When lightning always strikes, you know she's not far behind.
Kidnapped at a young age and recused seven years later, Avalyn Stark is forced to try to navigate a new world far from what she remembered. With threats around every corner, she was nev...
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"Hey! It's Peter, you didn't pick up the phone but I really think you should. I was at a party but then I saw this big explosion and I'm going to follow it. Uh okay bye!"
Avalyn Stark put her phone down with a groan.
She'd wanted a peaceful night, one without worrying about what a teenage boy with spider powers would be up to. She should have known he'd get into trouble one way or another and she was really starting to feel like a babysitter.
Avalyn wanted Peter to be smart, not stupid. Going after a big explosion when he had no idea what kind of weapons they had was the definition of stupid — she was just glad he had the smarts to phone her first.
"I swear, if I'm not back for Pietro phone call, you're dead Peter," Avalyn mumbled.
In a matter of seconds, she hurriedly donned her sleek suit, adjusting the high-tech mask with its integrated FRIDAY technology, and securely fastened her fireproof boots. With a surge of energy crackling around her, she dashed towards the coordinates she had extracted from Peter's suit.
"Hello," Avalyn spoke calmly.
Peter spun around quickly, calming when he saw it was Avalyn.
"You got my call," He whispered. "Look."
The air was still as the sun dipped behind the skyline, casting long shadows over a quiet bridge. The silence was shattered by a flash of blue light, cutting through the evening like a lightning bolt. It struck the remains of a car with precision, sending metal fragments flying in all directions. A thunderous explosion followed, its force strong enough to make the two men standing nearby flinch.
One of them, unable to contain himself, burst into laughter as streaks of electricity danced in the air, a chaotic aftermath of their experiment. The man, still chuckling, lowered the weapon that had caused the destruction. The gun's mechanical fingers—grimy and weathered from countless uses—curled inward, forming a loose fist as the device powered down.
"What the hell?" Avalyn mumbled.
"Now this," The man boasted, "Is crafted from a reclaimed sub-Ultron arm, straight outta Sokovia. Here, man. You try."
He passed the weapon to his partner with an almost casual air, as if handling a toy rather than a tool of devastation.
The other man took the gun but eyed it with unease.
