Marvel: Death Dealer

“Gwen, you’re disgustingly good at this. How come I never knew you were this talented?”

Mary Jane Watson tilted her chin in front of the vanity mirror, turning her face left, then right. The smoky eyeshadow faded into a soft copper, making her green eyes bright and enchanting. She was seated before like royalty waiting to be crowned.

The one tending to her was Gwen, who stood with both hands resting on MJ’s shoulders. “Oh, hush. I’m not that great. Felicia deserves all the credit. I just stole her tricks.”

“Flattery, Stacy? From you?” MJ pressed a hand to her chest with a shocked gasp. “Who are you and what have you done with my emotionally stunted best friend?”

“She died. I ate her. A tragic end to Gwendolyne Stacy’s story.”

“Shit. I’m gonna miss her.”

It had been Dante’s idea, in a roundabout way. After that long, honest talk with him, Gwen had decided to call MJ over the next morning. She’d half-expected to find her friend rattled, maybe even furious, that Harry had thrown her to spend the night in some stranger’s mansion. But no. This was Mary Jane Watson. The girl had partied until she drank herself into blissful oblivion, then simply woke up the next day back in her own apartment as if nothing had happened. Classic MJ.

So instead of damage control, the afternoon had become their hangout time. They had sprawled across the bed with two boxes of pizza and Desperate Housewives playing on the wall-mounted TV. Gwen didn’t get the show as it was just insufferable melodrama, but she happily endured to spend some good time with her oldest friend without any villains ruining her day.

Somewhere between those slices of pizza, something clicked in her.

Life could still be good. It could still be fun. She just had to stop letting her brain chew on itself.

There was no point in overthinking everything.

A new villain pops up? Web them, beat them, dump them behind bars—if that fails, add one more to the Osborn tally. The villain turned out too strong for her? Call upon friends and do a gang beating—if that fails, invite him. She had a whole roster of terrifying people in her friend circle.

All she had to do was stick to the fundamentals of punching the bad people and hugging the good people. Everything else would sort itself out.

MJ leaned back, rubbing the crown of her head against Gwen’s stomach like a cat demanding attention. “You went quiet all of a sudden. Missing Dante?”

“A bit,” Gwen admitted, giving MJ’s shoulders another gentle squeeze. “He flew off to Egypt on a business trip. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“That sucks, but at least your boyfriend exists.” MJ pouted. “Harry shows up once in a blue moon. I can’t even remember the last time we hooked up. A month? More?”

“So says Miss Fuck-a-Lot herself.” Gwen smirked at her in the mirror. “Got any pearls of wisdom for the rest of us mortals? Seriously asking for tips here.”

“He hasn’t done you? How is that possible?”

“We haven’t done much together.” Most of the time it was just her getting emotional support. She almost felt bad for putting him through it. “But I’ll man up and push him down tomorrow.”

“Good. You have the world wide web at your fingertips. Arm yourself with the language of seduction and get him.”

“Ew. Ewww. I’m not Googling that on my phone. Can’t you just say it?”

“Absolutely not.” MJ made an X with her hands. “Go ask Felicia. Something tells me she’s racked up way more field experience than I have.”

Gwen let out an indelicate scoff. “Felicia? Please, MJ. She was a virgin until last week.”

“...Huh.” MJ blinked. “I thought Felicia would be into some nasty cults. You know, those nude party ones?”

“Nude cults? Is that what you're into these days?” Gwen gave a very judging look at the redhead. “Don’t answer. I don’t wanna know.”

“...”

“As for the tips… forget about it. I’ll adapt as I go. Works out eighty percent of the time for me.”

“That’s the Spirit, Gwennie. Exploring the unknown is half the fun anyway~” MJ purred in a disturbingly seductive way, flipping her hair. “And no, I’m not saying that to recruit you into my new band the Mary Janes.”

“A new band? Since when—”

BZZT. BZZT.

Gwen’s phone buzzed against her hip. She fished it out and saw Yuri Watanabe on the screen. “Dad’s cop friend. Can’t ignore it.”

MJ waved a magnanimous hand. “Make it quick. Still have loads of stories for you.”

“Aye aye, Captain MJ.”

Gwen pressed the phone to her ear and slipped out toward the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind her. “Hey, Aunt Yuri.”

“Gwen Stacy.” The voice on the other end felt as dry as a desert. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop with the ‘aunt’ thing? I’m half a year away from twenty-eight. Twenty. Eight. Understood?”

“Aunt Yuri, or Miss Yuri.” Gwen leaned against the railing with a smile. “Pick your poison.”

There was a long, suffering pause on the line. Yuri contemplated like her life depended on it. “...Damn it. Aunt. At least it makes us sound like family.”

“You bet we are, Aunt Yuri. So! How’s your day going, Aunt Yuri?”

“Don’t push it,” Yuri groaned before slipping into her business voice. “And it’s not going great. A case landed in my lap. I’m going to need Ghost Spider on this one. Are you free to meet?”

Ever since Yuri had pieced together Gwen’s second identity, the detective hadn’t shown an ounce of hesitation about calling her in. Dante’s arrival in the city had pried the lid off Pandora’s box and now, it seemed, a new evil crawled out every other day. Mutants, lab experiments freed from their cages, ordinary people warped by extraordinary accidents. And worst of all, the patient ones who had spent years lurking in the dark, waiting for their moment.

“Give me twenty minutes?”

“Perfect. Texting you the address.”

Gwen wrapped up MJ’s madeover in twenty minutes. Still, MJ splayed on the couch, throwing a tantrum like a child at being cut loose so soon. Only a promise to hang out tomorrow, which MJ insisted was legally binding, got MJ to leave with a smile.

Once Gwen had bundled herself into proper winter clothes, she headed downstairs, already dialing Felicia. Miles was standing down in the hallway with an awkward smile as though he was waiting for her.

“Gwen. Uh. Heading out?”

“Yup. Be back by evening.”

Even if the case wrapped early, she figured she would hang out with Felicia and Jean after, or get herself folded into a pretzel by that Russian demon everyone generously called a trainer. The alternative was lying in bed doomscrolling until her eyes fell out.

“Have fun out there.”

The lingering way he slowly turned and headed toward his room worried her. She knew that look intimately—the whole working up the courage but chickening out at the last moment. Except Miles had a different reason.

“Miles,” she called out to him. “Let’s catch a movie this weekend. I’ll drag Dante along too.”

He turned around, showing a bright smile, but the smile went stiff at the mention of Dante. Was it her imagination, or did he get more awkward at Dante’s name?

‘Doesn’t seem like a sign of attraction.’

What really was going on with her newly adopted brother? She knew he had yet to properly recover from his father’s death, but this didn’t seem related to that whatsoever.

‘I’ll figure it out later.’

For now, she had a case waiting for her.

She hit Felicia’s contact for the second time, tucking the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she pushed open the garage door and gave her bike a quick wipe-down. The line rang and rang. Just as she started to worry, a soft beep sounded.

“Sorry, sorry.” Felicia’s voice came through, lazy and playful as usual. “Had to patch up some tears in my suit. He, ah… stretched me a little too far on that rooftop.”

Gwen clicked her tongue. “Freak.”

She had suspected something inappropriate had gone down between Dante and Felicia at the mall. They had made her wait for unnecessarily long. But she’d never, in her wildest imaginings, figured the two of them had gone and done it on someone’s rooftop. In broad daylight, no less.

“Gwennieeee.” Felicia breezed right past the topic without missing a beat. “Or should I say… Gwenyaaaa?”

“Cut that out. You don’t sound cute.”

“Awww. You’re bruising my delicate little heart, you brute.”

“I’ll glue it back together. Meet me…” Gwen pulled the phone away, swiping over to check Yuri’s text. “At Atlantic Warehouse, 320 Van Brunt Street, Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn? What in the world are we doing there?”

“A new case.”

“Yuri—oh. Hold on, hold on. Mom’s here. She looks extra pale today.”

The call went on hold. Gwen plugged in her earphones and walked out of the garage. By the time she had pulled the door shut behind her and settled into the seat, Felicia returned.

“Okay. Bad news. I can’t make it. Mom’s got this brutal headache. Over-the-counter stuff isn’t working. I’m gonna drive her to the hospital,” Felicia said in a serious tone. “Sorry.”

“Go take care of your mom, dummy. I’ve got the case.”

She had only called Felicia for the company since the investigations could get dull. Having a partner on her side made the experience a lot more fun. But that was hardly a reason to drag her friend away from her sick mother.

“…You sure? You should at least call Jean. Don’t go running into it solo.”

“You’re worrying too much. It’s just a case.”

“Nah, screw that guy. He tamed me into a big worrywart kitten. Or should I say mama cat?”

“How can you be a mama cat without kittens? I mean your own kids.”

“But he…” Felicia hesitated. “I’ll tell you face-to-face.”

“Fine.”

Gwen said another bye before hanging up. She cranked her music to full volume and pulled the helmet down over her head. The engine growled beneath her. She eased out onto the road and let the city blur past her, keeping it just shy of the speed limit.

Twenty-odd minutes later, she slowed as Yuri came into view. The young captain leaned against her bike at the near end of the street, clad in a leather jacket. She looked less like a NYPD captain and more like a university student. Strangely, she was alone on a street lined end to end with working warehouses.

Gwen parked behind her and pulled off her helmet. “Where did everybody go? It’s like a post-apocalyptic movie out here.”

“I sent them away. Our perp’s holed up in that warehouse.” Yuri pulled the keys from her own bike and nodded toward the warehouse at the dead end. “No need for an audience.”

Gwen glanced at the building. “Let’s go.”

They entered the warehouse together. The interior was pitch black. The only color came from the handful of shipping containers scattered across the floor. It was ominously quiet.

Gwen let the Anti-Venom suit flow over her, dampening her footsteps.

CLANG! The shutter slammed down behind them, followed by steel doors one after another. Plates slid across the roof with a grinding shriek. Every exit had been cut off.

‘A trap.’

Blinding lights turned off with a loud click.

“Yuri!” She rushed to the captain’s side. “Stick with me—where are you going?”

Yuri kept walking toward the red container as if she couldn’t hear Gwen.

‘Telepathy.’

There was no time to puzzle it out. Gwen fired a web-line and yanked Yuri back into her reach. She murmured an apology and delivered a blow to the back of Yuri’s skill, knocking her out. Gwen swung them both up onto a container and laid her down gently.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Slow and mocking sounds arrived before a black-haired woman walked out from a container. She wore a black-gold suit with a very villainous purple cape.

“Gwen Stacy,” the woman said with a pleasant grin. “Are you ready to die?”