The girl loves ballet, the violent kind

Kara (POV)

Kara continued speeding towards New York, careful to avoid the main roads to keep her incredible pace under wraps. "Phew, I finally made it." Now within the city limits, she slowed to a normal walking pace, heading towards the heart of New York. The city was quiet in the late night; however, faint traffic sounds lingered in the air, occasionally punctuated by the shrill of sirens. Despite the late hour, the many lit windows indicated there were plenty of night owls around.

"Money," she murmured. "I need to get some funds. Should I get a job?" Looking down at herself, she thought, "Forget that. I'm somewhere between 145 and 150 centimeters—who am I going to fool?" She immediately dismissed the thought.

"I could use my Virtual Substance to materialize gold or diamonds, maybe, then use my henge to sell them. But... what about certificates? Would anyone even buy without them? Nah, gold bars and diamonds are too hot. Jewelry's safer. I just need a good story—an inheritance from a grandmother or something—and hit a pawnshop."

Considering her options, she settled for something safer and, frankly, more convenient: hacking. With that plan in mind, she hacked into a major bank, created a fake account, and then had Navi scour the internet for notorious villains of the era—Norman Osborn, Aldrich Killian, the Kingpin, to name a few—"borrowing" a little from each of their wealthy accounts. The entire process was effortless for her. "Should I thank the laughably weak cybersecurity of this era, or just praise her little super AI, Navi?" crossed her mind. 

Only a faint sting from her barely-there conscience made itself felt.

All she had to do now was wait until morning. Settling onto a fire escape overlooking the deserted street, Kara leaned against the cold metal. "New York, huh? How long ago was it that I was in New York? Huh, I don't think I've been to the Big Apple in over a century. Yeah, it was when I was stuck in that hellhole, Terror Infinity." A smile appeared on her face. "I'm happy I got out of there together with her. I wonder how she's doing, by the way."

Looking at the silhouettes of the high-rise buildings in the distance, illuminated by the bright moon, she muttered, "No, that can't be right. I've been here before with Daphne—Daphne Greenpass. Wait, what was it? Why can't I remember? Daphne Greengrass, I remember getting her a mobile phone that did not exist in 1996, with a bunch of funny videos."

"Time travel shenanigans? And why can't I remember anything else?" Kara's musings were shattered by a flicker of movement across the rooftops catching her eye. A shadowy figure clad in light-sucking material darted between the parapets like a spider monkey on caffeine. "Huh," Kara muttered, her eyes tracking the figure with ease.

They zoomed in, taking in every detail with creepy precision. The figure wore a skin-tight white and black bodysuit with hints of pink and cyan. A hood hid its face, except for a hint of a young jawline. A memory flickered in her brain: news archives about weirdos who fight crime at night. A name popped up—Ghost-Spider. Intrigued, Kara decided to follow, trailing behind at a relaxed pace.

...

General (POV)

Gwen Stacy, a popular blonde with a bright future, chilled with friends at a trendy cafe across from Oscorp Tower. Sunlight bounced off the chrome tables, and the aroma of coffee mingled with Manhattan's exhaust. As she left, a freakishly large spider bit her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

Days later, Gwen noticed some weird stuff—really weird stuff. Sounds were cranked up to eleven: traffic was a constant assault, and conversations across the street felt like eavesdropping. Her tiny room, once a cozy haven, now felt claustrophobic. Even the gym became a breeze. Weights she used to struggle with felt like toys, and she could practically fly on the pull-up bar.

Initially, Gwen was overwhelmed with anxiety about her sudden abilities. She was just starting high school, and the stress led her to struggle academically, even causing friction with her once-harmonious family.

One day, she happened upon her police officer father during a chase, pursuing a murderer. The criminal, spotting Gwen, charged at her, intending to use her as a hostage.

Gwen froze, paralyzed, while her dad, like a total badass, tackled the perp, completely disregarding the knife the man held. There was a sickening sound as other cops swarmed in and cuffed the guy—but not before he got a nasty stab into Gwen's dad's gut.

She knew she could have stopped this, yet she stood there and did nothing...

Snapping out of it, Gwen called for an ambulance and held her dad, freaking out. The knife sticking out of him wasn't helping his mood. As she tried to stop the bleeding—blood staining everything—a realization hit her like a ton of bricks: she could have done something. Her new freaky powers could have stopped this. But fear had frozen her solid.

By then, Gwen had a shaky grasp on her powers. At least she wasn't breaking doorknobs anymore—small victories. But the fear gnawed at her. What if people found out? Would they think she was a freak? Like those mutants... was she now a mutant too? No way. Silence became her secret weapon.

Eventually, her father recovered and returned to work, though with lingering side effects that hindered his duties. Despite his colleagues' urging, he returned to the force without hesitation. Her stubborn father wanted back on the streets, catching bad guys. Gwen didn't get it.

On his first day at the hospital, Gwen stayed by his side. Gazing at his tired face, she couldn't help but ask him, "Dad, why do you keep being a cop? You could have a safer job…"

His large, calloused hand ruffled her hair. "Because, Gwen, some things are worth fighting to protect."

His words had an immediate impact on her. Watching him sleep, she felt something settle in her mind.

After that, she conquered her inner turmoil. She made up for her lost grades, and in her free time, donned a homemade suit, masked her face, and began supporting her father's work from the shadows. She, too, had found something worth protecting.

—Returning to the present—

Tonight, at dinner, Gwen had overheard her father—now the deputy commissioner of the NYPD—mention that an escaped convict was spotted nearby. Slamming her fork down, she decided to handle the situation herself. Time to suit up and, afterward, take her suit in for cleaning.

She vanished out her window, the fire escape protesting under her weight as she climbed to the roof. A cool breeze ruffled her hair as she donned her mask.

She had painstakingly crafted this suit herself, even taking a sewing elective at school for it. The final result? A work of art that hugged her like a second skin, accentuating her already curvy figure—in her modest opinion. Running her hand along her side, she confirmed everything was snug. "Work of art," she purred. To a casual observer, it might have seemed she was referring to herself rather than the suit, before she broke out in a sprint, jumping agilely from rooftop to rooftop. "I should have called myself Cat Girl or something," Gwen smirked, honing in on her destination.

Now perched on a nearby rooftop edge, she observed a group of gang members gathered in an alley below. A quick scan confirmed their identities and the heat—pistols stuffed in their pants.

"Showtime," Gwen murmured.

With a silent leap, she launched herself off the building, the wind whistling past her mask as she plummeted towards the alley below.

"Guess this is how Ezio must have felt. Amazing!" she mused as she flipped through the air, landing agilely like a cat—one even Catwoman would envy—right on the biggest guy's shoulders. A lightning-fast poke to the temple, perfectly controlled, and the gangbanger was out for the count.

"Who's there? Get that bitch!" one of the men shouted, unleashing a string of expletives.

"Just some manners training, fellas," Gwen purred, her voice distorted by the mask, smooth as silk. The gang members closed in on her from all sides, but their attempts were futile. Outclassed in both skill and strength, none managed even to touch her suit.

As Gwen subdued the remaining thugs, Kara observed from a nearby building, clearly entertained.

From a shadowy perch across the street, another figure watched with sharp eyes. Kara, silent and calculating, absorbed the scene. Wow, Gwen's suit is stunning. The way it hugs her curves… such a divine figure! She's still got a bit of growing to do, but I wouldn't mind getting a closer look, Kara thought, elegantly crossing her legs as she sat on a bench, her thumb and forefinger resting on her chin.

A grin, that only Kara knew the meaning of, split her face as the fight unfolded. Ahem. Right, her fighting techniques... Damn, that's hot. However, seconds later, Kara lost track of what she was doing and had to remind herself again. Damnit, focus, Kara. Stop with your lecherous thoughts, she chastised herself, forcing her Ninja and Terror Infinity advanced combat training to the forefront. Analyze her moves. A bit sloppy, still learning the ropes.

While Gwen's fighting style was indeed a bit sloppy and overly showy, her sheer power and agility more than compensated. But that was exactly what Gwen was going for—she had no formal combat training, after all.

Gwen weaved through the gang members with a mix of throws, kicks, and punches, easily overpowering them. This Spider-Gwen was a spectacle, a whirlwind of impressive agility. Like a ballerina in a street fight, Kara thought, a hint of amusement battling the condescension in her eyes. Flashy and unorthodox compared to Kara's own efficiency, but undeniably effective on simple thugs.

The girl's strength and speed were undeniable, enough to topple a building. Judo throws combined with bone-crushing kicks—she got results, that much was clear.

I feel like I crashed a performance without paying for a ticket, Kara smiled.

"No web-shooters, interesting," Kara muttered, her enhanced vision scanning Gwen. A key missing element for a true Spider-person. An upgrade for later, perhaps? The gears were already turning in her head. She pondered, wondering if she could make one herself. Just as a means to hide her abilities.

By the time Kara finished daydreaming—God knows about what—the fight was over. Gwen, all smiles and sass, hogtied the unconscious goons with a rope she snagged from their own van. Not exactly the brightest bulbs, these guys, Kara thought with a smirk.

"Whew, you guys were just a warm-up," Gwen chirped, arranging the tussed-up thugs in a display that resembled a human bouquet. "Taking down a few small-time crooks is still pretty easy," she mused, seemingly oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows.