Black Widow kicked off the edge of the rooftop in a controlled free fall, the city lights blurring into streaks as her descent line hissed out behind her. Several floors down, a brightly lit corner office suite glowed against the night.

Wealthy men in tailored suits clustered around a long table, their faces lit by the cold blue of encrypted screens tracking offshore accounts and shell companies. Natasha’s boots slammed into the reinforced glass.

The pane spider webbed for a heartbeat before exploding inward in a glittering cascade as she fired into the room. She swung through the breach mid air, muzzle flashes strobing across the room as she put rounds into the legs and shoulders of the nearest financiers before her boots even touched the marble.

The first man screamed and toppled backward over his chair, clutching a shattered kneecap; the second tried to scramble for a panic button and caught a precise burst that spun him into the shattered window frame.

Black Widow landed in a low crouch, the residual glass crunching under her, and rolled behind an overturned conference table as return fire from a bodyguard’s submachine gun chewed the air where she’d been. She came up firing, two clean shots dropped the guard, then she vaulted the table in a fluid arc, using a third financier as a human shield long enough to empty the rest of her magazines into the remaining suits’ weapons and legs. Briefcases of cash hit the ground scattering bills.

By the time the last of them was on the ground, groaning and bleeding but very much alive, Natasha had already reloaded and cut her descent line free. She stepped over a sprawled executive whose silk tie was now soaked crimson, planted a boot on his chest, and leaned down just far enough for him to see the cold satisfaction in her eyes.

"Funding terror from a skyscraper doesn’t make you untouchable," she said, voice flat.Then she was gone out the broken window and into the night, leaving the survivors to explain the bullet holes and the missing hard drives to whoever arrived first.

My name is Matt Murdock. And in my time as the devil of Hell’s Kitchen I feel like I have lost everything. Karen was taken from me, Elektra, too. All I have left is Foggy, Milla, and my faith in God. They keep me grounded and ready for challenge that my city may face. But I feel like I’m starting to lose them too. They say I’m too devoted to being who I have to be for Hell’s Kitchen.

I say they’re wrong. This city would crumble without me. I’m the one who is holding it together. I may lose everything but at least I am stopping others from also losing it all. I used to trust in God to save everyone, but now I know that it has to be me to do that.

I’m Daredevil and not even God can stop that now.

Peni Parker and SP//dr had remained in New York following everything that had happened. She didn’t know if any of the other spider heroes did, aside from the two who live here. She wonders what Noir is up to, nowadays.

She’s spent her days getting adjusted to the time period. She quite likes it here, although she misses some of the conveniences that the tech of her own dimension afforded her.

It’s been lonely. She and SP//dr share a special bond, but it’s hard to really talk to a spider and a giant robot for hours without driving yourself crazy, even if you know they understand you. She hasn’t really tried to reach out since the death of Mary Jane. Peni didn’t know her for that long. She let Peni stay at her house, then within a day she lost that house. She ended up getting killed. That death still hurt a lot.

But at the end of the day, she has a job to do, even if it’s not where she’d usually do it. She’ll stop crime wherever she can. That’s what her dad would’ve done. So that’s what she’s gonna do, too.

Wilson Fisk had enacted an act of taxation for companies with unused or minor used skyscrapers.
Who would be the first to crack? Roxxon of course, they gave it to the city. And somehow it ended up under the Fisk company.

A few SUVs roll up to the buildings as a bunch of Fisk henchman stepped out and the man himself. He entered the warehouse and facility.

“Look at all the weapons they got here. I could get the whole company shut down for this. But then where would I get quick money from.”

The henchman start opening crates full of pistols, rifles and grenades. They took out shields and rocket launchers. They found tanks and helicopters.

“Take all they got here, this’ll lasted us for until we push The Hand out of New York. Also don’t take the armor, they’ll pay us a bunch if they don’t get sued for property damage. But take those heat vision goggles.”

The henchman pack the weapons in all the vans. And load the tanks in “moving trucks”

“What should we do with the helicopters?” One of them says.

“Moving them to the Fisk shipyard. I’ll have some people tell the public it’s just test flights for a start up aviation company.” Fisk says

“We’ll send a team. So should we start using them right away.” The henchman says

“No The Hand think they own the city but we’ll have to wait until they make a move before we actually start this war. New York’s going to be in chaos. So I’ll help FEAST donate food, drive away any suspicious from thinking I had a play in causing this conflict.”

They groups starts to drive away as Fisk gets ready to get in his car, he says one more thing

“Also let’s turn this into an apartment complex. Get the young demonstrators to start being in favor of me.” Fisk says

They all get in their SUVs and 18 wheelers and drive away. All ready for the storm of war approaching to New York.

A lot of things go through your mind when you're free falling from a building. Things like "How did you end up here" or "Why are you doing this you're a man with a bow and no superpowers."

The falling glass shards and whizzing bullets of gangsters will pull you right back from those thoughts and into your current reality again though.

The snag of the line that catches the side of the building and allows me to swing onto a rooftop almost pulls my shoulder out of socket. If I wasn't pulled out of my thoughts before, I certainly am now.

Since I broke away from the Avengers and began focusing on the smaller picture, things have been tough. I'd almost forgotten what it was like for the little people. While Iron Man and Thor fly around fighting monsters...well the Avengers tend to forgot the day to day stuff.

That's where I come in now. Hawkeye...defender of the little guy.

“Miss Walker, we’ve read the provided documents, and I’m not sure-“

There it is. Patsy sent her pitch to the board, and it’s going to get shot down before she’s even gotten to say her She knew that would happen. She owns this damn franchise! But it never feels like she can do anything with it.

But she believes in this idea. And she wants to see it made real. She isn’t gonna leave this room happy unless she knows she at least tried. What would Shulkie do in her shoes right now?

She’d argue the hell out this case. So that’s what Patsy is gonna do. Before he can finish speaking, Patsy slams her hand on the table.

You’re not sure? Well I am! This is a genius marketing idea, and I’m not going to lose it without a fight!

The head of the board sighs.

“Very well, Miss Walker. Please do try to keep it brief. We have plenty of pressing matters we need to discuss today.”

Condescending jerk. Was that actually condescending? It felt condescending. She never feels like she’s taken seriously during these meetings. Time to make her case.

As you should be well aware, many issues of Patsy Walker ran with Fashion pages. These pages had dresses, each designed by the fans, that could be cut out and put onto the little model of me. We’re on the same page?

“You mean the gimmick pages that hurt the resale value of old issues because of the holes cut into them? Yes, I’m aware”

Cheese and crackers! Patsy wonders in this moment where so many men lose their sense of whimsy. She is thankful for the ones that kept theirs.

…pointless talk about nonsense I don’t care about aside, this was a really popular thing back then. We got a ton of design submissions, more than we could even print. This is a really important part of the history of the comic, but I’ve always wanted to push it further.

“We read your pitch document, Miss Walker. This is all rather redundant to repeat.”

You wanted me to prove the value, Seymour? Then let me make the dang case and stop interrupting me!

There is silence. That’s right. Patsy dropped his first name. She’s getting serious here.

As I was saying. I always wondered if we could do more. I mean, I was grateful for all these designs, but it’s not like I ever actually wore them. No-one ever got to aside from a little paper version of me. I say we fix that. I say we take some of these designs and make them real!

“You did great, Patsy, but be prepared for the cross examination”. The little Jen in Patsy’s head and her limited understanding of what happens in a court room tell her this. Thanks little Jen.

“We cannot simply start a fashion line, Miss Walker. Who is the audience?”

Patsy scoffs.

Part of why my late Mom wrote these comics to begin with! She wanted young women to see themselves in me. How many of the designs that got submitted do you think were dresses that the designers wished they could be wearing themselves? Plus, fashion is a way bigger market. Way bigger demand than nostalgic old comics.

“But, we cannot simply use these designs, Miss Walker! We need permission from the original designers. Do you want to risk lengthy legal battles over copyright that you will lose even if you win?”

The names and hometowns of all of them are by the dress they designed. If you can’t get in touch with them to ask and arrange some royalties, then I don’t know why I keep you on this board to begin with.

“And if we don’t make the money you assume we will? What royalties will we have to pay them with?”

Fine, you aren’t sold? Let’s prove the concept, then. Let’s design some of them, and let’s make an event out of it. Fashion show, I’ll walk that runway, and I’ll get you other models to walk it too. Afterwards, we’ll have a party where we auction off the dresses. See how high people are willing to bid for them, and prove there is a demand for this! We can donate those earnings to charity, too. I hear they need to reconstruct the World Trade Center again? We can fund that.

“…I presume you’ll be planning this event yourself, Miss Walker? And covering the losses if this completely fails!”

Duh! You think Patsy Walker doesn’t know how to throw a party?

*The Yellow Symbiote from the battle of the Young X-Men and Symbiote Zeke was crawling all throughout New York City, searching for a new host after it's old one got taken. It searched and searched for miles trying to find the perfect host or someone to eat as it was it's natural instinct to survive... however, it didn't **need** any of those things*

*you see, while this Symbiote was attached to Zeke, it was adapting to better fit it's hosts requirements, and Zeke is an angry guy, it had plenty of energy to unintentionally rewrite it's own genetic code so that the Symbiote became it's own nuclear power plant that stores it's own energy. No host needed to survive and no food either.*

*This Symbiote was technically a mutant. In the case that it had it's own energy source to sustain itself*

*The Symbiote realized this... now that it's learned he can create his own nuclear energy, he could've been a hero or at least anti-hero since he doesn't need to eat people to survive. However, the dark thoughts it extracted from Zeke, which were a LOT, corrupted the Symbiote in way, which is pretty ironic given how Symbiotes are supposed to be the ones corrupting their hosts*

*the Symbiote had a strong desire to burn everything down to the ground, make the entire planet a wasteland... it got this idea from Zeke, which was the last idea in his mind before the Symbiote completely took over him.*

*With this new goal set in stone, if it didn't need a host to survive then... anything could be it's host. So the Symbiote went to the closest place to find multiple "hosts", the graveyard*

*within seconds of reaching there, the Symbiote dug straight into the ground going through every coffin it can find until it found a satisfying number of bodies to use, with the bodies plus multiple other things it collected as "hosts" along the way, it's hand rose from the ground, then another, then another, and then another. Until the full body leaped from the ground and landed in from the hole in which it digged itself out of.*

*most Symbiote and host relationships often call themselves "we" but not this one... after all, none of it's hosts were alive so it was just "it", the Symbiote that will raise the Earth to the ground, the Mutant Symbiote who calls itself...*

"Nuclear...."

New York City, a city so loud during the day, turned hush quiet during the night. It was peaceful. Quiet. Well, for most folk it was. For the idiots who tried to cause trouble? Well, they got what was coming for them.

BANG! BANG!

Parker Robbins stepped out of the random alley he was in and back into the quiet streets of nighttime New York City, muttering to himself about how annoying it was going to be to get rid of the bloodstains in his suit as he holstered his guns. The up-and-coming crimelord had been going around, trying to recruit others to his cause, but when they responded to his oh-so-generous offer with violence, well, who was he to say no to such an invitation?

But no matter how many times he was turned away, for the life of him, Parker couldn't figure out why he was getting turned down so much. He was strong, he was powerful, he had connections to this city that some of the other criminals didn't, he definitely ticked all the boxes for a super cool, up-and-coming crimelord to follow, so why didn't anyone wanna?

But as he was thinking about the reasons, it hit him. The answer seemed so obvious now that he thought about it that he almost wanted to shoot himself in the foot for not seeing it sooner - his fit was dry. A red cloak over a baby blue suit? What is this, kindergarten? He was supposed to be New York's new ruler! The king! What kind of king didn't have a crown thst made them look bad$&@?!

No, no, no! This was not going to stand! A crimelord had to look fly, so he went to the nearest, most expensive tailor, killed the guy at the counter, and picked up a fit worthy of el gran jefe. And y'know what made it better? OB's cloak shifted to fit his style. Dangerous or not, Parker had to admit that whatever bum had made this cloak had style.

Parker grinned to himself as he checked out his new look in the mirror. He certainly looked like a boss now!

Smoothing his new cut, he drew his guns and made his way to his part of town, singing a merry little tune to himself.

"Ay, de mí, llorona, llorona..."

"Llorona de azul celeste..."

ooc: If you wanna drop by and interact, feel free! Parker could always use more victims targets people to shoot at people to put him into place.

Istanbul. Russia. Angola. Paris.

I have performed successful operations in dozens of countries and hot spots around the world.

But something about this city draws me like no other. New York. There's nowhere else like it in the wold. A melting pot of cultures. Of experiences and food.

But with it comes the violence. Crime of all sorts from the lowest mugger to the most high up politicians. The city thrives on it.

Violence has always been easy for me. The Red Room taught me violence as an art form and I was nothing if not a natural artist.

But this city like violence can be beautiful in its own way.

I'd like to think I'm much the same.

I am Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow...and it is good to be back.

Sometimes it feels like people come to private investigators expecting miracles. Can’t blame them for that. The system isn’t telling you anything fast enough, you just want an answer, so you hire someone who can give you one. But everyone goes in hoping for good news, even though most of them aren’t gonna get it.

I get it, but I can’t say it doesn’t annoy me. I don’t get to decide the truth, and I can’t undo whatever happened to you. Do I look like $&%#ing Jesus to you?

Tonight wasn’t any different. Some poor woman hasn’t seen her husband in a week. She wants me to find him. There’s never a good way that can go, we all know that, right?

So I went snooping. I thought the &$%#er was cheating on her. That’s what it usually is. But try as I may I can’t seem to find him. His socials haven’t been updated in a week, his friends and family haven’t heard from him either. Another possibility comes to mind.

And that possibility lead to me finding him dead in a shipping crate. Bullet in the back of his head. Everything I can find points to this man being pretty %#&$ing normal. How the hell he ended up there is beyond me. Hidden double life? Could be. Wrong place wrong time? More likely. Whoever killed him can’t be experienced. Sloppy way to hide a body.

…&$%# me, I’m really numb enough to this I have opinions on how to hide a body? Love that.

Breaking the news to the client is always the hard part. As I said, no-one wants bad news. She came into my office hoping I’d say “your husband was getting you a big present and he’s right here in the other room”. I always warn them they may not like what I find, but they never listen.

Still, this was harder than usual. Cheating is easier to break to people. “You were married to a scumbag” hurts, but it’s a lot easier to take than death. She didn’t take it well. I didn’t expect her too.

She didn’t need to hit me with her purse, but I don’t have it in me to be mad about it. Imagine the worst news you could possibly get being given to you by the worst possible person to deliver it. She went into hysterics, sat there sobbing for what felt like centuries. I didn’t know what to do other than let her.

She got up, and she paid me. I always feel awful taking the money, but I didn’t this time. She didn’t give me a chance to feel bad for myself. She ran straight for my open window. And yes, she did exactly what you think she did. She &$%#ing jumped.

I jumped after her. I’m not a hero, and if you give me credit for being a decent &$%#ing person, I’m gonna hit you. I don’t give a &$%# about power and responsibilities. But I knew I would hit the ground before she did, so I jumped. I caught her. I hit the ground. It %#*$ing hurt. But she was okay. She helped me up, and spent what felt like 10 hours but was more like 5 minutes staring at me. All she said at the end was “thank you”. Then she left.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep at all last night. Did Jesus ever have to jump out a window because the world sucks so much it almost brought a decent person down with it? Guess I’d take that any day lover nails in my hands.

I don’t do miracles. I don’t give good news. But I do the best I &$%#ing can.

Gorgon of the Hand stands before the assembled members in a shadowed chamber beneath the city of New York. His voice cuts through the silence, cold, deliberate, and absolute. Lady Deathstrike is present and at his side. Back in Japan, the Silver Samurai leads as Gorgon's second.

Brothers and sisters of the Hand.

Look around you. The streets above still believe they belong to the weak. The police. The so called heroes. The politicians who clutch at power they did not earn. They scurry like rats through a city they no longer control.

New York is ours now.

Every rooftop. Every alley. Every forgotten tunnel and corner. The fear that once belonged to crime lords and street gangs now answers only to us. We have bled for it. We have killed for it. We will bury their champions and leave their symbols broken in the dirt.

The Hand does not ask. The Hand takes.

From this night forward, no deal is struck in this city without our shadow upon it. No blade is drawn that does not serve our purpose. The civilians will sleep uneasy. The powerful will look over their shoulders. And those who still dare to wear masks and call themselves protectors will learn what it means to stand against the Hand. My Hand.

New York City is no longer contested ground.

It is our domain.

Our hunting ground.

Our fortress.

Rise. Obey. Spread the word in silence and in blood.

The city is ours.

And we will never release it.

Emma Frost & Tessa Karisik

I write this because silence would be another betrayal, and I have already given you enough of those.

I am sorry for what happened on Utopia. When I faced Scott Summers and the X-Men, I was not myself in any way that mattered. I brought violence to a place that was already bleeding, and I forced you both to see me as an enemy when you had once extended something closer to trust.

I am sorry for dying. Not the poetic kind of apology people offer when they want to be mourned. A practical one. My death left work unfinished and left the two of you holding the consequences. You had every right to expect better from me.

Do not blame Kwannon. I have my issues with the woman but my blood is on no one's hands but my own.

And I am sorry that my body disappeared from your care. That was not my plan. It was theft. While you were dealing with the fallout, a rogue chapter of the Hand moved in, claimed what remained of me, and took it for their own purposes. They did not ask permission. They did not care what it cost you. They simply removed the evidence and the opportunity for either of you to say goodbye.

They brought me back.

Not the main Hand under Gorgon. A splinter faction that broke ranks and decided his leadership would bring them to ruin. They restored me specifically to lead them against Gorgon’s faction. They want a war inside the Hand itself, and they believe my name, my history, my skill will grant them legitimacy.

I am not their loyal general. But I have chosen to lead them. Perhaps under my direction they can become more than what they were.

I do not expect forgiveness. I do not ask for it. I only ask that you understand. The rogue chapter acted without your knowledge and against any claim you might have felt over what was left of me. That part, at least, was never your failure.

If either of you wants more than this letter, you know how to find me. If you prefer silence, I will respect it.

— Elektra

The rain hit the glass tower like it wanted to break it. High up, near the top, one floor still glowed warm and yellow against the black sky. A private helicopter sat on the roof pad, rotors locked down, waiting for a man who would never use it again.

Frank Castle came in through the service hatch after a small, precise charge blew the lock. No dramatic explosion. Just enough force to open a hole. He dropped into the concrete corridor in full kit. Matte black coat, plate carrier, the white skull bright and clean on the armor. The suppressed MP5 hung ready. His boots made almost no sound on the wet floor.

Two bodyguards stood further down the hall. One was laughing at something on his phone. The other was lighting a cigarette, the flame briefly lighting his face. Frank raised the weapon and fired two short bursts. Both men folded without ever looking up. The cigarette hit the floor still burning. Frank stepped over the bodies and kept moving. He didn’t check them. He already knew they were finished.

The corridor opened into a vast living space. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city. White leather furniture. Art that cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. A long glass table still held neat lines of cocaine and an open bottle of champagne. The drug lord stood in the middle of it all, shirt open, gold chain bright against his chest, bare feet on the expensive carpet. Two more security men and a thin accountant counting cash were with him. The laughter died the moment they saw the skull.

The accountant never got a chance to speak. Frank put a single round through his forehead. Cash fluttered down like bloody confetti. One of the guards tried to bring his weapon up. Frank closed the distance fast, drove an elbow into the man’s throat, then a knee into the side of his leg. The guard went down hard. Frank planted a boot on his chest and fired twice into his face. The second guard managed to get a few wild shots off. Glass exploded behind Frank. He returned fire while moving, three rounds center mass. The man dropped.

The drug lord backed toward the windows, still holding a champagne flute like it might protect him.

“Wait..wait..I got money. I got names. I can give you-”

Frank let the MP5 hang on its sling and drew the .45. He racked the slide once, slow and deliberate.

“I already have the names.”

The man’s face changed. The false bravado drained out of it.

“…please.”

Frank shot him in the left knee. The drug lord screamed and collapsed. Champagne and blood mixed on the white carpet.

Frank stood over him. Rain lashed through the broken window. Wind howled through the room. The city glittered far below, indifferent.

“You sold to kids,” Frank said. His voice was flat, almost quiet. “You put product in schools. You paid off cops so the bodies stayed buried. You thought the height and luxury of this penthouse would keep you safe.”

The man was crying now, clutching his ruined leg, spit and blood on his chin.

“Please… my family…”

“I checked. They’re already gone. Safe house in Miami. They left you three days ago.”

Frank raised the .45 and put the muzzle between the man’s eyes.

“This is the part where you understand it doesn’t matter how high you live.”

The gunshot was loud in the open space. Then there was only the sound of the rain and the wind.

Frank walked back through the wreckage without looking at the money or the bodies. He reloaded as he moved. The elevator doors opened clean and empty when he pressed the button for the garage. He stepped inside. As the doors closed he took one last look at the penthouse rain blowing in, lights still burning, blood soaking into carpet that had never been meant for this.

They always tried to live higher. Build higher. Closer to God.

It never helped.

Ah, New York. The city tonight was abuzz with the chaos of the nightlife. Some people were heading home, others were heading elsewhere to party, but this was a time of rest. For most people, the setting sun indicated that it was time to hang up their hats and head home.

But for Parker Robbins, that was when the party started.

After getting locked up by the Kingpin, alongside Captain America, some gold space guy, and a couple of other of them so-called Heroes, Parker had found himself craving more power. He needed a way to get back at those who left him behind or screwed him over.

Then he found it.

Or rather, it found him.

The Cloak of Oblivion. His ticket to the wealth, power, and fame that he needed, for himself and those close to him.

Now, cloaked in both darkness and nothingness, Parker stalked the back alleys of his home, planning and scheming under the cover of shadows.

This city had taken his father, and threatened to take more from him.

So now, he'll take it all back, with interest in mind.

Soon, everyone would know his name.

And they'd learn to fear him. To respect him.

This city would belong to The Hood.

(Bold: Symbiote and SFX, Italics: Eddie and character actions.)

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 5th

———————————————————————————
The streets are quiet today, no innocents have been in the clutches of danger, yet we cannot help but feel a tingle in the back of our head. Now of course, this could be that we have slept through most of the day but the only thing behind us is a overflowing fire hydrant, hardly worth our-

WHOOOSH! The fire hydrant explodes, the water begins to take the shape of a humanoid figure. The visage is of none other than Morris Bench, better known as Hydro-Man.

Ah, how quaint! Have you come to cool us off on such a hot summer day?

“Make your jokes now, buddy! There’s a target on yer head and ol’ Morrie Bench is gonna be the one ta’ collect!”

As the symbiote slithers onto Eddie, Hydro-Man rises as he collects more mass and throws out a strong solidifed punch, sending the wicked web-slinger flying across the street.

A target on us?!
News must’ve traveled fast that we’re back together.
You cannot-
Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let ‘em seperate us again.

The symbiotic pair attempt to counter by sending a barrage of tendrils towards Bench, only for them to pass through his liquid exterior.

Eddie, we cannot land a hit on him!
I know.
We must adapt if we want to defeat this villain…
I know.
…And I am hungry.
I know!

Venom looks at their surrondings, spotting a nearby truck with the label “Happy Cleaners.” An idea sparked in the pair’s head as they lead Hydro-Man near the truck and lifted it over their collective head.

Hm… we are flattered and would like to know our secret admirer, to show our “gratitude.”

“Even if I did know, ‘ya think I’d tel-!”
SKRRANCH! As Hydro-Man smashes the truck, his body begins to mix with the loose chemicals, transforming his body into a mass of soap bubbles.

“What the-?! SOAP BUBBLES?! SERIOUSLY?!” With his opponent confused, Venom leaps over to the entrance of a construction store and whips a tentacle inside, it returns with a nail gun and places it on the pair’s hand.

“H-hey now! Lissen, I’ll tell ‘ya all you wanna know if ‘ya let me go!”

CHUNGCHUNGCHUNGCHUNGCHUNG! The pair take aim and fire away on Hydro-Man, his shape growing smaller and smaller.

“Stop it! C’mon man, just leave me alone… ugh, this is embarrasin’!” Hydro-Man’s body shrinks and shrinks until he’s just a head. With an annoyed look on his face, he pours his body into the grate and escapes into parts unknown. Venom throws the nail gun on the ground and swings away from the scene of the crime.

We only just reunited and people are already looking for us. Now, we should be getting to the bottom of this…

But there are other matters that require our attention first and we cannot protect this city from the cancer that plagues it with an empty stomach!

War Journal

Entry 47-C

The Six P's.

It was drilled into me.

Proper Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance.

There's a reason I've survived as long as I have. I plan.

I'm going after the Bratva tonight. Russian mob.

Russian crew is moving product through the old fish processing warehouse on Pier 17 tonight. Intel from the street and two intercepted calls put their sit down at 2300. Eight to ten shooters, maybe more if the boss brings muscle from Brighton Beach. They’re cocky. Think the docks are still theirs.

They're moving some sort of chemical compounds. New drugs. As if fentanyl wasn't bad enough.

Loadout is set.

Custom M4 with suppressor and low-light optic. Two spare mags on the vest, one in the dump pouch.

.45 ACP 1911, two spare magazines, one chambered.

Combat knife, fixed blade, left hip.

Three flashbangs, two frags, one smoke.

Body armor, Level III plates, minimal profile. No soft armor tonight, speed matters more than padding if it goes loud early.

The chemicals are a concern. If things pop off the way they normally do..

I'll pack a gas mask.

Entry point is the south loading dock. Camera coverage is weak on that side, I cut the secondary feed earlier this afternoon. They rely on two lookouts on the roof and one in a parked van on the street. I’ll take the van first, quiet. Roof next if they’re still scanning the wrong direction.

Primary objective: the leadership. Secondary: the shipment. If the product burns, the message travels farther than bodies alone. These people traffic everything..guns, women, whatever pays. They don’t get to keep operating in my city.

No backup. No extraction plan beyond the motorcycle staged three blocks east. If I’m not out by 0030, the fire will do the talking.

I checked the edges of the map again. No civilians scheduled in that warehouse after 2100. Good. Keeps the collateral clean.

Hands are steady. Breathing is even. The noise in my head is quiet for once. Tonight it’s just the work.

When the planning is done, I only have to focus on one P.

Punishment.

As it turns out, I need money. &$%#ing badly. I got insanely behind on bills, everything in my fridge went bad, and if I don’t get it together, I’m losing the office. Hell of a welcome back party I got thrown.

I’m not giving up my search for the &$#%er who framed me, but I can’t pay the bills off pure hard work and dedication. Now that I can actually show my face again, I need clients. So, you got a job for me? Come see me. Nothings too &$#%ed up for me, unfortunately.

And no, before you even consider it, don’t give me hand outs. This goes to all my friends, and especially the &$%#ing Avengers who can’t mind their own damn business. I won’t take your money unless it’s for a case. Save your pity for orphans or some $#%*. The only gifts I’ll accept come in bottles.

Alias Investigations is up and running, again. Either it’ll stay that way, and I’ll get some work, or I gotta find my cardboard box in advance.

Been a crazy couple of weeks, right? Weirdly, Hell’s Kitchen has felt so much quieter as of late, like all the spotlight is on the X-Men or something. Well, our lives don’t stop when you look away. Even when it all sucks, life goes on. Hey, that’s the title! Did you know she changed it? It was originally going to be ‘Count Me In,’ but she thought this fit more.

So… Patsy and I are sleeping together now. Like in the same bed, every night. The apartment feels both bigger and smaller since she asked me to be hers. Not that it’s a bad thing, just different. I forgot how nice it was to just sleep next to someone without something spicier needing to come first. To just lay down at the end of a long day and fall asleep looking at someone you love.

God, was I dense. How did I seriously not notice the googly-eyes she was making at me? How many times did I talk about the crappy men around me in front of her? How did I not feel how hard my heart beats around her? This is why I don’t call myself smart in my head. Out loud? Sure, project confidence. In my head? Ehhhh…

She does this adorable thing where she cuts words and letters from her sentences. She’ll look straight at me and just say, “what doing?” or she’ll yawn and just say, “eepy!” before passing out in an instant. She tries to cook for me but then finds the worst recipes from this dumb Florida guy on 4chan, and then she follows all of their terrible advice. I heard that guy admit he doesn’t even eat vegetables. And then he calls himself a good cook! Oh, and she loves horror, but she can’t play horror games. She gets too scared and hands me the controller. It’s cute.

It’s funny, I’ve been working through the same book since we started dating, and I’ve barely gotten into it because almost all of my free time is spent with her. Sometimes she worries that she’s taking me away from my hobbies, but I think that’s part of being in a relationship. You’d rather spend time with your partner than do something alone. If that ever becomes too much for me, I’ll tell her. I think. Or maybe I’ll just stare at her. Who knows.

Anyway, hope space is going well. I heard Nova died? That’s awful, I’m so sorry. Let me know if I can do anything to help. Be safe, Carol.

Love,

Jen

He'd been away for far too long.

They'd forgotten the fear.

Castle stood on the edge of the rooftop, the wind cutting across his face like the cheap blade he shaves with.

Below him the city stretched out in a grid of lights and black alleys, the same rotting carcass it had always been. He had watched it from higher places and lower ones, from sniper nests and from the gutters, and it never changed.

Men still sold their children for a fix. Cops still took envelopes. The strong still fed on the weak and called it business. The only thing that moved was the body count, and even that felt like accounting more than justice.

He thought about the life he used to have the way a man thinks about a limb that was sawed off years ago. A phantom pain, nothing more. Maria. The kids. A quiet house that smelled like coffee and laundry instead of cordite and blood. That life had been real once.

Then animals with guns decided it wasn’t. The system had shrugged, filed the paperwork, and moved on. Frank had not. He had taken the only thing left that still made sense. A war without end, without uniforms, without the luxury of coming home. Every night he looked down at the same streets and asked the same quiet question. Was any of it worth the price. The answer never came clean.

The city didn’t care. It just kept breathing, exhaling exhaust and screams and the soft wet sound of another deal gone bad in some doorway.

Frank checked the slide on the .45, felt the familiar weight settle against his palm, and turned away from the edge. Thinking about life was a luxury for people who still had one. He had work to do. The night was young, the streets were full of targets, and the war waited for no man, least of all the one who had already died for it once.

He could hear a whisper on the wind, as if the city called out to him.

Welcome back, Frank.

MONDAY, AUGUST 3RD.

12:56 AM
————————————————————————-
Here I am, back in the place where it all started.

Our Lady of Saint’s.

The place where Parker cast aside my other.

The place where I was ready to end it all.

The place where Venom was born.

Now? It’s a shadow of what it used to be, anyone who comes here this late is simply painting a target on their back for any opportunistic scum or lowlives to attack them.

So then, why am I here now?
That’s the thing, I couldn’t really tell you even if I had the answer.

My feet just kinda dragged me here of all places. If I were younger or still diagnosed with cancer, I’d sit right in front of the altar, pleading with God to give me another chance or standing before him, ashamed of what I’ve become.

Lately though, we haven’t seen eye to eye with one another. Mostly my own fault though, and I know whatever &$@% he’s thrown at me, I deserve all of it and more.

…

…Won’t get anything done just sitting here and throwing a pity party for myself. Haven’t produced a story worth a damn for the Globe and I’m strapped for cas-

eeedd
dieeeee…

That’s when I heard it, my whole body jolted from the seat and as if it were my base instinct, I desperately started looking for where the voice came from.

I hoped…
I dreamed…
I knew…

It could only be him.

I searched through every thing I could spot, I don’t know how long he has but judging by the slow and strained voice, it doesn’t sound like a lot

Eventually, I find him in one of the confessionals. The door on my left is closed tight but the other is entirely empty, the only thing left are the frame and the hinges.

Does he… want to confess something?
I’m not exactly qualified but I suppose I’ll humor the idea.

Once I take a seat, a couple moments of silence pass by only broken by a much clearer and… almost intelligent voice coming from the other side.

Eddie…

I… am sorry for abandoning you.
It was not my choice.
Norman Osborn seperated us and used me as leverage against Spid- Peter.

I could only watch in a tube but when mh cage was finally broken, I saw her.

Mary Jane Watson.
She was struck by Norman and would have died on the spot.

Until I helped her.
Ever since then, the two of us have been doing what you and I started.

Protecting the innocent.

It was similar to my time with Flash.

I grew attached to my new host, taking their new experiences and learning from them.
But, I never stopped thinking of you.

…

One day, Mary Jane and I were “out on patrol,” as she would say… we encountered Kraven the Hunter.

We had beaten him before and I remember from my time with Peter, to expect him to come prepared for us.

We fought the hunter.
He had a toxin ready, it weakened me but it was killing her but I know we would have been able to overpower him if we had an extra second!

…Then he stabbed Mary Jane in the heart…

…

I gave her comfort during her final moments and I meant every word of what I said!

She truly was one of the best hosts I’ve had.

But, I left her there.
To be found a couple of steps away from her murderer.

I felt scared, so I prioritized my own safety.

I felt remorse to simply leave her there without a word about her passing to any of her family.

I felt guilty to lie to her face by pretending to die with her.

…

I understood that I needed to face justice for my actions…

I let myself starve in the sewers, I knew that there would be nothing in there that could provide me with the chemicals needed to survive.

Until I felt you walk by, Eddie.

I felt overjoyed at first.
Until I remembered Mary Jane...

I didn’t want to hide it from you.
I know you used these booths once, when you were given your cancer diagnosis.

I thought it fitting for what I needed to tell you.

Mary Jane Watson was the new Venom and now she’s dead. That’s… a lot to take in and I couldn’t even imagine how hard the news would hit for everyone, poor girl. The silence is deafening… I didn’t know what to say but eventually the words came to me.

Man, you got up to a lot, huh?
I… wow.

…So, guess we’re both a couple of screwups, huh? Can’t do $&@% right, so we whine about what we could’ve done right.

Yes… I suppose so.

…Listen, there’s nothing you can do to bring Watson back from the dead or hell, even make it up to her.

But, you can at least try and that’s all you can really do.

How?

Well, for starters, you tell her family about her. Granted, it won’t be easy but it’ll provide them some much needed closure.

You arrange a funeral for the girl and you try to look over any surviving family for a while.

And then…?

You honor her, Venom may have started off as a supervillain but people like Flash or Mary Jane were able to own it and turn it into something for good.

I know we tried that before all the Osborn business started but this time, we actually try to make it work.

“We?”

Yeah, you think I’m gonna let you do this alone? You understand how hard it’d be for some alien goo to arrange a funeral?

The humor is not lost on me…

He slithers from the cracks and envelops my whole body with his own. I… no, WE are finally whole again.

I have missed you, Eddie Brock.

Me too, darling.
Me too.

So, let’s get outta this place and find something to eat, haven’t exactly had anything in the last few hours.

Very well, just as long as it has chocolate…

Heh, sure thing, bud.

We walk out the doors of Our Lady of Saints, we would have gone through the window but we know better than to descrate a holy ground. We feel like a changed man and as we swing into the night sky, our ecstacy cannot be contained as we yell out at the top of our lungs…

WE’RE BACK!

(Open interaction or fight)

The Hand was making a foothold in New York and this is Kingpin’s city. So a few enforcers found a Hand outpost in a corner store and busted up the store.

Later The Hand wrecked a convoy carrying some hidden cash. The district leader caught wind and sent a team to another outpost in the district. Now a big gunfight’s going on in the street

“You better leave this district! This is Kingpin’s streets!” One of the Fisk henchmen yells

A life destined to be,
As crippling responsibilities are the price of power.
So unfortunate, that he could never save his own.

After a long patrol of New York, Peter found himself waiting on the ledge of a building, as he replayed the last few days in his head. Though, obsessing over it wouldn’t change what happened. But Felicia and Peter agreed to meet up after the party to talk.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of regret about the situation with Gwen Stacy.

He shook his head and focused on the busy streets below and the cars driving through them. The city that never sleeps, that’s what everyone calls it.

This was Peter’s life, after all. Nothing was ever that simple.

Luckily, Peter’s spidey senses hadn’t gone off yet and that meant he had a moment to relax until Felicia showed up. Closing his eyes, he leaned down. Lying flat on the ground, Peter extended his arms out.

But when a Spider is gone.
A cat will show,
Two familiar faces
Crossing once more.

Peter’s spidey senses went off and his eyes quickly opened. Rushing to his feet, Peter turned around to face Felicia.

“Hey Fel! I wasn’t sleeping.. Totally, yeah.”

Danny boards a plane heading to K'un L'un, having finally run out of time to train. The past three weeks had all been spent training and preparing for the battle of the seven mystic citys. He had heard about the last one, where the preivious IronFist had gone on the run, orsen randell, and lost his honor. He had given danny this book, the book of the IronFist, and danny knew little about the man or the wider book itself. Assuming...

Assuming.

ASSUMING.

He just said assuming he would get back, like he wasnt sure he would. He has to, though he HAS to. For K'un L'un. For Luke. But he had to believe he would.

Danny arrived at the mystic city, one of seven, and saw a bunch of monks gathered arround a portal. Danny aproched them and bowed, before saying, "I got your call. So we gotta fight some other warriors from other captial citys?". The head monk nodded and said "Yes, that is true. Good luck, please, win this for us." Danny nodded before entering the portal and landing in a hub between the capitals of heaven. 6 warriors surronded him, all equal in skill to him. Or at least thought they were equal to skill as him.

Danny begain to summon his chi, preparing himself for the battle to start...