Two-Faced Epilogue

[rufusluciusivan]

Disclaimer: This story does not have anything to do with Harvey Dent.




Two-Faced Epilogue




******* MJ’s side… *******

I spy... with my little eye… something fishy!

From afar, the woman looks like your usual construction worker. She wears yellow dungarees, a white thick long-sleeved t-shirt stained with paint, and grey protective shoes. And, of course, she has the inimitable orange construction worker helmet.

She’s of average size, with a white skin and brown eyes. Sure, a few details look a bit odd on a construction worker. The woman has black lipstick, and she most likely also uses dye to darken her spiky hair so that they’d look raven black. Several rings pierce each of her ears, and there’s an other metal piercing on her lower lip. You’d expect her to be dressed as a goth girl. But most people would probably think she’s just a bit eccentric.

However, she isn’t what she seems. And one detail betrays her true job.

The gun strapped onto her belt.

In truth, this woman is part of a new gang – she’s a sentry, here to make sure nobody disturbs her cronies.

And now you understand why I’m sneaking into this construction site.

The fake construction worker is patrolling the area. She’s looking bored and, to be honest, she’s not doing a very good job at watching the area.

I suspect she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to evil minions…

Of course, I’m not complaining. I like it when a vigilante mission goes without a hitch. After my unlikely team-up with Felicia, I found myself happy to get back to my routine.

This time, no gang of overtrained mercenaries. No working with smug anti-heroines. No friends in mortal peril.

Just me, and a dumb crook wearing tacky clothes.

I wait until the sentry comes near the small wall behind which I’m hiding. Then, when she’s within reach, I grab her from behind by the shoulders, and pull her behind the small wall.

“Whap?!” she yelps.

It takes me a couple of punches, and a jolt of stun gun, to put her to sleep.

I lay the motionless sentry onto the ground, and strip her under the cover of the small wall.

The belt goes off first. Then do the shoes. Next I unstrap and slip the dungarees off the woman’s body and legs. Finally, I pull off her t-shirt after lifting her arms and upper-body.

The woman’s underwear confirm my suspicion she’s some sort of edgy goth girl. Her bra is blood red, with black lace around the cups and black straps, as well as a pattern of black bats and a small metal cross stitched between the cups. Her knickers also are blood red with black lace on the waistband strap. They’re adorned with black vampire fangs on the front and the back. Her socks are pitch black.

In my backpack I grab a bunch of zip-ties. I restrain the woman’s wrists, forearms, thighs, knees, and ankles. Then I shove a clean cloth into her mouth, and stick a few strips of tape over her lips. Finally, I wrap a scarf around her lower-face and knot it behind her neck.

I swiftly strip of my civilian clothes to put on the gang member’s disguise.

After I’ve put on the dungarees, t-shirt, and shoes, I notice a bunch of empty blue plastic drum barrels.

I take the bound-and-gagged crook in my arms, and drop her inside one plastic drum to conceal her, leaving her stuck in a seated position.

I use the construction worker helmet to conceal my hair, and tie the belt with the gun around my waist.

Once I’m satisfied with my disguise, I quickly go to the center of the construction site.

**************

The gang members are gathered in a circle. About ten women or so, dressed as construction workers.

"The explosives are set up." one is saying. "One press of a button, and this place is history."

"You sure about that?" a black-haired woman asks. (She must be the dumb one of the group. Well, the dumber one... Every team of crooks has one. The minion who's always slow on the uptake. How many times already have these guys helped me understand the evil plan of the day, because their friends had to keep them up to date?)

A blonde rolls her eyes. "Why do you worry? It's not like we're going to kill anyone... This place is empty."

"I thought our shtick would be to build things... not to demolish them." the dumb henchwoman retorts.

"Yes. But first we need money to launch our business." the blonde retorts.

"It's classic protection racket, dodo. First, we show them what happens if you don't pay us, then we make them pay up." an other blonde adds.

I’m spying them from behind a pile of beams. Their number doesn’t scare me. I’m carrying a neat little gadget specifically designed to neutralize large groups of people. An other gift of SHIELD, after I helped them to know more about Kraven’s whereabouts.

The ring leader of this criminal cavalcade is standing in the middle of her crew, dressed in blue dungarees. “Okay. Everyone knows what they have to do?” she asks.

A red-haired woman clad in bright orange coveralls skeptically glances at her outfit. “Jenna. You sure about the getup?”

The leader rolls her eyes. “I told you to not call me Jenna! Call me Carpent-”

From my hideout, I throw a ball-shaped device in the middle of the group. SHIELD’s brand new weapon.

Jenna frowns. “What’s this?”

She and her buddies bend forward to get a better look.

There’s a loud PUFF! The bomb releases a thick knock-out smoke.

Jenna and her cronies cough and wheeze. Then, one after the other, they fall on each other, ending up into a pile of slumbering criminals.

I glance at the result of my knock-out bomb. Even I am a bit surprised to see it was so effective.

“Okay… Everything went better than expected…”

And here I was already anticipating a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse, with me mugging the remaining henchwomen one by one in remote places of the construction site. Or maybe they'd capture me, strap me next to their bomb, and I'd have to escape by bonds in time.

I suppose there are some advantages in being paid with SHIELD gadgets for my good deeds…

Sure, it’s a bit anticlimactic, but I guess not all stories are saga material. Some are just good enough for an epilogue...

I take my cellphone. “Police? I’d like to signal you a pile of gang members. … … … Yes. A PILE.”

While talking, I look at the snoring Jenna, who’s resting on top of her crew.

Mark my words, girl! Me alive, there will never be a villainess using the dumb alias of ‘Carpenter’ in New York! We already have White Rabbit, thank you very much!

**************

I return to my apartment with a sense of accomplishment. I must be having good karma lately. Neither Kingpin nor Kraven have learned I was involved in their humiliations. I got neat gadgets (even though I'd have preferred money). My latest gigs have only been easy vigilante missions. I haven't seen Black Cat since our team-up. Screwball is still in jail. I even managed to find enough jobs to pay my rent in time this month.

I check my mailbox, and see I got a letter.

For once, it’s not a bill.

Good karma I said!

I open the envelope. I’m surprised to find bankbills inside.

Too good karma maybe?

There is also a note. I read it.

“So that you can buy new undergarments and get rid of the Screwball-themed ones. For the day you’ll finally wisen up and ask a boy out…”

No signature. But there is a small drawing of a black cat at the bottom of the message.

I start to see red. I tear the letter into pieces.

Then I raise an angry fist, and shout my anger to the world. “FELICIAAAAAAAA! I’LL GET YOU FOR THAAAAAAAT!”




******* Felicia’s side... *******

I always feel something special when I wear a police uniform. I love the irony of a cat burglar wearing the clothes of an officer of the Law.

A careful observer may notice the trousers, uniform shirt, and uniform jacket are too form-hugging – almost as if they were too tight. (Especially around the chest and butt. And to think MJ wishes hers were bigger… Clearly she has never had to put on clothes too tight in these areas.)

A very careful observer may even notice some of the items strapped onto my weapon belt aren’t reglementary police equipment. Among other things, there are a canister of knock-out gas, a smaller canister which is actually a knock-out gas bomb, and a device that can be turned into a small gas mask covering the mouth and nose.

A very careful and clever observer may therefore doubt I’m a real policewoman.

And they would be right, of course, because the real policewoman is taking a (cat)nap inside a cardboard dumpster. Stripped down to her blue t-shirt bra with golden yellow stars, and matching knickers, and socks. (Don’t feel too bad for her. She was taking way too much pleasure at handing out parking tickets.)

You may now be wondering why I assaulted her for her uniform. You know me well-enough to deduce I didn’t do it for the pleasure of bullying a meter maid. The police uniform will allow my to approach an other target.

Said other target is sitting on the hood of her limo, in the underground parking of a fancy hotel, and is taking a smoke break.

She’s wearing a chauffeur outfit. The classy version. The one worn by drivers of the upper-crust. Her black shoes are polished, and her white gloves are immaculate. Her black pants actually look like suit trousers. She’s also wearing a white button-up shirt with a straight collar, a black tie, and a black suit jacket with gold buttons. Her chauffeur cap is adorned with a golden yellow trim.

That’s right. Last time I treated mugging a chauffeur for her outfit as a footnote. This time, it’s the main event!

The woman is pretty, with her luscious black hair tied into a low bun, her golden brown eyes, and her olive skin. Her round-shaped face makes her look younger than she truly is.

I adjust my police cap, and approach the unsuspecting woman who’s still enjoying her cigarette.

“Excuse me. Do you have fire?”

The chauffeur looks at me, slightly suspicious of my intentions, but my professional-looking bun and my uniform put her at ease. (Police uniform always does that. Except with the criminals, obviously.) She lends me her lighter.

“Thanks.” (I notice a nametag.) “Andrea.”

“You’re not on service, officer?”

I wink, and give her lighter back. “I’m sure my superiors won’t mind a short break.”

My smile wins her over. She shares a knowing glance with me, and answers: “I can relate to that.”

I look at her limo, pretending to be impressed. “Neat car.”

“Yep. My boss likes them classy. Only the finest for her daughter.”

I smile. So this is the limo I’m looking for… I wanted to check.

“I heard she’s invited to the Ancient World Museum. There’s supposed to be an exhibiting of the latest archaeological discoveries. Only a select few people have been allowed for the opening. The highlight of the show are Alexander’s Alexandrites, the seven gemstones said to be part of spoils Alexander the Great brought with him after his Indian campaign. A shattering discovery in the world of jewelry, since they previously thought the first alexandrites were found in the 1830s in the Ural Mountains.”

Andrea finishes her cigarette. “You sure seem to know a lot of things. I thought the museum didn’t want to advertise this private opening.”

I throw away my own untouched cigarette. “Oh. That’s because I’m a cat burglar willing to steal the alexandrites.”

Andrea freezes, drops her cigarette butt, and glares at me.

“Oops. Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

Andrea blinks. I suppose she has a hard time accepting the fact I made such a cheesy pun.

I double down. “Cat got your tongue?”

Andrea opens her mouth to scream.

I spray her in the nose and mouth with a knock-out spray. The chauffeur coughs and gurgles, but no scream comes out. The gas has temporarily neutralized her vocal cords.

I grab Andrea in my arms, to immobilize her. She tries to fight back, but her mind is already dizzy, and her struggles are too weak.

“Time for a cat-nap.”

(Because if you want to be corny, at least be corny to the extreme.)

Andrea passes out in my arms. Either due to my cheesy lines or the knock-out gas. Probably a combination of both.

I grab her keys, unlock the limo, and drag her inside the backspace. I lay her onto the seats, and close the door.

I love limos. They’re a lot more spacious inside than they look from the outside – spacious enough for a thief to do her thing.

And I indeed do it. I start with the cap, shoes and gloves, and carefully put them in a corner. I unlace the tie, and put it with the gloves and cap. Next, I unbutton the woman’s suit jacket and shirt. I lift her upper-body, and pull them off. Finally, I grab and lift her legs, and shimmy the trousers down them.

I leave Abdrea clad in a sexy hot pink thong adorned with translucent pink lace flowers, a candy pink push-up bra with frilly white lace and a ribbon between the cups, and light pink short socks. I grab the pair of handcuffs strapped onto my belt, and cuffs the chauffeur’s wrists behind her back.

I can’t resist a joke.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

Andrea lets out a small snore.

“I warn you. Anything you say can be used against you in court.”

I use a pair of zip-ties to bind her ankles. Andrea is an average woman with no training. I don’t need to take any extra precaution. I shove a sponge inside her mouth, and stick strips of tape over her lips to gag her. I’m pretty confident the gas will make her sleep long enough for me to perform my heist, but it never hurts to be cautious...

Of course, I can’t leave the bound-and-gagged chauffeur and discarded police uniforms on the back seats. My next mark would get suspicious, to say the least. So, after checking nobody can spot me, I carry Andrea in my arms bride-style, and stashes her inside the trunk. Then I put the police uniform with her, and close the trunk.

**************

With the real chauffeur out of the way, I get in-character, and sit behind the wheel, waiting for my next target.

Some time passes. I start to drum on the wheel with my fingers.

When I see the young woman approach in the rear-view mirror, I smile. Finally! She’s late!

Though I think seven alexandrites will be worth the wait… It would have been perfect if they were cat’s eyes, but sadly one can’t have everything.

The rich girl has her face buried in a book, some complex treaty of economy – I have a headache just by looking at its title from my rear-view mirror. I don’t think she’d notice if her driver had been replaced by a giant pink elephant.

The completely oblivious young woman sits on the back seat.

“Hello Andrea. Can you drive fast? I’m short on time.”

I start the engine, and drive away.

My passenger is still busy deciphering her complex book, so she doesn’t notice her chauffeur is uncannily quiet.

Of course, I don’t drive her directly to the museum – instead, I drive her to an underground parking nearby.

I need some privacy for what I have in mind...

When I stop the limo, my passenger finally raises her head away from her book.

“Andrea? Why did you drive me here?”

“There’s been a change of plan.” I don’t bother trying to change my voice.

The heiress drops her book. “You- You’re not Andrea!”

I turn my head to allow her to see my face. “And we have winner!”

I look the heiress in the eyes.

Fiona Kalte gasps. “You?!”

She hasn’t changed from the last time I saw her (save for the new clothes, of course). Same tall figure, sharp-looking face, pale white skin, and icy blue eyes. Same light blond bobbed hair. Same long fringe covering the right side of her face, worn swept behind her left ear.

I grin from ear to ear. “Fancy meeting you here. I’d like to say it was a coincidence, but I would be lying. When I saw your name on the guest list I stole, I knew I had to pay you a visit.” I notice she’s wearing an other duffle coat – this one is black with silver buttons instead of dark blue with gold buttons, but it looks just as comfortable as the one I stole from her during our previous encounter. “My compliment for your choice of clothes.”

Fiona sees the way I eye her outfit. She realizes what’s going to happen next.

The heiress lunges to the door, and tries to open it. However, I’ve already locked it.

“I didn’t know limos had a child safety device to lock the doors. I’m not complaining, of course.”

While Fiona was busy vainly trying to open the door, I put on my gas mask. Then I throw a small canister at her feet. The sleep bomb releases a knock-out gas.

The heiress desperately taps the window and tries to open it, but it’s locked as well. She starts to cough, then to moan slurrily. “Not… Not again…” Her blows against the door and window become weaker and weaker. Finally, she falls back onto the backseats, deeply asleep.

I open the windows to release the smoke, then close them again to give us some much needed privacy. I move from the front seat to the back of the limo, and get to work.

I remove the duffle coat first, then I pull off the dark blue business suit and classy grey button-up shirt Fiona wears underneath. I take off her ankle boots, unbuckle her belt, and slip her long black business pencil skirt off her legs, before removing her dark grey tights as well. I leave the heiress clad in ocean blue classic panties and a lavender blouze bra adorned with light blue lace.

I use zip-ties to restrain Fiona’s wrists behind her back. Then I grab two more pairs, and immobilize her knees and ankles. A clean kerchief and a few layers of tape make for a perfect gag.

Since the windows of the limo are tinted, I don’t bother with stashing Fiona inside the trunk with her chauffeur. I simply move her motionless body onto the floor in between the front and back seats, then I conceal her with a blanket.

Now, it’s time for me to work my magic. First, I change clothes. (Hello duffle coat! This time, I’m keeping you!) Then, I use some make-up and contact lenses to mimic Fiona’s skin and eyes. Finally, I put on a wig tailored to imitate her haircut. (What? No, I’m not trying to harass her. It’s just that the moment I saw her taste in clothes, I knew she and I would one day meet again. Call me far-sighted.)

I move again to sit behind the wheel, and look at myself on the rear window. I practice mimicking Fiona’s usual placid facial expression.

Perfect… I look perfect…

I exit the limo. On my way, I pat the trunk.

“Time to go learn about Alexander the Great… I’m sure it’ll be quite enriching!”

**************

Now, I’m sure you may be interested to learn about the museum heist itself. But trust me – it was a lot more boring than you might think. And there were no other outfits stolen, so allow me to skip that bit.

Just know it involved two long hours of me and other rich folks going from one exhibit to an other, pretending to be interested. (Of course they kept the alexandrites for the end of the visit.)

I couldn’t even mug a museum guard to grab my gemstones faster. They were all men! I call hacks!

Then, after an agonizing wait, I just threw a smoke bomb, grabbed the alexandrites, and fled through the window with a grappling hook.

Surprisingly easy.

**************

I come back to my hideout with the precious alexandrites (and duffle coat).

“Ah! Nothing beats a heist well-done. No complications, no moral dilemmas.”

I jump on my sofa, turn on the TV, and look at the news.

Well, well, would you look at that… They’re already talking of me!

“… we’ve just learned Fiona Kalte, heiress of Miranda Kalte, and her chauffeur were mugged for their clothes by the burglar. They were found in their limo. The investigation is still on. However, according to one victim, the culprit made several cat puns. Police suspects Black Cat was involved.”

Oops… Looks like my fondness for quips betrayed me this time…

I shrug.

Oh well. Live and learn. Besides, what’s the point of performing a perfect heist if nobody knows you did it?

Sure, it means I’ve already lost the gold stars I got when I gave Trapstr to the police...

However, I still have an ace up my sleeve.

Luckily for me, MJ didn’t know about the lizard serum vials. So she didn’t think twice of the small suitcase inside the main tent, and in fact didn’t even notice me when I hid it inside my backpack while she was busy putting on Trapstr’s clothes...

I grab my encrypted phone, and dial a number I stole from Peter when we broke up. I glance at the precious vials on my table nearby.

The man who answers the phone doesn’t waste time.

“Who are you? This line is top secret! How did you get that number?”

“Skip the usual pleasantries. I know this number allows to directly call SHIELD. I want to speak with Nick Fury. I have something that may interest him…”

Didn’t I spell it out to MJ? Doing good and making a profit aren’t antinomic.

And while I’m good at doing good, I’m a lot better at making a profit…

THE END

[tirepanted3]

A fun, light epilogue after the somewhat darker earlier chapters. And this time, we hear it from both perspectives, emphasizing the contrast in narrations.

Felicia seems to come out the winner here - not only in terms of outfits stolen (stealing three while MJ only gets one) but in terms of quips. Her array of cat-puns really goes overboard, and she should probably arrested for all those quips she delivers to the chauffeur alone.

Speaking of the chauffeur, was happy to see a scene like that front and center. Felicia's "right to remain silent" line was also on point, as well as her narration about limos being nice and roomy for her to do her clothes-stealing work.

I was hoping there would be a bit more intersection between the two stories, since the way it is set up ("MJ's side"/"Felicia's side") suggests they would cross, perhaps even unknowingly. But this was still a nice pair of short USB tales for one of the best versions of the Marvel universe.

[rufusluciusivan]

I wanted the epilogue to be simple and straight, so I scaled down the ambitions, and didn't try to make the stories intersect. It was more an excuse to bring back a few jokes I particularly liked in this short series for one last encore (Jenna trying to become a Marvel version of the Carpenter, Felicia's obsession with Fiona's duffle coat...).

As Felicia pointed herself, the chauffeur scene was the main event this time. I suppose she went overboard with the puns to compensate for the fact the previous time it was a mere offscreen footnote.