Chapter 117: Mirror and Mask

Ethan sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open, a dozen encrypted windows blinking across the screen. Norman Osborn was dead, and with him went one of the most brutal keystones of New York’s underworld. But not everything he left behind was ashes.

Buried deep within Oscorp’s secure archives—now mirrored onto Ethan’s drives—were the schematics of Osborn’s personal global supply chain. The crown jewel? A private global supply network—off-grid docks, ghost freighters, falsified inspection chains. Incomplete, but robust enough to be reassembled.

He didn’t have a logistics empire of his own yet. But thanks to Osborn, he didn’t need to build one from scratch.

“Bones,” Ethan muttered. “I have the bones. Now I just need circulation.”

The infrastructure was a gift. But structure alone wasn’t enough. To move in the shadows, you needed someone to control the stage—someone ruthless, brilliant, used to wearing masks. Which brought him back to her.

Madame Masque.

Whitney Frost. Genius. Survivor. Strategist. Scarred—physically, emotionally, philosophically.

He turned to the psychological dossier he’d spent days constructing.

Scar trauma. Control obsession. Deliberate isolation.

She hated vulnerability, wrapped her ambition in perfectionism. The gold mask wasn’t protection—it was identity.

Ethan knew people like that. He was a person just like that.

“I know what you’re afraid of,” he whispered to the screen. “Losing the illusion of control.”

He broke down the psychology he’d mapped:

·       Obsession with beauty = reaction to disfigurement

·       Perfectionism = control mechanism

·       Cold pragmatism = survival tactic

She was a woman after his own heart. She didn’t crave money or even power. She craved order—on her terms. And Ethan understood that. He lived in it. Operated within it like a machine.

He could give her more than The Hood ever could. But to make her loyal? To make her his?

He needed to do something The Hood could never dare: heal her.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Ethan leaned back, his mind racing through bioengineering matrices and experimental formulas. The Goblin Serum wasn’t precise enough. Too volatile. Too corrupting. What he needed was the original Erskine Super Soldier Serum—the one that built Captain America from the bones up.

If he could recreate it, he could offer Whitney a new face. A new body. A new identity. One tied inextricably to him.

There was only one problem.

He didn’t have Forge’s mutant ability yet.

Without Forge’s intuitive genius for machines and design, Ethan’s own supercomputer mind—enhanced via Sage’s template—could only simulate the process manually. However, that meant trial and error. Months, maybe years.

And time was a luxury he didn’t have. He needed a workaround.

That’s where Paige Guthrie came in.

He opened a second window and pulled up Paige’s social media profile.

Home from school. Public closures still in effect. Still listed as transferring schools at semester’s end. Her younger sister, Joelle, had once posted a comment: “Hope u like ur new school! Bet it’s cooler than Midtown.”

‘Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The X-Mansion. The labs. The archives. Forge.’

He cross-referenced the timelines in his memories. Her departure aligned almost perfectly with previous known transfers to Xavier’s.

If he couldn’t get Forge’s ability directly, he could use the facilities he planned to build. The genetic database alone would help him bypass months of testing.

Amy could be his ticket in. The quiet girl with divine power, the avatar of Nut. She had started to understand her powers with Peter’s help. Although she hadn’t helped fight Norman, she showed up at the end and saved Spider-Man. She was captured on camera, so this could be seen as her superhero debut.

Paige was close to her. If Ethan framed things so that a trip so that Paige would see this as a mentorship opportunity—Amy learning more about her avatar state and powers—it was plausible Paige would agree to take Amy to the X-Mansion, and he could tag along.

He began constructing the scenario. Amy would ask. Paige would escort. He’d go along “for supervision.” Once inside, he could sneak off and try to catch a glimpse of Forge copying his powers, maybe study his tech, and copy whatever was needed.

Outside his door, Ethan heard the muffled clinking of dishes. His parents. He always felt bad about making his mother call him to eat every single time, so this time he should head out on his own.

He shut the laptop softly.

Elsewhere...

Felicia Hardy stood in her bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. The mirror was fogged. She wiped it clear and stared.

No cuts. No bruises. Nothing visible.

But inside? That was another matter.

The dream had shaken her—Spider-Man, always Spider-Man. But this time, it was Peter’s face she kissed. Not during a mission. Not during a flirtation. Just... Peter.

Normal and unmasked.

She dried her hair absentmindedly, staring into herself.

“Peter Parker… Felicia Parker,” she said out loud, trying to make it sound ridiculous.

It wasn’t.

She walked into the living room and poured a glass of wine. The city outside buzzed quieter than usual. Normally, she disliked the quiet, but she didn’t seem to mind this time.

Was that what she wanted now? Stillness? Stability?

Or had Peter simply infected her with his own contradictions?

She walked to her dresser and opened the drawer. Inside, an old photograph—Spider-Man and Black Cat, crouched on a rooftop, grinning like thieves. “My Spider-Man” written on the back in her own handwriting.

She stared at it for a long moment, then picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over Peter’s contact.

She stared at it.

Then set it beside her drink.

Then picked it up again.

Then sighed.

And dialed.

The phone rang twice.

Voicemail.

“Hey,” she said, forcing casual. “It’s me. I… just wanted to say thanks. For everything. I don’t know where this is going, Peter. I just know I don’t want to run from it anymore.”

She hung up before she could say anything more. Before she could ruin it.

Meanwhile...

Paige sat on her porch, laptop open, messaging Amy.

Paige: You doing okay? The city’s gone nuts.

Amy: Yeah. I’m okay. Been thinking about what I should do now.

Paige: You mean cause the entire city is talking about you? Everyone is asking about the new superhero who saved Spider-Man. I was so shocked when I saw you on the television.

Ethan watched the chat from his computer. He could only watch as the program simply mirrored Paige’s account.

‘Perfect. Pieces in motion. The board is almost set.’