no one dies!

( UNJUSTIFIED MEANS TO AN UNREALISTIC END, WAYWARD BROTHER, TRAGIC HERO REMADE WITH A GOD COMPLEX )▸ welcome to latverion, BEN REILLY (JACKAL). it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 35 and use HE/HIM pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as BIOTECHNICIAN (SHERIFF), or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution. ( BEN BARNES )

Felicia chuckled as he mentioned she should try it. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” She didn’t become the way she was or have the skillset she had to become a thief. That wasn’t how it started anyway. She supposed she wanted to steal something back from someone who had stolen from her in the worst way possible. An eye for an eye. Even that was stolen from her. “Didn’t really liberate me the way I thought it would.” Not until she met Black Fox and learned the truth about her father. That she had a taste of what true freedom was, it was addictive. “I live to be free from everyone and everything. You might like it.” She repeated his earlier sentiment with a glint in her eye. “Oh, I’m not. The world owes me and believe me baby, I am going to cash in till I bleed the sucker dry.” She laughed but her statement was serious. It was what filled the void for her. The adrenaline rush. The materialistic prizes of her success. Moving with him, Felicia’s eyes searched his face for a moment as he asked what he could give her. She paused, letting the silence linger, her own words just for him to hear. “Make me feel alive.” It was the perhaps the most honest thing she said in a long time.

A short nod followed his words, and she managed a tight-lipped smile back, although it felt a bit strange to be smiling at a time like this. This whole world was an imitation, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people who needed more immediate saving. “Yes, I think it would be best if I kept my own secrets secret,” she said, raising a brow. “More fun that way, isn’t it?” At his next words though, she softened, a part of her unable to help the way her eyes drifted to the floor. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She said finally, looking up and meeting Ben’s eyes. It felt strange not to go into detail, but she didn’t know quite yet if she could trust him. “How long do you think it will take?”

“She’s no one’s Gwen,” he hissed. “She belongs to herself.” It was a horrible cliched romance novel line, but he wasn’t going for originality right now. He was just trying to figure his way through this, one beat at a time. Here was what Peter knew: There was a man standing in front of him with his face, a few years older. He said his name was Ben Reilly. He said he was from another universe. He said he was Peter Parker’s brother. He knew who Peter was. And Peter didn’t know him.

There was a simple solution in here somewhere, a collection of the simplest answers that, when added up, formed the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. There was a longer one, something involving a lot of spying and mind games and manipulation and a deeply sick sense of humor. The problem was, in his experience, simple was never simple, and overcomplicated to all hell was just called Tuesday. There were ways to get answers–take him at his word, trust his gut, snag some of his hair as he swung off to run tests in the lab, maybe panic-text Tony and/or Reed, whoever had the most bandwidth for this current existential multiversal crisis. There was also just freeze, fighting down every urge to beat the shit out of this stranger.

He was also coming dangerously close to giving up the Spider-Man act. It didn’t matter if Ben claimed to know who he was; Peter wasn’t about to break down and admit it. That would defeat the whole reason he wore this goddamn mask.  “If I knew who Gwen was,” he said, “which I don’t, I’d say she’s very much alive. Which means you–” Peter jabbed a finger against Ben’s chest, hard, “shouldn’t exist.” Without breaking eye contact, he leapt back against the building behind them, hands and feet clinging to the wall. “We’re done here.”

As he mentioned living in spite, Felicia didn’t say anything at first, content to just move to the beat. “Spite sounds a little less fun.” She commented as she looked him up and down for a moment. “I’ve seen the world and people lie and hurt each other all the time. I just decided I am not going to let the world screw me over anymore.” That was what she distilled it down to. She would never let anyone take anything from her, material or otherwise, ever again. Never again. As they picked up the pace, she let out a laugh as she leaned back, eyes gazing up to the flashing lights and strobes. “Don’t know what to tell you, honey. Nothing is ever enough for me.”

“You keep her name out of your mouth.” It’s out before he can stop himself, before he even realizes he’s saying it. The keeping cool, calm, and collected thing is gone in an instant; Ben found the fissure, the crack, the chink, and he wrenched it open. It wasn’t that he was wrong–no, he was very, very right. Gwen was safer without Spider-Man. Her father was dead because of him. Her life was ruined, a man was buried, he wouldn’t watch her throw her cap at graduation, wouldn’t walk her down the aisle, wouldn’t make something stupid and fancy for dinner (who casually just made branzino, anyway?), and it was all because of him. Gwen Stacy would be better off without Spider-Man, and so she would be better off without Peter Parker. He knew that.

But how did Ben?

Brother? Huh. That would explain it, he supposed. Maybe in some weird parallel universe, Peter Parker wasn’t an only child. Maybe Richard and Mary lived in that one. Maybe they’d raised their two sons happily, maybe, maybe… But that wouldn’t account for whatever had happened to Ben that had made him like this. Maybe Peter was better off not knowing. Peter swallowed, for once in his wife struggling for words. When they finally came, they were as icy as Ben’s, sharp and cold on his tongue. “I don’t have a brother.”

🧬 — He reacted to the threat. How could he not?  He knew the power behind the words, knew better than to underestimate them. That said, he was anticipating the outburst — had crafted it — so outwardly he just blinked his deep, dark eyes at the masked vigilante. Gwen Stacy would always matter, having a place in their genetically identical hearts. The nerve is struck, and Spider-Man admits it... repeating his claim. Peter Parker didn’t have a brother. It pushed the puzzle pieces just close enough to be recognizable as a picture. Peter hadn’t lost her yet.

🎭— “To remind them that I am beautiful…” Whitney was not in the business of beating around the bush, or maybe not in the mood, it was hard to tell which end of the constantly swinging pendulum was her real personality anymore. “And so if he wants to stop me, he has to look me in the eyes as he does it.”

||    she would like to think she’s a good judge of character.     someone who can see a little deeper,   dig a little deeper,   but karen is only human.   she is flawed,   and once upon a time,   a little bit naive.   despite her own paranoia,   that sharp sting of worry in her gut,   sometimes she still has a hard time always being on the defense.   maybe she’s tired.   maybe she wants to encounter nice people for a change.   both of these truths can exist.    “  a soft spot for journalists,   huh  ?  that’s not one i hear very often.   i’m usually getting swore at.  ”    her smile here is genuine,    amusement curling the edges upward warmly.    “  i’d appreciate any help or answers,   honestly.   dr. reilly,   you said,   right  ?  thank you for your kindness,   i promise i won’t be here long.   this department of science building is just  —  incredibly big.   are you a doctor here  ?  ”

Johnny reflexively bit down on a pleased smile as he hovered in the air. “Couldn’t stay away, huh? Classic Spidey/Torch team-up time!” The flames in his eyes sparked brighter - he couldn’t help it. It didn’t really matter how many times they’d done this, it was always a little more fun with Spider-Man. Johnny took a quick look down below to check Chtylok was still contained. “I can’t hold this forever,” he said, most of his concentration on keeping the flames in check, and not anywhere near Peter, who was taking refuge on a nearby wall. “What’s our play here, genius?”

There were shades of gray here; shades of gray that Peggy wasn’t entirely sure if she was comfortable with. Yet, in a world where Doom was king, she supposed she really couldn’t complain. At least there was help to be found, if she was willing to go digging for it. A small nod of her head followed. “And there’s the answer I was hoping for,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Any toxins. Fingerprints. If there are scraps of doombot on it, maybe there’s enough to place them at the scene.” Peggy knew that Ben didn’t know entirely what she was doing, but she supposed he could guess. Subtly wasn’t necessary, not here. 

“eh, i wouldn’t get that ahead of yourself, groot thinks a covering of moss is real nice.“ rocket shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back and listened to ben explain what he wanted - well sort of - still, it was more than what he’d normally get an offer for. “oh i like specifics, i very much do. its like finding the perfect glass eyeball in a jar of marbles.” he explained, smirking with his fangs and then openly snickering. “it might be hard given the whole unexpected multiversal collapse but eh, i tend to find what i want and need, and if a client is paying - i always find what they’re looking for.” he paused and tilted his head, his ear twitching. “yeah, alright, yeah me and groot can certainly get this done for you - you got a time frame or monetary compensational figures ready to lay out? contracts i mean, i like getting something in writing because quill said its a good thing to have and if you don’t do it i can throw a book at your head. or something like that.”

Pete. He tried not to flinch. Flinching was a tell that the name meant something to him. It was something to him. It meant that hearing it in not-quite-his voice out of not-quite-his mouth–the man’s mouth–Ben’s mouth– hit him somehow. He had a secret identity to uphold, and Pete was home in his shitty little studio studying for an exam, wasn’t he? This was already blurring the lines between his lives too much. This whole thing was playing with something dark and dangerous, crawling beneath his skin and constricting itself around his chest. He wasn’t about to add Pete to the mix. If he flinched, Ben won.

Instead, he took a deep breath, and felt his hand curl itself into a fist. His fingers weren’t on his web trigger, exactly, but they weren’t far off, either. They never were. “Who’s Pete?” he said, hoping, praying that his voice was still level. He hoped that it was still Spider-Man’s voice, which was a little deeper and rounder than Pete’s voice, more comfortable carrying the sounds of a life spent in New York City. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. Hope he’s not running around the city dressed like a bug at a slumber party, too–yeesh. Sounds like a cry for help.” He clenched his jaw and stiffened his shoulders. This could get ugly; so ugly, so fast. And he wouldn’t let him. He was going back to that shitty little studio, he was curling up with a pint of ice cream, he was going to stare at his ceiling until he could write the whole thing off as a horrible sleep-deprived hallucination. Or Mysterio. “And this whole shtick, dude? It’s over. Go home.”

🧬 — Stone cold. He admired that. This Spidey, for what it was worth, was far less tired than his brother had been. Ben remembered this version, remembered being that patient. For a second too long, he looked deep into those lenses; past them and into eyes he knew he’d recognize. Then it’s back up. The façade he had crafted so well, the one that tricked his world into believing he were Peter Parker. The liar’s mask. But his intention isn’t to deceive this young hero, no. It was far too late for that. Not after he had teased open the curtain, shown him a piece of the madman behind it. No, no. He wanted the contrast. He wanted to show two could play this game, and that he was dealing himself in. An impasse, but only for now. 

“We?” The word burned under his skin. He felt it tremble with wrongness; not spider sense, just regular, old-fashioned, something is really fucked up here sense. And of course something was really fucked up here: a man stood across from him wearing the cruelest version of his face, the one he tried so hard to keep hidden, the one he caught sometimes in sidelong reflections and frightened even himself. This looked like the brittlest parts of him, the worst instincts, left to grow out in the open. We was too close to confirming his worst suspicion, the Occam’s Razor explanation he refused to entertain.

Peter tried to make a joke about fanny packs or aerodynamics or how he laughed in the face of fashion and physics, but the hard edge to his voice clawed its way up his throat. And then the man who might have been him but wasn’t called himself Ben, said they were close in his universe. There were a lot of Bens in the world. There were a lot of Reillys in the world. There were a lot of people who looked like Peter in the world. But all of them? Absolutely not. “Listen, man,” Peter said. His voice was low and level, menacing in its quiet. “I don’t care who the fuck you think you are. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. There’s no we. But yeah, get a cat. Capisce?”

🧬 — The effect didn’t go unnoticed. But Ben, he doesn’t bat an eyelash. Does nothing to throw him a lifeline. Whereas, in the past, he would have been sympathetic toward the others plight... in this moment, he felt very little empathy all. Not apathy, no — his sadism far too grand for that. Even in an incursion-riddled multiverse, the Jackal had all but grown numb to it all. Not to this. This was a scratch to an itch he didn’t realize he had. How could he?  It was a string, plucked; tuned to a fine, deafening note. Peter Parker, unraveling.

🎭— Paranoia, dedication to an aesthetic, and a powerful authority over one’s own identity. “Exactly what you want it to…not enough.” Whitney’s gaze roamed the curved edges of the helmet, her busy fingers moving to slide down her own cheek, imagining the feeling of it through the mask “Why leave your eyes unmasked?” Madame Masques own reasons were simple, vanity, but curiosity had gnawed her tongue into asking anyway.

Felicia had to admit, she was stunned at his question. She wasn’t asked things like that. She avoided everything like it. She leaned up to his ear so she could answer. “Why live if you aren’t going to live well?” She said over the music as she leaned back to look up at him. “You move like you were born yesterday.” Felicia laughed. Of course she had to poke fun at him as she was keeping up with him with ease. “Song? Great.” Felicia ran her index finger down his lips, her talon like manicure tugging his bottom lip briefly before she smirked as she removed her finger. “Partner? Never good enough for me, babe.”