to call them, that she despised so much.

Inspector Coleman walked up to him from the crime scene. She looked exhausted. She also looked like the bearer of news that she didn’t want to bear.

He stood, towering over her. But this time, no one was posturing. There was no animosity. “Inspector.”

She handed him a cut piece of webbing. “We went where you said, and found her gear and some torn bits of orange cloth from where she cut herself free. No other sign of her, though. Police and FBI are organizing a manhunt.”

He clenched his fists. She’d gotten away. After all his effort, she’d managed to escape. As long as she was free, no one was safe. And he knew what that meant. “Tell me you have some kind of lead.”

Inspector Coleman looked back at the parents whom had lost their only child. “I wish I did. They deserve the closure. Look at them. They just lost everything.”

Arach-Knight looked at the family, and then, with some surprise, at the inspector. “What, sympathy for the family of one of us freaks?”

She grabbed at a chain on her neck, and pulled a locket out from inside her collar. She clutched it close. “I know what it is like to lose your world. Lost mine to a meta early in my career. She lost hers to a freak with a vendetta against metas. Different, but the same.” She gave a sideways glance at him. “I still think a lot of you so-called heroes need reigning in, and the system is way too soft on the criminals in your circles.”

A small smile crept onto his face, which he was glad the inspector could not see. Maybe he had accomplished something, after all. “You’re through painting all metas with one big brush?”

She nodded her head in the direction of the crime scene. “I guess I don’t want to see myself turn into someone who could do that.”

He turned away. He couldn’t look at it, or at Molly’s parents. “I should have been able to stop that. I need to do better.”

Inspector Coleman brushed a few of her dreadlocks out of her face. She snorted in mild disbelief. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It happens to every cop and every rescue worker. I suppose it happens to every fool in tights, too. You can’t save them all. Keep that truth in your head or you’ll go mad. When you’re tallying up the ones you lost, make sure you also tally up the ones you saved.” She pointed back towards city hall. “By my count, there are hundreds of people alive because of you.” He looked back at her, and she raised her hands defensively. “Hey, don’t think this makes us buddies. I still owe you for this bloody hand.”

He faced her once more. “Then what are we, Inspector?”

She gave him a smart-alec smile. “You, you’re a rookie superhero. Me,” she lowered her head for a moment, then looked back at him with grateful eyes. “Someone recently reminded me; I’m a cop. And when I remember that, I’m a good one.”

He nodded, then turned, looking up at the darkening sky. “Then I guess we both had better get to it.”

As he prepared for his leap, she placed the webbing back into its evidence bag. “We’ll find her. You can count on that.”

He leapt into the sky, casting out a webline. “If you don’t, I will.”

She watched him swing away, then turned and walked back to the crime scene. As she reached it, she looked over the other detectives at their work. “Ok, everyone. The flashy adventure stuff is over. Time to show these super-types what real police work looks like. Now let’s find this freak before she does this to someone else.” She looked back at the parents, and touched her locket again. “And let’s give those poor people the closure they deserve.”

Epilogue

The whole crime scene at Mott Haven was a mess, but gradually order was being restored. The last agent lost in the rubble of the toy factory had been found, alive, and transported to the hospital. FBI agents from surrounding regions had finally arrived to take over for their fallen brethren, joined by local Mott Haven police. New perimeters had been established, and the investigation was proceeding at an ever-increasing pace.

At the edge of the activity, two men stood aside, momentarily relieved from duty after hours of working the scene. They smoked and drank cold coffee as they looked back on the mess before them.

The older, fat one, a detective, stared at his companion with disbelief. "You telling me that some teddy bears caused this explosion, Carl?"

The taller, thin one, nodded. "I'm saying the bombs were inside the dolls, and not just teddy bears, either. Winnie-the-Pooh themed dolls of all stripes. Just like the Owl dolls that took out the copter. There are a few still unexploded in the wreckage; my team is still diffusing those."

From his perch atop an adjacent building, Arach-Knight watched the lead bomb squad tech hand the inspector the remains of one of the toys. The bloated inspector turned the doll's severed head over in his large hands.

"What kinda sicko stuffs explosives inside of a Winnie the Pooh bear? "

The question burned inside Arach-Knight’s core. He knew very well the type of person that did such things. He was the son of one of them. And Flying Tygger went even deeper into the madness than even Arach-Knight had ever witnessed.

"That's what I wanted to tell you about, Horace. This factory made toys of all kinds when it was open back in the day. Yet all we can find in here are remains of Pooh toys. It's like someone recreated the Hundred Acre Woods in there."

"So we have another nut job bad guy with a theme.” He peered back at the wreckage, to where the remains of the foreman’s office jutted out of the debris. “Those webs I see, Carl?"

Carl glanced at the webbing. "Yeah, looks like Spider-Man tangled with whoever was hiding out here before the blast."

Horace shook his head. "Maybe not. A bunch of these Pooh Bombs were set to go off at that pro-mutant riot downtown. Only one of them did, because some other spider-guy helped the NYPD dispose of the rest."

Carl took a sip of his coffee. "I heard something about that on the radio. Wasn't there a fatality?"

Tears of regret formed in Arach-Knight’s eyes. He turned away from the men, looking back towards Midtown. He let out a long sigh.

"Yeah, some little mutant kid, no more than six,” continued the detective. “Parents were normals, and from what I hear they were beside themselves."

Arach-Knight cut off the parabolic sensor in my mask, cursing his inexperience and slow reactions once more. He walked away from the crime scene to the opposite side of the roof, which faced the Hudson River several blocks away. He could just make out Riker’s Island and the Raft superhuman holding facility in the distance. He stared at if for a time in silence. Finally, a whisper escaped his lips. “Peter would have saved them all.”

From inside his mask, he heard a familiar voice. "You saved hundreds of people today. Doesn't that count for anything to you?"

His sister's voice, over the secure comm channel. She must have worked out how he had hacked her texting app, and reverse-hacked her way into his helmet line. He switched to internal microphone, so no one beyond the skin of his mask could hear. "Sarah, I let that girl down."

For the first time in a long time, Sarah’s voice had no hint of anger, only compassion and understanding. "You disposed of several hundred bombs. You are a hero. 'Dad' would be proud."

He saw Norman standing over his corpse in his mind’s eye once more. You did me proud, son. He swallowed his anger. "You know our father as well as I do. That monster would have planted those bombs."

Her voice was gentle, sympathetic. "I don't mean Norman Osborn, Gabriel. I mean the man we both wish really was our father."

Arach-Knight hung his head. "He would have done better. I have not earned the right to think of myself as his son." He paused. “I’ve been a pretty lousy brother, too, haven’t I?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t think I will win any awards for best sister, to tell the truth. I kind of hung you out to dry with congress, today. I shouldn’t have done that. What happened to Bridget was my responsibility, because her death was built on my decisions. But I was angry that you weren’t there to share in the decisions, so I blamed you.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, Gabriel.”

Arach-Knight breathed in deep. A huge weight came off of him. He hadn’t lost her, despite his neglect. “I’m sorry, too.”

After an awkward moment, he added, “So, am I still employed?”

Sarah’s laugh filled his ears. “Yes, you’re still president. But we have to make new arrangements. We have to figure out how to accommodate your extra-curricular activities with your day job.”

He glanced back towards the crime scene, now obscured from view by the roof line. “I was going to stop after catching Flying Tygger. But now…”

"Go home, Gabriel. I’m flying into town and should be home in a few hours. The police have the crime scene. The FBI are hunting Bethany Sergeant. There's nothing left for Arach-Knight to do tonight."

To the east, the sky suddenly glowed bright blue. Arach-Knight turned, and between buildings he could see the tail end of the largest electric bolt he’d ever witnessed arc out of the Raft. He could almost feel the EM pulse as it washes past him. The city around him went dark.

"Hold that thought, Sarah," he said, even though he knew it will be minutes before his apartment’s emergency power system rebooted from the pulse, allowing his connection with her to be restored. He switched his suit to flight mode. "I may yet have the chance to atone for my sins against Spider-Man."

#

Early the next morning, Sarah arrived at the office. It was Saturday, but she had an important meeting, one that she needed to have without her brother. She was hiring someone today, someone to fill the vacancy left by Bridget. He was extremely experienced in all manner of weapons, if only because he’d been on the receiving end of so many of them, and he was a brilliant scientist, to boot. She met him at the front door, and after a hug and a polite greeting, they entered the building together.

She walked into the meeting room. Her entire staff of experts were here, even Rubix and Dr. Odd, if only by conference video feed. They were drinking their coffee and munching on bad breakfast foods and complaining about the interruption of their weekend. All voices fell silent when she walked in the room.

She smiled at them all. “I’d like to thank you all for coming in this morning. I don’t intend to keep you for long, but after what we lost this week, I wanted to share with you what we gained.”

She had their attention now. Her smile broadened. “First, I want to assure you that Stacy Solutions is in business to stay. After my meeting with congress, I am pleased to report that our contract is still in place, and we have dozens more coming down the line. We should also expect to start seeing private contracts as well. So get used to being busy.” She picked up a cup of pre-poured coffee and made a toast. “And get used to working weekends.”

Despite that last bit, the group broke into applause. It was welcome news for the staff, whom up until now had been worried about getting even their first paycheck.

Sarah held up her hand to end the applause. “However, because of Bridget’s death, and I’ll have details about her funeral in case anyone wants to join me in attending, we are short staffed. Fortunately, I’ve found a new genius to add to our pool of brilliance that will, I hope, help us shine even brighter.”

She gestured for him to come forward. He gave a shy, awkward wave. “Hi, everyone.”

Sarah put her hand on his shoulder and gently nudged him forward to the welcoming group. “Everyone, meet Peter Parker.”

End