Silent Night, Deadly Night in New York

General (POV)

Then, a flicker from a rooftop across the street sent a jolt through Kara. Her face went ice-cold. A glint from a rooftop a block away. A sniper scope, glinting like an evil eye in the darkness. No time for idle chatter. With a burst of superhuman speed that left Gwen in the dust, Kara rocketed up the side of the building, her form a blur against the night sky.

"Multiple hostiles," Kara growled, scanning the rooftop with narrowed eyes. A streak of moonlight glinted off the polished scope of the 7.62mm Dragunov Sniper Rifle trained on Spider-Gwen below, in the sniper's hand. The rest of the gunmen were clad in bulky, military-grade body armor, contrasting to Gwen's sleek suit. Their sidearms, hefty MP-443 Grachs, spoke volumes about their intentions. "Not amateurs," she muttered.

As she analyzed the situation, Kara didn't hesitate. Telekinesis activated, she rocketed up the building, closing in on the threat. There was no way these clowns with their heavy rifles and fancy pistols were hurting 'her' web-slinger.

"Sniping position secured. Preparing for first capture attempt," a clipped voice spoke into a hidden earpiece. The sniper, a cold-eyed man with a heavy sniper rifle, kept his sights trained on Gwen's midsection. The remaining five gunmen spread out across the rooftop.

"Roger that. The ground team is en route. Eyes on target," came the terse reply through the sniper's earpiece. He rubbed his thumb against the wooden grip of his weapon, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Understood," he replied, muttering to himself, "This should be easy money."

Meanwhile, Gwen finished tying up the thugs and pulled out her phone to send a quick message to her family. As she typed, she felt a prickle of unease, a primal instinct screaming at her. The city lights blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope around her. Spider-sense tingling.

With a swift, fluid motion Gwen backflipped, rolling through the air and landing with a crouch on a window ledge in a nearby building. Her eyes darted around, searching for the source of the unseen threat.

The sniper, unflinching, tracked her every move, the crosshairs of his scope a deadly red circle fixed on Gwen's body.

"Commence operation," the order crackled through the sniper's earpiece. He squeezed the trigger, a single, well-placed shot echoing off the surrounding buildings.

Bang!

The world tilted for the sniper in a sudden, horrifying way. A yellow blur slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball, sending the rifle clattering across the rooftop. This wasn't part of the plan.

Kara wasted no time. Regaining her balance with inhuman agility, she dodged a hail of bullets from the gunmen's pistols, stopping others mid-air with her telekinesis as gunfire echoed around her. A flying side kick connected with the sniper's head with a loud crack. As the sniper fell to the ground, dead, his last sight was the girl's blond hair and the rapidly approaching leather boot.

After neutralizing the first threat in an instant, Kara surged forward, moving so fast she weaved effortlessly between the hail of bullets. The gunmen, firing wildly, seemed to be shooting at ghosts. Panic began to set in – this woman defied gravity, moved like a phantom, and their bullets seemed to have no effect. Curses and frantic calls for backup filled the air, but their radios were dead. Unbeknownst to them, the red electrical currents crackling faintly around Kara's body had already fried their electronic devices as she approached.

The rest was a deadly tango between several men and one girl, who flew like a butterfly and stung like a bee. She closed the distance on one gunman, her fist connecting with his jaw with another audible crack that nearly ripped his head from his shoulders, his jaw completely fractured. He sank to the ground, a gaping hole where his mouth used to be, unconscious for now. Another lunge, another devastating blow – a broken spine, a twisted neck at an unhealthy angle.

"Hmm? Something's off..." Gwen muttered, her voice barely a whisper. Still, on high alert, she scanned the rooftops and alleys, her senses strained to the limit. The intense, prickling danger that had warned her just moments ago had vanished, leaving an unsettling calm in its wake. It was too quiet.

Climbing to a higher vantage point on a nearby fire escape, Gwen cast her gaze across the scene. Everything seemed strangely peaceful, almost mocking the unease clawing at her throat. Then, a glint of metal caught her eye - a single bullet embedded in the rooftop wall across the alley. A reminder of the unseen threat that had inexplicably vanished.

On the rooftop, Kara finished her brutal dance lesson. This final gunman had been tougher than the rest, using a silenced weapon to make his last stand. But Kara was faster, deadlier. She didn't even bother using telekinesis or dodging his final shot; instead, her magic-infused hand shot out, metal groaning as she crushed the pistol barrel in her grip. Ignoring the man's strangled gasps, she ended his life with a swift, practiced movement.

Releasing her hand, she revealed a mangled bullet embedded in her palm. A fleeting sting, a minor inconvenience in exchange for efficiency. The man died with a look of utter confusion on his face, never understanding why his best shot hadn't even pierced her leather fingerless glove.

"More are coming," Kara muttered her voice a low growl laced with a dark premonition. The night was far from over. She knelt beside the first gunman she'd taken down, a professional by his gear. Navi's quick scan of his tactical equipment revealed a hidden comm unit. Data flooded her vision as she accessed it, confirming her suspicions: no names, no records, just a team of five highly skilled mercs, ghosts with a talent for disappearing. Too convenient.

Kara swiftly downloaded the audio before discarding the comm unit. Rising to her feet, her face a mask of disgust, she picked up the butt of the sniper rifle and slammed it into an unconscious man's face with such force that she accidentally crushed the poor man's head.

"Oops," Kara muttered, looking down at her boot. "Ew, gross! Now I have to walk around with boots covered in brain matter. Disgusting!" Looking at her handiwork, she couldn't help but say, "Reminds me of the Others in HoTD—their heads popped like a balloon with a well-placed punch!"

After trying to kick the grime from her boots, she suddenly remembered something. "I totally forgot about that nifty little spell," she said, directing her index finger at her boots and chanting the incantation, "Scourgify."

"Wow, who said that Harry Potter spells and charms were useless?" Kara exclaimed, looking at her now pristine boots. As she sank into thought, the fact that she forgot everything surrounding Daphne Greengrass or being at Hogwarts still bothered her. But then she suddenly spat, "More are coming. What am I doing here spacing out? Dealing with these thugs is tiresome," the frustration evident in her voice.

Scooping up a pistol and spare ammo from the dead gunmen, Kara launched herself off the rooftop with a burst of superhuman speed. The brutal fight on the rooftop, a mystery to the world below.

Back at her perch in the park, Kara sank down on the worn wooden bench, her blue eyes fixed on the approaching dawn. Waiting.

...

Kara (POV)

Dawn painted the city in hues of orange as it lurched back to life. Fancy stores unfurled their metal shutters, and window displays boasted impossibly skinny mannequins draped in clothes that wouldn't survive a sneeze. I needed new clothes; I wasn't about to walk the streets of New York wearing only a spirit dress—what if I had a wardrobe malfunction?!

I slipped into a small, nearly forgotten boutique wedged between towering retail giants. Inside, the racks were bursting with colors so vivid they nearly blinded me. "This is so embarrassing; I don't remember the last time I went shopping. If only Titania were here." Out of desperation, I grabbed a random dress—a delicate piece at first glance—and quickly ducked into the cramped changing room.

The store clerks initially eyed me with suspicion, but I ignored them; money should do the talking. After all, can't an underage girl shop alone in New York?

Dressed for my new life, I surveyed my reflection in a full-length mirror. Black jacket, white T-shirt, and denim shorts that showed off my legs for miles. New underwear, of course. My Kryptonian one-size-fits-all was comfy as hell, but a girl can't get by with only one set of underwear and a bra. Black lace, it was.

Standing in front of the mirror, my neatly combed blond hair falling to my neck, I looked sharp and fresh. Combined with my flawless, delicate face, my appearance was stunning.

As I looked at my reflection, a slight pang of complexity arose. It would take time to get used to my new assets. While my face was the same as Illya's, having a C-cup compared to Illya's flat chest was a change I'd have to adjust to. Why, I wondered, didn't I look like the actress who played Kara Zor-El? Instead, I resembled those Power Girl images I'd come across online in some previous life.

Looking down at what would someday be prominent chests, I couldn't help thinking how cumbersome they'd be one day. Blending in would be tough. Right on cue, a nearby shop assistant, a young woman with hair the color of a highlighter, stole a glance, her gaze lingering a second too long.

"Damn, girl, your skin is flawless. What's your secret?" the clerk gushed, watching me admire myself in the mirror.

I blinked, the alien concept of face cream washing over me. "Sleep? Ever heard of it?" I replied a hint of amusement in my voice. Perfect skin wasn't exactly on my checklist. Training, getting stronger, and dealing with baddies—that was the priority.

"Am I slowly forgetting how to just be a teenage girl? Maybe I should go back to school and relax in this universe; it's a long time before things go south, anyway." I had a lightbulb moment but quickly dismissed it. "Nah, taking it easier? Maybe just a little, but that's the limit!"

The clerk's face fell slightly as she caught the amusement in my eyes. Maybe my attempt at small talk had backfired. Her enthusiastic smile faltered for a moment before returning, a touch more hesitant this time.

Having finished my purchases, I walked out of the small boutique, feeling the sun's rays on my skin. I muttered, "Certainly feels great after being 13 years under our Kryptonian sun, but it's impossible to tell if I'm getting any stronger. I'll need Titania for that. I don't even know if the radiation of this yellow sun is the same as in my universe. Either way, I should at least expect the development of my abilities to happen like with Kal-El, if not slower, given the amount of different energies I possess."

"Now I need a place to stay," I muttered, deciding on my next step. I found one sooner than expected—by midday, a brownstone in Brooklyn caught my eye. A "For Rent" sign, worn and a bit faded, hung outside a three-story brick building. The brownstone's red brick stood out, with neat flower boxes filled with bright blooms, adding a touch of color to the street's quiet tones. It looked inviting, a comfortable spot within the urban maze.

After a brief negotiation with the landlord—a gruff man sporting a handlebar mustache that would impress any biker and an unexpected love for opera, a quirk that struck me as illogical—I secured the place and set about purging the clutter. The interior was modest yet inviting, featuring hardwood floors and high ceilings that created an unnecessary sense of spaciousness.

On the first floor, the cozy living room was ideal for strategizing future missions, though the floral-patterned wallpaper might prove to be a distraction. The kitchen, filled with mismatched appliances that exuded a chaotic charm, provided an oddly comforting atmosphere. A tiny powder room, cleverly tucked beneath the stairs, served a practical purpose.

Upstairs, the second floor housed two bedrooms, each featuring large windows that overlooked the street—potential lookout points, I noted with interest. The basement, cool and damp, contained the laundry room along with ample storage space, perfect for future contingencies.

It was a quaint space, filled with signs of a life once lived and had a subtle warmth to it. "The Extension Charm would do wonders here," I thought, while the worn furniture, with a faint scent of lavender potpourri, needed to be replaced ASAP.