I Woke Up in the Marvel Universe, But All the Heroes Are Women?-Chapter 29: Tasket Weaving

[Taskmistress’s POV]
The Manhattan skyline glitters beneath me as I perch on the edge of Fisk Tower's rooftop, my white hood billowing in the morning breeze. My skull mask feels especially tight today, the familiar pressure points digging into my temples and cheekbones. I've been waiting for fifteen minutes already, which is fifteen minutes too long in my professional opinion. Even the most powerful people in this city should respect my time.
I stand perfectly still, scanning the helipad and rooftop garden. My muscles coil with practiced tension, ready to react at a moment's notice. The shield strapped to my back shifts slightly as I adjust my stance. I've memorized seventeen different escape routes from this position, calculated the exact number of seconds it would take to reach each one.
Finally, the elevator doors slide open with a soft ping that carries across the rooftop. Willow Fisk emerges, her massive frame moving with that deceptive grace that always surprises people who underestimate her. Despite her size, there's a fluid elegance to her movements, like a battleship that somehow manages to dance.
I remain motionless as she approaches, her pristine white suit immaculate in the morning light, diamond cufflinks catching the sun. Her presence fills the space in a way that has nothing to do with her physical size and everything to do with the aura of power she projects.
"Taskmistress," she greets me, her voice smooth and cultured. "Thank you for coming."
"Fisk," I reply curtly, not bothering with pleasantries.
She settles into her oversized office chair, positioned perfectly to frame the Manhattan skyline behind her. A power move, obviously, but an effective one. She gestures to the empty chair across from her, but I remain standing. I hate to sit during business meetings, it compromises reaction time.
"Do you know why I wanted to hire you today?" she asks, folding her massive hands on the glass table between us.
"Is it to get me here to kill me for attempting to kidnap your daughter last night?" I ask bluntly, my hand drifting casually toward the knife concealed at my hip.
Fisk's lips curve into a cold smile. "No, I understand Hammer Head hired you for that contract. It was simply business." Her smile widens fractionally. "And through seemingly unrelated circumstances, Hammer Head has been miraculously disposed of."
I process this information with professional detachment. "Convenient timing."
"Isn't it?" Fisk agrees, her eyes never leaving mine. "Torn apart, they say. Some are suggesting Venom's work."
"Venom?" I scoff, scanning the rooftop perimeter out of habit. "You've got her on the payroll now?"
Fisk's face remains impassive, but I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth. "No, but wouldn't that be nice? An asset like that at my disposal."
"Sure would," I agree, keeping my tone neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. Venom is unpredictable at best, psychotic at worst. Anyone who thinks they can control her is delusional.
Fisk leans forward, her massive frame making the reinforced chair creak beneath her. "Listen carefully, Taskmistress. Last night, there was a man who rescued my daughter from you." Her voice remains calm, but there's a dangerous edge to it. "A man in a golden mask."
My body tenses involuntarily as I recall the teleporter who interrupted my contract. The memory of those pheromones hitting my system sends an unwelcome heat through my veins.
"I want you to find him," Fisk continues. "My daughter was utterly bewitched. She's requested to meet him."
"I've already looked into him," I reply, narrowing my eyes behind my skull mask. "He's a new hero. Nobody knows his name. Hardly anyone's even talking about him, and those who've spotted him don't seem particularly interested."
Fisk's lips curve into that predatory smile I've come to recognize as genuine pleasure. "All the better."
I shift my weight, the shield on my back suddenly feeling heavier. "He's a teleporter, that much I confirmed firsthand. But there's something else..." I hesitate, uncomfortable with the memory of how quickly my professional detachment had crumbled in his presence. "I believe he has some sort of mind-altering ability as well. Something that affects... judgment."
My fingers flex involuntarily at my sides. "Are you certain you want to risk bringing someone like that here? Into your territory?"
Fisk studies me for a long moment, her massive fingers drumming against the glass tabletop. "You sound concerned, Taskmistress. That's unlike you."
"I'm practical," I counter, keeping my voice flat. "Unknown variables are dangerous variables."
"And yet," she says, leaning back in her chair, "you let him escape."
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I feel my jaw tighten beneath my mask.
"Spider-Woman interrupted," I say stiffly. "Plus the Human Torch and the Ice Bitch were there. The contract was compromised."
Fisk waves a dismissive hand. "I'm not criticizing your performance. I'm merely observing that this golden-masked teleporter got the better of you. That alone makes him worth meeting."
I clench my fists beneath my gloves, heat rising to my face under the skull mask. Fisk's observation stings my professional pride.
"His powers affected me," I admit through gritted teeth. "There was some kind of... pheromone release when he teleported repeatedly." I pause, forcing the words out. "It temporarily compromised me."
Fisk's eyebrows rise with obvious interest. "Compromised you how, exactly?"
I sigh heavily, annoyed at having to spell it out. "It made me..." I struggle to find professional wording, then give up. "It made me react like a dog in heat, Fisk. Complete loss of control."
"Fascinating," Fisk murmurs, leaning forward. Her eyes gleam with calculated interest rather than judgment.
"Spider-Woman's arrival broke whatever hold he had on me," I continue, squaring my shoulders. "Once she yanked me away, the fog cleared from my mind. I was able to escape before she could detain me."
"And you're certain this was his power? Not some... personal attraction?" Fisk asks, her voice deceptively casual.
"He had the gold mask on," I state flatly, crossing my arms.
"True," Fisk acknowledges with a slight nod. Her massive fingers tap against the glass tabletop, a thoughtful rhythm that fills the silence between us. "Regardless, I want him brought to me. I wish to give him my thanks personally."
"Alrighty then," I say, turning on my heel. I've wasted enough time here already. The job is straightforward enough, find the gold-masked teleporter and bring him to Fisk. Simple retrieval, no termination required.
As I stride toward the elevator, my mind drifts to the only genuinely enjoyable part of my current routine, training that idiot kid Shane Steele at Empire State. For all his awkwardness and naive enthusiasm, he's showing real potential. His form has improved dramatically over the past few weeks, and he's finally learning to anticipate instead of just react.
Checking my watch, I quicken my pace. If I don't leave right now, I'll be late for class, and maintaining my cover as Professor Masters is crucial to my long-term operations.