ALL THE PRETTY FACES

By Matisse Mozer

On another world, fifteen-year-old Gwendolyne Stacy was bitten by a radioactive spider.

After she failed to save her best friend, Peter Parker, she donned a white hood and leotard to become New York City’s one and only Amazing Spider-Woman. 

“That was how it started, anyway,” Gwen said. She shot a webline from where she sat on the windowsill–THWIP!–and caught a box of pizza. She yanked the box back to her lap, then helped herself to a slice of green onion with extra cheese. “There was this whole thing with Daredevil, who’s the bad guy in my world…then there was the time I lost my powers…then I got a symbiote, but it’s a good symbiote and I wear it as my suit, and now we bop around the multiverse every once in a while.” 

“That…makes sense,” Doreen said carefully. 

Kamala walked out from the restroom. Splashing water on her face hadn’t helped. Her eyes were barely focusing, and the droning headache was incessant.

Oh man…did she have a concussion? Was Kamala concussed? 

“Hey, my dude,” Doreen said to Kamala. “You look possibly concussed.” 

“I what?!” 

Gwen swallowed a chunk of pepperoni. “I thought a Healing Factor meant that couldn’t happen.” 

“It can’t. I’m just yankin’ Kamala’s chain,” Doreen said, grinning with the left side of her face. The right side wasn’t as swollen as it had been after her fight with Gwen, but it still looked sore as all heck. 

Gwen shot out another webline and caught the TV remote, and another for the PlayStation 5 controller beneath it. The litany of screens mounted to the wall blinked to life. “Not a bad space you’ve got here, Doreen,” Gwen said.  

“Oh, for sure,” Doreen said. “I get free rent, between my school stipend and my Stark Internship grants, and…wait a minute. I have questions. I have multiverse-involving questions! I have–ow,” Doreen winced, tenderly touching her face. 

Kamala sat on a nearby pile of blankets. They smelled clean enough. “I think what Doreen was trying to say was…why are you here, Gwen? In this universe, I mean.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raised. “You’re taking the whole multiverse thing pretty well.” 

“I’ve…I’ve seen some things,” Kamala said. She hurried to change the subject before the pause grew awkward, because then, awkward answers about the origin of Kamala’s powers might rear their ugly heads.  “So…why are you still here?” 

Doreen, grimacing through a clobbered face: “Rude.” 

Kamala felt her face flush. “I don’t mean it like that! I’m sorry. I didn’t-” Kamala exhaled and started over. “If you’re from some parallel world, then why haven’t you gone back yet? Do you need help with something? Like…a world-ending thing?” 

Gwen clicked her tongue. “You still sound kinda rude, but that’s just the question you’re asking. Happens all the time.” She stood from the windowsill. Then she placed both hands where her neck met her collarbone, and closed her eyes. 

The room was still. 

Kamala and Doreen watched the symbiote pull itself away from Gwen’s collarbone, revealing a silver necklace worn on a thin metal chain. A lone charm dangled in the middle.

“It’s a gift from the Reed Richards of my world,” Gwen explained, undoing the necklace clasp and holding the small, oval-shaped charm in her palm. “It’s how I access the multiverse. But it got damaged in the fight with the Chameleon.” 

“Oh!” Kamala snapped to attention. “It must have broken when you got shot!” 

Doreen smirked. 

“Shut up, squirrel,” Gwen said. “You were K.O.’d at the time.” 

“This is true, but it’s also true that I was bullet-free.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes and smiled. “It was broken due to plain ole’ carelessness. The Chameleon threw me clear across the room, and guess what part of my body I landed on?” Gwen shrugged casually. “I mean, if I were a normal person I’d have broken my neck…and probably died…but this is still pretty bad news. That’s where you two come in! I know someone who can help me, but I need help to get to the person to help me.” 

“So it’s help to get to the help?” Kamala asked. 

“Ah! I read you loud and clear.” Doreen folded her arms and lowered her voice, so it would sound gruff and detective-like. “A fellow do-gooder needs our help, and our help, she shall receive.” 

Kamala was puzzled. 

Did she just get drafted into a dimension-hopping storyline? 

“So, Ms. Stacy,” Doreen said. “If we’re gonna be doing an extended team-up—“ 

“It feels more like a cameo.” 

“—if we’re gonna be doing an extended cameo,” Doreen corrected. “Then you need to know our powers! Tell me, my extra-dimensional friend. Do you know about squirrels?” 

Earlier that night. On the outskirts of Jersey City. 

Suburbia gave way to tall trees and long, winding roads, which merged with other highways and spread out into the world. 

And in an abandoned warehouse off the highway, the remnants of the Tinkerer’s men gathered. They were a mix of augmented humans and human-looking androids, none of them freshly washed or oiled. 

They focused around an old MacBook laptop, which was tuned into the live news broadcast. A skyscraper in downtown Jersey City was under siege, or so it appeared. The men watched as ambulances, fire trucks, and dozens of police cruisers lined the block. 

A lone reporter stood among the chaos, gripping her microphone with white knuckles. “This is Cassidy Slater, reporting from the scene of the incident. The Rand Ball is under attack. The building is rapidly losing its structural integrity. The property damages alone are—“ 

The camera shook violently. Explosions sounded inside the building. 

“I-I’m receiving confirmation that four…no, five stories have been leveled inside the tower!” 

The augmented humans still kept their all-to-human minds. They did not hear the subtle rustle of feathers, or the CLA-CLAK CLA-CLAK of leather shoes on concrete. 

But the androids recognized it. They knelt down immediately. The augmented humans followed their comrades’ lead, only fully understanding once the figure came into the light of the lone, swinging bulb overhead. 

He was a man…but only barely. 

Tall like a sports star, but muscular like the stoutest marine. A lean silhouette, a fitted suit. 

But up top, a distinctly inhuman head. 

His name was Thomas Edison. He was not the Edison, of course. His creator had intended to create the perfect clone of Edison, capable of ushering humanity into a new golden age. Capable of finally moving mankind past this violent era, of corrupt politics and social media influencers and, yes, heroes. 

But the creator was not omniscient. DNA from his beloved cockatiel was absorbed into the cloning machine along with Edison’s DNA. 

The new Thomas Edison was a green cockatiel from the neck up. His sharp beak was an asset in combat, but his planetoid, jet-black eyes were what his victims remembered. But the devious menace that was his mind…that had earned him a new name altogether.

He was The Inventor. 

And he was not pleased. 

“Master,” the nearest android began. “Hand operatives are in the building. We cannot confirm the presence of Daredevil opposing them.” 

“That’s because it’s not Daredevil, you idiot,” The Inventor snarled. “It would take a dirty bomb or a dimensional rift to get that buffoon out of his micro-managed little Hell’s Kitchen.” 

The Inventor snapped his fingers. Nanotech circling his knuckles came to life, signaling the laptop to change its broadcast. It showed a playback of the events leading up to the brawl-in-progress. 

There was the footage of one white-hooded being entering through a window, followed by one just like them, but with webshooters. The Inventor told himself to make a note of it. 

…But then he found something that was, to use the phrase, actionable. 

Two teenage girls entering the same window moments later. One of whom was none other than the so-called Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, and the other, a familiar brown-skinned girl. 

“…Interesting.” 

The Rand Ball had been ruined, Chameleon had been arrested. But the world still turned. The gentle orange dawn gave way to a welcoming blue sky, and Saturday morning had begun.

Kamala made sure to call her parents and let them know she was okay. She found it was easier to lie if she incorporated actual truths: that Doreen’s dorm room was full of pizza boxes, and her one friend was an acrobatic gymnast from far away. 

Once her phone call was done, Kamala realized that Doreen had gone into the restroom, changed into her civilian clothes, and was packing a backpack. 

“Doreen?” Kamala asked. “You do know it’s the weekend, right? We don’t have to go to school.”

“That’s like, the point of weekends,” Gwen added. She was playing Crash Bandicoot through one of the monitors on the walls. 

“While that’s not untrue,” Doreen said, “I’ve got somewhere else to be. It’s totally a nerd thing, so it counts.” 

Gwen nodded, satisfied at that logic. 

Kamala flopped down on the pile of blankets. She had a full day to herself…finally. No parents, no chores, no homework, no superheroes…

Her phone buzzed. Kamala wondered if it was her dad, asking about some bogus chore. She checked the screen reluctantly.

“It’s…from Mike,” Kamala said. And after reading the handful of text messages, she grimaced. “Oh, god.” 

“What’s up?” Doreen asked. She slung her backpack over both shoulders and tightened the straps.

“Hey, shot in the dark…are you going to the Jersey City Robo Toy Fest in my school’s gym?” 

Doreen jumped. Jumped so high, she banged her head on the ceiling and came down wincing. But even a head injury couldn’t dim Doreen’s spirits. “Kamala! You’re a figure collector, too?!” 

“A what..? No. It’s Mike,” Kamala said, showing the other girls her phone screen. “She asked me if I want to go today. I’m gonna say ‘no’.” 

“The hell you are.” 

“…Excuse me?” 

“Kamala Khan, Michaela is a young woman just like you, putting herself out there to make a new friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to invite friends to places? Or to invite friends to local action figure conventions?!” 

“Oh, so there are crazy people on this world, too,” Gwen remarked. 

“Message that girl back! Like, right now! And then get in the shower and get dressed, because we’re going to toy town.” 

Kamala did as she was told…but not because Doreen made her. Because it was the right thing to do. 

She was making an effort to be Mike’s friend these days, right? And if Kamala turned Mike down, then it was on Kamala to invite Mike somewhere, and that was a bazillion times more anxiety-inducing.

 “I guess I’m going,” Kamala sighed. She typed a quick message to Mike. “Okay, then. So if I’m going to a…toy show?” 

“Jersey City Robo Toy Fest.” 

“Uh-huh…what do I need to know?” 

Doreen held up a finger. “Item number one! Do you know what a Megazord is?” 

“A…zord that’s larger than most?” 

“Technically.” 

The Inventor had spent his morning not inventing, but planning.

First things first. Why had The Tinkerer failed? The Tinkerer had been a perfect creation. Mighty, but still a man; a leader, but accepting of new ideas; vicious, yet keen. And even then, two little girls managed to defeat The Tinkerer and undo months of money laundering and weapons sales. 

The Inventor could only succeed if those two adolescent obstacles were neutralized. 

His androids scoured the Internet. The augmented humans worked off of multiple spreadsheets and screens in the warehouse, comparing data for connections that algorithms might overlook. 

There was only one clue. The brown girl had said her name. Kamala. 

The Inventor surveyed his working drones and cackled. “How many teenage Kamalas can there be?” 

And, as if tempting fate, an augmented human raised his hand. He’d found a connection. 

“There are over two-dozen high schools in Jersey City, sir,” he said. “And all eight Kamalas are enrolled in JCUSD system.” 

Beside him, an android with more ethernet connections than limbs spoke in a droning wheeze. “Jersey City Unified School District has extensive wireless Internet safety features. Products of Rand Industries.” 

“Of course,” The Inventor spat. That philanthropist, Daniel Rand…yet another white man with money who thought he could buy a foreign culture. The Inventor had read about Rand’s disappearance early in life, and his return from East Asia as a well-rounded, well-read pseudo-monk. Nobody knew how he spent his free time. It was bizarre. 

…Not as bizarre as The Inventor himself. But bizarre nonetheless. 

Moving on. 

The Inventor would need to access JCUSD’s mainframe with a direct, wired connection. And these days, school campuses were locked down whenever students weren’t explicitly coming or going. He’d have to get…creative. 

Either that, or wait until Monday. Too much time would be wasted. 

So, The Inventor was decided.  “Augmented humans c8909 through c8935, cease research.” 

The warehouse became silent. The soft rattle of fingertips to keyboards finished instantaneously. 

“There must be one school in the area that’s open. I don’t know, maybe there’s ole’ American football practice. Something! Find a school, and get me everything there is to know about Kamala.” 

Before the day was done, this Kamala girl would be at the bottom of the Hudson. 

“Before today’s through, Kamala, you’ll know your Gundams from your Mobile Suits from your Megazords! I promise.”

Michaela Miller had taken her dyed-blue hair down and tied them into low pigtails. Like Doreen, she had brought a backpack along. Unlike Doreen, Mike had also brought a clip-on water bottle, an external smartphone battery, and a comfortable pair of Crocs shoes. 

She had been sitting on the front steps of the Coles Academy main entrance, bouncing her knees up and down in anticipation. Between the energy and the overall I-am-not-terrified-to-be-here vibe, Mike was unrecognizable to the approaching Kamala and Doreen. Where was this Mike during the week?  

Mike had skipped off of the stairs and grabbed Kamala by the elbow. (She’d said ‘hello’ to Doreen too, but not quite as happily.) Mike dragged the girl down the Coles Academy hallways, toward the gymnasium and the growing cacophony of nerds exchanging money. 

“Thanks again for coming, Kamala,” Mike said. “Going by yourself is rough.” There was a quiet pause. “I-I mean, because then you don’t have anyone to hold you back from making outrageous purchases!” 

Mike’s cheeks flushed. Kamala felt her defensive side ease up; it was just like Doreen had said. Mike really had challenged herself to make a new friend in Kamala. 

The least Kamala could do was be a guest in good faith.

And heck, maybe she’d end up having some fun after all. 

The three girls came to the threshold: the gymnasium’s double doors, left propped open and inviting. Brightly colored posters lined the walls. Kamala recognized one of the fighting robots pictured, but only because of her YouTube ads. 

“I may have made a mistake,” Doreen said, dejected. 

Mike and Kamala watched Doreen’s excitement slowly drain. She patted down both of her thighs. “I left my wallet at home.” 

“Hey, check it out, a wallet,” Gwen said. She paused Doreen’s PlayStation and dug through the cards and handful of bills. “I wonder how much pizza costs around here?” 

“I was saving most of it for pizza money, but I should’ve had enough for like, one robot dude!” Doreen put her head in her hands. Her fingers scratched at her scalp. And after a moment, Doreen bopped back to life. Kamala could all but see the lightbulb turn on over the girl’s head. “I have money in my work cubby!” 

“You keep money in your cubby?” Mike asked. 

“It’s a money cubby! And yes I do, because you never know when you might need a few wads of cold, hard cash.” 

“Like…on a lunch break?” 

“Like on a lunch break, Mike,” Doreen conceded. She looped her thumbs back through her backpack straps. “I’m gonna go grab the ole’ emergency stash. I’ll see you two inside.” 

Doreen turned and started down the hallway without seeing Kamala’s look of pure, unbridled desperation. She was gonna be all by herself, with Mike and the nerds. 

But the red-headed college student was gone, and Kamala had to reckon with the scent of Axe body spray and man musk radiating from the gymnasium. 

Doreen liked to think of herself as a good actress. Just…without good motives to back it up.

Sure, it may have seemed like she’d left Kamala and Mike alone so they could become closer pals. And that’s how Doreen played it, making sure not to make a mad dash to her work locker in the main office. She had to act calm, and calculating. 

Like a grown-up, even! 

But as soon as Kamala and Mike were out of sight, Doreen tore through the school hallways. Like heck was she gonna miss out on prime action figure flea market shopping. 

She unlocked the main office door and shut it behind her. The lights were off–because of course they were, what with it being the weekend–but she had the office layout memorized. She passed through the low, swinging door that marked off where the students couldn’t cross, then it was down the short hallway to the breakroom and her locker. She just had to pass that one office with the glowing, ominous lights. 

…Wait. 

Doreen retraced her steps. “Come to think of it…I’ve never seen this door open before.” The sign on the door read: ‘server room’. Doreen pushed the door further and went inside. 

The familiar scent of air-conditioned computer racks brought Doreen back to the ESU computer engineering department. She smiled at the memory. 

And then her eyes narrowed. 

The men wore all-black, up to and including beanie hats and sunglasses. The five of them, all huddled over the one user terminal, looked up at Doreen accusingly. 

“Uh…hi?” Doreen said, waving. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Well, the door was open. And besides, I work here during the week! So, if you guys need anything…” 

“We don’t. Leave. Now.” 

As cool as squirrels and squirrel-based powers were, they didn’t have an equivalent to Spider-Sense. But Doreen had Common Sense! “You guys don’t look like IT repair dudes.” 

Two of the men broke off from the group. They walked toward Doreen, towering over the teenage girl with their broad shoulders, crew-cut hairstyles and all-around air of oppressive force. “We’ll have to escort you out.” 

One of them placed a heavy, cold hand on Doreen’s shoulder, and pushed. Doreen didn’t budge. 

“Hey, buddy. Hands off the merchandise.” Doreen put her hand on the man’s, ready to peel it off and sprain it in a show of defiance, but…couldn’t. The hand wasn’t flesh and bone at all. The skin felt dehydrated and loose. And the bone structure was harder than bone, and pointy, and…

“Metal!” Doreen exclaimed. “You guys are Terminators!” 

“We prefer the term ‘augmented humans’.” The man squeezed his hand, and the metal vice grip shocked Doreen’s nerves something fierce. Her knees buckled, both from the surprise and the pain. “Please, leave. Now.” 

Doreen thought fast. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. 

On command, her backpack unzipped. Tippy-Toe the Squirrel was a blur in a pink bow. She bounded from the backpack and sunk her two front teeth deep into the augmented human’s hand. Jet-black oil leaked from the punctures and the man withdrew his hand. 

Doreen had her opening! She dropped down and kicked out, looping her leg around the man’s knee. She tugged gently, just enough for physics to do its thing. The man dropped down, and in the half-second before he could catch himself, Doreen spun back to her feet, fist balled up and ready— 

KAPOW! 

Unbeatable Squirrel Power met the side of the man’s augmented skull. Her knuckles ached immediately. The man had it worse: his eyes scrambled, shifting left and right, and his body convulsed as he dropped down prone. Oil spilled from his hanging jaw. 

The remaining four men kept their distance. They spread out as best they could. “The operation cannot be halted. There will be no second chances,” the leader said. “Eliminate the obstacle, then proceed with the information extraction.” 

Tippy-Toe landed on Doreen’s shoulder. “Hey, pal,” Doreen told her. “Thanks for the save.” She put her weight on her back leg, and raised her fists. “Watch my tail for me, will you?” 

Doreen was taking a long time.

But…that wasn’t a problem. Mike wasn’t the awkward handful that Kamala was afraid the girl would be. 

It helped that the Jersey City Robo Toy Fest wasn’t what Kamala had envisioned, either. The Internet always promised aisles upon aisles of people pushed together like sardines, each eying booths of nerd merch at outrageous prices.

You know, like the Los Angeles Anime Expo, or the San Diego Comic Con. 

But that wasn’t the case. 

“See, the trick is to make the weirdos feel weird,” Mike explained. They wandered the aisles, and Kamala started recognizing different shoppers here and there. “A lot of the perverts and resellers are actually ashamed of themselves, as well they should be! At large conventions, they’re all over the place. But a local event held in a high school gymnasium? The trolls ain’t got the stones. So it’s easy pickings for us normal people!” 

Mike sounded so happy. Her words poured out of her like honey, only to be shared with someone she trusted. 

“So, you’re a collector?” Kamala asked. 

“I don’t really call myself that,” Mike said. They stopped at a booth that had plastic racks set up on both sides. Different ten-inch robot toys lined the shelves. Mike found one and picked it up gingerly, inspecting its worn stickers and faded paint. “Growing up, we’d go toy shopping every Saturday morning. Me and my dad, I mean. We’d do road trips up and down the coast, hitting all the shops until I found the exact thing I wanted.” 

“That sounds fun,” Kamala said, and she meant it. 

“We didn’t have a lot of money,” Mike continued. “Heck, we don’t have much now. It wasn’t about buying everything ever, or having the rarest thing. Not even now…toys remind me of him, I guess.” 

Kamala wanted to ask about Mike’s dad. 

But now wasn’t the time. 

Mike started talking to the booth’s owner. She handed him two crisp $20 bills and came away with a plastic robot in a white plastic bag. 

“So this is Ninjor, from season 3 of Power Rangers,” Mike explained. “Dad always liked Ninjor. See, Ninjor had this goofy voice, but he could also do these samurai powers…hold on!” 

Mike took the figure out of the bag. Kamala watched how Mike’s fingers knew exactly where to be delicate in some places, and where to have a firm grip in others. With an aged KER-CHEK, panels flew out from the toy, making its armor change from blue to red. 

“It’s perfect,” Mike said, grinning from ear to ear. 

THWOK!

The last augmented human went down hard. Doreen landed behind him, wincing from aiming a flying knee kick at a mechanical enemy. 

“I’m gonna have to get like…Stark-brand brass knuckles if I’m gonna keep doing this,” Doreen remarked. 

She shook out her hand and took in the scene. Two of the men were in the hallway, both unconscious, and one dangling from where his head was planted in the wall. The other three lay strewn about the server room, each of them covered in bruises and spilt oil. 

Tippy-Toe jumped onto the access terminal. Doreen paused and admired Tippy-Toe’s bright pink ribbon. Every squirrel was a friend, but Tippy-Toe was the only friend with a fashion sense. “Let’s see what they were looking at, pal,” Doreen told Tippy-Toe. 

Doreen was smart enough to use the ostensibly-top-secret admin credentials to wake the computer from sleep. The screens were still up, and progress bars were still filling. 

“Check this out, Tippy. They’re downloading attendance records…test scores…registration data? Either I just beat up the shadiest scholarship award organization in history, or…Uh-oh.” 

It wasn’t the data for every student in the school district. That kind of data dump would have made too much sense. 

No, the server was transmitting data for every student with the same name. 

‘Kamala’. 

“That’s very not good,” Doreen said. She used a shortcut to access the RAM loader. “There’s someone in here downloading…Ah! Rookie hackers. They basically initiated a torrent from this side and they’re sending the data in packets. No VPN routine, though, which means I can see who’s on the other side…” 

She tapped the trackpad with her index finger.

Every alarm in the school went off simultaneously! The fire alarm blared overhead, sprinklers rained down in the server room and hallway, the flashing silent alarms on the ceiling began flashing, and who knew what else. 

The screen went pitch black. A DOS prompt came up, flashing neon green. 

>.

>. Deploying counter-threat units. 

>. There will be no mercy. 

“That’s really not good,” Doreen said. 

She ran back to the main office, careful not to trip over the knocked-out cyborgs. On the first day, the Principal and the office assistant showed her where the secret cameras were, hidden in a console under the main desk. Doreen counted her lucky stars that whatever happened to the school alarms and server system hadn’t messed with the cameras. 

Four Cadillac Escalades had stopped in the middle of the road. Men in black, just like the ones she’d just fought, poured out of the vehicles and up the street. 

“Okay,” Doreen told herself. She crouched down and bopped the crown of her head with her sore knuckles. “Think, Doreen. Think think think.” 

Tippy-Toe squeaked! 

“That’s right, Kamala! I need Kamala’s help–no, wait! These guys have gotta be looking for Kamala! She can’t get involved.” 

Doreen knew what she had to do. She backflipped down the hallway and back to the break room. She turned the dial to her combination lock, and there it was, folded up in her nondescript lunchbox: a spare suit. 

Well…the orange shirt, green miniskirt, and black spats with holes for her tail were kind of a suit. And the squirrel ear headband would have to do. 

Back in the gymnasium.

The EERT! EERT! EERT! of the overhead alarm echoed, booming at the shoppers’ ears. The power cut out a moment later. The booths went dark, and the overhead daylight bulbs shut off with them. Kamala and Mike were in the dark, surrounded by panicking people and horrible noises. 

Kamala figured this had to be what hell was like. 

In the darkness, nobody would notice Kamala’s hands growing just a teeny big larger, right? 

Right. 

Kamala focused as she gripped her ears with both hands. Her hands grew twice, and then once more times their normal size. The perfect mufflers! 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. 

And there was no way it wasn’t Doreen. Kamala read the message quickly.

Whatever you do, DON’T do hero stuff! I repeat, DON’T DO IT! These guys are AFTER YOU! Your cover isn’t totally blown so don’t worry just get you and mike OUT NOW BECAUSE TERMINATORS ARE HERE!! 

‘Don’t do hero stuff’? The alarms had just gone off. Maybe there was a blackout on the block. What was Doreen— 

RAKAKAKAKAKA!

Gunfire!

The gymnasium erupted into chaos. The flashing lights revealed a dozen men at the main entrance, clad in black sweaters and brandishing automatic rifles. Two of them fired up into the air–

RAKAKAKAKAKA!

–while the others began coming after the guests, shaking them down and asking them something. 

So, that’s what Doreen was talking about. 

Kamala took Mike’s hand. She ran for the back exit, under the glowing green sign in the far corner. Kids weren’t allowed to open it during the day, because it would trip the fire alarm. And well, it was a little late for that. 

The door pushed open easily, and Kamala pulled Mike through. With the door shut behind them, the girls were in an unpainted corner of the building. The hallway walls were a bare cement grey, with aged cracks and chipped corners. 

“WHAT,” Mike yelled. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”  

Kamala double-checked that her hands were both back to normal size. The closed door had dulled the noise enough that she could hear herself think, at least. “Doreen said there are Termina…I-I mean, terrorists.” 

Mike’s face bleached. “TERRORISTS?!”  

“You don’t have to yell.” 

“Terrorists?!” 

If Kamala had said ‘Terminators’, that wouldn’t have meant anything. The Tinkerer’s cyborgs hadn’t made the news along with their foiled scheme. ‘Terrorists’ was better than nothing. 

“Sure, terrorists, yeah,” Kamala said. “We need to run.” 

Mike nodded slowly. “I am okay with this.” 

“Good. Come on.” 

Mike put her Ninjor figure in her backpack, and zipped it up tight. She and Kamala took off at the bravest, most purposeful run either of them had ever tried…but three steps in, men in black sweaters had turned the corner in the hallway. These augmented humans didn’t have guns, but the coldness in their eyes and the bulkiness of their biceps spoke for themselves. 

“Terrorists!” Mike whimpered. 

“Scanning now,” the frontmost cyborg said. His eyes flickered. “Human on the left…adolescent female human. Human on the right…adolescent female Inhuman. Target acquired!” 

Inhuman?

“Female what?” Mike whimpered. 

“Good question…but not right now!” Kamala threw her weight behind a punch. Her fist grew, and as her muscles expanded, the force and speed of the strike multiplied. Her fist took up the size of the entire hallway, and it hit the three men with force! 

THWAM! Their three bodies flew backwards, tumbling over themselves like driftwood. 

Kamala’s arm shrank and her fist came back to her. There was a time when Kamala would have waited for the men to get back up, maybe so she could get information. 

That time had passed. 

Kamala leapt for them. She landed as the first man got to his feet. Her side ached as she dodged his first punch. So much for that Healing Factor… 

Back at Doreen’s studio apartment, all the way across town.

Every screen against the wall blared red. After a moment, they turned to different news channels. The deafening voices of multiple newscasters electrified Gwen’s nerves. She jumped up to the ceiling and stayed there. 

Her phone fell from her shaking fingers. Gwen shot a webline to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Hey, Peni. I’m still here,” Gwen said, raising her voice over the news broadcasts. “Hey, this part isn’t about my necklace. Do me a favor…you can get here pretty fast, yeah? I need to help out some friends…Thanks, guy. Lock onto my phone and I’ll meet you there.” 

Gwen hung up and put her phone onto her wrist. The symbiote absorbed it once more, and Gwen allowed it to form her mask, and finally the hood, folded down around her neck. 

The broadcasts all showed different angles of the same events. 

Shooters at Coles Academy. Gwen pulled up her hood, and she was Spider-Woman. 

The hallway by the gymnasium.

The final of the three men landed face-first into the tile floor. A pool of jet-black fluid puddled under his head. 

Kamala’s hands returned back to their normal size. She shook out her wrists. She’d had to fight dirty, but at least her knuckles weren’t splitting open and bleeding everywhere. (Not yet.) 

Mike hiccupped behind her. The girl’s face had turned a gnarly shade of white and green. 

“Are you okay?” Kamala asked, catching her breath.. 

“I’m trying really hard not to vomit,” Mike managed. 

“Why would you have to vomit?” 

“Because your arms just…God, I’m gonna be sick…HRRK!” Mike clapped both hands over her mouth. She lurched forward, and then back. Narrowly keeping her stomach at bay. “You’re an Inhuman?” 

“I promise you, I don’t know what that is.” 

Kamala heard footsteps echoing through the halls. She shook her head at just how much bringing Mike into her world was going to be weird…but it was either that, or abandoning Mike to the chaos of the school under siege. 

“But look, there are two options right now. We can either stay here and get caught by straight-up cyborgs who are probably evil, or we can make a break for it.” 

Mike pitched forward again. 

“I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean for this to happen, and I can’t just leave you here. We need to move–” 

“Yes, yes. Let’s make with the moving.” Mike gave a low, quick belch. “You’re like human string cheese!” 

Outside, helicopters had arrived and were swarming the school airspace.

Squirrel Girl battled her way up the building, taking out every cell of cyborgs that crossed her path. She burst onto the school rooftop, another augmented human preceding her as his body crashed through the door. 

Squirrel Girl had to shield her eyes. It was dark in the hallways, but out here, it was a bright and breezy midday. 

“Check it out, Tippy,” Squirrel Girl said to her partner, who’d perched on her shoulder. “All these news helicopters! Dang, even Daily Bugle Now, and they hate superhero stuff!” She waved both arms at the helicopter wearing the Bugle’s logo. “Hey there, Mister Jameson, sir!” 

She heard the clang-clang-clang, but just barely over the screams of the helicopters’ blades. Tippy-Toe tugged gently on a lock of Squirrel Girl’s hair, then squeaked directly into the girl’s ear. 

“You either said ‘apple books’ or ‘grappling hooks’,” Squirrel Girl said. 

Three grappling hooks had been thrown over the edge of the roof. Squirrel Girl watched as three, six, and then nine clad-in-black cyborg men pulled themselves up. 

They circled her, each of them wide-eyed and breathing heavily. 

“Aw, come on, fellas,” Squirrel Girl said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “You can’t outnumber me now. Do you have any idea how much mileage the Bugle’s gonna get out of me getting beaten up?” 

Squirrel Girl put her fists on her hips and stuck her tongue out at the encroaching goons. 

The first two men in the group raced forward. Squirrel Girl readied a fist–

THWIP! Weblines yanked the two augmented humans back, off of their feet and clear off the side of the roof. Two deep KER-THUD sounds reverberated on the ground. 

Spider-Woman landed beside Squirrel Girl. She dropped the weblines she was holding and cracked her knuckles. “So,” she asked Squirrel Girl. “Do you get into trouble like this every day?” 

“Nah. It’s just been a busy week.” 

“I can see that,” Spider-Woman said. 

The battle began! The remaining seven cyborgs rushed at the two girls, a squadron of metal fists and oiled veins. Squirrel Girl met the cavalcade in kind, blocking and punching on the ground, as Spider-Woman leapt into the air, shooting webs in all directions. 

The girls were unstoppable. Squirrel Girl blocked one cyborg’s jab-jab-uppercut combination, and his feet were webbed up and pulled from under him a fraction of a second later. Spider-Woman landed in between four expectant cyborgs, but Tippy-Toe bounded between them, biting at their eyes and blinding them. 

In a flurry of fists and webs and furry tails, the augmented humans were rendered non-functional. 

As the last crony fell, Squirrel Girl extended her arm. She flashed a peace sign at Spider-Woman, and Tippy-Toe happily ran up to her shoulder. 

“The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl,” came a deep, crooked, sinister voice. “And yet another dime-a-dozen Spider-Person. I will make this quick, you have my word.” 

The Inventor materialized between the two girls. His speed was blinding! An elbow to the back of Squirrel Girl’s head–THWOK!–and an uppercut that had Spider-Woman spitting blood as she fell back–KRAK!–and the arena was his, the girls sent reeling to different corners of the rooftop. 

The Inventor spread his arms wide. “Squirrel Girl, where is the brown girl you worked with? We just want to ask her some questions. That’s all my creations were searching for, before you so rudely interrupted their data transmission.” 

Squirrel Girl was seeing stars. She shook her head and crawled up to her knees. Her palms were scraped, and her forearms were bloody from the impact. “Okay, so you and your guys keep calling her that, and like, you know it’s all kinds of wrong.”

Her eyes focused. She registered the attacker. Squirrel Girl broke into a laughing fit. “I’m sorry…who the heck are you? Birdman?” 

“That was a movie,” Spider-Woman said. She pulled herself up, and she had to rub her eyes in order to accept what she was seeing. “And…this is a literal bird man.” 

“Is that your name?” Squirrel Girl asked The Inventor. “Like, Bird Mann?” 

“I heard two ‘n’s in that,” Spider-Woman said. 

“I am The Inventor. Progenitor of The Tinkerer and the race of augmented humans.” He bowed gently. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I will ask again: who is Kamala? Where can I find her?” 

“Kamala?” Squirrel Girl said. 

“There’s no use in denying your affiliation with the girl. I have plenty of footage of your scuffle with The Tinkerer. And since you’ve declined to cooperate, I’ll have to take you in for enhanced inquiry.” 

“That sounds like a euphemism for torture,” Spider-Woman said. 

“I only seek Squirrel Girl. You may run along, little spider.” 

“Okay, that tears it.” Spider-Woman’s webline shot past The Inventor and stuck to the rooftop door. She yanked hard on the line, propelling herself forward, fists balled and kick-first. 

“Fair enough,” The Inventor said. 

He weaved away from the attack like a fluid. Spider-Woman steadied herself and threw fist after fist, but The Inventor’s defensive skill was second to none. He blocked and parried each strike with loose, carefree arms. 

“As a luminary among geniuses, I am, of course, a renaissance man,” The Inventor said. He caught Spider-Woman in the jaw with a lax backhand—PA-POW!—and watched her stagger. “Kung Fu, Tae Kwon Do, Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai…I am remiss to admit, I’m lacking in Capoeira. But my point stands. You are outmatched.” 

A low vibrating hum emanated from Spider-Woman’s suit. 

“Is that your phone?” The Inventor asked, incredulous. 

“Jeez, Peni,” Spider-Woman grumbled. “I’ll call you later—“ 

The Inventor gripped Spider-Woman’s small shoulders and pulled her body down, just as he brought up his knee, and KRAK!! 

She recoiled, dazed and blinded by pain. The Inventor kicked the side of her knee, and Spider-Woman dropped, her head right in the path of a straight-on bullet-speed punch! 

BWOK! 

Squirrel Girl winced, just watching it. 

Spider-Woman was unconscious before she even hit the ground. She lay strewn about, her chest barely rising and falling. 

The Inventor stood over her beaten, bruised body. He folded his hands behind his back. “Now, the thing about villainy is the follow-through. You’re down, little one, but you’re not out.” 

He placed the tip of his foot on one of Spider-Woman’s wrists. “Let me take care of these little web shooters.” 

Squirrel Girl remembered the morning, which felt like forever ago. She remembered that Spider-Woman didn’t have web shooters. Her symbiote provided all the spider-y powers. 

The Inventor raised his foot, to stop on Spider-Woman’s wrists and break the hell out of them. 

Squirrel Girl charged! 

Kamala placed both hands on the door’s metal bar. “Please, be the exit. Please, be the exit..!” 

She pushed, and with a satisfying ker-CHUNK, the hallway opened to the outside! Mike and Kamala ran onto the lawn and collapsed there. Mike ripped up fistfuls of grass and threw them. “Oh, beautiful nature! I’d kiss you but I’d get all sick and stuff…but oh man, beautiful nature!” 

Kamala filled her lungs with fresh outdoors air. The sky was blue, the goons had been mostly beaten up, and it was just another weekend…

“Oh! Hi there, little friend!” Mike said to the squirrel that ran toward them. “You’ve got a little bow on you. That’s adorable! Wait…can people keep squirrels as pets? That’s not illegal, is it?” 

“Mike, are you asking me about the legality of pets in—“ 

“No, no. I’m just in hysterics. I think.” 

Tippy-Toe ran to Kamala’s side. The squirrel gestured and chirped wildly. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Kamala said. 

Tippy-Toe sighed. She pointed both of her frontmost paws up at the school building. 

“We can’t go back in there, right?” Mike asked. “I’m sorry, squirrel pal. But…” 

Kamala’s eyes scanned the building, looking up and up…and then she saw the helicopters. 

“Squirrel Girl’s in trouble,” Kamala said. She pushed herself up off the ground. “I’m going back in.” 

“Who the heck is Squirrel Girl?” Mike asked. 

CRASH!! The building’s wall exploded! 

Two more augmented humans fell through the protrusion. Kamala took her starting-to-feel-natural fighting stance. (She might have seen Mike running behind a nearby tree. She wasn’t sure.) 

A tall, mechanical figure followed the bodies through the hole with a confident gait. It had to be at least six feet, Kamala thought. It didn’t have human proportions; the red-and-blue android had longer arms and shorter legs than a human being. Its head was a red and blue dome, with a jet-black screen where its face would be. 

The voice was digitized. As though it were coming from a megaphone, Kamala wondered. 

“Oh! Hi, there!” The machine asked. “You’re Kamala, right?” 

“Who wants to know?” 

“Hold on, let me make sure the sensor is working…yep, Inhuman cells! That’s you, all right!” The android extended its double-elbow-in-the-arm for a handshake. “I’m Peni Parker…technically I’m piloting SP//DR right now.”

The black screen showed a LED display: ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

Mike and Kamala watched the colorful, cheerful machine with dropped jaws and entranced eyes.

Peni continued. “This is wild, though! I’m trying to find my friend Gwen, but everywhere I look, there are these robo-guys trying to shoot me.” 

“That’s…what today is like,” Kamala said. 

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