***Merry Christmas and a Happy Holidays to all my readers. I'll be busy with the family for the holidays, so I'll upload a few chapters now and see you guys after the holidays. I hope you'll all stay safe.***
Felicia Hardy crouched in the shadow of Oscorp's satellite facility, the city's industrial sprawl rising around her in harsh steel lines and sodium-orange light. The building itself wasn't impressive—two stories, grey concrete, the kind of anonymous structure that looked more like a warehouse than a lab. But Felicia knew better. Oscorp didn't leave toys lying around in public. Every block of cement was a lid pressed down over something sharp, dangerous, and worth stealing.
She adjusted the slim black case on her hip and flexed her clawed, gloved fingers. Inside the case: Ethan Kane's latest batch of cloned keycards, supposedly coded to Oscorp's current access levels. She didn't trust anything until she saw it work with her own eyes. Trust was how you got killed—or worse, caught.
The comms piece in her ear was silent tonight. Ethan wasn't watching or listening like usual. This was her dry run, her secret test.
Felicia smirked as she slipped from shadow to shadow, every step light, deliberate. The familiar rush started in her chest, humming along her nerves. God, she'd missed this. She could tell herself all she wanted that this life was a means to an end—payback, survival, leverage—but the truth purred inside her like a secret lover: she needed this thrill.
Adrenaline was her oxygen. Masks were her skin.
The card reader glowed faintly at the side door, a rectangular panel set beside a steel handle. She pulled one of Ethan's fakes from her pouch and slid it through. The light blinked red, then green.
Click.
Felicia grinned, slipping inside.
The interior was exactly what she expected: sterile white walls, humming fluorescents, the faint tang of disinfectant masking the sharper bite of chemicals. Rows of locked doors lined the hallway, each tagged with dull labels: "R&D Storage," "Specimen Hold," "Command Room." Places Ethan would drool to poke into, if he had the nerve to step foot in a place like this himself.
She took a few steps, heels whispering on tile, when she heard it: the low murmur of voices.
Felicia's body reacted before her brain did. She melted sideways into the shadow of a supply alcove, her breath controlled, heartbeat steady. A pair of security guards came into view down the corridor, one bored, the other focused. The focused one stopped, frowning.
"You hear that?"
Felicia cursed inwardly.
The guard took a step toward her alcove.
Her muscles coiled, ready to strike, but instinct pulled her back. Not here. Not now. Any struggle would draw attention.
She shifted upward, planting a palm against the wall and pressing her body flat against the alcove's upper ledge. Her fingers dug into the slim ridge of a vent grille, pulling herself into the corner of the ceiling and shadow.
The guard's flashlight beam swept across the alcove. It passed beneath her, gliding over empty space. He lingered a moment, suspicion burning, before his partner chuckled.
"Paranoid much? It's a dead zone tonight."
Reluctantly, the guard followed, their footsteps fading.
Felicia exhaled slowly, lowering herself back to the floor. Her lips curved in a sharp grin.
The trill of that close call buzzed in her veins. She could tell herself it was reckless, that she should've walked away. But her body sang with the reminder of why she could never leave this life behind.
The mask didn't just hide her. The mask freed her.
Her father's voice, low and smooth: "Never let them see Felicia Hardy. My little Black Cat is untouchable. Black Cat doesn't need help and can do it alone."
The memory blurred, shifting. Not her father, but another voice, darker, crueler. A man who once pretended to love her, who twisted affection into chains. Even after all the pain he caused, she still loved him as her father. She wanted his respect, even though his choices set her on a path of crime and self-destructive thrill-seeking. When she eventually took up the mantle of the Black Cat (A nickname her father called her), she did so in part as homage, carrying forward the thrill and daring he represented.
She remembered the first time she put on the suit. The feel of the fabric was like armor, the mask like a weapon. Nobody could touch her anymore. Nobody could hurt her when she was Black Cat.
But Spider—Peter had ruined that clean separation.
When she looked at Spider-Man, she saw what she loved: power, freedom, thrill. When she looked at Peter Parker, she saw the weak, soft center beneath it all. A boy who wanted dinners, safety, routine. Domestic chains. And part of her hated him for it, hated herself for even wanting it.
The thought made her chest tight. She shook it off, slipping deeper into Oscorp's hallways.
Queens – Later That Evening
Peter Parker sat at his desk, the glow of the Insight draft on his computer painting his face pale. His glasses slid down his nose as he scrolled line by line, editing. Every source Ethan had "handed" him was too clean, too precise, but Peter couldn't argue with the results. If this exposé landed, Oscorp and Norman Osborn would take a hit bigger than anything he'd managed as Spider-Man alone.
"Tiger?"
MJ's voice.
He glanced up. She stood at the bedroom door, arms crossed. Aunt May's light was still on down the hall.
"It's late," MJ said softly. "You promised we'd have dinner together tonight. You didn't even text that you'd be late tonight."
Guilt twisted in Peter's gut. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just… this article, MJ. It could be everything."
She sighed, stepping inside. "I get it. I do. But every night it's something. Insight. Spider-Man. Norman Osborn. When's the last time you were just here as Peter Parker? With me?"
Peter set his glasses down. "If we don't take Osborn down now, he'll keep coming. He—he framed me, MJ. If Ethan hadn't—"
Her face tightened. "So we're thanking the kid now, too?"
"MJ—"
"Keep your voice down," she whispered sharply, glancing at May's door.
They both lowered their tones, voices tense but quiet.
"I'm not asking you to stop," MJ said. "I'm asking you not to lose yourself. Or me."
Peter reached for her hand, but she pulled it back. For a long moment, silence stretched. Then she shook her head and left the room.
Peter closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. The article glowed on the screen, words blurring. His chest ached with the weight of both lives pressing in from either side.
Oscorp Satellite – Night
Felicia had seen enough. The cloned keycards worked—for now. But on her way out, she found something that soured her smile: slim, new biometric scanners, sleek pads built into the walls near the restricted doors. Not everywhere, not yet, but spreading.
That was a problem.
Spider didn't know about this. Ethan already did from last time. And Felicia? She wasn't about to tell Peter. He was quite the worrier. Let him think the plan was intact. Biometric locks weren't in the job description, and she wasn't about to let Spider go in half-spooked. Ethan would probably figure out something, so there was no need to worry.
She traced a gloved finger over the pad, then pulled her hand back.
A small hiccup. Nothing she wasn't sure Ethan couldn't work around.
Felicia slipped out into the night, rooftop to rooftop, the city wind curling around her like a second skin. The adrenaline still hummed, fierce and alive.
Back in her apartment, she peeled off the suit, the mask resting on the dresser like a second face. Felicia caught her reflection in the mirror: platinum blonde hair loose, eyes ringed with exhaustion, but alive. Vibrant.
The mask kept her strong. Without it? She wasn't sure who she was, or if she wanted to find out.
She touched the mask gently, then turned away.