HenryJonesJr

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts that my Spider Sense doesn't register her approach.

Tombstone managed to touch on all the insecurities I've been feeling in the past few months in a matter of minutes. The situation with the cops has been weighing on Dad and I privately, and neither of us know what to do about it, and Tombstone just straight calls me out on it right away. I know there are problems, and not just ones relating to me. Mayor-elect Cassidy seems to have brought the worst out of them though, and I'm sure I'm not the one paying the real price of that. There are people much more vulnerable to that kind of thing.

And if those people see me as the source of their problems rather than the one that could help save them instead? That's not gonna fly with what I'm going for. I need to find a way to make sure the citizens of New York see me as a friend, not a foe.

So yea, I'm all up in my own head.

I don't see her coming.

My webline is severed from above, sending me tumbling towards the rooftops below. Luckily I've had this happen to me way more times than I would like to admit, so I merely right myself in the air, land in a roll on a nearby roof, and try to locate where the strike came from. I curse myself for allowing Tombstone to get in my head so deeply that my Spider Sense could barely get through. It's something I've noticed recently. If I'm stressed or too buried into my own thoughts, the warning won't be loud enough for me to hear. It's more of a shout from down a long hallway than the siren it usually is.

When she appears, however, I'm ready. She lands on the roof behind me, and doesn't take any time trying to close the gap. She swipes at me twice with clawed gloves, barely breezing by my mask as she does. She's quick, like Delilah from the Enforcers. Possibly the quickest non-metahuman I've come up against, assuming of course she has no powers.

"Well, well, well Spider," she smiles seductively. "Finally get to chat girl to girl. I've been waiting for this."

An all black tactical getup not wholly different from mine covers her shapely form. Looks like it's a carbon fiber weave like my suit,
except she has some kind of utility belt handing on her hips and the aforementioned clawed gloves. Her long, flowing white hair falls over
half her face, obscuring the high-tech domino mask that covers her eyes.

She sure is outfitted to the nines. I'll give her that.

"Sure, whatever," I grumble. "I really don't have time for this. Tell me where your boss is and I can go take care of him."

She pouts, "Oh, but that would ruin all of out fun."

"Oh great," I roll my eyes at her. "You want to do the cutesypie femme fatale thing with me. Terrific."

"Not quite."

Before I can react, a whip unfurls from her hip and wraps around my wrist, and I curse myself yet again for getting into my own head. She
tries to yank me towards her, but I'm stronger than she is. I pull back, knocking her off balance.

At least that's what I think I do. Instead of stumbling towards me, she rolls and attempts to sweep my legs from below me. I spring backwards onto my hands, putting some space between the two of us.

"Nice moves," she smiles mischievously. "Now let's see if you can keep up."

Without warning, she darts away from me and leaps off the roof. I watch as she swings down the street with the whip.

"Hey!" I yell after her as I give chase. "That's my gimmick!"

I catch up to her quickly. She can't move as fast as I can, that much is for sure. Rather than let me catch her, however, she drops to a
rooftop, and snags my ankle with the whip as she does. I come down hard on the tar roof, landing with a thud.

"Ugh," I groan, rolling out of the way of her trying to kick me in the face, "that was rude."

"Honestly," she swipes at me again with the claws, barely missing once again, "I don't see what's so special about you. The way he goes on and on about your abilities, I would have thought you'd be more of a fighter."

"You haven't given me a chance to show you what I got yet."

Kicking myself off the rooftop, I close the gap between us quickly. She slashes at me, and I duck under her arm, wrenching it over my shoulder and tossing her with a judo like throw. As she flips in the air, she brings one of her hands around and manages to scratch through my mask, leaving four shallow scratches across my cheek. The surprise of the quick, burning pain causes me to recoil a bit as the Cat lands with a thump a few feet away on the roof. It's followed bu the sting of the freezing December air.

I approach with purpose towards her, but she slinks up and plants a kiss where she just scratched me. I feel the heat coming off of her, and an odd passion behind it.

The shock throws me completely off guard yet again, and I push her off and retreat away, "What the hell is wrong with you, you weirdo?"

She licks her lips and smiles, shaking a piece of plant in her hand, "We were under the mistletoe, Spider. You don't want to ignore Christmas tradition, do you?"

"Okay," I growl, "time to finish this. And then we're gonna go take out your boss's poison factory."

"I don't think so Spider. Not tonight."

As I rush her, she throws something to the ground, and it explodes into a thick fog. I cough and choke as the smoke clears, and I find myself all along on the rooftop.

"Of course," I grumble. "Of course she has ninja vanish smoke bombs. What else would happen to me. Christmas freakin' miracle."

**********

The smell of cookies wafts through the house as I hip check the oven door closed while using me hands to lick the batter off the mixing paddles. Chocolate chip cookies are about the only thing that can cheer me up after getting talked down to by a gang leader as well as losing the right hand woman of the notorious drug kingpin infecting my city. No one is going to tell me other wise.

Which is why I shoot Peter a nasty look as he gives me side eye, "Don't look at me like that. It's Christmas and I got my face messed up by a dominatrix furry last night. I deserve a sugar high."

"Hey I didn't say anything," he puts his hand up in defense.

"And if you want this relationship to continue, it'll stay that way," I wave a paddle at him, splattering the two of us with batter. The two of us cackle with laughter. I lick a glob off his cheek and scrunch my nose at him, "Seriously. Christmas is the best. When else do I get to eat a diet composed mostly of baked sugar."

"It probably helps when you have a super human metabolism," he wipes his face. "The rest of us have to run."

"Peter," I look sideways at him, "I've seen you run. It's not your strength, babe."

"Probably why I couldn't make the soccer team," he muses.

"Oh sweetheart there are so many more reasons than that," I stick my tongue out at him.

"Hey, I saw your cheerleading tryout," his eyebrows raise my way.

"Peter Parker that is not fair," I scowl jokingly. "MJ made me do that."

"Yea but you still did it," he shrugs. "Anyway, mind if I take the ripped mask. I have some upgrades I've been considering, and I figure today would be a good day to get them done. No one will be at Oscorp today."

"Sure, take it," I toss it to him. "I gotta go on patrol tonight thought. There's no way I'm letting them get away that easy."

**********

On the night before Christmas Eve, I'm out on patrol before a concert with MJ and the band. At least I'm supposed to have a concert with MJ. She hasn't gotten any better, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't considering quitting the band. But I love music and the other girls a bit too much to leave them hanging.

I land on a building that overlooks the crossing from Queens to the Bronx. I don't love the idea of going back in so quickly, but I have to take care of this.

"You let her get away," a gruff, even keeled voice says from behind me. I turn to find a man standing like a statue, his arms crossed over his bare chest, covered only by a flowing white shirt and what look like karate pants. His red hair flows in the winter wind, and smoke pours out of his nose and through the beard that adorns his face. He doesn't look angry at me, per say. It's more of a look of disappointment. Everyone else has already been disappointed in me the past few days, so what's one more stranger to judge me like my father. I definitely can never get enough of that.

"Yea, well, only for now," I respond to him. "I know where their base is. I'll get there, take her out, and stop her boss. Deliver the city a big early Christmas present."

"Yes, you may know where she is. What she is, however, is more disciplined, skilled, and focused than you are," the man responds matter-of-factly. "She'll get away again, because you let your emotion overpower your will. And if you can't even beat her, what chance do you stand against her master?"

I cock my head to the side at this guy, "Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can tell me how to do my job?"

Oh my god that sounded exactly like my father. What have I become?

A small glimmer of amusement crosses his face before he regains his composure, "I'm someone who knows an unfocused warrior when I see one. I know when someone will lose a fight before the first punch is thrown. And you stand no chance against the Octopus and his disciples in your current, frazzled state."

"Frazzled?" I clench my fists.

"See," he motions at me. "All emotion. No focus. You couldn't land a hit on me if you tried."

"That a challenge?"

"If you take it to be," he shrugs.

I come in at him hard and fast. I don't want to hurt him, as it's clear he's just here to bug me, not to really fight. But he gets out of the way of every strike I through his way. No. "Gets out of the way" is a terrible way to describe it. He moves like water around my arms and legs, the same calm look on his face. We dance around the rooftop, him made of stone and me getting angrier and angrier at my inability to land a hit.

"You see," he says, almost mockingly, "your emotion blinds you. It steals your resolve."

"Would. You. Shut. Up," I growl at him loudly. But after another half-hearted punch, I stop, "Okay, you made your point. But I'm still a little confused as to why you're even making it. Why do you care about the Cat? Why do you care about me not being able to take down the Octopus."

"My interest in the one you call the Cat is...complicated," his eyes narrow and he looks into the distance as he says this. "As for your other question, I care because I fight for the same reasons you do. You have great powers. You have a great desire to do the right thing with those powers. But the world is more dangerous than it seems, young one. Without the proper training, it may overtake you."

"What the hell are you-"

I'm interrupted by my Spider Sense, and I snag an incoming projectile out of the air. I look down to find a business card emblazoned with a red dragon and an address in Chinatown.

Looking back up, I find myself alone on a rooftop yet again.

"Yea...that tracks."

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Sorry I haven’t been around this weekend. Much busier than I expected. Am going to plan to get 3 posts done this week though. Need to get back into the rythym I was in last season:

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I could/should be writing right now, but instead I'm watching the original Halloween in preparation to see the new one tomorrow

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

<Snipped quote by HenryJonesJr>

You can find anything on Tumblr. It's where I found X-Men: First Class/Band of Brothers slash fiction.

...

Don't ask how I found it, please.

@Byrd Man

Yes. You “found” it. Sure.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

<Snipped quote by Eddie Brock>

# When Captain America Wanks His Mighty Shield! #

@Hound55

I’m almost certain I’ve seen that on Tumblr

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

So new post is up introducing Tombstone. I plan on making him a recurring, quasi frenemy of Gwen's.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I'm ushered towards a large, crumbling warehouse. At least, from the outside it seems to be crumbling. Its facade rises up out of a lot overgrown with weeds and debris. The empty, rusting husks of cars sit in the lot, vines wrapping themselves around the metal bones of the cars like worms on a corpse. The dusty windows of the warehouse burn with interior light, and a sign denoting the place as a former autoparts factory swings lazily on one of the three hooks that used to keep it up.

"Nice place," I comment to the man who is clearly the leader of the group of men sent out to...capture me I guess. "I would have figured the gang controlling a part of New York City would have nicer digs."

He's taller than me by quite a bit, reaching at least six foot. His dark, black skin melds with the shadows and his dark clothing, and he has an athletic build. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in his mid-to-late thirties, but I'm terrible at guessing those kind of things.

"We don't control anything," the guy spits back my way. "We protect the people here."

"By driving cops out?" I ask with skepticism.

He snorts, "Yea, because they've done such a good job keeping people safe. Doin such a good job that they had to bring in some robots to take care of you. Yet we got you in a second."

"I'm here because I didn't want to have to put you down in front of your crew," my shoulders shrug with a fake, apologetic motion. "Didn't want them to make fun of you when you got back to the clubhouse."

Looking over, I see the wide, bright smile he's shooting my way. He's enjoying this, that's for sure. But there's no malice in the look. He may not particularly like me, but I'm not his worst enemy either.

"You believe anything you want to believe, Spider," he nods towards the warehouse. "You're heading into Tombstone's house now. He'll be the one who judges whether you get to work in the Bronx."

"Tombstone? Seriously?" I snort.

"You might want to watch that tone, little miss," my escort warns. "Tombstone ain't as patient as I am."

As we approach the large, metal door covering the entrance to the old factory begins to rise with a rusty squeal of protest. As it does, the warm, orange light from inside spills out like a wave of comfort. It washes the cold, December air away from me like a toasty hug. I can hear the signs of life emanating from inside, and I look over to my guide. He motions towards the entrance with an exaggerated bow, and I head for it.

We step into the building, and I'm shocked with what I find inside. It's a makeshift city. Tents and salvaged furniture dot the inside of the great hall, set up like neighborhood streets. Members of the gangs and people who I assume have taken refuge here mill about like neighbors who have known each other for years. Smiles dot their faces as they cook over grills or griddles, sharing food with their families and their friends. Children play soccer in the space between the tents, and their laughter fills the air like music. I can even spot some Christmas decorations around the area. Not only has the gang taken up in this place, they've made it a home.

"This is...really cool," is all I can get out, cursing myself for my lack of eloquence. "It is not what I was expecting in the slightest."

"That's what everyone says," the man beams. "But I'll let the big guy tell you about it. I'm just a grunt."

We pass by a group of women sowing together ripped clothes, salvaging what can be from the pile in front of them. They look up at me, showing mostly indifference in their eyes. I say mostly, because I can see fear there too. Fear, I assume, that I will tell someone about their safe haven here. Let someone know who will come and ruin everything they've built. I don't blame them. This might not be everyone's ideal living situation, but it's all these people have. They deserve it.

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask my guide as we traverse the meandering paths of tents towards the center of the old warehouse.

"Surprised you're interested," his eyebrows raise. "But if you gotta know, it's Davis. Aaron Davis. Used to be a petty shakedown man. A burglar. A good for nothing prowler. That's before Tombstone found me and gave me a purpose."

I look at him sideways. The pride in his voice when he talks about the life they've built here is evident. Still, they are a gang. They've clashed with police a few times already. They probably will again. But...I just can't find anything wrong with what they're doing. This refuge they've built and these people they've helped? It's commendable. That I have to admit.

Still, this could be a smokescreen. This...Tombstone could be using everyone here for some nefarious goal. The way Aaron is talking, he could damn well be a cult leader. They're known to foster complete devotion in their followers, and Davis is very clearly devoted.

Going further into the warehouse, we pass by a functioning auto shop. Members of the Pale Riders are hard at work souping up the cars in front of them, installing illegal spead boosters, new engines, and who knows what else. Must be where they get their money from. Makes sense.

Each member dons a denim vest, the hallmark of any good biker gang, I figure. And that's clearly what they are. Or at least what they were at one time. The sigil on the back of the vest shows a headstone with an Celtic-like cross on it. Tombstone certainly knows how to market himself.

The members of the gang barely seem to notice me. Some nod my way as I scan the area, watching the sparks fly off the cars as they chop them up for parts. One thing I don't notice in the work area is drugs. None being used and none hainging around to be pushed. That makes me feel a little bit better about all this.

I'm so engrossed with the goings on of the Pale Horses, that I don't notice the massive shadow that passes over me like a solar eclipse. Once I realize what's happened, I turn to find myself towered over by the man known as Tombstone.

Sometimes you'll read a person described as a "mountain of a man". I don't know who came up with that description, but I have to assume it came to them after meeting the gang leader towering in front of me. He stands well over six-foot-five, and his chest is seemingly as broad as one of the cars his men are working on. He looks down on me with intense, black eyes, and a face as white as a ghost. His thick arms are crossed over his chest as he studies me. He looks like a statue hewn out of snow-white marble. Unmovable and eternal.

"So," he rumbles in a low baritone, "you're the Spider. I expected you to be bigger."

He relaxes a bit, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck parked behind him. He nods to his lieutenant Davis, and the man leaves.

"And I assume you're Tombstone," I cross my own arms and look at him sideways. "You're...well you're pretty much exactly what I assumed you'd be."

He laughs, a booming, canon of a laugh, "Yea. I get that a lot. What do you think of our little home here?"

"It's impressive," I have to admit. "Not what I expected."

"Good," he smiles. "Now you can get the fuck out of the Bronx and leave us alone."

The smile quickly twists into a sneer. He doesn't move, but the malice begins to roll off of him.

"You know I can't do that," I stand my ground. "There's someone making poison in this part of town. Poison that's infecting every inch of this city. I can't sit around and let that stand."

"Ah. now you care about the little people. When you can look like a hero. When all you have to do is stop the bad guy," he spits.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you swing around New York like you own it. Like it doesn't matter. Like what follows in your privileged wake isn't trouble from one end to the other. Never noticing what your cost is. You pretend to be doing what you are to help people. But really it's just to indulge your power fantasies."

Anger starts to bubble up inside of me, "You think I don't notice? Think I don't care about the lives that are affected by the people who try and stir up trouble in this city? You're wrong. I know all the names of the people who died in the Surfer's attack."

"Big fuckin' deal," he laughs, this time quietly. "You know some names. What have you done to make their families lies better? What have you done to make sure it doesn't happen again? You may be good at stoppin bad guys, but you ain't no hero, Spider."

"Says the guy who beats up cops," I fire back instinctively.

"There you go, hiding behind the pillars of power," he smiles knowingly. "You think cops are always the good guys, when you know damn well they aren't. Not always. Maybe not even half the time. Hell, you're clinging to that even after Mayor McCrazy got elected, and you became priority number one over night. Power structures can be corrupted. Yet you sit here and pretend you can still work with them and make a difference. Not only that, but making metahumans officially targets doesn't help either. I got at least six mutants living here who are scared for their lives on the streets now that cops are looking to appease the mayor's edict."

He's not saying anything that hasn't crossed my mind in the past few months. The NYPD has become a thorn in my side, and the Goblin patrols are even worse. DeWolff and Dad are the only ones who will talk to me, where when I first started cops would take selfies with me half the time. Deep down I want to think that this malice wasn't always there, that they're just following orders...

But the saying about those following orders pricks at the back of my mind.

"I can't save something without at least trying to give it a chance. The police aren't perfect, I agree. But if I can become the hero you talk about, I can help bring them back from the brink. Make them the heroes they should be, instead of what they've become," I respond. "And that's all I'm asking from you. A chance to work in the Bronx. A chance to find the source of the Octopus's Ink and cut it off for good. I won't get in your way. As long as you don't get in mine."

"Is that a threat, little spider?" he stands, straightening his imposing figure yet again. "Because you would not want to tussle with us."

"Maybe not," I shrug. "But if you stop me from stopping the Octopus, or stop the cops I'm gonna need to arrest him, we're gonna find out just how tough you are, Tombstone."

Another booming, echoing laugh is followed by a smile, "Well, maybe we might just have to see that play out somewhere down the road. You want to try and take down the Ink dealer? Be my guest. But you remember what I said. You can stop the bad guys you want. But until you stop leaving a wake of human wreckage in your path, you ain't no hero. Now get out of here."

Our gaze locks for a few, silent moments. My hands clench in fists, but not in rage. More of annoyance, out of anything. Annoyance that this gang leader has cut straight into the heart of my recent crisis of faith so easily.

I fire a webline to an open window above, and make my way towards where I think the Octopus is holding up.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Yea, my post is taking a bit longer to get right than I hoped. It'll be up tomorrow

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I’m hoping to have a post up tonight. If not tomorrow evening

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Telling people "No Goku" now gives them just enough time to power up to let you have it when your game finally drops...

@Hound55

My take, to differentiate it from this game in a bigger way than just having Indy characters, is to make it more horror/sci fi based. Less about massive superhero battles, more about saving the world from demons and eldritch space horrors. Have the superheroics be a bit more clandestine. At least at the beginning. So keeping the characters to that kind of aim is the goal. Obviously this is a work in progress and I will take all opinions on the matter into consideration, but that's what I'm going for at this point with it.