The laptop screen glowed in the dark hotel room, the only light besides the muted lamp in the corner. Ethan sat hunched forward, headphones resting loosely around his neck, eyes fixed on the shifting trail of signals. The trackers Ricochet had planted earlier were still pinging. Although Peter wasn't aware that Ethan had hacked into his network, Ethan needed to have another way to track him and Delilah. One was on Roughhouse's boot. Another had been slipped onto a truck before the chaos. Their movement painted a jagged line through the Lower East Side.
Ethan exhaled slowly, forcing his tired mind to keep up. He had been running on fumes since last night, but his attention sharpened whenever the name Bloodscream appeared on his mental board. That guy was dangerous, more dangerous than Delilah seemed willing to admit.
A phone buzzed beside him. Ethan answered.
Felicia's voice purred on the other end, low and sardonic. "Well, Spider and his new girlfriend are in deep trouble."
Ethan smiled faintly. "You know that's not his girlfriend, he had MJ and you. You're on them already?"
"Whatever, anyway, of course I am. I don't get spotted unless I want to." There was the faint sound of wind rushing as she moved across rooftops. "They're being chased—sixteen guns, one muscle-bound freak, and what looks like a corpse that didn't stay buried. How long do you think they'll last?"
"They should be fine, the girl's strong and Peter is experienced," Ethan said calmly.
From her perch two stories up, Felicia watched the chase unfold. Ricochet and Delilah darted through a narrow street, gunfire peppering the brick walls behind them. Roughhouse barreled in pursuit like a freight train breaking through any wall in his way, while Bloodscream glided over the pavement, pale and silent, his eyes glowing faintly.
Felicia kept her distance, tailing them without effort. Her body moved like a cat's shadow across the rooftops, claws biting into brick for grip. She had tailed Spider-Man enough times to know his rhythm—and even under the Ricochet disguise, his rhythm wasn't so different. The fast-talking crook persona was a mask, but the discipline underneath? That was all, Spider.
Delilah, by contrast, was a little sloppier. Every movement broadcast strength and a little finesse, but not to the level she and Spider were used to. Felicia almost admired it—the way she tore through obstacles, the way she refused to break stride even with bullets snapping past. But paired with Ricochet's precise efficiency, the partnership looked volatile.
"Spider's got his hands full," Felicia murmured into the comms.
"I figured," Ethan replied, eyes locked on the shifting blips on his map. One icon for Delilah's phone, one for Ricochet's tracker device. Both are moving fast, converging toward the docks.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "He's planning on taking them to the waterfront. That's where they'll make their stand."
"Maybe. You sound pretty confident," Felicia teased.
"Because I know him well enough now," Ethan said simply. "He'll pick terrain that's close and works in his favor."
"And the female assassin?"
"She'll follow suit. She wants Tarantula's head more than she wants her own safety. To get that, the two chasing them, Roughhouse and Bloodscream, need to be off the board." Ethan's tone tightened. "That combination works—for now."
He thought of what he remembered about Bloodscream, of how the vampire drained life with a touch, how he raised corpses to serve him. It was a power that Spider-Man's spider-sense instincts would naturally counter by dodging and never exposing bare skin. But Delilah? She'd have a hard time against him.
Felicia trailed them closer, keeping above the street. She saw Ricochet vault a fence and pull Delilah with him, dragging her out of the line of fire. Bullets sparked across dumpsters and walls, but his movements never faltered.
"He's good," Felicia admitted softly. "Spider would make a fine street crook or thief. A shame he doesn't do it for me."
"Who knows," Ethan said. "Maybe we can get him to promise to do a job with you at the end of all this."
"Don't say it unless you mean it. I know Spider enough to know that he wouldn't go for it."
Ethan allowed himself a small chuckle. "You let me worry about that. Just keep your eyes on them."
Felicia smirked, bounding to another rooftop, her shadow stretching long under the moonlight.
At ground level, the chase intensified. Roughhouse was gaining, his massive frame plowing through obstacles that slowed the henchmen. He shoved cars aside, ripped fences from their posts, bellowing with every step. Delilah matched him for fury, shouting insults over her shoulder as she sprinted.
Bloodscream, meanwhile, was unnerving in his calm. He didn't run so much as float, weaving through gunfire and chaos with a predator's patience. His red eyes never left Ricochet, whom he perceived as an actual threat.
Felicia watched as Ricochet whispered something quick to Delilah mid-sprint. The assassin scowled but nodded, adjusting her pace to match his. Strategy—there was always a strategy.
"They're aiming for the docks for sure. It seems Spider has a plan of some sort," Felicia confirmed over comms.
"Good," Ethan replied. "Let them draw Roughhouse and Bloodscream there. The more contained the fight, the easier it'll be for you to grab Delilah after the fight."
Felicia arched a brow. "You make it sound like you've got an entire chessboard set up."
"I do," Ethan said, though fatigue edged his words. "Every piece in place. I just need them to survive the next few moves."
Felicia slowed as the chase neared the waterfront. The docks stretched ahead, cranes looming like steel giants, containers stacked into mazes. The perfect place for an ambush—or a slaughter.
She crouched low, claws resting lightly on the rooftop ledge, eyes fixed on the hunters below.
"They're going to be cornered soon," she murmured. "If the big guy gets his hands on them, they won't walk away. And if the corpse touches them—"
"Don't worry, Peter knows better," Ethan cut in. "He won't let it happen."
There was a pause on the line. Felicia's eyes narrowed. "You sure?"
Ethan's voice stayed calm. "Ricochet will be just fine, I promise."
Felicia let the silence hang for a long, weighted moment before continuing. "You're full of secrets, kid. One day, you're going to tell me everything you know."
"Maybe, but not today. Anyway, stay focused," Ethan said.
The gunfire slowed as Roughhouse and Bloodscream pushed their men harder. Felicia saw Ricochet deliberately cutting paths through side streets, forcing their pursuers to stretch out and split focus. Delilah provided raw intimidation—smashing a door frame as they barreled through a building, leaving wreckage that slowed the men behind them.
They burst onto the dock road at last, the smell of saltwater and diesel thick in the air. Cranes loomed overhead, containers stacked like towers, their shadows long and jagged in the floodlights.
Felicia crouched higher, her claws gripping a steel cable as she watched. This was where the fight would break open.
"They've made it to the docks safely," she whispered.
"Good," Ethan murmured, staring at the pings converging on his map. His exhaustion made his vision blur, but he forced himself to focus. "Stay close. I need every detail."
"And if it goes south?" Felicia asked.
"Then you call me," Ethan said. "But you don't step in unless I give the go ahead."
Felicia's eyes followed Ricochet as he skidded to a halt, whispering another plan to Delilah. The assassin's grin was sharp and eager. The hunters closed in, shadows swallowing the space around them.
Felicia licked her lips, anticipation humming through her blood. "Looks like the main event's about to start."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on the screen, pulse steady despite the chaos. "Good. Let's see how they handle this."