An Offer You Can't Refuse

Detective Jason Phillip Macendale of the New York City Police Department's Superhuman Activities Unit rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked over the report the police lab technicians had given him. The person who had written that note wasn't very smart-the fingerprint evidence alone was going to be enough for a search warrant, and somehow Detective Macendale doubted that the idiot would have thought to get rid of all the cut-up magazines.

What interested Macendale about this case wasn't so much the crime itself but the circumstances surrounding it. The notorious mass-murdering supervillain known as Jack O'Lantern, the maniac behind the rise of the new supervillain crime cartel that called itself the Tomorrow Legion, had recently been exposed as the Hammer Labs scientist Steven Mark Levins. His niece was a young mutant college student named Kitty Pryde, whose mutant origins and relation to her murderous uncle had been given public exposure by the Daily Globe.

Anti-mutant bigotry combined with the grief felt by many of Jack O'Lantern's victims, and one of them had placed a threatening letter in Kitty's mailbox. Formed by letters cut and pasted from a magazine, the letter had noted that "payback was a bitch", and that they were "watching" her. Needless to say, Kitty had been extremely upset, something for which Macendale couldn't blame her.

While something like this would normally be handled by the Hate Crimes Unit, it had been transferred to Superhuman Activities because it involved a super-powered mutant. That was the sad state of mutant affairs these days, Macendale realized. For all the very real progress the X-Men had made in building support for mutant rights, mutants still had a hard time getting fair treatment from the police when they were the victims of hate crimes, and mutant bigotry remained very popular in many circles, with pundits being widely applauded for the bullshit they spewed.

I may be a dirty cop, but even I have some fucking standards, Macendale thought, rubbing his eyes in disgust.

That was what pissed him off about the anti-mutant bigots, though.

Macendale knew full well he was a very bad man, but the bigots spewed hate while claiming to care for their country and communities.

Their self-righteous crap made him want to blow their goddamn heads off.

SPIDER-WOMAN #34

"AN OFFER YOU CAN'T REFUSE"

Gwen Stacy kept protectively close to Kitty Pryde as they walked home from school, constantly looking around at the passersby. Fortunately, many seemed content to ignore the two girls, although she got the occasional angry look and even one shout, although no one seemed to make a move to bother them. Kitty did her best to keep up a brave front, although Gwen had noticed she visibly flinched whenever she caught an angry glare or shout.

Leading her into their apartment building, Gwen got between Kitty and the mailbox and glanced through it without giving Kitty a chance to look at it. From there, the two girls headed upstairs to their apartment, where they sat down to prepare an afternoon snack. They ate in silence for several moments, before Gwen spoke up.

"…So, what time is Kong coming by?" Gwen asked.

Kitty didn't reply at first.

"…Kitty?" Gwen persisted.

"…We're not going out," Kitty finally muttered.

"What?" Gwen asked incredulously. "But you've been waiting for this date all week! Did Kong have to cancel?"

"…No," Kitty mumbled.

"Then why?" Gwen asked.

"Why do you think?" Kitty spat back with an angry scowl. "Because people stare and yell at me in the streets! Because my uncle ruined my goddamn life! Because I'm a fucking freak!" she continued, her voice rising to an angry scream before she burst into tears.

Gwen knew that it was going to happen sooner or later. Over the last few days, Kitty had seemed on the verge of breaking down, but now it finally came. Instinctively she came in and hugged Kitty once again, whispering soothing words into Kitty's ears as she let her friend pour out all her frustrations. They sat there for several minutes, as all of Kitty's old sadness and anger came boiling to the surface.

"…You know this isn't your fault, Kitty," Gwen finally tried to reassure her once she'd stopped sobbing.

"But…all those people he killed…even your…father…" Kitty mumbled.

"Jack O'Lantern did it, not you," Gwen reminded her gently. "And somehow I doubt he's a mutant, either-I mean, look at all the high-tech weapons he used!"

"…Big deal," Kitty shot back. "The Globe already said he was a mutant. That's what everyone will believe."

"But that doesn't mean that what he did is your fault-" Gwen tried to point out, before Kitty interrupted.

"It's still what they'll think!" Kitty shouted, her eyes blazing with anger. "I'm a mutant, I'm guilty, end of story! My home gets vandalized when I'm in high school, my dorm room gets trashed in university, and now everyone thinks I'm going to turn out to be a murderer, just like my uncle," she finished venomously.

"That's not true, and you know it!" Gwen shot back, grabbing Kitty and forcing her to look into Gwen's eyes. "You said it yourself-Levins killed my father! Do you really think if what you're saying is true, I'd still be here? Would Randy still be there for you? Would Liz? Would Kong?"

"I…" Kitty trailed off. "Gwen, why are you…"

"Because I've been in the same boat as you," Gwen explained, more gently this time. "You've seen how angry I could get, and the way I lashed out at the people who tried to help me. I don't want it to happen to you, Kitty. You were always there for me when I needed you, and now I'm just trying to return the favor."

"But you don't know what it's like, being a mutant," Kitty cut in, bitterness still in her voice.

"Maybe not, but I saw the other side of it from my father," Gwen explained. "Believe me, I know all too well what people like him want. I heard the things he used to say to people like Graydon Creed, the way he sponsored people like Robert Kelly. That's one of the things that got me so angry in the first place."

Kitty didn't reply to that.

"You're not alone in this, Kitty. Neither am I, and you helped me realize that. What about Kong? He doesn't give a damn if you're a mutant-if he did, do you think he really would have gone steady with you? It doesn't matter whether you are or not-everything you've done to help me so far just shows what you're really like. Guys like Graydon Kelly and Jack O'Lantern are full of shit, and you're proof of that," Gwen concluded.

"But…but what if-" Kitty stammered.

"Not another word," Gwen insisted, staring intently into Kitty's eyes. "That's just what people like Creed want you to think. It's not what you are. I know it, Kong knows it, and you know it."

Gwen and Kitty stared intently at each other for a long time.

"Besides, this bad mood isn't like you at all," Gwen pointed out, a smile playing around the edge of her mouth. "I'm supposed to be the one with the angst and the bad temper! What, are you trying to steal my schtick?"

A sad smile crossed Kitty's face, and she hugged Gwen tightly.

Gwen hugged her back. She wasn't sure how much she managed to get through to Kitty, but she had no intention of giving up.

In the back of her mind, though, she felt a deep loathing and disgust for Jack O'Lantern, her most hated enemy, and what his perverted actions had done to his family.

Steven Mark Levins leaned back and cackled as he put down the final letter. In the few weeks since his trial and his imprisonment in the Raft, the superhuman wing of Ryker's Island Prison, he had received dozens of letters from adoring women and other devoted fans. Many of the women wanted to bear his children, while others expressed admiration at his depravity and the horrible crimes he'd committed.

Now a criminal psychologist wanted to interview him for some research study about the rise of supervillains, something which Levins took as a tremendous honor. From what the other supervillain inmates had told him-even Levins himself was astonished at how quickly he'd made friends among the rest of the supervillain community-the criminal psychologist doing the interviews had already spoken to many of the country's most dangerous villains. The likes of Doctor Octopus, Stilt-Man, Mister Hyde, Batroc the Leaper and even the dreaded Psyko had all been interviewed by the psychologist over the last couple of years, and now it was Levins' turn.

Indeed, Steven Mark Levins cut a very handsome figure. Despite being forty-two, his thick brown hair, bright black eyes, and the rakish face and sculpted figure of a god were the envy of men half his age. His charming, rich voice also made him a natural interview subject, even to people who recalled the frightening crimes he'd committed and just how dangerous he really was.

All the arrangements had been made, and later that day the psychologist arrived to speak to him. Much to Levins' surprise, the interviewer was a surprisingly young woman with long golden hair and bright blue eyes. She didn't even seem to be in her thirties, and for a moment Levins wondered if she was a college student or an intern…

…but then he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Levins," the young woman said as she shook his hand. "Thank you very much for-"

"Please, I prefer Jack O'Lantern," Levins replied, a perverse grin crossing his face.

""It's a pleasure to meet you, Jack O'Lantern," the young woman said as she shook his hand. "Thank you very much for agreeing to this interview."

"It's my pleasure, I assure you," Jack O'Lantern chuckled. "And you are?"

"I'm Dr. Karla Sofen," the young psychologist explained as she sat down and opened her notebook. "The purpose of this interview is part of a research study I'm undertaking that examines the motives supervillains have for their crimes. I'll be asking you a number of questions, and your answers will help me in my study. Do you have any objection to that?"

"By no means," Jack O'Lantern assured her. "Indeed, I'm flattered that you chose to include me in your work. Now then, where did you want to begin?"

"You've already explained your original motives for becoming a supervillain at length, so we won't repeat them here," Dr. Sofen started, as she turned on a tape recorder. "What I'm curious about, though, is where these impulses came from. What made you want to, for instance, terrorize your victims? Why did you want to rob and murder them? I fully understand your views on hypocrisy and the masks people wear, but I'm curious as to where your original desires came from."

"They came, I suspect, from the same impulses that drove you to study psychology, that drove George Lucas to make movies, that drove Babe Ruth to play baseball, that drove Einstein to study physics, and so on down the line," Jack O'Lantern explained. "Would I be wrong in assuming that you study psychology and psychiatry because these things give you a sense of fulfillment, that they stoke your passions and give meaning to your life?"

"Indeed," Dr. Sofen raised an eyebrow at this as she wrote in her notebook. "You simply find these actions fulfilling?"

"Quite," Jack O'Lantern smiled. "Indeed, in some respect the fact that they're wrong and that I'm not supposed to do them only increases the appeal of what I do. And in case you're wondering, no I never endured any trauma or abuse that made me want to start doing this. There's a line from the film 8mm that I've always liked-'mommy didn't beat me, daddy didn't rape me. I'm this way because I am.' Why do people always try to attach some silly Freudian excuse to everything supervillains do? How are we really any different than your ordinary run-of-the-mill criminals?"

"That's quite an interesting perspective," Dr. Sofen replied, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I can't say that I recall the last time the Yakuza or the Russian Mafia tried to destroy the world, however."

"That's just because a lot of criminals simply don't think big enough," Jack waved away the question. "Besides, I can't recall anyone speculating on the supposed Freudian excuses of people like John Gotti, Philippe Bazin, Al Capone or Crimewave. You're the expert, you tell me!"

Dr. Sofen thought on that for several moments, before she spoke again.

"...And what about your relatives?" she asked Jack. "Surely you know how they've been harassed by the friends and families of your victims? Does that bother you at all?"

"…Why would it?" Jack shrugged nonchalantly. "They're just like the rest of the sheep I hate. If anything, it's actually kind of funny. I showed the world what I really am, and now the friends and families of my victims are showing their true colors too! I'm an inspiration!"

Jack O'Lantern cackled at this, delighting in the irony.

"And what about Spider-Woman?" Dr. Sofen asked.

Jack O'Lantern's laughter stopped in an instant.

"…What about her?" he demanded, a dangerous light appearing in his eyes.

"Why did you fixate on her as your arch-nemesis? Did you consciously choose her as an opponent, or did she just happen to be the first hero to cross your path?" Dr. Sofen asked, taking a keen interest in the manic look that had seized Jack O'Lantern's face.

"…It was both," Jack O'Lantern finally muttered after several moments. "She was the first hero to cross my path, and when I realized what she stood for I chose her as my enemy. Perhaps it could have been Moon Knight, or Darkhawk, or Daredevil, but it was Spider-Woman. And I swear, that if it takes my entire life, I will destroy her and everything and everyone she holds dear," he concluded in a cold, collected tone.

Jack O'Lantern remained eerily calm, sitting in silence for several minutes as Dr. Sofen wrote in her notebook.

"How interesting," she finally concluded. "That's all the questions I had for now. Did you have any final words?"

Jack O'Lantern looked up again, with that same eerie calm. His eyes glowed with that same dangerous light, and when he spoke his tone was hauntingly cold.

"Remember that I'm the future, Dr. Sofen. You have spoken to my peers, and you know that we continue to grow in numbers and in power. There are enough of us to form a rogues' gallery for every hero that tries to stop what we do. Sooner or later, every hero will fall to one of their enemies."

"We are tomorrow, Doctor."

"We are Legion."

Those words stayed with Dr. Sofen as the guards led Steven Mark Levins back to his cell.

Left alone in the room for a few moments, she cradled the golden pendant she always wore beneath her clothes, admiring the way it glowed with its own inner light.

Jack O'Lantern's words echoed in her mind, as she stared intently at the pendant.

Very, very soon, it would be time.

Ben Reilly felt sick to his stomach as he made his way home. Although it had been more than a week since his parents' house had been vandalized with rotten fruit and dog shit, he still felt the odd hateful stare or angry shout from passersby on his way home. He still couldn't quite believe it himself-his Uncle Steve, a man who'd been like a second father to him and watched him grow up, was Jack O'Lantern. All that friendly charm, that endearing eccentricity, had been a mask for a twisted, depraved monster.

His mother Karen had suffered a massive shock when she'd heard the news, and had to stay in the hospital overnight. Even now, more than a week later, she was still pale and drained, and when she spoke it was only with one-syllable words. A stiff silence had prevailed in the Reilly household, one that had begun after Ben had gotten into a fight with his father Andrew over Ben's wanting to date Gwen Stacy, and ended with Ben resolving to get another job and apartment and pay for university on his own.

Now, Karen was asleep upstairs when Ben came home, although Andrew was working at his computer when Ben passed by his office on his way to check in on Karen. As Ben came back, Andrew called him in, asking his son to sit down. Andrew himself had apparently tried to keep a calm demeanor, although Ben could still detect a distinct underlying strain in his father's manner.

"Dad," Ben addressed his father as he sat down.

"Benjamin," Andrew nodded curtly. "How's the job hunt been going?" he asked, a slightly sardonic tone in his voice.

"Well, I…" Ben stammered.

"I thought you were going to get a second job to pay for school," Andrew replied, raising an eyebrow. "And that you were going to find another place to live. Or are you going to continue relying on your mother and I?"

"But…Dad…with everything that's-" Ben tried to think of what to say. "I…I just can't-I thought Mom would-"

"You would be right about that," Andrew replied, folding his arms as his eyes narrowed. "Your mother is glad to have you here. It's good to see that you're showing some sense on that."

"Okay…" Ben began, uncertain of where his father was going. "So what are you-"

"Are you still planning to leave?" Andrew asked him pointedly. "From what I understand, you didn't seem to think you needed our paying your tuition and letting you stay here."

"I…was going to," Ben started, "but with everything that's happened…why are you asking me all this now, anyway?" he demanded, his voice taking on an edge.

"Because I want you to think," Andrew replied, his eyes narrowing. "Are you really ready to do this? If you are, that's your business, but if you're not then you shouldn't be jumping into something like this before you're sure you're actually prepared for it."

"Well, I thought I was-" Ben shook his head.

"You've seen how things can change, almost overnight," Andrew sighed, as his stern countenance seemed to relax somewhat. "You've seen how people can act when they learned that Kitty was a mutant. And look at how they treated your mother when she found out about…Mr. Levins," he finished, spitting out the word with some effort. "That's why I keep trying to warn you about girls like Gwen or Amy-you never know what they're really like on the inside."

"And how am I supposed to actually start to be prepared for these types of things if you won't let me get burned?" Ben replied acidly, his tone coming out angrier than he wanted it to. "Can't I make these kinds of decisions myself?"

"Are you really sure you're ready?" Andrew asked him. "Because that's what I've been trying to tell you-you need to know if you're really sure what you're doing."

"Well, I…" Ben trailed off, now suddenly not so sure.

"I've been where you were before, Ben," Andrew sighed. "I wasn't sure where I was going, and I made some bad decisions. Struggling to make ends meet in a ratty apartment, working sixty hours a week at two jobs, and all because I jumped headlong into what I thought I wanted before I was really ready. I know you're capable of making the right choices, Ben, but you're only twenty. That's what I kept trying to warn you about-it's one thing to start on the ground floor and work your way up, but it's another to start in the sewers and have to go even further."

Ben thought on that for a moment.

"You could have just told me," he finally pointed out, "instead of threatening my girlfriends. What good did that do, anyway?"

"...A lot of them just got under my skin," Andrew muttered. "I just thought you could do a lot better than any of them."

"But that's the sort of thing that I need to be able to decide for myself," Ben replied. "Otherwise, I won't even get to start in the sewers. I won't even be able to start at all."

With that, Ben got up and left the room, leaving Andrew to think over what he said.

Nick Katzenberg positively glowed as he strolled through the city room of the Daily Globe, reveling in the praise his editor had given him on breaking the Kitty Pryde/Steven Mark Levins story. The brightness of his smile was somewhat diminished by his crooked and ugly yellow teeth, and his coworkers would probably have appreciated it if Nick shaved and showered more than once every three or four days, or if he did his laundry more than once every three or four months.

Not that Nick particularly cared what his coworkers thought-no one who worked for the Daily Globe was ever going to be nominated for a Pulitzer, after all!

The Daily Globe was widely loathed by the rest of the New York newspaper industry, as well as by most of the city's politicians, celebrities and minority communities. Its stock in trade revolved around high-profile sex scandals, outing gays and mutants to the public at large, and running op-ed articles from both left- and right-wing extremists that largely consisted of demonizing anyone on the other side of the spectrum or who simply dared to disagree with them. It was also notable as the only paper in New York that routinely published invectives against Muslims and mutants alike, something that did not endear it to either of those communities.

Indeed, what made breaking the Pryde-Levins story so appealing to Katzenberg was the fact that he really hadn't had to do much research or fact-checking. For whatever reason, his contact had refused to accept any kind of payment for the story, and had supplied all the juicy details free of charge!

Snickering as he congratulated himself on playing his contact for a sucker, he pulled out his phone and called Mr. Alvers again.

"Lance?...It's Nicky…Yeah, did you see it?...Beautiful, isn't it?...Well yeah, I guess she's probably going to get a lot of shit for it…Of course we're covering it…Her family's been getting a lot of grief too…Sure, no problem!...Hey, it was my pleasure, thanks a lot!"

Hanging up the phone, Nick only laughed again at how easily he'd been able to make a fool out of this Lance Alvers character.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Gwen told Kenny Anderson as she came into Kenny's dorm room, in which he lived alone.

"It's no problem at all," Kenny assured her while he set up his supplies. "Life's been pretty busy, I take it?"

"You might say that," Gwen sighed. In between her studies, her job, and shadowing Kitty as Spider-Woman whenever she had some spare time in case her mutant friend was attacked or otherwise harassed when she went out in public, Gwen had been feeling the strain again, and it was starting to show.

"Do you want some tea, or something?" Kenny asked her. "You look kind of pale-maybe you should eat something."

"That'd be nice, thanks," Gwen smiled gratefully. "And I am kind of hungry, come to think of it-would you mind if I had one of these brownies?" she asked, pointing to a tray on Kenny's desk next to the art supplies.

"Sure, go-wait, no! No, don't eat those!" Kenny stopped her frantically, pulling her hand away before she could grab one of the brownies.

Gwen just blinked at him in astonishment.

"…What's wrong with them?" she asked in utter confusion.

"Oh…well…uh…" he fumbled, trying desperately to come up with a plausible excuse. "They're really stale."

"They look fine to me," Gwen blinked, glancing at the tray of brownies again.

"Trust me, they came out bad!" Kenny said, too quickly. "They'll taste terrible, believe me. I'm pretty much the only one who can stomach them."

"…Whatever," Gwen shrugged, seeing no need to argue. "What else do you have?"

"A lot of different things," Kenny replied, opening up his room fridge. "You ever hear of a Dagwood sandwich?"

Gwen's blank look answered for her.

"Blondie was an old comic strip that starred this guy named Dagwood," Kenny explained. "His idea of a sandwich was to just cram whatever kind of food he could find between two slices of bread. That pretty much sums up my own cooking skills, too."

Gwen couldn't help but giggle as she glanced through Kenny's completely disorganized fridge. Chocolate bars competed for space with fruit juice and sliced vegetables, while canned ham was stacked next to raw cucumbers. She just about managed to find enough things to make a fruit sandwich, which she quickly munched on as Kenny made her some tea.

"So, what scene did you pick out?" Kenny asked Gwen once she'd finished eating.

"The starry night one," Gwen replied, as she flipped through Kenny's portfolio to the right rendering. It depicted a young woman sitting on a rock at the top of a forested hill, staring reflectively at a beautiful starlit night sky that seemed to draw her gaze into infinity, focusing on a shooting star that pierced the darkness, leaving a trail of light that shimmered in its wake. The woman was vaguely depicted, as Kenny intended to draw the woman in the final version to represent his model, who in this case would be Gwen.

"Nice," Kenny grinned, as he and Gwen got into position for him to begin sketching. "This is going to look great, I can tell."

"Hey, it's my pleasure," Gwen reassured him, taking on a reflective, faraway look to help Kenny better catch the mood of the drawing.

They sat in silence for a while, as Kenny worked diligently at recreating Gwen on paper. It took more than an hour, but by the time they were done Kenny had more than done justice to Gwen's beauty, and she didn't hesitate to tell him so.

"This is amazing," she said in astonishment as she looked at the final sketch. "How did you get to be so good at art?"

"Talent and practice, I guess," Kenny shrugged. "Besides, I could ask you how you got to be so good at acting."

"…You've seen me on stage?" Gwen asked in surprise.

"Of course I have," Kenny grinned. "I went to see The Wiz three times, and you were fantastic. How did you learn to do that?"

"…Talent and practice, I guess," Gwen replied, before she giggled again. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"Believe me, I did," Kenny assured her. "And thanks for posing for me."

"It was an honor," Gwen smiled back. "Be sure and send me a copy of that picture when you're finally done, okay?"

"You bet," Kenny assured her.

"I'm looking forward to it," Gwen replied, giving Kenny a brief hug that he seemed to enjoy immensely. "Take care!"

"Wait, hang on!" Kenny replied as she went to pick up her jacket.

"What is it?" Gwen asked in surprise.

"Are you okay?" Kenny asked her. "You seem to have a lot on your mind…"

"It's not something you can probably really help with," Gwen frowned, looking away. "I appreciate the offer, but-"

"Whatever it is, you shouldn't try and take it all on your own," Kenny warned her, suddenly taking on a much more serious tone than Gwen had ever heard from him. "You won't do anyone any good at all by doing that, especially not yourself."

Gwen thought on that for a moment.

"I'll keep that in mind," she smiled at Kenny. "Thanks a lot."

"Anytime," Kenny reassured her. He couldn't help but feel bad for her, especially when he saw the frustrations she'd tried to conceal from him.

Being friends with Rick Sheridan had taught him just how bad doing that could be.

Marie-Ange Colbert gathered up her cards as she finished the divination, glancing in frustration at the clock on the wall. Visiting hours were almost over, and so far neither Gwen nor her parents had shown up. She'd passed the time doing tarot readings for the other inmates, although she couldn't stop from feeling increasingly bored and frustrated.

When she'd first developed the mutant ability to channel physical manifestations of the spirits of the Major Arcana of the Tarot, Marie-Ange had tried to use her abilities to kidnap and kill the people she'd thought had made her life miserable, first on her own and then with the assistance of the demonic wizard who called himself the Bookworm. Both times she'd been stopped by the heroic Spider-Woman, although on the second occasion she'd realized that the Bookworm's evil magic was tainting her own tarot powers and she'd had her own magical creations attack the Bookworm's own minions to release their prisoners.

At first Marie-Ange had thought everything would work out-she'd turned herself in to the police, she'd been allowed to keep her tarot cards to perform standard divinations for her fellow inmates. Now, though, she kept remembering what the Bookworm had said about vengeance, and the power she had to make things right.

Marie-Ange still remembered the look of frustration on Jean-Jacques Colbert's face every time he went to one of the two jobs he had to work to pay her medical bills because she was always getting sick and until now he'd had to pay her tuition because he'd thought with his dick instead of his brain-

Marie-Ange still remembered the look on Annie Colbert's face when she drank herself stupid over the thought of not being able to go to university, because she was enough of an idiot to get knocked up young and have to take care of a whiny little bronchial-

Marie-Ange still remembered the way everyone at Midtown High and Empire State University treated her like a freak, especially those bitches Felicia Hardy and Sally Avril, and everybody else just stood and watched and the only one who even tried to show some support for her was Gwen Stacy and that was only after the fact-

Marie-Ange still remembered how the Bookworm was the only person who'd ever been nice to her without being guilt-tripped into it, and even though he'd perverted the written word to kidnap and kill people and his desire for revenge had driven him insane and the tarot spirits told her what she was doing was wrong he'd actually made a lot of sense at the time even though she couldn't bring herself to do it-

Marie-Ange still remembered the conflict she'd felt at the time when the tarot spirits reminded her what she was doing was wrong, and she'd had them destroy the Bookworm's magical creations but doing the right thing hadn't made it any better for her and she was still rotting in jail and she didn't know what to do anymore-

Making her way back to her cell and sitting down on her bunk, Marie-Ange put her head in her hands, trying to somehow calm her whirling thoughts.

"In summary, the costumed supervillain is merely the latest manifestation in a phenomenon that reoccurs throughout the centuries," Maggie Beck told the graduate committee she was defending her thesis to. "Actors have been donning costumes to recreate stories and legends. Indigenous cultures donned masks as part of their religious and magical rituals. The Carnival of Venice is a centuries-old tradition where participants don masks and disguises to conceal their identities and engage in actions that they would never otherwise do in public."

"So how do supervillains fit into it?" one of the professors judging her thesis asked.

"Decades of social conditioning by comic books and related media," Maggie explained. "For decades, we've been bombarded by images and stories stating that donning an outlandish outfit and either fighting or committing crime is the natural thing to do if you're a super-powered person. And now, we're in an era where life is imitating art-people are developing superhuman abilities either spontaneously or through any number of freak circumstances, magic is now a tangible and verifiable thing, and we have proof that alien creatures exist. In such circumstances, it's only natural that people would begin imitating what they've seen in superhero comics, on television, and in the movies."

"Did the supervillains you interviewed actually state this?" another one of the professors wondered, rubbing his chin skeptically.

"Not in that way, but it was a common thread in their stated reasons for becoming supervillains, as you'll see in Part Five," Maggie stated. "Blacklash, for instance, wanted to gather as much media hype as he could, so he used his outlandish costume to attract public attention. Spectra embraced her rainbow-like appearance because she thought it symbolized her ultimate social goals. Mister Hyde claimed that his savage features contrasted with his gentlemanly attire, illustrating the hidden savagery and the inner monster he embraced. The Brothers Grimm claimed that his bizarre attire set the proper tone in his audience's minds for the performances he was about to give them. Screaming Mimi simply enjoyed standing out and expressing who she really was, in her words. In every case, they donned their attire because they felt it was conducive to their larger social desires."

"Interesting," the second professor replied, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "I notice that most of your thesis concerns the supervillains-did you conduct any research with the superheroes?"

"Most of the heroes I tried to contact declined to be interviewed," Maggie shook her head, "for reasons of protecting their secret identities. Most supervillains don't have to worry about such considerations, once they're in police custody. I did, however, manage an interview with Susan Storm, who's the Invisible Woman and leader of the Fantastic Four. She claimed that heroes generally adopt their costumed identities so that they can use their powers while still being able to participate in mainstream society. They tend to live their lives in their civilian identities, and only put on their own costumes when they need to defend society from the people who try to harm and destroy it."

"But you weren't able to get much more data on the superhero side of it," the second professor persisted.

"No, but that wasn't the primary focus of my research anyway. As I specifically stated, my intent is to examine the psychology of supervillains and why they've done what they do. Superheroes are of course interesting in and of themselves, but I decided to focus on the supervillain side of the issue."

The second professor nodded in satisfaction and wrote something down on his notepad, even as the rest of the graduate committee began mumbling and nodding approvingly.

Maguire Beck had had many proud moments in her life, but none more than when the committee unanimously agreed to approve her thesis and grant her Master's Degree in Psychology. This was what she had spent so much time researching supervillains for, why she'd made such an effort to delve into their psychology and motivations for doing the things they did, why she'd taken such an interest in Jack O'Lantern's activities.

And now, all her hard work had paid off.

J. Jonah Jameson, owner, publisher, sole stockholder and editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, was in a particularly foul mood today. His employees would say that was nothing new-ever since he'd joined the Navy at age sixteen after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, Jameson had been fighting. After he'd finished his battles against the Japanese, he'd switched from the sword to the pen after returning to New York. His thundering editorials attacked everything from political corruption to anti-Semitism to anti-Muslim sentiment to hate groups like the Friends of Humanity, while he passionately supported the 1960s Civil Rights movement, the separation of church and state, a superhuman registration act, the mutant rights movement and limited government. Despite having recently turned eighty-one years old, Jameson hadn't lost any of the fire that made him so admired and so hated at the same time.

Today, the fight was somewhat more personal. While Jameson had always detested the New York Times and the rest of the Bugle's rivals, he'd always nursed a special hatred for the Daily Globe, particularly for its sleazy and exploitative nature. Not that Jameson didn't enjoy turning a profit from his crusading, but in his view he was at least accomplishing something worthwhile in the process.

While Jameson hadn't dealt much with Kitty Pryde in the work she'd done for the entertainment section, he didn't miss much that went on in the offices of his newspaper. He'd seen how Kitty had tried to put on a brave face, but her true feelings were clear as glass to the perceptive Jameson. He'd also seen all the harassment and threats Steven Mark Levins' relatives had endured ever since that second-rate copy boy Katzenberg had leaked the information to the public.

Fuming inwardly, he threw aside the offending edition of the Globe and opened the word-processing program on his computer. He'd been wondering what the subject of his next editorial should be, and now he had it.

HYPOCRITES! ran the byline.

That's what the people harassing Steven Mark Levins' relatives are. Anyone who lost a friend or a family member to Jack O'Lantern's insanity forfeited the right to expect any sympathy the moment they threw an anti-mutant slur at Kitty Pryde, vandalized Karen Reilly's home or picketed Jennifer Pryde's place of business. They've gone from being victims to being thugs, bullying innocent people the same way that Jack O'Lantern did. I suppose they learned from the best…

The editorial continued in that vein, deliberately waving a red flag in front of the people harassing Levins' relatives with the most inflammatory language J. Jonah Jameson could conjure up from almost sixty years in the newspaper business.

The people who were victimizing Kitty Pryde and her family would be outraged, Jameson knew. They'd turn their wrath on him, and begin picketing, harassing and vandalizing him in turn. Some of them might even try to threaten his life.

For a man who'd been repeatedly threatened all his life by groups ranging from the city's crime syndicates to the Ku Klux Klan to the Friends of Humanity, it was an appealing thought.

Gwen was relieved to have Saturday off from both work and school, exhausted as she was from her studies, working at the coffee shop and looking after Kitty as Spider-Woman whenever she could spare a moment. Aside from the incident with Joystick, things had been quiet for the last several weeks, something Gwen deeply appreciated.

Unfortunately, that still left her with the problem of somehow coming up with enough money to pay for both Empire State University's tuition hike and their apartment's upcoming rent increase. With the end of September rapidly approaching, Gwen knew she had to think of something, and fast, or she'd probably have to drop out of school and she and Kitty would have to find another place to live.

She was still thinking about the problem when her phone rang, and when she checked who it was from she wasn't sure whether to feel relief or dread. Kingsley Cosmetics always paid really, really well, but she'd always felt more than a little disgusted by the way Roderick Kingsley ogled her whenever she was in his presence. Swallowing hard and forcing herself to remember that she needed the money, she answered the phone and summoned all her acting skills to maintain an even tone in her voice.

"Hello?" Gwen asked.

"Is this Gwen Stacy?" a voice on the other end asked. To Gwen's surprise, it wasn't Roderick Kingsley.

"Speaking," she replied, resisting the urge to jump for joy at the fact she wasn't dealing with Kingsley.

"My name is Sebastian Ziegler," the man on the other end said, "and I'm a talent coordinator with Kingsley Cosmetics. I understand you've done some work for us in the past, and we were wondering if you'd be interested in doing so again."

"What did you have in mind?" Gwen asked.

"We're preparing an ad campaign to promote the release of our new summer fragrance," Mr. Ziegler explained. "It's a successor to Red Lavender, our Satin Angel line. We're looking for spokesmodels to star in our TV commercials, and we were wondering if you'd be interested."

"How much would it pay?" Gwen asked, and then nearly fell out of her chair when she heard Mr. Ziegler's pay quote.

She thought on the offer for several moments. The money would more than cover her tuition and rent expenses, not to mention what a successful ad campaign would do for her career…

"I'm still in school, though," she mentioned.

"That's no problem," Mr. Ziegler assured her. "Mr. Kingsley assured me that we could work around your class schedules in filming."

A chill ran down Gwen's spine.

"Mr. Kingsley wanted you to call me?" she asked, trying very hard to stay calm.

"Yes, he wanted to give you the first choice," Mr. Ziegler replied. "Do you want to take the job?"

Gwen felt sick to her stomach all over again.

She really, really, really didn't want Kingsley leering at her again…

…but without the money she'd get, her days at ESU were numbered and she and Kitty would almost certainly have to find somewhere else to live.

"…It sounds good," Gwen finally forced herself to say. "When did you want me for?"

"May I call you back in a couple of days?" Mr. Ziegler asked. "We can work out the details then."

"Sounds good!" Gwen said brightly, before she hung up.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to cheer or retch.

Lance Alvers hung up the phone, smiling to himself in satisfaction. Nick Katzenberg had run a follow-up article detailing Jack O'Lantern's twisted views, which Lance had learned of from his friends in the Raft. Lance had been there a few times himself, and he'd come to respect many of the other residents, even if they weren't mutants.

Born in Greece, Dominic Petros had immigrated to America with his family when he was just three years old in search of a better life. Unfortunately, they found that the American Dream was more myth than reality, especially once Dominic's earth-moving mutant powers had manifested. He'd avenged his family's murders by using his earth-moving powers to kill their murderers, and then he'd slaughtered the murderers' own families for good measure, too.

Dominic Petros had come of age in a time when mutants had begun appearing in vast numbers throughout society, many of them developing their powers in the face of fear and hatred from non-powered "baseline" humans. Just as Jews, Muslims, blacks, gays and many other minority groups had suffered beatings, rapes, murders and other hate crimes, so too did mutants…and Dominic saw it all.

In turn, the mutants had begun to fight back. One of them, a charismatic leader named Magneto, had turned the humans' hatred back against them-clearly that hated and feared mutants because mutants were the next step in Earthly evolution, and the humans would be left behind. Why, then, shouldn't the mutants fulfill their destiny? Why shouldn't they rule over the humans whose time is passing? If the humans call them evil, then why shouldn't they be evil, if it was evil to take up their rightful place as the planet's rulers?

Dominic heard, and he listened. Following in the footsteps of many of his fellow mutants, he adopted a codename that reflected his powers, dubbing himself Avalanche. Joining the ranks of Magneto's Acolytes, Avalanche had shown enough promise to be recruited to the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, a team of operatives handpicked by Magneto that carried out black ops terrorist actions in the name of mutant supremacy.

One of the Brotherhood's secondary goals was also to recruit new and promising young mutants to the Acolytes, and Avalanche had set his eyes on the lovely young Kitty Pryde. Kitty had just rejected a call from the X-Men, but to Avalanche's shock she'd also rejected the offer to join the Acolytes.

Avalanche had been outraged at this mortal insult, and his first instinct had been to slaughter Kitty's human relatives to punish her for betraying her own kind. He'd later gotten a much surer and subtler idea when Steven Mark Levins had been revealed as Jack O'Lantern, namely using that idiot Nick Katzenberg and the hacked-out tabloid he worked for to publicly spread knowledge of Kitty's relationship to Levins. Avalanche had adopted the alias of Lance Alvers to conceal his true identity from Katzenberg, although the fat moron hadn't even bothered to double check his sources.

Some journalist!

Now, with the renewed harassment and hatred Kitty was facing, Avalanche was confident she would see the light, and that the hatred would burn bright within her.

And he knew she would return to the Acolytes.

To him.

(Next Issue: Gwen meets with Roderick Kingsley to discuss appearing in his new TV ad campaign, and has to decide whether to accept his final offer. Kingsley's offer is far from the only issue she has to deal with, as Avalanche's manipulations come to a head and he attempts to recruit Kitty to the Acolytes of Magneto, including by force if necessary. As Spider-Woman, can Gwen possibly hope to save one of her closest friends? All this and more in Spider-Woman #35: I Feel The Earth Move Under My Feet!)