people with friendly gestures. “Hey, Spidey. Glad ya came.”
“Ben.”
Spidey leaned against an intricate machine, a latticework of glass and metal. Ben frowned. “Y’better not touch that.”
“Oh, sorry. Reed’ll get mad?”
“Worse. He’ll spend twenny minutes tellin’ you what it does.”
Spidey followed Ben’s gaze. Across the room, Reed was gesturing expansively with elongated arms, explaining something to a clearly confused Dagger. Cloak, her partner, had joined her. He seemed equally befuddled.
“Hey,” Spider-Man said, “how’s Johnny doing?”
“Better…he’s stable, mostly conscious. Suzy’s with him now.” Ben slammed a rocky fist into his palm. “I shouldn’t think about it too much. Makes me wanna clobber somebody.”
“Yeah. Any news about the Registration Act yet?
“Not yet.” Ben gestured up at a huge wallscreen tuned to CNN. The sound was muted, but a graphic read: BREAKING NEWS - SENATE IN CLOSED SESSION ON SRA. “Should be any minute.”
Ms. Marvel glided over to join them, tall and statuesque in blue and red. The other Avengers followed in her wake. “Tony’s been incommunicado all day,” she said to Spider-Man. “We were just wondering if you’ve heard from him.”
Tigra, smiled, baring pointed teeth. “Spider-Man is Tony’s new favorrrrrrite .”
“Not me,” Spidey said. “Haven’t heard a word.” He felt uncomfortable again, like an invader in a private club.
“Tone only texts me about babes. An’ I ain’t got a single pic from him today.” Hawkeye, the archer, looked up from his phone. “That really worries me.”
“Hey.” Spider-Man looked around. “Where’s Captain America?”
“Called away. Top secret.” Falcon shrugged. “’Sall he’d say.”
“Gotta be S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Hawkeye said. “It’s always S.H.I.E.L.D.”
Nighthawk was staring at the TV screen. “Pension plans and annual vacation time? Are they trying to turn us into civil servants?”
Luke Cage frowned. “I think they’re trying to close us down.”
“Or make us more legitimate,” Ms. Marvel replied. “Why shouldn’t we be better trained and publicly accountable?”
Patriot, leader of the Young Avengers, spoke up tentatively. “Somebody said we should go on strike if they mess with us. Does anybody think that’s a good idea?”
Reed Richards stepped forward, frowning. “I don’t think anyone here would seriously advocate a super hero strike, son.”
“Becoming public employees makes perfect sense,” Ms. Marvel continued, “if it helps people sleep easier.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Goliath grew slightly, rising to eight feet in height, and all eyes turned to him. “The masks are a tradition. They’re part of who we are. We can’t just let the government turn us into super-cops.”
“Actually,” Spider-Woman said, “we’re lucky people have put up with this for so long. Why should we be allowed to hide behind these things?”
Hawkeye bristled. “Because the world ain’t so nice outside your ivory tower, babe.”
“I’ve never really understood the secret identity fetish,” Reed said. “The Fantastic Four have been public since the very beginning, and it’s always worked for us.”
“For you, maybe.” Spider-Man felt the claustrophobia, the panic, rising inside him again. “But what about the day I come home and find the woman who raised me impaled on an octopus arm?”
Awkward silence.
Parker, Spidey thought, you sure know how to bring down a room.
As the conversation slowly resumed, he slinked into a corner. Behind a refrigerator-sized electron microscope, Daredevil and the Black Widow stood very close together, their lips almost touching. At first Spidey couldn’t tell if they were arguing or making out.
“…being paranoid,” the Widow said. “It’s all just speculation at the moment.”
“No,” Daredevil replied. “This has been building for a long time. Stamford was just the final
“Ben.”
Spidey leaned against an intricate machine, a latticework of glass and metal. Ben frowned. “Y’better not touch that.”
“Oh, sorry. Reed’ll get mad?”
“Worse. He’ll spend twenny minutes tellin’ you what it does.”
Spidey followed Ben’s gaze. Across the room, Reed was gesturing expansively with elongated arms, explaining something to a clearly confused Dagger. Cloak, her partner, had joined her. He seemed equally befuddled.
“Hey,” Spider-Man said, “how’s Johnny doing?”
“Better…he’s stable, mostly conscious. Suzy’s with him now.” Ben slammed a rocky fist into his palm. “I shouldn’t think about it too much. Makes me wanna clobber somebody.”
“Yeah. Any news about the Registration Act yet?
“Not yet.” Ben gestured up at a huge wallscreen tuned to CNN. The sound was muted, but a graphic read: BREAKING NEWS - SENATE IN CLOSED SESSION ON SRA. “Should be any minute.”
Ms. Marvel glided over to join them, tall and statuesque in blue and red. The other Avengers followed in her wake. “Tony’s been incommunicado all day,” she said to Spider-Man. “We were just wondering if you’ve heard from him.”
Tigra, smiled, baring pointed teeth. “Spider-Man is Tony’s new favorrrrrrite .”
“Not me,” Spidey said. “Haven’t heard a word.” He felt uncomfortable again, like an invader in a private club.
“Tone only texts me about babes. An’ I ain’t got a single pic from him today.” Hawkeye, the archer, looked up from his phone. “That really worries me.”
“Hey.” Spider-Man looked around. “Where’s Captain America?”
“Called away. Top secret.” Falcon shrugged. “’Sall he’d say.”
“Gotta be S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Hawkeye said. “It’s always S.H.I.E.L.D.”
Nighthawk was staring at the TV screen. “Pension plans and annual vacation time? Are they trying to turn us into civil servants?”
Luke Cage frowned. “I think they’re trying to close us down.”
“Or make us more legitimate,” Ms. Marvel replied. “Why shouldn’t we be better trained and publicly accountable?”
Patriot, leader of the Young Avengers, spoke up tentatively. “Somebody said we should go on strike if they mess with us. Does anybody think that’s a good idea?”
Reed Richards stepped forward, frowning. “I don’t think anyone here would seriously advocate a super hero strike, son.”
“Becoming public employees makes perfect sense,” Ms. Marvel continued, “if it helps people sleep easier.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Goliath grew slightly, rising to eight feet in height, and all eyes turned to him. “The masks are a tradition. They’re part of who we are. We can’t just let the government turn us into super-cops.”
“Actually,” Spider-Woman said, “we’re lucky people have put up with this for so long. Why should we be allowed to hide behind these things?”
Hawkeye bristled. “Because the world ain’t so nice outside your ivory tower, babe.”
“I’ve never really understood the secret identity fetish,” Reed said. “The Fantastic Four have been public since the very beginning, and it’s always worked for us.”
“For you, maybe.” Spider-Man felt the claustrophobia, the panic, rising inside him again. “But what about the day I come home and find the woman who raised me impaled on an octopus arm?”
Awkward silence.
Parker, Spidey thought, you sure know how to bring down a room.
As the conversation slowly resumed, he slinked into a corner. Behind a refrigerator-sized electron microscope, Daredevil and the Black Widow stood very close together, their lips almost touching. At first Spidey couldn’t tell if they were arguing or making out.
“…being paranoid,” the Widow said. “It’s all just speculation at the moment.”
“No,” Daredevil replied. “This has been building for a long time. Stamford was just the final
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