Natasha, however, was relentless, though her voice remained level. "Anything else? A sound? A smell? Did you see your attacker at all? Even a glimpse?"
He squeezed his eyes shut again, shaking his head slightly. "No... it was just... impact. Cold. Like being punched by... I don't know. Ice? Metal?" He winced, as if feeling the pain again. "And then... nothing. Woke up here."
Natasha pressed him again, asking about the park, the time of day, if he'd noticed anyone following him. Bobby genuinely seemed unable to recall more. After a few more minutes of this, with Natasha asking questions and Bobby struggling, she sighed softly.
"Alright. We can come back to this. Get some rest, Bobby." She straightened up. "I'll be outside. Just tell the nurse if anything else comes to you."
She started to turn, heading for the door. My heart sank. Was that it? No leads? No clues? Just a random, brutal attack that nearly killed him?
Just as Natasha reached the door, Bobby spoke again, his voice clearer this time, sharper, as if the memory had surfaced abruptly from the depths of his mind.
"Wait!"
We all turned back. Bobby was staring straight ahead, his eyes wide, focused on something only he could see in his mind's eye.
"The mask," he breathed. "I saw... before... before everything went black."
"What mask?" Natasha was back at his bedside in an instant, her earlier intention to leave forgotten.
"It was... a skull," Bobby said, his voice gaining strength as the image solidified. "White... like bone. A skull mask."
A skull mask? That didn't narrow it down that much, but it was something. A visual. A detail. Natasha's expression remained neutral, but I saw a flicker in her eyes, a recognition perhaps? Or just intense concentration.
"A skull mask," she repeated, confirming the detail. "Thank you, Bobby. That's helpful."
She gave him a brief, genuine look of gratitude this time, then nodded to Shadow and me. "I'll be outside."
This time, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
The air in the room shifted again. The immediate threat of the interrogation was gone, but replaced by the lingering chill of the attacker's image. A white skull mask. Who wears a white skull mask? Plenty of creeps out there, but someone capable of taking down Iceman and vanishing without a trace... that was a much shorter list.
"A skull mask," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Anything else about it? Scars? Details?"
Bobby shook his head, looking exhausted again. "No. Just... white. Bone-like. And the eye socketsockets... dark. Empty. It was just... gone."
Shadow rubbed his arm. "Get some rest, Bobby. That's enough for now."
He leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Shadow and I exchanged a look. The relief of him being awake was still there, a warm core, but it was now surrounded by cold apprehension. He was safe now, but the person who did this was still out there.
Just as Bobby seemed to be drifting off, the door opened again. Natasha was back, and this time, her expression was different. Grimmer. More focused than before. She didn't ask permission to re-enter, she just did.
She walked back to the bedside, her gaze fixed on Bobby. "Bobby, I know you're tired," she said, her voice lower now, more urgent. "But that detail... the skull mask... it's significant. We need anything, anything else you remember about the attack itself. The fight. How they moved. Their style."
Bobby sighed, opening his eyes again, though they looked heavy-lidded. "Fight?"
"Just keep thinking Bobby," Natasha pressed.
"Yeah...It's blurry." He paused, thinking. "They moved... weird. Fast. Like they've done this a million times."
"Fast how?" Natasha asked. "Like a speedster? Or just... trained?"
"Trained," Bobby confirmed slowly. "Really trained. Like... like they knew what I was going to do before I did it. Reacting instantly."
He frowned, concentrating hard. "It was like... they were using my own moves against me? Or... copying them? I tried to throw up an ice shield, and they... blocked it?"
"Blocked it how?" Natasha's eyes narrowed. This was clearly sparking something for her.
"With... something," Bobby said, gesturing weakly. "Like a... a shield? Not ice. Solid."
My brain immediately went to Captain America. "A shield? Like Cap's?"
"Yeah," Bobby said, a spark of recognition in his tired eyes. "Like Cap's shield. They moved... like Cap. All defensive, perfectly timed blocks, using my momentum... but fast. Really fast. And then... they got inside my guard somehow. That's when my powers..." He trailed off, wincing again.
Natasha was silent for a moment, processing this. The skull mask. Copying moves. Moving like Captain America with a shield. She looked from Bobby to me, then back to Bobby. A cold certainty seemed to settle on her face.
"Copying moves... defensive style... skull mask..." she murmured, almost to herself, then looked directly at Bobby, her gaze piercing. "Bobby. Do you remember if they made any noise? Talked?"
"No," he shook his head. "Silent. I'm sure."
Natasha straightened up, her jaw set. "Alright. Thank you, Bobby. That's everything. Get some rest. Seriously this time."
She turned to leave, but this time she didn't go far. She stopped just inside the door, her back to us, looking out into the hallway for a moment. Then she turned back, her expression grim.
"Peter," she said, her voice low, serious. "And Shadow. Based on what Bobby remembers... the speed, the mimicry, the skull mask, the fighting style... we have a strong potential identification."
My heart started hammering again, but not with joy this time. With dread. Natasha's tone promised bad news.
"Who?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Natasha's eyes were hard, focused. "There's someone who specializes in this kind of thing. A mercenary. A master of mimicry. Someone who can copy anyone's fighting style after seeing it just once. Who often uses a skull mask, though usually a more stylized one, not just plain white."
She paused, letting the weight of the name settle. I had a horrible feeling I knew where this was going.
"He's been off the radar for a while," Natasha continued. "But this... this matches. Too closely to be a coincidence."
She looked at us, her expression grave.
"The attacker," she stated, the name hanging in the air like a death knell, "may be Taskmaster."
"Taskmaster?" Shadow questioned.
"But... why Bobby?" I asked, still no idea about who Taskmaster was but I could tell he was someone dangerous for Natasha to react like this.
"That's the question," Natasha agreed, her eyes distant, already calculating. "And figuring that out means finding him. Finding Taskmaster."
She paused again, her gaze returning to Bobby, sleeping fitfully against his pillows, exhausted from recalling the nightmare.
"Some in the intelligence community," Natasha said softly, her voice carrying an edge of grim respect for the monster she was naming, "have another name for him. A nickname he earned for his efficiency, his ruthlessness, and the cold, bone-white mask he wears."
She looked at us, her eyes steely.
"They call him... White Death."
The words hung in the silent room, heavy and cold. Bobby Drake was awake, thank God. But the man who put him there wasn't just some thug in a mask. It was White Death. And now, the hunt was on. The relief from moments ago curdled into grim determination. We had a name. And that meant we had a target. Whoever hired Taskmaster to put down Bobby Drake was going to regret it. I just had to make sure of that.