Something had happened.
New York City was in uproar again.
Reporters with sharp noses for news had rushed back to their offices in the dead of night, and by dawn the headlines were already blazing.
"New York Times: Military's Christmas Night Raid on Civilian Cemetery Ends in Massacre—Calvary Cemetery Turns Slaughterhouse!"
"Wall Street Journal: Another Disaster from General Ross—Calvary Massacre a Botched Attempt to Capture the Hulk?"
"Global Observer: Seventy-Seven Dead, Helicopter Fireball, Gravestones Shattered—What Was the Federal Military Doing?!"
There was no hiding what had gone down.
By morning, countless citizens awoke to the papers, and especially those with loved ones buried at Calvary felt their worlds collapse.
They rushed to the cemetery—
But the place was sealed off by incoming reinforcements.
Families screaming their kin were inside, demanding entry, were met with rifles raised, bolts chambered, and eyes hard. Orders were clear: anyone crossing the line would be shot.
Couldn't beat the monster last night, sure—but bullying civilians? Easy.
"Army and people, one family"? Not here. In the Union, soldiers didn't march in to save disasters. They marched in to suppress.
The crowd seethed, unfurled banners, and locked eyes with the troops across the cordon.
The Mayor of New York was drowning.
Taxpayers in Manhattan, remembering the last time the military had wrecked their city, started calling. The connected went straight to the Pentagon. The wealthy-but-not-connected blew up the mayor's phone.
One demand: fix it, or we'll fix it with a new mayor.
The mayor cursed the Army a thousand times over.
Reckless before, yes. But this reckless?
Turn a cemetery into a battlefield, gravestones blasted to powder, memorials shattered?
Unbelievable.
Press conference: no euphemism, no sidestepping. He called out the Pentagon by name and demanded answers.
The Pentagon? Silence.
Washington? Silent.
Quantico? Silent.
At least, on the surface.
But Gwen Stacy, still on holiday with family out in Long Island, wasn't calm at all when she saw the news.
Calvary Cemetery. Last night.
Hawk.
She snatched up her phone and dialed his number.
Phone off.
Her stomach dropped.
Then the TV in her room cut in. A glossy anchorwoman was already running footage and exclusives on last night's disaster.
That was news—time-sensitive. If one channel flinched, another would run it and steal the ratings. Advertising waited for no Pentagon spin.
And when the anchor flashed a $500 photo of Spider-Man snapped in Calvary that night—Gwen's mind leapt.
Peter Parker.
She called his number.
Not off. It picked up fast.
"Gwen."
"Peter, was Hawk there last night? Did you see where he went?"
Silence, scratching. "I only just saw the news myself… Hawk, last night, he was—"
"Peter!" Gwen's voice was sharp, nerves buzzing.
"…He's okay," Peter muttered. "By the time I got there, the fight was over."
Her breath eased. Then Peter asked, puzzled, "Did Hawk tell you who I am?"
Gwen, calmer, let out a soft sigh. "I'm not stupid. You've changed so much, and you're suddenly close with Hawk. Putting together you're Spider-Man wasn't hard."
Peter nodded reflexively.
"Where's Hawk now? His phone's off."
"I don't know."
"Peter!"
"I really don't. He left too fast. He just asked if I meant to stop him—I didn't. So I stepped aside, and then he was gone."
Peter hesitated, then asked curiously, "Wait, Gwen, I thought Hawk went to Long Island with you. Why was he at Calvary?"
Gwen bit her lip.
"He had a sister. Anya. Died of a heart condition back in '09. Buried there. Every Christmas, he spends it with her."
"So it really was a sister…" Peter breathed.
Gwen frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When he left, he asked me… if someone desecrated Uncle Ben's grave, what would I do."
Gwen's blood ran cold. "Anya's grave was destroyed?!"
"No, no," Peter waved quickly, though she couldn't see. "The stone itself was fine. But…"
"But what?"
"Uh… one of the graves behind it blew open in the fighting. Dirt sprayed over. It cracked the mound a little, but the coffin never showed."
Gwen's heart clenched.
Heaven help her.
Nobody understood better than she how much Anya meant to Hawk.
If Anya wasn't resurrected, then even if Gwen married him one day, Christmas would always be for Anya.
And now…
"Anya's grave… was damaged?"
"Not destroyed!" Peter stammered. "Just the backfilled soil, that's all."
But to Gwen—soil or stone, what difference?
She winced.
"Gwen!"
Her mother's voice carried from outside.
"Coming!"
She snapped back, told Peter quickly, "If you hear from Hawk, call me," and hung up.
Deep breath. Straighten. She went downstairs.
And stopped.
Oh.
Very familiar.
The woman she'd knocked out cold with a stick days ago—Natasha Romanoff—was standing at the door, chatting with her mother Helen, smiling.
Helen beamed at Gwen. "Natasha says you lent her the car. She's here to return it."
Natasha turned with the same smile. "Good morning, Gwen."
"…Morning."
Gwen forced the word out, then excused herself from Helen and followed Natasha outside.
Her yellow Corolla, polished, repaired, sat waiting.
"Go on," Natasha said lightly. "Check it. I didn't break your car."
Gwen said nothing, slid into the driver's seat. Natasha slipped into the passenger side and shut the door.
Gwen drew in a breath, looked at her.
"Are you here to kill me?"
"What?" Natasha blinked, then laughed and shook her head. "Of course not. You didn't kill me—why would I kill you?"
"You sent people after Hawk."
Natasha shook her head again. "That raid wasn't us. If last night hadn't happened, I wouldn't even be here."
Last night had blindsided S.H.I.E.L.D. as much as the city.
Maria Hill had been gathering intel, plotting a careful first contact.
The Army bulldozed in without warning.
No risk assessment. No logic. Just smash.
By the time Hill knew, it was already too late.
So she'd done the only thing she could—called Natasha, just back from Tennessee, hadn't even slept yet, and told her to get to the one link they had left.
Gwen Stacy.
Natasha's smile faded. Her eyes hardened.
"Gwen. We need to know where Hawk is. If this escalates, no one can control what comes next."
…
(End of Chapter)
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