SmilinKujo
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Side Story 2
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 21:56:56 +0000 UTCThis is the side story after Jack killed Kingpin.
~~~~~
It was strange how normal this had become. Just a little over a month ago, Natalie Beckman was an intern at Damage Control, drowning in paperwork and coffee runs. Now—she was the right hand of the most powerful figure in New York City.
Jack Hou. Well… Not the Jack. His clone. At first, it was unnerving. The clone never left her side. He followed her home. He didn't sleep. At night, he would sit beside her bed, unmoving. Meditating.
The first few nights, she could barely breathe knowing he was there. But now… She didn't mind. She barely noticed. Hell, she didn't even care when he followed her into the bathroom.
That night, after dinner, the clone flopped onto the couch. He stretched his arms behind his head and sighed. "Ahhh—damn, that was good pasta." He looked at her. "You should open an Italian restaurant."
Natalie smiled shyly. "I have a whole territory to manage, remember?"
The clone blinked. Then grinned. "Oh yeah—kekeke, forgot."
Natalie wiped her hands on a napkin. She wasn't tired yet. She looked at him. Then—an idea. "Hey, I'm not sleepy yet. Wanna play something?"
The clone raised an eyebrow. "Play?"
"Yeah. Truth or Dare."
A slow smirk crept onto his face. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood up. Then—he walked toward her. Closer than Natalie anticipated. His tall frame loomed over her, forcing her to tilt her head up. Then—he leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough that she could feel the heat of his breath.
His golden eyes locked onto hers. "You know Truth or Dare leads to something, right?" His voice was low, teasing. "How about we skip the game… and just do what you truly want?"
Natalie's heart pounded. Her face burned. But she didn't hesitate. She lunged. Her lips crashed into his. The clone let out a chuckle against her mouth. Then—he kissed back. Harder. Hungrier. And the night—Had only just begun.
Natalie woke up sore. But it was a good kind of sore. Her entire body ached in a way that reminded her of exactly what happened last night.
She let out a small sigh, stretching slightly—only to feel a warm presence beside her. She turned her head.
Jack's clone was sitting up beside her, his arms folded, his expression as unreadable as ever. Of course. He hadn't slept. He didn't sleep. He tilted his head slightly, golden eyes flickering in amusement. "Good morning."
Natalie felt heat rise to her face. "M-Morning."
The clone stretched his arms behind his head. Then, his expression turned serious. "Just so you know—don't think this means you're any closer to the main body."
Natalie blinked. "Huh?"
"He is him. I am me. Even though I'm just a clone, we're different entities. Don't expect the main body to know… or to care." There was no malice in his tone. Just fact.
Natalie chuckled. "Silly," she said, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face. "I spent the last month with you. Why would I expect anything from your main body?"
The clone narrowed his eyes. Then smirked. "You know this is Stockholm Syndrome, right?"
Natalie rolled her eyes. "Who cares?" she said, throwing the blanket off herself. She turned to look at him, her expression playful. "As long as I'm satisfied."
The clone let out a low chuckle. He leaned in slightly. "Good answer." Natalie smirked. She had no regrets.
…
Captain George Stacy stepped through the front door, feeling the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. He was almost late. As he walked into the cozy warmth of his home, the smell of home-cooked food immediately made his stomach growl.
At the dining table, his wife, Helen Stacy, was already setting down the last dish, a warm smile on her face. "You almost didn't get any chicken, George."
George grinned. He stepped forward, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "That's why I hurried up, didn't I?"
He was about to pull out a chair and sit down when—"Ew, Dad. Change your clothes first. You stink."
George turned to look at his daughter, Gwen Stacy, who was staring at him with a playful look of disgust. "Hey, this sweat is the witness of my hard work, you know," George said, crossing his arms in mock offense.
Helen chuckled, shaking her head. "Gwen's right. At least change your shirt first."
George sighed. "Alright, alright. But don't you dare touch my chicken."
"No promises," Gwen said, smirking.
George narrowed his eyes but went off to change anyway. When he returned, finally dressed in a clean shirt, he found his family already starting to eat.
He quickly grabbed his plate and secured his precious chicken. Dinner went on peacefully, the usual chatter filling the air. At one point, George turned to his daughter. "So, Gwen. Have you thought about which high school you'd like to go to?"
Gwen perked up, swallowing her food before answering. "I think Midtown High School is good. They're known for their Science and Technology programs, and I heard they have a lot of scholarship opportunities."
Helen smiled warmly. "Well, as long as you're happy, you can major in anything you like."
Gwen groaned. "Mom, let's not talk about college majors yet, please."
George chuckled. "It's important to think ahead, you know."
Helen leaned in with a teasing smile. "Or you could major in theatre like me."
Gwen snorted. "No thanks, I can't act."
George burst out laughing. "She really can't. She can't even lie properly! Hahaha!"
"Hey!" Gwen pouted, pointing her fork at him. "I'm not that bad!"
George just laughed harder. Helen shook her head, smiling as she watched her husband and daughter bicker playfully. It was a simple night. But these were the moments they cherished most.
…
The sewing machine hummed softly, filling the air with rhythmic clicking sounds. The scent of fresh fabric and warm tea mingled inside the small tailor shop, a quiet oasis amid the growing Golden Peach Territory.
Auntie Vivi, a woman small in stature but giant in presence, sipped her tea while keeping a keen eye on her newest employee, Hogan.
Hogan was a big man, built like a walking brick wall, with a thick scar running over his one blind eye. His hands were rough and calloused, the kind that had known violence for too long.
Yet, those same hands now gracefully threaded a needle, moving with surprising delicacy as he stitched together a custom order.
Vivi still remembered when she first hired him. She had been skeptical. A man of his size, posture, and past—she assumed he was just another enforcer looking for a way to stay close to the new power in town.
But then, she saw him knit. And not just any knitting—perfect tension, smooth movements, no wasted effort. His fingers, despite their brutal past, moved with the care of an artisan.
She leaned forward on the counter, watching Hogan work with curiosity. "Where'd you learn to knit like that?" she finally asked.
Hogan didn't pause. He kept his steady pace, needle moving in and out of the fabric with muscle memory. "My son, Billy."
Vivi raised a brow. Hogan continued, his voice low but steady. "He's sensitive to the cold. Always has been. No matter how many blankets I bought him, it never seemed enough." His one working eye focused intently on the fabric, but his mind was clearly somewhere far away. "So, I learned to knit."
He chuckled softly, as if amused by the memory. "Started small. Scarves, socks, mittens. Didn't matter what material—if I could wrap it around him, I'd stitch it together."
Vivi tapped her fingers on the counter, taking it all in. A former bruiser… turned craftsman for his kid. Not the story she expected. Not at all. She glanced down at his work. The stitching was near perfect. Better than most of the professionals she had trained.
Vivi exhaled through her nose, then nodded approvingly. "Not bad, Hogan."
He smirked slightly. "Thanks, boss."
That was the day she decided to mentor him. Now, two months later, he was on his way to becoming a proper tailor. As the Golden Peach Territory continued to expand, so did Vivi's shop. And so did Hogan's skill.
What started as a simple knitting talent grew into full-fledged tailoring mastery. And the man, once a brute feared for his strength, became something unexpected—A guardian of warmth. And maybe, just maybe—A father his son could be proud of.
Under the dim glow of the streetlights, two Jack clones patrolled the quiet streets of their controlled territory.
It should have been a simple night. But, of course, they were bickering.
"Hey, why did you send that thug to another precinct instead of George Stacy's?" one clone asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Let him have a break," the other replied lazily. "The guy needs to spend time with his family, you know."
The first clone stopped walking, narrowing his eyes. "…Since when do you care?" He gasped, as if realizing something horrifying. "Oh no… Don't tell me you caught feelings for George Stacy? He's married, you know—"
BONK.
The second clone smacked him on the head. "What the fuck are you saying? Don't say shit like that, it could lead to misunderstandings."
"Oww! Don't just bonk my head, you fuck!" the first one whined, rubbing his skull. "That actually hurt—"
They were about to throw hands, but then, a loud banging echoed down the street. The two immediately snapped to attention, their bickering forgotten.
They sprinted toward the sound, their sharp eyes scanning the area. When they arrived, they saw a desperate man pounding on a door. It was Hogan. And he was standing outside Auntie Vivi's shop. "Madam Vivi! Help, please!"
His deep, rough voice cracked with desperation. The two clones exchanged a glance, then walked toward him.
Auntie Vivi pulled open the front door, her expression turning serious the moment she saw Hogan's face. Tears. Even his blind eye was pooling with them. One of his massive hands clutched a bundle of cloth—not fabric. A child. Billy. The boy was trembling, his small body curled tightly, his face pale.
Hogan's voice broke as he pleaded, "It was normal as usual… but then I woke up in the middle of the night—he was trembling. He was—he was cold as ice."
Vivi's wrinkled hands reached out, pressing gently against the boy's forehead. Her sharp eyes widened slightly. Ice cold. Not normal. Not sickness. Something else.
Jack's clone stepped forward, placing a palm on Billy's forehead. A long pause. Then, without a word, he turned, walking toward a peach tree on the sidewalk. He plucked one. Crushed it. Let the juice drip into Billy's mouth.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then—Billy's shivers slowed. His breathing steadied. Hogan checked his son, then broke down into more tears. "Thank you… thank you!"
Jack's clone nodded. "I'm glad it helped." But his eyes darkened slightly. "I suggest you keep an eye on him. I think it might be his X-gene developing. But I don't know for sure."
Hogan wiped his face, still sniffling. "I can't. I need to work."
Auntie Vivi clicked her tongue. "Then bring him to the shop." Hogan blinked, surprised. "Having a child in a store brings luck, you know."
Hogan's lips trembled. He nodded rapidly, clutching Billy close. "Thank you... thank you so much."
Auntie Vivi simply smiled. And in the soft glow of the streetlights, the city's cold night seemed a little warmer.
…
Jonah Jameson sat in his office, arms crossed, jaw tight. The glow of the New York skyline poured through his window, but he wasn't admiring the view. No—his mind was churning.
His partnerships? Cut off. His newly rising Daily Bugle Online? Shut down before it could even take off. And the one man responsible? Jack Hou.
Jameson's fist tightened against his desk. That bastard. His paper was still standing—thankfully. But it wasn't enough. Print alone couldn't compete in this era. He needed that news program.
A knock on the door. One of the interns peeked in, hesitant. "Boss… what if you make the program on your own? No shareholders."
Jameson's head snapped up. "Where do you think I can publish it without a channel partner, you dumbass?!"
The intern flinched—but stood his ground. "…YouTube?"
Jameson froze. "…What?"
"It's all independent. You can run it yourself. No network. No shareholders. Just pure, unfiltered journalism."
The room fell silent. Then—Jameson's face slowly split into a grin. "Good news—you're promoted. Get back to me with a list of everything we need."
The intern blinked. "Wait—seriously?"
Jameson spun his chair, looking out over the city. "YouTube, huh?"
A new plan was forming in his mind. One that would make Jack Hou regret ever crossing him. And this time—nothing would stand in his way.
Comments
Kujo
I mean sure, the side story still a patreon exclusive, tell me more about it, for me i want to point out that the clone become more evolve as it goes on their own. it become their own entity. so what makes it weird for you?
Miz0r3
Don't really like what you do with the Clone and Nathalie. It feels weird, really weird.
