That night I went out with Felicity and the rest of the women's basketball team for dinner. I had promised to pay, and a promise is a promise. May offered to chip in, but I refused — it was my treat, and they had earned it.
---
The next day:
Strange watched from one corner as I went through the katas he had taught me. At this point I knew they weren't working, but I went through the motions anyway — and this time I wasn't even really paying attention to what my body was doing. My mind was elsewhere. I kept coming back to last night, to my Kitten.
That evening had stirred something in me. I had kept her locked away for so long, refusing to let myself think about her, afraid it would hurt. But now that I had opened that door, I could see clearly.
I remembered her smile, her laugh, and the kiss she had pressed to my lips. I remembered it all like a reflection off a perfectly still lake. Memories — images of my life laid out in front of me.
My body moved on muscle memory alone, drifting through the gentle movements Strange had drilled into me, while my mind floated back to everything else. All the other noise bled away. All this time stuck here — all this time — and I had never let myself think about her, convinced it would hurt too much. But it didn't hurt. It was like seeing a picture of the sun after a long absence.
My arms began to glow slowly. I could hear the Sanskrit chant cycling inside my head like a hymn in the background as a memory of our first date surfaced. Strange rose from his chair and stood quietly, watching me with interest.
I brought both hands up — I remembered her laugh. One palm up, one down — I remembered her chuckling at my terrible jokes. As my arms moved in a slow, deliberate circle, a fiery red circle appeared in its path.
I felt the power seep out of my body and into the shape before me. Felicia's smile receded. The incantation took over in my head as I opened my eyes and stared at the perfect magical circle I had made.
I moved into the second kata. My arms cut through the air like a viper striking, lines shooting from my fingertips like silk from a spider. Two interlocking rectangles formed inside the circle, rotating clockwise.
I moved to the third kata — drawing both hands back in a complex movement that cracked my knuckles and nearly popped my shoulder — then thrust my arm forward, placing a single point at the center of the circle.
WHOMP!
The magical circle before me began to hum. I watched as it came alive, spinning and shifting.
It became a circle with a web design within it — thousands upon thousands of strands, all connected to a central point. Sanskrit script appeared around the border. This was it. My magical focus — the anchor I would use from this moment on to channel any form of magic.
"Very impressive," Strange called out.
The fiery red circle slowly faded as I let my concentration drop. I sighed, feeling the strange pressure of magic withdraw from me. I looked at him and nodded. "Did I do all right?"
"You did well for a first attempt," Strange nodded. "May I ask what happened to bring this about?"
I looked at my hands. "I...I was thinking too much. Before, I kept worrying about what would happen if I failed, or telling myself I was never meant to be a sorcerer. I didn't realize...I was supposed to feel my way through the magic. I kept trying to think it into existence instead."
"And what made you stop thinking?"
"The woman I love," I sighed. Strange raised an eyebrow. "Felicia Hardy."
Strange's eyes went wide and he winced. "I don't envy you, my Apprentice."
I rolled my eyes. "She's not that bad, Master."
"She is — and you know it," Strange chuckled. "Now — practise that once more. Next time, try to manage it without a focus. I understand it's useful, but right now you need to make this second nature. It is the foundation of everything you're going to learn from here."
I nodded, cracked my knuckles, and got back to work.
---
A day later:
"You did well with the exercises," Strange smiled at me. "As such, I believe you have earned these." He presented me with a set of robes that appeared to be Japanese in origin — dull red with a black belt.
I looked at them. "Ah...thanks?"
"They are Apprenticeship robes," Strange explained. "They represent that you have finally earned the right to be called my apprentice."
I blinked. "So all this time—"
"—No," Strange shook his head. "Your discovery and mastery of a magical focus is the first step."
I blinked. "Huh...so do I have to wear these?"
"Yes. The organic material helps channel energy more efficiently. Plus they look good," he smiled.
"Right..." Strange narrowed his eyes, daring me to say something. "I love them!" Note to self: when leaving for home, 'accidentally' forget to pack these.
Strange smiled. "Good. Here — you have also earned this." He passed me a cloth bag with my name embroidered on the front. It was roughly the size of a standard duffel bag, but could apparently be rolled down to fit in the palm of your hand.
"What is this?" I asked.
"A storage pouch," he explained. "A sorcerer's greatest tool — and your first one. It can hold any number of items, and will remain weightless no matter what you place inside. When not in use, simply channel magic into it and it will respond to your will and change shape."
I did as Strange instructed, channeling what I once used to power my bio-electricity into the pouch. It shrank down smoothly in my hand. I smirked. "This is so cool."
Strange smiled. "I'm glad you like it. Now go and change — we'll begin your first real lesson shortly."
I changed quickly, pulling on the red gi that ended in tight wrappings at the forearms and comfortable cloth slip-ons at the feet.
"Now that you have mastered the basics, we can move on to your first branch of magic," Strange said, walking a slow circle around me. "As you now understand, the power of the human mind cannot be underestimated. It can do many remarkable things. One of them is telekinesis." He snapped his fingers and every piece of furniture in the room began to float.
I looked around. "Holy—"
"Your mind can interact with the physical world by channeling energy into your brain waves — as you have practiced through your meditation and katas," Strange explained. "Using this, you will be able to move any object with thought alone."
I blinked. "Wait — so is telekinesis magic? Does that make Jean Grey and other telepathic or telekinetic mutants magical?"
Strange smiled. "You caught onto that very quickly, Apprentice Parker. The answer is half and half. Mutants are precisely that — mutations on a standard human baseline. As such, they have access to certain things — energy fields, innate power — that sorcerers have to strive years toward through training and study."
"So mutants use cheat codes while we do it the hard way," I summarized.
Strange nodded. "Yes. I suppose that's an accurate analogy. So you see — mutants and trained humans aren't so very different after all."
I nodded. "But what about mutants like Beast or Logan? Their physical mutations?"
"Something any sufficiently advanced laboratory can now replicate," Strange shrugged. "It honestly wouldn't be that difficult."
"All right — who's a better psychic: you or Jean Grey?"
"As you said, Apprentice Parker — we do things the hard way. They have cheat codes," Strange smiled. "Now. Begin."
It took me a full week to move a pencil case. One entire week. My mind was clear, magic was flowing through my veins — and still it took my brain seven days to accept that it could do more than simply think.
It was honestly the strangest experience of my life. And yes, I realize I just made a pun. Either way — that week of training was behind me now, and I had another skill added to the list.
---
The next day:
"Don't mess with the Yakuza, bug boy!" the Japanese gangster cried out as he opened fire. The entire dock lit up with the sound of his machine gun.
"Spiders are arachnids, not bugs, you idiot!" I called back, leaping behind a crate. I glanced behind me — the crate of smuggled Asian civilians was huddled together inside the sealed freight hold they had been transported in.
I needed to move the guns. One stray bullet into that crate and ten people died. I looked up, then ducked back down — four machine guns had me pinned. The fire kept coming, and the single gangster was quickly joined by three more, all directing their weapons at me.
I looked around and immediately spotted a crane hanging above us. "Sexy — can you hack into that crane's systems?"
"Can do, Spider. What do you need me to do?"
"Lower the claw in front of the freight door." I motioned toward the open container.
"On it," Sexy replied.
I waited. The crate I was sheltering behind was being chewed apart by bullets. I felt one graze my shoulder, tearing through my costume. I winced and held my arm — already healing, but my spandex was shredded. Peter is going to be so annoyed. I heard the sound of machinery. I looked up to see the crane swing out over the dock, catching the gangsters' attention long enough to make them pause.
The crane moved over their heads, stopping directly before the freight container, then dropped like a stone.
BOOM!
It hit the ground with enough force to make the container jump a few inches, startling the people inside. But now the claw formed a barrier between them and the gunfire, and I could finally move.
"Thanks, Sexy — you're a lifesaver," I grinned as I vaulted over my now-demolished cover and charged the Yakuza. "Hey! You lot!" I yelled in Japanese. "Kiss my—!"
"Kill him!" the leader screamed. All four opened fire. I ducked under the volley, bullets sailing overhead and clanging against the crane's claw. Thank god that worked.
I leaped up and shot two web lines at the gun barrels to my left and right, covering them before yanking with enough force to tear them clean out of their owners' hands.
I landed and drove my foot into the leader's gut hard enough to send him crashing into the crate behind him, then spun around and clocked the last armed man across the face, putting him out instantly.
"Damn it, damn it!" the man to my left cursed and sprinted away.
"Coward!" the man to my right drew a handgun and leveled it at my face. "Die!"
Bang!
Skit!
Two claws snapped out of my right hand and deflected the bullet before it reached me. The man's face went pale. He tried firing again, but I was faster.
I charged in, swiped at the gun and sliced it into three very small pieces. Then I grabbed him by the collar with my left hand and flung him into the air, launching a web grenade to pin him against a stack of crates.
I turned and saw the last Yakuza disappearing into a maze of stacked containers. I leaped up and tracked him from the top of the stacks, his heartbeat so loud I barely needed my enhanced hearing. I followed him to the edge of the harbour, then shot a web line and snagged him by the coat, pulling him up to me.
He came flying toward me. I caught him by the throat and held him over the edge of two stacked crates — around fifteen feet each — his legs swinging over nothing.
"Who do you work for?" I asked in flawless Japanese. Those lessons with Natasha had really paid off.
"I — I am Yakuza! If you kill me they will hunt you!" he sputtered.
"You're not Yakuza," I ripped off his tie and tore open his shirt, revealing bare skin underneath. "No tattoos. And Yakuza don't traffic people. The Triads do. Now." I squeezed. "Who. Do you. Work for?"
"Fisk!" he gasped. "Richard Fisk!" His Japanese slipped — either out of fear, or because it was never his native language at all.
"He's coming back?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Yes! Yes! He said he'd be returning soon!"
I chuckled. "Really? Damn — he's dumber than I thought. Where is he?"
"I don't know!"
I heard his heart skip. "You're lying. Tell me the truth, or I'll drop you."
The man laughed. "You wouldn't dare. I know you hero types — you're all the same. You'll hurt, but you won't kill."
I looked down. "We're standing on two standard freight crates — about fifteen feet each. That's thirty feet total. The highest a person can fall and survive is around forty feet. So...yeah. Let's find out." I let go.
"ARGH!" he cried out.
I shot a web line and caught his ankle just as he cleared the second crate. He looked up at me, relief flooding his face.
Then I let go again.
"ARGH!" He hit the ground hard enough to hurt — nothing broken, but definitely painful. I dropped down beside him, grabbed his curled-up body by the collar, and pinned him to the metal crate. "Where. Is Fisk?"
"H-he's in a warehouse up in the Bronx! We were supposed to bring the people to him in one hour!"
"Where exactly?" I asked.
"Hunt's Point! He's waiting there with a couple hundred men!"
Immediately Sexy marked the location on my HUD. "Good. Thanks." I let him go and walked away. Hunt's Point again. Same location, different crimes, different worlds. What a coincidence.
"Sexy — call the police and report the human trafficking ring we found."
"Right away, Spider. Shall I report Fisk as well?"
"Not yet. I want to have a word with him first." I turned and fired a web ball at the man I had just interrogated as he tried to slip away, sticking him to the crate. "Yeah — you're not going anywhere."
---
An hour later:
BOOM!
Richard Fisk flinched. "What the hell was that?!"
BOOM!
The door to his office flew off its hinges as one of his guards came through it headfirst, crashing into his desk and landing unconscious.
Fisk's heart rate spiked. He couldn't believe it — no one was supposed to know he was back. No one. He drew a handgun and aimed it at the long open corridor beyond the ruined doorway.
"You know, when I let you go last time, it was only because Mrs. Hardy asked me to," I said as I webbed the gun and pulled it from his hand.
Fisk spun around, eyes wide with fear. I climbed in through the window and into his office. "You were told never to return, Fisk. So why risk it?"
"This city is my birthright," he gulped, backing away slowly. "I am—"
Thwip!
I webbed his mouth shut. "Not interested."
Skit!
I grabbed him by the collar and drove him into the wall, my stingers pressed lightly against his neck. "Now then — let's talk."
"ARGH!" He didn't lose any fingers — not technically — but I did bend a few, and that felt fine. He would live. He would just think very carefully before coming back to New York.
---
Around six in the morning I swung my way back to Strange's place. The sun was barely up, the city bathed in that pale grey light before dawn properly breaks. They say New York never sleeps, and from up here it looked peaceful — not a thing wrong in the world, perfect and still.
Which wasn't true at all.
I knew this city. It was sick, and May and Felicity were going to have their work cut out. But I had done them a favour by dismantling Richard Fisk's operation — at least they wouldn't inherit a complete disaster.
I made my way to the Sanctum Sanctorum, climbed in through the attic, and found Strange at the kitchen table reading the morning paper. "Long night?" he asked.
"I shut down a human trafficking ring and stopped Wilson Fisk's son from rebuilding the Kingpin empire in New York," I shrugged as I poured myself a coffee. "Oh — and I destroyed the costume Peter lent me." I pointed to the bullet holes. "Cheap material."
"You can wear your robes," he said, throwing the red gi at me.
"Hey! My robes! I thought I'd lost them," I grumbled, glaring at the offending garment.
Strange smiled. "They apparently grew legs and climbed up onto my chandelier for safekeeping. Now." He set the paper down. "How are you coming along with your weapon conjuration?"
I snapped my fingers, forming my magical focus and channeling it into an ethereal staff of glowing red-gold energy. I grabbed it and spun it once. "It's decent, but still too slow to form."
"Well — it's good enough for now. Come — we'll move on to the next stage." Strange got up and led me to his study, where he moved the furniture to the walls.
Strange raised both hands, palms facing each other. A magical circle formed between them. He slowly drew his hands apart, pulling a strand of magic between them that looked like something being woven from pure will.
He caught the strand with his right hand and flicked his wrist. The strand curved through the air as if alive, twisting and snapping. "This is the Whip of Vástha — deadly and versatile, if you know what you are doing." He shaped it into a lasso, snagged a lamp across the room, and sent it flying. He then cracked the whip overhead, sent it into the ceiling, and pulled himself up by it, demonstrating its full tensile strength.
"It can be shaped and controlled in several ways — including an adhesive variation not unlike your webbing. This is the next weapon I want you to master."
I was immediately interested. "I can use this as a backup — no more worrying about running out of web fluid."
Strange nodded. "Yes. Of course, it has no permanent bonding field, so you can't use it to restrain criminals or hold structures for long, but I'm sure you'll discover its limitations soon enough." He picked up a book and tossed it to me as he left the room. "Learn it quickly — I have much more to teach you."
I sighed. I was definitely not getting any sleep today. "For the record — you're one hell of a taskmaster."
"I'm aware," came his almost perfectly flat reply. "I expect you to have it mastered by tomorrow night. Sleep well, Apprentice Parker."
I sighed. Well — at least he wasn't completely without mercy. I think.