Spider Woman: Origin

Spider-Woman: The Crazy Ax

I pulled the flap of my jacket closer as the warm October breeze swept through New York. It was surprisingly warm for this time of year, and I was relieved I hadn't opted for something thicker—sweating buckets was not on my agenda.

I walked alongside Jordyn, who suddenly stopped to pull open a door to our right. I followed her into The Crazy Ax. The air buzzed with laughter and friendly competition, with ax-throwing booths separated by wooden panels creating a narrow aisle leading to a restroom sign at the end.

Nearby, a woman stood at a yellow marker. She adjusted her grip on an ax before practicing her throw. "Have you ever been ax throwing before?" I asked, glancing at Jordyn.

"Just once," she replied, her eyes scanning the room.

"Bullseye!" a man shouted from a corner. His words were followed by cheers. I imagined my dad in that moment—he would've loved an activity like this, relishing any chance to showcase his skills.

We approached the service counter. Jordyn cleared her throat, and the employee behind the counter spun around.

"Lucas?" I said in surprise.

Strands of his unruly, dark hair fell into his eyes when he turned. Lucas pushed the strands away with a sigh. He focused on us, his expression bored. His gaze lingered on Jordyn. "Tryin' to get me fired, JD?" His lips slowly curled in a smile at his words. "Welcome to Crazy Axe!"

Jordyn chortled. "He might be here against his will."

"Might be?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm practically hog-tied and thrown in a vehicle with every shift. I am definitely here against my will."

"And he's our in," Jordyn added with a glint of mischief in her eyes. I didn't quite understand the implication.

"Just going to ignore my mention of k********g?"

She said nothing. He shrugged it off and motioned to a nearby paper and placed a stiff finger against the fine print at the bottom.

I inched closer to it. It read, "Ages 8 to 17 must be accompanied by an adult."

"Oh," I muttered in surprise. I looked at the two of them. "We're just— okay." I'd been prepared to explain why this was a bad idea, but their expressions were definitive and told me this was something that they'd done before.

He quickly reviewed the company's packages and explained the waiver forms he slid across the counter. The words spilled out in a rehearsed flurry. We signed, and Jordyn pulled out her card to pay, but Lucas waved it away and replaced it with his own.

"It's on the sec spec* that said I need to 'live and earn money like the everyday people,' whatever that means," he said, his voice dropping to a mocking tone. He paused to take and discard a receipt.

"Right this way, ladies." He led us toward the throwing area.

Lucas reviewed safety rules and appropriate techniques for holding the ax he took from a holder nearby to take into his hand. He used himself as an example.

Standing tall in his black Crazy Ax shirt, he swung the tool with practiced ease, landing it in the center of the target both times when demonstrating the two and one-handed throw. Then he handed it to me before wishing me luck with a half smile. Lucas strutted away.

I adjusted the ax in my bandaged hand, trying to shake off the memories of the day's earlier events as they attempted to creep to the forefront of my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the target, tightened my grip, and stepped forward, swinging the ax. It bounced off the back wall and clattered to the floor. I glanced at Jordyn, who avoided my gaze.

"Oh," she said, feigning surprise. "It's my turn." I rolled my eyes and picked up the ax to hand to her.

She practiced a few throws with both hands gripping the ax. She propelled herself forward when throwing it. The ax landed on the edge of the target. I took my turn and achieved the same result as before. The ax returned to my sister.

"So, when did you tell Mom about M-Town?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Jordyn prepared to use both hands like before but opted for a one-handed throw instead. "Same day of the tour," her voice strained as she tossed the ax. This time, it landed on the second ring from the outside. She surveyed her work and walked to retrieve it from the wall. "I genuinely thought you would have wanted to join me," she adds when handing me the ax.

I contemplated my next words as I recalled my anger earlier. I threw the ax and was pleased to find it landed along the edge of the target. "I suppose I do. I just wish you had allowed me to tell Mom myself when I made and felt certain about my decision." I handed her the ax. She looked at it and hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely and retrieved it. "I got ahead of myself." She took her turn and moved closer to the center.

Watching her now, I couldn't help but admire how much she had matured. In the past, she would have become defensive, but now, she listened to understand and apologized.

"What?" she asked, noticing my stare.

"Nothing, sorry." I grasped the ax tightly and felt my hand strain against the bandage. I didn't feel any pain from the skin that had been injured just a few hours ago. This realization continued to astound me. I contemplated telling Jordyn about the healed skin, but dismissed the thought with the uncertainty as to how she would react. Hell, what would be an appropriate response to that?

I took a deep breath and focused again. I threw the ax. It clattered to the ground and I sighed.

Jordyn reached for the ax and took her turn in silence. This time, the ax was embedded closer to the inner rings of the target. I felt a competitive spark.

We took turns in quick succession. I moved closer to the center with each throw, while Jordyn's varied. My mind wandered, filled with thoughts that came and went, but then drifted to the dangers lurking in the city.

"How often do you walk home at night?" I thought about the night we went bowling and our encounter with the man on the street on our way home.

"Like, never," she said, her focus unwavering. "Sometimes I wonder if the police have given up. It's been five years, and things just keep getting worse."

I pried the ax from the wall. "Can't think like that. Sure, things have gone to s**t, but giving up? I don't know. There's a town hall meeting coming up. That has to count for something, right?"

Jordyn began recounting the city's transformation since the Wits appeared. While walking at night was always risky, the situation worsened with rising crime.

With the ax in hand, I practiced my throw again, thoughts swirling about the gang that had caused so much pain. I needed to focus, but the memories were overwhelming. Anger bubbled up, and I tightened my grip. I felt the wood bend in my grasp. I must have imagined it. I yearned to have imagined it. I stared at the handle for confirmation as it traveled the short distance to the target, but failed to see.

"And that's thirty—oh!" Lucas's sudden appearance made my heart leap. I glanced at the target where the ax had landed. Dead center. Shock and surprise coursed through me as I exchanged a fist bump with Jordyn. I eyed the handle and still couldn't tell anything from this distance and angle.

"I think you win," she said, impressed.

"First time ax throwing, too, right?" I nodded in response to Lucas's question.

The two engaged in conversation that went unheard and slowly drifted towards the exit. I reached for the ax with a sinking feeling washing over me. The handle bore an imprint, and the target was splintered down the center. I glanced around, hoping no one noticed, then quickly returned the ax to its holder.

With a wave goodbye to Lucas who stood at the entrance, I hurried out of the building and found Jordyn on the sidewalk. Concern was etched on her face. I panicked briefly, wondering if my expression gave away my anxiety.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," I replied, forcing a smile. But disbelief settled in as we headed to the subway. Had I really displayed that kind of strength? It could explain the glass shattering this morning.

No, this all had to be a coincidence. Coincidences are far easier to believe than—

I hesitated to even think it; to bring life to the thought. It was hard to associate myself with those thoughts and to imagine that it was something more, something beyond what the average human could do.

I inhaled a breath and slowly exhaled. "What can I expect on my first day?" I asked, trying to shift my focus to something else.

We reached the platform and waited. I tiptoed to the edge and looked into the vast darkness of the tunnel.

She contemplated a moment before answering. "You'll probably see the counselor to get your schedule. You might even get to pick an elective, but fair warning—I hear those affected have to take BSSG."

"BSSG?"

"Blip survivor support group, I think is what they call it. It's like group therapy," Jordyn says with a shrug.

I stifled a groan as the subway arrived. I tried to stay positive. While this was out of my control, connecting with others could be helpful.

I stepped into the cart and decided to stand rather than take one of the few empty seats. Leaning against the metal rod, I turned to face the door I had just entered to find Jordyn mimicking my movements. She stood across from me. The doors closed, and the subway lurched forward.

I glanced at my hand gripping the metal support, quickly lifting it to check beneath. Relieved, I found nothing unusual. As I looked around, I noticed couples and families chatting, but then my gaze landed on a hooded figure walking towards us.

My heart sank. Memories of our last encounter with a hooded figure flooded back, reminding me of the night I learned about Dad.

I quickly looked away, forcing myself to breathe steadily. It couldn't be the same man.

I repeated the thought like a mantra, but it did little to ease my fear. Searching my memory for distinctive features, I remembered one—his scar.

The figure drew nearer. My heart raced.

Even if it was him, maybe he wouldn't recognize us. And if he did, he wouldn't make a scene here. Right?

I swallowed hard, staring ahead at the window as he crossed into view. I couldn't see a single blemish on his face. It wasn't him.

I let out a sigh of relief and chuckled silently at my own panic, glancing at Jordyn, who remained blissfully unaware of my anxiety.

But as the subway rattled forward I couldn't shake the unease in my chest.

What if the next time we encountered danger, it wouldn't be so easy to escape?

____

*security specialist