Hellfire At Midnight

"We all wear masks, Spider-Man. But which is real? The mask that covers your face...or the mask that is your face?"

-The Green Goblin, The Spectacular Spider-Man

I fold out the Daily Bugle and read with interest over the latest accounts of the gang war I've orchestrated.

Five more people are dead, and now my war has claimed twenty-seven lives.

Bazin and the Kingpin have both taken damage from this war, but the Maggia is bleeding from an open vein. Harassed by Bazin on one end, the police on a second front, and the Kingpin on a third front, Silvermane will be lucky if he lives out the month. Crimewave has been picking his shots carefully, eager to nip at the heels of Bazin and the Kingpin while they're otherwise occupied. The Green Goblin, oddly enough, seems to be staying out of the war entirely.

Perhaps the results aren't quite what I expected, but that was the beauty of my plan.

I already knew of George Stacy's ties to organized crime from the beginning, and I realized he would be the perfect stooge for my plan. Once I caught him with my special mind control gas, and installed the appropriate devices on his telephones and computers to monitor his conversations, he made the perfect puppet.

Once I had George give me all his knowledge of the New York crime world, I began giving him orders on what to say and what to do. I knew the crime lords would react the way they did, given how paranoid they were and determined to crush any threats to their power bases.

After that, all I had to do was sit back and watch as all hell broke loose.

No one knew I was ever involved, particularly since I took care to have my devices erase all records of my correspondence with George.

Perhaps best of all, I've been able to keep track of Miss Gwen Stacy. One of the boomerang bats I attacked Spider-Woman with when I battled her at the Plaza Hotel jabbed her in the back, injecting a tiny homing device into her body. With that homing tracer, I have been able to keep track of her movements. When I saw where she lived, I knew that she had to be Gwen.

Now, everything is coming to a head.

I smirk at the thought.

I have a chuckle.

I giggle a bit.

I start to laugh.

I find myself howling with glee.

Before I know it, my shrieks and cackles echo off the walls as I revel in the ecstasy, the pure joy, of my evil.

SPIDER-WOMAN #26

"HELLFIRE AT MIDNIGHT"

"How'd your family reunion go?" Gwen Stacy asked Randy Robertson as they made their way towards the American Globe Theater to look at the final casting call for the colorblind production of The Wiz they had auditioned for. Randy had gone to attend a family reunion in Massachusetts, and he had just returned yesterday.

"Pretty good," Randy replied. "It started to wear thin after a few days, though."

"Why's that?" Gwen asked.

"Because I really don't know most of them," Randy replied. "I mean, how much can you say to an uncle who only met you a couple of times when you were little, and who you barely remember?"

"Good point," Gwen thought on that for a bit. "But why did you say the reunion went well when it began to get boring?"

"Mostly because it made my mom and her parents really happy," Randy grinned. "Mom moved out to New York when she married my dad and Grandpa Joe got him that job at the Daily Bugle. Mom doesn't get to see her relatives much anymore, and it meant a lot to her for us to meet them."

Gwen only grinned.

"So, I heard that Kitty and Kong are an item now!" Randy continued, changing the subject. "They're just about the last two people I would have expected to hook up."

"It's funny how things work, isn't it?" Gwen chuckled. "I mean, Kong's almost seven feet tall, and Kitty's barely over five."

"How tall are you?" Randy asked.

"About 5-foot-4," Gwen replied. "Speaking of which...how tall are you?" she asked with a wry grin.

"About 5-foot-11," Randy smiled back. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Gwen replied mischievously. "I was just noticing how much closer we are in height than Kitty and Kong."

Randy looked as though he was about to say something else, but then they had arrived at the American Globe Theater. Grinning back at her, he opened the door and held it for Gwen before following her in.

"Oh, yeah!" Randy cheered out loud, pumping his fist in victory as he looked over the casting list the director had posted. "I knew using Michael Jackson's movements would pay off!"

"Congratulations!" Gwen hugged him. "I knew you could do it!"

"This really means a lot to me," Randy smiled. "Ever since I saw Michael in this role, I knew I wanted to do it."

"Hey, I'm sure he'd be proud if he could see you," Gwen nodded.

Randy beamed with pleasure, feeling as proud as a new father, before a stray thought crossed his mind.

"Aren't you going to look, too?" he reminded Gwen.

"Well, I guess I could..." she shrugged, before going back to study the cast list. She blinked a couple of times in surprise, still not entirely believing that she'd made it.

"How'd you do?" Randy asked, before grinning as he saw that Gwen had been cast as Dorothy.

"Hey, way to go!" he grinned. "You...what's wrong?" he asked, noting the look on Gwen's face.

"...Is something wrong?" he asked in puzzlement.

"No, not really," Gwen replied. "I'm just shocked that I got the part."

"Why?" Randy wondered. "Your audition was great."

"I don't know about that," Gwen frowned. "My singing's never been as good as I'd like it to be."

"Come on," Randy scoffed. "You just need to have a little more confidence. Would the director have really cast you in the lead role if he hadn't liked your voice?"

"Well...I guess not..." Gwen finally smiled.

"That's my girl," Randy nodded. "You want to get some lunch after we go pick up our copies of the script?"

Gwen only grinned in reply.

Helen Lieber-Stacy took a considerable amount of time making her way towards the subway station, lost in thought as she made her way back to Nancy Stacy's townhouse. Ever since she'd begun seeing Dr. Lowenstein, she had insisted on making the trip by herself, refusing to let Nancy or Nancy's daughter Jill accompany her.

Things had arguably changed more in the past six months than in the two years before that, after her ex-husband George had kicked her and their daughter Gwen out of the house. She had divorced George, then she, Nancy and Jill had been kidnapped by the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants before being rescued by Spider-Woman, and she had begun getting counseling from Dr. Lowenstein. Even Gwen seemed much happier and more outgoing than she used to be, mostly free of the anger she used to carry.

Walking past a storefront window, Helen caught her reflection and stopped to stare at it for a moment, stunned by what she saw.

The woman who stared back at Helen Lieber-Stacy had eyes that shone much more brightly than she remembered, a serene expression on her face, and an air of determination.

It could have been Gwen's face.

George Stacy hadn't shaved for three days, and he hadn't slept for two. The constant flurry of phone calls and e-mails had left him with no time to rest, as he frantically relayed information to and from the New York crime syndicates and the police department. Everything was whirling around in his mind, as he repeated the messages he'd been given and faithfully carried out his orders.

The latest phone call came while he was in the middle of only the second meal he'd been able to eat. George seethed in rage, even as his head pounded with a throbbing migraine. His hands shook with tension, and his stomach growled in hunger.

"What?" he shouted angrily into the phone, even as he felt the compelling orders he'd been given start to take control of him once again.

"We've been doing some fact-checking, George," he heard the Ox's voice on the other end. "We're not happy."

"What the hell are you talking about?" George demanded in an increasingly flustered tone.

"You've been selling us out, you son of a bitch," the Ox replied. "You've been selling us out to the Maggia, you've been selling out the Maggia to the cops, you've been selling Bazin out to us. You've been playing everyone in this gang war for fools."

George felt his blood run cold.

"You're really fucking stupid, you know that?"he demanded, remembering his instructions to deny anyone who accused him of orchestrating the gang war. "I'd never pull that kind of shit!"

"That's the best you can come up with?" the Ox scoffed. "Making pathetic denials and insulting me? You've really lost a step, George-but then again, nothing's gone right for you ever since you were outed as an anti-mutant activist, has it?"

"You shut your fucking mouth!" George raged into the phone.

"You lost just about all your clients, which meant that you lost a lot of money," the Ox noted. "Is that why you started playing us off against one another? Hoping to cash in by being everybody's friend? Thought everyone was too stupid to figure out what you were up to?"

"Don't you fucking threaten me," George snarled, even as his heart began pounding and he broke out in a cold sweat. "I'm going to go to the police, and-"

"Oh, we're not going to do anything to you," the Ox said sweetly. "The Kingpin told us to simply spread the word about what you've been doing. I'm sure the police will be interested in all your dealings with the different crime syndicates. Oh, and I'm sure Silvermane, Philippe Bazin and Crimewave would all like a word with you at some point."

George had no response.

"Finally at a loss for words?" the Ox mocked him. "Oh well, I'm sure you'll think of something appropriately insulting to say when karma catches up to you. Bye-bye now!"

With that, the Ox hung up, leaving George alone as he shuddered dreadfully.

The best fiction and the best stories are the ones that seem plausible and real, even if they're blatantly unlike our real world. The audience sees the main character as if he himself is a real person who acts and reacts on his own volition. The puppet dances and the viewers are attracted to him, ignoring the strings that they're never supposed to see. They accept the lies they're told as truth, and ignore the puppetmaster pulling the strings in the background.

I continue scanning the news briefs and the exchanges George Stacy has with the crime syndicates.

The time's not yet right.

But it will be soon enough.

I feel the laughter starting up again.

I like it.

"Dad?" Ben Reilly knocked on the door of his father's study as Andrew Reilly sat at his desk, working intently at the computer.

"What is it, Ben?" Andrew asked without looking up.

"Would you mind telling me why the hell you threatened my friend Gwen?" Ben demanded.

"She told you about that, did she?" Andrew asked ironically, looking up from his computer and pushing back from his desk. "I thought I told her to stay away from you."

"Gwen didn't tell me, Kitty did!" Ben shot back. "She and I want to know just what your problem is."

"The problem is that Gwen's not good enough for you," Andrew replied patiently as he stood up. "Superficial hypocrites like her are only interested in getting their talons into someone for their money, just like I told you. All she's concerned about is leaching whatever she can out of you, before she moves on to the next good deed."

"How'd you know about this, Dad?" Ben wondered, scratching his head in confusion. "You've never even met Gwen"

"Your Uncle Steve reminded your mother and I that she's the daughter of that George Stacy character," Andrew pointed out. "You remember, the one who bankrolls those anti-mutant bigots?"

"Yeah, but Gwen isn't involved with any of that crap," Ben answered. "She stuck up for Kitty after her dorm was vandalized, and helped her find a new place to stay. And besides, why's Uncle Steve so interested in my hanging out with Gwen? What's his problem, anyway?"

"He cares about you," Andrew replied. "Why would you be wondering about this?"

"Because I wouldn't be wondering if Uncle Steve could just let it go," Ben replied. "Why does he keep on harping about the Stacys? What did they ever do to him?"

That made Andrew pause for a moment.

"He said he used to know George Stacy," Andrew replied after a moment's thought. "Maybe something happened then. But what does it matter? He's just concerned about you, just like your mother and I!"

"Does that extend to threatening the women I date?" Ben demanded. "I mean, what the hell's that supposed to accomplish?"

"Ben, we're just trying to look out for you," Andrew frowned reproachfully at his son. "You don't know what girls like that are like."

"And you apparently don't seem to know that I'm not a little kid anymore," Ben replied, a twinge of anger in his voice. "I mean, I can make these decisions myself!"

"No, Ben..." Andrew shook his head in exasperation. "You don't understand. Girls like Gwen Stacy are hypocrites who don't give a damn about anyone but themselves. All they care about is making themselves look good and having everyone love them. They don't really care about you."

Ben only shook his head in confusion and frustration.

"But...Dad..." he tried to protest.

"Trust me, Ben," Andrew said, more gently this time. "We just want to help, is all."

"...I guess..." Ben mumbled in reply, although his head was still spinning with the clashing differences between what his parents and uncle were telling him about Gwen, and what he'd actually seen of her.

Oh, I hope Gwen is watching the news right now!

They've just announced-George Stacy is being wanted for questioning in many of the incidents related to the gang war. The crime lords are no doubt attempting to track him down now too.

Too bad he went into hiding.

Too bad I know where to find him, what with my planting a tracking device on him just like I planted on his daughter.

The time has come.

Everything I've been working for, has come up to this moment.

I stare at the pumpkin, and the pumpkin stares back at me.

The laughter starts again.

Gwen had just finished her lunch and was eager to get started on reviewing the script she'd been given by Mr. Ferguson, the play's director. Turning on her laptop computer, she connected to the Internet and was about to set it to play on her favorite satellite radio station when she saw the news.

Her browser had set a local community news site as its default webpage. Gwen liked it because it not only kept her up to date on everything from the weather reports to local traffic, but it also had plenty of announcements on the local theater scene. It also conveyed crime news, which had become more important to her since she had begun fighting crime as Spider-Woman.

The featured headline story was about her father George, which caused Gwen's heart to briefly skip a beat. Horrified, she clicked on the link and began reading about her father's apparent involvement in starting the gang war, double- and triple-crossing the city's crime lords. Gwen felt increasingly sick as she read through the article, although she wasn't particularly surprised. She even felt a certain satisfaction when she noted that the police wanted to take him in for questioning.

The next paragraph made her change her mind, however.

"It's imperative that we find Mr. Stacy as soon as possible," Captain Philip Watson, head of the New York Police Department's Organized Crime Unit, was quoted as saying at a press conference. I have no doubt that the crime syndicates will be looking to punish him.

Images of everything George Stacy had done passed through Gwen's mind, before she shuddered. Her spider-senses began tingling, and she knew that if she wanted to, she could find him.

Why the hell should I care, after everything he's done? Gwen thought bitterly. If...he's...

She couldn't think like that.

Whatever else he's done, he's still my father, Gwen nodded determinedly, as she went into her bedroom and began changing costume. He's going to pay for everything he's done, but he'll do it in court. Everyone he ever hated-mutants, corporate rivals, his family-he tried to break and destroy.

I became a superheroine to prove I was better than my father, she thought with a final breath, as she slipped her Spider-Woman mask over her face.

This is where I prove it, she realized as she crept to the window and sprang out into the afternoon light.

Days without sleep or food had taken a dreadful toll on George Stacy, as had the crippling tension and stress that consumed his mind. Reeking of alcohol and stale sweat, his face was covered with several days' worth of stubble and marked with a deathly pale complexion. Hiding out in a two-bit fleatrap of a motel, George could feel his entire life crashing down around him.

From the moment he'd been outed as an anti-mutant activist, everything had begun to fall apart. Going from one of New York's most well-known investors and businessmen to being forced to work for the New York crime syndicates to now being reduced to living like a bum once his double-dealing had caught up with him.

Why in God's name had he thought he could play the crime lords off against each other? What had he hoped to accomplish? Did he honestly think they wouldn't realize what he was doing? How did he expect to get away with it all?

He was still wracking his brain, worn down by panic, stress and sleeplessness when the door to his motel room was blown open. Standing there in the doorway was his worst nightmare. The ghoulish figure was clad in dark green body armor, wearing gloves and boots that resembled ghastly skeletal limbs, a chestplate covered in what looked like tiny skulls. Perhaps worst of all, it bore a flaming, burning pumpkin for a head that grinned at George with a smile borne from the depths of hell.

"Hello, George!" the creature rasped, seemingly to smile behind his implacable mask. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to!"

"You...you..." George stammered, almost beside himself with fear.

"Yes...yes!" Jack O'Lantern laughed triumphantly. "You've been a very naughty boy, Mr. Stacy, and the city's crime lords have decided that you should be disciplined. In other words...you're fired!"

Giggling hysterically at his joke, Jack O'Lantern fired his wrist lasers at George, who screamed and dodged them as best he could. The blasts tore deep scorch marks into the walls, even as George scrambled under the bed. Jack O'Lantern easily stepped into the room and flipped the bed over with a flick of his wrist, before laughing again at his helpless prey.

"I've got to say, George..." Jack O'Lantern trailed off, "you've been a pleasure to watch. Like I said, you were always a master at hiding your true self behind a civilized veneer...but that's all gone now, isn't it? Now, I finally see you for what you really are, a pathetic, sniveling wretch who never deserved everything he'd gained in the first place."

It was impossible to tell if there was a man or a woman behind that pumpkin, as Jack O'Lantern's height was such that he could have been either a normal-sized man or a tall woman. His voice crackled and rasped, sounding as if it came from a cancer or burn victim. His limbs were not especially bulky, and again could easily have been those of a well-developed man or woman, belying the immense strength they contained.

Jack would have continued, except that he whirled around and ran back outside expectantly, firing one of his wrist blasters. The laser deflected the sting blast of the figure swinging down to him on a webline, namely that of the spectacular Spider-Woman.

"And here I was afraid you wouldn't show up!" Jack O'Lantern cackled as he activated his skull-ringed hover platform and jumped onto it. "Would this occasion be complete without the one person I hate most in all the world?"

So saying, he sent a flurry of boomerang bats flying at Spider-Woman, who only let go of her webline as she dodged, spun through the air and landed on her feet. Running towards the door of the motel room, she tried to get between George Stacy and Jack O'Lantern, blasting the pumpkin bomb Jack threw at her and causing it to explode in midair. Racing up the front wall of the motel, Spider-Woman leapt into the air and sprang at Jack O'Lantern, who spun out of the way on his hover disc. Half-expecting the move, Spider-Woman caught his hover disc with a webline and swung Jack around as she plummeted back to earth, brutally slamming him into the ground.

Howling in pain, Jack O'Lantern was no longer amused. He tossed another pumpkin bomb at Spider-Woman, who blew it up once again. Unfortunately, Jack had been expecting that move, and as the grenade exploded it released dozens of tiny shrapnel blades, which tore into Spider-Woman and left bleeding cuts all across her body. As she staggered, Jack O'Lantern blasted her once with his left wrist blaster and then once with his right wrist blaster, before blowing her off her feet with a double shot. Catching her wit h a ghost grabber, Jack dragged Spider-Woman across the parking lot before raking her across the back and stomach with his talons. Tossing her into a car at the far end of the parking lot, Jack turned his back on Spider-Woman and went back into the motel room to look for George.

Noting that his prey had already broken the window in the back wall and escaped that way, Jack merely took to the air again on his hover disc and flew into the air to see which way George had run.

Spider-Woman's entire body burned with pain as she struggled to her feet, but she forced herself to get up. She had expected some sort of assassin, either an ordinary gunman or a costumed supervillain, to come after her father, but Jack O'Lantern was the absolute last one she'd wanted to see.

Running across the parking lot and right up the front wall of the motel, Spider-Woman saw her father running through the alley behind the building. Unfortunately, Jack O'Lantern was in hot pursuit, tossing grenades at George that deliberately fell short, heightening his prey's fear. Catching her webline on a nearby telephone pole, Spider-Woman leapt off the roof and caught Jack O'Lantern square in the back with a vicious swing kick. The pumpkin-headed lunatic went flying off his hover disk and crashed into the brutal, unforgiving pavement below, screaming in anger and pain.

Jack was on his feet in an instant. Tossing a pumpkin grenade at George, Jack nodded in satisfaction as the bomb exploded in a pile of sticky goo that clung to George's legs, rooting him to the spot. Whirling around to face Spider-Woman, he rolled out of the way of her sting blasts before taking her down with a double blast from his wrist lasers. As she tried to get up, Jack charged in and began pummeling her from every conceivable angle.

One moment he was kicking her in the face, the next moment he drove his elbow into her spine. One moment he was raking her legs with his claws, the next he was punching her in the stomach. Jack flipped, twirled and spun with kicks, fists, rakes, elbows and knees that left Spider-Woman in a bloodied and beaten heap on the ground. As she groaned and tried to roll over, Jack O'Lantern picked her up by her neck, his depraved pumpkin face staring into her own.

"Let this be a lesson to you, little girl," Jack O'Lantern hissed to Spider-Woman, who could only struggle feebly. "Your laughable, miserable attempts to protect two-faced hypocrites like George Stacy only lead to more suffering and death. You waste your power defending these pathetic wretches, and you represent everything-EVERYTHING-I hate about this world!"

"You force me to wear this mask so I can reveal what I really am, force me to hide my true self behind a wall of bullshit! When I try to have some fun, a little terror or murder, you get in my way. And for what? Just so the people you try to help can continue looking down their noses at anyone who actually embraces their true nature, anyone who wants to do what they're not supposed, to anyone who tries to live? You, and people like you, make me sick."

"I could kill you now," Jack O'Lantern continued, "but I won't. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to get in the way of someone who actually tries to become what they really are inside."

With that, he dropped Spider-Woman contemptuously, before restraining her with a ghost grabber so she could not escape. He turned her around before he did that, so she could hear but not see what was to come.

Once my work is done, I turn around and make my way back to where George Stacy has been lying. Tears are running down his cheeks, even though he's too paralyzed by fear to speak. He struggles against the glue, even though he knows he can't possibly escape.

I look around to see that no one is watching, and I see that there's no one in sight. That's good-I want this to be a private moment.

"Look at me, George," I snarl, even as George does that.

"You see what I am?" I demand.

He nods.

"This is what I really am, underneath it all. This is what most people are, even if they're too cowardly to admit it. It sickens me that I have to wear a mask to show my true nature, and to do the things that I want. I want to kill someone, and I have to wear a mask so I'm not arrested. I want to make someone scream, I need to disguise my voice. I want to traumatize someone, and people keep getting in the way of my fun," I explain, my voice full of contempt.

"Who...are you?" George asks, seemingly resigned to his fate.

"You really want to know?" I grin eagerly, before I scan the area again and find no signs of life besides myself and the Stacys.

"Alright then," I smile, as I neutralize the holographic flames and open my mask. "Do you like what you see?" I chuckle, as George Stacy sees the face behind the pumpkin.

"...YOU?" he exclaims in horror. "But...how...this can't be..."

"Of course it can," I chide George as I close my mask and restart the holographic flames. "I just illustrated my own point perfectly well." It's then that I burn George free of the goo he's trapped in, before pulling him to his feet.

George seems too dazed with shock to reply.

"Now, let me reinforce my original statement," I continue, as I place one of my wrist blasters over his heart. "I rather enjoy this sort of thing, particularly since I'm evil. I know I'm not supposed to do it, but that's the whole point, isn't it?"

With that, my wrist blaster punches through George Stacy's chest, destroying his heart, and leaving a wide, gaping hole in his body. As he falls limp in my arms, I let him go, laughing again as he slumps down dead on the ground. Rolling him over, I retrieve my tracking device from his back, so it won't be found by the coroner.

I turn around and retrieve my ghost grabber from Spider-Woman, freeing her. As a final flourish, I reactivate my hover disk and fly off into the sunset.

My laughter lingers on the breeze, no doubt echoing in Spider-Woman's ears long after I'm gone.

Jack O'Lantern's sick, depraved laughter echoed in Spider-Woman's ears as she slowly, painfully crawled towards the limp body of her father. Every movement was pure screaming agony, whether because of her large black and blue bruises, her bleeding cuts and gashes, or her laser burns and shocks. She felt ready to faint from the pain, but she stubbornly continued on to reach her father.

And then she felt ready to faint all over again when she saw the hole burned clear through her father's chest, to the point where she could see the pavement he was lying on. Even more striking than the fact that George Stacy was dead was the look of pure horror on his face, making him look as if he'd seen a ghost. Spider-Woman shuddered at the expression, and it took every bit of willpower she had to avoid vomiting.

Slowly, painfully, she began to drag her father towards the main office for the motel to call for the police and an ambulance.

Spider-Woman's mind whirled with shock, horror and grief.

Later that night...

The news was bad, very bad, for Silvermane. Bullseye, the supposedly A-list costumed assassin he'd hired to defend his holdings, had been killed by 8-Ball, the Kingpin's supposedly C-list lackey. The police were breathing down his neck over the Judge Baylor hit. Sabertooth and Boomerang had murdered every one of his underbosses. The other crime lords had each hacked and looted at least one of the Maggia's bank accounts, and the police had seized most of the others. Some of his men were defecting to Crimewave, who'd stayed strategically out of the war, while others were defecting to Phillipe Bazin, who after his early setbacks had dug in and begun regaining ground.

Screams, gunshots and explosions filled the air through the double doors to Silvermane's office as most of his few remaining thugs tried to protect their boss. Despite the impending disaster, Silvermane had to give them credit-even though the Maggia was on the verge of collapse, they were staying with him to the very end.

Finally, the last death cry rang out, and the double doors were blown open. Jack O'Lantern strode into the room, seeming to have a look of triumph on his face even though that sickening pumpkin grin never changed. Behind him in the hallway, Silvermane could see the blood and corpses that marked Jack's depraved handiwork.

"You're Silvermane, right?" Jack rasped sweetly. "It's a pleasure."

"You're that Jack O'Lantern guy, right?" Silvermane asked, leaning forward as calmly as if he were in a boardroom meeting. "Who sent you? Crimewave, Bazin or the Kingpin?"

"None of the above," Jack scoffed. "I'm just someone who's out for a good time."

"A fun time, huh?" Silvermane rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I get it-you're one of those guys who commits crimes as much for fun as for profit?"

"A fair, if incomplete, assessment," Jack nodded. "I do, of course, possess larger and greater goals in this life, although the pursuit of pleasure is in fact a major part of what I do."

"Larger goals?" Silvermane replied. "Well, seeing as how I'm a dead man walking and all, would you care to elaborate?"

"A...dead man walking?" Jack asked in wry amusement, seeming to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Silvermane replied. "Since I take it you're probably going to kill me anyway, why don't you tell me what your larger goals are?"

"Fair enough," Jack O'Lantern seemed to smirk. "I'm what you might call a truly fulfilled person. I embrace what I am and I'm not afraid to show it. I'm a monster. And I will show the world just what it means to be a monster in this new age, someone who is evil, who embraces the fact that he or she is evil, and is not afraid to show it."

"You learn something new every day," Silvermane chuckled. "I take it you've already started to make your mark by killing everyone left in my organization?"

"Just about," Jack nodded. "You're the last member of the Maggia still alive. And I have to say, you're handling this with remarkable dignity. Most of my victims tend to scream, cry or beg for mercy."

"Hey, I'm a crime boss," Silvermane pointed out. "People in my profession don't typically die peacefully in bed. I was always wondering who'd do me in-would it be one of my underbosses? An ambitious family member? A supervillain that another syndicate sent after me? One of my own supervillain hires who decided to turn on me?"

"Congratulations, then," Jack O'Lantern remarked sardonically. "You get to be the first symbol of what I represent, the tides and the change that are coming."

"Can't say fairer than that," Silvermane shrugged. "How are you going to do it?"

"One straight wrist blast, right between the eyes?" Jack offered.

"Go to it, you bastard," Silvermane replied, before Jack did just that.

Alerted by Jack O'Lantern, the police arrived soon after to find the slaughter and death the pumpkin-headed monster had left in his wake.

(Next Issue: Even as Gwen tries to recover from her physical injuries, she also tries to come to terms with the murder of her father George. While Gwen finds support for her efforts in the most unlikely of places, the murderous Jack O'Lantern follows up on his deadly advantage and begins to put his true plans into action! All this and more in Spider-Woman #27: From The Ashes!)