Spidey Investigating II

Nearly a month of analyzing—and nothing to show for it. That was SHIELD's current predicament. 

Spider-Man's blood was impossible to decipher. Utterly impossible. The scientists at the New York Headquarters of SHIELD were flabbergasted. The radiation, the erosion, the blood didn't make a lick of sense.

At the top of the SHIELD building disguised as a normal office company was a helicopter designated for the transfer. The helicopter sat ready on the helipad, its rotors lazily turning in the warm afternoon sun. Inside, Captain Samantha Wilson, known to the world as Captain America, was seated across from Phil Coulson. 

Coulson, ever the professional, was briefing her on the importance of the container. "Even if we stay and find someone that can decipher the DNA, the issue of volume arrives. There isn't much. His blood is very acidic and reactive. Too much exposure to the air and it disappears. We only have about thirty milliliters with us."

"And the Helicarrier has the deceased Victor Von Doom's Blood Duplicator." Samantha's eyes were set in determination. The container was directly beside her, tucked and enveloped by her left arm. "We'll get it to the Helicarrier safely. We have to."

The helicopter launched. The early morning light glinted off the sleek, black helicopter as it sliced through the sky. Captain America's shield to the right and the container to the left.

"Camouflage mode activated," came the sultry voice of the female pilot. For a moment, the entire helicopter vibrated. The captain and Coulson tensed, then relaxed as the vibration faded and the camouflage was successful. 

The pair were silent. Occasionally, Coulson glanced over to her. "Just want to say…huge fan."

Samantha smiled and nodded. "I appreciate the praise, agent."

Coulson seemed to struggle with his words. He wanted to say something to her. Bring out a vintage set of Captain America trading cards or something. Unfortunately, he never got the chance as the helicopter's pilot emerged from the cockpit. The pilot was a striking woman with white hair pulled back in a tight bun. Wearing a sleek, navy blue jumpsuit that hugged her athletic frame, the uniform seemed to accentuate her curves in a way that made it hard to believe it was anything other than custom-tailored.

The jumpsuit's fabric was a high-tech blend, designed to withstand the rigors of flight and combat. It bore the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on the shoulder, a proud eagle encircled by a shield

"Autopilot has been engaged," the female pilot said. "Due to camouflage mode, our speed has been reduced by ten percent. Estimated arrival time is one hour."

"Got it," Samantha said, nodding curtly like a soldier. "Thank you for your service."

The female pilot saluted her, but didn't immediately leave. She stood there, staring at Captain America with a small smile. It was hard not to notice her gaze. Her tight, regulation bun did nothing to diminish her beauty; rather, it highlighted the sharp lines of her high cheekbones and the striking clarity of her ice-green eyes.

 "I just wanted to say, you were my hero growing up. It is very surreal to have you onboard."

Samantha smiled warmly. "Thank you, pilot. You name."

"Francesca," the pilot said, extending her hand. "Francesa Featherbottom."

"Featherbottom?" Phil Coulson repeated, eyes narrowed.

"Please don't be so judgemental," Captain America chided.

"That's not—"

"Thank you, Francesca." The captain locked hands with the pilot, still seated. "I'm glad to see someone like you here."

Francesca' smile widened, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "Thank you." She glanced at Coulson, then back at Samantha. "Ah, right, but onto the important stuff. Do you mind if I double-check the contents of those capsules? Standard protocol, ma'am."

Coulson bristled. This woman was unfathomably casual. 

Samantha simply smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course. However, Coulson possesses the keys."

"Haha, I see. Thank you. I didn't want to get my arm ripped off or anything."

Samantha's smile fell. "I've…never done that."

"Didn't you?" The pilot tilted her head. "My bad, I was always more interested in gymnastics than history."

"I…see."

Carefully and with a tinge of awkwardness, the captain handed the reinforced container to the pilot who turned and expected him to hand over the key. Coulson pursed his lips and looked up at the woman.

She really was pretty…

"No."

"No?"

Coulson's response caught even Samantha by surprise. Realizing that the highly decorated agent and right hand of Director Peggy Carter, she too began eyeing the female pilot and the container she had taken.

"Hm. You're more observant than I thought." The pilot's voice was angelic. Coulson found himself momentarily distracted.

Until a small metallic device clattered to the floor, instantly releasing a thick cloud of smoke.

Coulson coughed and stumbled back, eyes wide in surprise. "What the—?" 

"Thank you for the key!" 

In one fell swoop, the key was stolen from the breast pocket of Coulson's suit. Captain America sprung into action despite the smoke. 

Francesca was faster, lunging at Samantha with a speed that took even Captain America by surprise. Samantha blocked the initial strike, her super soldier senses granting her great command even in smoke. 

In the confined space of the helicopter, the two women exchanged rapid blows. Samantha managed to land a solid punch to Francesca's midsection, but the white-haired pilot seemed…off. For a moment, it felt like she had slipped in and out of their fight. 

She glanced at Coulson, his shadowy figure in the smoke unmoving. No, wait…dazed? 

"Coulson?" 

A groan came as a response. 

She heard a laugh. That was when it hit the seasoned veteran. 'His Level 8 Clearance Card! She took it!'

Samantha's reflexes kicked in immediately. She reached for her shield which had been laid on the seat, but her opponent moved with greater speed and agility than before. The seasoned Captain America was caught off guard. 

Block, block, block! 

Counter! Counter, punch, punch, punch! 

But she wouldn't lose yet. It was the captain's turf now. At least it would have been if any of her counters and punches landed. The pilot's agility was extraordinary, evading Samantha's strikes with ease.

The smoke was gone at this point. Coulson, who had nearly been knocked unconscious, pulled himself up and lunged at her. As if having eyes in the back of her hand, Francesca leaped to the side.

"Stop her!" Coulson shouted, but Francesca back-flipped. The captain could feel the whip of air from her speed. Again, it was extraordinary. In two flips, she was at the sliding doors.

The thief wrenched the door open, the roar of the wind filling the cabin. Samantha sprinted, but it was too late—the pilot was already gone.

Samantha rushed to the door, scanning the world below her. Nothing. "Where did she…?" She looked to her left and went wide-eyed. In the distance, she could see Francesca gliding gracefully with the help of a sleek, high-tech black wingsuit. Samantha slammed a fist to the side.

"She got us…!"

…

…

…

The thief landed gracefully on the rooftop of a nearby building, the container clutched tightly in her hands. "Container, check." From her breast pocket, she pulled out Phil Coulson's SHIELD ID Card. "Key, check."

With a slide of the card, the container opened and revealed five blood-filled capsules. "Level Eight Clearance...they really should up security if a harmless gal like me can take it."

She bent forward and took the first capsule. "The blood of the new Spider-Man…I really could sell this for the highest bidder." Standing up straight, she opened the capsules, her eyes gleaming. She brought it close to her face, then—

"Oh well."

Flipped it over, pouring the contents onto the rooftop. She picked up the second capsule, opened it up, and tilted it over too. Then the third, then the fourth, and finally...

"There's not a lot, hm? SHIELD really must not be as good as they say."

The blood shimmered. From the pocket of her pants, she pulled a match. With a quick strike and drop of the match, she set it ablaze.

The flames roared to life, consuming the blood in an instant. The white-haired woman watched, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. As the last of the blood burned away, she put a hand on her hip. 

"Looks like the Spider owes the Black Cat now~"

***

Felix's breath came in controlled, steady bursts as he completed his sit-ups in the training chamber. Sweat glistened on his forehead and bare torso, his muscles rippling with each repetition. The relentless rhythm of his workout was a testament to his dedication and the perfection he sought in his abilities.

"Phoo…one-thousand-three-hundred-thirty-three…one-thousand-three-hundred-thirty-four…"

He went up to two thousand sit-ups in 3Gs of gravity. Before this, he did one-thousand push-ups, two hundred burpees, a hundred one-finger handstand push-ups, and an hour-long plank. That last one really killed his core. The entire session was probably the hardest thing he had ever done, second only to his fight against Mr. Negative and his fourth year Organismal Physiology final exam.

After the final, excruciating sit-up, Felix lay back on the mat, panting. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting his heartbeat slow down.

"Deactivating 3Gs." His body was suddenly lightweight. "Here you go, Dr. Faeth." 

Felix hadn't issued the command, it was his robot Herbie, who had arrived to offer him a towel. With a smile, he took it and wiped the sweat from his face. "Thank you."

He flipped to his feet and rolled his shoulders. Wearing a black tank top and gray shorts, he made his way to the Fantastic Computer stationed outside the camber. Felix dropped into his comfy chair and saw a notification on the big monitor.

"A phone text from Maria, huh? It must be a report."

Since everything was connected to Herbie, everything could be reported back to the Fantastic Computer.

Felix frowned. 

The messages were…disappointing. Pretty much everything she said was what Herbie had told him the day he met her. The fact that she wrote the expose on his potential crimes and misuse of power in the Middle East. His association with terrorists and the report that stated that his bombs had killed up to thirty-thousand children in Afghanistan. All of that blew up because of Christine Everhart.

Maria figured she was doing another expose of that scale. 

> Maria Hill: Perhaps it was Osborn that helped her write that article in the first place

> Maria Hill: A hit-piece on Stark to bolster himself 

He sighed. "Yeah, no shit." 

What Maria investigated and took days to do took Herbie and Felix seconds.

Felix sighed again, leaning back in his chair. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Christine Everhart was a skilled journalist and a master of staying out of the spotlight when it suited her. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating his next move.

"Luckily for me…" He grinned. "I have something new that can freshen up everything."

Within minutes, he was suited up, the familiar mask settling over his face. 

It was Spider-Man time.

Tonight's mission was clear: find Elektra. 

His first destination was a nightclub known as Heaven's Arena. Spider-Man was perched on the edge of the rooftop, legs spread, elbows on his thighs and arms hanging down. He was about to move.

Pitter-patter.

'It's raining…' 

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

In a matter of minutes, the city was swarmed in the downpour. The droplets fell down his suit, giving him a dark, glossy appearance. His body could regulate his temperature. So could his suit. The bitter cold of the rain did not affect him in the slightest.

But perhaps it did impede on his investigation…

'Not a problem.'

He smirked under his mask and uttered, "Detective Mode—activate."

Detective Mode, his most ambitious upgrade for his suit. An interactive tool in his lenses that provided an unprecedented level of insight. Upon his words, the world around him transformed into a high-contrast overlay. The skeletons of every human within range glowed with an eerie luminescence, their status and weaponry highlighted in varying colors. Unarmed enemies were blue, those with firearms orange, while knives, bottles, pipes, and body armor appeared in yellow. The civilians that were running to safety on the streets were distinct in their white glow. The same was said for those standing amongst the crowds and individuals in the nightclub. However, there were a rare few that were in yellow outline rather than totally white. It was a subtle indication for Felix that their status wasn't completely confirmed; that they weren't on the NYPD, public records, Oscorp, or Stark Industries.

'Combining X-ray vision and AI enhancement imagery, I can do facial recognition from a distance. This really is amazing.' 

He wanted to grin and laugh. But for now, he had a mission.

The layout of his surroundings was rendered in a cool blue, though he could switch to track chemical substances if needed. This mode also allowed him to peer through layers of the human body, scanning skin, muscles, and skeletal systems with ease.

The last feature? Long-distance audio capture by hijacking phones, cameras, and such. The Fantastic Computer chose the most optimal way to zoom in on any conversation. For the next ten minutes, Felix listened—and found nothing.

"Onto the next then."

The night air rushed past him, cool and invigorating. He made his way from one nightclub to the next, each stop revealing fragments of the city's underworld. Conversations, gestures, and criminal identities were laid bare before him, Detective Mode making every detail pop with clarity.

"Make note of that drug dealer," the web-swinger told Herbie. "He told some incriminating information. Tip off Officer Grimm with it."

With Detective Mode, he felt like a god.

By three o'clock, he landed atop the roof of the building paralleling Blood Rose, a notorious nightclub nestled in Hell's Kitchen. The establishment was a hotbed of illicit activity, and Spider-Man knew it was the perfect place to gather intel. The actual rooftop of Blood Rose was filled with gun-wielding crooks. Spider-Man, perched on the parallel building, was up much higher and peered down at the scene below. Detective Mode activated, the club's interior came alive with glowing outlines and highlighted threats.

He focused on the entrances and exits first, noting the bouncers and their weaponry. Conversations drifted up to him, snippets of dialogue from the hijacked phones. Inside, the patrons were a mixture of colors, some blue, others orange, and a few scattered yellows.

One conversation caught his attention. Two men in a steel-enclosed room at the back, their skeletons tinged orange. Their phones were with them and thus they were susceptible to eavesdropping by Detective Mode. 

"Elektra's been laying low since the last job. Word is, she's waiting for things to cool down," one of them said. 

'Elektra! Finally, an affiliation!' His head leaned forward. 'Okay, okay, calm down, just…listen.' 

"She's smart. Knows how to stay out of sight. But I heard she's got a new gig lined up. Something big," replied the other, his tone conspiratorial.

Spider-Man's heart quickened. This was the lead he needed. He zoomed in, focusing on the details of their conversation. 

"A new gig. Is it him again?" asked the first crook.

"Yep. Crossbones."