A Box Full of Sunshine (Kaine)

[Rift]

Roughly 3 days before Scarlet Retribution



Insanity.

That was the only thing that made any sense to Kaine as he landed on the edge of a building. He had seen it before in other clones, the degradation leading to a complete and total mental break where reason and any sense of self preservation went right out of the window. He had been cured of the physical breakdown, his scars gone, but what of the mental implications? It was question he asked himself more than once in the last several days.

Only a crazy person would return to this freaking city when they have everyone from the Avengers to the government looking for them! And that's to say nothing of the possibility of running into some spandex clad idiot thinking they are saving the second coming of Captain America, he thought.

Glancing down at himself he totally ignored his own costume, giving himself a pass thanks to it not being even remotely close to spandex. Still, the question of why he had returned to the Big Apple bothered him. He had after all been on the run for so long that returning to the most heavily populated superhero city on the planet seemed like exactly the last thing he should do. Sure the Assassin's Guild had located him on his way to Mexico, but he had handled the situation. He could have kept moving. Granted, the Guild would send more after him. They always would as their reputation would demand it, but he could have stayed a step ahead. Or tried anyway.

Running is what you are good at. Running from the Jackal, running from Peter, running after and tormenting Ben. It's kinda your thing. But why should I? he asked himself.

It was as equally a valid question as the one regarding his sanity. He was still Kaine. Killer. Assassin. Villain. That didn't mean he was the same though. Gone were the scars, the breaking down body. Now he was stronger than ever. Ever since his return from the grave the thing that claimed responsibility for raising him, the monster he felt at the back of his mind, urged him to stop running. To turn and hunt and it had given him the tools to do just that. Webbing, increased strength, the ability to connect with arachnids, and God only knew what else. Plus he still had his skills. Killing was as easy as breathing and now he could do it even better than before. So why should he run from the Guild? He'd find out why they were after him and convince them why it was bad for their health.

That of course was the thought that drove him back to the mean streets of New York. Once there he had began to rethink things. He hadn't even been in town for a day before he caught glimpse of some would be do-gooder leaping over rooftops. After his association with that Mr. Negative freak he almost expected it to be Daredevil out to remind him how a precious few streets were under the protection of the most pretentious Halloween costumed moron this side of the Jackal himself. Then while checking into a No-Tell Motel he caught a news report talking about the latest exploits of Spider-Man.

Peter might be more understanding than his pals in Stark's boy band, but he's still not down with the whole killing thing and that's a problem when dealing with a group who won't stop until I'm dead or they are, he thought, hoping he could leave the hatchet buried with the original wallcrawler.

After a few hours of flinching at every noise and destroying a perfectly good lamp with his newfound stingers when a rat ran across the nightstand, he decided he needed air. Air and an exit strategy. After all he could kill assassins until the cows came home, but fighting them and every hero in New York who had a problem with that? That was a bit much especially without resources. The money from the drug dealers he'd ripped off had been enough to get him to the city, but if he needed a quick exit it would require a great deal more money. That was where his current prey came in.

Chilling in a bar frequented by enough mafia guys to hold a Sopranos reunion he overheard the most interesting conversation. Apparently, the Kingpin had gone legit or at the very least wasn't so focused on strong arming the families that a few side businesses had popped up. Alternative revenue streams they called it. They were willing to sell small amounts of dope here, run a tiny protection racket there, nothing to really give the big man any reason to come down on them too hard. That meant other crimes went untouched. Prostitution, weapon smuggling, and human trafficking were all still off limits even if they did offer higher profit margins. Someone didn't get the memo though.

According to a goomba who had, had a little too much to drink somebody from out of town didn't know that Fisk would stomp them into paste or were buying the rumors that he'd turned over a new leaf. They were bringing in shipments of something big, bringing them into port from somewhere down south. It wasn't anything new. Kaine had heard of AIM offshoots and even HYDRA shipping things from Europe down to South America and smuggling them clear across the US to have them in place for the next time they decided to take a shot at Iron Man in Times Square. It was just easier that way then trying to bring them straight in. And where there was weapons and tech there was money. Money he'd gladly relieve them of.

It's what Spider-Man would do. Or you know, something, he thought with a grin.

[Rift]

The rumors he'd heard in the bar led Kaine clear across town to the docks. It was a spot he knew well. Once, while he was gathering intel on Ben Reilly's nightly patrol patterns (back in the days when he had replaced Peter Parker as the Amazing Spider-Man) Kaine paid off a couple of thugs who were regular customers of the Spider-Man Smackdown Special. Back then it was territory that was frequented by the likes of The Rose and Hammerhead's thugs. Now the whole place looked as if it had seen better days. Local canneries were gone, boarded up long ago. The warehouses had shattered windows and cobweb covered interiors. Even the docks themselves looked to be in disrepair with creaking boards and graffiti covered shipping containers.

The rundown area didn't seem to bother those gathered below. Among the sea of shipping containers, each old with chipped paint peeling away, was a group of men. Half of one group looked as if they had stepped out of Hollywood's idea of what gangsters looked like with gold chains, track suits, and the occasional suit jacket. The other group were definitely out of towners clad in a combination of flannel and denim, one having a large white cowboy hat that would have been at home on a rerun of Dallas. Of course the whole scene was odd enough, but was made all the stranger for witnessing it from multiple perspectives at once.

A short distance away Kaine shook his head and pinching the spot between his eyes. Looking through and connecting to the local spiders, of which there were many, was new to him and beyond unsettling. Thousands of segmented, light sensitive eyes were difficult to see through even more so when the effect was multiplied with several fields of vision being almost fishbowl shaped. Weird as it was it was a useful skill albeit one he needed to hone. It hadn't taken long for Kaine to realize that people are never more than a few feet away from a huge number of spiders, essentially giving him eyes everywhere if he needed it. The most interesting thing they had spotted though was not the motley crew assembled, it was the suitcases that looked to be straining to stay latched shut. They no doubt contained payment for whatever it was in the crates.

"Took yous long enough. Our customers were getting antsy ya know? They were expecting delivery days ago," the leader of the wannabe mafioso club said.

"Can't be helped," Cowboy Hat snapped. "Y'all may be used to things happening in one of them New York Minutes, but down south we take things slow like. Especially when this town acts like bringing in some of them cheap Chinese plastic goods is a cover fer nukes or something."

"Look, we don't mean no disrespect, but this is a delicate, time sensitive operation. Our buyers are not the forgiving sorts ya know? 'Sides there are other factors to consider. Factors that could impact the price."

Cowboy Hat shook his head. "Ain't no reason to be talkin' like that son. We had us an agreed price and weaseling out of it now makes ya sound downright untrustworthy. Not sure how you big city folks go about business, but in my neck of the woods we don't change an arrangement last minute, specially not one that we shook on. So do tell what has you turning yellow now that we're here?"

"Could be the fact that you can't spit without hitting a brightly dressed pain in the ass," Kaine growled from the darkness between containers. "Could be they are afraid the resident fat cat might make a meal out of them for dealing on the side. Or maybe it's because word on the street is that The Punisher is in town."

Startled everyone drew weapons and only then did the mobsters realize they were missing their lookouts.

"You country bumpkins setting us up?" one shouted.

"Now what in tarnation are you..." Cowboy Hat began. Before he could finish the question though two of his own men were yanked off their feet only to disappear in shadow.

A pair of large, red eyes shone from the darkness ever so briefly, vanishing as screams from the men filled the night air.

"Two choices. Real simple. Run or die," Kaine said.

Almost all the men present turned and opened fire into the darkness, the rounds striking their men who were webbed in place.

"Wrong choice."

In moments he was on them, a flurry of red and black striking form all sides. A knee shattered, an arm broke at the elbow, and a kick to the chest sent another man flying with broken ribs. Cowboy Hat's revolver flew from his hand with enough force to snap fingers, wrapped in webbing that Kaine once again began to appreciate. The weapon struck one of his associates with enough force to break a nose.

The whole event only took mere moments and those who were still breathing were left wishing they weren't, most needing traction and few would ever fire a gun straight again. Stepping over a man with a now collapsed lung, Kaine snagged the suitcases with webbing. Checking their contents he smiled, each tightly packed with cash. Emptying the money into a duffel he'd brought along he couldn't help but think that should he be able to hold onto it, to not waste it all in an effort to quickly get out of the city, he could set himself up nicely in Mexico.

Maybe a beachfront cottage. Personal bar. Sandals. Never actually owned a pair, but damn it will be nice, he thought.

"Pleasure doing business with..." he began.

A large man that had come with Cowboy Hat had regained his feet and rushed Kaine, tackling him with enough force to knock the wind from him and slam him into one of the crates. He coughed, angry at himself for forgetting that the Spider-Sense he once relied on was now gone. In a way it was refreshing to have to rely on his own skills without any more warning of the future than a normal person. In another...it hurt.

Bringing an elbow down he felt a collar bone break before he used his superior strength to swing the thug around and into the crate with enough force to dent it. Not only did it dent, but the door slid out of place and that was when he caught the smell coming from within.

That's not weapons or tech, he thought, confused for a moment.

Shoving the big man aside to peer within Kaine fought the urge to gag. Inside the crate were people. Lots of people. Piles of them. Dead, rotting, and left in extreme heat. All of Hispanic descent. This was not a side hustle by the criminals to bring in guns, advanced tech, or anything of the sort. It was a trafficking operation. That realization made him angry. Very angry. He'd killed, assassinated people not for ideals but money. Each though had in one way or another had it coming. Bad people being offed by bad people. And it was clean, fast, efficient. No suffering. But this? Being shipped all the way from Mexico or further in extreme heat, packed in like sardines in a can? It was cruel. Evil.

At that point he didn't know if it was him or the being called the Other, but he listened to the call for blood. Dropping the duffel bag he headed towards Cowboy Hat who still laid whimpering nearby. He paused only to crush the throat of a criminal still struggling to regain his feet and then continued to march towards the southern man. A stinger popped from each of his his wrists as organic webbing snared the man's feet, dragging him closer.

"You pieces of $#!& think you have any idea what evil is? You think you have any #%^&!-ing idea what being a bad guy, being a villain is about? Let me enlighten you..."

Before he could plunge the point of the stinger into his throat, heart, or into vital organs in alphabetical order he heard a noise from the crate. Dropping the man atop his now crumpled hat Kaine stepped back into the nightmare inside the crate. There, beneath several bodies, was a young girl. Dehydrated, barely breathing, and surprisingly unafraid of him.

"Salva me," she whispered. He didn't need to be bilingual to understand that.

For a moment he paused. This was not what he was here for. He was a copy, a clone, not a superhero. He wasn't Peter, wasn't Spider-Man. This wasn't what he did. He was the bad guy who knew that bad things happened to good people and it was only fools who involved themselves in business that wasn't theirs...

A Short Time Later

Still getting the hang of the webs Kaine grunted as he let go of the webline a bit too high, landing in the parking lot of the local E.R. Dashing past patients, emergency workers, and cops alike he smashed through the glass doors the young woman from the crate cradled between his arms.

"Doctor! This girl needs a doctor! Now!" he shouted, the staff inside pausing in shock. "Am I speaking Klingon? She needs help right #%^&!-ing now!"

Rushing forward various hospital employees took the girl from him, placing her on a gurney. One turned to him and said "Let go, we've got it from here. I don't know if she's gonna make it, but we'll do all we can. you did good Spidey. You did good."

As they took her away Kaine stepped back uneasy.

"I'm not Spider-Man," he whispered, but in the chaos nobody was listening.

As cops began to approach him he left as quickly as he had come, swinging off into the night. He landed on a rooftop two buildings away and found the bag of money he'd webbed to an air conditioning unit.

"I'm not Spider-Man," he repeated.