Street Rules

Gwen Stacy loved the feeling that came over her shortly before filming began or she went out on stage, the sense of excited anticipation of stepping into a new role. It was one of the main reasons she had chosen to be a model and an actress-that love of performing for an audience, and hopefully of getting their appreciation and support in return. Now, that same feeling came over Gwen as she came into the house that had been rented for the newest production she was starring in.

When she'd gotten a job at the Gloom Room A Go-Go nightclub several months ago, Gwen had gotten to know one of the investors, a man named Jonathan Caesar. Aside from being in the nightclub business, Caesar also sponsored independent films, and he'd gotten Gwen a part in his latest venture.

The first film Caesar had gotten her a job in had fallen apart due to production problems and the director's murder. She had also been relentlessly nasty to Gwen, but according to Caesar the director on this new picture was a lot nicer. To her surprise, Gwen hadn't been able to find much about him even on the Internet Movie Database. Aside from the fact that his name was Zane Richardson, and he'd done technical work on a few other productions, there didn't seem to be much else about him.

Making her way into the main parlor, Gwen greeted several of the people milling around. She recognized several of them as film crew, and others as fellow aspiring actors. Several of them recognized Gwen in turn, but she was surprised and dismayed by the number of dirty looks she was getting.

She wondered about it briefly, before her attention was directed to the far end of the room by a man's raised voice. The man who'd called out to the rest of the people waved a greeting, and it wasn't long before the cast and crew fell silent, realizing that this was likely Zane Richardson, the director and screenwriter for their picture.

Gwen smiled briefly as she realized how cute he was. His wavy brown hair and strong, impressive face were only improved by his unkempt hair and stubble, making him look rough without being slovenly. Gwen was immediately impressed-that wasn't an easy look to pull off, particularly when it could just make you look like a slob, the way it did too many celebrities.

"Hi there!" the man greeted everyone. "I'm Zane Richardson. It's nice to meet you all-I'm really looking forward to working with you!"

Gwen nodded approvingly, as did most of the other cast and crew, but one person spoke up before Zane could say anything else.

"You mind telling me why you think you can write about the issues mutants have in coming out?" someone asked in annoyance. "Don't you think mutants have enough to worry about without baseline humans trying to speak for them?"

Looking around in surprise, Gwen was surprised to see one young man with a particularly disgruntled look on his face.

"What's your problem?" one person asked.

"I have a problem with cultural appropriation," the young man responded with a disgruntled scowl.

Gwen only frowned. The script Richardson had written, centred around a young family struggling to cope with their son coming out as a mutant, was remarkably deep and heartfelt, particularly for someone who didn't have any writing credits to his name yet.

"If that's the case, then what the hell are you even doing here?" another person asked.

"What, I can't ask a question?" the young man asked.

"Maybe you could get the hell out of-" the second person began to reply, before Zane interrupted him.

"No, no, it's okay," Zane assured him. "Let me explain why…"

Tossing the box he was carrying into the air, Zane's eyes flashed, releasing an energy bolt that caught the box and burned it into ash. Several people shouted in surprise and fell back, muttering to themselves in surprise.

"It's because I am a mutant," he smirked. "You could call my 'mutant nickname' 'Erg', after the unit of physical energy. I'm writing from experience here, folks, this is my coming out story."

Gwen only smiled, all the more impressed.

SPIDER-WOMAN #84

"STREET RULES"

Despite the production being his first film, Zane Richardson proved to run an extremely tight ship. One minute he was discussing the renderings of particular scenes, the next he was discussing the placing of the background props with his crew, and the next he was talking with his actors. By lunch time, most of the prep work was done, and Zane announced a lunch break.

Gwen sat down with several of the other cast members, but she was dismayed to see several more of the dirty looks she had gotten when she'd first arrived.

"Hi there," Gwen smiled, trying to be polite as she picked up her sandwich. "It's amazing how fast Zane is moving things along, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," another girl replied in a chill tone. "Let's just hope it stays that way."

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

"Yeah, like you don't know," a guy scowled at Gwen, who recognized him from working on April Reese's last picture.

Gwen only flushed a bit at that. Her performance in the film they were referring to hadn't been her best work, mostly due to all the other issues she had been juggling in her life. April had accused her of only getting a role in the film due to sleeping with Jonathan Caesar, which had infuriated Gwen, leading her to finally tell April off when she couldn't take it anymore.

"It's funny how Zane decided to make his character's sister such a pretty face," the girl chimed in a catty tone. "And here I thought he was trying to go for realism…"

Gwen flushed even more, although she managed to keep her temper.

Don't snap back at them, she thought to herself. The way you went off on April probably didn't do your reputation any favors, not after you weren't giving them your best. Remember what happened when you blew up at Carol Jannetty? Gwen reminded herself pointedly, recalling how she'd blown her audition for a hot new TV series because of that incident.

Gwen laughed it off, but inwardly her good mood was gone, replaced with a stewing frustration.

Jackson Arvad looked up at the armored Guardsman passing by the door to his cell, before rolling his eyes and staring back at the ceiling. Unlike most of the other criminals imprisoned in the Raft, the wing of Riker's Island Prison designed to hold super-powered costumed villains, Jackson Arvad, alias Will O' the Wisp, wasn't particularly sociable and didn't really care for conversing with his peers. It wasn't as big a loss as it seemed, as the supervillains were generally carefully monitored by the prison authorities and their interactions with one another were heavily restricted. They usually only conversed during regular exercise periods, counselling and therapy sessions and at mealtimes.

Will O' the Wisp didn't usually even talk to his peers then, spending most of his time brooding or reading scientific books and journals. On the few occasions he did bother to converse with anyone, most of the people he spoke to came away with a distinct dislike of the Wisp. His only regular conversation partner was Steven Mark Levins, alias Jack O' Lantern, but that had ended after Jack O' Lantern had seemingly gone stark raving mad when he was defeated by the spectacular Spider-Woman.

She, of course, was the whole reason the Wisp rarely spoke to anyone. He had never forgiven Spider-Woman for interfering with his robberies, or his attempts to get revenge on the people who had screwed him over in life. That interference had ended with the Wisp defeated and imprisoned more than once. As a result, he had spent a lot of time thinking about how to get an appropriate revenge on the little web-slinging ginch.

His original plan had been to recruit several of Spider-Woman's enemies and go after her as a team, the way Doctor Octopus had done with the Sinister Six against Spider-Man. Unfortunately, as Jack O' Lantern had pointed out to him, attacking Spider-Woman as a team likely wouldn't work any better than attacking her one at a time the way the Six had attacked Spider-Man. They would likely get in each other's way, and probably didn't have the patience to train until they coordinated their movements. Jack advised the Wisp that he would need to think about how to use each team member's talents more effectively, and the Wisp had taken that advice to heart.

Fortunately, he had a lot of time to think.

His train of thought today was interrupted by the knock on his cell door. As he looked up again, the Wisp was surprised to see the door swing open and a pair of Guardsmen step into the room.

"What the-" he started to ask, before one of the Guardsmen interrupted him.

"You've got an appointment with one of our new shrinks, Wisp," the man said gruffly. "Come on, let's go."

The Wisp was about to protest, but he realized that with the shackles around his wrists, which prevented him from being able to use his superhuman powers, he didn't have much choice in the matter.

Grudgingly, he stood up and moved to follow them.

To his surprise, the Wisp found that he had an appointment with Dr. Charles Jefferson, one of the nation's leading superhuman psychiatrists. It made sense to the Wisp at first, given how poorly he was responding to therapy and counselling with the staff psychiatrists at Riker's. As he thought about it more, however, he became suspicious, remembering how Dr. Jefferson typically only dealt with patients that were either insane or suspected of being insane.

Despite it all, the Wisp wordlessly sat down across from Dr. Jefferson, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the doctor.

As the Guardsmen were taking up their positions behind him, a standard procedure in psychiatric evaluations, Dr. Jefferson spoke up unexpectedly.

"Please leave us," Dr. Jefferson said calmly. "I'd like to speak to my patient in private."

The Guardsmen looked at each other in surprise.

"Are you sure, Doctor? It's not standard-" one of them said.

"I insist," the doctor said, more firmly this time.

Looking at each other once again, the Guardsmen left the room, assuring Dr. Jefferson that they'd be right outside.

"That might not have been your smartest move, Doctor," the Wisp frowned once they were alone. "I'm already serving two life sentences, so-"

"It would be a bad idea, if I were Charles Jefferson," the man smirked, before his features seemed to ripple and wave. The Wisp stared in shock as Dr. Jefferson's portly male frame shifted into that of a slim young woman, his dark skin turning a deep midnight blue and his eyes turning a blank gold in color.

For one of the few times in his life, Will O' the Wisp was caught completely off guard. The sight of Mystique, the mutant terrorist who led the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, was just about the last thing he'd have expected.

"…What the…how…" the Wisp stammered.

"It's my mutant power, remember?" Mystique said caustically, a thin smile crossing her lips at the Wisp's discomfiture. "Or aren't you familiar with it?"

"Yeah…but…the cameras…the recordings…how the hell did you even get in here?" the Wisp continued to ask, stupidly babbling as he tried to overcome his surprise.

"It's not too difficult when you ensure that the real Dr. Jefferson is…'indisposed'," Mystique chuckled, an evil leer crossing her face, "and you take his identification as your own. As for the security cameras and recorders, I'm as much a client of the Fixer as you are. The little devices I bought from him will make sure the authorities see and hear what I want them to."

"…Uh-huh," the Wisp said slowly, shock turning to suspicion. "So what the hell do you want with me? I'm not into the whole mutant rights thing," he reminded her.

"Normally, I wouldn't want anything with you," Mystique replied, her leer replaced with a glower, "but we have a common interest. I don't need to remind you about the young lady who's currently responsible for your incarceration?"

"Spider-Woman?" the Wisp blinked. "What the hell does she have to do with this?"

"She recently crossed me," Mystique explained, "and her interference in my plans has cost me a great deal. I wouldn't normally indulge in revenge against someone who isn't complicit in selling out the mutant people, but this time I'm making an exception. That's where you come in."

An evil smile started to cross the Wisp's face, but then he stopped.

"And how do you plan for me to do that?" he asked. "It's not like I can access my powers at the moment," he continued, holding up his power-restraining shackles. Designed by Reed Richards, the brilliant scientist who served with the Fantastic Four, the shackles prevented superhuman villains from being able to properly access their abilities and use them to escape.

"Actually, that's why I chose you," Mystique smirked. "You see, the Fixer recently got a chance to analyze a pair of these shackles, and he explained to me how they worked. Have you ever heard of a mutant code-named 'Phantazia'?" she asked.

The Wisp only shook his head.

"Phantazia's mutant power centered around a phenomenon she called 'harmonizing', the ability to manipulate various fields and wavelengths of energy. These energies centre around everything from magnetism, to combustion, to even biological functions, including the ability to channel and control superhuman powers. Richards' shackles replicate this phenomenon, harmonizing and disrupting superhuman abilities, whether they be innate mutant ones, or artificially gained ones through accidents or technology."

The smile on the Wisp's face grew much wider.

"The harmonizing technology has to be attuned to every specific energy wavelength the device wants to disrupt," the Wisp said thoughtfully, as he contemplated what Mystique had just told him. "That's how the shackles can disrupt a specific type of superhuman power, without disrupting the wearer's biological functions, or anything else in the vicinity. And if that's the case…then the harmonizing energies emitted by one device won't have any effect on the superhuman powers of someone the device wasn't custom-made for," he continued, his own physics knowledge making everything clear to him.

"Quite so," Mystique smiled. "And with your unique ability to override and manipulate electricity and electromagnetic radiation…"

"So all that you need to do is release me from my shackles..." the Wisp grinned. "From there, my own natural gifts can do the rest."

"Your gifts are hardly natural," Mystique reminded him with a scowl. "Don't compare yourself to the mutant people!"

"And what if I do? What are you going to do, abandon me here?" the Wisp reminded her sarcastically. "I have to admit, the Guardsmen would be interested in hearing what you just told me about Dr. Jefferson…"

"I could kill you in-" Mystique began.

"More time than it would take for me to summon the Guardsmen…assuming you could beat me in a straight fight," the Wisp smirked. "And where would you be then?"

"You son of a-" Mystique snarled, before she forced herself to calm down.

"Really now, I intend to follow through on your little proposal," the Wisp reminded her. "Is there any need to be antagonizing me unnecessarily?"

Scowling resentfully at the Wisp, Mystique only formed her hand into a large crustacean-like claw, which she used to cleave the Wisp's power-restraining shackles in two.

As the Wisp shifted into a glowing ball of light, Mystique shifted back into the form of Charles Jefferson, screaming in alarm.

The Guardsmen came charging in, only to recoil in surprise as they saw the glowing ball of light charging towards them. Before they could react, the glowing ball had streaked forward and merged with one of them. A loud crackling sound filled the air as the Guardsman's armor was taken over, its wearer suddenly unable to access the control system.

He screamed in shock as the armor began to rise under its own power, streaking forward and firing its repulsors at the other Guardsmen and the defenseless staff.

The other Guardsmen might have struck their ally down, but they were forced to shield the defenseless prison staff from the rogue Guardsman's blasts. They also were also reluctant to shoot back, not wanting to injure their comrade trapped in the armor the Wisp was controlling.

Soon, the Wisp found himself back in the Raft, where several more Guardsmen were waiting for him. The alarm had been raised by now, and the Guardsmen were ready to confront him.

Laughing hysterically to himself, the Wisp exited the Guardsman armor he was controlling, leaving the hapless guard to eat a burst of repulsor fire from his comrades. Some of the Guardsmen tried to stop the Wisp, but he was faster, flying into the electrical system. With his control over the electrical systems, he could go anywhere in the prison he pleased, but he had a very special destination in mind.

Traveling down towards the lower level, where the most dangerous inmates were kept, the Wisp emerged back into solid form and stepped towards one cell in particular.

Its occupant was surprising, a thin, skinny man barely five feet in height. His features were those of an Ivy League intellectual, bright gleaming eyes and a neatly trimmed goatee. He stared vacantly at the ceiling, the glazed expression on his face that of a man thoroughly sedated.

Will O' the Wisp's eyes narrowed as he looked down at the skinny man. Kneeling down, he put his hand through the man's power-restraining shackles, destroying them in an instant, before he slapped the man in the face.

Dr. Calvin Zabo had been sedated as an additional precaution in case he should somehow free himself from his power-restraining shackles. Unfortunately, the Wisp's slap pierced his stupor and brought him back to awareness, if only briefly.

It was the one moment Dr. Zabo needed, the moment of clarity that reminded him of who he was, and the serum of his own design that flowed through his blood.

The Wisp backed off, his work complete, as Dr. Zabo let out a piercing scream, his eyes taking on a manic look. He seemed to almost double in size, his puny frame turning into thick, powerful muscles as his face took on a demonic sneer. He began to almost foam at the mouth, the serum flowing through his veins overpowering even the heavy sedatives that had been applied to him.

Everything came back to Dr. Zabo in that moment-his bloodlust, and the power that came with that bloodlust, as he grew into Mr. Hyde.

Tearing the metal cell door right off its hinges with one hand, Mr. Hyde smashed through the concrete walls with the other, ripping through them as if they were made of paper. His bloodcurdling screams echoed throughout the cell block, accompanied by the terrified screams of the other supervillain prisoners. Those screams quickly became triumphant cries, as Will O' the Wisp short-circuited their own power-restraining shackles and they set about using their own powers to escape.

Mr. Hyde's transformation was the spark that lit the flame, a flame that grew with each new supervillain who was free to exercise their powers.

Some of the supervillains tried to escape.

Others tried to settle old grudges.

Still others tried to kill the hospital staff and the Guardsmen who had kept them prisoner for so long.

The Guardsmen were fighting for their lives trying to keep the riot under control, and keep it from spreading to the rest of the prison. They had spent countless hours training for just such an occasion, and their training paid off, as they managed to finally subdue the last of the villains after two and a half bloody, chaotic hours.

The victory was hard won. Five Guardsmen lost their lives in the mayhem, a large part of the Raft had been damaged, particularly by the berserk Mr. Hyde, and almost two dozen supervillains had escaped.

Will O' the Wisp smiled in satisfaction as he read the news on the smartphone he had hypnotized the clerk into giving him. He'd gotten a luxury suite at the hotel the same way, and before any of that he'd gotten a set of street clothes the same way too. It had been childishly simple-infiltrate the clothing store's electrical system, hypnotize one of the staff members when no one was around, and get them to bring what he wanted. With that disguise, including a suitable hat, he could walk around in public largely unbothered, and get more of what he wanted with the proper hypnosis.

The Wisp had spent a lot of time in prison thinking about his powers, and about his past defeats at Spider-Woman's hands. He'd thought a lot about the broader scientific possibilities that came with his powers, and the possibilities of the powers of many of Spider-Woman's other enemies.

Now, he had a lot more to think about, and a lot of time to do so.

The last time Gwen had worn an elf costume, she had felt ridiculous.

Now, though, admiring herself in the mirror, she had to admit she filled it out really well-and why complain about an outfit that allowed her to wear tights?

Grinning to herself, Gwen thought back to a year ago, and the first time she'd gotten a job as a Christmas elf at the Santa Claus display at Macy's Department Store. It was the best job she had been able to get on short notice, but it had proven a lot more fun than she'd originally expected…at least until the psychotic electrically-powered Supercharger, who had a warped stalker crush on her superhero identity of the spectacular Spider-Woman, had attacked the display to try to kill her for "rejecting" his sick advances.

Gwen felt her skin crawl at the memory, and the tragic results of Supercharger's rampage. It had cast a pall over the rest of her time at the Santa Claus display, and over much of the rest of the holidays. Things weren't necessarily that much better this year, especially after the Wall Street crash that had just happened. As she'd walked through Macy's, Gwen had seen far too many worried faces for her liking, the faces of people who had likely lost savings, jobs and money, and were worried about the future.

Gwen realized that, for all the bad luck she'd experienced in her life, she was fortunate to get this job. She'd had an advantage in that the manager of the Santa Claus display remembered her from last year, but even that was no sure thing.

Nodding to herself, Gwen went back out of the employees' change area and into the main display scene. Looking around, she could already see several parents and children lined up, but to her surprise Mr. Wilson, the man who was set to play Santa, was nowhere to be found. Several of the other elves looked at one another uncertainly, and more than one parent was looking impatient.

Glancing up at the clock, Gwen saw that it was almost seven minutes after the time the display was set to open.

What could be keeping Mr. Wilson? Gwen wondered in alarm. Could he be-

Hearing someone coming up behind her, Gwen turned around to see Mrs. Maxwell, the manager for the Santa Claus display, coming up towards her.

"What's wrong, Mrs.-" Gwen started, before Mrs. Maxwell interrupted her.

"Mr. Wilson can't make it," Mrs. Maxwell shook her head. "His wife had some sort of medical emergency, and he had to take her to the hospital…"

"Oh no, that's terrible!" Gwen replied, managing to avoid exclaiming out loud. "What are we going to do?"

"I was going to ask you if you had any actor friends who might be able to help us out," Mrs. Maxwell said, her voice becoming more frantic. "Our alternate Santa already called in sick, so Mr. Wilson-"

Gwen's mind raced as she tried to think of what to do. She couldn't possibly call anyone in on such short notice, but…

That was when the idea hit her.

It sounded even more ridiculous than putting on the elf costume, but she'd gotten used to that, so…

"Give me five minutes," she assured Mrs. Maxwell.

Greg had been eager for his first chance to meet Santa Claus, after what Jason had told him the last year he got to meet him. Unfortunately, they'd been waiting in line for over half an hour, and Santa still hadn't shown up.

Greg was getting worried, but then he happened to see the door at the far end of the display open.

A lady in a long red coat, with white hair and glasses, came out and waved to Greg and the other children. His mother and several of the other parents were mumbling in confusion, before the lady spoke up.

"Hi everybody!" the woman spoke up. "I'm so sorry about the delay-Santa has a cold, and he won't be able to sit with you today. He doesn't want to get anybody sick!"

"What's going on, lady?" one annoyed father demanded.

"Oh, silly, don't you know who I am?" the woman tittered. "I'm Santa's wife, Mrs. Claus! I'm going to be filling in for my husband until he's all better! I'm really sorry, everybody-we'll let you know when Santa will be all better!"

"That's okay!" Greg called out, to his mother's surprise.

"You're all right, sweetie?" she asked. "You don't mind getting your picture taken with Mrs. Claus?"

"No, Mrs. Claus is really pretty!" Greg beamed.

His mother blinked at that.

Even though she'd had to improvise a costume at the last minute, Gwen was relieved that it seemed to be working. More than a few of the parents looked skeptical at first, but the enthusiasm of the kids seemed to make up for it. Many of them eagerly hopped up into her lap, and seemed just as comfortable with her as they would have been with Mr. Wilson.

The first few kids were enthusiastic, and just what Gwen expected. The sixth child was a sad-faced little boy, who climbed into Gwen's lap while seeming like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Hi there, sweetie," Gwen said gently as the boy looked up at her. "What can I tell Santa to get you this year?"

"It's not for me, it's for my daddy," the boy said. "He used to work as an electrician, but he lost his job…"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gwen frowned. "How long has your daddy been looking for another job?"

"A couple of weeks," the boy said sadly, "but he and Mommy are really worried. I heard them say we might lose our apartment…"

Gwen felt a hollow ache in her stomach as she listened to the boy.

What could she even say to that?

"I'll talk to Santa and see what he can do about getting your Dad a job," Gwen assured him. "But your Mom and Dad are going to do everything they can to make sure you don't lose your home. They love you, and they're strong. So are you, honey. Don't give up, whatever you do-if your parents see that you believe in them, they'll fight all the more for you. You can do it, I know you can!" she assured him.

The boy brightened, and thanked Gwen warmly as he hopped down from her lap and went to rejoin his mother, who had been worriedly chatting on her smartphone, so much so that she'd forgotten to even take a picture.

Gwen turned to greet the next child, but the boy's words stayed with her through her entire shift.

It was a bitterly cold night in the junkyard, but Donald Gill hardly felt it. In part, this was due to the superhuman powers he possessed, powers that accounted for his snow-white skin and hair and ice-blue eyes. His ability to manipulate and generate ice and cold had earned him the supervillain moniker of Blizzard, and he'd used them in his brief career as a supervillain. His first attempt had led to him being defeated by the spectacular Spider-Woman, and he'd spent almost two years in prison before he'd recently been paroled.

In keeping with the Gill family tradition, Donald had intended to celebrate his parole by finding some way of breaking it. Before he'd gotten the chance, however, he'd heard about how his old friend Cicero Viceconte, the owner of the Papa Cicero's pizzeria, was being terrorized by a psychopath named Todd "Ray-Ray" Iainuzzi. Along with extorting money and free services from the local businesses, Ray-Ray had also been randomly beating and killing customers and other locals, for no better reason than because he felt like it.

Donald knew full well that he was a loser who'd never amount to anything positive in life-he was a Gill, after all!-but Ray-Ray had crossed a line. He'd called the thug out, and invited him to settle things one-on-one with street rules, just the two of them.

Now, it was time.

Looking over at the sound of footsteps, Donald saw Ray-Ray step out from behind a pile of wreckage. He was just the same as Donald expected-tangled, dirty blonde hair, a perpetual shadow of a beard, bloodshot eyes, dressed in a T-shirt with exposed sleeves despite the cold weather, prominently displaying tattoos on either arm that depicted eyepatch-wearing skulls holding knives in their teeth. His face bore that same angry glower, one that turned murderous as he locked stares with Donald.

"About time you showed up," Donald said simply, his eyes narrowing. "What took you so long to agree to this fight, anyway?"

"I didn't think anybody would be stupid enough to call me out," Todd sneered back at him. "But then again, most faggots are pretty stupid-and you know all about that in prison, don't you?"

"That's the best you can come up with?" Donald rolled his eyes. "A gay slur? Come on, Ray-Ray, I'd have thought even you could do better than that."

"I was going to put more effort into cutting you open, anyway," Todd smiled evilly. "Just you and me, no weapons or powers?"

"No powers," Donald nodded. "We agreed to do this street rules, right?"

"Street rules," Todd agreed. "You ready to die, queerbait?"

"Shut up and fight," Donald scowled, as he gestured for Todd to bring it.

Todd started out with a vicious right hook, which Donald swung back away from. Todd followed up with a straight left, which Donald swatted aside with his right arm. Before Todd could react, Donald followed up with a series of left jabs, striking Todd several times in the face and sending him staggering back. Donald followed, raising his right for a hook to Todd's jaw, but Todd retaliated with a vicious kick, catching Donald in the stomach.

As Donald staggered from the blow, Todd grabbed his arms to try and put him off balance. Donald's next move caught Todd completely off guard, as he sprung up and smashed his head into Todd's face in two rapid blows. Howling in pain, Todd released Donald's arms and staggered back, but Donald wasn't finished. Charging forward, Donald delivered a series of hooks and jabs that left Todd a battered and bloodied mess at Donald's feet.

Donald whirled around at the sounds of rushing footsteps and shouts, turning to face the thugs Todd had brought for backup.

The sound of their gunfire was quickly drowned out by the sound of blowing wind and crashing ice, as Donald generated a hailstorm of ice and sent it flying at the thugs. The thugs' bullets shattered several of the ice balls, but the sheer force of the hail knocked the bullets wide of Donald, causing small sparks to pop up where they hit the wreckage. The thugs themselves were then pummelled by the hailstorm, crying out in pain at the welts that came up on their faces and hands.

Groaning in pain, the thugs collapsed as Donald turned back to face Todd, who was still laying on the ground. Bending down in a rage, Donald seized Todd by his collar and hauled him up, shouting at the other man in a rage.

"Didn't we agree to do this street rules, Iainuzzi?" Donald shouted at him. "Just you and me, man to man? Isn't that what we agreed?"

Todd only groaned in response.

"I didn't use my powers, Iainuzzi," Donald reminded him. "I held my end of the agreement, but you had to go and be a fucking little pussy and bring your thugs to help you!"

"I…are you really stupid enough to stick with that rules shit?" Todd slurred, before spitting some blood out of his mouth. "I-"

"-am a fucking coward," Donald finished for him. "Not man enough to stand up to someone who can fight back against you. That's what you've always been, haven't you? A pathetic little waste of sperm who acts all tough picking on people who can't fight back, and has to hide behind his goons when somebody who can starts giving it back to you!"

"This isn't over, Gill," Todd hissed. "When I-"

"Oh yes it is, Iainuzzi," Donald smiled wickedly. "See, I got plans for you. Once you're not a threat anymore, Cicero and all the other people you've been fucking over are going to go to the cops. You and your boys are all going up the river."

"So what?" Todd scowled. "When I go to jail, I'm going to be running the place inside a month!"

"That's where you're wrong, boy," Donald replied, his smile growing even wider. "See, you're forgetting that I'm a Gill. We know everybody in the prison system. A lot of influential people owe us favors."

Todd was about to say something, but then he trailed off.

"You see what I'm getting at, Iainuzzi? You're going to be locked up in the Raft, with all the supervillains. How long do you think you'll last, talking shit when you've got to share a cell with somebody like Sabertooth? How about the Sandman? How many nights do you think you'd last, alone with somebody like Firebrand or the Jaguar? That's the thing, boy-I'm one of the only veterans of the Raft who wasn't a stone cold killer. They're gonna love you, Todd."

Scowling in disgust, Donald tossed the beaten Todd to the ground, and stalked off, too disgusted to say any more.

And it might be too late for Cicero, Donald realized, especially with the economy being the way it is.

I did all I could, buddy…I just hope it was enough, he thought, with a sad sigh.

...Or was it? he suddenly realized.

(Next Issue: Gwen continues her work on Erg's new film, and finds herself developing a close friendship as she learns more about him. She also continues her steady work at the Macy's Christmas display, and gets some more work with Desiree Vaughn-Pope. Her run of good luck may soon turn sour, however, as an embittered Blizzard goes on a crime spree, Will O' the Wisp begins hatching his plans for revenge on her, and the magnetic killer Polestar begins trying to kill his family members! All this and more in Spider-Woman #85: All In The Family!)