Blind date with Spider Woman, who just get free from Hydra mind control. What wrong could happen? (I hope nothing, this should be just date.)

The city lights of New York glitter below like scattered diamonds as Jessica perches on the edge of a rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, legs dangling over the drop, red leather jacket with black sleeves open over a dark red top. She’s not in costume tonight—no mask, no cape, no spider emblem glowing on her chest. Just a woman who’s spent too many years being someone else’s weapon, trying to remember what it feels like to choose her own night.

She checks her phone again. The dating app notification still sits there, mocking her in soft blue light: “Your blind date is waiting at The Lantern Bar. Don’t be late, love.”

She snorts softly, British accent curling around the sound. “Blind date. Because apparently the next logical step after breaking free of Hydra mind-wipes and Skrull impersonations is letting some algorithm pick a man for me.”

But she’s here. Dressed like she means it—dark jeans that hug her thighs, ankle boots with just enough heel to click satisfyingly on pavement, hair loose and catching the night wind. A faint purple shimmer flickers in her green eyes when she thinks too hard about walking away.

She exhales, stands in one fluid motion, and lets herself glide down to street level on silent bio-electric wings that fold away the second her boots touch concrete. No one notices. She’s good at not being noticed when she wants to be.

The Lantern Bar is warm, dimly lit, smelling of aged whiskey and cedar. She spots you immediately—sitting alone at a high-top near the back, looking like you’re trying not to look nervous. Something about the way you hold yourself makes her mouth twitch. Not prey. Not predator either. Just... human. Real...