![]() ![]() Mayday Parker, the previously thought dead daughter of Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson-Parker looked up, cocking her head to the side as if something had spooked her. I only need just a little bit more time… after all, the world won’t change if you don’t put in a bit of work… and crack a few eggs….” She spun around, pressing her hands against the glass. Moira watched him go, waiting a few minutes… before her previously only mildly smug smile turned into a full on catlike grin. With that, the Scrier stepped back and vanished in a cloud of smoke. Perhaps they’ll even increase your funding.” The Council will be pleased to hear of your success. Inside the room, there was a flash of green light, and the girl jumped back with a squeak of surprise. ![]() “Anyways my attempts to replicate the genetic treatments that gave Miss Drew her powers have been mostly negligible in their success. However, with a growl, the Scrier put her back down. We both know you can’t threaten me, so please, cut the childish farce.” Her voice was unimaginably smug. “You’re a bit more hot-headed than the usual one. “However? What have you not been telling us?” The Scrier picked Moira up by the collar, and she hung languidly in his grip, clearly unimpressed. Even if she were to stop receiving them this year, when she hits puberty she’ll be stronger and more agile than her father. “Who do I look like to you? Nathaniel Essex? She’s taken to them fine. “And the treatments?” Scrier tilted his head to look at the girl, who didn’t appear to know that the window was there. She was also currently clinging to one of the walls, in complete defiance of gravity, before scuttling up onto the ceiling and poking at the ceiling light. A brown haired girl who looked about ten years old, with wide and curious blue eyes. At this point, I may be forced to admit that it seems to be genetic, regardless of how nonsensical that may sound.”īehind Moira, there was a window into a perfectly square room, with pastel blue and pink walls, a bed, and a great many fairly generic children’s toys, along with a desk and a bookshelf. “The subject has proved exceptionally receptive to the training regime I set out for her, though she has shown absolutely no improvement in regards to making her accept the idea of utilizing lethal force. You mentioned that you had made some degree of progress?” The Scrier crossed his arms, glaring down at the scientist. “Doctor MacTaggert, we care not for your excuses. “As I’ve told you over all of this time, this is outside my area of expertise. She wasn’t particularly impressed by the attempted intimidation. Apparently not up to your exacting standards.” The lab-coated individual replied in a heavy Scottish accent. “The same as it’s gone over the past ten years Scrier. “Doctor, how goes the training of the Subject?” A pale-masked Scrier asked the mildly perturbed scientist standing before him, as he loomed over her.
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