Spider-Man 0X

The Foreigner was a man of impeccable taste. His penthouse suite in New York City was the epitome of luxury, with a view of the skyline unlike any other, lavish furniture, and the finest food and drink money could buy. It was his new base. He had already discovered that Silver's jet was last seen in New York. So, over the week, his men would arrive and then they would start their hunt. In the meantime, he planned to expand his reach in the city. Little did he know, it was about to become his personal hell.

[Day 1]

The first day began like any other day. The Foreigner woke up groggy from a fitful night's sleep filled with wacky dreams. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but something didn't feel right. Brushing it aside as jet lag, he ordered a lavish breakfast from room service.

Unbeknownst to him, Chat had already acted. Calling upon her unique power of talking to animals, she had enlisted the pigeons-not New York's official spies, but its de facto ones. The birds had taken turns dropping tiny little parcels of tasteless laxative into his food through the open window of the kitchen when the chef wasn't looking. By the time he finished his breakfast, he was none the wiser.

The effects were almost immediate. Just as he began his morning call with his associates, he felt a sudden, sharp cramp in his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen.

"Sir, is everything all right?" one of his men asked, his voice crackling over the phone.

"I. I have to go. Now," The Foreigner cut off the call in mid-sentence as he ran into the bathroom. For the next hour, the would-be assassin sat on the toilet, cursing bad luck.

[Day 2]

Emma decided to join the fun on the second night. She used her telepathic ability to slip into The Foreigner's dream. What began as a peaceful slumber soon became a nightmare. He was standing in the middle of an empty battlefield and felt his pants got heavy with droplets of wet, sagging down; he looked down and realized with horror—he was just wearing a diaper.

"What the fuck?!" He was surprised. The dream was too real.

Then came the sneering laughter of some sharks. Then, to his complete and utter shock, a shark literally, wearing a butler's suit, swam at him through the air. "Look at the big, bad assassin. Who needs a diaper change?" It teased.

In the dream, The Foreigner tries to run, but his legs feel like they are stuck in quicksand. This time, the shark snapped its jaws playfully, aiming straight at his groin. "Motherfucker!" He screamed clutching his crotch and awoke drenched in cold sweat and heart thrumming. He checked his pants-it was dry, thank goodness-but the memory of the dream clung to him.

As he tried to compose himself, he caught the sound of a very soft cooing from the window. Behind the somewhat shut-up-with-sleep and somewhat shut-up-with-rubbing eyelids, he could see one pigeon sitting on the ledge of the window, staring at him as if full of pity. He groaned, rubbing his eyes again. "I am going crazy," he mumbled.

[Day 3]

On the third day, The Foreigner's paranoia had spread around. He ordered his food from an outside vendor, presumably suspecting that the hotel's kitchen had been compromised. In the meanwhile, however, Chat's birds made another delivery, this time with laxatives replaced with a concoction that produced severe flatulence.

He was attending a video conference call with a potential client. His gut told him something was brewing. He held his breath for some time, hoping it would just go away. His client was in the middle of saying something when suddenly a very loud fart resonated in the air.

There was a very awkward silence for a while.

"Did you hear that?" The Foreigner stammered, his eyes twitched as he took out his dagger and placed it on the table.

The client coughed, clearly trying to suppress laughter. "I. uh, thought it was a dog barking."

"Yes, a dog," agreed The Foreigner hastily, though there was no dog in sight. He ended the call abruptly, burying his face in his hands.

[Day 4]

That night, Emma escalated the war. As The Foreigner drifted into an uneasy sleep, she sent him into another nightmare. This time he stood in the middle of a ballroom, surrounded by New York's elite. He wore an impeccable suit, but as he stepped forward to make his grand entrance, he felt a sudden warm wetness spreading down his legs.

His eyes hit the floor as he felt himself wetting his pants in public. It was the laughingstock of the lot. Everyone gasped and erupted into a chorus of laughter. He looked up, his face aflame with embarrassment, only to lock eyes on a humanoid female shark wearing a red gown, standing in the corner, champagne glass in hand, and smirking.

"Looks like someone's had too much to drink," The shark said, mock-cheering with his glass.

The Foreigner woke with a pounding heart. He instinctively reached beneath his covers to check and sighed in relief, still dry, but he just couldn't help feeling mortified.

[Day 5]

By the fifth day, The Foreigner was visibly wasting away. His men were worried by their boss's sudden decline and attempted to cheer him up, but they were also faring a little better. Emma had been visiting the men each night, filling their sleep with ridiculous, humiliating scenarios. One man dreamed that squirrels chasing him through Central Park; another awoke screaming about a druggie granny dragging him to marry him.

Meanwhile, Chat's birds were still carrying out their stealth work. At the team briefing, The Foreigner felt another gnawing pain in his stomach. This time around, he hardly made it to the bathroom on time. With head in hand, he sat there when he heard a loud thud on the bathroom door.

"Bosss! It's an emergency!!" one of his men hollered in panic.

"What now?!!" The Foreigner shouted opening the door.

A sweaty pale man. "Someone is playing games with us. A freaking telepath, I think. I... I had a dream. Too real for a dream... A shark bit off my—"

He froze, looking embarrassed.

"Your what?"

"My balls, sir," he whispered, looking down in shame.

The Foreigner's eyes widened. "You too!!"

[Day 6]

On the sixth day, the team finally went crazy. The Foreigner summoned an emergency session to find out who was behind this bizarre chain of events. They sat at the table, and he nodded to them to speak, and then, three pigeons landed on the windowsill, pecking on the glass.

He narrowed his eyes to look at it.

"Am I hallucinating or are these birds everywhere lately?

No sooner did the Foreigner begin to get his answer out than, out of malice and mocking them, the pigeon let out a loud coo. The Foreigner, riled up further, lunged at the window, waving his arms in an attempt to swish it away, but in an attempt to do so slipped on a discarded document and fell flat on his back.

His men ran to his side, but it was too late. The stoic, ruthless assassin now lay on the floor, groaning in agony as he shat in his pants and surrounded by a flock of cooing pigeons. He knew he was defeated, not by force, but by humiliation.

From the penthouse across the street, Emma and Chat watched through binoculars, laughing like schoolgirls. "I think it's about time for the grand finale," Emma said with a grin.

Chat nodded enthusiastically. "It's time to take him in to meet Mr. Shark."

And that night, The Foreigner had his last bad dream. He found himself in the diaper, with sneering witnesses all around. The shark reappeared, jaws snapping as it grinned at him. But this time he wore a white chef's hat instead of a butler's suit.

"Last meal," the shark inquired, its tongue lolling out over sharp teeth. "Your jewels are mine."

The Foreigner screamed, clutching his groin, and woke up yet again drenched in a cold sweat. He could take no more. He reached for his phone, shaking as he dialed the number for Silver Sable.

"I. I surrender," he stuttered. "Just make it stop!"

"Drop dead," came the curt reply, and the line went dead.

The next, a portal opened under his boby and he fell down the hole only to land before Silver Sable, in a reinforced room. There were only two of them and no door or a way out.

"What the?" The Foreigner gasped.

"It's time to settle the score," she said. She didn't even have to raise her voice; her eyes were ice cold. He had nowhere to run. "In this room, your hypnotism has no effect. And you know what else?"

She took out her dagger, "I'm so gonna enjoy slicing you up for good."

She lunged forward, aiming at his throat, but he deflected her blow with a swish of his dagger. He was surprisingly agile, but so was she. Their daggers clashed again and again. It was a fierce battle of wits, strength, and speed. He tried to use his hypnosis powers, but to his dismay, they failed him. He was truly trapped.

He was already exhausted after a week of torture, mentally and physically, and it showed. After a while, he made a misstep. She knocked him back with a powerful blow and slashed him across the cheek. Blood spurted from the cut and onto the floor. She kicked him hard and he stumbled backward, slamming against the wall with a groan.

Silver Sable swooped down, taking out another dagger and slamming them on his feet over and over again at a blinding speed, then she cut off his tendons, rendering him immobile. The Foreigner howled in agony. He tried to get up, but his legs refused to obey. He saw his doom coming straight toward him.

"How does it feel? To be on the edge of life and death?" She smirked, stomping on his knees.

With a crunch, his kneecaps shattered. He screamed, his body convulsing in pain. "I... I give up! You win!"

"Awww... What a shame," she snickered. "But I was never interested in your surrender."

"Please..." he begged. "Let me go!"

"No, but I'll let you in on a little secret," She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I found out about your plan on our wedding night. And remember our first sex? Blindfolded and strapped onto the bed... Guess, who rode you that night and the days after?" She took out a tiny voice modulator from her pocket.

"You bitch! You did not!" Even on the death's door, he couldn't believe his ears.

"You're right, I didn't," Silver kicked his balls hard.

"GAHHHH!!!"

"But those diseased whores sure did enjoy the ride," she sneered, "So many STDs. Tsk tsk. How's that for your wedding gift, honey?"

"It was you!?" He passed out on the spot.

Silver Sable looked at the defeated Foreigner and laughed. "Goodbye, you little worm."

She bent down and stabbed the dagger into his throat, before slicing it wide open. The blood gurgled out of his mouth as he convulsed. Finally, he stopped moving, and the last of his lifeblood seeped out onto the floor.

A portal opened and Peter entered the room. He walked over to Silver and looked at her with a raised brow, "You play Mortal Kombat?"

"What can I say?" She shrugged. "I got bored while waiting for him to call."

"Well, dang! Did you really give him STDs?" Peter asked.

"Yup! Infected him with a bunch of nasty diseases and hallucination drugs. It was really hard to keep things in order back then, thankfully, a telepath helped me back then," She cleaned her daggers and put them back in their holsters. Then she spat on the dead guy. "He should have never messed with my family."

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