Chapter 73

Arc 6 - Ch 6: Celebration

Date: Friday, June 24, 2011.

Location: Manhattan, New York

At the far end of the warehouse loomed a solitary metal door, and beside it, an imposing figure. The man was thickly built, with a shaved head and a coiled wire running from his ear to disappear under his black t-shirt. His eyes tracked Tyson and Jubilee's approach, flinty and assessing. Tyson met the guard's eyes and sensed the potential for violence kept firmly in check. As they drew nearer, he detected an unusual scent clinging to the man; metallic, with an undertone of cedar.

After a moment, the guard stepped aside and opened the door, granting them silent permission to enter. As soon as they crossed the threshold, throbbing bass and strobing lights enveloped them. Tyson blinked against the sudden sensory assault. The warehouse had been transformed into a thriving nightclub, packed with gyrating bodies and awash in vibrant colors. Industrial girders swept overhead while high-tech lighting rigs and speakers studded the walls.

Jubilee turned to Tyson, her eyes sparkling with exhilaration. She squeezed his arm excitedly. "Let's go check it out!" Allowing himself to get caught up in her enthusiasm, Tyson followed her into the pulsing crowds.

With a subtle flexing of his illusion power, he lowered the perceived volume and pounding bass to a dull throb, allowing him and Jubilee to talk without shouting. Though he tried to hide it, his tense posture betrayed his discomfort in the club. She eagerly led him to the bar. Her enthusiasm faltered slightly when she noticed the tight set of his shoulders. "You look a little tense," she said, her voice tinged with concern and gentle encouragement. "Try to relax a bit."

Tyson ordered a vodka-Coke for her, and a straight vodka for himself, though the alcohol's effect would be short-lived on him. When he passed one of the glasses to Jubilee, she hesitantly admitted, "I've never drank before."

He chuckled and advised in a soft tone. "Then take it slow."

Jubilee sipped tentatively at first, her reaction one of mild surprise. "It's not too bad," she admitted. Bolstered by her first taste, she drank more eagerly, feeling the alcohol loosen her inhibitions slightly.

As they leaned against the bar, Jubilee placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "What's got you so tense?"

Tyson's nose wrinkled at the scent that permeated the converted warehouse. "This place reeks of iron. It's like it used to be a gym or something, but way worse," he remarked.

She looked at him quizzically, taking an exaggerated sniff of the air. "I don't smell anything like that," she responded with a puzzled shake of her head, causing her black hair to sway. "The rumor on the web was that they set up these raves in meat-packing factories. Maybe that's what you're picking up? Or maybe it's just the idea of 'meat-packing' that makes you uncomfortable?" Jubilee teased.

Tyson raised an eyebrow at her innuendo. "Cute," he said dryly.

Though Jubilee's playful banter helped diffuse some of the tension in his shoulders, the persistent metallic scent still grated at his senses, keeping him on edge. He tried to push past it, focusing instead on Jubilee's infectious enthusiasm in the pulsing atmosphere of the club. After finishing her drink, she grabbed Tyson's hand, enthusiastically pulling him towards the dance floor. She was determined to fully immerse them both into the lively spirit of the club. Surrounded by the pulsing rhythm and movement of the energetic crowd, Tyson gradually felt the tension leave his body. His concerns faded into the background as he and Jubilee lost themselves in the moment.

Tyson did not consider himself a dancer. However, his initial awkwardness on the dance floor was quickly eclipsed by the martial arts training ingrained in his muscles. It had gifted him an innate sense of rhythm and his enhanced senses granted him awareness. This combined with his superhuman agility lent an unexpected elegance to his motions, allowing him to flow with the music. As Jubilee swayed and dipped to the driving beats, Tyson easily synced himself to her rhythms. His ability to adapt so quickly made their motions seem almost choreographed.

As song after song pulsed through the club, Jubilee slowly closed the distance between them. What had begun as two friends moving to the music subtly shifted into something more intimate. The space between them, once maintained by the casual distance of friends, diminished bit by bit. Jubilee's hands traced the hard contours of Tyson's chest and abdominals. Her touches were feather-light but deliberate. Tyson responded in kind, his motions becoming more attuned to Jubilee's nearness, to the sensation of her fingers brushing his body. Their closeness acknowledged the connection that had been growing between them. The crowd and the throbbing beats and strobing lights dwindled into a background ambiance underscoring the personal moment they shared.

Seeking more privacy, Jubilee retreated from the throbbing beats of the dance floor to an empty booth, dragging Tyson with her. She seated herself on Tyson's lap rather than across from him. Her action was fueled partially by tipsiness.

"Is this you?" she asked him point-blank. "Or just an illusion?"

Tyson regarded Jubilee with a touch of humor. "Yup, this is me, no illusions," he said, glancing meaningfully at the leather of her jacket where it met his hands. "I'm being careful where I put my hands. The long sleeves help."

Jubilee responded by grinding her hips deliberately into Tyson's lap in clear invitation. The move was as surprising as it was enticing. She was testing the waters of their mutual attraction and feeling his growing hardness was all the answer she needed. Her gaze was direct, almost challenging as she asked, "What if I don't want you to be so careful?"

It was a bold dare.

The lines between friendship and physical attraction blurred as they regarded each other. Jubilee wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as their faces hovered mere inches apart.

"This is dangerous," Tyson breathed, though he made no move to withdraw from her tempting proximity.

Jubilee was undeterred by his warning and grew even more forward with his lack of resistance. She leaned in closer, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered daringly, "Illyana told me what it was like to be with you." Her warm breath tickled his ear, and the pause that followed her murmured words was heavy with implication. When she continued, her question was as unexpected as it was forward. "If my first time is with illusions… Does it still count as losing my virginity?"

Tyson sat dumbfounded as Jubilee's unexpected question hung between them. She had caught him completely off guard. He struggled to gather his scattered thoughts. "You're drunk," he finally managed, "Are you messing with me?"

Jubilee's light, teasing laughter broke the tense silence between them. Amusement danced in her eyes. "The drinks are just helping me say what I've been thinking," she admitted with a nonchalant shrug. Her cheeks were flushed, whether it was from the alcohol or her confession, Tyson couldn't tell. "That day you fought Azazel, we touched. You know me, you know how I feel." Her words held an undeniable ring of truth, the alcohol loosening her tongue to give voice to emotions she'd normally keep private.

Tyson rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw, considering her words carefully. "I didn't expect you to be so forward," he conceded.

"I don't know why you think I'm so shy and innocent," she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "I'm not Jean." Then her tone shifted, taking on an unmistakable suggestiveness. Jubilee leaned in. "Thanks for taking me dancing tonight," she purred. "I think I'm ready to head out now. Dessert sounds good."

Her words were simple but the look in her eyes and the curve of her smile implied she was ready for more intimate activities. Tyson understood her meaning clearly. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, and he was willing to follow wherever it led.

But then Tyson froze.

The hauntingly familiar tune of the next track the DJ played sent a spike of recognition through him.

The pounding bass reverberated through the club as he struggled to place where he had heard it before. Jubilee's sultry smile shifted into confusion and concern. "What's wrong?" She asked, worry tingeing her voice.

Tyson's eyes were drawn to a dark spot on Jubilee's cheek.

At first, he dismissed it as smudged makeup, but when he grabbed a napkin to wipe it away, he realized…

It was blood.

Why was blood on her face? She wasn't hurt and their private booth was away from anyone else.

The clubgoers who had been dancing in a chaotic crowd raised their hands to the beat in eerie unison. Their synchronized movement was almost cultish and instantly drew Jubilee and Tyson's attention.

The iron scent that lingered in his senses since they arrived suddenly intensified sharply. Its source became horrifyingly clear as the sprinkler system activated, unleashing not the expected rush of water, but a deluge of blood that rained down upon the club.

Around them, clubgoers were either horrified or basking in the blood rain with an almost euphoric exuberance.

The sight set off a red alert in Tyson's mind.

With no time to dwell on the unfolding scene, he wrapped illusory invisibility and silence around himself and Jubilee. Crafting an illusion visible only to her, he projected an image of his heroic identity, Mirage.

The illusion spoke urgently, commanding Jubilee's attention and trying to prevent her from panicking. "We're in immense danger."

All the while, Tyson never took his eyes off the crowd.

Jubilee's eyes widened as she took in the blood coating her body. Though she tried to suppress it, Tyson sensed the rising fear within her. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid.

Mirage pressed on, his tone urgent yet composed. "Jubilee, please, trust me now, and breathe. Yes, you are covered in blood. This club is filled with vampires, the supernatural kind, not the romanticized fiction. They are real and very dangerous."

Despite the bizarre revelation, the earnestness in Mirage's voice forced Jubilee to process it all.

"Your mutant powers should be effective against them in a fight. But do not let them bite you under any circumstances. I am unsure if my illusions will work, but I'm trying to conceal us."

The crowd of vampires began turning their attention toward the pair.

"Correction. It seems my illusions don't work on them. Alright, plan B then. Keep your back to the wall, do not let them surround you. I will do everything in my power to hold them off. Remember, while they might look human, these vampires possess supernatural speed and strength." In a reassuring gesture, Mirage then removed his mask, revealing Tyson's familiar face to Jubilee. "We are going to get through this, Jubes. Have faith in us. We make a great team, you and I.

The real Tyson risked looking over his shoulder at her and said, "This was not how I envisioned our night going. But I won't let a pack of vampires stop me from getting some. Will you?"

Despite the harrowing circumstances, the playful challenge in his final question was Tyson's way of affirming his commitment to Jubilee, their relationship, and protecting her no matter the cost.

Before she could respond, his tone shifted to more playful despite their dire circumstances. "Hey Jubes, it's been too long since we gamed together. Want to go a round?"

A heads-up display materialized before Jubilee's eyes. The familiar gaming interface appeared, complete with a party window listing Tyson's name and health bar. The vampires, who moments earlier had inspired a primal dread in her, now bore floating names like 'a rave vampire' and 'a blood-soaked vampire'. Health bars appeared above each foe.

Their grim reality now seemed transformed into a challenge they could tackle side-by-side. Her spirit lifted as Tyson turned their situation into a game.

"Now this is what I call fore-play," Jubilee joked in a whisper.

The first vampire charged with supernatural speed. Tyson's response was swift and lethal. Adamantium claws slid from his fingernails with a soft snikt. Grasping the vampire's arm in an iron grip, Tyson unleashed a devastating straight-finger jab. The adamantium claws sliced cleanly through the creature's neck causing the vampire's body to disintegrate into glowing ash.

His swift dispatching of the first vampire shook the predatory confidence of the remaining creatures. They hesitated.

But then another vampire emerged from the crowd, her appearance was striking despite the macabre context. Blood soaked through the thin white shirt she wore, rendering the material nearly transparent as it clung to her. It was obvious she wore no bra, as her nipples were visible, poking excitedly against the wet fabric.

Jubilee took in the scene with a hint of disdain, muttering, "Ugh, it's one of those kinds of games," as she recognized the overly sexualized tropes often used to appeal to male fantasies.

The vampire woman inhaled deeply, her senses honing in on the scent of the humans before her. She looked directly at Tyson. "You smell so fucking good," she purred, her voice a disturbing mix of wonder and hunger. "Why does your blood smell so delicious?"

Jubilee rolled her eyes and sighed, resignation and annoyance evident in her tone. She mumbled, "Definitely one of those kinds of games... If she doesn't have good boob physics, I'm going to be disappointed."

The female vampire launched toward Tyson, her arms outstretched and fangs bared. Tyson responded with the composure of a seasoned fighter. Shifting his weight onto his back leg, he braced for impact.

The vampire's supernatural leap became her downfall. Already committed, she could not adjust her course. Suspended helplessly in mid-air, she made an easy target. With a powerful thrust of his front leg, Tyson launched a massive kick to her chest. His foot connected solidly, stopping her momentum and reversing it entirely. The vampire woman flew backward, slamming full force into the crowd. They went down in a heap, her body bowling them over like pins.

Tyson watched dispassionately as the creatures untangled themselves, hissing and snarling in rage. The rain from the sprinklers had tapered off, but the tension within the club remained. Tyson, Jubilee, and the vampires were locked in a standoff, though it was clear the vamps hesitated to re-engage after witnessing Tyson's display of power.

The break in the fight was shattered when a shout rose from elsewhere in the club.

"It's the Daywalker!"

The exclamation originated from another part of the warehouse, rippling through the crowd, carrying equal parts fear and awe. The term bore grave meaning to the vampiric horde but brought a smile to Tyson's face.

They weren't alone here.

Unexpected reinforcements had arrived.

Despite this distraction, the female vampire Tyson had sent flying through the air remained fixated upon him and Jubilee. She extricated herself from the tangle of allies, hissing commands to rally them. Her once-alluring appearance was now marred by violence as she shrieked, "What are you waiting for? Get them!"

The horde surged forward at her command in a wave of hunger. A large portion broke off in pursuit of the proclaimed Daywalker, but the rest descended upon Tyson and Jubilee. Tyson planted himself before the onrushing tide. He struck out, claws flashing as he sought to keep the predators at bay. But despite his formidable martial prowess, the vampires' unnatural speed and strength allowed them to dart and weave through his defenses with alarming agility. Their attacks came in a blur that tested Tyson's reflexes. Though his powerful blows staggered the bloodsuckers briefly, they failed to do lasting harm. Only when he unleashed his adamantium claws, severing heads, did he achieve definitive results. Each beheading was followed by the vampire's body disintegrating into motes of glowing ash.

The gashes and bruises that marred Tyson's body went ignored as he focused his efforts on protecting Jubilee. Though the wounds stitched themselves closed as quickly as they were inflicted, by his mutant healing factor.

Jubilee tapped into the explosive powers that were her unique mutant gift. The air crackled with gathering energy as she conjured her signature plasmoids into existence. Spheres of destructive force, glowing hot and angry, were hurled with unerring aim into the thickest concentration of vampires. The plasmoids detonated upon impact, tearing through the bloodsucker ranks with each blast. Direct hits to undead chests resulted in the vampires violently bursting apart in swirling ash.

Emboldened by her display of power, Tyson fought the vampiric horde with reckless abandon, his adamantium claws shredding any bloodsucker unfortunate enough to come within reach. Abandoning his defenses, he was a whirlwind of lethality, intent on inflicting maximum harm to the relentless tide of fanged fury. Jubilee provided cover fire for the berserker mutant, her plasmoids coming one after another in a relentless barrage. She targeted any vampire that slipped past Tyson's whirling guard, then cleared those attempting to surround and flank them.

In the chaos, two opportunistic vampires spied an opening and launched a coordinated attack on the preoccupied Tyson. As his claws sank satisfyingly deep into the chest of another bloodsucker, one grabbed his arm. Sensing opportunity, a second vampire seized Tyson's other arm as he reflexively stabbed forward, stretching his arms wide and neutralizing his strength. The female vampire who rallied the horde earlier saw his momentary vulnerability. Before he could summon the strength to break free of the vampires' grasp, she sank her fangs triumphantly into his flesh.

Tyson struggled against the vampires holding his arms. His muscles strained and bulged, but with each restraining one arm, they kept him at bay, if only just. The blonde female vampire threw her head back, her eyes rolling in ecstasy as she savored the taste of his blood.

"Oh god, you taste so good," she moaned, her voice thick with pleasure and hunger. Her lips were stained crimson with Tyson's blood. She licked them with relish. "I'm going to take you as my familiar." Her eyes locked with his, and he felt a strange pull as if she were trying to reach into his soul. "You're special," she purred, her words dripping with dark promise. "When fed on, you'll feel the pleasure that I feel." The sounds of the battle around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the pounding of his heart and the wet sounds of the vampire feeding.

Jubilee's voice cut through the fog in Tyson's mind. "Tyson!" she screamed, her voice laced with panic.

Witnessing his peril, Jubilee hurled plasmoids at the vampire holding his right arm, the bursts of incandescent light reduced it to disintegrating ash but also badly burned Tyson's arm, exposing the metallic skeleton beneath. It was a brutal attack.

But Jubilee knew Tyson would heal, the vampire wouldn't.

Plus it freed his arm.

Any sense of triumph faded as the horde seized the opportunity and streamed past Tyson, breaking through the protective line he had fought so fiercely to maintain in front of Jubilee. She responded with a sweeping barrage of plasmoids, the incandescent energy incinerating many and halting the rest. It was an impressive display of her abilities, a fiery barrier holding back the tide.

But one vampire vaulted over the blast, its predatory focus intent on Jubilee. She pivoted and raised her hand to unleash a targeted burst. Too late. With supernatural quickness the vampire seized her arm, halting her counterattack. Fangs sank into her wrist before she could react.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Defiance flashed in Jubilee's eyes. Her free hand erupted with plasmic fury, reducing her attacker to ash. But the brief victory faded as two more vampires emerged from the crowd. Ravenous hunger burned in their gaze. Jubilee raised her hands and annihilated the vampires attacking her. Meanwhile, Tyson reasserted his presence in the fight. The female vampire retreated as he separated another attacker's head from its body.

For a brief moment, the chaos and fury of battle subsided. Tyson stood, clothes ripped, the vampires giving him a wide berth. Jubilee had a chance to catch her breath and regroup. She pulled her sleeve down and tightened it, hiding her bite mark.

The fleeting respite shattered with the sudden, jarring staccato of automatic gunfire. The bullets efficiently mowed down several vampires in rapid succession, their forms disintegrating into dust as the rounds found their marks. One impacted Tyson's head with a loud, metallic ping, briefly staggering him before the bullet fell flattened to the ground.

As the echo of the final gunshot faded, the source of the gunfire stepped into view. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a distinctive flat-top haircut. Dressed in black leather and tactical gear, he carried a firearm but also a silver sword. This unexpected ally's dramatic entrance shifted the tide of battle.

The remaining vampires scattered in a desperate bid to escape the threat posed by the newcomer. All except for that blonde female vampire. Whether fueled by rage, stubborn pride, or a blood frenzy brought on by drinking from Tyson, she charged headlong toward the man heedless of the danger.

The man met her reckless attack with calm readiness. With an underhanded flick, he hurled the empty firearm at the onrushing vampire. She ducked reflexively to avoid it, falling perfectly into his trap. In that brief instant when her vision was obscured, the man exploded into motion. His sword thrust forward, finding its mark deep in the vampire's chest. The female vampire's body crumbled into fine ash that drifted away into the air as the last remnants of her essence scattered to nothingness.

Tyson knew this man, thanks to his meta-knowledge.

Blade.

A vampire hunter, who was a dhampir himself, a half-vampire.

Blade turned, shifting his focus and his sword toward Tyson. The tension that permeated the warehouse was almost a tangible thing.

"Thanks for the assist," Tyson said, but his gratitude died on his lips.

Blade's sword remained poised, ready to strike. His cold eyes held no hint of warmth or trust. "Nice try," he bit out. "You blend in well. I almost thought you were human for a second."

Tyson blinked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"You seemed convincingly protective of your familiar there." Blade barked a harsh laugh. "But you, suck-head, you're not going anywhere. While you fought, your fangs and claws were clear as day." Comprehension dawned on Tyson a beat too late. The dhampir had mistaken him for a vampire. Before he could utter a denial, the man continued, his tone edged with steel. "Since you cared so much about your 'familiar,' I'll make you a deal. Tell me where I can find Frost, and I'll let her leave..." His eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. "If she wasn't bitten."

The implacable determination on Blade's face suggested that he wouldn't accept Tyson's explanations. He watched the vampire hunter warily, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. And now, Blade's cold gaze was fixed on Jubilee with lethal intent.

Tyson cleared his throat, hoping to draw Blade's attention. "Alright, I'll tell you where Frost is. Let her go."

Blade's eyes narrowed, "That wasn't the deal," he said, his voice sharp as the sword in his hands.

Jubilee shrank back against the wall, her yellow jacket scuffed and torn from their earlier skirmish. Tyson's protective instincts surged. He couldn't let Blade near her.

Tyson exploded into motion. His claws erupted from his fingertips as he launched himself at Blade. The vampire hunter spun away with supernatural speed, Tyson's swipe cutting only air. In the same motion, Blade drew his silver sword and slashed at Tyson's arm. The blade cut through Tyson's skin and muscle but skittered off Tyson's adamantium-laced bones.

As he exchanged blows with Blade, Tyson summoned his powers. An illusion of himself appeared beside Jubilee.

"Time to go, Jubes," the Mirage urged.

Jubilee hesitated, her eyes darting between the real Tyson and the illusion.

The Mirage gave her a gentle push toward the exit. "Don't worry about me. I can handle this guy."

Tyson landed a bruising kick on Blade's torso, demonstrating his point and buying them a few precious seconds.

"His sword can't kill me. But it's time for you to get to safety."

Jubilee still wavered, torn between fleeing and staying to help.

The Mirage placed its hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes earnestly. "I promise it'll be okay. Watch out for vamps as you go. I'll keep him distracted long enough for you to get away."

At last, Jubilee nodded and slipped away, the sounds of combat fading behind her. He had bought Jubilee's escape. Now he just had to survive Blade, disengage, and escape to reunite with Jubilee.

Blade spun and dodged, seeking an opening to drive home a killing blow. For his part, Tyson relied on his mutant abilities and adamantium-laced skeleton to withstand the assault. Blade was fast, but Tyson was durable. The vampire hunter dropped low and thrust his sword toward Tyson's chest with viper-like quickness. Despite the precision of the strike, the silvered steel blade was turned aside by the indestructible metal beneath Tyson's skin. Recognizing the futility of continuing his attack, Blade disengaged, rolling away to gain distance as he reassessed this unexpected opponent.

"What are you?" Blade demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity.

"Not a vamp. A mutant," Tyson replied.

Blade's eyes narrowed, flicking between Tyson and the doorway Jubilee had just slipped through. Blade needed to end this, now, before the girl got away. The vampire hunter snatched a silver dagger from his belt and whipped it towards Tyson's chest, aiming for his heart.

Tyson's hand snapped up. His fingers closed around the spinning knife mere inches from his chest, the blade biting into his palm. Blood welled around the embedded weapon, but to Blade's astonishment, instead of dripping to the floor, the crimson liquid solidified and reshaped into a butterfly that took wing, fluttering away.

The wound sealed shut, leaving unmarred skin behind. He met Blade's gaze steadily. "I already told you, I'm not like the bloodsuckers you hunt," he said with a note of weary patience.

Blade's eyes narrowed, uncertainty flickering across his stony expression for the first time.

This was no vampire.

In the distance, sirens wailed. The authorities were responding. Blade tensed, his enhanced hearing picking up the sounds of squealing tires and doors slamming. He had mere moments before the police swarmed this place.

With a scowl, the vampire hunter turned and vanished, supernatural speed carrying him away. Tyson watched him go, shoulders slumping in relief. Now he just had to get out and find Jubes. The cops would have questions he didn't intend to answer. Pocketing the silver knife, he ran out of the warehouse and into the night to find her, intent on reuniting with his friend.

— Rogue Replacement —

Felicia Hardy slipped quietly into the loading bay of House of M, her eyes scanning the space until they settled on an old, beat-up cargo van tucked away in the back corner. She had used Tyson's money to purchase the van for eight thousand dollars cash from a retiring plumber, ensuring the transaction remained off the books and untraceable. Felicia slid into the driver's seat of the unassuming vehicle, its engine rumbled to life with a raspy growl that stood in contrast to the luxury cars she had grown accustomed to since starting at House of M. For her current needs, reliability mattered more than luxury.

Guiding the van through the bustling streets of Manhattan, Felicia wove a winding path downtown towards the island's west side. The van carried her through the Holland Tunnel and off the island, blending seamlessly into the traffic on Interstate 78 before switching over to Interstate 95 South. The nondescript van was the perfect inconspicuous getaway car to take her far from the city. After about an hour's drive, Felicia arrived in Wharton, New Jersey. But before reaching her final destination, she pulled onto a deserted stretch of road and stopped. Quickly swapping the van's license plates for a fake "I Heart NY" novelty plate they had acquired just for this purpose, Felicia took one last precaution to cover her tracks.

Climbing into the rear, she was greeted by the sight of an exosuit waiting for her. Methodically, Felicia began donning the high-tech suit, preparing for the mission ahead.

For weeks Ivan Vanko had immersed himself in this latest project, one personally commissioned by Tyson. Vanko was charged with constructing a suit for the lithe Felicia. Inspiration for her suit came from the armored exoskeleton he had worn during the confrontation with Tony Stark on the Monaco racetrack. This new creation would not encapsulate its wearer in a full-body Iron Man-style shell. Instead, Vanko streamlined the design to a minimalist framework centered on key reinforced joints and strategic protection pads. The inclusion of a compact Arc reactor as the power source granted Felicia immense strength, allowing her to lift weights hundreds of pounds beyond her natural capacity. Assembling such an exosuit would ordinarily have been simple for Vanko. However, the true challenge lay not in the construction itself, but in the required refinements.

Tyson's specifications had been explicit. The suit needed to blend seamlessly into Felicia's attire, avoiding detection at a cursory glance by any unaware observer. Meeting these design requirements forced Vanko to concentrate intensely on streamlining each component and mechanism while retaining full functionality. He'd mandated that the suit could not impede Felicia's movements. Tyson even mandated Vanko to prioritize Felicia's suit over his own underscoring the critical importance of her impending task.

The final preparation for Felicia's mission was a gift from Natalie, Natasha the SHIELD agent who'd posed as their teacher to investigate Tyson. It was a sophisticated piece of espionage technology known as a photostatic veil. This ingenious device, an innovation from SHIELD's engineers, could flawlessly disguise its wearer. For this operation, Felicia had programmed the veil to display the image of a generic woman, completely masking her true identity.

For this operation, Felicia forewent her signature skintight catsuit, opting for a snug grey outfit per Tyson's instructions to eliminate any potential connections between themselves and the impending heist. As she finished suiting up, Felicia couldn't help but reflect on the immense trust placed in her, as evidenced by the cutting-edge resources provided. The exosuit and the photostatic veil combined to form an outfit worth tens of millions on the black market.

Meanwhile, Tyson was occupied for the evening, accompanying Jubilee on a dinner date. Felicia contemplated how she might properly express her gratitude to Tyson later. Perhaps she would surprise him with new lingerie if his date with Jubilee didn't go well. Felicia mused, that maybe Natasha would enjoy the lingerie too. Felicia wasn't certain when she might see the agent again or if Natasha was attracted to women, but she remained open to finding out someday.

The van's engine rumbled as Felicia guided the vehicle down the lonely road. She could hardly feel the exoskeleton conforming to her frame, its technology so advanced as to be nearly unnoticeable. With a destination in mind, she continued onward through the night. Before long, her destination emerged from the darkness.

Camp Lehigh.

Once a thriving Army training ground, Camp Lehigh now sat decaying, abandoned to time. It was here, within these grounds, that the super soldier program first took root. From its facilities came Captain America, the nation's first superhuman and beacon of hope.

While Camp Lehigh's contributions could never be forgotten, newer, more advanced bases eventually rendered it obsolete. As modern warfare evolved, the camp was slowly stripped of its purpose, left to languish as a relic of a past era. Nature had begun to reclaim the base. Wild vines and vegetation cracked through the pavement, crawling up the weathered walls of barracks once filled with soldiers. The fences surrounding the camp had rusted away, no longer electrified or even a minor deterrent. The front gate creaked on aging hinges, its insignia barely legible. Camp Lehigh had become a ghost, its past glory haunting its present decay.

As the van approached, its headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the pathetic gate that stood as the last barrier protecting Camp Lehigh's secrets. The corroded lock remained fastened, providing scant security. To Felicia, the gate was a minor obstacle.

With an expert's eye, Felicia studied the gate. Retrieving her kit, she selected the proper tension wrench and pick. The lock only posed a challenge because of its corrosion. Felicia precisely used the pick and wrench in tandem to manipulate the lock's inner mechanisms. Moments later, a soft click announced her success. Stowing her tools, Felicia pushed open the creaking gate before slipping back behind the wheel and easing the van through the narrow opening.

The training grounds where soldiers once honed deadly skills now surrendered to the patient siege of weeds and brambles. Ranges stood silent, their targets in tatters, obstacle courses were lost beneath tangles of undergrowth. Smashed windows gaped in the barracks, doors hung from rust-pitted hinges, the elements reclaiming all. Despite its derelict state, an air of solemnity hung over the abandoned camp. To those who knew its legacy, this place remained hallowed ground.

Felicia recalled Tyson's instructions.

Search for a munitions depot. It should be visible from the central flag pole, near the barracks.

She wondered how Tyson could know the details of a place he had never visited. However, as Felicia Hardy now stood before the munitions depot he had described, she realized his instructions were unnecessary. A fresh trail of tire tracks led directly to her objective, proving she was not the first to visit this 'abandoned' relic.

Confronted by the depot's heavy metal doors, Felicia once again relied on her expertise as a lockpick. The padlock offered little challenge to her deft manipulations and soon yielded. However, the true test lay in breaching the solid, imposing doors.

Now Felicia understood Tyson's insistence that she be the first to receive an exosuit. It was not merely a matter of preference but a strategic decision critical to her mission's success. Without the enhanced strength the exosuit granted, she would never have been able to move such heavy doors. As she positioned herself to open them, the exosuit's servos hummed. With surprising ease, the heavy metal doors swung open under the force amplified by the suit's capabilities. They moved as if they were made of plywood rather than reinforced steel, leaving Felicia in silent awe of the technology that encased her. The exosuit was an engineering marvel, granting Felicia superhuman strength while still allowing the delicate precision required for tasks like lockpicking.

Felicia proceeded cautiously into the next area, unsure of what to expect. Tyson had given her little guidance for this part of the mission, only a cryptic warning that set her nerves on edge.

Do not move any bookshelves or storage racks under any circumstances.

She puzzled over his insistence on this strange directive. What could prompt such a peculiar limitation? She had questioned Tyson further, but he remained adamant, instructing her to avoid any locked doors or elevators hidden behind shelving, and even abort the entire mission if she encountered such a thing.

Tyson's ominous caution unsettled Felicia, though his concern for her safety was evident. He had made it clear that while he offered her this heist, knowing her fondness for such things, her well-being was his top priority. She had explicit orders to abort the operation and retreat immediately if anything seemed amiss. Wondering what could be behind the bookshelves, or lower, deeper in the base that had him so unnerved, Felicia pressed onward, following the trail of muddy bootprints left by the soldiers who had recently visited. They led her ever deeper into the shadowy recesses of the building.

The trail of bootprints ended abruptly at an imposing steel vault door embedded into the depot's concrete wall. The vault was a minor test that would have halted most intruders' progress, but not Felicia Hardy. Vaults, after all, were her specialty.

With the self-assurance of a seasoned professional, Felicia approached the vault and scanned its intricate locking mechanism, noting the older model yet timeless design. She sank to one knee, the exosuit adjusting fluidly to support her movements. She retrieved a compact set of locksmith's tools from her utility belt. Felicia pressed her ear to the cold steel surface, using a stethoscope to amplify the soft clicks and whirs of the lock's inner workings. With a delicate touch honed by years of experience, she began manipulating the dial, her fingers guided by an innate understanding of the device's mechanical language. Each faint sound and every subtle movement of the tumblers provided clues guiding her closer to unraveling the combination. Her focus narrowed, dedicated solely to the puzzle. After several careful adjustments and precise movements, Felicia felt the internal mechanism yield with a soft click.

She bested the vault lock.

With a gentle push, the heavy door swung inward, granting access to its secrets. Felicia's breath caught in her throat as her gaze fell upon the discovery within the vault.

A collection of six tall metal canisters labeled "Erskine" followed by a batch number.

Each had the potential to reshape history. The unassuming cylinders contained Dr. Abraham Erskine's preliminary formulations of the super soldier serum, the groundwork for the project that had birthed Captain America.

Felicia's pulse quickened as the magnitude of her find sank in. Throughout her career as a thief, she had stolen countless treasures, yet none could compare to the significance of these canisters and their contents. The realization that she now held an item of truly immeasurable worth both exhilarated and overwhelmed her. On the black market, the serum could command any price; a fact not lost on the cunning thief. Organizations and nations across the globe, allies and enemies alike would move heaven and earth to obtain even a single canister. The possibilities branching before her were endless.

Yet, as Felicia stood alone in the dim vault, her thoughts turned not to the wealth the serum could bring, but to Tyson and the task he had entrusted her with. Reflecting upon her journey, she acknowledged the transformation in her life; from a solitary thief to a vital player in House of M's operations. Tyson had given her freedom from Kingpin and offered her purpose in his employ. The wealth accumulated through her art galleries, and the occasional mission like this exceeded her wildest dreams. Just hours after high school graduation, she was a multimillionaire.

And Felicia knew Tyson was just getting started.

Moreover, she grasped the serum's inherent danger. It was a Pandora's box, powerful yet unfinished. The Green Goblin was an example of the hazards of incomplete Super Soldier Serums. Possessing Erskine's formulas would make her a target, drawing dangerous enemies she, and even Tyson, might not be ready for. That potential threat led them to take so many precautions to avoid detection.

At that moment, Felicia made her choice.

She would not be tempted by short-term wealth or power. She committed herself to Tyson and what he was building with House of M, and soon with Trask. She would return the early super soldier serums to him, affirming her loyalty and belief in their shared path. She began carefully securing the canisters. Her mission wasn’t over, but as she prepared to leave the vault, she did so knowing she played a vital part in something great.

— Rogue Replacement —

Peter Parker arrived at the glass doors of the Nom Wah Tea Parlor on Doyers Street in Chinatown, just as the clock tower down the block chimed eight times to mark the hour. Punctuality had become a rarity for Peter these days, consumed as he was by the relentless pursuit of the doppelganger who sowed chaos and destruction through the city while wearing Peter's guise as Spider-Man. The loss of Gwen Stacy's father at the hands of the fraud magnified Peter's guilt tenfold. It hounded him, coloring his every interaction with Gwen and her family.

Peering through the restaurant's front window, Peter saw Gwen seated at a round table near the back with her mother and two brothers, gathered together to celebrate their graduation. The sight evoked a swell of emotion in Peter's chest.

For a fleeting moment, the bitter taste of guilt took shape.

A vivid hallucination of Gwen's father stood disapprovingly over his family, his piercing gaze set on Peter, cutting through his soul.

Peter shook his head sharply, dispelling the haunting vision, but its shadow lingered. The judgment Peter felt radiating from Gwen's late father, imagined or not, was a manifestation of the conflict that defined his existence. The impossible struggle to balance his responsibilities as Spider-Man with his desires for connection, forgiveness, and some semblance of a normal life.

Gwen's eyes drifted toward the front of the restaurant as she awaited Peter's arrival. Through the glass she caught sight of him, his shoulders hunched and tense as he hovered uncertainly outside. With a murmured excuse to her family, she rose from the table and threaded her way between the other patrons to the entrance. Pushing through the door, she stepped out into the cool evening air to join Peter where he lingered under the awning. His eyes flickered to her face briefly before skittering away, his discomfort with the situation evident in every line of his body. Concern creased her brow as she took in Peter's obvious distress.

"Peter," she said softly. Though a simple greeting, her voice carried the weight of shared sorrow and unspoken understanding. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

He struggled to meet her eyes, shifting uneasily beneath her caring scrutiny. "I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed finally the doubt and uncertainty clear in his voice.

Gwen's eyes softened with sympathy. Her next question cut straight to the heart of his inner turmoil. "It's my father, isn't it?"

Peter ran a weary hand through his tousled hair, his hunched shoulders betraying the burden he carried. "Yeah," he admitted heavily. "I see him everywhere I go. I can't... I don't know what to do. And I can't get him out of my head."

"Yeah, but we've talked about this," Gwen reminded gently. They had held long talks attempting to navigate the complex tangle of grief and guilt that clung to them both. But she could see pain and regret still lingered behind Peter's eyes.

Her tone grew firm, her next words a reminder and a reprimand. "It's not his choice, Peter."

Gwen knew Peter still struggled under the perceived judgment of her departed father. But the path they walked now, the choices ahead, did not belong to the dead. Those decisions were theirs to make.

Peter's tone was heavy with self-reproach, "You promised him that you would stay away from me. And now I'm gonna come and eat dinner with your family. How can I do this? What does this make me?" he asked, questioning his actions.

Gwen met his turmoil with steadfast compassion, "I don't know, what does that make you?" she asked, hoping to prompt Peter to articulate the true source of his guilt.

"It makes me unable to live with myself," he confessed.

But Gwen refused to let Peter spiral into despair. "He made me promise to stay away from Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. I thought you were supporting me. That being here meant you loved me." Gwen asserted. "Why isn't that enough?"

"I do love you. I love you," Peter declared fervently, "What if something happens to you just like it happened to him because of me?"

Gwen met his fear with understanding. "Listen to me. You're Spider-Man... and I love that. But I love Peter Parker more. That's worth it to me," she affirmed, reminding Peter that she had made her choice with full knowledge of the risks.

Peter's mumbled words revealed the heart of his dilemma, "I can't lose you too."

Gwen challenged him to consider the implications of his choices, "If because you can't lose me, we can't be together, who does that work out for, Peter? Besides, who am I safer with than you? Who can protect me from him better than you?"

Peter turned away, the weight of his next words evident in his pained expression and leaden tone. "I can't. I'm sorry, Gwen. That imposter is still out there, he could come for you, and it would be my fault. I shouldn't be near you."

Gwen reeled as the impact of Peter's words sank in. Her voice was thick with emotion when she responded, "Wow. I'm strong too, you know? But you can't see it, all you can see is the ghost of my dead father. You missed my graduation speech, and don't know what I said about everything we've been through. I can't even talk to you anymore. I'm trying to tell you and you aren't listening. But if you can’t stand being around me and my family… Then I’m breaking up with you." Peter stood paralyzed, wanting to speak but unable to find the words.

His silence only affirmed Gwen's resolve. With a clarity born of heartache, she left no room for doubt.

"I. Break up. With you." The finality of her statement rang with her conviction.

Gwen turned and walked away, her hurried steps carrying her back to the warmth and light of the restaurant, back to her family, leaving Peter alone.

Through the restaurant's front windows, Peter watched Gwen rejoin her family at their table, their lives continuing normally while his crumbled around him. Their eyes met one last time through the glass, a silent exchange freighted with meaning.

In Gwen's watery gaze, Peter saw hurt, a reflection of the pain his actions, or inaction, had caused.

In Peter's eyes, Gwen saw profound sadness and regret for all that had been lost, for the love he had sacrificed because of his fears.

Unable to bear the sorrow in that final shared glance, Peter turned and walked away down the street, each step taking him further from Gwen. He moved faster, walking becoming a jog and jogging becoming a run. Almost as if he could outrun the pain and guilt that clung to him now like a second skin. He was running away from Gwen and the possibilities of love, and running toward the only identity he had left.