I quickly contacted the nearest police patrol, giving them the goons' exact coordinates before launching myself into the city skies. Gliding above the winding streets, I took a moment just to breathe—my lungs burning, but my mind even more so.
It all felt surreal—me, actually ready to take down that bandit, fueled by adrenaline and something deeper I couldn't quite name. Landing on a high-rise, I perched atop a silent stone gargoyle, the city spread out beneath me like a living thing, lights winking in the dark.
Lost in my thoughts, I stared out across the skyline, and suddenly, I was struck by a memory of Uncle Ben. I didn't quite grasp what it meant at that moment—only that, once again, there was a battle raging inside me. On one side, the idealist in me insisted that killing was wrong. The other—a darker, more practical voice—argued that only true fear would keep criminals at bay.This dilemma isn't something I can brush off. Would it really do any good to take out major players like Kingpin or Silvermane? There's something to be said for the devil you know; at least you can predict some of their moves, play the game by certain rules. But murder? Even before all this, I never believed that taking a life would irreparably poison my soul forever.
There are certain acts, though—crimes so obscene—that you wonder if crossing that line is sometimes justified. The kind of evil that targets children, the elderly, those who are utterly innocent. If I ever faced that on these streets, would I really just beat them up and leave them for the cops, like any decent hero is supposed to do? And if, God forbid, something truly horrible happened right in front of me, what choice would I make?
Some of Spider-Man's old enemies—if I'm completely honest—I could almost see myself taking them out for good, especially the types who deal in magic or monsters. Mystical threats, like Morlun—if he ever comes for me, I won't hesitate. But when it comes to regular criminals, people I might end up fighting again and again, I'm still not sure what my answer is.
I hung there, upside down, studying my own reflection in the glass.What do I want this suit to stand for, really? Spider-Man was never the city's golden boy, but he still inspired people—even the other heroes. But what if I slipped down a path like the Punisher's? No—whatever I do, it has to be different.
If anyone has to be removed from the board, it won't be at Spider-Man's hands, and it won't be bloody. If something uniquely personal ever happens, I'll make that call when the moment comes.
"Hello, handsome. Nice night, huh?" My thoughts scattered at the sound of a playful, familiar voice. At this height, really, there was only one person it could be.
"Black Cat," I said, turning to see Felicia swinging smoothly to a stop in her signature, slick black suit.
"I saw you sitting up here alone, and thought you might want some company. Besides," she added, "I wanted to apologize."
"Apologize?"
"The first time we met, I said things I probably shouldn't have. Even if you threw the first punch, I forgive you anyway."
"That's generous," I admitted.
"I lost control, too. And honestly, I'm not obsessed with stealing; it's more about tribute, honoring what came before. Don't ask for details. But I have a feeling you know what it's like to honor someone's memory."
"You have no idea," I replied quietly. For a while, we just sat together, letting the silence and the hum of the city fill the space between us. After a moment, Felicia bounced to her feet, energy already coming back.
"Enough with the brooding!" she demanded, with a half-laugh. "How about we do what we do best—a quick run across the rooftops, take in some moonlight, maybe even get to know each other?" She grinned, challenging me.
"Lead the way," I said, returning her smile behind the mask. We raced across rooftops, under the pale glow of the moon. Our footsteps were light, almost in sync, weaving through the city as if it was choreographed, like a dance that only we knew.
"So—red and blue, the web pattern, bug eyes with a spider emblem. Did you actually design the suit yourself?"
"It's definitely not the most original design out there, but it's mine. And if I'm honest, I think I pull it off."
"I'm not going to argue," Felicia grinned, "but seriously, I still say black would look fantastic on you."
"Maybe tomorrow," I teased.
"What, you like switching things up?"
"This suit's easily in my top three. The classics stick for a reason."
"Your choice," she conceded.
"So how about your suit?"
"Cats are kind of my thing," she replied, pausing. "But really, it's a tribute—to someone I once looked up to. There was a thief, years ago. Everyone called him 'the Cat.' Guy was a total legend."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
Felicia's expression turned reflective. "His last job—he went out with a bang. Stole a fortune in diamonds, then disappeared while he was still on top."
"Incredible story," I said.
"You're not really a fan of stealing though, are you?" Felicia pressed.
"My uncle raised me right. He lived a simple, honest life, worked himself hard, but never once complained. That sticks with you."
"Childhood has a way of shaping us," she agreed softly.
"Yeah. But even if I don't approve of the methods, I can admire genuine talent. Your Cat was a master," I added, and I could tell it meant something to her.
"So maybe you're not quite the goody-two-shoes moralist you pretend to be?" Felicia grinned mischievously.
"And maybe you're not really the villain you play," I shot back.
She purred, "Oh, darling, I can be a very bad girl for you."
"Maybe some other time," I replied, shaking my head.
She suddenly grew more serious, her tone soft. "Something on your mind?"
"It's just... been a rough night," I admitted quietly.
"If you ever want to talk, I'm here." She placed a gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder.
Almost a year had passed since I ended up here, gained these powers, and somehow I'd never told anyone what really weighed on me. Maybe it was stubbornness, or pride. Maybe I figured it was all just in my head. But now, for once, it felt right to open up, even if only a little.
"I'm stuck, Cat. Six months ago, I had my first real adventure as a so-called hero. I tried to cut off the heads of the crime world. Instead, I walked right into an ambush. The fight—if you could call it that—became a bloodbath. People died because of me. I barely made it out, dragging myself through alleyways and hospital corridors. Since then, it's like I've been choking on anger, twisted up by guilt and doubts. Should I start killing the people I fight?"
"You're not just scared by the choice—you think you already made it, maybe?"
"Maybe so. I guess I needed to hear another opinion."
"I'm not a saint, Spider-Man," Felicia said quietly, hugging herself against the chill. "I've been through my own darkness. There were moments I came close to killing those who wronged me. But that's a weight I chose not to carry. I steal, but I'm not a murderer. Some people probably do deserve it, but not everyone can live with that kind of choice." Her honesty caught me off guard. I would have never expected that kind of answer from her.
"Thanks for listening. I didn't realize how much I needed it."
"It's good, you know. Heart-to-heart talks have their place." She glanced at the city below, then smiled. "The view from here is amazing. Want to make this our spot?"
"Our spot?" Maybe I did blush underneath the mask.
"You never know. Maybe you'll want to talk again. Or just jog across the rooftops to clear your head. I'd make it part of my patrol anytime, just for you."
"Then—how about one more lap around the city?"
"Let's go!" she said, her laughter trailing behind her as she sprang to the next rooftop.
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