The office emptied slowly, one by one. Danny and Clara left first, papers tucked under their arms, already throwing ideas back and forth for which sources might be coaxed into speaking. Mark carried his battered notebook like a badge, muttering something about a former Oscorp intern who "owed him one." Alison slung her camera over her shoulder, promising Peter she'd have test shots of the press room by morning.
And then it was just the three of them.
Peter stretched in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, the weight of his double life… well, no penta life pressed into his slouched shoulders. Ethan leaned against a desk, watching him with quiet calculation.
"How's your Aunt May?" Ethan asked.
Peter's face softened. "Recovering well. MJ took a few days off to look after her. I think it's helping."
"That's good," Ethan said, smiling faintly.
Felicia, perched against a filing cabinet, crossed her legs. "Domestic bliss. Warms the heart." She said it with her usual teasing lilt, but there was no bite to it.
A small silence settled in, not awkward but weighted with unspoken things. Then Ethan glanced at the clock and straightened. "We'll call it here. Peter, good luck wrangling this circus. Felicia, walk with me?"
Felicia tilted her head, smirk playing at the edge of her lips. "Sure, boss."
They left Peter alone in the office, stacks of papers and the faint hum of the new equipment filling the space. As the door shut behind them, Peter exhaled deeply, already reaching for the photocopier manual.
Brooklyn bled into Queens, and Queens into the outer arteries of Oscorp's empire. By the time Felicia reached the warehouse Ethan had flagged, night had draped the district in sodium light.
The warehouse wasn't flashy. Oscorp knew better than that. A squat gray block of concrete, floodlights on the corners, a razorwire fence looping its perimeter. Guards at the gate—not many, but enough. The real defense would be inside. Cameras. Keycards. Motion sensors. Oscorp never relied on muscle when they could buy silence with tech.
Felicia crouched on a rooftop across the street, binoculars in hand, silver blonde hair pulled back beneath a black cap. She'd already been watching for two hours, cataloguing the shifts, the rhythms. A van came at ten, left at eleven. Employees trickled out in twos and threes.
And then she saw her.
A woman in her thirties, neat dark hair, rectangular glasses perched on her nose. White coat under a long gray trench. She left the gate with the distracted shuffle of someone already halfway home in her head. Felicia smirked.
'Bingo.'
The woman's apartment was in a bland, low-rise building twenty blocks away. Felicia ghosted behind her the whole way, slipping between shadows, keeping just far enough that no casual glance would catch her.
She waited until the woman unlocked her door, stepped inside, and closed it. Felicia counted thirty seconds, then slipped a small wedge from her belt and slid it into the doorframe. The lock clicked, and she pushed inside.
The woman froze halfway through removing her trench coat.
Felicia was on her in a breath, gloved hand clamping her mouth. "Shhh. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
She guided her gently—but firmly—into a chair, producing a length of cord and binding her wrists. The woman's eyes were wide with terror, fogging the blindfold Felicia tied snugly around her head.
"In case you're wondering," Felicia murmured, pitching her voice lower, different, "I'm not here to hurt you or rob you. Nod if you understand."
A frantic nod.
"Good girl. Now, cameras? Any in here?"
A shaky headshake.
"Perfect. I'll still check but I'd like you to be honest with me. Now here's the deal. You sit tight for a day, you don't scream, you don't try anything stupid, and nothing bad happens to you. Got it?"
Another nod, even more desperate.
Felicia smiled, unseen. "Good, then we're going to get along just fine. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow, okay, sweetheart."
The next morning, light spilled across the blinds. Felicia stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She first removed her mask, hair dyed a sharp brunette, glasses perched on her nose. She tugged the stolen lab coat over her black clothes, tilted her head, and smirked.
It wasn't perfect—up close, anyone could see the differences. But in a crowded lab? In hallways where people were glued to clipboards and computers? It would work well enough.
She stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her. The woman inside whimpered faintly through her gag. Felicia didn't look back.
The Oscorp gate guard barely glanced at her badge. The real employee's photo wasn't exact, but close enough under bad lighting. He waved her through with the same dead-eyed boredom of a man ten years into a thankless job.
Inside, the air was all disinfectant and humming fluorescents. Rows of labs. Cubicles. Storage rooms. Felicia adjusted her glasses and kept her pace brisk but not hurried, mimicking the detached efficiency of every researcher she passed.
"New look?" a voice asked.
Felicia's heart spiked. She turned to see a man in his forties, half-smile crooked.
"Mm." Felicia tilted her head, let a sly smile creep across her lips. "Thought I'd try something different. What do you think?"
The man blinked, flustered. "Uh, y-yeah. Suits you."
She breezed past him before he could think too hard. Confidence was the best disguise when it came to things like this.
Felicia spent the day mapping with her eyes. Every door, every keycard scanner, every camera. She traced guard patrols, memorized camera sweeps. In her head, the building became a blueprint.
The list Ethan had given her ran through her mind on repeat:
Spider-Slayer servo/optic unit.
Oscorp mini-power cell.
Prototype optics.
Light-bending film / dampening foam.
Control visor/glove.
By late afternoon she knew where they were. Sublevel B storage. Security cage. Two cameras, one motion sensor, and a guard who checked every thirty minutes.
She waited until shift change, slipped into the stairwell, and pulled out a slim jim from her sleeve. One flick. The cage door clicked open.
She slid inside, eyes sweeping the shelves.
There. Servo unit, tagged with Oscorp barcode. Mini-power cell, glowing faintly. Prototypes stacked neatly. She worked fast, pulling a collapsible satchel from her lab coat and tucking each piece inside.
Her pulse quickened. The thrill was back. This wasn't about Peter, Osborn, Oscorp, or any grand plan. This was her element. The razor edge between capture and triumph.
"Hey!"
Felicia froze. A flashlight beam cut across the storage room.
A guard stood in the doorway, frowning. "What are you doing in here?"
Felicia blinked at him over her glasses, then exhaled sharply, like a woman inconvenienced. "Inventory check. My supervisor sent me."
The guard's frown deepened. "At this hour?"
Felicia tilted her head, lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He thinks someone's been stealing. Probably one of you guys."
The guard stiffened, indignant. "What? No way—"
"Then let me finish my check, so I can tell him you're innocent." She met his eyes coolly, daring him to argue.
He faltered. "Fine. Just… don't take too long."
She smiled sweetly. "Wouldn't dream of it. I got better things to spend my weekend on."
The moment he turned away, she shoved the last component into her hidden satchel and slipped out another door.
By dusk, Felicia was walking out the front gate, satchel tucked under her arm like an afterthought. She nodded at the guard, who didn't even glance at her.
The night air hit her like champagne bubbles. She exhaled, shoulders loose, a smirk curving her lips.
And Felicia Hardy felt alive. Not quite as exciting as lift jewels or artwork, but nevertheless, this was the life. She could never give it up.