Firing Line

Gwen Stacy yawned as she woke up, rubbing her eyes and brushing back her long, blonde hair. Last night's sleep had been better, but only slightly, than the last several nights.

Jack O' Lantern, her worst enemy, had struck again last night, somehow managing to enter her house, her bedroom, and leave behind a twisted jack-in-the-box taunting her with the fact that he somehow knew where she was. It was just the latest part of Jack O' Lantern's harassment of her, harassment that was causing Gwen painful stress during the day and giving her horrible nightmares at night. It had begun with a disturbing phone call from Jack, letting her know that he was out there and that he knew where she was. That knowledge had kept Gwen on edge, constantly worrying about her friends and family, knowing that Jack O' Lantern could potentially strike at any of them.

Had anyone else been doing it, Gwen would have gone to the police long ago. However, her secret identity as the superheroic Spider-Woman kept her from doing so. The last thing she wanted was for the police or anyone else to figure out her secret identity from investigating Jack's harassment campaign. That fact made it all the more infuriating to Gwen, and the fact that Jack O' Lantern knew the fact and was milking it for all it was worth angered her even more.

Still, Gwen's sleep last night had still been better than before, because of her mother Helen's words. Helen had reassured Gwen that what her supervillain enemies did wasn't her fault, and emphatically reminded her of all the successes she'd had as a superheroine, even as she'd dwelled on her failures.

Helen's support was what had helped Gwen keep get her stress under control, and what allowed her to keep going, following her normal routine, even as her insides churned at the thought of Jack O' Lantern somehow being able to get into her house.

SPIDER-WOMAN #50

"FIRING LINE"

"Is that all of it, then?" Gary Broxtel asked his board of directors, as they all nodded.

"Alright, then this meeting is adjourned," he said calmly, closing up his computer and putting it back in his briefcase as the other executives did the same. Gary's voice was flat and calm, the voice of a man who was known for his stoicism. His somber demeanor and dark suits combined with the dead look in his eyes to make him look cold and aloof, and while he was never anything but civil to the people who worked under him, the fact that he was strictly business at the office and never made small talk meant that few people had any affection for him.

As head of Broxsteel, one of America's major steel companies, Gary Broxtel had few friends. He was also largely unknown to the public, unlike more dynamic and outgoing executives like Tony Stark, Bill Gates, Kyle Richmond or Steve Jobs, and rarely even fraternized with others of his social class. That tendency had greatly increased over the past year or so, as he'd become almost a total recluse. He and his wife Catherine now spent almost all their time at their posh Upper East Side brownstone, emerging only for work.

Gary managed to keep up his calm façade on the drive home up until he was safely back home behind closed doors. His demeanor changed dramatically as he took off his coat and shoes, his voice cracking as he gave a long, weary sigh. He seemed to age twenty years all at once, as his formerly confident walk became a tired, stumbling limp. Gary glanced at himself in the mirror as he passed by it on the way to the living room, realizing that he probably needed a new type of hair dye-even after he'd begun increasing the amount of this one, there was still too much gray showing for his liking.

Waiting for Gary in the living room was a dark-haired woman about his age, whose pale complexion, careworn face, and graying hair matched his own. Like Gary, she was impeccably dressed, although she also looked as cold and austere as he did. When she spoke, it was with a slow, painful manner that spoke of her having endured a recent trauma.

"How was it, Gary?" Catherine Broxtel asked her husband, as they embraced. "Did you hear anything?"

"No," Gary said quietly, shaking his head slowly. "I haven't heard anything yet," he replied, the pain in his voice reminiscent of his wife's.

"Nothing at all?" Catherine blinked in surprise.

"God only knows what he's doing," Gary shook his head. "How are the Wiedermans holding up?"

"They're all right, thank God," Catherine nodded. "I sent them this month's transfer yesterday."

"Cablevision called me again today," Gary said, a sad half-smile crossing his face. "They were pleading with you to come back."

"I can't," Catherine shook her head, "not right now. I need to know what Harvey's going to do, Gary. What do you think he's planning?"

"I've never been able to figure him out any more than you were," Gary shrugged sadly. "I just hope that…I don't know…"

"He's going to do something soon, I just know it," Catherine frowned. "Harvey's never been very patient."

Gary and Catherine set about making their dinner in silence. They did all the domestic chores themselves, as they did not want any servants hearing their conversation. Catherine had quit her job at the Cablevision television company, and if Gary didn't still have to manage Broxsteel he never would have left the house either. Neither one of them cared to show their faces in public, given the level of shame they felt.

They themselves had never done anything illegal, but having given birth to Harvey Broxtel was shame enough.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" Peter Parker asked Gwen as the elevator they were riding came to a halt. "Remember, you're going to have to deal with J. Jonah Jameson!" he reminded her.

"I know that," Gwen nodded determinedly as the doors opened, "but I have to do this. I can't just leave Tarot hanging."

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you," Peter sighed. "And don't be surprised if Jameson throws us out-he hates the prisoner's rights movement."

Stepping into the Daily Bugle's city room, Gwen was astonished by the contrasts she saw. The place was painted a perfectly bland shade of white and the carpets were a dull beige, with only the windows looking out over the city providing any break from the monotony. All of the office equipment was advanced and modern, giving the Bugle staff everything they needed to do their jobs, but the furniture looked to be a good two or even three decades old in some cases.

At first she was confused by the bizarre contrasts, but then she remembered what Peter had told her about Jameson. While Jameson was quite willing to spend top dollar on good computers and other printing equipment, he was otherwise such a skinflint that he made little to no effort to decorate the office and always bought the cheapest furniture he could buy that was still serviceable. According to Peter, Jameson didn't care at all about aesthetics and viewed spending on them as a waste of money. The result was an office that looked like a terribly dull and mundane place to work, but the sheer amount of activity almost made up for it.

Looking around in surprise as she followed Peter, Gwen saw that they were heading towards a large door at the back of the city room with Jameson's name prominently written on it. The door itself was clearly old, likely as old as the building itself, although Jameson had characteristically fitted it with an up-to-date electronic lock.

The door flew open as Peter and Gwen approached it, and a flurry of staff members emerged from the room, as Jameson's bellowing instructions followed them. Gwen recalled Peter telling her how Jameson ran the Bugle like a field marshal, constantly ordering staff into or out of his office, typing and revising editorials and e-mails, and carrying on phone conversations all at once.

The image was driven home as Peter and Gwen made their way into the office. Jameson was typing away furiously at his computer, while also carrying on a telephone conversation with someone, even as he gestured for Peter and Gwen to sit down. It was less than a minute before Jameson had finished his conversation and turned his conversation to the two youths, occasionally glancing back at his computer as he continued typing all the while.

"What's this about, Parker?" Jameson demanded, somehow managing to give both the computer screen, Peter and Gwen his full attention all at once. "Is she here for a job?" he asked, gesturing to Gwen. "I hope you realize I'm not running a charity here-the only reason I'm keeping that Sheridan kid around is because he's earned his pay!"

Gwen blinked and looked at Peter, who took a breath to calm himself.

"No, she's the person I said wanted to speak with you," Peter shook his head. "She-"

"If she's not here for a job, then you can both take a hike," Jameson interrupted bluntly. "I don't have time to-"

"Is that a Cavanagh hat?" Gwen quickly interrupted, pointing to the battered fedora hanging on a coatstand in the corner of the room.

"...Er, um…yes it is," Jameson blinked in surprise, caught off guard by Gwen's identification of his favorite old hat. "How did-"

"That looks like a…1960s brand, I think," Gwen nodded. "Most of your wardrobe is local, too-you're not interested in Armani or Gucci?" she asked, looking Jameson over.

"Why…yes," Jameson stuttered, again caught off guard. "I always buy American-I'll be damned if I'm going to be spending any of my money on some overpriced European garbage!" he thundered, passion in his voice.

"American money to American companies that give jobs to American workers, right?" Gwen smiled.

"Exactly!" Jameson smiled back at her. "That's why I don't smoke Havanas, either-the day I smoke anything made by a Communist is the day I lay down and die!"

"Has Communism ever worked, anywhere?" Gwen wondered, as Peter sat watching their conversation in silent amazement.

"No, it hasn't," Jameson nodded, now thoroughly charmed by Gwen. "But tell me, young lady-why exactly are you here?"

"Because I need your help," Gwen explained, using a slightly pleading tone. "It involves a mutant friend of mine, a mutant who's suffering because of who she is."

Jameson's eyes lit up immediately. Gwen knew she had Jameson's full attention now-mutant rights was arguably his biggest hot button issue.

"A mutant?" Jameson asked in surprise.

"Yes," Gwen nodded sadly, before proceeding to explain about the plight of Tarot and other mutant criminals who were being abused by their fellow inmates because of their mutant heritages.

Jameson sat on that, pondering for a moment.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked Gwen, who shook her head. Peter's jaw dropped in shock, as Jameson never asked for permission to smoke in anyone's presence.

Lighting a cigar, Jameson pondered the issue. He generally didn't care for the plights of guilty inmates, particularly not when they were convicted of serious crimes. On the other hand, he truly despised the mistreatment mutants had suffered in society, a treatment that wasn't much different from the racism, sexism and homophobia other disadvantaged groups had suffered in the past. From fighting against segregation in the 1960s through to advocating for equal treatment for women to supporting gay marriage, Jameson had repeatedly used the Daily Bugle to advocate for those causes.

"…And you say that you don't want Tarot to be quoted as the direct source?" Jameson asked.

"She's afraid of retribution," Gwen explained.

"Well…" Jameson noted, "we can't have that. Yes, I think this is something I can look into…" he pondered, getting a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, before he snapped back to reality.

"What are you waiting for, Parker? Chinese New Year? I'm not paying you to just sit in my office!" he said brusquely, dismissing Peter and Gwen as he reached for his cell phone.

Shaking his head, Peter simply got up and led Gwen out, amazed at how easily Gwen had been able to break the ice with the crusty Jameson.

"You called, Mr. Jameson?" the blue-skinned Kurt Wagner asked, teleporting into Jameson's office a few minutes later.

"Give me the latest on the Robert Kelly and Citizens for a Mask-Free America stories," Jameson ordered Wagner. Kurt Wagner had earned his way up to become the newspaper's political editor through hard work, and Jameson had come to increasingly rely on him when it came to stories involving Wagner's fellow mutants.

"We've got plenty of information on both of them," Wagner explained, "although there's no evidence that they're connected as of yet. I'll e-mail you everything we've found so far, if you like."

"Do it," Jameson nodded. "How many free staff do you have right now?"

"Most of my people are fairly tied up," Wagner shrugged. "I could use some help with-"

"Contact Mercado," Jameson ordered, referring to Joy Mercado, the Bugle's newly promoted star crime reporter. "Get her investigating this thing about the abuse of mutants in prison," he continued, before explaining the reasoning behind it.

"…You think they're related, don't you?" Wagner asked slowly.

"No, not yet," Jameson shook his head. "That's what I want to find out."

"Right," Wagner nodded, before he teleported away.

What Jameson didn't tell Wagner was what he planned to do with that information. All three of these stories could easily be related-if he got enough dirt on Vincent Gonzalez's group or the abuse the mutant prisoners were suffering, he could use it to kneecap Robert Kelly's reelection efforts. If Gonzalez was really in favor of registering all mutants and other superhumans, as opposed to just costumed heroes, Jameson could use anything he dug up on Kelly or mutant abuse to crush Citizens For A Mask-Free America.

In every case, not only could Jameson continue to make a strong case for mutant rights, he could also continue to raise the Daily Bugle's profile and bolster sales in the process. Although print media was widely considered to be a dying industry, Jameson prided himself on being able to survive and even thrive in a changing market.

Once again, Jameson could combine genuine altruism and personal gain.

It was a combination J. Jonah Jameson had developed to perfection long ago.

Steven Mark Levins smirked to himself as he considered the success of the latest part of his plan. Planting the device in Gwen's room had been child's play-he'd used Mysterio's holographic projection devices to disguise himself as an ordinary passerby, and then wait until all of Gwen's family members had left the Stacy home. From there, it was just a simple matter of walking in the front door as if he owned the place. The lock on the front door was easily picked, and the burglar alarm easily disabled, for one of Levins' scientific talents, and to anyone who happened to pass by it simply looked like an ordinary New Yorker unlocking the front door of his house. Going upstairs, leaving the package on Gwen's bed, and then leaving the house, relocking the door and resetting the alarm completed the affair. Levins had taken care that no one was in the vicinity before he'd entered the Stacy home, walking around the block several times until he was satisfied that the street was deserted. In taking his trips he'd changed his disguise multiple times so it wouldn't look like he was the same person constantly coming back.

Levins, now better known as the psychotic supervillain Jack O' Lantern, knew that the first part of his plan was finally complete. He knew that his efforts in tormenting Gwen, reminding her that he was still out there, had revived all of her old guilt, despair and anger. Gwen knew Jack O' Lantern was out there, and there was nothing she could do to capture or stop him.

Now that Gwen was in the right frame of mind, he could move on to the next part of the plan.

The next step was to make Gwen doubt herself, leaving her confused and uncertain as to what was going on. People would no doubt see her startled reactions, and wonder what was going on with her-and what would she be able to say, without revealing her secret identity as Spider-Woman?

Gwen would never be able to trace it back to him, of course. How would she possibly even know he was pulling her strings?

Oh, but she was going to find out, of course.

When he finally struck, she would know all too well.

It should all be mine, Harvey Broxtel brooded to himself as he sat in the darkness, looking impatiently at the clock. Instead, I'm stuck rotting in this hellhole, with the kind of human garbage that's not even good enough to drink out of my toilet…

Sitting in a dirty room in a fleabag hotel in Hell's Kitchen, Harvey Broxtel would have liked nothing more than to incinerate the entire neighborhood and every one of the people who lived there. Although it wasn't on the same level as the utterly hopeless Yancy Street, Hell's Kitchen continued to live up to its grim reputation in the new millennium, as crime was still rampant in the area. The presence of Manhattan's superheroes, most notably the horned crimefighter Daredevil, had done much to make Hell's Kitchen bearable, but many of the neighborhood's honest residents still struggled to get by.

Harvey Broxtel was offended enough by their existence, but the fact that he was forced to live among them enraged him all the more. As the only child of Gary and Catherine Broxtel, he'd been born to a life of wealth and luxury beyond anything any of the poor wretches living in Hell's Kitchen could ever have attained. That was Harvey's blessing, and his parents' suffering…

"Harvey Russell Broxtel!" Gary shouted angrily at his son. "Get in here this instant!"

"What the hell do you want?" the ten-year old Harvey sneered as he walked into his father's home office. The look on his face was a cross between smug satisfaction and vague annoyance at being called in to speak with his father.

"Your mother just told me what you did to Ms. Nancy," Gary scowled. "You broke two of her teeth!"

"Ìf she'd done her goddamn job properly, I wouldn't have had to teach her a lesson," Harvey shot back defiantly. "Where does she get off thinking that she can undercook my meal?"

"She's not your slave, Harvey," Gary said, quickly losing his temper. "How many times do I have to tell you? Just because we have a lot of money doesn't mean that we're better than anyone else!"

"That's bullshit!" Harvey shouted back, his own temper rising. "Look at them, Dad! They work for us! We own them! Why the hell shouldn't we be able to do anything we want to them?"

"Alright, that's it!" Gary snapped, an icy calm in his voice as he stood up. Unhitching and removing his leather belt, he swung it in one hand as he grabbed Gary with the other. "I'm going to teach you some respect!" he continued, as he bent Harvey over his knee and began whipping him.

"How can you do this to me?" Harvey screamed in a rage. "I'm your son!"

"If you want to call yourself my son, then you'd better start acting like it!" Gary shouted in exasperation. "And no son of mine is going to go around thinking that he's royalty just because his family's rich!"

Try as he might, of course, Gary Broxtel's efforts at disciplining his son hadn't done any good. Harvey had been violent and abusive, treating anyone and everyone below him as fit only to serve him. He'd long come to believe that he had the right to do anything he wanted to anyone he wanted, despite his parents' best efforts to change his behavior.

Perhaps the final straw had come when Harvey was fifteen.

"Public school?" Harvey screamed at his parents. "You're sending me to public school?"

"It's not so bad, Harvey," his mother Catherine said testily. "Maybe, if you actually got to know some of these people, you'd actually like them!"

"I can't believe this!" Harvey shouted. "How could you do this to me?"

"We're your parents," Gary frowned, "and we're sick of covering for you, Harvey. Do you know how many times we've had to do that?"

"I'm your son!" Harvey snapped. "It's your job!"

"Look Harvey," Catherine said calmly, "either you go to Midtown High, or you're going to juvenile hall. It's your choice."

Naturally, things hadn't improved at Midtown High, as Harvey quickly became one of the most vicious bullies in the school.

"Parker!" Harvey Broxtel roared down the hallway at Peter Parker. With his powerful build, athletic physique, and thick black hair, he easily towered over the skinny science student commonly known as 'Puny Parker' for his lack of muscles and athletic talent.

"Were you looking at Felicia in gym class today, Parker?" Harvey bellowed in his face.

"N-no...I…" Peter began, paralyzed by fear.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Harvey snarled, his voice low and thick with menace.

"I wasn't looking at her!" Peter protested.

"I'll teach you to call me a liar!" Harvey growled, pinning Peter against the lockers with one hand while balling the other into a fist.

And then there was what happened with Liz Allan…

"Come on, babe," Harvey grinned, as he tried to drag Liz away from Harry at the school dance. "Don't you want to dance with a real man?"

"Get lost, Harvey!" Harry spat at him, as he tried to push Harvey away, only to be shoved hard and sent stumbling back several feet.

"Let's do it, sweetie," Harvey smiled, as he tried to pull Liz away. "They're playing our song."

"Excuse me?" Liz said, trying to pull away from Harvey. "I don't want to dance with-"

"I didn't give you a choice, bitch!" Harvey shouted. As other students began taking notice, he raised his other hand to strike Liz. Fortunately, Harry came over and grabbed his arm, causing him to release Liz and turn to punching Harry in the face. As Harry fell back and landed on his back, Harvey raised his foot to stomp on him, until Gwen came up between them. With an expert twist of her feet, she tripped Harvey, sending him to crash heavily on his back as Liz helped Harry stand up.

"I'll fucking kill all three of you!" Harvey roared, as a number of other students started advancing on the scene, determined to prevent any fights from breaking out.

"That's it, man," Bruce McFarlane, nicknamed 'Kong' for his massive size and hairy features, ordered as he shoved Harvey back into the arms of some of his football teammates, who were acting as security for the dance. "You're gone."

"You think you can scare me, you fag?" Harvey spat, struggling in the arms of the football players. "All I have to do is tell my parents, and-"

"And what?" sneered Kong. "Midtown High's counting on me and Hobie to bring home the championship this year," he grinned. "It'd be a pity if he and I decided to quit the team because of whatever shit you try to pull. Who do you think the teachers are going to listen to more…the asshole new kid who thinks he can run things because of daddy's money, or the school's top athlete?"

"This isn't fucking over!" Harvey yelled as he was bodily dragged out of the school gym and thrown out into the mud outside.

Those memories made Harvey seethe with anger, and he had to make a concerted effort to keep his fiery temper under control. In his mind, his parents were responsible for everything he believed he'd suffered, the humiliations and the embarrassments.

Now, though, he was capable of getting the revenge he'd dreamed of for so long.

Swinging through the city in her Spider-Woman costume the next day, Gwen reflected on everything going on in her life. Desiree Vaughn-Pope had warmly praised Gwen for her work at the photoshoot, and she'd already given Gwen a sizable paycheque in appreciation for her hard work-Gwen planned to use some of the money she'd gotten from Vaughn-Pope to pay down some of her student loan debts and use the rest of it to help her mother and Aunt Nancy pay the bills. She'd spent an hour on the phone talking to a reporter from the Daily Bugle, relating everything Marie-Ange Colbert had told her about the mutant prisoners at Riker's Island being abused, which Jameson would hopefully use to raise awareness of the problem. She was caught up on her schoolwork, and things were going well at home.

Unfortunately, there was still the problem of Vincent Gonzalez's hate campaign against her, which had now morphed into a larger anti-superhero campaign. And then there was what happened with her boyfriend Randy Robertson, who Gwen hadn't spoken to since she'd had lunch with Randy and his parents last week. Randy's parents had made it quite clear that they didn't think much of her, and she wasn't sure what that meant for her relationship with their son. The next day hadn't been much better, as she'd failed miserably in her attempt to stop the supervillain Will O' the Wisp from murdering his ex-wife and her new husband.

And then, of course, there was Jack O' Lantern.

Always Jack O' Lantern.

Distracted by the unwelcome thoughts of her most hated enemy, Spider-Woman was caught off guard as her spider-senses began buzzing. One of the many people she'd marked with her pheromones was in a critical situation, one that Spider-Woman would be interested in, and she knew she needed to respond.

Swinging into the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Spider-Woman cursed as she saw the fiery explosions in the distance. Out of all her rogues gallery, Jack O' Lantern might have been the one who repulsed her the most, but Firebrand wasn't far behind. He was probably the worst of Spider-Woman's enemies when it came to pure destructive power, to say nothing of his murderous temper and psychotic sadism.

As usual, the old Stacy luck is running true to form, Spider-Woman thought grimly as she swung towards the fire.

Catherine was waiting for Gary as he returned from work, the same way she always was. They hugged briefly before sitting down at the kitchen table, eating the frozen dinners Catherine had thawed.

"All the payments have been made?" Gary asked calmly, as Catherine nodded.

"And still no word on Harvey?" Gary asked again. This time, Catherine shook her head.

Closing his eyes briefly, Gary thought again of their son. He'd nearly been arrested on multiple occasions for his violent activities, but the Broxtels had continually gotten him off the hook. Finally, they'd had enough after he'd been arrested for nearly beating to death a victim who'd tried to tell the authorities what he was doing, and left him to rot in jail. From there, Harvey had become doused in an experimental plasma during a prison break, gaining the terrifying ability to generate and control fire. Now calling himself Firebrand, Harvey had gone on more than one murderous rampage with his powers, leaving at least seventeen people dead in his wake.

Gary was about to ask Catherine something else when they heard a loud explosion from the lobby of their home. Running out to see what was going on, Gary and Catherine rocked back on their heels as they saw the figure in the thick coat, hat and scarf suddenly glow with bright orange fire, fire that burned off his outer clothing and revealed his true appearance.

The man underneath the coat was clad in a suit of golden metal plates that had melted into his skin, with the metal plates on his thighs and arms scorched a bright red. His face was hidden behind an impassive facemask of smaller metal plates that had half-melted together, giving his face a disturbing stitched, cracked look that would have been disturbing enough without the brightly glowing golden eyes and hateful mouth that were visible through large holes in the mask.

"Well, well, well…" Firebrand sneered, enjoying the looks of fear on his parents' faces. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you never show your faces in public anymore?"

Anger began to replace fear on Gary and Catherine's faces as they considered their son, the cause of all their misery.

"Because of you," Catherine replied calmly, gaining courage from her words. "We don't go out any more because of you!"

"Oh, really?" Firebrand asked in mock-hurt tones. "What, are you ashamed of me? Ashamed of your only son?"

"You're damn right, we are," Gary said. "We're ashamed we ever had you, Harvey-you're a disgrace to the Broxtel name."

Firebrand's flames burned more hotly, to the point where Gary and Catherine were now sweating profusely, but if they were at all intimidated they did not show it.

"Oh, really?" Firebrand replied, raising an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, do you do, hiding in this brownstone?"

"Well, for one thing, we pay back the families of the people whose lives you've ruined," Catherine replied. "It's the least we owe them."

"You spend money on those pathetic wretches, and nothing on your only son? That's my money you're spending!" Firebrand shouted angrily, as his flames grew even hotter.

"We never should have spent a damn cent on you, Harvey," Gary shot back. "We should have let you rot the first time you were charged. You're dead to us, you know that?"

"SO, THAT'S YOU FEEL?" Firebrand screamed, as he exploded into flames. "YOU CARE MORE ABOUT THOSE SNIVELING WEAKLINGS MORE THAN YOUR OWN SON?" he raved, throwing fireballs left and right as the brownstone caught fire. "ALL THIS IS MINE! IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE MINE! YOU DON'T GET TO GIVE IT AWAY!" he shrieked, advancing on his parents as they turned to desperately somehow escape.

Holding out his hands, Firebrand generated a massive fireball that he clearly intended to throw at his fleeing parents, but he inadvertently tossed it into the ceiling as he was pulled off his feet from behind. Losing his balance, Firebrand fell on his back as the spectacular Spider-Woman charged into the house, releasing the webline she'd used to snare Firebrand. Blasting a large hole in the weakened wall with her sting blasts, she gestured at Gary and Catherine to run as she moved between them and Firebrand.

"SPIDER-WOMAN?" Firebrand screamed, as he released a wave of flames at her and his fleeing parents. "Again? Why are you always interfering with my fun?"

"Because I can," Spider-Woman shot back, spraying a thick barrier of webbing to shield herself from Firebrand's blasts. "How many times do we have to do this, Harvey? I always win, you always lose...don't you get tired of it?" she mocked Firebrand, hoping to keep his anger focused on her and not his fleeing parents.

Firebrand lashed out with another wave of fire that snaked around her web barrier to strike at her, even as he shot another fireball at the ceiling to try and drop flaming debris on her. Spider-Woman skilfully leapt over both attacks, jumping forward over her web barrier in an attempt to strike at Firebrand, but the fire-spitting villain was faster. Lashing out with a long trail of fire that he wielded like a whip, Firebrand burned Spider-Woman and knocked her back into her own web barrier, catching her in the chest with another piercing fireball in the split second she needed to free herself from the sticky barrier.

Spider-Woman's entire body screamed with pain as she staggered, remembering all too clearly that Firebrand's flames became hotter the more his anger increased. She hit Firebrand with a point-blank sting blast, forcing him back, before she zapped him again. Catching him with a webline, she spun him around and threw him through a far wall. Firebrand went flying and crashed through into the dining room, and Spider-Woman leapt at him, not intending to give him an inch. Once again, Firebrand recovered more quickly than Spider-Woman expected, and raised a wall of fire that Spider-Woman passed through in midair, burning her all over.

Falling off balance and landing heavily on the floor, Spider-Woman rolled desperately to stay ahead of the blades of fire Firebrand was trying to strike her with. Finally, she snagged Firebrand's ankles with a webline and pulled him off balance, leaping to her feet as he fell on his back. Whipping him around again, she sent Firebrand crashing heavily into the burning table, causing it to break apart into a heap of flaming debris as Firebrand slumped down on top of it.

Dizzied by the heat and aching from her burns, Spider-Woman struggled to stay conscious. As Firebrand rose up again, he threw another scorching fireball at her that she rolled around, firing a sting blast with one hand and using the other to follow up with a webline a second later. Firebrand dodged both of the attacks, laughing hysterically as he prepared to release another wave of fire at Spider-Woman. That was just what Spider-Woman had expected, as her sting blast had weakened the ceiling above them and she now used her webbing to pull the debris down on Firebrand. As the fiery killer staggered under the attack, Spider-Woman blasted him once again with her sting blasts, caught him with a webline and then brutally swung him around into the far wall. Bouncing off the wall, Firebrand landed on his feet, spun around once and then collapsed.

Webbing Firebrand up and carrying him out of the brownstone, the exhausted Spider-Woman was relieved to see that the fire department had arrived and that Firebrand's parents were both unharmed. The police had also arrived by that point, and Spider-Woman unceremoniously dumped the unconscious and webbed Firebrand at the first officer's feet before staggering over to join the Broxtels.

"Are you alright?" Spider-Woman asked them slowly, savoring the feeling of the cool, fresh air as she took a deep breath.

"As good as we can be," Catherine replied slowly. "We owe you our lives, Spider-…" she trailed off in surprise.

"What's wrong?" Spider-Woman asked nervously, seeing that Gary Broxtel had a similar expression on his face.

"You're just a child," Catherine breathed, caught off guard by how young Spider-Woman was. "What are you doing fighting monsters like Harvey?"

"You know him?" Spider-Woman asked in surprise.

"Know him?" Gary sighed. "He's our worthless son. Or at least, he was our son. After everything he's done, he's dead to us."

Looking back at the Broxtels, Spider-Woman was astonished at how pale and haggard they were. There was no surprise on their faces at learning that their son had become a homicidal pyromaniac, merely shame and resignation.

"You're both alright?" Spider-Woman finally asked after a moment. "He didn't hurt either one of you?"

Gary and Catherine shook their heads.

"Good," Spider-Woman nodded, as she turned to leave.

"Wait!" Gary called out to Spider-Woman, as she turned back in surprise.

"Don't believe any of the crap people like Vincent Gonzalez say about you," Catherine told her. "You're better than that. Don't forget it."

Nodding once and smiling gratefully to the Broxtels, Spider-Woman spun a webline and swung off, determined not to forget their advice.

(Next Issue: Gwen tries to patch things up with Randy, even as she wonders how things will work out with Randy's parents. Meanwhile, J. Jonah Jameson and the Daily Bugle investigate the possible connections between Vincent Gonzalez's organization, the abuse suffered by mutant prisoners like Marie-Ange Colbert. At the same time, Gwen's mother Helen starts trying to counter Vincent Gonzalez's efforts against her daughter by promoting a positive image of the city's superheroes. Even as all this is going on, Spider-Woman ends up in a direct confrontation with Vincent Gonzalez himself, learning the horrible truth behind his activities! All this and more in Spider-Woman #51: Vigilante Man!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Some readers may note that, way back in issue #5, Flash Thompson was the one depicted as throwing Harvey out of the school dance, not Kong. This was a major continuity goof on my part. As much as I generally hate retcons, this is one of those times when they're necessary to fix an actual mistake. Kong, not Flash, is the one who led the way in throwing Harvey out.