Over the next few days, Ethan's life returned to a calm, predictable rhythm. By day, he attended his engineering lectures at Empire State University, worked on his neural-link interface designs in the lab, and by night, he returned home to strategize his next move—balancing life, research, and the hidden burden of his symbiote partner.
He made time every few days to drop by the pizzeria he'd recently acquired. It wasn't just a business venture; the small corner store in Old York wasn't far from Hell's Kitchen and held memories—imprints of the humble life he and Uncle Ben once shared. Continuing to operate it gave him a connection to the past, a sense of grounded identity in a city teetering on chaos.
And occasionally, Ethan couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Despite the secrecy he tried to maintain, the urge to help—etched deep into his bones—kicked in. Whether it was stopping a thief, shielding a civilian from a stray shot, or helping a lost tourist, the instinct to intervene had only grown stronger since bonding with Venom.
The weekend soon arrived.
After waking up late that Saturday morning, Ethan completed his usual routine—quick shower, breakfast, then returned to his room to prepare. Today was different. He had made plans with Felicia to attend the jewelry exhibition at the Midtown Manhattan Exhibition Hall, an elite event showcasing rare gems, including Stark Industries' latest experimental crystals and an exhibit sponsored by the Wakandan Consulate featuring vibranium-embedded jewelry.
Formal attire was non-negotiable for the event, so Ethan spent extra time selecting the right outfit. He settled on a tailored navy-blue suit with a charcoal shirt and matching tie—clean lines, understated but elegant. With his hair neatly styled, he glanced at the clock and grabbed the garbage bag on his way out, the city breeze ruffling his coat.
Just as he stepped outside and tossed the trash into the bin, a familiar sound echoed down the street.
Beep!
A sleek, silver Porsche 911 Turbo purred to a stop at the curb. The tinted window lowered, revealing Felicia Hardy's striking face framed by her flowing golden hair.
"You ready?" she called out with a smirk. "I don't remember you ever looking this sharp in a suit. Are you secretly part of the Avengers initiative now?"
Her teasing tone made Ethan chuckle. The tailored suit accentuated his tall frame and broad shoulders, adding a layer of quiet confidence that was usually masked by his casual hoodies.
"I wore a suit once back at our senior prom," he replied, stepping into the passenger seat. "Stayed for five minutes and dipped. No way you would've noticed."
As he shut the door, he glanced over at her. "By the way, you look… incredible."
And she did.
Felicia had gone full Gotham-gala mode. Her black satin gown clung effortlessly to her curves, cut tastefully to show just enough—elegant yet dangerous, much like the Black Cat she truly was. A string of freshwater pearls traced the hollow of her neck, and the subtle silver eye makeup made her eyes gleam like twin daggers. She had bunched the hem of her dress over her thighs so she could drive, revealing legs that added to her femme fatale aura.
Felicia rolled her eyes playfully at his compliment. "Tch. That's it? That compliment's barely a C-. Try again later. I might consider smiling."
Then, with a mischievous wink, she handed Ethan a pair of stilettos—black patent leather, at least four inches high.
"Hold these for me, will you? I can't drive with 'em on. It's either you or the glovebox."
Ethan took the heels without a word. Before he could process anything else, Felicia stomped on the accelerator.
The Porsche leapt forward like a shot, pressing Ethan back into the seat. Venom stirred uneasily inside him, gripping his ribcage like a roller coaster harness.
"Whoa. Can she not drive like she's racing Johnny Blaze?" Venom grumbled. "We're not Ghost Rider, you know."
But Felicia looked right at home behind the wheel, her fingers flicking the paddle shifters with expert timing as they weaved between cabs, buses, and motorcycles. She downshifted before turns, gunned it on the straightaways, and drifted around corners with a smirk.
"Did I mention I used to boost sports cars in SoHo?" she shouted over the wind.
"No," Ethan muttered, bracing himself as they drifted around a yellow cab. "But it makes a lot of sense."
Fifteen minutes later—what should've taken thirty—they rolled into the private parking lot behind the exhibition hall in Queens, where luxury cars lined up like trophies. Felicia parked the Porsche with a precision that made even the valet whistle low under his breath.
As they exited the vehicle, Ethan handed her the heels with a raised brow. "Don't say I never help you."
Felicia took them with a grin and said, "You're officially my chauffeur, bodyguard, and accessory manager. Congrats."
Ethan rolled his eyes, but smiled.
As they walked toward the building, flanked by camera drones and paparazzi hoping for shots of Stark, T'Challa, or even Stephen Strange, Ethan remained alert. The city had been tense lately—rumors of Wilson Fisk making moves again, Hydra remnants stirring underground, and tech thefts targeting Oscorp and StarkTech.
A jewelry exhibition of this scale, with experimental tech on display? It was a prime target.
And both Ethan and Felicia knew it.
Venom whispered in his mind, low and wary. "You feel it too, don't you? Something's off. Too quiet."
Ethan's eyes swept the rooftop edges and crowd exits.
"Yeah," he said under his breath, tightening his gloves. "Stay ready."
The night had just begun.
It was clear from the way the Porsche moved that Felicia Hardy wasn't just playing around—her driving skills were legitimately impressive. Her reflexes were razor-sharp, and the control she maintained over the powerful vehicle, even at breakneck speeds through Manhattan traffic, was on par with professional racers.
Although Felicia had casually mentioned during their last outing that she used to street race—right after dropping him off—Ethan still found himself genuinely surprised now that he'd experienced it firsthand.
This side of her was a stark contrast to the version of Felicia he'd grown used to—the elegant, flirtatious woman with the quick wit and polished presence. Seeing her behind the wheel, pushing the Porsche to its limits with confidence and fearlessness, added a new dimension to her that Ethan hadn't accounted for.
Now, walking arm-in-arm with her through the grand halls of the exhibition center in Queens, she had seamlessly returned to that refined demeanor. She smiled gracefully as she exchanged pleasantries with the other high-society guests, her steps composed and posture flawless. It was as though the fierce driver from earlier had been a dream.
Ethan couldn't help but look at her with fresh eyes, re-evaluating what he thought he knew about Felicia Hardy.
Noticing his gaze, Felicia turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with mischief. She gave him a playful wink, her lips curling into that trademark sly grin. "Surprised?"
"A little," Ethan admitted, nodding slowly. "Didn't expect you to have that kind of nerve behind the wheel."
"And?" Felicia leaned in ever so slightly, teasing.
"And your driving skills are the real deal," he said honestly. "I've never seen anyone race through New York City traffic like that and live to talk about it."
"Hmm~ That sounded almost sincere," Felicia laughed softly, covering her mouth with one manicured hand. "I'll count that as progress."
Ethan chuckled, his expression light. "What I said before was true too—you just didn't believe me."
Still smiling, the two of them moved from one dazzling display case to another. The exhibition was as impressive as advertised—diamonds the size of marbles, emerald necklaces from Sokovia, and even a limited Wakandan display featuring vibranium-threaded ornaments under tight security. All of the jewelry pieces were available for private purchase, which added an extra air of exclusivity to the event.
As they strolled through the exhibit, Ethan's attention briefly drifted to a set of garnet earrings when a faint sound caught his attention—beep… beep… beep—coming from above. The noise was almost inaudible, and judging from the crowd's continued chatter, it seemed no one else had noticed.
He frowned, his senses sharpening—just as Venom's voice slithered urgently through his consciousness.
"Ceiling. Someone's up there. Dropped something—small, electronic. Smells like high-grade C-4… move!"
Without hesitation, Ethan grabbed Felicia by the wrist and briskly pulled her a few steps forward, away from the center of the hall.
"What is it?" Felicia asked, her voice sharp as her instincts kicked in.
"Trouble," Ethan muttered under his breath.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a deafening BOOM shattered the ceiling overhead. Shards of steel and concrete exploded downward, ripping open a jagged hole at the dome's center. Screams rang out as the crowd descended into chaos.
"HEEHEEHEEHEE! HAHAAHAA!"
A manic, distorted laugh echoed through the hall. Ethan looked up through the smoke and saw the source of the chaos—someone descending on a sleek, bat-shaped glider spewing green smoke trails. The figure wore a tattered ochre cloak that flapped like wings behind him. His outfit underneath was a patchwork of blue and brown armor plates, and his gloves were tipped with claws. The mask—a molded, grotesque grinning face—resembled a twisted Halloween jack-o'-lantern.
It was Hobgoblin.
More dangerous and unpredictable than the original Green Goblin, this version of the villain—likely Roderick Kingsley or perhaps even Ned Leeds, based on his build—was infamous for erratic attacks on high-profile public venues, and he favored theatrical entrances. And, of course, explosives.
The room erupted into full-blown panic. Guests screamed and ran for the exits, but the explosion had damaged part of the support beams, and now chunks of ceiling began to fall like boulders. Several people near the epicenter of the blast were already dead—burned by the shockwave or crushed by rubble.
Others weren't so lucky: some guests lay trapped, their legs or arms pinned beneath fallen beams. Blood smeared the once-pristine white marble floor, and the shrill cries for help echoed under the flickering chandeliers.
"Isn't this just lovely?" Venom hissed. "Did he bring enough fireworks for everyone?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
This wasn't just some random attack.
This was planned.
And whoever the Hobgoblin really was, he'd just declared war.
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