Chapter 63 : Electric Shadows – Flicker
New York, Lower Manhattan, Greenwich Village – Alex's POV
The dessert plates were mostly empty, the last bites lingering on our forks as Gwen and I settled into the quiet rhythm that comes after a meal. The hum of the restaurant was soft, the occasional clink of cutlery punctuating the conversation without intrusion.
"So," I started, glancing at her across the table, "how's the band been lately? The Mary Janes, I mean. You've been busy with… well, everything else, too."
Gwen chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Rehearsals have been good. The songs are tighter, the set's shaping up. MJ's energy is relentless, and… I'm keeping up as best I can with the patrols, too."
I nodded, watching the subtle way she relaxed into the chair. "It shows. I've noticed when I swing by rehearsals—how everyone falls into place. You really hold it together, Gwen."
Her smile softened, warm and quiet, the kind that made the moment feel suspended. "Thanks. That means more than you think. Even with everything… the mask, the patrols, the city never sleeping… the band grounds me. It keeps me from getting lost in it all."
I traced a finger along the rim of my glass, considering. "I know, and it makes sense. You've had so much on your plate these last months. Between Spider Woman, the gigs, the patrols… I wanted tonight to be something different. Just us."
Gwen tilted her head, curiosity lighting her expression. "Something different?"
I leaned forward slightly, letting a small grin slip. "I checked what's happening around here tonight. Not just bars or generic shows. I found a performer—punk-rock, high-energy, raw. Nothing mainstream. Thought it could be fun, something alive, something you'd enjoy. If you want, we can go see her set after dinner."
Her eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and intrigue. "You did your homework, didn't you?"
"Maybe a little," I admitted, shrugging. "Figured you deserved a night off from Spider Woman and band stress. Something that feels… immediate, exciting."
Gwen's smile widened, teasing but soft. "I like that. I like that a lot."
I let my hand brush hers lightly across the table, a quiet grounding touch. "Then it's settled. Dessert first, then a little adventure. Just us."
She laughed softly, and for a few moments, the world outside the restaurant—the deadlines, the patrols, the weeks of constant pressure—faded entirely. It was just Gwen and me, a quiet table in Greenwich, and the subtle thrill of a night we could shape however we wanted.
We stepped out of the restaurant into the cool evening, the city breathing around us in soft amber light. Gwen looped her arm through mine, light but steady, and we walked toward the subway, the streets quieter than usual for a Friday night. The air carried the faint scent of autumn and distant traffic, a reminder that the city was alive but patient with us.
By the time we arrived at the venue, the space was buzzing with energy. Brick walls and exposed beams held the crowd in a compact warmth, the stage just above the throng. Punk-rock chords pulsed through the air, raw and immediate, while flashes of colored lights darted across the audience. Gwen and I found spots near the center, letting the crowd press gently against us.
When the music started, I realized this was the performer everyone had been talking about online. She had a presence that was impossible to ignore. Punk-rock style, leather jacket studded, hair wild, moving with confidence that demanded attention. And then I noticed—between guitar riffs and drum hits—she was controlling the lights herself. The colors bent, refracted, and shimmered in perfect sync with the music, enhancing the performance in a way that went far beyond standard stage effects. It was mesmerizing.
A friend at the venue whispered her name: "Dazzler." That clicked immediately with the snippets I'd read online. So this was her.
I watched, fascinated, as every movement, every gesture of hers shaped the lighting, subtly guiding the audience's perception. Spotlights stretched and fractured, ribbons of neon following her motions, highlighting riffs and drum rolls in a way that made the room feel alive. The music itself carried a raw energy—punk mixed with a hint of classic rock edge—loud, urgent, immersive.
I found myself noticing something odd, though not consciously at first. The lights—their patterns, the way they bent and shimmered—seemed too precise, too fluid for the stage equipment I could see. The angles, the spreads, the color intensity… some of it exceeded what the spotlights and rigging could realistically generate. My brain flagged it subtly, a small dissonance I couldn't immediately explain.
As the final chord neared, sharp and vibrant, I made the decision almost instinctively. I let the Void stretch, just briefly, enough to exert its true effect: nullifying all powers within its radius.
The result was immediate and startling. The enhanced ribbons of light flickered and warped. Colors bled into one another, the sharp fractures collapsed into patterns the hardware could actually produce. Dazzler faltered, her gestures still precise but a subtle tension flickered across her expression, a brief, unspoken surprise at the sudden change in the lights. The spectacle shifted, momentarily stripped of its previous fluidity, leaving only the raw, unaugmented effects of the stage equipment.
Gwen tensed beside me, startled by the sudden dimming and shift in the room's atmosphere. Her movements stuttered for an instant, a subtle hesitation that betrayed a loss she didn't immediately understand—her Spider Woman reflexes, momentarily dulled. I could feel the tension in her pulse, the slight stiffening of her posture, and the way her head turned toward me almost instinctively, seeking explanation. The crowd murmured, confused for a heartbeat, before adapting to the more ordinary light patterns.
I retracted the Void instantly. The influence vanished. The lights snapped back into their enhanced brilliance, the subtle glow and fluid patterns returning as if nothing had happened. Dazzler resumed her gestures, perfectly in rhythm with the music again. Gwen exhaled, a mix of relief and lingering curiosity in her eyes, leaning slightly closer. "What just… happened?" she asked quietly, voice low, tinged with both surprise and caution.
I gave her a calm, measured glance, keeping my hand relaxed. "Just a brief test," I murmured. "You felt it too, didn't you?" She nodded, still processing, a faint frown creasing her forehead. I could see the gears turning behind her eyes—the instinctive questioning, the awareness of her own powers, the trust she had in me. The moment passed, but the memory of the sudden shift lingered, adding a new layer of understanding to the performance we had just witnessed.
I let the realization settle quietly in my mind. The oddity I'd felt—the impossible visual effects—was real. My brief activation had confirmed it: something about the lights, the precision and fluidity of the visuals, couldn't be achieved by ordinary equipment. Powers were involved. And now Gwen, even if she didn't fully grasp it yet, had felt it too.
The last notes lingered in the air, the crowd clapping and cheering as the lights dimmed into the final fade.The energy of the concert still hummed around us, but the questions that had surfaced in the last few minutes pressed for attention.
We slipped to a quieter corner, away from the lingering crowd, where the music was reduced to a low echo and the flashes of stage lights no longer overwhelmed our senses. Gwen leaned against the railing, her expression curious, her brows knit slightly.
"I need to ask," she said, voice low. "What just happened with the lights? And… why did you—" she hesitated, "—activate the Void?"
I drew a slow breath, careful to let the words form with clarity. "It was subtle at first," I said, glancing toward the stage for a fraction of a second. "But I noticed something impossible in the patterns of the lights—the way they moved, the precision of the effects. It didn't line up with what the hardware could produce. At least, not without some kind of… enhancement."
Her eyes widened slightly, the instinctive awareness of her own abilities sharpening her curiosity. "Enhancement?" she asked, though she already suspected what I might mean.
I nodded. "I wanted to confirm it. Just briefly—I released the Void for an instant. It suppresses powers within its range, including yours, so you might have felt a temporary… dulling of your reflexes. And it did the same for whoever—or whatever—was manipulating the lights."
Gwen exhaled softly, a mixture of understanding and quiet acceptance. "That's… intense. I could feel it. Everything just… changed for a moment." She gave a small, almost amused shrug. "Not that it surprises me anymore."
"Not imagining," I said. "The effects disappeared for an instant. The visuals you saw—enhanced, flowing, beyond what normal stage equipment can do—were real, powered. When I activated the Void, they snapped back to what was physically possible. It only lasted a moment, but it confirmed what I suspected."
She studied me for a beat, then smiled, a little wry, a little impressed. "You really have a way of noticing things no one else would. Even at a concert."
I let a small smile form, feeling the tension of the evening soften slightly. "It's a habit," I said. "And sometimes it's useful. Tonight… I just wanted to be sure I wasn't seeing things."
Gwen leaned slightly closer, the warmth in her presence grounding me as much as the music had. "I get it," she said quietly. "And I trust you. It's… easier knowing what to expect when the Void's involved."
I chuckled softly, letting the weight of the night settle around us. "That was the idea. We get to enjoy the show… and still keep a little control over what we notice."
Gwen tilted her head, eyes curious. "Do you really think it was her? The one controlling all the lights like that?"
I considered it for a moment, replaying the visuals in my mind. "I can't say for certain," I admitted. "But judging by what I saw—the precision, the way the visuals responded in real time—it's very likely. Everything lines up with what I've read about Dazzler."
She nodded slowly, digesting that, then her expression shifted with excitement. "You know… I'd love for The Mary Janes to do a collaboration with her. I'm sure the rest of the band would be thrilled too. Imagine the kind of energy we could bring together."
I let a small smile form. "If you want that to happen, there's only one way to find out. Go talk to her. Gauge interest. Everything else is just speculation. But I have a feeling she'd be open to it."
Gwen laughed softly, the kind of laugh that carried her enthusiasm without restraint. "Sounds simple enough," she said, though her eyes sparkled with the excitement of possibilities.
We lingered a moment longer, then decided to see if we could catch Dazzler after the show. The crowd was thinning, people chatting and spilling into the night, but when we approached the backstage area, she was nowhere to be found. Every corridor we checked, every door we tapped on, yielded nothing. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
Gwen's smile faltered slightly, a small crease of disappointment forming between her brows. "She's… gone?" she asked quietly, almost to herself.
I raised an eyebrow, a dry edge creeping into my voice. "Dramatic," I said. "Guess we'll just have to wait for another super concert if we want to actually talk collaboration."
She let out a quiet sigh, clearly a little deflated, but I could see the excitement linger in her eyes despite it.
I found myself thinking briefly that it was strange—oddly convenient, even—that she disappeared so completely—but I didn't dwell on it. The night wasn't about figuring out Dazzler's comings and goings. It was about Gwen, about the rare, uninterrupted space we had together.
New York, Lower Manhattan, Greenwich Village – Dazzler's POV
The first chords rang out, raw and electric, and a thrill shot through me. The crowd was alive, feeding off every note, every flick of my wrist, every flash of light I bent and fractured around us. I let the music take over, feeling my powers hum under my skin, the familiar surge of energy shaping the lights into wild, vibrant ribbons that followed the beat. For a moment, everything felt perfect—alive, untouchable.
The audience's energy wrapped around me, cheering and swaying, and I smiled, letting myself get lost in the performance. This was why I did it. Why I loved it. The music, the lights, the connection to people—it made all the risks worth it.
And then—
Nothing.
A jolt, subtle at first, but unmistakable. The thrumming pulse beneath my skin—the mutation, the power—vanished. The lights I was shaping with my gestures flickered awkwardly, faltering into patterns I hadn't intended. My chest tightened. A panic rose, sharp and cold, but I forced it down, biting back the instinct to falter. The crowd wouldn't know, and I couldn't let them see.
I kept playing, singing, moving as though nothing had changed, even though my body felt hollowed, my senses dulled. The chords carried me forward, the music keeping my fingers moving, my voice steady, but my mind raced. This wasn't random. This was deliberate. Some device—an anti-mutant field, maybe, something deployed nearby.
My heart pounded. If that was true… if it was an organized group, something like the Church of Humanity, the Purifiers… they were close. Watching. Listening. And they knew I was here.
The power returned just as suddenly as it had vanished. Relief crashed through me in a tremor, and I forced a smile, sweeping the lights back into their intended chaos, letting the music cover my fear. Nobody had noticed. Nobody could have.
But I couldn't stay. Not tonight. Not with them here. Not after that.
I poured the last of myself into the song, the last notes vibrating through the club. My movements were precise, exaggerated, flawless—but my mind was already calculating exits, routes, timing. The crowd was none the wiser as I ended the song with a flourish, the lights screaming one final arc before dimming.
I didn't wait. I slipped backstage, heart still hammering, senses straining for any sign of the threat I imagined. Every shadow could hide them. Every corner felt like a trap. I grabbed my bag, pulled my coat tight, and left, moving quickly and quietly through service corridors, avoiding the main doors, the crowd, the exposure.
By the time I emerged into the night, the pulse of the city around me, I was already planning my hiatus. No concerts for a while. No exposure. Just disappearing, blending into the ordinary, until I could be sure it was safe again. My hands trembled slightly, but I kept my head down, my mind replaying the incident over and over, already swearing silently that I wouldn't take that risk again anytime soon.
New York, Lower Manhattan, Greenwich Village – Alex's POV
I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Come on," I said, slipping my hand into hers. "The evening's still ours. Let's not waste it wondering where she went."
Gwen nodded, letting herself be pulled along, and I let the thought of Dazzler fade into the background. For now, the city, the lights, and the night ahead were all that mattered.
We stepped out into the cool night, the pulse of the city softer now, the streets quieter after the concert's roar. Gwen's hand in mine felt natural, grounding, a simple tether in the midst of everything that had unfolded tonight.
We walked without a strict destination, letting our steps carry us along familiar streets, the occasional passing car or distant laughter marking time. The glow of streetlights painted the sidewalks in muted gold, and the night air carried a faint mix of the river, asphalt, and lingering warmth from nearby cafés.
Gwen fell into step beside me, her presence steady, a quiet counterpoint to the adrenaline of the concert. "It's nice," she murmured, her voice low, almost swallowed by the city around us. "Just walking. No missions, no deadlines, no alerts."
"Exactly," I said, letting my gaze drift over the rooftops, the familiar angles of the neighborhood softened in the dim light. "Tonight, it's just us. That's enough."
We talked in fragments as we walked—small observations, shared laughter, gentle teasing. The night gave space for words that had been crowded out these past weeks by patrols, deadlines, and distant responsibilities. For once, the world outside wasn't pressing; the edges were soft, and the rhythm of our steps matched the quiet relief in my chest.
Eventually, the streets guided us back toward the familiar block of our apartment building. The night had stretched just long enough to feel like a world of its own, a little bubble outside the usual constraints. I held the door for Gwen, and we stepped inside together, the apartment welcoming us with the quiet comfort of home.
Tonight had been a pause, a rare moment of stillness and connection. And as the door clicked shut behind us, I let the soft, lingering warmth settle, knowing we'd carry it forward, no matter what the next day demanded.