The masked vigilante named Daredevil didn’t answer. In fact, he wasn't paying his long-time partner’s words any attention at all. He was happy for her to speak - it helped keep her calm - but he couldn’t afford the distraction of listening. He’d spent years training himself to block out unwanted noise so that it didn’t overload his senses. For a blind man who relied on enhanced hearing, such mental conditioning was imperative to keep him from being plunged into an insanity of relentless, cacophonous babble. And now, more than ever, he needed his full concentration on the task at hand.

There was a black canister strapped about the Widow's throat. Inside the canister, nestled within a spool of colored wires and switches, there was a second container full of a red chemical. Regardless of the nature of that compound, this device was a bomb. And it was ticking. There was no way to remove it without triggering it, and detonation was obviously approaching fast. The Widow's only chance was for Daredevil to deactivate the timer before it was too late - and that was a particular operation he’d never attempted before.

"I'd tell you to get out of here, Matt, but even if you consented - which you never would - it's already too late," Natasha declared. "If this is the Plague, then that's it. All over. There'll be no place to hide, for anyone."

“Mmm.”

“There’ll be nothing left in the city. Nothing alive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I’m not wearing any underwear beneath all this leather.”

“Mm-hm.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I knew you weren’t listening…”

Daredevil tensed, every nerve on edge. "I can do this," he muttered, more to himself than the Widow. "I can hear it... I can hear the flow of power through the individual circuits. When I press each switch, just lightly, I can tell how it affects the device as a whole. If I disconnect the right circuits in the correct order, I can override the in-built electronic command."

"But can you do it in time?"

The man in the dark red half-mask grimaced. "Yes," he said. But there’d been a moment's hesitation, and they both knew the truth wasn't anywhere near as certain.

The two of them were crouched in the corner of a harshly-lit warehouse, down on the docks of the Hudson. As they spoke, there came the sound of battle from behind them – the splintering of wood, the rush of heavy water, and a grunting of pain. Just another assortment of noises for Daredevil to ignore, although in this instance that was decidedly difficult. He was a man built for action, after all. Natasha saw his expression flicker and she sighed.

"Not good," she reported. "I suspect that creature - the Vodianoi - is more than Spider-Man can handle alone."

Daredevil felt a pang of sorrow, but was faced with little choice but to discount it. I'm sorry, Peter, he thought, but I have to prioritize. He returned his attentions to the black device about the Widow's throat.

It was now or never. However, just before he set to work, there was time for one more question. He inclined his head, his appearance somber.

“What?” he said. “No underwear at all…?”

Spider-Man had never encountered a foe quite like the Vodianoi before. There’d been Morris Bench, of course - good old Morrie, the cerebrally-challenged villain known publicly as Hydro-Man - but even though Bench had possessed the superhuman ability to transform the genetic structure of his entire body into water he was still a man beneath it all. A slow-witted, pug-faced, lumbering thug of a man whose all-too-human frailties led him, time and again, to crashing defeat. The Vodianoi however was utterly different, that much soon became apparent. It, too, was a creature composed of water – thick, black, oily sludge, to be exact – but its internal bone structure was not indicative of any human host within its watery shell. It was, instead, an elemental: fierce, brutal, and seemingly unstoppable. The wall-crawler had launched himself into the fray hoping to find a weakness to exploit, but almost instantly he had been consumed by his enemy...

...and now, cocooned within a swirling whirlpool of black water, he realized that he was drowning. He fought with all his strength even though his lungs were bursting, for he knew that he had to buy enough time for Daredevil to disarm the bomb strapped about the Widow's neck. But it was an increasingly desperate struggle. He was snared within the slick, polluted innards of the Vodianoi like a fly trapped in amber, and the world was slowly turning dark about him. Still he battled on, because that was the nature of the man. Often, this single-minded determination was enough to see him through. But not on this occasion.

The Vodianoi knew that victory was close at hand, for the costumed man wriggling inside it was beginning to falter and fall limp. It reared up, carrying Spider-Man's twisted body along with it...

...then threw itself down against the wooden floor beneath it, rendering its liquid mass as solid as it was able. The warehouse floor splintered loudly beneath the impact, and Spider-Man found himself plunged into sudden, cold darkness. He was engulfed in water far icier than the Vodianoi's body had been, and the shock of the extreme cold to his system jarred one final spark of life into his fading senses.

The river! The creature had broken through the warehouse floor and deposited him in the black depths of the frigid Hudson. A horrific fate – but, in that moment, the wall-crawler knew that he had a chance. He instinctively roused every last scrap of strength from his battered and exhausted body and pushed himself up, out of the cold, out of the dark. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air. He was wracked with gasping, shuddering coughs that shivered his bones, and his lungs felt shredded. He briefly pulled up his mask so that he could vomit, his throat raw with bile, and his entire frame quaked as he froze, quickly, in the merciless night. Yet he was alive. At this moment in time, it was all he could ask for. But, even as he bobbed in the water, he knew that the Vodianoi remained at large in the warehouse overhead, and that meant that Daredevil and the Widow were in terrible danger…

Up above, the Vodianoi was indeed quickly gathering itself once more, growing to a height of twelve feet and gaining in mass with every passing second. Before it, Daredevil stood with his back turned, whilst the Black Widow gazed on in horror over his shoulder.

"Oh, Matt," she breathed, her green eyes wide. "It drowned Spider-Man. Now it's coming for us. I don’t know if my Widow's Bite will affect it, but - "

"No! Don't move. I've almost got it. Almost..."

Daredevil’s gloved hands were working furiously at the black device about the Widow's throat. It was ticking hurriedly now – click-click-click – and then, when Daredevil flicked at a switch with a red-gloved fingertip, the pace increased still further. Clickclickclickclickcl –

The Vodianoi surged forward...

...and then, without warning, there was an explosion, of light and flame. Natasha closed her eyes and her jaw fell loose in silent scream. Was that detonation? Was the Plague…?

No. It hadn't been the canister attached to her neck – this remained intact. The explosion had occurred overhead, in the warehouse ceiling – and now, inexplicably, the entire room was flooded with an incandescent light and a searing heat.

The air was filled with an unholy shriek, a howl of sheer, blood-curdling agony. The Vodianoi.

Natasha wanted to open her eyes, but instinctively knew that this was the very last thing she should do at this particular time. Before her, Daredevil's hands faltered in their work as his senses attempted to inform him what was happening around him. He, of course, didn’t have to worry about shielding his vision from the incredible light. Even so, he didn’t hesitate for longer than a heartbeat. He’d not been born a man without fear; that was what he’d become. Years of throwing himself blindly off the tops of fifty-story buildings, out into the dark and the wind and the eerie silence, had taught him that the old saying was true – there was nothing to fear but fear itself. Whatever was occurring around him – the sudden explosion of noise, the waves of heat, the electrical crackling in the air, or the screams of the Vodianoi – none of it mattered. The only thing he cared about was Natasha. He had to save her. And that's what he was going to do. He summoned his concentration, furrowing his brow, and listened to one, tiny sound beneath the hubbub of a hundred, thousand conflicting noises. The sound of a brief yet intense pulse of power flowing through a tiny wire, increasing in its intensity with every passing moment.

That was it! That was the final circuit.

He gripped the canister fiercely in one fist, and with the fingers of his other hand he flicked a switch and pulled a single wire free of its loop.

Clickclickclickcl...

...and then nothing.

The bomb was disarmed. The Widow was safe. Daredevil smiled and breathed out a gush of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. And then the Vodianoi surged forward and engulfed him.

"No!" a woman cried – but, although the Russian accent was evident, it wasn't Natasha's voice. Even as his lungs flooded with oily, black water and he struggled in vain to free himself, Daredevil's senses registered confusion. There was another heartbeat in the room with them, barely discernible about the thundering of his own. A stranger. He could only hope that she was on their side.

Morningstar shot down from above in a blaze of light and fire, a slash of slender body encased in a white and gold costume, a trail of scarlet flames in her wake. She struck the Vodianoi at tremendous speed, and the air was suddenly filled with an almighty hiss and a cloud of steam. The Vodianoi shrieked and reared backwards, its bones jangling at the heart of its watery shell, and it deposited Daredevil as it retreated, directly over the hole in the floor it had created earlier.

Daredevil found himself falling in space, disoriented... but then strong arms closed around him, and he heard the fluttering of a familiar heartbeat close to his ear.

"I wouldn't recommend the midnight swim," Spider-Man said, through chattering teeth. "Not when you've got a sauna going on up here. Why is it you never invite me to your pool parties?"

The soaking wet wall-crawler flipped backwards as he emerged from the hole, bearing Daredevil's not inconsiderable weight, and staggered sideways into a wall of crates – which shuddered, tipped, then fell, with a crash. Both heroes scrambled clear in opposite directions, the two of them desperately attempting to harness their muddled senses. In their midst, Morningstar wheeled in the air and propelled herself at the Vodianoi a second time. The creature's mass had somewhat dissipated now, its current height little more than eight feet... and, as it was attacked again in another burst of steam, it was reduced further. Now it was barely more than a cluster of bones shrouded with a fine mist of dark water.

"Okay, Blobster," Spider-Man growled, staggering forward with a length of wood clenched firmly in his fists. "I'd say that this is gonna hurt me a lot more than it'll hurt you – but the wonderful woman who raised me didn't intend for me to be a liar, now did she?"

The fading Vodianoi hissed and whirled to face him, attempting to gather its mass once more... but the wall-crawler was already swinging, and a fraction of a second later the length of wood passed through the beast's bones with a splintering crack, effectively ending what vile pretension of life it had possessed.

Spider-Man smiled grimly beneath his mask as he saw an approximation of a misshapen skull slice through the air and ricochet off a distant wall. "Home run!" he muttered, watching the last of the Vodianoi seep away through the floorboards with a gentle sigh of trickling sludge. "And now, if everyone will excuse me, I have to perish with acute pneumonia..."

Across the room, Morningstar descended with a trail of fire, her blue eyes bright and searching. Ignoring Spider-Man, who all but collapsed at that moment into the waiting arms of Daredevil and the Black Widow, the blonde woman was instead interested only in a man hiding in the shadows, quaking in terror following the battle that had just occurred. Before the appearance of the Vodianoi, Daredevil had made short work of the group of thugs who had been holding the Black Widow hostage. Most of those blackguards had since made their escape – except for this one. He’d been unfortunate in that he’d looked directly at Morningstar when she’d made her dramatic entrance a few minutes earlier. Now he wouldn't be looking at anything ever again – her white light had blinded him.

"Help me," the man whimpered, pitifully. "Please..."

"Give me information, and I'll get you to a doctor," Morningstar snarled in Russian, grabbing the sightless man by the throat and hoisting him up against the wall. "Otherwise, I'll fry your flesh from your bones. Tell me where I can find Rhoskov."

The thug whimpered, his eyes blackened and withered in their sockets. He was almost incoherent with madness... almost. As Morningstar tightened her grip, sparks of fire beginning to crackle about her gloved hands, the man whispered something. His aggressor leaned in close to hear.

"Set him down, Miss," Daredevil said, quietly, "and stand away from him."

Morningstar glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes bright. A sharp smile played about her lips. "That sounds like a threat," she murmured, in English, her voice rich with accent. "And here was I just saving all your lives."

"I know you.”

The Black Widow stepped forward alongside Daredevil, arms crossed over her chest and her expression cold as she met her fellow Russian’s appraising stare. "Her name is Marya Meshkov,” she declared. “The Morningstar.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Romanova,” Morningstar said. “After so many years of following your exploits in America. You're even more striking in person than the media would have us believe, if such a thing is possible. I wish I had more time to get to know you – all of you. Your country’s - your new country’s - heroes, and its insular culture, they fascinate me. But I can't tarry here - I fear I may already be too late in attending to Rhoskov."

"I’d heard that the Bogatyri were no longer a unit. So who are you working for now, Marya?"

Morningstar smiled, thinly. "My old companions are… gone, yes. Only I remain. But the identity of those I now ally myself with is no concern of yours."

Still shivering, and unsteady on his feet, Spider-Man drew alongside Daredevil. "Ever get the feeling you're being left out of the loop?" he asked, his voice ragged and sore. Daredevil didn’t reply. Instead, he reached out and rested a hand upon the Widow's arm, and was surprised when she flinched.

"This is over for tonight," he said, firmly. "I know how serious the situation is, but you and Spider-Man are in no state to - "

"Don't tell me what to do, Matt," Natasha snapped, her green eyes shining. "I grew out of wanting to please you a long time ago – we're equals now."

"That's not what I - "

"Hey!" Spider-Man yelled. He bolted forward as Morningstar suddenly took to their air, her lithe body engulfed in a lick of scarlet flame. "Sorry to break up a lover's tiff, but she's... she…"

The woman exploded through the ceiling overhead in a roar of fire and light, showering them with cinders and splinters of wood.

"...she’s outta here," Spider-Man finished, glumly. "Some people really need to be educated in the art of using a door. And yes, I do include myself in that number."

And with that he sprang upwards, mindless of his debilitated state, following swiftly in the Russian woman's wake. He was far too quick for Daredevil to do anything to deter him. The crimson-garbed vigilante cursed his friend's impetuous nature, even as the Black Widow also stalked away from him, cradling something in her hands. It was the black canister that had been attached about her throat, and the chemical container – thankfully intact - within.

"Thank you, Matt," she said, stiffly. "Everything aside, I owe you for this. I'll take this to SHIELD, and they can analyze it. Keep it safe. But Rhoskov will inevitably have more in his possession, and I can’t rest until his threat’s been extinguished."

Daredevil turned in her direction, then immediately whirled back towards the smoldering hole in the roof left behind by Morningstar, through which Spider-Man had given chase. There was also the matter of the blinded thug, curled in a ball and whimpering on the warehouse floor. He needed medical attention. So many problems and he didn’t know where to start…

He grimaced. “Good luck, Peter,” he murmured beneath his breath. “Wherever you end up tonight I hope you’ve good a hefty slice of luck due to you… because I think you’re going to need it.”

Mikhail Rhoskov pursed his lips and steepled his fingers as he sat back in his leather seat. His eyes were narrowed in consternation and as black as purest midnight. That had not gone well, all things considered. No, not at all. Still, all was not lost.

As his personal jet began to taxi down a narrow runway, he forced himself to breathe deeply. There would be another day. Unfortunate, however, that he’d found it necessary to sacrifice Vitali. Good weapons in the war against humanity were so hard to come by, especially when they were fashioned in the form of blood relatives…

The small, private airport was located across the Hudson, some ten miles from Hell's Kitchen, in an industrial area that was otherwise dark and silent at this time of night. The only sound and movement belonged to Rhoskov's jet as it began to pick up pace along the runway. Morningstar was a beacon of white and golden light as she approached through the black sky at incredible speed, leaving a trail of fire and vapor in the freezing air.

She lanced down towards the jet like a spear of flame...

...only to be impeded in mid-flight by a chunk of masonry slamming into her midriff and knocking her off-course. She spiraled sideways through the air, momentarily stunned, her flame sputtering. She plummeted, but gathered her wits at the last moment, and swooped low across the ground on a wave of fire and light.

Krakk!

She stumbled again as another spike of concrete hit the ground alongside her, showering her with debris. She glanced up as she became aware of a massive shadow looming close...

...and saw the enormous rock-beast that was attacking her sweep a fist the size of a car down towards her. She threw herself to one side, but the blow glanced across the back of her head, sending her sprawling. She crashed to the ground some distance away, senseless, the taste of blood in the back of her throat. The beast lurched forward in pursuit, twenty feet high, every stamp of its huge feet sending shockwaves for a thousand meters in all directions. On the runway, the jet carrying Rhoskov veered, but then pulled itself smartly back on course.

On the sidelines, a young man slumped in a wheelchair watched the rock-creature close in on the fallen Morningstar, his eyes bright, his jaw quivering silently. The boy's name was Vitali. This elemental spirit – a Bannik, composed entirely of earth, stone and asphalt – was to be his last creation. Mikhail had abandoned him with the promise that, if he aided his escape by deterring anyone who might come after him, then Vitali was finally to be gifted his freedom. If the disabled man could have laughed at this, then he would. Freedom? Vitali suffered from both cerebral palsy and cancer. He would be dead inside a year. And he was also a mutant, with the power to give flesh to the images in his head. Because he loved the myths and legends related to him by the nurses in the hospital where he'd spent his childhood, the sinister characters they spoke of were invariably what Vitali created at Mikhail's request. At first, it had been a kind of game, and Vitali had fulfilled his role without question. However, when he had seen the chaos his living monsters had caused, he had refused to cooperate further, at least willingly. Mikhail had ensured that Vitali acceded to his requests through the regular administration of a drug that induced acute pain... and which had accelerated the growth of the tumors that now littered his body.

Vitali wished that he were back at the hospital, where people cared for him, and where they took his pain away. But they'd had no choice but to sign him over to Mikhail when he'd arrived possessing the required documentation. After all, Mikhail was his only kin. And no man could wish to harm his own brother, surely…

The Bannik blundered forward, until it came to cast Morningstar's tiny body in shadow. It raised its foot, ready to stamp down upon her, crushing her to dust...

...but, at that moment, the night sky was suddenly filled with the sound of helicopter blades and the harsh glare of a spotlight – and then, a flash of red and blue, and a new combatant entered the fray.

"Many thanks, dudes," Spider-Man yelled above the roar of the 'copter, waving up at the pilot inside. "You guys rock! Not as much as this fella, who's apparently made of rock, but even so."

The man in the chopper, a nighttime traffic reporter for a local news channel, shook his head in amazement as he circled high above. A twenty-foot tall monster made of earth and concrete was one thing – a skinny guy in a costume throwing himself into battle with it, despite obviously not being in the right kind of shape for any such endeavor, was something else entirely. These super-powered freaks were all as mad as hatters... but, if it weren't for them, then the city would be full of monsters running amok. The pilot was more than happy to give one of the good guys a lift, but now it was time to skidaddle.

Spider-Man wheeled in mid-air and let loose with a shower of webbing from both of his wrist shooters. The heavy net settled over the Bannik's rocky head like a blanket, causing it to rear backwards in surprise. The wall-crawler skipped lightly across the creature's face, weaving sideways as a massive fist swept towards him, then bounded clear, tugging forcefully at the webs he still held clenched in both fists. The net tightened about the Bannik's head, yanking it forward - and off-balance.

Down on the ground, Morningstar pushed herself up into a sitting position, shaking her head groggily. She was still severely dazed, and a little unsure what had happened. Her vision was swirling and all she could hear was a loud rushing sound, like a landslide. She looked up through hazy eyes – and saw the massive bulk of the Bannik about to topple directly upon her.

Spider-Man flipped backwards across the Bannik's shoulder and then aimed to dive down towards the blonde woman in the golden costume. He extended his right hand, intending to shoot out a web-line that would snag her and sweep her free of the beast's fall... but then, something slammed into the side of him, sending him flying sideways on a completely new trajectory. The Bannik had backhanded him, swatting him like a bug. The irony was cruel – his landing would be even crueler.

The ground was approaching fast, and the stunned wall-crawler couldn't reconfigure his position in time to try and save himself with a web net. He closed his eyes and braced for impact...

...that never came. Slender arms suddenly closed tight around him, making him wince from the injuries he had sustained in his previous skirmish with the Vodianoi. Suddenly, he was shooting upwards. He opened his eyes to see a pretty face and a sharp smile beneath a shock of blonde hair.

"Just returning the compliment, my friend," Morningstar informed him. "Unfortunately, I can’t fly without my light and flame – so, if we are both to survive, I must abandon you again. But I trust you can make your own arrangements from here…?"

And with that she let him go, a hundred meters higher above ground than he had been when she had grabbed him. Morningstar had propelled herself towards him at top speed, then extinguished her flame at the last moment so as not to burn him to a crisp upon contact. Her momentum had carried them both higher into the air, but now they were falling once more. Spider-Man saw the woman burst into flame close by, in a similar fashion to his old friend Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, then watched as she shot away, back towards the Bannik, which was laying across the runway on its back, its limbs flailing. Then the wall-crawler remembered that he was tumbling, and flipped himself over so that he was staring down at the ground, which was again rapidly approaching. This time, however, he had time and sense enough to weave himself a cushion of web fluid, which absorbed the impact of his fall. He sprang clear of his web and began racing towards the battle ahead, but almost immediately felt his Spider-Sense flare sharply at the base of his skull. Instinctively, he skidded to a halt, and turned away...

...just as, fifty meters away, Morningstar and the Bannik suddenly erupted in a ball of flame and blazing white light.

When Spider-Man looked back, chunks of scorched rock were already beginning to rain down upon the airfield, and he had to skip to safety out of range of the debris. Where the Bannik had been there was now just a pile of smoldering rubble. Of Morningstar there was no sign. He looked up, into the black skies, and in the distance saw the retreating lights of a private jet. He had no idea who was on that plane – most of the tumultuous events that had taken place that evening, indeed the whole day, remained a mystery to him. But it was obvious that whoever was responsible for what had happened to the Black Widow had escaped.

And Morningstar...?

Spider-Man shook his head and sighed. The woman could have abandoned him and gone after the jet, but she’d chosen to stay and help him against the Bannik. Her decision had been one of honor, in contrast to the more extreme tendencies she’d exhibited back in the warehouse on the docks when threatening the blind thug. Like many costumed individuals he had cause to meet in this bizarre world he inhabited, Morningstar wasn’t fashioned from black and white, but rather a distinct shade of gray. Except, of course, when the white in question was of the brilliant, blinding variety…

He turned away from the remains of the Bannik, stretching out the kinks from his shoulders... then stopped. He was miles from the city, he realized, with no buildings to swing from, and no handy helicopter to give him a return lift. So how in the world was he going to get home?

The severely disabled boy remained strapped in his wheelchair, watching the dust and the debris settle in the distance with his head lolling to one side. He was parked up at the far end of the runway, alone and abandoned. Eventually, he knew, emergency services would arrive on the scene and he would be taken away. His brother was gone. And, yes: as promised, he was free. A limited freedom, but nonetheless. Now, finally, he would be able to return to the hospital. He would –

"Your name is Vitali Rhoskov," spoke a woman's voice with a Russian cadence. "I recognize you from the files. Mikhail's brother, whose mutant powers are a potent weapon and have caused much chaos this night. Powers your kin abused dreadfully, against your will."

Vitali couldn’t turn, but then he didn’t need to. He knew that it was the glowing woman who’d emerged from the shadows behind him, the one who’d destroyed his Bannik. He could feel the faint waves of heat that her lithe body expelled, and the ground about him was bathed in soft light. Marya Meshkov, the Zvezda Dennista. Morningstar.

"I can help you, Vitali," she told him. “The people I work for have a great interest in… exploring your potential.”

Freedom. Such a beautiful illusion for that short time it had flickered in the air before him, like a rare butterfly or the first flake of winter’s snow. But gone now. For someone like him, freedom simply wasn’t an option.

Morningstar came to stand before him, smiling in the night.

So whom are you working for? Alexei Lehzkov had asked. Hydra? SHIELD?

In the end, it didn’t matter. And it hadn’t been the right question to pose. Alexei should have asked, What do you want?

Because the answer wouldn’t have been the biological weapon Mikhail had been planning to use, or the death of Mikhail himself. This was the prize Morningstar had been assigned to collect, a prize sitting in a chair before her, helpless, unable to raise his voice even to try and refuse her ‘offer’. It was Vitali Rhoskov she’d wanted all along.

So let the Americans dance their dance, and let the likes of the Black Widow and Spider-Man deal with the future machinations of Mikhail in their little world of black and white. And meanwhile, in the shadows - in the shades of gray - the true wars would be fought, as they ever had…