viewtopic.php?t=10049
As some of you may have anticipated, the suprise is a follow-up story, this time by yours truly and centering on Felicia Hardy, aka the Black Cat, who previously starred in a few Marvel USB stories (some written by myself) as well.
Just a note, while this story can be enjoyed on its own terms, it may be helpful to read Rufus' story before it - or perhaps after it, whichever order you prefer.
Also, full descriptions of Felicia and other characters, courtesy of Rufus, can be found here: viewtopic.php?t=10048
In any event, enjoy.
********
New York… famously known as “the city that never sleeps.”
It’s a slight exaggeration – everyone needs to sleep sometime, even the residents of this wide and buzzing city. But things are always active somewhere, even in the dark of night.
I should know – I do all my best work at night, preferably after most people have called it a day.
My name is Felicia Hardy, but police around the city better know me as the Black Cat. I used to be wanted by the law, but times have changed. I’ve worked with superheroes, helped out Spider-Man and his various friends who’ve pledged to keep the city safe. And I don’t commit thefts or burglaries anymore.
…For the most part.
Look, I’m a simple woman. Every so often, I leaf through a magazine or scroll my social media feed, and something bright and shiny catches my eye. Some special diamond or sparkling ruby, on display at the Met Gala or around the neck of a beautiful singer performing in Madison Square Garden. And I want it.
It’s not for the money, mind you – it’s the thrill. Being a cat burglar always comes with a level of risk to it, and it’s the risk that keeps me young and energized. It’s fun and exciting, and I promise I don’t make it too regular of a habit.
So when I was scrolling through Instagram and caught sight of a what appeared to be a glittering yellow jewel at the center of a news piece, my eyes lit up.
The Sun Stone, a priceless artifact from ancient Aztec culture, has spent many years at the National Anthropology Museum of Mexico City. This week, it will be loaned to the Brooklyn Museum in New York, allowing Americans to witness this glowing Mexican treasure for themselves.
Well, I know an opportunity – and a gorgeous jewel – when I see one.
It didn’t take a lot of Internet searching to figure out how and when the Sun Stone was being transported. It would be unveiled at the museum on Wednesday, meaning the best time to strike would be Tuesday night, when it was en route to the museum.
A ship would be arriving at New York Harbor, with the Sun Stone among its cargo. From there, dockworkers would transport the cargo to a nearby warehouse, where the Stone would be transferred to an armored truck, which would then drive it directly to the museum.
Only if I had my way, it would never reach its destination.
*******************
Tuesday night is pretty cold. But I find ways to keep warm.
I’m crouched low in the rafters of a small industrial garage, not far from the heating vents. My black leather catsuit is insulated, but the extra warmth helps me keep my wits about me. Can’t pull off a heist without proper focus.
Parked below me is a large armored van, the type often used by banks to transport money and other valuables across the city. My research indicated that the Brooklyn Museum has its own security vans to transport most of its valuables, situated in a garage not far from the docks.
And now… I’m waiting.
I’ve spent the last twenty minutes waiting, in fact. Been passing the time by challenging myself with mind games, trying to name all the supervillains I’ve heard of in alphabetical order, and trying to ignore the cramp in my leg.
Finally, just when my game reaches Zarrko and Zzzax, I hear a door open.
Peering down below, I see a woman entering the room. With a glance at her watch, she heads right to the nearest armored van.
From my vantage point, I can see that she’s a tall woman, maybe an inch or two shorter than me. She’s got light skin and sunny-blonde hair tied back into a braided ponytail. She’s wearing a dark blue uniform shirt and pants, as well as a black bulletproof vest and short brown boots. A dark blue baseball cap sits atop her head.
Her radio buzzes, and she responds. “Yes, this is Jaylen. Sorry, I’m running a bit late – had to grab some coffee. But I’m heading for the docks now.”
I smile. Jaylen, you’re just the gal I’m looking for.
She circles around to the driver’s-side door of the van and fumbles around with a ring of keys. She’s standing right below me now. This is too easy. I actually feel kind of sorry for her.
Still, she should know the risks that come with her job.
I shift my weight from the rafters and carefully, quietly lower myself downward, gripping the rafter with my gloves. Then I let go; my boots touch silently to the floor.
All’s going well so far – until Jaylen, having found the key she was looking for, happens to glance in the sideview mirror of the car. She sees my reflection and freezes… for a moment.
But of course, a moment is all I need. She opens her mouth to scream, but I spring forward, and the next moment my gloved hand is over her lips. I loop my other arm around her neck, stifling her cry into a muffled gasp.
“Let’s keep the noise to a minimum, Jaylen,” I whisper. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors.”
I’ve discovered that, when mugging another woman during a heist, it helps to sound friendly and – if possible – engage with her on a first-name basis. This often confuses the woman about how to react, perhaps long enough to prevent her from fighting back.
My sleeper hold is already working its magic, and Jaylen’s reflexes are starting to slow anyhow. Despite the coffee, she won’t be awake much longer.
Sure enough, Jaylen’s struggles grown weaker. She tries kicking out at the door of the metal van, but her legs are too weak and rubbery. Another ten seconds, and she’s out like a matchstick.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” I lower the unconscious girl to the floor and start unstrapping her thick vest.
It’s a shame her line of work requires the vest, to be honest – she’s got a nice, trim figure beneath it. But I’m not here to judge her looks. I unlace her boots and pull them off, then undo her belt and slide her pants down her legs. The shirt, unbuttoned from top to bottom, is the last to go.
Jaylen is now left in only a frilly lavender bra and chartreuse hipster panties. Can’t say I love her underwear choices, but then, my own tastes are quite literally black-and-white.
I grab a coil of black cables hanging from a hook in the garage, and use them to bind Jaylen hand and foot. I find a red handkerchief in one of her pockets and tie it over her mouth, then drag her behind one of the other vans. That should keep her out of mischief while I take over her job for the evening.
I then turn my attention to Jaylen’s clothes. An ID badge is sticking out from the shirt. I pick it up and give it a glance.
Turns out Jaylen is a middle name – the card reads “Maisie Jaylen.” I immediately suppress a chuckle at the sight of a name with the initials “MJ.”
But that’s something to dwell on another time. I quickly change out of my Black Cat costume and get dressed in the driver uniform. It fits well! Mostly. The pants are a little tight around my ass. (One of the downsides of stealing other women’s clothes is the constant reminder that I need to shed a few pounds in the caboose.)
But I’m not one to complain. I climb behind the wheel of the armored van and start the ignition.
**********************
The streets are refreshingly quiet at this time of night. I reach the docks and pull up to a warehouse – the one closest to where the boat’s merchandise is expected to be offloaded.
My timing is perfect – I can see the ship pulling into the dock. Five dockhands – all women, dressed in orange uniforms – have gathered around the ship and are preparing to offload the packages.
I lean back into my seat and put my hands behind my head with a smile. Now I just have to wait for those suckers to deliver the Sun Stone right into my hands.
A minute passes, then two. I look out the window. What’s taking so long?
The dockhands appear to be gone. No, wait… I can see two of them in the distance. They’re carrying a package marked “Fragile” that looks like something valuable… but they’re not moving in my direction.
If anything, they’re heading to the other side of the docks… with the package I’m supposed to pick up!
I step out of the vehicle and call towards the women. “Hey… Museum pickup over here. Where are you going?”
The women don’t respond. They quicken their pace and move along, away from my direction.
Something is definitely up. I walk faster towards them, sensing trouble. “Didn’t you hear me? I said…”
It happens fast, too fast for me to react. One of the women reaches into her jacket and pulls out an odd-shaped gun. She fires in my direction.
The next moment, I’m thrown backwards, hitting the wall of the warehouse. I can’t move. I’m stuck… Covered in… glue?
No, it’s paste. Covering my arms and waist, keeping me stuck to the wall. What kind of lunatic would do this?
It takes me a few minutes to free myself out of the uniform jacket and slip free of the paste-bonds. By the time I do, the dockhands are long gone.
Who were they? And how dare they interrupt my heist!
I trek back past the warehouse. No purpose in staying around here – the cops will likely show up any minute. I’ll probably have to wait to read about this in tomorrow’s Daily Bugle.
****************
Sure enough, there’s a piece in the Bugle, all about that heist and getaway. And my good friend (using the term loosely, considering our past encounters) Mary Jane has the byline.
I read about it while sipping my morning coffee. No clue who these women are or why they took the Sun Stone (other than its obvious market value), but my ego will recover. Not the first time a heist of mine went wrong, and at least I got away this time before the cops showed up.
Anyway, if there’s anything that’ll make me feel better, it’s planning another heist. One that will go right this time.
My eye travels to a piece further down the page. The Museum of Natural History has a new exhibit on display next week – a priceless old diamond known as the Great White Star.
I eye the photo and like the way it sparkles…
*********************
A few days later, I’m at the museum. Scouting the area is always key to the proper heist.
I enter the building about thirty minutes before the museum closes. Wearing a baggy turtleneck and thick-rimmed glasses, and with my hair done up in a harried bun, I look like an unassuming history buff. Just another face blending in with the crowd.
As I approach the main exhibit room, I spot a tour guide, a middle-aged woman, giving a set of descriptions to a curious group of patrons. I slip in with the group and listen to her talk.
“…and that brings us to the museum’s piece de resistance of the month – the Great White Star,” she said with a flourish, pointing at a gleaming white jewel encased behind thick bulletproof glass.
“Said to be one of the oldest diamonds in the world, its value is estimated to be over thirty million dollars.”
The crowd oohs. I hide a smile, already picturing how gorgeous that diamond will look around my neck.
“Naturally, the museum has taken extra precautions to ensure the safety of the diamond,” the guide adds. “Increased security, round-the-clock camera surveillance, motion sensors. No one’s going to lay a finger on that diamond. Isn’t that right, Debbie?”
She speaks now to the security guard stationed near the diamond exhibit. A tall woman with light skin and red hair tied back in a French braid, dressed in a dark blue security uniform and white sneakers.
“Yes, ma’am,” Debbie nods. “The museum is proud to host this diamond, but behind that glass it stays.”
Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that, Debbie.
“Our next exhibit,” the tour guide continues, “is the famous…”
Before she can continue, though, she’s interrupted by the sound of high-pitched laughter.
There’s a woman in the back of the tour group, chortling loudly. “That diamond doesn’t look so old… My own grandma looks older!”
Oh great, a comedienne.
“Please keep your voice low, miss,” the tour guide says.
But the woman doesn’t let up. “How old is the diamond really? Could be its faking its age… Lord knows I do that all the time…”
I eye the unfunny woman oddly, and realize that she looks familiar.
Her hair is blonde now instead of brown, but I recognize her voice, as well as her plump frame and tanned skin. I met her at a café a few weeks ago…
Charlotte Beaulieu. Yes, that was her name. A French-Canadian cat burglar who offered to be my partner. Naturally, I work alone – so I tricked her into mugging some guard outside the Queen’s Gem Hotel and getting herself arrested.
Clearly, she’s gotten out of police custody. Does she also have plans to steal the Star? If so, why is she drawing so much attention to herself?
Debbie the guard approaches her. “Miss, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Charlotte responds with another loud laugh. “But I’m just enjoying some history! I’m staying right here!”
Debbie sighs, then reaches for her radio. “All available units, we have a situation in the main exhibit hall.”
Moments later, two other guards hurry into the room. Charlotte is still laughing her head off, and no one can look away as the guards start to drag her out.
Well… I can look away. In fact, I make good use of Charlotte’s loud scene to slip away from the crowd.
If Charlotte was planning to steal the diamond, her plan seems to have failed… but it did give me the opportunity to sneak down a side hallway without being noticed. Thanks, Char!
I locate the ladies’ room and slip inside. It’s almost closing time, so the time is perfect to make myself scarce.
I enter the last stall at the far end of the room and close the door. There’s a vent above in the wall above me. I quickly unscrew it, then open the hatch and climb inside, shutting it behind me.
Soon after, the museum closes, and the sounds outside fade to silence.
*******************
I wait another hour before making my move.
I open the vent, carefully and quietly, and wriggle out, dropping to the floor. I land on my feet, of course.
I’ve changed to my “work clothes” – the usual black leather catsuit and eye mask, gloves and boots. The lights are off, and the costume is very helpful to blending in with the dark.
Of course, I may need to blend in a bit more than usual – security is clearly tight at the museum, and it wouldn’t do for a high-class cat burglar like myself to get caught on camera. Much as I love this costume, a new change of clothes is probably in order.
As if on cue, I hear the restroom door open. The sound of footsteps entering.
I approach the door to the stall I’m currently hidden in and open it a crack, squinting in the dim lighting.
The newcomer is a woman (good). She’s about my size (great). And she isn’t paying much attention to her surroundings (perfect).
She’s got tanned skin and dark hair tied cut in a chin-length bob. She’s wearing dark grey coveralls, a blue baseball cap, yellow rubber gloves, and scuffed white sneakers. She’s carrying a mop in one hand and a pail in the other.
Evidently, she’s the cleaner – here to scrub the floors and make the bathroom look pristine by tomorrow morning. Probably a routine with her.
Only tonight, that routine is gonna be interrupted.
I’m trying to figure out the best way to leave my hiding place without alerting her, when I see her walking my way. Looks like she plans to start her cleaning with the farthest stall.
Oh come on, honey, you’re making this too easy…
But sure enough, she approaches the stall where I’m hiding and reaches for the door. I barely have time to think of a wisecrack!
She swings open the door, and immediately freezes, as she finds herself staring directly into the eyes of a woman who isn’t supposed to be here after hours.
I treat her to a mischievous smile. “Sorry, this toilet’s out of order.”
I admit it’s not my best material… but it’ll have to do.
She opens her mouth to call for help, but any sound she can make is quickly muffled by my gloved hand. I grab her collar with my other hand and pull her into the stall.
I’ll be honest – I don’t like hurting innocent civilians. Usually, when I need to knock someone out, I use a sleeper hold or a dose of my own patented catnip. But the janitress here is struggling a lot, so I need to be a bit more forceful. A quick elbow jab between the shoulder blades to throw her off-balance, followed by a neck chop to put her lights out.
Once she’s out, I shut the stall door and get changed. Her uniform is a good fit – and my compliments to whomever designed the comfy fabric of these coveralls. I tuck my platinum white-blonde hair under the cap.
The poor janitress is now sitting on the stall, head lolling to one side. She looks kind of cute in her pink exercise bra and white briefs. I use some black duct tape from my bag to gag her and keep her tied to the toilet.
Once dressed, I exit the stall and lock it behind me. The bathroom won’t get cleaned tonight… I’ve got my sights set on a more demanding errand.
Outside the restroom, I catch sight of a security guard walking down the hall. I immediately recognize her – it’s Debbie, the lady from earlier.
She pays me no attention, and is busy speaking into her radio. “Chloe, please respond… Daisy, please respond… What is your status?”
She grumbled to herself. “Why aren’t they answering?”
Seems like Debbie’s got her own problems trying to reach her coworkers. Well, as far as I’m concerned, the fewer guards around, the better.
I approach the main exhibit hall with trepidation. Great White Star, here I come…
I pause, catching sight of the glass case. The case where the gorgeous diamond I’m after is supposed to be.
It’s gone.
A circle of glass has been perfectly cut into the case, and the exhibit that was supposed to be behind it is nowhere to be seen. Clearly, someone with very powerful tools – or maybe superpowers? – found a way to bypass the security systems and steal the diamond. But the most important thing is, that person was not me.
I feel furious. All that hard work and effort… and I get upstaged! Again!
I can’t risk standing around feeling sorry for myself. At any moment, Debby or one of her friends could come back and see me standing next to the broken diamond case. Then things would really get hairy.
I walk quickly back down the hall, stopping by a nearby storage room. I’ll ditch the janitorial stuff in here, then skip out through a window. There will be time for self-recriminations later.
I open the storage room door… and pause again.
Seated on the floor of the storage room are two women, unconscious. Both are bound with packing twine and gagged with tape. A bronze-skinned brunette in flowery pink push-up bra and beige briefs, and a light-skinned blonde in a fuchsia racerback bra and lavender boxers.
I don’t know who these women are… and for the moment, I don’t care. Got other things to worry about at the moment, chiefly getting out of this museum in one piece.
Still, I can’t help thinking what this means. I was not the only woman infiltrating the museum tonight. There were at least two others – who could they be? I find myself thinking back to Charlotte and her outburst earlier that day… Could that have had something to do with this? Was she providing a distraction of some sort?
Questions for later. Once I’m out of the janitorial uniform, I crawl up to the nearest window and make my escape.
***********************
The news is all over the papers the next day. Thankfully, I’m not mentioned, although the janitress I mugged gets a shout-out.
The police seem to suspect that the same gang behind the theft of the Sun Stone is also behind that of the Great White Star. A quote from Captain Yuri Watanabe suggests there’s an all-female gang of criminals running about. I’d be impressed if they weren’t strutting around on my turf.
Security will be tightening all over the city now, which will make future heists more of a headache. But I’m aching for just one heist to go right. I need the ego boost, now more than ever.
Absent-mindedly, as I flip through the paper, my eye falls on an interesting lifestyle feature – a high-class event at the Heritage Auction Galleries this Saturday.
New York’s rich and successful will all be there – plenty of gorgeous ladies sporting lots of jewelry. Perfect for a cat burglar who’s itching for a comeback.
I’d be crazy not to try it. Besides, it’s not like things can go so wrong again…
*******************
I don’t typically do daytime heists – like most burglars, I do my best work at night. But after the last couple of unsuccessful escapades, I’m willing to be flexible.
I perch myself on the rooftop of the Heritage Auction Galleries building, watching the crowd below through my favorite pair of cat-eye binoculars. As expected, the auction is drawing plenty of New York’s wealthiest.
A sleek car pulls up to the entrance, and out steps a young Korean woman with short dark brown hair. She’s wearing a sleeveless black dress, grey elbow-length gloves, black high heels and stockings, and a small black hat with netted veil.
I recognize the woman from the tabloids – Lois Owlson, a wealthy young socialite and recent widow. Her old husband kicked the bucket recently, leaving her with a prestigious estate and millions of dollars of her own.
Funny… she looks a little chubbier than her photos would indicate. Must be an effect of the cameras…
Striding a few paces behind Ms. Owlson is an athletic-looking young woman with light skin and jet-black hair cut into a bob. She’s dressed in a grey business suit, white shirt, black tie, and black shoes. On her face is a pair of dark sunglasses.
The sunglasses remind me of someone, and I take a moment to realize precisely who. Trapstr! The second-string hacker villainess that MJ and I crossed paths with in a previous escapade, when she was working with Kraven. I knocked her out with a neck-chop and MJ stole her clothes.
The bodyguard’s sunglasses look exactly like the ones Trapstr wore that night. But that has to be coincidence. The woman is clearly not her.
I force myself to stop ogling the newcomers. I need to infiltrate the auction house… not waste time focusing on the guests.
I know what you’re thinking: I should mug one of these rich guests or their oh-so-tough bodyguards and use their clothes to slip inside. It’s a tempting plan, I’ll grant… but risky. All these years of infiltrations have taught me that it’s best not to draw too much attention to myself during a heist. The best disguises are the ones that no one pays attention to. The ones that let me hide in plain sight.
I slip away from my perch and navigate around to the rear of the building.
I shimmy down the drainpipe and peek around the corner, eyeing the service entrance. I’m right on time.
A group of caterers are unloading the contents of a food truck, carrying them towards the rear entrance door of the auction house. The driver of the truck has stepped away for a smoke. There’s no one else around.
The last caterer straggling by the truck is a young woman – slim and light-skinned, with short pixie-cut red hair and cheeks dotted with freckles. She’s dressed, like the other caterers, in a black waistcoat over a white button-down shirt, slim dark pants, and black flat shoes. Perfect classy but nondescript uniform. Just what I need.
The woman lifts the last box from the rear of the truck and carries it towards the doorway. She moves fast. I move faster.
Before she knows what’s happening, I’ve grabbed her around the waist and clamped a hand over her mouth. She lets out a confused whimper that is muffled beneath my glove.
“Time for a shift change, sweetie,” I whisper, dragging her back around the corner.
In a matter of minutes, I’m in her uniform, buttoning up the shirt and waistcoat. I arrange my hair into a professional ponytail, the better to look the part of a boring background worker.
The unconscious caterer – “Dana,” judging by her nametag – is lying behind some crates, stripped to her neon-green bandeau bra and orange boyshorts. She’s tied up with white clothesline and gagged with a grey cloth. She’ll wake up with a headache, but otherwise be okay.
“Thanks, Dana… I’ve got a good feeling about this heist already.”
I scoop up the box from where Dana dropped it and carry it towards the doorway.
Once inside the auction house, I deposit the box, then grab a wine tray and start mingling through the lobby.
So many rich people around… My eye catches sight of multiple women in gorgeous dresses, with sparkling jewels adorning their wrists, ears, and necks. Yowza!
So many pretty baubles, so little time… Who should I pickpocket first?
As I’m mulling over my options, my eye falls on one woman chatting by the bar. She’s a slim but fit woman with alabaster skin and close-cropped dark brown hair, wearing a dark blue sleeveless dress on.
I’ve seen this woman somewhere before… or at least her photo. But where?
Then it hits me. Janet Van Dyne!
For those of you who aren’t up-to-date with all the big New York celebrities, Janet Van Dyne is a rich socialite from Manhattan who’s among the buzziest women in the city. And pun intended when I say “buzziest” – she’s also a superhero, working part-time with the Avengers, calling herself the Wasp.
Janet doesn’t have any superpowers, but she’s got a supersuit – a black-and-yellow outfit that allows her to shrink to the size of an insect, with built-in wings that allow her to fly. I won’t bore you with the science behind it all, but suffice it to say, she knows how to hold her own in battle.
Having an Avenger at this event complicates things. Sure, she’s probably here to enjoy the auction, but I’m sure she’s keeping one eye out to make sure there’s no trouble. And I don’t need a superhero meddling in my business today…
My train of thought is suddenly interrupted as someone jostles against me. It’s that woman I spotted earlier – Lois Owlson’s bodyguard. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in her sunglasses. She barely gives me a glance before walking on.
Rude woman… I should probably teach her a lesson. But I’m on the clock. Need to stay focused…
I make it another couple of paces before I hear the explosion.
I’ve been around enough smoke bombs to know the sound when I hear it. Immediately, the room starts filling up with thick swirls of black smoke.
Most of the guests around me scream and start running in various directions. I dive for the ground and grab a kerchief from my waistcoat pocket – thank you, Dana! – and quickly cover my nose and mouth.
The smoke is thick, it’s hard to see anything. Most of the feet in the crowd, to my perspective, are heading for the exits, or trying to reach a window. But I spot a pair of high heels hurrying past me, towards the direction of the auction room. What?
I glance up quickly, in time to recognize the black dress – it’s Lois Owlson. She’s wearing a gas mask that obscures most of her face, but she looks down and we momentarily lock eyes.
Then I realize it isn’t Lois Owlson… those amber-brown eyes look familiar…
And then another woman – the bodyguard – grabs her arm. “Come on, Charlotte, no time to waste.”
Charlotte! Again. This can’t be a coincidence. I guess she really is a shape-shifter…
She turns to her friend. “Hey! Code names, remember?”
She doesn’t seem to recognize me, probably since half my face is covered by a kerchief. She and her associate – whom I’m guessing is not really Lois Owlson’s bodyguard – hurry on.
This can’t be happening – they’re trying to upstage me again! They must have their own heist planned here tonight.
Well, I won’t be shown up. Not this time…
I start crawling forward, still avoiding the smoke. Then at once, I hear the buzzing of wings whiz past my ear.
It’s the Wasp! Janet has shrunk down to her superhero identity, wearing her black-and-yellow costume and mask, and is using her wings to beat away the smoke as she chases after the two culprits.
Okay, then… If she catches these crooks, all the better for me.
The next moment, though, to my surprise, I see Wasp fall to the ground. She’s unconscious, her costume automatically growing her body back to her regular size.
I can glimpse Charlotte and her friend racing off – they’re certainly fast – and I briefly consider chasing after them.
But my consideration isn’t brief enough. Security bursts into the room, attracted by the pandemonium. I hear a man yell “What’s going on here!”
Great… I’d better get out of here before the smoke fully clears.
I scamper to the nearest window and pry it open. By the time the smoke clears, I’m gone.
********************
The next morning’s edition again tells me everything I need to know. Confirming it’s the same team of thieves who beat me to the Great White Star and the Sun Stone.
Apparently they call themselves “Team Awesome.” Of course they do. I can’t believe I keep getting shown up by such immature girls.
And on top of that, the article mentions that Trapstr is among the team. I knew those sunglasses looked familiar, even if the woman wearing them didn’t. That night at the docks, she must have been the woman who hit me with that paste-gun blast.
I owe her for that. And I owe Charlotte and all her new friends for upstaging me at all these heists.
Well, I won’t be blindsided again. It’s time to take direct action against this “Team Awesome.”
I need to find out where they’ll strike next, and put a stop to them myself. They’ve upstaged my heists for too long... It’s time I upstaged one of theirs. Maybe once they’re in prison, I’ll have some peace to do my own thievery again.
But where will they strike?
I do a little research on the prison breakout that Trapstr and Charlotte were a part of. A couple of other criminals escaped in that breakout as well. One of them is… Screwball.
It’s not much… but it’s worth investigating.
Ever since she was lured into a trap by Mary Jane, who mugged her and stole her costume in order to infiltrate Kingpin’s villain gathering, Screwball has been a little more cautious about who she does and doesn’t allow to access her social media channels. Can’t blame her – getting tied up and gagged in her logo-branded underwear must have been pretty humiliating.
Still, Screwball isn’t all that great at privacy settings, and it doesn’t take much work for me to get through to her channel. It looks like she’s uploaded a new video today.
“What’s up, Screw Crew!” she smiles at the camera.
I grimace. That can’t be what she’s calling her fans…
“It’s your girl Screwball, back in business! Currently gotta lie low, but I promise I’ll be back with more outrageous stunts before you know it!”
She’s filming from a private location. There’s only a blank wall behind her. Okay, so maybe she’s not that stupid…
“Have I ever told you all that I used to be a cheerleader? That’s right, top of my class!” She holds up a baton as if to prove her point. “That’s how I first learned how to be so athletic. Cheer squad forever!”
I consider turning off the video feed. This is getting annoying.
“I really miss my cheerleading days,” Screwball continues. “But you know what? I might soon be getting a chance to relive them again! Can’t say much more at the moment, but if everything goes well, I’ll be back in a cheer uniform before you know it!”
I raise an eyebrow. Now there’s an interesting comment…
“That’s all for now, Screw Crew, but stay tuned! And don’t forget to smash that like button!”
The screen goes dark. I sit there pondering for a moment. Cheerleaders?
On a whim, I pick up the newspaper and – for the first time in my life – turn to the sports section.
There’s a football game coming up… a big tournament between the New York Mammoths and the San Francisco Skyhawks. And the prize is a mighty fine and expensive-looking trophy.
And oh yes… there’ll be cheerleaders.
It’s not much… but it’s the most I have to go on at this point.
Looks like I’m going to a football game.
******************
The truck carrying new equipment to the football field arrives about two hours before the game starts. The stadium’s handymen carry the boxes and crates inside, depositing them in the storeroom.
No one stops to check inside any of the boxes, probably because they’re in such a hurry to get on to their next job. Which is fine with me – it would be awkward if one of these gentlemen opened the biggest box and found the gorgeous platinum-blonde cat burglar hiding inside.
I wait till I hear the door close and lock and all sounds of footsteps fade into the distance, then carefully push the lid of my crate open and glance around. Nothing else in the area except some other boxes of sporting equipment. I quietly climb out of the box.
I’m not usually this early to a heist… but I’m leaving nothing to chance this time.
I’m wearing my Black Cat suit, of course, which is always good for stealth missions. But this stadium is going to start filling up soon, and I’ll need to look like I belong.
I hear more footsteps coming down the hall, this time from the opposite direction. A woman’s shoes, it sounds like. This could be promising…
The woman who steps into view is tall and fit, with dark skin and raven-black hair tied back in a medium ponytail. She’s wearing a grey button-down shirt, slim black pants, brown loafers, and a black baseball cap with “SECURITY” printed on it in gold lettering. I don’t need the brain of Reed Richards to figure out her profession…
The security guard is carrying a can of soda in her hand. She gulps the last of its contents, then tosses it into a nearby trash can.
As she passes by the storeroom, I push the door open.
“Naughty girl,” I say, grabbing the startled guard’s shoulders. “You should learn to recycle.”
The guard has no time to respond to my clever witticism before I yank her into the storeroom and shut the door behind us.
The tussle which follows is brief, but the guard is no match for my terrific strength! (Okay, fine… and my chloroform. I don’t usually use that stuff, but like I said, I can’t leave anything to chance today.)
Once she’s unconscious, I drag her to the corner of the room and get to work. It doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes to strip her out of her uniform.
I change out of my Black Cat suit and quickly put on my latest disguise. Good fit, comfy fabric. So far, everything’s going well.
The real guard looks adorable in her black exercise bra and matching hiphuggers. Though I’m probably biased, since black is my favorite color. To show my support for her fashion choice, I use some black electrical tape from a storeroom shelf to bind and gag her.
Once she’s nice and secured, I seat her in the corner, her head resting against the wall, and push some other boxes and crates around her to keep her hidden. She’ll sleep there for a few hours – plenty of time.
Back out in the hall, I nearly bump into a quartet of cheerleaders heading my way. They’re all tall and leggy, wearing green-and-white uniforms.
The leading cheerleader, a blonde with her hair in a low ponytail, gives me a glare. “Watch where you’re going.”
I frown at her, but the sense of professionalism that comes with the uniform I’m wearing keeps me from knocking her lights out. “Pardon me, miss.”
The other cheerleaders giggle, and they brush past me. I watch them walk away.
Hopefully, those are the cheerleaders that Charlotte’s team plans to mug later. Would serve ‘em right.
I walk quickly in the other direction, following the signs toward what I assume is the trophy room. A small office that’s been repurposed for the trophy. The desk and chair have been pushed to the far wall; the trophy itself sits in a glass case in middle of the room.
There’s already a guard posted by the trophy. She’s got light skin and dark blonde hair in a bob cut. Her uniform is identical to mine.
“I’m here to take over the watch,” I say with a polite smile.
The blonde gives me a strange look. “I didn’t know we were changing shifts… I was told to guard the trophy till the end of the game.”
“Plans change.” I hit her with a quick neck chop; she groans and sinks to the floor.
“Consider yourself lucky,” I say as I drag the unconscious guard behind the desk. “At least you get to keep your clothes on.”
I use the last of the electrical tape to tie her up and gag her. Then I and take her position at the trophy case.
The trophy itself, like the picture, looks expensive – a sparkling silver cup with an intricately engraved design on it. I briefly consider stealing it myself… but resist the temptation. Today is about more than just one trophy. It’s about stopping Charlotte and her friends in their tracks.
However… I’m still just one woman. And in case this plan doesn’t work out as intended, I need to take some extra precautions…
*********************
The minutes tick by into hours. The stadium fills up with cheering crowds, but I stay at my post. I force myself to be patient, and hope my hunch wasn’t entirely wrong. At some point, Charlotte and her pals will need to show up… I can’t have wasted this whole afternoon.
Well, I suppose I still could steal the trophy myself… It looks pretty valuable…
Oops! Footsteps. And women’s voices. Right on cue…
I make sure I’m in position as I hear the doorknob turn. The door opens, and three young women in cheerleader outfits walk in.
Despite their change of outfits, I recognize all of them. Trapstr, Screwball, and the brunette who posed as the bodyguard at the auction house.
I don’t see Charlotte, though. What happened to her?
It doesn’t look like any of them recognize me in my disguise – luckily enough. I’ve never met Screwball face-to-face, and the only time I spoke with Trapstr was that time I was disguised as Coachwhip. (She didn’t catch a glimpse of my face when I mugged her at Kraven’s hideout.)
The third woman doesn’t seem to recognize me from the auction house. Looks like she’s got other things on her mind.
“Neutralize her!” she orders, pointing at me.
Trapstr pulls out her paste-gun, and I immediately scowl. I am not getting hit with that thing again…
But Screwball holds up a hand. “I’ll handle this. I’m a former cheerleader, remember?”
Oh, this should be fun…
Screwball lurches forward and suddenly starts doing cartwheels, flipping her way in my direction.
God, I always hated those cheerleaders in high school. So smug, so proud of themselves. I can tell that Screwball feels confident in the way she’s acrobatically maneuvering in my direction. Boy, is she about to learn a lesson.
I grasp the nightstick at my belt. I wait until she’s within striking distance, then hit her in the knee.
“Oww!” Screwball crumples to the floor. “What the hell?”
I resist the urge to smirk. Gotta stay focused.
Trapstr scowls at me, and aims her paste-gun in my direction. “I told you to let me take this broad out…”
Who is she calling a broad? Especially when she’s the one still wearing those stupid sunglasses with her cheerleader disguise.
I throw the nightstick like a javelin, right at Trapstr’s hand. She cries in pain and drops the gun.
Like I suspected. These girls are pushovers, just as before.
The third woman glares at Trapstr disapprovingly.
Trapstr winced. “Sorry, Taylor, I thought security here was supposed to be awful.”
“Codenames!”
“Sorry… Sparks.”
Trapstr bends down toward her gun, but Taylor – or “Sparks” – stops her.
“I’ll handle this woman.”
I’m briefly nervous as I see Taylor turn her attention to me. Unlike the other two, I don’t know anything about this woman, certainly not about her weapons or fighting style.
Immediately, Taylor charges. I duck her first karate blow, but she’s fast – immediately follows up with an elbow to my waist. I roll with it, then quickly dodge her follow-up kick, which misses my head by an inch.
Damn, this woman’s good.
I need to beat her fast, then round up all three of these crooks. I dodge another couple of blows, then grab her leg and twist hard. She loses her balance and falls to the floor.
I barely have a moment to catch my breath before she springs back to her feet. Another couple of martial arts blows – I manage to block most of them, but it’s tiring me out. Need to do something quick, or I’m toast.
“Grab the trophy!” Taylor calls to Screwball and Trapstr.
They hurry to comply with her order, but she hasn’t taken her eyes off me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Screwball’s baton, lying on the floor. With a quick blur of my foot, I kick it into the air, then grab it in time to block Taylor’s next judo chop. With another swing of the baton, I hit her in the elbow.
“Ouch!” She glares at me, her eyes blazing.
“Give up,” I say in my most intimidating voice. “You and your friends are under arrest.”
Her eyes narrow. “We’ve wasted enough time here.”
What is she talking about? Before I can puzzle it out further, there’s a sudden blur of motion at the side of my face.
The next moment, everything goes black.
*********************
I wake up a few minutes and a giant headache later. Taylor is gone, along with Trapstr and Screwball. And, of course, the trophy.
I’m lying on my back, but unlike that night at the docks, no paste to be seen. Trapstr must have been in too much of a hurry to give me a parting gift. Lucky me.
How did Taylor knock me out? She moved too fast for me to tell. There’s still a ringing in my ears… No, wait, that’s the alarm. Crap. The other guards will be here any minute. I need to scram.
I give a last glance to the trophy case right before I exit the room. Taylor and her team managed to grab what they wanted… and from the outset, it looks like they’ve gotten the best of me again.
But this time, I planned ahead…
******************
By the next morning, I’m showered, rested, and back on my feet. And ready to take on “Team Awesome.”
Sure, they may have gotten away with the trophy. But what they don’t know is that I was kind of banking on them to do that.
Which is why I slipped a little listening bug – one of Gwen’s little models, which I may have “borrowed” during a previous team-up – on the underside of the trophy. And now I can listen in on their conversations and gather more about who they are and where they plan to strike next.
I sit down on the couch and reach for my headphones. Only hope they haven’t found the bug…
I switch on the transmitter and listen in.
Almost immediately, I regret it. I hear a mangled version of a woman singing the Spider-Man theme. “Team Awesome, Team Awesome, doing awesome things… all day round!”
God, I hated that tune when Peter sang it, and I hate it now. On the plus side, I recognize it as Charlotte’s voice, which confirms she’s on the same team as the not-so-cheerful cheer squad I tussled with at the stadium.
The song is mercifully interrupted by a voice I recognize to be Taylor’s. Judging by her no-nonsense tone, she seems to be the team leader.
As if proving this point, Taylor next starts chewing out Screwball for posting that “cheerleader” video on her streaming channel. “Didn’t I tell you to never upload a video that can give clues about our heists?”
I allow myself a little grin. Both because the video did indeed give me a clue about their last heist, and because it’s fun to hear an egocentric loser like Screwball get put in her place.
The conversation shifts, and it sounds like they’re getting down to business. I cup my hands around my headphones, intent on catching every word.
“The money we got is secondary,” Taylor says about their recent escapades. “The goal is to conceal the importance of one single heist.”
Curiouser and curiouser… So they’ve got a big job lined up.
I hear Trapstr’s voice. “Will she help this time?”
Taylor responds. “Yes. We only bring her for the major heists.”
Sounds like they’ve got a secret weapon on their team… presumably someone I haven’t met yet. What’s their target exactly?
“And what’s our target exactly?” another woman’s voice asks, right on time.
(I recognize that voice, too – from that night MJ and I infiltrate the Kingpin’s hideout. It’s the Carpenter, one of the White Rabbit’s gang. I think her name was “Jenna Duyeeeep” or something like that.)
“Oscorp Industries,” Taylor answers. “The head office. There will be a health inspection in seven days. We’ll take advantage of it.”
Oscorp… impressive. These gals aren’t fooling around. That’s one of the most heavily secure facilities in New York. In order to be confident enough to break in, you’d have to be really smart… or really stupid.
And this Taylor doesn’t strike me as stupid.
“They’ve built a prototype we’ve been hired to steal,” she adds. “That’s all you need to know for now.”
I don’t know what prototype she’s referring to. But I do know that a failed attempt to break into Oscorp could land these ladies in prison for a long, long time. Norman Osborn has a lot of leverage with the courts in this city – he’ll make sure they throw the book at them if they’re caught.
And I intend to make sure they’re caught.
I’m going over the details in my mind – the break-in is planned in seven days – when I hear Carpenter pipe up again. She brings up the newspaper articles reporting on the heists.
“It's pretty clear another thief was sneaking around during our heists, mugging women just like us...” she says. “We may have a rival. Any idea of who she may be?”
Well, well… so my own escapades haven’t gone unnoticed. Thanks, MJ…
“I think I have one,” Taylor replies. “And she better pray she doesn't come across us...”
I hear the sound of a gun clicking into place.
“If not, then I will deal with her.”
I can’t help but smile at this.
Challenge accepted, Sparks. I’ll see you at Oscorp.
I just need to find a way to sneak inside…
My eye glances down at the tabloid lying on the coffee table. There’s a cover story on the auction heist… the one that team Not-So-Awesome interrupted me at last week. Included in the article is a photo of the Wasp.
My eyes narrow as I study the photo.
Janet Van Dyne’s suit is great for fighting crime… but I’ll bet it’s great for committing crimes as well. More specifically, I’ll bet it would be a huge help for infiltrations.
An outfit that lets me shrink enough to fit through a keyhole? I’d be the most unstoppable cat burglar in America…
True, I don’t usually like to employ high-tech gadgets on my heists – when it comes to infiltrating, I’m a simple mug-and-replace girl at heart. But I’m clearly outmatched by Taylor and her team. I need something to boost my chances the next time we meet. I need a suit that can help me slip into Oscorp without being noticed, and defeat Taylor and her team of losers once and for all.
So I’ll need to pull off the most daring heist of my career: Stealing an Avenger’s costume.
Nothing personal, Janet.
THE END (for now)
