The Trapster Has A No Good, Very Bad Day

The details of today's session were a little fuzzy in Sue Storm's head. She remembered Dr. Stone tying her up, of course. That had been the point of the therapy. To let Sue get acclimated to bondage, so that she wouldn't panic under stress. Karla had explained it all so clearly, afterward, over tea. Yet somehow Sue could feel the rope burns on her skin and a deep ache in places she couldn't see and felt that something else, something more had also taken place.

Maybe, the Invisible Woman admitted to herself, I've let her get too close.

It was a sobering thought. The Fantastic Four led dangerous lives, and unless they were very careful, that could spill over to the people around them.

Then Sue heard the alarm. A high-pitched ringing, not a police or ambulance siren. A man in a purple costume burst forth from the doors of a building—Sue didn't see the sign of what it was—carrying a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Golden nozzles attached to his hands and connected by hoses to tanks at his back pointed at a pair of guards, and ropes of white goo erupted with such **** that they pinned the men in place, locked in sticky, fast-setting strands.

"The Trapster!" Sue Storm gasped aloud.

Loud enough for him to hear her.

He twirled. Shock and recognition in his face. She normally thought of him as a foe for Spider-Man and other street-level heroes. Yet he was shockingly fast. He fired randomly from both hands—and his aim was so wild that Sue immediately flung up **** fields to protect the milling bystanders on the sidewalks. The villain spun, moved, breathing heavy, panicked, and fired again and again. Sue used her hands to help guide her invisible **** fields, catching the glue before it could hit anyone, encapsulating it in floating spheres.

A lucky shot hit her left leg. Instantly, Sue was immobilized, stuck to the pavement. The hot glue was nearly scalding.

Yet it was the lack of movement that triggered something in her.

"You did not just shoot that white shit at me!" she growled, and her hands came together as though Homer was going to crush Bart's windpipe.

There was an explosion as the glue cannisters stuck to his back collapsed, covering an armored car with sticky whiteness. The noise almost covered the terrible crunch as Sue, her anger overriding her steely control, used too much ****. The villain screamed and writhed, briefly, and then sank limp, ****.

Soon police and ambulance arrived. Spider-Man swung by and took out a solvent, which he sprayed on Sue's leg, hastening its dissolution. As she waited for the glue to soften enough to be free, the web-slinger spoke to the EMTs taking the **** villain away.

There was something somber in his body language as he returned. No quips, no wisecracks.

"How is he?" Sue said.

"Both his arms and legs are broken. Shrapnel near his spine—he may never walk again," the web-head said. "Are you okay?"

Sue stared at him, stunned. She looked down at her leg, gave it a tug. He reached down and gently used his considerable super-strength to pull her the rest of the way free.

"I didn't mean to hit him that hard," she said, and the words were lame even to her ears. "He was spraying wildly. I was just trying to contain him. Keep everyone safe. Then he hit me, and—"

"I know," Spider-Man said. "It can be hard to hold back, sometimes. All the power we have—most people have no idea the responsibility that comes with it. How difficult it is to avoid hurting people accidentally. Always pulling our punches, because even the villains deserve to live."

Sue Storm stared at him. Spider-Man spoke somberly, as someone who understood.

"Is there anyone you can talk to about this?" he asked. "I mean, really talk to. Incidents like this hit you hard. You need to be able to open up to someone. Your husband, maybe, or your brother—"

"My therapist," Sue said, and pulled out her phone. "I'll call her now. Thank you."