Cold wind whipped Felicia Hardy's hair around her beautiful face as she stared out over the brightly lit, always alive streets of New York City. Her adrenaline was due to a combination of her precarious perch on the balcony of her penthouse apartment, and the unforgiving promise of the winter's night. The sky above the city was heavy with grey clouds that billowed and stretched out far across the many waterways, dipping towards Jersey. Snow had been forecast all day long and yet, despite the cold air, had not fallen.

Dressed in a simple tank top and flannel pyjama bottoms, Felicia felt the sting of the cold on her bare skin; yet it did not chill her to the bone as it should have. In the last several months she had gotten used to her body's resistance to many things; strain, fatigue and pain among them. Only now did she realize that she was not at all perturbed by the cold New York City air that nipped at the noses and got under the skin of anyone foolish enough to venture out of doors without proper covering.

Just as you wanted it, huh Harry? She thought bitterly as she leaped onto the stone banister, the only thing that stopped her and anyone else who went onto the balcony from falling forty nine floors to a nasty and messy death on the street below. Shame curtailed the sour turn her thoughts had taken towards the imprisoned scion of the Osborn family. After all, it had been Harry who had given her the luxurious penthouse she'd been living in for the last year and a half. Being incarcerated at a highly sophisticated prison hadn't frozen his expenses account in the least, and he'd always been there to give her everything she needed.

The price of course being that she'd allowed him to use her as his latest science experiment.

Grimacing, Felicia sprang to her feet with enough litheness and poise to put even the most accomplished gymnast to shame. She'd never been clumsy when she'd been normal, but in such frigid conditions, and at such dizzying heights, a person would have been lucky to have not toppled off the balcony.

It's practice, she told herself as she walked the length of the banister, her eyes fixed ahead of her, her steps never once faltering. Practice was something that Harry had demanded she engage in.

"You're perfection," he'd told her from behind the shatter-proof Plexiglas of Ravencroft's little used visiting center. "But what good is perfection if there's still fallibility remaining? You have to get used to it kitten. To train yourself; not just to fight back but to use what you've been given...what I've given you."

What I've given you...

Harry had never failed to remind her that it had been his gift to her, this honing of her senses and reflexes. In his mind, it had been sheer altruism—a gift, and at first she had seen it as such.

Without hesitating, Felicia executed a perfect backwards handspring, her bare feet never once skirting the narrow edge of the banister. What person wouldn't have wanted to shed the yoke of imperfection? To be able to see in the dark, to run faster than a triathlete, to kick and punch and manoeuvre their body in ways that all but the most skilled fighters could do?

It had only been recently that she had felt the stifling separation from those that she walked among. Perhaps if she'd actually had somebody stable, some steady presence in her life then it wouldn't ache so much to be the way she was now. But all the people met now, men or women, lasted only a night, maybe two if she was particularly satisfied with them.

Harry's gift had had an incredible impact on her appearance. Her body, already akin to that of a supermodel, had gained all the attributes of a positive goddess. Her eyes, once dull green, had gradually turned brighter and sharper until they'd gained the green found in precious gems. And her hair...well it had been the most noticeable physical change.

Unconsciously, Felicia ran her fingers through her hair, letting strands slide through. Fine as silk and white as snow it had been at first impossible to tell if it had been a side effect from the injections she had taken on Harry's behalf. It had been a gradual change, strands turning from raven black to pure white; at first she'd feared that old age was going to claim her. Now however, coupled with her emerald eyes and the sensual way she moved in public, her hair only served to make her all the more noticeable among the colorful occupants of New York City.

And after all, what was the use of trying to deny the attention it got her? Grinning, Felicia hopped off of the rail and swaggered back to the warm, brightly lit penthouse apartment. The furniture and decor she'd chosen were all simple but almost ultramodern. She'd developed a flare for the finer things when Harry had started sending her money for her co-operation. The simplicity was more a way to keep her off anybody's radar. Harry did have enemies, even if he had been locked up for a little over a year.

Felicia stopped on her way to the kitchen and looked into a large, glass jewel case. There were fine necklaces and rings and earrings on plastic pegs within, as well as simple cut gems and diamonds that she had acquired during her nights of practice. Harry wouldn't have given her the money for such trinkets, even if she had asked him. And what girl didn't appreciate the finer things? In any event, she thoroughly enjoyed the rush of thievery, and the inevitable stupidity of the police when they found no trace of her efforts.

Smiling to herself, she padded cross the black and white checkered linoleum and into the kitchen, her own stunning reflection meeting her on every silver surface. Opening the refrigerator, Felicia pushed a Tupperware container of raw tuna out of the way and grabbed a bottle of milk from among the large army she had stored in the fridge's chilly interior. Unceremoniously, she flipped the cap off and gulped down the cold dairy, feeling the satisfaction of a satiated meth addict course through her as she walked into the living room, not even caring when a stream of the delicious liquid dribbled out of the corner of her plump, perfect cherry lips.

A pawn in Harry's game she may be but she was not going to sit around and mope about it all the time.

Finishing off the milk without taking so much as a pause, Felicia set the bottle on a glass end table with a chink and picked up the small black remote that controlled nearly every electronic in her apartment. It was nearly ten-thirty at night, and she knew that the call would come at any moment.

At first the only thing that wafted from the speakers was a cheerful Christmas tune. Felicia rolled her eyes at the musical message of peace and goodwill. The holiday had never held much meaning to her, not even when she'd been on the straight and narrow. Christmas for her had been filled with her father lavishing her with expensive gifts, and while it had been a wonderful experience as a child, those gifts had lost their meaning the second she'd learned how her otherwise plain as a pikestaff father had acquired them.

His thievery had been legend in certain circles and it had been fortunate enough that Felicia had been of age to strike out on her own when the cops had finally caught up with the man who had been dubbed "The Cat." For several years she'd done her utmost to avoid stepping anywhere even remotely near the path Walter Hardy had tread for most of his life. Her job at OsCorp had been perfect up to a point: the mousy yet attractive assistant. It was the perfect way to avoid any excitement and danger.

Until Harry had walked into her life.

Now she was his little super soldier puppet, capable of taking out a squad of police officers in seconds flat and purloining precious jewels from even the most sophisticated security system. It hadn't been on Harry's instruction, of course, but then again he'd never told her just what practice had entailed. What Harry Osborn didn't know couldn't hurt him.

The poppy, superficial Christmas tune warbled midway through. Static squeaked out of Felicia's state of the art stereo system and she grimaced at the frequency, amplified by her heightened senses. There were some drawbacks to her abilities and sensitivity to sound was one of them.

A moment later she heard his voice, low and even issue forth from the speakers around her.

"Hello kitten. An early Merry Christmas."

He sounded tired, and Felicia knew at once that he'd had another attack. She'd seen him several times during her initial visits, either recovering or on the verge of being overwhelmed by his "illness". In such cases his handsome face had shone in a layer of sweat, his voice a low bark as he tried to keep himself under control in her presence.

Once or twice Felicia had seen the green creeping into his skin and his features nearly contorted. She'd hated him at those points, hated how unhinged he had been, but it was Harry's own guilt and self-loathing that made her temper that hatred and understand why, in spite of all the chaos he had brought into her life, she couldn't help but feel love for him.

With a scoff Felicia replied dryly, "There isn't anything merry about it baby. Least of all if you're singing carols and donating to the Salvation Army all by your little lonesome." She noticed a spot of milk on her hand and frowned, raised it to her mouth, and began to lap it off. As perfectly poised and reflexed as she was she always got a little careless when it came to the moo juice.

"Who's donating anything?" Harry replied and Felicia could tell that in spite of his exhaustion and frustration he had smiled.

"You sound tired, honey."

"It's nothing," he said, although that was an evident lie. "Just had a bad case of the green earlier. Luckily for me they didn't resort to force this time. Just let me stay here and scream at myself all afternoon."

The very image of it made Felicia close her eyes and shudder. She'd never been farther within Ravencroft than the visiting office, which itself was cold, grey and cheerless. But she knew perfectly well that the cells where they kept the prisoners were probably worse than any jail cell in the city.

"I'm sorry," she said before she could stop herself. Harry loathed pity, especially from her. However, he surprised her by saying, "Don't be. I'm happy as a clown at the moment. Today was pizza day after all."

"Oh baby, you're a laugh riot," Felicia said dryly. Her eyes happened upon the door of her bedroom and she felt a small stab of guilt. It had only been two night's previously when she'd taken a steak head she'd met near one of the gym's on the Upper East Side to her bed. He'd been smarter than the average muscle bound jock, but a complete waste of time between the sheets.

Usually she didn't let her active sex life get her down. Not unless of course she happened to be conversing with Harry in moments like this when he was weak and alone. The noncommittal way they spoke didn't help either. Normal couples met up or spoke on the phone. She and Harry had to resort to speaking through a disguised radio frequency that he'd managed to hijack with a transmitter an associate had snuck in.

Talking like a normal couple only served to remind Felicia that they weren't.

As though to reinforce her melancholy Harry said, in a stab at seduction, "What are you wearing?"

"My pajamas," Felicia replied with a roll of her eyes. "What are you wearing?"

"Would it help if I said I was naked?"

"Oh meow," Felicia said with a smirk. At least she had the pleasure of picturing that in her mind's eye. She'd seen Harry naked several times before he'd been taken to Ravencroft.

"Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty."

"What's this about Harry?" Felicia asked, not wanting to delay the inevitable. They scheduled these things. She'd gotten the message from one of his associates earlier that day and had both been dreading and anticipating it since. "Are you really just wanting pillow talk or do you need me to do anything for you?" It was harsh but she didn't particularly care. If there was one thing she loathed these days it was being strung along.

Harry was silent for a moment and Felicia anticipated his anger. Broken he may be but the former head of OsCorp did not appreciate being spoken down to, even if it was by the woman he claimed to love. Again he surprised her by speaking calmly, almost sounding even more exhausted. "I'm sorry Felicia. I guess...I guess after today I just wanted to assume things were different."

"Well if they see you talking to yourself they'll give you shock treatments...again." His plaintive tone only served to make her feel like the world's biggest bitch for having tried to make him cut to the chase.

"There's something I need you to grab a hold of for me," Harry told her. "Something that could prove very useful to me...and very dangerous to anybody else."

"Why can't it be a pure sable fur coat?" Felicia said with a dramatic pout, not that Harry would see.

"You told me you thought fur was murder," Harry said, and Felicia was pleased to hear that he at least had enough energy to sound teasing.

"Well it'd be nice to spice things up with something that used to be alive." She glanced at the jewel case and smiled to herself, satisfied with her collection this far. The fact that the police still hadn't cottoned on was enough to make her want to purr with pride.

Harry chuckled softly and said, "Hmm, have you been a naughty kitty cat?"

"More than you would believe," Felicia said softly. Once more her glance strayed to her bedroom door. Once more she felt the awful guilt stab at her insides.

"I'm going to have to spank you when I get out of here," Harry said. If he caught the entendre in her voice he gave no indication. "I need something from a scientist, kitten. He's got his practice set up at NYU right now. That new technology building from what I've been told."

"NYU?" Felicia said, stretching luxuriantly on the couch and relishing the feeling of her muscles tightening and then relaxing. "How unbelievably common."

"Well, what we're after is anything but. Man goes by the name of Dr. Otto Octavius."

Felicia frowned and fished around in her memory. The name sounded slightly familiar. She had left OsCorp long ago and had only been with them for several months when Harry had taken over, but somehow she knew that this man was connected with the company somehow. The revelation put her slightly on edge.

Harry, it seemed, was in a mind-reading mood because he said, "He was head of the technology and robotics research department years and years ago. Rubbed shoulders with my old man and Richard Parker and Curt Connors."

"And now he's back in the Big Apple," Felicia said softly. That didn't bode well, for Dr. Octavius and for herself. Harry's arrest and the events preceding it hadn't exactly been hushed up in the media. Given that both Richard Parker and Curt Connors had gone under, Felicia had assumed anybody involved with them would stay as far away from OsCorp's main office as humanly possible.

"And let me guess," she added, "The son of a bitch is screwing around with your father's research?" It was such a typical button pusher for Harry. He still hated his father with a fiery passion but somehow his illness had twisted that hatred into a thirst for revenge, a malicious desire to blame everyone who had ever been involved with science at OsCorp for not only Norman's death but for all that had gone wrong in Harry's own life.

"Actually no," Harry replied tersely.

This night is just full of surprises, Felicia thought dryly, and turned her head to look at the sliding glass door to the balcony, wondering if Harry would come crashing through it at any second.

"Dr. Octavius was in a field all his own," Harry added, "and if you're really that curious about this you can find all the information for yourself when you steal his schematics tonight."

"Well, you know what they say about curiosity lover," Felicia replied darkly.

"You won't fall into any cat-traps. You're too good for that."

"NYU's gotta have more security than Tiffany's these days. Especially after the...oh what was that nutcase geezer's name again? Oh yes...the Vulture, I believe he called himself." Thinking back to the old coot who had dive-bombed NYU only three months ago made Felicia roll her eyes derisively. He'd been outfitted with one of OsCorp's own inventions, of course, and had held a particular grudge against young people.

"You're lucky that Adrian kicked it at the scene," Harry said dryly, "or he'd be coming after you for calling him a geezer."

"Well what did he expect? Pushing eighty and flying around the skyline all the damn time. Not mention getting his wrinkly ass handed to him by-" Felicia stopped herself short before she could utter the name Spider-Man. If Harry hated the thought of his life having taken a nosedive as a result of what he perceived to be the injustices of people working for his father, he had an outright meltdown at the mention of the web-headed wonder.

Felicia waited with baited breath, hoping against hope that she hadn't provoked Harry's ire, especially seeing as how he'd been so calm and conversational thus far. She could just make out the sound of his controlled breathing coming from the speaker system, and she almost winced at the thought of him exploding with anger. The guards would think he was talking to himself again, and she couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he was subjected to their brand of discipline.

When next he spoke, his voice was determinedly level, the anger barely restrained, and Felicia couldn't help but shudder as though he were standing behind her with a raised knife. "I don't recall saying you were going to steal anything from the university, kitty cat." The last two words were spoken venomously, and Felicia flinched as though he'd slapped her.

"B-but you said-"

"Octavius has his office at NYU," Harry cut her off, "but like anybody with enough intelligence, he's had all of his research and notes about this thing transferred to computer and uploaded to a private cloud system. That's what I want you to find out about tonight."

"You want me to rough him up?" Felicia said it in hopes of inspiring Harry to calm down. To her relief, it worked to some degree.

"If it strokes your fur," he said with a small chuckle. "Octavius works late. All you need to do is find out which data-center his information is stored at and then go from there."

"And what exactly are you going to do with this information?"

Harry paused for a second and then said, mirroring her remark from earlier, "You know what they say about curiosity right?" Meaning that he wasn't going to tell her if he could help it.

"I think I have a right to know," Felicia said hotly.

"Why, so you can sell it to the black market?"

"No, because I don't want to have the deaths of innocent people on my conscience," Felicia snapped. If it hadn't been the few lives lost during Electro and Harry's rampages the year beforehand, then it had been those people that Aleksei Sytsevich had killed. And as for the so-called Vulture...well, Felicia had actually known people who had been killed during his attack on NYU.

Harry sighed and said, "I'm not going to use this information to kill anybody...I promise."

"Except for Spider-Man." Felicia knew full well that the web-slinger had almost become an obsession of Harry's since he'd been arrested. The defeat of The Rhino and Vulture had only served to heighten his hatred of Spider-Man, something that was incredibly evident whenever Harry's illness got the better of him. It frightened Felicia sometimes, which was only when it didn't annoy her.

Harry didn't respond for a long moment. If it hadn't been for the sound of him breathing and the muffled ambiance of the prison, then Felicia would have thought he'd cut out the transmission out of anger. He began to cough suddenly and so violently that Felicia sprung off of the couch towards the stereo, overwhelmed by the desire to comfort him despite her irritation. She'd been present for his coughing fits before and they always made her feel incredibly sorry for him, like a mother witnessing a child battling disease.

Somewhere in the more rational, cynical part of her mind Felicia knew that Harry had brought on the attack on purpose to gain her sympathy, and she hated herself for caving in. Still, she wasn't in the mood for arguing with him tonight.

"I'm sorry," she told him soothingly and, proving her suspicions, his coughing died after a few more seconds. "It...it's fine," she added for his sake. She forced herself to laugh and said, "For all I know, this thing is probably a personal back-massager or something." Even though she knew full well that, if it was important enough for Harry to be sending her, this creation of Octavius' was probably something more akin to a walking hydro bomb.

"Be careful," Harry said softly and she both hated and adored the fact that he sounded legitimately worried. "I've already lost Aleksei and Adrian...I don't want to add you to that list."

Narrowing her eyes Felicia said acidly, "Is that all I am to you Harry? Some goddamn crony?"

"No!" Harry said, his voice brimming with horror. "Ah geez I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Felicia cut him off bluntly. "I better get going."

"Felicia...I love you" Harry's voice was soft but Felicia caught the pain in it. Obviously he hated himself for having lumped her into the same category as his felled henchmen.

Feeling as though she could hiss at him, Felicia jabbed the power button with her finger and said to thin air, "Wouldn't it be funny if that were true?" She hated the fact that he still held such sway over her and hated herself for letting him. It hadn't been her fault that he'd gone and rashly injected himself with something he knew virtually nothing about. And she couldn't blame herself for him having gone on some mad crusade against Spider-Man.

Sometimes she wondered if it would be easier to just slip away from New York City, to fall off the grid and let him rot in Ravencroft. But she couldn't do that, couldn't leave him with absolutely nothing left in his life. Harry Osborn was still there amid that tortured, rage-filled thing, just as much as Felicia Hardy was still alive in the reckless, achingly lonely science experiment that she had become.

Her bedroom was as large and luxurious as the rest of the penthouse, the California king occupying most of the space. The bed had seen more action than any other part of her home, but she felt no shame in that. Sex was an outlet, a way for her to feel power and the charade of love for a few hours. Even the act of kicking the men and women out of her life was a way to feel some semblance of control.

At first glance the walk-in closet of her bedroom looked very much like many others in the Upper East Side. A forest of clothes surrounded Felicia as she strode through, the many shoes she'd acquired as a result of Harry's generosity forming an almost impenetrable wall at her feet.

The beautiful dresses and expensive pumps did not interest Felicia in the slightest. She stopped in front of the back wall and reached into the pocket of a black leather rain slicker. A small button was sewn into the pocket. Felicia clicked it and the back wall of the closet slide open.

She'd donned this suit immeasurable times in the last several months. Harry had suggested it to her during one of her visits when she'd said that she didn't appreciate ruining her own clothes when she was practicing with her abilities. At first glance it looked like any black ensemble worn by biker girls; a tight-fitting black tank top with a long sleeved leather jacket and skin-tight black leather pants. A pair of gloves and high boots only added to the bad girl image, but it was more than just a kick ass combination of clothing.

Slipping into it always felt like donning a suit made out of another person's skin and it fit just as tightly on her body. A tapering white flame lined the deep collar of the leather jacket. The zipper ended mid-chest, exposing Felicia's impressive cleavage. She'd given Harry a picture of herself in it when she'd visited him after she'd worn it for the first time, and had been pleased to see his eyes bug out of his head.

"Nobody with a chest like yours should be able to move as fast as you do." He'd said with a laugh. It had been one of those precious few times when his equilibrium had been normal and she'd loved every second of it.

"They act as a ballast," she'd replied with a snigger.

In any event, it made her feel incredibly confident, and she'd managed to distract more than her fair share of security guards with the eye full. What they should have been watching out for, however, were the razor sharp nibs she'd affixed to each fingertip of the black gloves. She hadn't had to use them on anybody thus far, but as her father had been so keen on pointing out, it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

The pants were slightly more sturdy than the jacket and top and had boots attached at the legs, making it easier to move in. She'd scoured all the tactile and military shops she could find in her area and had been pleased to find the bottoms to complete her costume.

A black eye mask completed the look. Felicia had made it herself, out of a skin adhesive and black electrical tape and as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she had to admit that she looked like hell in high heels. It was a cat-like look, something that she'd done subconsciously and attributed to her both her father and Harry's affectionate nickname for her.

She strode through the apartment and back to the balcony. Leaping onto the banister again, she stared out at the bright lights of the city once more. It never ceased to amaze her how much life existed in the Big Apple. It was easy to simply shrug off the meaning of such lives when surrounded by the endless, teeming crowds of the city-to simply chalk other people up to things that either got in the way or added something to your life. She herself was guilty for that, but was finding it harder and harder to remain so aloof.

Harry was asking things of her that she couldn't even comprehend the meaning of, and one thing she had learned in the last year and a little bit was that every step he took in his mad war against society was stripping him of his humanity. His illness was taking him, transforming him and in many ways the injections she had taken to mobilize herself into his personal soldier had made her just as outside of the normal bounds of humanity as he was.

Only she wasn't going to let herself lose her perspective the way he had.

Squaring her shoulders, Felicia let herself drop from the balcony, feeling the icy air rush past her, savoring the loss of gravity for the moment that she free-fell. Then, without even opening her eyes she grabbed the first banister that she passed, stopping her fall and then letting herself drop again to the next balcony and then the next one until she was close enough to the tallest tree. She leapt to the highest branch, thankful for the fact that her balcony faced the park behind the apartment building.

It started to snow as Felicia propelled herself from the tree onto the next nearest building, a smaller apartment. A sea of structure spread before her, all posh townhouses and brownstones, all hers for the taking. Without a sound, without so much as being noticed by even the most observant police officer, Felicia Hardy took to the rooftops, stealing to the shadows completely unseen, melding into the darkness with all the grace and mystery of a black cat.