The cold metal of the locker door felt almost grounding against my back. I flicked my eyes down to the Digivice in my hand, pretending to be engrossed in the blank screen. It was a practiced move—look busy, look casual, don't let anyone see the low-grade panic humming just under your skin.
See, the solo infiltration plan was the only one that made sense. I'd already run the simulations in my head a dozen times. Sneak in, get the drop on him, break the connection to the Shadowstone before he could open his mouth. It was a long shot, yeah, but a long shot with only my life on the line was better than a sure thing with Peter or Gwen in the crosshairs. Killgrave didn't play by rules. He rewrote them.
"Still trying to figure out how to be in three places at once, Ethan?"
Peter's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. He stepped up beside me, Gwen right behind him. His tone was light, the kind of easy-breezy you use in the hallways, but his eyes… they had that serious edge. The Spider-Man edge. He probably thought I was just overcomplicating things again.
I flicked my wrist, giving a dismissive wave and plastering on my best half-smirk.
"Just strategizing, you know. High-level stuff. Nothing for you two to worry your pretty little heads about."
Flirtatious deflection was my native language. It usually got them to roll their eyes and walk away, which was the whole point. Let them think I was just being my usual cocky self, not that I was actively planning to keep them as far from a psychic puppet master as humanly possible.
Gwen crossed her arms, her expression shifting from patient to firm in a heartbeat.
"We're not just 'pretty little heads,' Ethan. We're your friends. And Jessica is our friend too."
Right. Of course she'd say that. She expected me to get it, to see the logic in the alliance. But her logic didn't factor in the image burned behind my eyelids—Jessica's empty stare, her body moving like a broken marionette. My logic was built entirely around making sure their eyes never looked like that.
I let the facade drop with a sigh, my gaze scanning the empty hallway before locking onto them, the intensity surprising even me.
"This isn't a field trip, guys. Killgrave isn't some street thug. He gets inside your head, makes you do things you can't even imagine. I can't risk that for either of you."
The words came out tighter than I wanted. I wasn't just stating a risk. I was confessing a fear. The horrific, specific consequences played on a loop: Peter webbing up Gwen, Gwen turning her genius against us, all with vacant smiles.
"And you think going in alone makes it less risky?"
Peter countered, already pulling up a schematic on his phone. He'd been busy. The screen showed a map of the Warehouse District dotted with markers—public data on strange incidents, traffic cam anomalies, the whole nine yards.
"Your plan, from what little you've shared, relies on too many unknowns. One person against a mind-controller is a suicide mission, Ethan."
He said it calmly, like he was explaining a chemistry formula. He thought the tactical breakdown would appeal to me. And it did, which was the most annoying part. He'd identified the weak point in my solo strategy: it was all guesswork.
My Digivice chose that moment to vibrate, cutting off the retort forming on my lips. A new text notification glowed on the screen. I tapped it.
The message was from Black Widow. No greeting, no signature. Just raw intel.
Intel. Killgrave. Warehouse District. East River.
A cold, electric jolt shot down my spine. It confirmed everything. The target was set, the clock was ticking. The need to move, to act now, solidified into a single, crystal-clear directive in my head: go, alone, fast.
"See? That's it," I said, already turning on my heel, my voice tight with a urgency I couldn't hide. "New lead. This is my fight."
It was a definitive statement. A door slammed shut. My brain was already racing ahead, plotting the fastest route to the East River, calculating which Digimon to summon first, how to approach silently. Peter and Gwen, their concerns, their logic—they were static on a channel I'd already switched off.
Gatomon's voice chimed from the Digivice's speaker, clear and infuriatingly calm.
"Ethan. Your worry for your friends is commendable, but you mistake protection for isolation. Trust in the bonds you've forged. They make you stronger."
Of course she'd say that. The voice of feline wisdom, always pointing out the emotional flaw in my tactical armor. She saw right through the lone-wolf act to the scared kid underneath who thought carrying the whole world himself was the only way to prove he could.
I stopped. My shoulders slumped just a fraction, the tension leaking out not as defeat, but as a sudden, exhausting recognition. I turned back.
Peter and Gwen hadn't moved. They stood there, side-by-side, faces set with a determination that was just… unwavering. Peter's hand was still holding his phone, the schematic glowing. Gwen's arms were still crossed, but now it looked less like a barrier and more like readiness.
A small, wry smile touched my lips. The kind that admitted defeat but found a strange relief in it.
"Fine," I muttered, the word tasting of resignation and something else—a shared burden. "But if either of you gets mind-controlled into tap-dancing, I'm never letting you live it down."
The joke was a peace offering and a shield all at once. By saying it, I was admitting they were in. I was acknowledging that their strength wasn't a liability I had to manage, but an asset I could actually rely on. The thought was terrifying in a whole new way.
Peter's serious expression finally cracked into a grin.
"Deal. But you're buying the leotards."
"The plan," Gwen said, stepping forward, all business now that the debate was over. "What's the real one?"
I took a breath, the strategy reforming in my mind not as a solo sprint, but as a coordinated strike. It felt different. Heavier, but maybe… sturdier.
"We head to the East River warehouses. Peter, you're on overwatch and mobility. You see anything that looks like a controlled civilian, you web them up and out of the way. Do not engage Killgrave directly. Your spider-sense might warn you, but we can't bet on it."
I looked at Gwen.
"Gwen, you're with me. We find the source, we disrupt it. Your job is to spot anything I miss—tech, patterns, weaknesses. If I have to go Beetlemon, you get clear and guide Peter."
I held up my Digivice.
"Gatomon, BlackGatomon, you're on point with me. We find Jessica, we separate her from Killgrave. That's priority one. Impmon… he's still healing, but he's on standby. He's got a score to settle."
I looked at both of them, the final piece of the plan the hardest to say.
"If it goes wrong… if he gets a command off on any of us… the contingency is total disengagement. We run. No heroics. We come back with a better plan, maybe SHIELD in tow. Understood?"
They both nodded, no hesitation. They understood the stakes. They were choosing to step into the nightmare with me anyway.
The weight in my chest didn't vanish, but it shifted. It wasn't just my burden to carry anymore. It was ours.
"Alright then," I said, sliding the Digivice back into my pocket, the action feeling less like a retreat and more like loading a weapon. "Let's go get our friend back."
***
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