This chapter was actually pretty hard to write. Dunno if it's cause of work or the slump I've been in, but this took me days to write. The end also ended up frittering out, so my apologies for that.

Gwen couldn't believe she was doing this.

Taking a deep breath, the blonde looked up at the sign and pursed her lips in a frown. The simple black and white sign - The Black Cat - wasn't something she would normally look twice at. The scarred bodyguard at front and a few milling men with suits was definitely suspicious, but it was far enough away from the main street that most would've never even seen them and those that did either already knew or turned away.

Of course, she also knew what it was - a speakeasy, a den of vice and inequity. Gwen stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and bit back a scowl. For years she'd heard her father's stories on the raids to try and arrest the criminals connected to the distasteful practice. Time and again arrests never stuck because of just how profitable alcohol was and criminals walked. Personally she never saw the appeal of it. Why waste your earnings on a drink that would do nothing but intoxicate you?

"Where are you, Peter..." She shifted from one foot to another. She didn't feel threatened - not ever since her fall in that alley - but she was already drawing attention. A woman alone at this time of night in a place like this? Already she saw a couple of the suited men throwing her sideways glances, their expressions all too obvious on what they thought she was: a naive woman who'd fall into the arms of a man with enough long green to flash.

Thankfully she didn't have to wait much longer. Soft footsteps came from behind and when she turned she was met with Peter's (still injured) face, "Sorry for the wait." She wanted to tell him off, but the look of discomfort caused her to bite her tongue. He looked better than last night - no blood, for one - but the bruises had turned into an ugly purple color and he'd covered his right eye with a thick roll of bandages.

How he planned to explain his state to Mary Jane and his aunt, she had no idea.

"It's fine." She let out a soft breath and looked him up and down, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've had worse; they usually just don't hit the face." He smiled and didn't laugh. Neither did she, "You know what to do, right? You gotta"

"Keep a low profile, I got it." She waved a hand through the air in slight annoyance. She understood his worries - the police chief's daughter being caught in a speakeasy, of all places, would've been damning; especially for her father given the public arrest of the previous police chief. There were still many who considered him just another corrupt thug with a badge and she'd be damned if she would be the one to feed into that belief.

"Just making sure." He nudged his head to the entrance, "Come on, let's go."

The scarred man in the suit was as impassive as ever when the two of them walked up. There was a hint of familiarity Gwen caught when he looked to Peter that was quickly replaced by suspicion when he turned to her, "Who's the dame?" he asked. His voice was softer than Gwen thought.

"A friend o' mine. What's it matter, Lippy?"

'Lippy' looked her up and down, mouth curling, "She's a cookie pusher."

"What, I can't have nice friends?" Peter bit back sarcastically. Gwen again felt extremely out of place, "Every dame that goes here's either a cookie pusher or a moll. Doesn't mean her money ain't good."

"Hmm...fine. But you know the rules: no rods and if she messes up it's on your head."

"Sure thing, chum."

The two of them were searched - Peter relinquishing an aged revolver, which surprised her somewhat - and they were quickly let in. The first thing Gwen noticed was the music. She'd heard it somewhat even from the alley, but here the smooth jazz was all-encompassing. If she didn't know any better she might've closed her eyes and let herself be lost to the melodious tunes.

The perfume came second. It wasn't a scent she recognized, but it was calming all the same. It almost made her ignore the 'waitresses' inside.

The servers, if Gwen could even call them that, looked more like bats and gillys than people who should be delivering food and drink. They wore dark, tight leotards that left large swathes of their backs, arms, legs and rear ends exposed. They also wore cat masks and, if you could believe it, had tails attached to the back of the makeshift uniform. The men in the suits ogled openly every single one of them nursing a cup of booze with one hand and a woman in the other.

This place was a sinkhole, and no amount of fancy decorations and colored lighting could change that.

Peter led her to a seat far enough in the back that they could get a modicum of privacy. One of the 'servers' was on them immediately with a practiced, "What'll you two have, handsome?" She almost sneered at that.

"Gimme some whiskey. Gwen, what do you-"

"Water," she said flatly. The waitress seemed slightly surprised at the abrupt tone, but the practiced smile returned soon after and she left. Gwen turned to Peter with a dirty look, "You do know drinking alcohol is against the law, right?"

"So's dressing up like a clown and running around as a vigilante."

"That's different."

"You're gonna have to spell that out for me, Stacy."

"I'm doing it to protect my dad. Not because I want to." If she had it her way she would've used her new gifts just to improve on her ballet. It was technically cheating, but it wasn't like she asked to be bitten.

"Breaking the law is breaking the law. Think the coppers are gonna care you stole from some well-to-do gent cause you gotta feed your family? Good and bad reasons mix together, Stacy. Ain't nobody gonna give you a pat on the shoulder cause you're doing it for your dad. Every saint and two bit chump on the street thinks they're justified."

"You're a cynic," she said it like an insult.

"That obvious?" He gave her a wry smile just as the waitress came back with their beverages. Peter paid for it before she could, "It's fine. I get a discount here." He handed the bill to the waitress and took a small sip of the whiskey while Gwen did the same with her water.

She looked at him through the rim of her glass. With the whiskey his hand and the bandages covering parts of his face, she almost didn't recognize the young man who stood with his aunt on her soapbox just a year prior, "Why are you so cynical?" He looked up from his drink and raised a brow, "I would've thought someone who thought they could change society would be a bit more...idealistic."

"I am; I'm just realistic." She raised an eyebrow in turn. It was a cliche answer if she'd ever heard it, "I wanna believe that if we stand up and scream loud enough then people'll listen, but belief' ain't the same as fact. If you wanna get anywhere then you gotta do more than just shout." His smile turned into something wolfish, "If those in power can't be trusted, it's the responsibility of the people to remove them."

"You sound like your aunt on her soapbox."

"Heh, like you've seen her spiels." She didn't refute him. The last thing she wanted was him prying into her life, "Don't believe me? Just look around you."

She did. At first she had no idea what he meant - just the same men in suits and the 'waitresses' draped over them - but eventually recognition set in, "What the..." She knew that man. Alex MacDougal, one of the big names in the Vice Squad. She saw in a party just a few weeks ago. Next to him was Alberto Russo, one of the men who eluded her dad for months even though it was an open secret he owned half the brothels in New York.

The more she looked the more she saw names she recognized from parties, newspapers and even so-called friends of the family, "See it now?" Peter finished off his whiskey, a hint of bitterness seeping into his tone.

"That's impossible. All of them are..."

"Everyone has a vice, Stacy. See that guy over there?" She looked to where he was pointing and nearly stood up in outrage when she saw the Mayor of New York with a far younger woman in wearing a tight corset pressed up against him, her chest practically attacking his face, "Ol' Jimmy Stryder managed to avoid the fallout. The woman with him's not his wife, by the way." He chuckled lowly at the last bit.

"What's he doing here?"

"My guess? Trying to get away from his ball and chain. Either that or he just wanted another pair of knockers to drool over." He shrugged, "Corruption's a tangled web. Mayor goes to police, police go to the criminals, criminals go to the poor...pluck one and another takes their place."

Gwen scowled and took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Peter's warning to not make a scene echoed in her head again, "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Cause you want to take down the fat parasite at the center of this web. He should be over here any second now."

She didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant before he nudged his head to the entrance. Again following his lead, she almost couldn't stop herself from jumping up in a fury at the sight of Wilson Fisk walking through the Black Cat like he owned the place. The serving staff and various other patrons either kept well out of his way or paid their respects. Her blood boiled; they were treating him like he was a king.

She caught two people at his left and right side. To the left was a man who looked well into his 30's with sharp eyes and a messy blonde goatee. The dark trenchcoat he wore over his outfit gave him an air of confidence, "That's Benjamin Poindexter," Peter muttered, "He's one of Fisk's best hatchetmen. You want a place burned down or a family murdered? You send the Bullseye killer."

"Bullseye killer?" she asked back softly.

"Yeah. Rumors say he's never missed." He sneered, "See the broad on the other side of big Willie?"

How could Gwen miss her? Her coat and pants were a startling shade of red and black, but it was nothing compared to the woman herself. Long dark hair and olive tan skin that made it clear she wasn't a native. Greek or some kind of Oriental, if Gwen had to guess. She was beautiful, though the passive expression on her face contrasted heavily against Fisk and Poindexter's lax smiles.

"Elektra Natchios. Dunno what the hell's up with her. Most folk on the block think she's Fisk's moll, but I doubt it. She goes with him everywhere, along with that attack dog of his."

Gwen didn't reply. She just stared at Fisk and his entourage as they sat and were served by the staff. He's right there, the dark, angry part of her mind whispered. The bastard who threatened her dad, who used her as leverage to try and break him down. She could go over there now and...and...

She was so angry she almost didn't feel Peter's sudden grip on her wrist, "Don't look too much." Her eyes snapped to him in a harsh glare. He didn't flinch back or gave any indication he noticed, "Fisk isn't an idiot. He's used to people looking at him with respect, fear and hate, but you still don't wanna draw attention to yourself. Even if you can probably take what he's dishing out."

Gwen pursed her lips and breathed through her nostrils, mentally counted down from 1-4. An old trick her mom had taught her, "Why did you bring me here?" She hissed.

"I told you, we're meeting a friend-"

"No, that's not the only reason." She gripped his wrist in turn and the side of his mouth twitched, "You wanted to show me all this. Why? Were you trying to make me give up? Prove that there was nothing I could do?"

"Do you want to?"

Gwen's grip on his wrist tightened. She wanted to snarl back a refusal, but she couldn't deny that a part of her was beaten down by the absurdity of it all. She wasn't naive enough to think she could just threaten Fisk with a few beatings and leave off with that, but seeing just how far the corruption went with her own eyes...it only worsened the uncertainties and anxieties she already had about this whole business.

But it didn't mean she would bury her head in the sand, "Not a chance." She let go of him and leaned back on her seat, "Now let's go meet your friend."

It was brief, but she definitely saw him smile at that. Without another word Peter stood and Gwen followed. They walked up the stairs towards the upper rooms, Gwen making sure to keep her head down and face hidden. She doubted Fisk would recognize her the way she was made up now, but she didn't need any more temptation to go over there and give him what he deserved.

The room Peter led her to was luxurious; enough to make her own bedroom look like a closet. Everything from the furniture to the paintings on the wall screamed someone who had long green to throw around, though what really drew her attention were the cats. Felines of every shape and color from fresh faced kittens that looked maybe a week old and big, shaggy fatcats that looked like they would keel over any second now.

Her observations were cut off by a sensual greeting, "Nice of you to visit, Peter." Gwen recognized her just barely. Felicia Hardy, a woman in the same tracks as many of the people downstairs. The silver haired blonde leaned back on her chair and smiled up at them both, crossing one leg over another. The white dress flattered her in a way that the gillys downstairs couldn't hope to match.

"Miss. Hardy." Peter nodded. Gwen gave him a sideways glance. Was it just her imagination or did he sound more uncertain than before? "Surprised you weren't downstairs."

"I don't entertain guests all the time. A woman needs to have her own pleasures now and then." She gestured to the glass of red wine and book on the nearby side-table, "Who's the filly next to you?"

"My name's Gwen." She didn't say her last name; she doubted it'd get a good reception around here. The older woman looked her up and down, the smile still on her face. Gwen wasn't fooled. Her eyes were piercing, taking in every detail in a way most people wouldn't have been able to see. If she didn't have her new gifts she probably wouldn't have seen it either.

"Hmm, bit uptight, isn't she?" she asked Peter.

"I have my reasons," Gwen said before Peter could respond, "Why did you bring me here? How is she supposed to help us with Fisk?"

"Fisk? Oh, dear boy..." Hardy let out a soft laugh and uncrossed her legs, "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not into your crusades?"

"You helped me with Goblin."

"Because of what he did with Urich. That was personal. Fisk? That's business."

Gwen was about to cut in when Peter asked, "You sure about that?" Hardy raised a brow, amused, "I know Fisk's been making moves to try and buy this place from you. You've managed to hold him off for now, but how long do you think that'll last? That hog's not someone who takes no for anything. If he can't have it then no one can, you know that."

"You think I can't handle him?" Hardy asked

"Maybe you can, maybe you can't. That really something you wanna leave up to chance?" Peter asked back, "You've seen the way Fisk operates. Anyone that doesn't cave he sends his attack dog after, and for that bastard it's all or nothing. He's not gonna take 20, 50 or 99. Long as he doesn't have everything you're damn sure that he'll find a way to take."

"Hmm..." Hardy picked up the glass and took a small sip of the wine. Gwen could practically see the gears turning in her head, "Can't deny that the guy pushes even harder than Osborn sometimes. Still, what exactly are you planning? Can't have a repeat of what happened with the Goblin. Only reason that worked is cause of the blackmail Ben stashed. We don't have that for Fisk."

"Then we get more. The Black Cat's a melting pot, we can use that?"

"You want me to turn states, Peter? If so then you're out of luck. I can survive losing the Black Cat, not every criminal in New York gunning for me."

"I'm not asking you to give up everything. Just enough so we can start picking at the holes these bastards have. People get drunk and they get sloppy. All it takes is some bozo letting something slip and suddenly everyone's a suspect, not just you. You think any of those parasites wouldn't take advantage? They'll be so busy looking at each other they won't even notice us."

"And how exactly do you plan to capitalize on this information? Most of the police are in someone or another's pocket." The blunt admission made Gwen's fists shake. How much of an uphill battle was her dad's entire career, trying to retain his morals in that mire?

"I'm guessing this is where I come in." Gwen said. Hardy gave her a look of interest and curiosity, "I have...gifts, gifts that'll help with whatever Peter has planned."

"The ear of the police chief hardly matters, Ms. Stacy." Gwen's eyes widened while Felicia smirked, "Don't be surprised. I had a hunch on who you were, but your reaction when I mentioned the police confirmed it. If your plan was for your father to start raiding rackets then it's not going to work. Anyone spots the boys in blue and they'll know there's a rat."

"I wasn't planning to tell the cops." It was only a half lie, at least, "I can..." Gwen stopped. How could she prove it? Ballet moves could be replicated with enough practice and the webs...she didn't want to leave any evidence she was here. She didn't wholly trust someone who own a speakeasy, "...How attached are you to that bed?" she asked eventually.

"I wouldn't want it broken. Why?"

Gwen made her way over there and, without any fanfare, lifted the entire four poster bed over her head with both hands. For the first time that night, Hardy's mask of control cracked, "What the..." Gwen waited a few seconds and let one hand drop, now carrying the ruffled bed over her head with one arm. She didn't know exactly how strong she was, but the bed felt like nothing in her hands.

She set the bed down and, after a showy spin, flipped back and landed on the top of the canopy in a graceful crouch. She couldn't stop the rush of pride in her chest. She liked to think that at least part of it came from her skills even before she got bitten.

Gwen jumped to the ground and stood back up to her full height, "That's what I meant." Gwen crossed her arms and smiled slightly at Felicia's still-stunned expression, "I can take care of myself. Just ask Peter."

"Yeah. She's the only reason I'm still kickin'." Se noted idly that the other woman hadn't asked at all regarding Peter's poor taste. Was it a sign of familiarity or just her not caring? "Stacy's...I dunno what you'd call her, but she can do things we and the coppers can't. She can fight, and best part is no one knows who she is. Everyone's gonna be so busy pointing at fingers at each they won't realize the truth."

"That the police chief's daughter, an aspiring socialist and a club owner are the masterminds." Hardy's shock finally made way for a soft laugh. She finished off the last of her wine and traced a finger through the rim, "So, this is your plan? Rely on Gwendoyne being an Übermensch and solving our problems all by herself? Even if she's...gifted, she's just one woman."

"I'm not trying to stop crime entirely," Gwen said, "I just...Fisk threatened my father, told him that he would hurt me if he doesn't become his lapdog. I can't allow that."

"I'm surprised he'd worry so much about his daughter considering what she can do," Felicia drawled. Gwen didn't say anything, "I'm going to guess that you haven't told him about your new abilities. What else are you hiding from him, I wonder."

"That's none of your business," Gwen said hotly, "Look, Peter took me here because he said that you could help. Can you actually do that or are we just flapping gums for no reason?"

"Feisty, aren't you?" She stood up, finally, and Gwen noticed just how tall the older woman was; easily rivaling Peter in height even without her heels. Even with her powers Gwen suddenly felt smaller, "I'll admit you've got some tricks, but it takes more than some fancy moves and strongman muscles to survive in this business. You've got the gifts, but are you willing to use them?"

"O-Of course I am." She hated how uncertain she sounded. She still remembered the fight the night prior. She'd ran on nothing more than instinct and desperation. She hadn't killed those two men. Could she have? If given the chance would she make sure Fisk couldn't hurt her dad ever again?

"You don't sound so sure..." Felica frowned.

"I am sure." She growled, "The idea of fighting and sneaking around...I don't like it, but what's the alternative? Put my head under a pillow and pretend that criminal won't continue till my dad's either dead or broken? No. No matter how 'unsure' I am, I know I'll do anything before I let that happen."

"Hmm, I guess we'll see." Hardy touched the side of her face before quickly pulling back, "Me and Peter will talk. You're welcome to stay if you want."

"Just contact me when you're ready." She didn't want to stay here any longer than she needed to.

"Suit yourself." Felicia shrugged, "You're welcome back anytime you want. I'll tell Lippy to treat you the same as Peter."

"If you say so." Like she'd ever come here unless she needed to. Bad enough she was running around as some kind of half-cocked vigilante, but spending time in speakeasies and cavorting with known criminals? Her father would have a heart attack.

She all but ran out of the club into the streets, hopefully not catching anyone's attention. A part of her just wanted to go back home and forget about everything she'd seen tonight - the corruption, the men who claimed friendship while selling themselves for handfuls of dollars. How would her dad react to the knowledge of just how many of his associates would stab him in the back given half a chance?

She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.

That was how she found herself hours later on a rooftop in Hell's Kitchen, her dad already having long slipped into a tired rest. Without having to watch over her dad she found herself wandering aimlessly, flipping, spinning and jumping across the rooftops in a futile attempt to distract herself. Was she hoping to find some would-be victims to save? Use her fists to try and relieve her anger like some kind of thug?

She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath. The costume was smothering and she was covered in a thin blanket of sweat despite the cold air. Again she was reminded of how insane the entire thing was. Dressing up like a man, going up against a criminal kingpin with nothing but a mask and a pair of goggles hiding her identity. One mistake and she - all of them - would lose everything.

Her bitter musings were cut off by a scream. Gwen rushed to the source on instinct and found an all too familiar scene: three thugs surrounding a lone victim. This time it was a woman, plump and with quite a few more years under her belt. She pressed her back against the alley wall and raised her purse like a shield.

"Time's up, dollface!" The thug in front screamed and stepped closer brazenly, right hand held onto a crude knife. Unlike the thugs from last night's attack they didn't wear suits and instead sported dirty, patchwork shirts, trousers and boots. She made out a hint of Italian in his voice, which was hardly a surprise. Italian and Irish tended to dominate this part of town, same with the Negros covering over Harlem.

At first glance it looked like nothing more than a mugging - a sad but undeniable fact in a place like this - but when the woman tried to offer up her purse the thug smacked it away like trash, "You think that's good enough when you piss off the Kingpin?"

"Kingpin..." Gwen's hands on the edge of the roof tightened.

"P-Please..." The woman shrunk back even further and fell on her knees, tears in her eyes, "We'll pay, we'll pay! Just please don't-"

The woman didn't get to finish her plea before Gwen landed and kicked the closest thug's right arm. The the limb snapped from the force of the blow and the knife fell to the ground with a dull clatter, "Ah, what the fu-" She shoved him to the wall and webbed him to the surface.

She webbed the second one before the third quickly moved and pulled out his gun. He screamed something, but she couldn't make it out. For what felt like seconds she saw the barrel of the gun aimed right at her chest, the thug's finger slowly but surely inching towards the trigger. Even if she webbed him down now she couldn't be sure the bullet wouldn't hit.

And then something at the back of her mind screamed at her to move.

It was just like her first fall in the alley all those months ago. Gwen felt like a spectator in her own body, helpless to do anything but watch as she ducked, spun and jumped away from the walls, bullets whizzing past her; some of them just inches from flesh. She didn't hear the gunshots, didn't hear the impacts of the bullets when they hit the walls or the thug's panicked and enraged screams.

The magazine had emptied by the time Gwen landed behind the goon. He turned and fired only to be met with a soft click. Gwen punched him across the face so hard that he skidded across the alley, blood and teeth flying out at impact. She barely even noticed that she'd done it.

It was only seconds later that everything suddenly rushed in. She'd just been shot at, "Oh God..." Her breath quickened and she leaned against the wall, heart beating so hard that she found it hard to breath. The bullets whizzing past her head...it was different from being threatened with fists or knives. People were slow, especially now, but bullets were still something she couldn't just outrun.

The woman was gone, and the two goons that still remained conscious weren't in any position to do anything more than struggle and try to scream against their bindings. Gwen almost collapsed then and there, the adrenaline replaced by the rushing anxiety and fear of what she'd just experienced.

This was the second time she'd interfered in the Kingpin's crimes in two days. Two days just stopping two to three goons and she was already breaking down. Was this really all she could do? She'd promised Peter and Hardy she'd do anything to protect her dad. Would really she cave now because she couldn't stand the thought of her life actually being in danger if she fought?

"...No." She gripped the wall tightly and stood up straighter. She couldn't give. Her dad deserved better, "Pull yourself together." She pushed herself off the wall just in time for her new sixth sense to flare again.

She turned around to find two more thugs rounding a corner. Even at a glance the resemblance to their fallen comrades was clear. Gwen crouched down into a battle stance as soon as they caught their first glimpse of their knocked out allies. She wasn't going to run.

It ended up being pointless when a red stick bounced against the nearby wall and hit the right thug square on the side of his head. The remaining goon barely had enough time to look at his now-fallen ally before a red-clad figure jumped from the nearby rooftop and landed on top of him.

Gwen winced slightly at the sound of fist meeting flesh. The figure turned to face her and she almost stepped back. A man covered head to toe in black and red material - leather maybe - with only the flesh of his shoulders down to his elbows exposed. Across his chest she made out two stylized D's and his face was covered in a patchwork devil mask that blocked everything from view.

"...Thanks." Thankfully she remembered enough to lower her oice to something more masculine.

He tilted his head to the side and let out a low, guttural sound, "You shouldn't be here."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea who you're messing with." She almost rolled her eyes at that. Why did people always say that to her?

"I think I've got an idea. This isn't the first time I've run into them." It was the second, but he didn't need to know.

"Just stay out of my way." He picked up the red stick and climbed the fire escape out of sight. Gwen watched his figure disappear before she sighed and followed his lead. So apparently she wasn't the only one who decided to put on a costume to fight the Kingpin. Somehow that didn't make her feel better.

Done. Nothing much happened here, but I did manage to introduce some new people like their new informant Felicia Hardy along with Bullseye and Elektra Natchios, two new baddies for Gwen's rogues gallery. Also a new ally(?) Daredevil, cause I like irony.

Nothing much to say about this one, sorry. Hope the typos weren't too bad.