Master Of The Game

You do realize that Empire State University isn't Catholic, right?" Jill Stacy asked her cousin.

"Sure I do," Gwen Stacy replied with an impish grin as she brushed her hair back and admired herself in the mirror.

"And we're not in Japan, right?" Jill pressed.

"Of course," Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Then what's with the outfit?" Jill asked.

"You like it?" Gwen asked with a giggle. Dressed in a buttoned red blazer, a white dress shirt, dark blue ascot bow tie, a lighter blue pleated skirt, long white knee-high socks and a pair of smart black lace-up oxford shoes, Gwen looked as if she was set to attend an exclusive private school, rather than the public Empire State University.

"So then what's with the uniform?" Jill asked.

"It's the first day of classes, so I thought I'd try and make a good impression," Gwen grinned. "I also wanted to see if I could pull off the schoolgirl look at make it seem classy and sexy, rather than just blatantly sexual."

"Well, you definitely succeeded," Jill nodding approvingly, looking Gwen up and down. "Let's just hope you don't give Randy a heart attack," she continued as they left Nancy Stacy's townhouse and headed for the bus stop.

"I'm not too worried about Randy," Gwen replied, referring to her boyfriend Randy Robertson. "He's seen me enough times to get used to me. I'm just worried about giving every other guy on campus a heart attack!"

"Hey, at least leave some for me!" Jill grinned.

"Well, that's the thing," Gwen grinned. "If they don't get a heart attack from you, then they don't have anything to worry about from me," Gwen winked.

The two girls giggled at that.

SPIDER-WOMAN #72

"MASTER OF THE GAME"

Gwen enjoyed the admiring looks she was getting on Empire State University's campus, but not nearly as much as she enjoyed the sight of Randy coming towards her. The approving look he gave her made Gwen happy, but not as much as the fact that he seemed to be in better spirits. They embraced eagerly, and Gwen gave him a warm kiss, one that he clearly enjoyed immensely.

"Hey there, kid," Randy grinned at her. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good," Gwen replied, smiling that perfect smile that made Randy's heart flutter. "How about you?"

"I'm a lot better than I was," Randy smiled, as he put his arm around Gwen and they began walking together. "Are you alright, though? You look like something's wrong," he continued, having noticed the look of guilt on Gwen's face before she'd managed to conceal it.

"I haven't had a whole lot of time to look into the new crime syndicate," Gwen sighed, her good mood fading as she recalled the Harlem bombings that had critically injured Randy's parents. As the spectacular Spider-Woman, Gwen had promised to look into the bombings and bring whoever was responsible to justice, but so far she hadn't had much luck. "I've just had so many other things to do-"

"Really, it's fine," Randy assured her. "You look like you've been burning the candle at both ends again, Gwen-you need to take care of yourself first."

Gwen just smiled at that, recalling how many times she'd heard that. In between fighting crime as a superheroine, preparing for the fall semester, getting ready to appear in the independent films that Jonathan Caesar was sponsoring and working at the '60s retro Gloom Room A-Go-Go bar, Gwen had been feeling the strain. As it stood, she'd already messed up her schedule for the semester and would have to spend most of the day on campus, as her last class would run until 5 PM. Fortunately, living at her Aunt Nancy's townhouse saved Gwen having to spend so much of her paycheck on rent, and having to scrimp and save to make ends meet.

"Yeah, I know," Gwen sighed. "How are your parents doing?"

"They're pulling through," Randy said quietly. "Their condition is stable, and the doctors say that if things keep going the way they do, they should be alright."

"I'm so glad to hear that," Gwen smiled.

They had to split off to go to different classes at that, but Randy and Gwen both knew that the other one was with them in spirit the whole day.

"One plus one plus three is five…little Spider-Woman's buried alive…she's so neat, she's so sweet…now the rats will have Spider-Woman to eat!" the woman said to herself as she jumped up and down in place.

What was normally a harmless childhood game was a bone-chilling sight. The tall woman jumping rope was clad in a dark green padded costume and facemask, which left her mouth and her long brown hair exposed. The tips of her gauntlets ended in wickedly sharp pincer-like claws, and a murderous-looking mechanical tail was attached to her back. Morbidly, it spun around her like a skipping rope, allowing the woman to play her favorite childhood game.

Jumping rope had always been one of Elaine Coll's favorite hobbies growing up, along with watching The Simpsons, dancing to Britney Spears songs and writing love letters to the likes of Ted Bundy and Cletus Kasady. Now, she was able to indulge many of her childhood fantasies all over again, jumping to the rhythm of a jump rope rhyme she'd heard on The Simpsons, substituting Spider-Woman for Bart Simpson.

"How many days until Spider-Woman croaks?...One…two…three…four…"

As the costumed assassin Scorpia, Elaine had fought and defeated Spider-Woman when she'd sought to stop Scorpia from murdering several people that her boss wanted dead. Scorpia had come away from that fight enchanted by the little 'morsel', as Scorpia called her, and was more than eager to have another fight with her. It was a fringe benefit of a career that Scorpia was born for, reveling in the opportunity to cause all kinds of bloodshed and mayhem, following in the footsteps of her hero and longtime crush, Mac Gargan, better known as the psychotic Scorpion.

The sound of a door opening at the far end of the room caught Scorpia's attention and caused her to stop her game. The new entrant was a man dressed in a white suit with a dark blue necktie, gloves and hat, his face covered with a mask of similar color. A blood-red rose was placed in his lapel, which spoke not only to his name but to the air of elegant sophistication he carried himself with.

"I see you're keeping yourself busy," the Rose grinned at Scorpia as he sat down at his desk. "How have things been going?"

"Keeping the faith," Scorpia shrugged as she skipped one last time and sat down in front of the Rose's desk. "I've been all over social media with that latest spree you sent me on!" she grinned, referring to the killing spree that the Rose had sent her on over a week ago. It had generated a massive amount of media attention, just as Scorpia's previous attacks on the Rose's rival crime bosses had gotten substantial attention from them.

"So, what's next?" she asked. "Do I get to tear Bloomberg's face off, or something?" she asked eagerly, referring to the Mayor of New York.

"Nothing so trivial," the Rose shook his head with a smile. "No, my dear, these things take time. Have you ever cultivated a bed of roses?" he asked, a poetic tone in his voice.

The look on Scorpia's face answered the question for her.

"A properly raised rose garden takes time," the Rose continued, fingering the flower in his lapel. "They must be patiently watered and exposed to sunlight over several weeks. They must be lovingly pruned and grafted, with careful attention to detail. The whole affair takes extensive work, but when all is complete the results are so heart-renderingly beautiful as to make the entire enterprise worthwhile," he grinned.

"Yeah, well that get-me-laid-now schlock might get you laid by somebody who actually gives a damn about it," Scorpia rolled her eyes, "but do you mind telling me what I can actually do besides just sitting around on my pretty little rump?" she asked testily.

"Oh, that's quite simple," the Rose smirked. "My garden is just about ready to bloom, and I just need one more grafting to make the entire ensemble complete."

"Oh really?" Scorpia rolled her eyes again, now thoroughly bored.

She brightened immediately when she heard exactly what kind of grafting the Rose wanted her to do.

Oswald P. Silkworth appeared to be singularly bland and unremarkable. With his short stature, thick eyeglasses, gray suits, bald pate and the perpetual scowl stamped on his face, Silkworth looked like a particularly uptight accountant, a particularly fussy IRS agent or a particularly boring economics professor. His boss once remarked that the iron rod up Silkworth's behind had another iron rod up its own behind, and Silkworth's mannerisms did nothing to dispel the impression.

He was very good at his job, though, which was why his boss paid him a very generous salary. Carl Wilkinson, alias Crimewave, was the trendy young head of one of one of New York's major crime cartels and Silkworth's boss. Silkworth often functioned as what Crimewave called his "arranger", seeing to such things as the details of money laundering, the organizing contraband shipments and ensuring that Crimewave's orders were carried out by his lieutenants. Not only was he good at achieving tangible results for his boss, Silkworth was also a master of the intangibles, making sure that lieutenants like Wallace still had access to the boss so no one could accuse him of trying to control access to Crimewave.

Now, seated across from Crimewave, Silkworth was secretly pleased with how well he had ensconced himself in the organization, since so few other minions would be called in for a one on one strategy session with the boss. He'd had no problem when Crimewave had acquired leverage that could ruin him if Crimewave ever decided to release it-if anything, that made Crimewave less inclined to think that he had ambitions of overthrowing him. Not that Silkworth was interested in leadership himself-he preferred to work behind the scenes, collecting a fat paycheck for putting Crimewave's schemes into practice, which to him provided far more reward for far less stress.

Silkworth noted just how deadly serious the look on Crimewave's face was. While Crimewave enjoyed a good party as much as anyone, he was all business when it came to a crisis, a trait that Silkworth considered the reason Crimewave had continued to thrive in a business that had destroyed so many other crimelords.

"Summarize the organization for me," Crimewave ordered Silkworth, who cleared his throat.

"Everyone who matters is loyal," Silkworth replied, "for the moment. However, with the continued attacks on our operations caused by whoever is leaving these mysterious roses behind has gotten people mumbling, wondering when the response will come. They're loyal, but they're getting jittery."

"That's what I figured," Crimewave muttered. "Well, if they're wondering what the big plan is, they're going to find out soon enough."

"Do you plan to start laying everything out?" Silkworth asked, curious as to what his boss had in mind.

"Not until I strike," Crimewave smiled. "It'll have all the more impact when their doubt is shattered."

"This new arrival is planning to go after our information networks next, as well as Bazin's," Silkworth noted, referring to the agents of the new crime lord that Crimewave had interrogated. Using a drug-moving operation as bait, Crimewave had captured the agents sent to disrupt the operation and gotten some very useful information about what they had planned.

Crimewave frowned at that.

"What's wrong?" Silkworth asked.

"There's something more to this than meets the eye," Crimewave muttered, leaning back in his chair and staring intently at the ceiling. "Why is this guy drawing attention to himself with the roses his men leave at every crime scene? Why would he be so determined to sign his crimes?"

"We draw attention to ourselves when we use superpowered operatives," Silkworth pointed out. That was often the point of hiring supervillains as assassins-to send a message to the victims and anyone else who might get in the criminals' way. Similarly, ordinary thugs, even trained hitmen, often weren't capable of getting past the elaborate defenses that many targets had set up for themselves. Costumed criminals with specialized equipment who could blast through the defenses were often more practical, ironically enough.

"That's different," Crimewave shook his head. "When we do it, it's because we have to. What's this guy trying to achieve by constantly leaving calling cards? Or is something else going on here?"

"What do you mean?" Silkworth asked curiously.

"Lock down our information networks," Crimewave ordered, "except for Mainframe Q. And go get Bert. Bring him here, now."

Bert was Crimewave's main technician, keeping Crimewave's computers and phones functioning and secure.

Silkworth didn't know much about computer technology, but he already had a good idea of what Crimewave was planning.

Silkworth continued going over Crimewave's plans in his mind as he got out of his car and emerged into the parking garage of his apartment building. Unlike his boss, Silkworth had no use for conspicuous consumption, preferring to live a quieter and more low-key lifestyle to not attract attention.

Now, walking towards his apartment in the parking garage, Silkworth was thinking only of going to bed and getting some rest…

…at least until he saw what was stirring in the shadows, out of sight of the security guards.

"…Doris?" he mumbled in confusion, seeing the image of his long-deceased wife.

"It's been so long, Oswald," Doris whispered, easing herself into his arms. "So long…"

"How is this…how are you here?" he asked in amazement.

"I've always been with you," Doris reminded him. "In your heart, your soul and your mind."

"I…I've missed you so much…" Silkworth mumbled. As if in a dream, he led her to the elevator, hardly able to believe they were together again.

They spent the entire night reconnecting, not in a sexual manner but in the intellectual discussions Silkworth and Doris had so often shared before the leukemia took her.

Waking up the next morning, Silkworth realized it had to be a dream.

Even if it was, it was the most pleasant dream he'd ever had.

Working the evening shift at the Gloom Room A Go-Go, Gwen reflected on how much things had changed since a year ago. Last fall had seemed like the perfect opportunity for a fresh start, but almost everything had gone sour in just one day. That had been the first in a long series of hassles that ended in Gwen losing her job, getting evicted from her apartment and suffering a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, things had gotten better after that, and now, although she still had plenty of things to worry about, Gwen also benefited from a stable home, a steady paycheck and Randy's emotional support.

I'm so glad he's doing better, Gwen thought to herself as she headed for the bar to pick up the drinks for her current order. I really need to get back to trying to track down the people responsible for the Harlem bombings, though…I haven't had much time for webswinging lately.

It wasn't long before she was back in the VIP section, handing out drinks to several well-heeled people. They were talking about the Congressional elections that were supposedly happening in November, although Gwen didn't really understand the issue. What she did understand, however, was what they thought of her service and the substantial tips they gave her. That was one benefit of working at the Gloom Room-it attracted a very upscale crowd of older people who fondly recalled growing up in the swinging '60s, and had a lot of disposable income to spend freely. Politicians, intellectuals, businesspeople and artists had all made the Gloom Room their regular hangout, until it had become a veritable gathering place for much of New York's upper crust.

That made Gwen pause as she went into the staff area of the bar to take her supper break. Many of the Gloom Room's patrons had a lot of clout, and she wondered if that could get her some better acting or modeling roles at some point in the future. That said, she needed to think about the best way to approach them-she obviously couldn't just ask them for their help, and she didn't always serve them. More than that, she wasn't always guaranteed to see them on a regular basis, which made it harder to establish a relationship with any of them.

Gwen put it out of her mind, as she headed for the office of her boss Renata. Usually, Renata was usually out on the floor supervising the evening shift, chatting with the patrons, and doing all her regular work. Tonight, though, she'd shut herself up in her office. Gwen hated to disturb her, but she needed to talk to Renata about adjusting her work hours, given her messed-up schedule.

Renata's door was slightly open as Gwen came up to it, and through the crack Gwen could hear Renata speaking heatedly. There were no answers, so apparently Renata was speaking to someone over the telephone.

"Don't worry, it'll all be ready by mid-September," Renata was saying as Gwen came up to the door. "Yes, we've made all the arrangements," Renata continued, "and yes, you'll have plenty of room to operate. I won't have any problems introducing you, either-but you'd just better be sure that these things work the way you say they do…they're yours forever? Alright, but-"

Renata jumped out of her chair at Gwen's knock, cursing under her breath.

"Just a minute!" Gwen heard her say, before she hastily hung up the phone. The sound of Renata's footsteps coming up hastily to open the door.

"What-oh!" she said in surprise. "Come on in, Gwen," she continued, quickly regaining her composure. To Gwen's surprise, she seemed rather flustered, clearly not expecting a visitor.

"Is something wrong, Renata?" Gwen asked in concern. "Did I maybe come at a bad time? Maybe I should-"

"No, no, it's fine," Renata assured her. "I was just startled."

"Should I not have knocked?" Gwen asked, wondering if she'd gotten Renata mad at her. Renata had made clear her intent to have an "open door" policy as a manager, saying that any of her staff could come to her at any time if they needed to discuss something important.

"So many things I've got to deal with," Renata sighed. "So, what's the problem?"

Renata was back to her usual open-minded and engaging self when Gwen explained what she needed, and immediately agreed to Gwen's request without hesitation. More than that, though, Gwen noted how relieved Renata seemed to be once she'd heard what Gwen had actually come in to ask her about.

It was probably nothing, but a nagging suspicion lingered at the back of Gwen's mind as she went to the break room to eat the ramen she'd brought for supper.

What did she mean, "they'll be yours forever?" Gwen wondered. Did she mean that they'll be loyal customers for life?

Or did she have something else in mind?

Gwen shook her head at the ridiculousness of the idea. What exactly could Renata hope to do to so many well-heeled and well-connected people, all of whom had other people who would investigate anything done to them?

Renata probably just wants to introduce one of the new investors to the club or something, Gwen nodded. He's going to make a big flashy entrance like that Elvis Presley guy apparently always used to do.

And if something does go sideways, Gwen nodded to herself, there's a reason I always bring my tote bag with me to work.

"…So his kid was one of the first ones to start using this Twitter stuff, huh?" Angelo Fortunato nodded, holding his phone with one hand as he stroked his fingers across Felicia Hardy's back with the other. "And he actually mentioned it to his friends? Okay, yeah…and the kid was 'tweeting', or whatever the hell you call it, about the Gaga concert…she took a portrait of where the concert was?...You seriously mean to tell me that she broadcast the whole thing out in advance?...And he never told her about the dangers of this shit?...Oh, he complained about how she never listened to him…Yeah, I can sympathize…Yeah, I'll have my guys tracking her…Uh-huh…bye…" he continued, before hanging up.

"Tough day at the office?" Felicia grinned, as she reached onto the bedside table and poured another glass of wine and passed it to him. Angelo downed it all in a single gulp, before putting the glass on the bedside table on his side of the bed.

"Not just today," Angelo shook his head. "I never thought it'd take this much planning, getting everything to where they were. First we cause grief for Crimewave and Philippe Bazin," he continued, referring to the two remaining major crime lords in New York City, whose territory the Rose was trying to get a part of, "and then we've got to cause random violence like the Harlem bombings and that crazy Scorpia woman to confuse people about what we're doing. And we've had to sift through all the conversations that our bugs picked up from all the big players who took our bait…"

"God, you make it all sound so boring," Felicia scowled. "I mean, I thought being a dangerous criminal was supposed to be fun. When was the last time you had a car chase, or blew somebody's head off, or something?"

"It wasn't all fun and games for guys like Lucky Luciano or John Gotti, you know," Angelo frowned reproachfully as he got up off the bed and pulled his pants on. "They had to work hard not just to stay ahead of the cops, but to keep from getting their heads blown off. I mean, do you get a character exactly right the first time when you're performing? Hell no-you have to rehearse, prepare, practice, all that shit. It's the same thing with us."

"God, you sound like my father," Felicia rubbed her eyes.

"Let me guess-he worked himself half to death, didn't he?" Angelo replied, with more of an edge in his voice than he wanted. "I might have guessed."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Felicia demanded.

"Never mind," Angelo shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

Although his face was half-covered by his hand, Felicia didn't miss the expression on Angelo's face when she reached into the nightstand drawer and took out the box of pills containing the snap, the infamous street drug that had taken the rave world by storm several years ago and remained consistently popular ever since.

"How many of those things have you bought this month?" Angelo demanded.

"Like it's any of your fucking business," Felicia shot back.

"It is my business because you're running up a tab off our stock," Angelo glared, marching over and grabbing Felicia by the wrist. With his free hand, he grabbed the box of snap pills and shoved it into his pocket. "I have to pay for any product we take out of the syndicate's stores. That's God knows how much of my money you're spending."

"Fine, fuck!" Felicia shouted, pulling back across the bed and tearing her arm free of Angelo's grip. "You don't have to give me the third degree!"

"I wouldn't if you didn't run up so many bills," Angelo replied testily. "Maybe you ought to remember that I'm the sugar daddy in this relationship. You think I can't find a hundred more skanks like you who'll give it up for less hassle?" he sneered.

Felicia just laughed at that.

"Maybe you ought to remember just how fast you are," Felicia smirked. "Smoking your pole practically is a full-time job, considering how much you suck at it. The way I see it, I deserve a raise-you sure as hell haven't been giving me one!"

His eyes flaring dangerously, Angelo leaned forward and backhanded Felicia across the face, knocking her flat on her back.

"And maybe you ought to remember who the man is here," he said, in an eerily calm voice.

Felicia took care to seem meek and terrified, but she was seething inwardly.

As Angelo turned and left the room, she swallowed the snap pill she had managed to palm, smiling both at the ecstatic feeling the snap gave her and the thoughts dancing in her head of what she could do to Angelo.

It had been a wearying first week of classes for Gwen, in between working at the Gloom Room A Go-Go and also acting as Spider-Woman whenever she could find the free time. Normally, she wouldn't have taken on any more projects, but she'd agreed to act in a couple of the indie films that Jonathan Caesar, one of the main investors in the Gloom Room, was sponsoring. Gwen was especially eager for it, particularly since she hadn't gotten any acting or modeling work for the past few weeks and she was anxious to keep building up her resume in the competitive world of acting and modeling.

The set, in a large studio apartment, was a strange sight. Film equipment was interspersed with a wide variety of furniture, most of which seemed to have been purchased at random, while the walls were of bare brick, devoid of any kind of decoration except for a few photos of skylines and prairie roadways. Jonathan Caesar was standing at the far end of the room, talking to a short bald man with a walrus moustache holding a clipboard. A few younger people milled around the center of the room, talking to one another, and Gwen came over to join them.

"Hi there!" Gwen called out, before introducing herself. "Are you guys part of the cast too?"

"A couple of us are," one girl with long blonde hair and glasses replied. "I'm April."

"So what are we doing here today?" Gwen asked. "Are we doing any of the initial rehearsals?"

"No, we're just here for a cold reading," one of the male actors said.

"Didn't Mr. Caesar tell you?" April asked in surprise.

"No," Gwen said in surprise. "He just told me to come here today as part of the job."

"Typical…" April rolled her eyes. "I suppose he didn't tell you that I'm the director here, did he?"

"No..." Gwen trailed off awkwardly, surprised that April was the director here. At most, she only seemed six or seven years older than Gwen herself.

"Let me guess-you don't think I'm old enough to be the director? Or maybe you're just surprised that a woman is the one running this film? Or maybe you didn't expect to see this many queer people?" April frowned.

"…Some of the cast members are gay?" Gwen said in surprise.

April just turned away, muttering something under her breath about sexual privilege, before another one of the actors came up to her.

"Don't mind April," the young man smiled. "She's just got some very…shall we say…strong opinions," he smiled.

"I had no idea what this movie is even about," Gwen shrugged. "I was just invited by Mr. Caesar to participate."

The young man just laughed.

"No wonder April's in such an annoyed mood," the young man grinned. "She wasn't very happy about having to get investors like Mr. Caesar for this film anyway," the young man continued.

"I'm sorry, what was your name again?" Gwen asked in surprise.

"Kevin," he smiled. "And I must say, I think that Mr. Caesar has excellent taste…by his standards, at least," he continued, looking Gwen over.

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked in confusion.

"Suffice to say I don't drive on the same side of the street as Mr. Caesar does," Kevin grinned. "I find Brad Pitt much more of an interest than Angelina Jolie," he continued.

"You mean, you…oh!" Gwen finally realized in some embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"It's alright," Kevin assured her. "I'm not one for the stereotypes anyway-the lisps just grate on my nerves after a while. I can be the reassuring best friend who'll console you and offer heartfelt romantic advice over a bucket of Ben and Jerry's, though," he offered.

Kevin and Gwen laughed at that.

"So what's the film we're going to be doing, anyway?" Gwen asked.

"Caesar didn't even give you the script?" Kevin asked incredulously. Reaching into the bag on his shoulder, he retrieved a spare copy and handed it to Gwen, who began reading it. "April said something about trying to replicate the authenticity of a private conversation, with all its spontaneous subject shifts, or something like that. The whole thing's going to be filmed right here in the apartment."

"The whole movie's going to be shot in here?" Gwen asked in surprise. "The whole thing is just dialogue," she continued in surprise as she flipped through the script. April said she got the idea from movies like Twelve Angry Men."

"I swear I've heard that name before," Gwen frowned, as she searched her memory.

"It's apparently an old movie from the '50s," Kevin shrugged. "April loves those old movies-she wants to see how she can update the older filmmaking techniques they used back then for today, or something like that."

"She's a hipster, isn't she?" Gwen asked, recalling April's thick glasses and the faded shirt and jeans she was wearing. "How'd she get involved with a business guy like Caesar?"

"Money talks," Kevin only smiled. "April and a lot of her friends were some of the Gloom Room's first customers. Not much of a surprise, is it?"

"Not really, I guess," Gwen shrugged, not entirely sure what to make of it all.

"Let me guess," Kevin grinned. "Most of your work has been pretty mainstream stuff, right? Local theatre, TV commercials, modeling?"

"Yeah," Gwen asked in surprise. "How did you-"

"You look like you don't really understand much about the indie scene," Kevin explained. "April would probably call you too mainstream and sheltered."

"Sheltered?" Gwen asked incredulously, before realizing that none of the people here knew anything about the miserable home life she'd had growing up, her trouble making ends meet when she was living with Kitty, or the countless times she'd risked her life as Spider-Woman.

"Don't take it personally," Kevin reassured her. "You seem pretty nice-most of us here are the same once you get to know us. Besides, I've seen you in some of those old Kingsley Cosmetics commercials. You have some real talent there, you really do."

"Thanks a lot," Gwen grinned, smiling warmly.

"It's all good," Kevin smiled back.

"The whole thing is just one big conversation?" Randy asked in surprise when Gwen had told him about the film Jonathan Caesar was sponsoring.

"I was surprised too," Gwen shrugged, "but the script was actually pretty good. The schedule actually looks a lot better than I thought it would be."

"Sounds like you've got a lot going on," Randy grinned.

Gwen just smiled sadly.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight," she said, looking considerably more reassured. "I've really been needing the break."

"We haven't had that much time together lately, have we?" Randy realized. "Either we're busy with work, or we're just not up for it."

"We should really change that," Gwen nodded. "Speaking of which, how did you get these Lady Gaga tickets?"

"Working at HABQ-FM has its perks," Randy grinned. "This is probably going to be one of her last shows in a park like this, though-she's pretty much moved to LA full time. Tom Ferguson actually told me this is a charity gig for at-risk queer youth. There's a lot of violence directed at them, just like there is at mutants," he frowned.

Thinking about Kevin and his generous, affable personality, Gwen had a hard time imagining why anyone would want to hurt him…

...but then, she'd had a hard time understanding why anyone would want to hurt her mutant friend Kitty Pryde, and yet it had happened anyway.

It wasn't long before Lady Gaga was on stage and the concert began. Gwen was leaned up against Randy as Lady Gaga was halfway through her opening number when a massive explosion seemed to erupt almost out of nowhere some thirty feet to their right, causing several people to scream in pain and others run for cover.

Leaping up in alarm, Gwen's heart sank as she saw a tall, shadowy form emerge from the explosion. Laughing hysterically, Scorpia lashed out with her clawed hands at two nearby concertgoers, tearing long lines of blood on their arms as her tail slashed all around her. An entire line of people collapsed, torn and bloodied, as Scorpia looked around eagerly for more prey.

Infuriated, Gwen stood up, exchanging nods with Randy as she looked around for a convenient place to suit up, but then she froze temporarily.

Scorpia had easily crushed her the last time they'd fought, and the way Scorpia had looked at Gwen still sent chills down her spine.

She's just trying to throw you off, Gwen reminded herself as she resumed her run. Compared to what Jack O' Lantern tried to do, this is nothing!

Scorpia continued to laugh as she tore a path through the crowd, closing in on the police commissioner's daughter she had been assigned to target. It had been so ridiculously easy to get into the park with the image device the Rose had purchased from Mysterio, just as it had been to track down the commissioner's daughter from the pictures she was posting on Twitter. A few brave souls had tried to stop her, earning slashed throats and torn faces for their trouble.

Scorpia was having the time of her life, as she raised her tail to complete her assignment.

Her tail froze in place, unable to come down. Already suspecting the truth, Scorpia turned around to see what was happening, and was not the least bit surprised to see her tail being restrained by a pair of impossibly strong silvery-grey strands. The spectacular Spider-Woman was holding on to them determinedly, glaring at Scorpia angrily, even as Scorpia only smiled back.

"Oh, you sexy thing," Scorpia leered. "We just seem to keep running into each other lately, don't we? Then again, I knew you'd come back-they always come back!" she shouted, cracking her tail like a bullwhip and forcing Spider-Woman to release her grip on the barbed instrument. Releasing a deadly energy blast from her tail, Scorpia fired at Spider-Woman, who leapt up to dodge the blow, just as Scorpia expected. Her tail scythed upwards, slashing Spider-Woman's leg before wrapping around it, and slamming her down towards the ground.

Spider-Woman responded by firing a pair of sting blasts, one at Scorpia and the other at her tail. The tail itself was too armored for the blast to really have much effect, but Scorpia hadn't expected Spider-Woman to recover so quickly and took the blast square in the chest. Her tail recoiled, allowing Spider-Woman to pull her leg free and spring to her feet, charging at Scorpia.

"Nothing to say, sweetie?" Scorpia continued smiling as she came forward to meet Spider-Woman. "I'm so hurt-I thought you enjoyed our time together!"

Spider-Woman fought to keep her sense of revulsion under control, constantly reminding herself that Scorpia was just trying to disrupt her concentration. The look in Scorpia's eyes couldn't help but suggest something else entirely, to say nothing of the way Scorpia was licking her lips and wiggling her fingers.

That gave Spider-Woman an idea as she stopped short and fired her webbing directly at Scorpia. Her grin growing wider, Scorpia lashed out with her clawed fingers, shredding the webbing easily, but leaving herself unable to defend against the sting blasts Spider-Woman struck her with. Yelping in pain as the blasts struck her in the stomach and then the face, Scorpia staggered back as Spider-Woman struck her in the face with a brutal jump kick. Scorpia slashed back with her claws, but Spider-Woman flipped back out of range, striking Scorpia with yet another sting blast before coming in and knocking Scorpia down with a vicious spinning kick.

No longer amused, Scorpia brought her tail up between them and fired a powerful energy blast, catching Spider-Woman head on. As Spider-Woman screamed in pain, her entire body aching from the blast, Scorpia lashed out again with her tail, slashing Spider-Woman across the stomach. As Scorpia brought her tail back the other way for another blow, Spider-Woman caught it with her webbing and swung it into the air. Spinning around, Spider-Woman released her webbing, sending Scorpia flying to crash heavily on the ground.

"Why aren't you laughing anymore?" Spider-Woman asked Scorpia as she staggered to her feet, glaring pure hatred at the arachnid heroine. "Can't take rejection well?"

In response, Scorpia merely lunged forward, brandishing her claws. Raking Spider-Woman's arms and slashing her across the back with her tail, Scorpia's seeming triumph was cut short as Spider-Woman struck her in the face with a glob of webbing and a double sting blast at point blank range while she was blinded.

They were distracted from their fight by the sounds of police sirens and the shouts of the police officers coming towards them. Spider-Woman looked back in surprise, not even having noticed them coming up, giving Scorpia the opportunity to tear the webbing off her mask and strike Spider-Woman in the back of the head. Hissing in rage as she looked around, she knew that the commissioner's daughter had long since escaped and there was no way to track her now, not with the police interfering.

"Just try to stay out of my way, just try," Scorpia growled at Spider-Woman. "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!" she screamed, laughing hysterically as she sprang away, using her tail as a spring to increase her leap.

Spider-Woman shook her head as she got to her feet. She would have gone after Scorpia, but that blow from behind had been more painful than she cared to admit. She felt dizzy, wondering briefly if she'd suffered a concussion like when she'd fought Moonstone during the latter's attempts to steal the Enervator machine.

Even if she was concussed, Spider-Woman found her thinking to be remarkably clear.

It figures that she probably idolized the Wicked Witch of the West, Spider-Woman thought to herself. She was right about one thing, though-we're going to meet again.

And when we do, I'm going to be ready, she thought determinedly.

(Next Issue: Gwen has achieved a certain stability in her life, but all that is about to change when the Rose, enraged at Spider-Woman's interference in his plans, makes it a personal priority to kill her for her interference. Even that may not be the biggest problem Spider-Woman has to face, as a ghost from the past returns to encounter Felicia Hardy, creating a literal nightmare that Spider-Woman must confront! All this and more in  Spider-Woman #73: Nightmares Can Come True!)