Chapter 70


    Arc 6 - Ch 3: Goodbye Spider


    Date: Friday, June 10, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    As the elevator ascended to the top floor, the illusion of Tyson was entwined with Natasha. The illusion allowed him to experience moments of closeness and connection, albeit vicariously, through the sensory feedback. To them both it felt real, but Tyson couldn''t kiss Natasha like that, it''d kill her. Over the months he''d been in the city, his illusion power had become more proficient, stronger, and precise. Maybe it was because Jason Stryker had never worked to improve his power, but Tyson was better with it than Jason ever was. Rogue''s power, Tyson''s base power, was a different story.


    He hadn''t improved his control of the life-draining touch in the slightest.


    It was immensely frustrating.


    Tyson led the way to his suite. By now he was adept at dividing his attention between his tangible self and his illusory duplicates. Over time, Tyson had honed his abilities to such an extent that managing dual presences had become almost second nature. It wasn''t like being ambidextrous at this point, it was as effortless as clapping. During the Stark Expo, he''d pushed himself to his limits. He learned that a dozen people was the upper limit of what he could deeply influence; meaning sensing through their senses at a given time.


    The illusion, while providing a temporary escape from the constraints of his actual power, also served as a reminder of the barriers his ability erected between him and a normal life.


    Or, perhaps, it was better to say, that his ability required that he erect barriers around himself to experience a normal life.


    As they neared the entrance to his suite, Tyson resolved not to let his musings about his power dampen the evening ahead. This would be his last night with Natasha, and the woman was becoming an expert at ensuring they enjoyed themselves without making skin contact. Plenty of latex, but no skin.


    Tyson opened the door and froze. His broad shoulders blocked Natasha''s view of the scene of devastation within his suite. His projected self, the illusion he manifested, entangled with Natasha, mirrored his shock.


    "What the fuck," they said in a rare breach of Tyson''s normally asynchronous illusion.


    The suite looked like a tornado had hit it, but the damage held an unnatural deliberateness. Every piece of furniture, and every belonging, seemed to have been singled out and attacked with focused destruction, leaving only wreckage behind. Even the kitchen sink lay incongruously in the hallway, underscoring the bizarre destruction.


    Natasha, unable to see past Tyson''s broad back filling the doorway, heard his shocked outburst but not the cause. "What''s wrong?" she asked, confusion and concern evident.


    Tyson did not immediately reply. Cold fury rose within him, fury at this personal violation. His eyes narrowed, as did his pupils, forming into slits.


    Tyson muttered, "Intruders," in a low growl, alerting Natasha to the situation before allowing his primal instincts to take over and propel him into action. He dismissed his illusion. His claws extended with a sharp snikt as he launched into the suite with a powerful, feline leap.


    The torrent of adrenaline heightened his senses, granting him a moment of clarity as he soared into the apartment. His keen senses picked up on the presence of a figure crumpled near the entrance, and a familiar scent in the air.


    Gwen.


    Her scent; green apple, citrus, and mint, was tainted by the coppery tang of blood and Peter''s masculine musk, yet something was slightly off. Recognition tempered the aggressive impulse still pounding through him. The brief flicker of confusion was enough to rein in his feral fury. With an effort of will, Tyson retracted his adamantium claws.


    Searching the suite, Tyson''s honed instincts assured him no other threats remained. There was an absence of unfamiliar scents, guaranteeing they were alone. His attention snapped to the entryway where Gwen''s prone form lay in his living room.


    Natasha had crossed the threshold into the suite but, struggled to comprehend the extent of the devastation laid out before her. Her eyes swept across the chaotic wreckage, taking in the overturned furniture, shattered glass, and destroyed decorations. She moved closer and recognition dawned along with understanding. The prone body was a girl Natasha recognized in passing from her time at Midtown and her attendance at Tyson''s Thanksgiving. Blood matted the girl''s blonde hair, her limbs sprawled at awkward angles across the carpet. Natasha''s chest tightened, but she forced her voice to remain steady.


    "Is that..." she began.


    "Gwen Stacy," Tyson cut her off with a growl, his rumbling voice clipped and urgent. "Peter''s scent is present."


    Natasha absorbed this information with a slow nod. Tyson''s senses were far beyond human, if he scented Peter, then the boy had been here, tangled up in whatever had happened. But he was gone now, and only the aftermath remained. The immediate threat had passed, but Gwen needed help. Natasha''s gaze hardened with resolve.


    "Call 911," she instructed Tyson briskly. "I''ll do what I can for her."


    At her direction, Tyson completely reigned in his instincts and retrieved his phone. Natasha turned her attention to Gwen, checking her vitals and assessing her injuries with a practiced eye. The girl was unconscious but alive. Natasha heard Tyson leave the room, speaking rapidly to emergency services.


    Natasha took off Gwen''s belt, wrapping it around her thigh. She had a laceration on her leg that still oozed slowly. She pulled the belt tight, using it as a makeshift tourniquet.


    Her hands stilled over Gwen''s limp form as a sharp sting erupted on her thigh.


    Brow furrowing, she glanced down, expecting to see a gash marring her skin or a shard of glass protruding from her leg. But there was nothing.


    She brushed her fingers over the spot, probing for an unseen wound, but felt only a slight bump, no tacky wetness of blood or slice of pain. Perhaps a sliver of glass had pricked her when she knelt next to Gwen, and it had already dislodged when she shifted her weight.


    Tyson reached under the bathroom sink for the first aid kit when he heard Natasha''s sharp hiss. "Are you alright?" his call carried from the other room, heavy with concern.


    There was a pause, a moment too long before Natasha''s voice reached him. "I''m fine," Natasha called back, "It was just a prick." There was another pause before Natasha said, "Must have been a piece of glass I missed."


    Tyson answered some questions for the dispatcher as he returned to Natasha with the first aid kit. She refocused on Gwen and worked to stabilize the girl until help could arrive.


    Once Tyson finished his call to 911 he contacted the hotel concierge to inform them so that the emergency responders could be directed to his suite. He put his phone on speaker and followed Natasha''s instructions as they worked steadily on Gwen. He put on some gloves from the first aid kit, allowing him to assist in stabilizing her without risking touching her and draining her life.


    The EMTs swept in with the singular focus of emergency medical providers, swiftly taking over Gwen''s care from Natasha and Tyson. The transition was seamless despite the makeshift nature of the initial treatment. The EMTs transferred Gwen from the floor to a stretcher, hooking her up to IVs and monitoring equipment.


    Then a police officer arrived accompanied by a hotel security guard, the officer surveyed the disarray in the suite, eyes sharp and assessing. The police officer turned his attention to Tyson after ensuring Gwen was in the capable hands of the EMTs. He pulled out a small notebook and prepared to document Tyson''s account of the evening''s events.


    "Mr. Tyson," the officer began, his tone firm yet not unkind, "I understand this has been a distressing evening for you. I need to ask you a few questions to help piece together what happened here. Can you walk me through when you last saw your suite before this incident?"


    Tyson still reeled from the shock of the devastation and concern for Gwen. "I was here right after school, maybe around 3 pm but stayed only half an hour before leaving the hotel. I didn''t come back to my suite until just before we found... Gwen like this," he explained, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside. "Before that, I was in the hotel''s restaurant for dessert,


    The officer made note of this, then glanced around the wrecked suite. "Did you notice anything unusual when you entered? Any signs of forced entry, or was anything missing?"


    Tyson shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the chaos that had been his sanctuary. "No signs of forced entry that I could see. It''s hard to tell if anything''s missing with everything in this state."


    The officer hummed in acknowledgment, scribbling down Tyson''s responses. "Were you expecting Ms. Stacy or anyone else in your suite today? Do you know how she might have ended up here, or in this condition?"


    Tyson responded, "No. I wasn''t expecting Gwen or anyone else. I... I don''t know how she ended up here like this."


    The officer looked up from his notes, meeting Tyson''s gaze. "I understand this is difficult, Mr. Tyson, but any information you can provide could be crucial to our investigation. Do you know anyone who might have a motive to cause this destruction or harm Ms. Stacy?"


    Tyson''s mind raced as he considered who would want to hurt Gwen, and who could get her up here. Not Peter, though his scent all over the suite was still troubling. But that left Curt Connors and… fuck.


    Norman Osborne.


    The police officer stood waiting patiently for Tyson''s answer. He couldn''t speak his thoughts, so he had to fabricate a reasonable response. "Gwen''s father is NYPD, a captain I think," he began, carefully considering his words. "They live out in Queens."


    The officer nodded, his expression unreadable as he closed his notebook. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Tyson. We''ll do everything we can to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, please stay available if we have further questions."


    As the officer left, Tyson felt a sense of unease. He watched as the EMTs maneuvered the stretcher holding an ashen Gwen toward the elevator. The doors slid closed, bearing Gwen away to lifesaving care. In their wake, the devastation of the scene felt more stark.


    Tyson moved toward the door, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of his now crime-scene suite. Before he could cross the threshold, Natasha''s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. He looked at her in surprise, but she gestured wordlessly to the shattered remains of the terrarium.


    "Fuck," Tyson breathed out as the realization struck him.


    His spider was gone.


    And with it went one of his plans for gaining a new superpower without killing someone. And when he was so close. They were in the final phases of acquiring Trask Industries. He''d been planning to use their mutation-suppressing technology. Donning an inhibitor collar would have let him suppress his death touch long enough for the spider to bite and impart its gifts.


    But now that hope was lost. Connors still had Cindy Moon’s blood sample at House of M, so all hope wasn’t lost, but it was much more of a longshot now.


    Together they exited the devastation of the suite, the officers closed the doors behind them to preserve the crime scene.


    Tyson sank into one of the plush guest chairs in the lobby, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket.


    Natasha''s gaze flicked to the phone. "Who are you calling?"


    "Peter," Tyson replied, his fingers already dialing. "His scent was everywhere in the room. If anyone can explain what happened, it''s him." Then he paused, thumb hovering over the call button as another thought occurred. "Can you call Maria Hill? Find out if Norman Osborn is still locked up on the RAFT." Osborn was one of the few others Tyson could think of with both motive and means to orchestrate Gwen''s abduction.


    Natasha gave a curt nod, pulling out her phone to make the call. Around them the lobby buzzed with activity, hotel patrons coming and going, oblivious to the hidden drama unfolding in their midst.


    Tyson called Peter twice but received no answer. Peter''s failure to pick up added to the urgency and concern that had taken root in Tyson''s gut.


    Natasha reported, "Osborn''s confirmed in his cell." Her update confirmed one potential suspect was locked away and unable to orchestrate Gwen''s abduction.


    Tyson dialed another number as he tapped his foot impatiently. Felicia Hardy answered on the second ring. "Felicia," Tyson said without preamble, "I need you to check on Connors. Where is he right now?"


    Tyson could hear Felicia''s nails clacking over a keyboard. As head of the House of M, she had access to the entire system. However, that might change soon with Tony''s promised AI.


    Felicia replied, "Dr. Connors is showing as being in his lab all afternoon," she reported. Her confirmation did not explain the night''s events, but it did eliminate another possibility, allowing Tyson and Natasha to refocus their suspicions elsewhere.


    "Alright, thanks," Tyson said. "I''ll fill you in later." He disconnected and updated Natasha, "Connors is accounted for too."


    With each confirmed location and alibi, potential suspects were eliminated, slowly piecing together a clearer picture of the night''s events.


    Natasha asked, "What are you thinking?"


    Tyson sighed deeply before replying to Natasha''s question. He wasn''t sure what to think anymore.


    "Dr. Connors and Norman Osborn were my best guesses since they both knew Gwen Stacy," he said. "I hate to consider it, but Peter is looking more and more like the next suspect on the list."


    Tyson shook his head, dismissing the thought immediately. "But I know there''s no way he''d hurt Gwen. Maybe he had fought with someone in my place. Someone who didn''t have a distinct scent that I could detect..." Tyson''s voice trailed off.


    "But who could that be?" he wondered aloud. "Even the Asgardians, who are technically aliens, had scents."


    Tyson stopped, rubbing his chin in contemplation before the answer dawned on him. "The only other person who comes to mind is...Harry Osborn." Saying the name out loud cemented the suspicion in Tyson''s mind. "Fuck," Tyson muttered under his breath as realization dawned on him. "It might be Harry."


    Natasha''s brows furrowed in confusion as she asked, "Who''s Harry?"


    Tyson leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice as he replied. "Harry Osborn. Norman Osborn''s son. He''s the new CEO at Oscorp now. He''d have access to all the stuff Norman was working on, including that glider I gave back to him during the Senate hearing." Tyson shook his head, continuing his explanation. "But it doesn''t fit perfectly. I didn''t smell Harry or the glider''s exhaust in the suite. And Norman favored those pumpkin bombs, which didn''t match the destruction."


    Natasha nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. "So he has the means and potentially a motive, but no physical evidence places him at the scene."


    "Exactly. Harry Osborn had just become their prime suspect." Tyson confirmed even though all of the puzzle pieces didn''t quite fit together yet in his mind. There were still too many unknowns.


    Tyson''s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID with a flicker of hope.


    Peter Parker (Home)


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Here we go, maybe some answers," he muttered, hitting the speaker button to allow Natasha to listen in.


    To his surprise, it wasn''t Peter''s voice that greeted him, but Aunt May''s. Her familiar, concerned tone immediately sent a ripple of apprehension through Tyson. He hadn''t heard her sound this worried since the night they lost Uncle Ben.


    "Tyson?" she asked, her voice taut with tension.


    Tyson''s heart sank, but he struggled to keep his voice steady. "Yes, Aunt May, it''s me."


    The relief in her voice was palpable as she replied, "Oh, thank goodness." Then she dropped a bombshell that sent Tyson''s thoughts careening. "I just got a call from the police."


    Why would the police contact Aunt May? Tyson hadn''t mentioned Peter during their earlier inquiry.


    Maintaining a calm facade, he asked, "What did they say?" But his attempt to sound casual did little to mask the growing tension and concern in his voice, for Peter''s well-being and the unfolding complex situation.


    Tyson listened with a furrowed brow as Aunt May''s distressed voice conveyed the gravity of the situation. He amplified and projected her voice using his illusion power so that Natasha alone could listen.


    "Oh, Tyson, it''s awful. Peter was with Gwen, at her house. Spider-Man attacked them. They found Peter, he was beaten and tied up in webbing. Gwen''s dad was killed, and Gwen is missing. Her mother is beside herself."


    As Aunt May relayed the harrowing events, Tyson and Natasha exchanged looks of disbelief and confusion. The mention of Spider-Man attacking Peter, when Peter was Spider-Man unbeknownst to her, the tragic loss of Gwen''s father, and Gwen''s sudden disappearance followed by her perplexing appearance at his suite painted a picture that neither of them could reconcile with their understanding of the convoluted situation.


    Tyson asked, "Where is Peter now?" still trying to process the shocking news.


    "In the hospital, of course," Aunt May responded, worried but relieved that Peter was at least receiving medical care.


    Without hesitation, Tyson replied, "Tell Mrs. Stacy that Gwen is hurt, but she''ll be okay, she''s on her way to the hospital. And I''m coming too. I''ll see you soon." His decision was immediate, driven by loyalty to Peter and the urgent need to piece together the events that had occurred that afternoon.


    Tyson and Natasha stepped into the bustling hospital, the air was thick with tension and the sharp scent of antiseptic. Nurses rushed past, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor as they navigated between worried families and stern-faced doctors.


    Tyson''s enhanced senses picked up the faint beeping of heart monitors. "We need to find out if they took a blood sample from Peter. If they did, I need you to get it."


    "You''re worried about his identity being compromised." she guessed.


    Tyson nodded, his jaw clenched. "If they run tests, they might find something... unusual. We can''t risk that."


    Without another word, Natasha slipped away, disappearing around a corner. Tyson watched her go, marveling at her ability to blend seamlessly with her surroundings. Even in this chaotic environment, she moved unnoticed and unremarkable.


    He went to the nurse''s station. "I''m looking for Peter Parker''s room," he said.


    "Visiting hours ended at 9 pm." The nurse said, glanced up. When her tired eyes met Tyson''s mismatched ones, they softened. She tapped at her computer before responding, "Room 307, just down the hall to your left."


    Tyson thanked her and then he heard a commotion coming from that direction. He set off, his long strides eating up the distance quickly. The hospital room was in chaos when Tyson arrived. The sight that greeted him made his heart clench.


    Peter had awoken in a panic, frantically trying to leave his bed to search for Gwen despite his injuries. The medical staff struggled in vain to restrain him.


    Tyson conjured a brilliant flash of light, enveloping the room in a sudden, disorienting flare.


    "Relax, Pete. Gwen is fine," he said, imbuing the statement with a weight of assurance backed by his illusion. Still blinking against the lingering effects of the flash, Peter recognized the familiar voice.


    "Tyson?" he asked uncertainly, relief mixing with confusion.


    "Yeah man, it''s me," Tyson confirmed. He dispelled the lingering disorientation, restoring clarity to Peter''s vision. With the immediate crisis averted, the medical team gradually dispersed, once they recognized Peter''s newly calmed state and with some gentle nudging from Tyson''s power. They left the room. In their wake, a heavy silence settled over the pair, punctuated only by the steady beep and hum of monitoring equipment.


    Tyson surveyed his friend, taking in the extent of Peter''s injuries with a critical eye. The bruises and abrasions painted a vivid picture of violence across Peter''s swollen features. His face was a mottled canvas of bruises and cuts. His right eye was swollen shut, and his lip was split and puffy. It was clear he had endured a severe beating at the hands of his mysterious attacker.


    With the staff gone, Tyson leaned in, urgency and concern etched into his expression. "What happened?" he pressed, eager to unravel the events that had battered his friend so extensively and left Gwen in a similar state in his apartment.


    Peter recounted the clash as steadily as he could, though the strain of the trauma threaded his voice. He detailed the altercation with the imposter Spider-Man, holding nothing back. Tyson listened intently. His features tightened into a frown as the harrowing account unfolded. The gravity of the situation deepened with each word.


    As Peter concluded, Tyson aimed to identify this formidable foe. "Was his suit black?" he inquired pointedly.


    Peter dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. "No, it was mostly red like mine."


    Tyson grew more specific in his questioning, hoping to narrow the possibilities.


    "So it wasn''t moving or changing shape and size? No tendrils streaming off of it?" He asked, hinting at symbiote traits.


    Peter''s confusion at the line of inquiry was evident. "No..."


    Tyson let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a Venom or Carnage situation.


    Tyson''s questions became more specific as he struggled to unravel the puzzle laid out before him. "Did he have six arms?" he asked. Tyson remembered seeing a picture of a Spider-Man doppelganger, once on the internet, that had six arms.


    "Uhh, no," Peter replied, clearly having difficulty keeping pace with Tyson''s rapidly shifting questions.


    With each answer, Tyson found himself even more perplexed. The identity of the assailant continued to elude him. Who could have possessed the strength and agility comparable to Peter''s while knowing their personal lives? This individual had orchestrated an assault that left Peter gravely injured and had utilized Tyson''s apartment as a stage for Gwen''s injuries, suggesting a deeply personal vendetta. The absence of any telling characteristics like additional limbs or a symbiote suit only compounded the mystery, leaving Tyson to contemplate the unsettling list of potential suspects who could have both the capability and motive to execute such a calculated attack.


    Tyson''s solemnly asked, "Do you trust me?"


    His tone was grave, indicating to Peter that he was about to reveal something significant.


    "Of course," Peter immediately responded.


    Tyson shifted uneasily, the weight of his next words pressing heavily on him. He locked eyes with Peter, ensuring he had his full attention. "Peter, there''s something about my abilities I haven''t shared with you," he began, "My power isn''t just about creating illusions. When I make direct skin contact I can temporarily absorb other''s powers and memories. It''s a part of why I''m always covered up... to avoid accidental contact."


    Peter''s eyes widened in surprise, but he remained silent, allowing Tyson to continue. "It''s a double-edged sword, though," Tyson admitted, "It can be lethal if the contact is prolonged. That''s why I''ve never risked touching you or anyone else unless necessary."


    Peter absorbed the implications of Tyson''s words. Tyson pressed on, the urgency of their situation lending a tremor to his voice. "I''m offering to use this ability to access your memories from the attack. It might give us a clue about who''s behind this. But I need to be clear. It will give me access to everything, not just the memories of the attack. Your memories and entire life''s worth of experiences and your powers. It''ll only be for a minute, but I wanted you to know."


    Peter remained silent as the magnitude of Tyson''s request sank in. The trust Tyson was asking for was monumental, yet the desperation of their circumstances left them with few options. Finally, Peter spoke, "Tyson, if you think this can help find whoever did this... do it. I trust you."


    Tyson raised his hand to hover in the space between them. "All it takes is a high five, then," he said, the ghost of his usual humor peeking through despite the gravity of their situation.


    Tyson''s hand hovered between them. Peter stared at it for a long moment. This was no small thing Tyson asked of him. To willingly allow another person access to his innermost memories, his powers required complete trust, the kind that left one vulnerable and exposed. But Peter knew the necessity of their situation. If Tyson''s ability could shed any light on who was behind the attack, it was a risk worth taking.


    Steeling himself, Peter slapped Tyson''s hand in affirmation. He tensed, unsure what to expect.


    Tyson used his illusions to mask the life-draining effects of his touch. Still, the brief contact reverberated through Tyson''s mind and body with the force of a shockwave. He saw flashes of Peter''s life. It was over in a moment that felt like a lifetime.


    His early childhood was marked by tragedy when his parents, were killed. At six years old, he was orphaned and taken in by his loving aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. Growing up in Forest Hills, Queens, he was a quiet, introspective child. He buried himself in books and science, finding solace in the world of knowledge. His intelligence set him apart while making him a target for bullies. Despite the challenges, he was always at the top of his class, particularly in science.


    High school at Midtown High was a mix of academic triumphs and social struggles. He was labeled a "nerd" and often felt like an outsider. This deepened his friendship with Harry Osborn, Harry wasn''t as academically inclined as Peter, but their shared experiences as outsiders brought them together.


    He harbored a crush on Mary Jane Watson for years, but always felt too shy and awkward to act on his feelings. Everything changed during that fateful field trip. He was taking a photo of MJ when a spider bit him on the hand. His new friend, Tyson helped him home, but that night, he fell ill. When he awoke, Peter discovered he had undergone a startling transformation. His vision had improved. His body had become more muscular and toned. Most shockingly, he later found he could stick to walls and had developed an uncanny "spider-sense" that warned him of danger.


    Excited by his new abilities, he initially saw them as a way to make money and gain popularity. He designed a costume, adopting the moniker "Spider-Man" to compete in an amateur wrestling match. His newfound success went to his head, and he became careless. This carelessness led to the most defining moment of his life. When a thief ran past him, he didn''t bother to stop him, thinking it wasn''t his problem. That same thief later murdered his Uncle Ben. Consumed by guilt and grief, he realized that with great power comes great responsibility. He vowed to use his abilities to protect the innocent and fight crime as Spider-Man.


    Balancing his new life as a superhero, academic pursuits, plus his relationship with Gwen Stacy, all while keeping his secret identity proved challenging.


    His first major villains as Spider-Man came in the form of the Green Goblin, Kraven the Hunter, and the Lizard. But along the way he gained an ally in Tyson, Mirage, and his girlfriend Gwen who he revealed his identity to.


    Despite the hardships, he wouldn''t trade his life for anything. Because being Spider-Man wasn''t just a responsibility, it was who he was.


    Tyson''s eyes had closed during the fleeting moment of contact. He took a moment to parse Peter''s memories of the fight at Gwen''s. His initial look of concentration slowly gave way to clarity.


    Peter tentatively asked, "Did it work?"


    In response, Tyson extended his arm toward the far corner of the hospital room with his middle and ring fingers bent. To Peter''s amazement, a small web line shot forth, crafting an unobtrusive spiderweb against the ceiling in the corner.


    Peter''s concern quickly resurfaced. "Do you know who did this?" he asked intently, desperately hoping for a breakthrough.


    The hint of a smile faded from Tyson''s face as he replied, "Not yet. But your memories helped rule out a lot of potential suspects."


    Tyson stood, his movements slow and thoughtful. Turning to Peter, he gently reassured, "Rest up, Pete. Gwen''s safe. She''s resting too." His words were meant to provide some small measure of comfort.


    "I''ll look into this," Tyson continued, "If I figure out who was behind the attack, I''ll let you know. And I''ll help you take them down, whatever it takes."


    He headed to the hospital lounge and leaned back into one of the overstuffed chairs. Tyson tapped the back of his head against the wall behind him gently, in thought, making a dull thunk each time it made contact. He was contemplating the revelations from his glimpse into Peter''s memories.


    Natasha joined him. He looked over, noticing she wore a loose-fitting sweatsuit instead of her dress, which had been stained with blood and torn from the glass around his apartment. She slid the vial of Peter''s blood to him, which he quickly pocketed. After a respectful silence, she gently prompted, "Walk me through it?" inviting him to unburden himself by sharing his insights.


    Without a word, Tyson engaged his illusionary abilities around them to ensure their conversation remained private. The subtle manipulation of their surroundings was second nature to him now, an almost reflexive precaution.


    "It was a Spider-Man who attacked them. And I don''t say that lightly. I thought it could just be an imposter. Maybe someone who''d taken the goblin formula or a mutant with agility and strength had decided to hit Spider-Man where it hurt while wearing the costume." He paused, letting the implication of his conclusion sink in. "But this guy shot webs too. It wasn''t just scene dressing to frame Spider-Man, he used the webs in combat."


    "Okay, so who does that leave?" Natasha asked, ready to help piece together the puzzle. Her questions aided in focusing Tyson''s thoughts.


    "As far as I know, we have four potential situations," he began.


    "Firstly, it could be someone else was bitten by the same spider as Peter. That seems the least far-fetched option. There were plenty of other students from Midtown there that day. Someone might have been bitten before I arrived. Other students would know both me and Peter."


    "As for who might have the motivation to target us," Tyson concluded, "Flash Thompson ranks high on my list of suspects. But it doesn''t match up. If Flash had been bitten at the same time as Peter, he would''ve shown signs while we were at Midtown, there was the basketball game and the fight, and he seemed normal then."


    "Damn," Natasha muttered under her breath. She remembered Flash Thompson from being undercover as a student-teacher at Midtown High. Tyson was right that Flash would have the motive to go after Peter and himself. After a thoughtful pause, she prompted, "Ok so not Flash, someone who flew below the radar. What''s the second possibility?"


    Tyson continued trying to piece together the puzzle before them. "The second scenario is someone mimicked Peter''s powers." he said, "Peter''s webbing could be made with enough chemistry knowledge, and a web-shooter could be created. This opens up a broader range of potential suspects, but then reduces it, considering the combination of technological prowess, physical strength, and agility needed to simulate Spider-Man''s abilities."


    "Or a straight-up power duplicator," Tyson added, expanding on the notion of a mimic. "But those are rare enough that I can''t think of others besides myself."


    Tyson''s voice took on a grave tone. "The third possibility is that someone managed to clone Peter. There''s only one person I can think of who could do so, and I seriously hope I''m wrong."


    "Who?" Natasha asked, pressing for the identity of this individual.


    Reluctant to even utter the name, Tyson resorted to his abilities, creating an illusionary duplicate that announced the name he hesitated to speak.


    "Nathaniel Essex, otherwise known as Mr. Sinister."


    Using an illusion to convey this information underscored Tyson''s reluctance. Natasha connected the dots, pinning the name to Essex Corp. She asked in follow-up, "He''s that bad?" trying to gauge the level of threat he posed.


    "He''s on the short list of people I hope to avoid fighting," he admitted, revealing the depth of his concern regarding the potential involvement of Mr. Sinister. Natasha knew Tyson was accustomed to danger. He hadn''t hesitated to fight the Abomination. He claimed to have fought a Norse god. The fact that he wanted to avoid Essex highlighted how dangerous this… Mr. Sinister must be.


    "And what''s the last scenario, dare I ask?" Natasha ventured.


    Tyson exhaled heavily, his rugged features betraying the complexity of the final theory taking shape in his mind. "Even more of a headache... dimensional or time shenanigans," he began slowly, "We could be dealing with a Spider-Man from an alternate universe, or an alternate timeline. Maybe a Peter Parker that went bad, or where Flash Thompson got bit instead of Peter, or maybe a future Peter or a descendant of Peter who came back in time." Natasha reacted with stunned silence, her eyes blinking rapidly as she struggled to process the scope of Tyson''s suggestion. The notion of alternate realities and time travel introduced a dizzying level of unpredictability and complexity that was difficult to grasp. Sensing Natasha''s skepticism, Tyson pressed, "I know it sounds far-fetched, but remember how I told you about your future. Time travel is possible..." His voice trailed off meaningfully, willing her to consider the full range of improbable possibilities they now faced.


    The future he spoke of seemed so far away, yet the danger they faced was anything but.


    Natasha cocked her head, red curls spilling over her shoulder as she considered their situation from a new angle. "Let''s step back for a moment since we''re getting abstract about this," she proposed. Tyson nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "You believe the universe pushes back the more you change things, right?" she pressed on. "So Peter and Gwen getting attacked by some faker wasn''t part of your vision. So what did you change to make all this happen?"


    Tyson frowned, brows knitting together in consternation. Natasha''s reasoning forced him into deep introspection as he mentally sifted through the myriad actions and decisions he had made that could have inadvertently set this deadly chain of events into motion. The silence between them stretched as Tyson wrestled with the implications of her suggestion. Then a moment of stark realization dawned on his features. He let out a heavy exhale, laden with the weight of acknowledgment.


    "Fuck. It''s probably my fault," he conceded quietly.


    As Tyson explained further, his voice took on a tone of regret. "Curt Connors. I stopped him before he could unleash his plan on the city." He paused, shaking his head before continuing. "Connors was supposed to try infecting everyone with that damned lizard serum. Spider-Man would''ve had to stop him, but not before..." His voice trailed off meaningfully.


    Natasha''s emerald eyes narrowed with understanding. "Before Peter got hurt trying to stop him," she finished for him. "And Gwen''s father was supposed to die too."


    "You think this is just blowback?" she continued, her tone gentle yet probing. "The universe''s way of correcting itself? Making sure he still dies, even if Connors doesn''t unleash the serum?"


    Tyson''s response was heavy with resignation. "Yeah. It makes sense. The results are mostly the same."


    Natasha nodded slowly, piecing together the implications. "So you took Connors off the board..."


    "And now some new piece got added to replace him," Tyson finished with a muttered agreement. "Sure seems like it."


    Natasha''s observation highlighted the unpredictable nature of his actions'' consequences; removing one threat could inadvertently give rise to another.


    Tyson''s senses picked up on the subtle changes in Natasha''s demeanor as they sat in pensive silence. A thin sheen glistened on her brow, and her fair skin had taken a pale pallor that drew his attentive eye.


    "You okay?" he asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.


    Natasha brushed aside his worry with a flippant jest. "Yeah, I''m just tired. I was hoping someone would''ve put me to bed by now," she quipped, her suggestive undertone temporarily lightening the somber mood that had settled over their weighty conversation.


    "You should stay with Peter. I think I''ll head over to the RAFT to get some rest," she said. "Do you need a place to stay since your room''s a crime scene and got trashed?"


    "Nah, I''ve got spare rooms back at the House of M," Tyson replied, waving off her offer. "I did promise him at the Expo that I''d explain why I have a metal skeleton. I suppose now is as good a time as any."


    Natasha raised a black-gloved hand to her lips before placing it gently upon Tyson''s own, the heartwarming gesture was laden with unspoken emotions.


    "I''ll see you in a few months. Be safe," she said, promising their eventual reunion.


    "You too," Tyson echoed softly.


    As the Black Widow walked away, Tyson was left with the lingering warmth of her farewell upon his lips and the stark reminder of the nature of their relationship.


    Her retreating figure was a familiar sight. It echoed the cycle of brief encounters and partings that had defined their lives.