Sokovia and Spiders

Chapter 3

The images are grainy, but the costumes are obnoxious enough to recognise purely by a few flashes of vivid colour and glimpses of logos. Red and blue swipe across the screen, pulled along by pale webs. Spiderman ricochets from wall to wall, the reason for his haste becomes apparent as it flies right behind him, gold and red suit glinting in the distance. The video had been swiped off a deli's CCTV cameras and posted online. It only lasts thirty or so seconds. What exactly happened in the end the public doesn't yet know.

The video plays on phone hovering above a young women's chest, an orange hue emitting from it. A spiralling crack separates the screen, and the cover's packed with cards, each one for a different alias. She's lazed on an old sofa, avoiding the bare springs that have erupted from the stuffing, with one foot skimming the shabby red carpet. A mesh of mismatch furniture and mismatch mutants fill the safe house. The Rogue Marauders built the house shortly after their beginning, a bolt hole for any members attempting to bring mutants to safety. With the passing of the Mutant Registration Act hanging over their head it's a welcome refuge. Right now, there seven children in the house waiting to be taken to a better future.

With the video's release there comes an inevitable end to the secret. The feral cat has been yanked from the metaphorical bag. When the Superhero Registration Act was passed, the superhero world was divided down the middle, teams like the avengers ripped apart. Now the government is finally hunting down the unregistered, neighbourhood heroes. It made sense for the first victim to be Spiderman. He was the archetype of what a hero should be. Hunting him sent a message to every other cape, 'fall in line or suffer the consequences.'

Red light fills the gap beneath the door, spilling into her room in the process. ''Dinners ready, Candace.'' The glow fades only to flash again, signalling the speaker's departure. Antony had come to her room, he was a child teleporter, appearing suddenly and leaving those around him with blue spots dancing in front of their eyes. Eyes still glued to the grainy footage Candace doesn't see the figure at the window as she gets up. He's wearing all black, night vision googles over his eyes and a radio strapped to his vest. Shield's logo stitched proudly onto his arm.

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Miles away the same video plays on a sleek iPhone, it's paused just at the moment before Spiderman creeps out of the shot. Stark had been the one to revamp the images, zooming in and reconstructing each piece of it until the obscure image turned sharp. If he was interested, he could zoom in and see each microfibre of his red and blue suit. But Stark's too engrossed in the small metal mechanism strapped to his wrist, a web shooter. Before this the general consensus was that he produced the webs himself, now they know that's not the case and Clint owes him fifty.

Speaking of Clint, he's waiting by the lift to the top floor on the helicarrier , back leaning against the banal wall; sunglasses on in an attempt to cover the bruises blooming next to his eye. His posture's stiff probably as a result of being kicked across an alleyway. Stark can only imagine he's a kaleidoscopic of purple and blue under his vest. Flashing his phone at Clint, Starks says, ''You've heard about the video, right? The one I emailed you.'' He doesn't wait for his answer, pressing the lift's button, the words continue to flow, ''It's got half a million views already. There's no taking that back. The press is going to have a field day.'' A small ding signals the lift's return, walking in Hawkeye finally replies, ''Hill showed me. I don't check my email.''
''Course you don't.''
''Has the Mutant Registration Act been passed.''

''Just this morning. The press were meant to be releasing the news today, but this has grabbed their attention instead. I've got an interview with Sally Floyd tonight.''

The lift doors opens onto a empty hallway. There's no windows to break up the monotony of grey steel panels lining the walls. The floor is made of similar material, only the Sheild emblem is stamped across it. Straight ahead of them black double doors sit, the nametag just visible at that distance: Director Hill.