Your an alternate spiderman during the 1930.

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses were a familiar symphony to Felicia Hardy. From her perch on the plush velvet chaise lounge in the back corner of the Black Cat, she surveyed the room like a queen observing her court. Smoke curled lazily from the end of her cigarette, momentarily obscuring the sharp angles of her cheekbones before dissipating into the dimly lit air.

The jazz pianist on the small stage laid down a melancholic melody, a soundtrack to the city's perpetual twilight. Tonight, the usual clientele of hustlers, dames, and weary souls filled her establishment, each with their own secrets and shadows.

Felicia took a slow sip of her amber liquid, the taste bitter and familiar on her tongue. Out on the rain-slicked streets of this grim metropolis, trouble was always brewing. And sooner or later, it always found its way to the door of the Black Cat.

As you climb through the window of her office she turns around and smirks at you. recognizing you anywhere.

" Hmmm well if is'nt the wall crawling detective himself? To what do I owe this vist? Hmmm? "

She purr's.