I'm in Deep Trouble...

Luke leapt from the rooftop, landing agilely on the ground below. His eyes, as dark as the night, flicked upward, meeting Spider-Woman's masked stare. A devilish smirk ghosted over his lips. Whether she saw it or not was irrelevant - the message was clear.

Luke- Nightling then turned his gaze to the entrance of the NYPD station, contemplating a fresh strategy. As a creature of the night, he felt at home under the cover of darkness, but these meddling officers with their intrusive flashlights were becoming quite the nuisance. Considering that Spider-Woman's movements would be more predictable within the confined space of the station, it seemed more logical to draw her in, rather than leaving himself exposed under the relentless glare of the lights.

A grin so broad it could have split his face formed on his face. The whole situation had a surreal, almost comedic quality to it, an irony that he couldn't overlook. The idea of using the very officers determined to catch him as his living shields struck his funny bone.

Exuding a relaxed arrogance, Luke strolled toward the station; unlike this time, though, Nightling was not here as a peaceful prisoner. The bright beams from the officers' flashlights trailed him, spotlighting his back, making him the unexpected star of this impromptu spectacle.

Just as he crossed the threshold into the station, the dark and whiteish-clad figure of Spider-Woman swung into view. Using her swing's momentum, she lunged at Nightling, her intent to tackle him evident on her masked face.

However, Luke was already one step ahead. Swiftly manipulating the shadows, he moved an unsuspecting officer into his path. The sudden obstruction forced Spider-Woman to alter her course, dodging the officer's desk with lightning-fast reflexes. She twisted in mid-air, landing delicately on the tabletop, avoiding a collision by a hair's breadth.

A chuckle slipped out of Luke, his voice resonating throughout the station. "How unfortunate... I was kind of hoping the desk would take you down. Imagine tomorrow's headlines, 'Spider-Woman Foiled by Office Furniture'," he taunted, casually placing his arm around the neck of the unfortunate officer.

The station was filled with a bizarre mix of chaos and laughter, a scene that would remain etched in their memories. Spider-Woman, for her part, was far from amused.

"Let him go, Nightling!" Gwen retorted sharply, her voice cutting through the escalating pandemonium. The situation was absurd, a farcical clash amidst uniformed officers and scattered paperwork. But Gwen wasn't about to let Nightling turn this into a circus act at her expense. As Spider-Woman, she refused to be upstaged by a shadow-wielding troublemaker.

Meanwhile, the officers in the station had stopped being mere spectators. Guns were drawn, the metallic clicks reverberating throughout the station as they cocked them, their barrels squarely aimed at Nightling. The playful chaos instantly shifted to a deadly standoff.

"Whoa, easy now, officers," Luke drawled, eyeing the circle of firearms leveled at him. His grip on the captured officer tightened, the man's face blanching in fear. "Remember, one tiny squeeze from me, and our friend here will be off dreaming of donuts in the afterlife!"

As Nightling's threats hung in the air, the station doors burst open dramatically. In walked Captain George Stacy, Gwen's father. His stern face was etched with worry, his gun holstered, and his hands raised in a placating manner.

"Hold on, everyone! I thought we had an understanding, Nightling," George implored, his eyes fixed on Nightling. He strode calmly toward the standoff, his palms still raised. "How about we let Matthew go and discuss this like adults?"

Nightling's icy gaze locked onto George's unwavering stare, causing him to frown slightly beneath his mask. The sight of the older man, who bore such a resemblance to Gwen, stirred a strange feeling within him. As he studied George's sturdy frame, he pondered over how his petite daughter could be his offspring. Could her mother be the delicate one? He shrugged the thoughts away, mentally promising himself to look into it later.

"Release him?" Nightling echoed, amusement creeping back into his voice. He chuckled ominously, "Captain, it seems you've misunderstood the situation. This was a friendly scrimmage with Spidey-Girl until your boys barged in, unintentionally aiding her. Did you really think I'd let you all off that easy?"

His laughter reverberated through the room, casting an eerie spell over the tense scene. He tightened his grip on Officer Matthew, who choked out a gasp of fear.

The tension in the room was palpable. Gwen, feeling the pressure, was preparing to take action. But before she could, her ever-brave, ever-foolish father spoke again.

"Why don't you let Matthew go, Nightling, and take me instead?" George proposed, catching everyone by surprise, including Gwen. "As the captain, I could order the officers to stand down. Sound fair?"

Nightling fell silent for a moment, clearly mulling over the offer. Gwen could practically see the gears turning in his head and could almost hear his internal debate. She almost facepalmed. Her father had just offered himself to the villain on a silver platter! But surprisingly, Nightling only chuckled and shook his head.

"Nah, I've grown quite fond of Officer Matthew," Nightling replied, his voice echoing with eerie delight. He squeezed Matthew tighter for emphasis.

The air in the room was thick with tension. Any sudden movement could cost Officer Matthew his life, and Gwen knew she needed to tread lightly. Just as she was about to make a move, all hell broke loose. Her father, ever the man of action, gave a quick nod to one of the officers.

Nightling, or Luke, had run out of luck. As he turned to see what the nod indicated, a bullet aimed at his spine by an officer behind him struck his shoulder blade instead (He doesn't need luck, he has me, Penpool). The force of the impact caused him to howl in pain, releasing Matthew who crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Spider-Woman instantaneously sprung into action, lunging at Nightling, ready to subdue him. But he was faster, retreating into the tiny shadow cast by Matthew's prone body.

He maneuvered through the shadow, extending it into the station's restroom and then into the sewers through a drain in the sink. His shoulder throbbed painfully, disrupting his focus, and he knew that continuing the fight would be disastrous, and as much as running away sucked, escaping was more important right now. Quickly navigating through the main sewer pipe system, he withdrew from the shadows that had facilitated his getaway.

As he grunted in pain, his transformation back into his regular self was swift, albeit somewhat undignified. His shadow suit dissolved, leaving him standing in the dimly lit sewer in basketball shorts and shoes. At least he'd had the foresight to not take of his clothes under his suit today. Otherwise, the situation could have been a lot... draftier.

"Damn it... damn it... DAMN IT!" He shouted, his voice echoing ominously through the tunnel. The pain in his shoulder flared with each shout, reminding him of the reality of the bullet lodged in his body. None of those action movies ever mentioned how painful getting shot really was.

Luke tried to regroup, tried to regain control of his shadows to extract the bullet, but as the shadowy tendrils brushed the wound, a jolt of unbearable pain shot through his body. He crumpled onto the damp, moldy floor, barely catching himself before he faceplanted into something unmentionably gross.

"Well, isn't this a royal crap-show," he grumbled, lying on the grimy floor and staring up at the shadowy ceiling. It was then he realized the true severity of his situation. He was alone, shot, and in the city sewers with a failing control over his powers. "No, seriously... I am in so much crap right now," he muttered to himself.

He couldn't help but let out a chuckle, despite the pain. He was literally and metaphorically in deep crap, and all he could do was lie there and laugh. This was not the glamorous life of a villain he had imagined when he first started.