Chapter Text
The Bronx Museo de las Artes shimmered under flickering traffic lights and the warm glow of street lamps. Not a single car was on the road.
You perched on top of a nearby building, taking in the sight below you. You checked your wrist monitor–3:34 a.m. The only time Nueva York would ever be quiet was at the ungodly hours of the night.
Past the entrance of the museum, the only security guard working was a man in his fifties, snoring away at the reception desk. You scoffed at the sore-looking sight; his beer belly threatened to pop the buttons off from his uniform, and there was drool dripping down the corner of his mouth. Might as well put him out of his misery for the next few hours.
A click echoed in the lobby as you pressed a loaded gun to the side of his thick, stubbly neck.
He jolted awake with a snort, blubbering about as he blearily took in his surroundings. “Wh–? Wait–”
“Hiya there.”
The tranquilizer pierced through his skin swiftly, and he slumped back into the chair before he had a chance to protest.
“Tsk,” you shook your head, ponytail swaying behind. “That was almost too easy.”
You inspected the man up close, just to make sure he really was out.
He started snoring.
Satisfied with your work, you aimed a different gun at one of the surveillance droids, tucked into the corner of the ceiling. A disruptor shot out with ease and latched on easily from its magnetic nature. The violent buzz told you that it had successfully ceased the web of camera connections. You watched as each surveillance display at the reception desk flickered in bursts of glitching magenta, before fizzling out to static.
Much better.
The shitty camera quality wouldn’t have been able to give away any of your physical features to the authorities anyways. That, combined with the black mask you donned, guaranteed your anonymity. But you wanted to be safe, still–can’t have anyone trailing after your scent.
The motion detectors and intruder alarms were even easier to turn off. To you, it was a cakewalk. Sometimes you wondered if these people were even trying with their security.
You took your sweet time with your stroll through the museums; peering under glass displays, poking at the paper sculptures. You certainly didn’t mean any harm–no, you were only here for some fun...and one very specific painting.
“Let’s see what we have here,” you murmured to yourself, tapping away at a monitor you wore on your wrist. With a swipe of your fingers, a holographic image popped up before your face. An image of a painting.
“This is considered art?” You muttered, amused at the sight before you. It was a painting with a single black dot in the middle of it. You frowned and zoomed in on it. Upon closer inspection…it seemed like a squashed spider?
Superhero, the painting was titled. There was no doubt that it was an allusion to the masked superhero, Spiderman. Somehow you had a feeling this painting received mixed reviews.
Well, art has always been controversial. You didn’t want to dabble in the debate.
It took you another couple of minutes before you found it, shining under a light in all its glory. The painting had a whole wall to itself. How vain.
You brought yourself closer to the white canvas, peering at the black blob in the middle of it all. That definitely looked like a squashed spider.
The metal claws of your gloves unsheathed with a soft click as you gingerly brought a finger up to unhook the painting.
“Stop right there.”
You froze, then smiled despite yourself at the familiar, gruff voice. “Spiderman. I was beginning to miss you.”
“Can’t say the same,” he replied, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “I thought you were done being a kleptomaniac.”
“Oh well…old habits die hard. Found myself needing some cash. I’m at a…what do they call it? Ah, a transitional period , at this time in my young adult life, you know?” You grasped the painting in your hands and sheathed your claws. You didn’t want to rip the canvas after all your hard work. “What about you, Spiderman? Have you gone through your midlife crisis yet?”
He scoffed. “I’m not that old.”
You laughed at his serious response, the sound echoing in the tall ceilings of the museum. Did he actually take offense to that?
“This is your only warning.”
You twirled around, looking Spiderman in the eye. Or at least, at the design of his mask that’s meant to outline his eyes.
“Are you offended because I’m stealing a painting dedicated to you?”
“No–what?” He squinted at the painting that was dangling on your fingers before him, eyes narrowing in on the “squashed spider.” He sighed and ran a hand over his mask. “Put the painting back where it belongs, Black Cat.”
“But I thought art was meant to be shared?” You asked, battering your eyelashes at him in mockery. He grumbled at the gesture.
“Estás probando mi paciencia, gatita.”
He lunged at you with his claws, shooting a web of neon red in the direction of your precious face. You ducked, having anticipated his actions a second earlier, and grunted as you dodged his swipes with a backflip.
“I don’t understand Spanish!”
“Well then maybe you should learn!”
You rolled to the side as more red webbing landed inches away from where you were just laying earlier. Using your lower-body strength, you arched your back and kicked up as Spiderman charged at you, landing your foot squarely under his chin. He reeled back from the undercut with a groan.
“Sorry, didn’t wanna bruise that pretty face of yours.”
You leaped to your feet, securing the painting under your arm, and ran out of the room. You heard Spiderman yell in frustration as red webs shot out from both sides of your vision and clung onto two display podiums. You knew what was coming.
The probability of him launching himself at you like a slingshot and succeeding in kicking you in the back was pretty high. You decided to tweak that just a bit.
One of his webs snapped just as he propelled himself forward, and he was sent flying too far right, missing you completely. Your face cracked open with a gleeful smile when you heard him crashing into some sculpture, and you kept on running.
“¡Ay, coño!”
“I know that one,” you quipped. “You’ve got a dirty mouth, Spidey.”
He cursed again before he was back on both of his feet, chasing after you. Of all his enemies, you were–surprisingly–the hardest to catch. You’re just too damn slippery, and your powers of probability manipulation certainly didn’t help his case.
You stalled as the moonlight shone through the glass ceiling of another exhibit room you’d run to. Perfect. You aimed your free arm at the sky and pressed a button in the center of your palm. A grappling hook shot out, shattering the glass dome that encased this part of the museum, and snagged onto the mainframe.
When Spiderman finally found the exhibit you had left through, it was already too late. The floor was littered with shards of glittering glass, and the only evidence of your presence earlier was a message for him, scratched into a glass display that held some random artwork.
See u around, Spidey. xoxo.