Sarah filling Kara's shoes II

Sarah (POV)

The air in Brooklyn was thick, filled with the smell of exhaust and old dreams. The buildings were packed tight, with fire escapes sticking out like bony fingers reaching for the sky. Between them, shadows gathered, dirty and forgotten, like secrets spilled on cracked sidewalks. This wasn't the pretty Brooklyn you see in pictures—it was the part that history had left behind.

But for me, it had a different vibe. The grime wasn't what made it special. It was the stories. In her head, these alleys were full of the beginnings of heroes, the kind of places where tough justice was born.

Then, a voice cut through the shadows, low but clear. "So, you've been following me for this long and still don't plan on facing me?" I stopped right in the middle of the alley, my face set in a cold, unbothered expression.

But there was no answer. The silence just stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of the city. Somewhere nearby, steam hissed out from hidden pipes, adding a constant whisper against the muffled sound of news coming from an open apartment window.

The silence just kept on, dragging out with an annoying persistence, and I felt a hint of foolishness. It was time to draw this mysterious stalker out. I lifted my wrist, rolling up the sleeve of my sweatshirt, exposing a sleek, high-tech bracelet on my arm. A subtle press activated the device, its surface flipping open with a quiet click. 

A flash of irritation crossed my face, quickly giving way to a sharp, almost amused smirk. With a final click. A cascade of microscopic, biomimetic fibers, inspired by the of spider silk, flowed out. These fibers are infused with a liquid crystal elastomer (LCE). They are capable of rapid shape-shifting and self-assembly. Guided by Navi, the fibers begin to stretch and weave together, integrating with the subdermal network of nanobots previously implanted beneath my skin.

As the fibers extend, they pulse with life, controlled by the nanobots powered by a biocompatible energy source. They form a precise, form-fitting suit that morphs and adapts to her body, enhancing her natural strength, agility, and reflexes. The liquid crystal polymer allows for dynamic shape-shifting and adaptive camouflage, while the biomimetic fibers provide exceptional tensile strength. 

This time I became female Venom. Just as I was about to reach for my weapons from the shadow dimension, a figure dropped from above, landing in front of me with an easy, playful flair. "Whoa there, tigress. I'm harmless," the voice teased. "No need for the ice queen vibe."

My gaze stayed cold as I replied sharply, "Of course. If you weren't friendly, you'd probably be dead by now." Inside, I couldn't help but feel a little entertained, though my face gave nothing away.

The figure stepped into clearer view, staring at me for a moment. "Wait a sec, it's really you!" Recognition flashed across her face—it was Gwen Stacy, Ghost-Spider herself, in her usual black-and-white suit with pink and blue accents.

"Sure," I drawled dryly. "As the daughter of Phoenix Biopharm's CEO, it's no surprise young people know who I am."

Not that I tried to hide my identity much. Tonight, I hadn't even bothered with a mask or slipped into my shadow dimension. I stood there, maskless; I already knew who was following me, and the cameras had been taken care of. "I guess the more pertinent question is, why are you following me?"

"Look, I just thought I recognized you, and if you were really Kara, then walking around this part of town alone at night… you might be in danger of being, you know, taken or something," Gwen said, scratching the back of her head, clearly hesitant to admit she admired Kara's accomplishments—the main reason she'd followed me.

"Sweet. One word of advice: if this is your pickup line, at least lose the mask. Following someone—especially a young woman—while wearing a mask is extremely creepy and unsettling," I teased. Internally, I thought, I bet her face is beet-red right now.

"Ah, sorry, I wasn't—" Gwen started, but I cut her off. "I said it was sweet and thoughtful, but it seems I'm at a disadvantage. You clearly know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Wouldn't that make for an awkward date?" I continued teasing, "Though, I'm sure you're hot; that suit highlights all the juicy parts."

Seeing Gwen frozen in place, I manipulated the shadows around me, letting my business card fall into my hand. I reached out and pressed it into hers, saying, "Be sure to give me a call, dear. I saw your last fight; you need training. And what kind of spider doesn't have web-shooters?" Then I enveloped myself in shadows and disappeared, leaving a stunned Gwen behind.

"They do say you should never meet your idols," Gwen muttered a full minute later.

....

Looking at Ava's and my half-finished project in the corner of the Tech Forge, I recalled what Kara told me yesterday during our update session. In a nutshell, I had another retrieval mission. For the love of God, couldn't they have built a self-destruct function into those weapons? I thought. But, well, another mission it is.

With an appointment at three in the way, I pulled out my phone and called Jeri. "Jeri," I said coolly, "Change of plans. Meet me at the café in the square this afternoon. Something's come up."

A brief pause. "Alright," Jeri conceded. "We can grab a bite to eat while we're there."

A hint of a smirk crossed my lips. "Perfect. Haven't fueled up yet." Underneath, though, I felt something like anticipation, maybe for a rare moment outside the confines of my Tech Forge, where even a pastry could feel like a treat.

When I got to the cafe, it buzzed with the usual midday rush. I spotted Jeri, statuesque and cool, slicing through the crowd.

"Kara, over here!" she called.

I took my time, ordering a plate of pastries first and heading over with a playful glint in my eye. "Easy there, counselor," I teased, knowing I'd messed with her schedule. "Besides, I haven't had lunch. Plenty of time—we did reschedule, after all."

Jeri's frustration was evident. This change had hijacked her break time, and she had a mountain of paperwork to climb back to. "Give me a break, Kara," she grumbled. "You're cutting into my rest time. You know I have paperwork after this acquisition."

I ignored her protest and settled across from her. As she pulled out the lease agreement and acquisition contract for the California processing plant, a wave of buttery, sweet temptation drifted over the table. Jeri wrinkled her nose, nudging the pastries aside with barely concealed irritation.

"Usual business?" I asked, popping a pastry in my mouth and letting my artificial receptors analyze the symphony of sweetness, flakiness, and cinnamon.

Jeri droned on, deep in legalese. I interjected here and there, asking about some legal details and price points, but most of my focus stayed on the pastry's layered breakdown—carbohydrates, fats, a hint of spice. Each bite was a moment of normalcy, a brief pause in the flurry of details Jeri kept listing.

"Sign here if everything sounds shipshape," Jeri finally said, pushing the contract across the table. "The processing plant paperwork is all set. We don't want to delay the start of operations."

I dabbed my lips with a napkin. "How soon can we start?"

"Maybe one month, maybe 18 months. These things take time," Jeri explained with a patient sigh.

"Just formalities holding us back, right? That processing plant's in a bad way. The previous owner ran it into the ground. Without money, they'll be out on the streets."

Then, the blaring ring of my phone sliced through our conversation. A frown creased my brow as I saw Schmidt's name flash on the screen.

Jeri watched my face closely, her expression shifting into a silent question. Another wrinkle in the plan?

"Miss Vasílissa, I have good news," Schmidt's voice rang out loud and clear through the phone. "Our bid has been accepted by the military bigwigs! They want to see that prototype in three days. Can you make that happen?"

A sly chuckle escaped my lips. "Already ahead of you, Schmidt. Talked to Anderson and Hall. With enough fuel in the tank, we can have those parts built in two days. We've got the weapons ready."

Cheers erupted from the other end of the line. I hung up, my eyes meeting Jeri's again. "Jeri, how many lawyers are warming benches at our firm right now? Get them all prepped for a paperwork blitz! We're going to be as busy as a pack of Huskies."

Anderson and Hall were the company's gearheads, hammering out deals with factories that churned out metal, circuits, and anything else that whirred and sparked. Browne ran prototype testing. Schmidt, meanwhile, was our silver-tongued salesman, the charming face who secured deals. As for me, I captained product development—strategic mastermind, navigating the tricky seas of research and development.

Our vessel neared the harbor, victory within reach. Just one more contract, the golden ticket, and we'd be cruising into smooth waters. Every workstation was occupied, from the administrative crew to customer service, all prepped and primed for action.

"You're practically dancing a jig, boss," Jeri remarked with a wry smile. She shuffled away from my desk, which overflowed with signed contracts like a precarious stack of dominoes. More deals simmered on the negotiation burner. This quaint law firm was about to transform into a legal hurricane—billable hours skyrocketing and bonuses fattening like a hibernating grizzly.

Vacations? More like "staycations" fueled by overtime. This squadron of legal eagles was about to be dive-bombed with paperwork, their court appearances multiplying like an exponential equation. Taking a breather? That idea had as much chance as finding a luxury beach resort on the lunar surface.

I chuckled at Jeri's theatrics and shrugged. "What's a girl gotta do to claim her corner of the universe, right?"

...

I wasted no time after returning home. A direct path led me straight to the Tech Forge. The metallic groan of the storage room door opening echoed in the stillness as I entered. I was gearing up for something big.

High on my agenda was reclaiming the grenade launcher and its ammunition. These were "assets" Kara'd previously entrusted to Scott and Lan, a decision that now felt like a strategic miscalculation. Leaving such high-yield weaponry with unreliable partners was a risk she couldn't tolerate, and retrieval fell onto me, lucky me.

The angel investors were out of the picture; their collaboration was a relic of the past. The grenades she'd supplied, if linked back to us, were a potential liability. Securing their return was paramount.

She didn't want any overt connections with the Black Triangle. I couldn't agree more. Why was that an option in the first place? I don't know. Which meant knowledge of our operations. A death sentence, plain and simple. Associates were either allies… or purged—no middle ground.

Inside the storage room, nothing was left to chance. No random items cluttered the space; every inch of the walls was adorned with various weapons, gleaming under the lights. Sleek, futuristic submachine guns hung alongside more traditional assault rifles, each weapon meticulously maintained and ready for use. Boxes of different colors, filled with ammunition, lined the floor in a utilitarian display.

"What should we take this time, Ava?" I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the organized chaos.

Ava whirred to life, scanning the weapons before zipping toward the wall. It hovered briefly near a selection of submachine guns, seemingly analyzing their specs, before moving on. Finally, it settled on a collection of three submachine guns with extended clips, several ammo boxes, a hefty grenade launcher, a compact single-soldier booster strapped to a harness, and a box of cylinders marked "C4." With a final whir, it deposited the chosen items near my feet before soaring to the top shelf, almost like it was indicating a hierarchy of deadliness for the weapons stored there.

I picked up Ava, setting it alone on a table surrounded by three support stands. Then, I retrieved a glowing crystal from a separate arrangement of tools and components. This was clearly the most time-consuming weapon to develop—a new type of bomb, now resting on the table before me.

"The plasma bomb harnesses energy to split nitrogen molecules," I explained softly to myself, holding Ava in one hand and raising the plasma bomb to examine it. "Generating temperatures that create a superheated beam—scorching energy reaching nearly eight thousand degrees. Retrieval complexities necessitate a self-destruct mechanism. Vital safety measure." For some reason, I said that last part with a smile.

I paused, looking down at the bomb. "It's a pity," I mused. "Due to equipment limitations, it's just a bomb now. By the time it's perfected, it should be a handheld instrument of pure plasma energy. A plasma lightsaber, wouldn't that be something? Ideal for me who can't willy-nilly use my magical energy."

By the time I finished organizing the weapons, it was almost evening. I was about to go have dinner.

...

The sudden "DING, DONG" of my doorbell broke the silence of the evening. Pizza night was here. I opened the door, wallet in hand, and was met by a young delivery boy. His face was a mixture of curiosity and nervousness, no doubt caught off guard by the sight of my appearance. I handed him a generous tip, noticing how his eyes lingered a little longer than usual. With a swift nod, I shut the door with a definitive thud. Tonight was mission night, and pizza was the necessary fuel.

As I settled on the couch, the TV flickered to life. A debate about peaceful coexistence dominated the screen, with an elderly human politician on one side, his face etched with disapproval, arguing against mutant integration. On the other side stood a massive, powerfully built mutant, resembling a gorilla, passionately defending his kind's right to exist freely among humans.

I bit into my pizza, and I nearly choked, "This new place has amazing pizza, this must be Mozzarella di bufala campana! It's a real game changer." Soon my eyes were back on the TV as I enjoyed another slice. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, is this really happening?" I muttered, my voice tinged with wonder.

The human politician stood, accusing the mutants of being a threat to ordinary people. Applause erupted from the audience, signaling the success of his retort. The blue-skinned mutant speaker, disheartened, shook his head, removed his glasses, and walked off the stage in resignation.

I knew this debate had failed, like so many before it. The same bitter pattern. The massacre at Liberty Island, and the disaster at the abandoned docks—these events had poisoned public opinion against mutants. Many who had once supported the idea of peaceful coexistence were now joining the opposition. And now, there were calls for a mutant registry.

The thought of such a registry made my processors run a little cold. On the surface, it seemed harmless—tracking potential threats and capturing mutants without a public outcry. But I knew the truth. Mutants were varied. The ones with subtle abilities and darker intentions were the true dangers. And in a world where fear drove the narrative, every mutant was guilty until proven innocent.

Magneto's rhetoric, filled with promises of mutant supremacy, was like a beacon to those who felt cast aside. They found in him a warped sense of belonging, a promise of power in a world that constantly rejected them. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the balance between the X-Men and the Brotherhood were broken. Without Professor X's calming influence, would things spiral out of control? I scoffed at the TV, the debate's predictability wearing thin.

"Honey, next time," I called out with amusement, "lobby for a more… relatable speaker for the human cause. Beast's presence only amplified the 'otherness' factor." A sly grin tugged at my lips. "Maybe the telepathic redhead next time? She's a real looker, bound to garner more support."

I sighed, stretching out and rising from the couch. "Alright, Ava, time for the mission. Shift into your humanoid configuration, love."

Ava's mechanical whir echoed through the room as it transitioned. The hovering pod dissolved into a cascade of millions of chrome-colored nanites, reassembling into the familiar humanoid figure. The sleek form bore a striking resemblance to Kristanna Loken, its mimetic poly-alloy coating reflecting the light with an almost lifelike quality.

"That final transformation," I mused with a touch of irony, "bears a striking similarity to the T-X's mimetic poly-alloy coating." I could almost hear Ava rolling its metaphorical eyes.

"Let's get down to business," I said.

Ava, now fully humanoid and standing with an air of sass, tilted its head. "Affirmative, Sarah."

With that, I disappeared down the basement stairs, my mind already shifting to the mission ahead, leaving Ava to finalize its own preparations.