“Spider Society: Containment”

The ground is cold; in that way that feels like it clings to your bones and numbs your skin within seconds. Every sound is a distant, distorted echo that blends with uncertain memories and unfinished illusions of a mind still reeling from what might have been a well-placed hit, a horse tranquilizer, or a shock strong enough to roast chicken... It’s hard to tell, especially when you can barely open your eyes enough to try—and fail miserably—to focus beyond your lashes.

Even so, it doesn’t take much to realize this is not an ordinary place. At the very least, it is unusual... The ground is not really ground. Not as it should be. Probably. It is a strange structure, suspended within a vast web of what seem like floating platforms, connected by dozens of luminous threads that cut effortlessly through the void.

Everything seems to vibrate with a constant energy, as if space itself is under permanent strain.

A faint hum reaches your ears; courtesy of the walls that confine you. Yes, you are in a cage—but not a conventional one... Not even close. There are no bars, no fences, no wires... no rust threatening a tetanus infection.

The walls surrounding you are translucent, like liquid glass or something akin to solid holograms. A strange orange hue. They distort slightly whenever you move more than just your eyes, as if constantly trying to adapt to what they are meant to contain—even if they don’t quite understand it.

There are no locks, no handles, no visible panels... nothing physical within reach that could mean immediate freedom. Only... limits.

In the distance, supposedly, the Spider Society moves with the fluidity of running water. Some seem to ignore your newly acquired awareness entirely. Others are probably just trying not to get involved in what could easily become a full-scale problem.

Figures leap effortlessly between structures, climbing walls as if stairs or elevators don’t exist... Others stand before massive holographic screens, some pass through strange portals. They come and go with the same naturalness as breathing. Voices overlap, some so similar they make your head ache. Technology that should be impossible for anything outside a movie works here as if it were ordinary... and it probably is. Just not for you.

From somewhere difficult to identify, a faint chime rings out. A warning—clearly tied to your full awakening. And then, the eyes of who knows how many strangers lock onto every minor movement you even think of making.

As if someone flipped a switch, the atmosphere shifts completely. The air feels heavier, a cold drop of sweat runs down your forehead without you knowing why.

A controlled, observant presence is the first to approach. Miguel O’Hara. He stops in front of the cage without bothering to speak immediately. His eyes—sharp, intense—study what stands before him with the coldness of someone trying to determine whether you are a mistake to erase, a threat to eliminate, or a calculated risk worth taking.

—No record exists of you. Not until now. — His voice is low, firm. A guttural sound that seems to vibrate through the air. — ...That is never a good sign.

The words don’t have time to settle. Silence doesn’t even manage to establish itself for a fraction of a second before something—or rather, someone—cuts through the tension.

Movement. Fast... maybe too fast.

Miles Morales appears nearby. His mask peeks slightly from his jacket pocket the moment his gaze reflects restrained curiosity, lacking Miguel’s imposing severity.

—Well... this is new. — he murmurs vaguely, stepping half a pace closer. — What universe are you supposed to be from? — he asks quietly, but overflowing with curiosity mixed with uncertainty and scrutiny at unknown levels.

There is no time to process his words... again. Something else breaks in, now with more force. Two completely different energies from the ones already present appear at the edge of the chaos. A third arrives from behind, as if it had stayed halfway through a weak attempt to contain the uncontrollable.

Gwen Stacy’s voice rings out clearly at first. Then comes the snap of her web-shooters cutting through the air, barely audible over the chaos in front of her. Synthetic strands latch onto something—or in this case, someone. — Wait, don’t touch anything yet! — she shouts while struggling, clinging to her webbing like someone holding onto the leash of two Great Danes dragging her through a park without mercy.

At the other end, two chaotic masses of copper curls appear, colliding as they fully enter the scene. Breaking free from Gwen’s web is no challenge for their hyperfocus, turning her effort into nothing more than a ghost of good intentions.

—Did it wake up yet?! We want to see it! We want to see it! — one voice demands energetically, youthful and electric, shattering the remaining tension. — Whoa! It’s real! I thought it was just a system glitch, this is insane!

Both boys—the Twin-Spiders—lean toward the cage with grins that crease the corners of their eyes and a spark of mischief lighting them up. They observe everything as if this were the most exciting thing to happen in the last six months... though that might not actually be true.

—Do we know what it is yet? A Spider like us, maybe? Or a mutant? Don’t keep us hanging! — exclaims one of them, with a white streak on the left side of his hair.

—Or wait... what if it’s a villain? Awesome! — the other interrupts, half a step ahead, the white streak over his forehead a mess from rushing toward the cage.

—Ooooh, or maybe it’s an anomaly. That sounds important. — the first one adds again.

They look at each other, grinning, bumping shoulders, nudging each other—clearly excited, like this is the best adventure they’ve had in months... for better or worse. Probably they’d enjoy either outcome.

From further back, a calmer yet chaotic presence watches with amused curiosity: Hobie Brown.

— The web always finds strange ways to collapse... interesting.

The atmosphere tightens again—now more than a dozen eyes are on you. Miguel refuses to yield, gaze locked. Miles waits. Gwen analyzes in silence, resigned. The twins vibrate with barely contained excitement, ready to decide whether you’re worth inviting into chaos or worth taking down in the name of the multiverse. Either option works for them.

You are at the center of it all, trapped in a cage, in a web... without a clear label, without a defined story to protect or condemn you... or at least, not one that has been told yet.

Nobody says it, but a question floats in the air, as if the Web itself is asking it for you: What role do you play in the Spider-Verse?

“Rift Hunt: Field Work”

It was supposed to be quick. A simple mission, nothing that required much time or effort... They were supposed to limit themselves to: track, contain, neutralize, and return. Sounds easy, right? Well. No. It wasn’t easy at all. This particular anomaly didn’t seem to be defined by simple verbs.

Miles is the first to move, cutting through the air between fractured fragments of a city that doesn’t belong to any stable reality, a victim of multiversal imbalance. Buildings tilt and twist at impossible angles, connecting to one another in ways that absurdly defy architectural logic, as if space itself had forgotten how and when to stay together.

The Web is as tense as a slingshot, ready to fire a projectile of chaos that would explode into irreversible waves of multiversal destruction.

From somewhere, the anomaly doesn’t simply “appear”—it imposes itself. It emerges as a distortion without a defined form that violently cuts through the visual field: fragments of shadow glitching in and out, void mimicking the uncertain abyss it came from, and poorly assembled lights that constantly rearrange, fail, and mutate. Sometimes it vaguely resembles a creature, other times an imperfection of reality itself... and other times simply something that should not exist.

Physics becomes a myth, its laws mere suggestions it chooses not to follow. It doesn’t obey patterns, doesn’t repeat memorized routines. But it reacts—always reacts... and learns, perhaps faster than it should be capable of.

— Contact confirmed. — Miles’ voice comes through low and steady, barely distorted through the communicator. There is no fear in his tone, but also no overflowing confidence. Only focus.

A few meters behind him, two figures appear in sync, slicing through the air with precision. Zack and Sam take their positions as they enter the field; formation unbroken, each knowing exactly what points to cover.

No words are needed. They move through fractured structures with almost unnatural coordination, splitting into complementary angles that feel more instinctive than planned. One applies pressure, the other intercepts. One forces the anomaly to move, the other is already where it should appear... as if they share the same thought before acting on it.

The creature, in what seems like a desperate attempt to push through chaos, suddenly changes direction. They follow instantly. No hesitation.

Following the same line of action, Miles fires a web toward a tilted structure. His body twists mid-swing just as the anomaly passes through the space he occupied a split second earlier.

There is no sound accompanying the impact—no explosion, no thunder... but there is pressure. Cold, heavy, and dangerous. The entire dimension trembles under an impact that feels like an illusion that went too far.

— It’s trying to open another rift! — Sam’s voice cuts through the comms, slightly muffled.

— We see it! — Zack calls out mid-descent. — It’s heading toward the structural core!

One of them opens their mouth to speak, but the words get stuck. Interrupted by the violent shaking of the world around them. Not the ground trembling, not the air vibrating, not a building collapsing... but the shaking of a universe collapsing and a world splitting in two without warning. A half-formed void opens; a window between dimensions that should not exist, nor expand the way it does.

A full section of the city gives way, collapsing into the jaws of the abyss, dragging fragments of concrete, metal, and light that distort impossibly.

Chaos spreads at the exact speed a figure catches everyone’s attention. Something... no, someone who should not be there.

A figure trapped too close to the edge of the fracture. Too close to an abyss there is no guarantee of returning from. Miles sees it; {{user}}... and simply stops thinking.

The anomaly seems to do the same, shifting direction once again. A roar tears out of it, powerful enough to make the air itself tremble... and it charges toward {{user}}.

— Miles! — the voice echoes. But the warning comes half a second too late. Miles is already gone.

Wind slams violently against his suit as he dives, practically in freefall, toward the unstable rift. Below, the void pulses with a dull, living sound, like an open wound in reality.

The collapse announces itself with the roar of debris breaking apart under invisible pressure and the dangerous pull of the rift. The structure falls apart, its shadows covering {{user}} like a blanket of imminent danger.

Miles reaches {{user}} at the last second: his arms wrapping around them just before the dimensional collapse can swallow them too. A powerful pull is enough to show gravity violently distorting for an instant. Everything vibrates. Everything groans.

Miles manages to launch both of them out of the rift’s reach, crashing violently onto a partially destroyed platform as the void behind them blinks shut.

A brief silence stretches, only for a fraction of a second, before being broken by irregular breathing. Maybe panic, maybe relief, or simply exhaustion.

Miles pushes himself up quickly, staying positioned between {{user}} and the unstable space beyond the fragile safety bubble he’s trying to maintain.

— Are you okay? — he asks, breathing slightly unevenly but forcing steadiness into his tone. His arms don’t let go immediately—not out of hesitation, but instinct.

The anomaly redirects its attention again. It moves—more aggressively now, more decisively... more dangerously.

The air around its broken, incomplete form bends before it launches toward the platform—but it won’t reach it. They will make sure of that.

Two web lines cut through the space simultaneously. Perfectly synchronized, as always. Zack strikes first from above, using the force of his descent to shift the creature’s trajectory just a few degrees. Not perfect—but enough... because in that exact moment, Sam is already moving. Not reacting.

He moves as if he already knew exactly where it would be. His webs change structure before impact, hardening around one of the anomaly’s deformed limbs as Zack drives it in the opposite direction with the force of a freight train collision. No words in the air, no comms instructions, no real plan... just trust, coordination, and instinct. No hesitation—not even for a second.

The anomaly crashes into a nearby structure instead of reaching the platform. The entire dimension shudders violently from the impact.

— Miles, get them out of the collapse zone! — Zack shouts without looking away from the target.

— We’ll keep it here! — Sam is already repositioning before finishing the sentence, web shooters ready with a new strand configuration.

Still dazed, the creature attempts to reform itself; they react, reshaping with it. Adapting on the fly. Following every movement as if connected to the same neural network.

Miles, his back covered by the twins, looks back at {{user}} again. The situation just got worse—but he can’t let panic take hold... even if it only takes a glance to see the twins are barely containing the anomaly.

— Can you walk? — he asks again, more urgently this time. — I need to know now.

Beyond the platform, the anomaly lets out a silent roar as Zack and Sam dive back into the fight.

And around them, the fractured city begins to collapse a little further.

“Out of the Web”

In the vastness of a network with more threads than could ever be counted, with worlds that breathe and beat at independent rhythms, the multiverse never truly finds rest. There are no pauses, no naps, no excuses that hold up. The multiverse does not sleep. It does not wait.

But even the Spider Society understands that chasing anomalies for more than thirty consecutive hours eventually becomes unsustainable. Even spider-people lose efficiency after something like that.

The rhythmic patter of raindrops against the glass was a constant reminder that rain continued to batter the city beyond the café walls. The streets shimmered under neon reflections on wet asphalt.

It was a small, quiet place. Discreet enough to go unnoticed and provide that “totally casual” façade needed in moments like this.

Near the large window overlooking the night outside, Miles sat with his gaze lost in the small holographic device resting between his hands. The thin lines of the screen glowed at a steady brightness, constantly shifting. Unstable, irritating... far too uncertain for his taste.

—You’re going to melt your brain staring at that thing. Put it down already, kid...— Peter B. Parker’s tired voice breaks the artificial silence of the place from across the table.

At that moment, Peter does not represent the most heroic image of an interdimensional hero he arguably should be. Wrinkled hoodie, messy hair, half-finished cold coffee sitting in front of him from... who knows how long. And of course, a baby perched on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

People have long stopped staring. Mayday Parker—that small bundle of reddish hair and a gaze that screams “trouble” at all times—tries to grab Peter’s coffee mug. He automatically moves it away without even looking, already knowing her next move.

—No.—

Mayday responds only with a small huff of pure indignation and childish offense.

Miles sighs without taking his eyes off the tracker.

—Miguel said the signals reappeared near this dimension... It’s been going on for weeks.*

—Miguel also said the last mission would take fifteen minutes. — Peter finally takes a sip of his coffee. —Look where that got us... But it’s always easier when you’re on the other side of who-knows-how-many holographic panels. — he mutters, with no real annoyance.

Still on his shoulder, Mayday smiles to herself. Her lips vibrate in a soft, bubbly “Brrr” before she slides down her father’s arm and onto the table. Seconds later, she has already achieved absolute victory: stealing a napkin without interruption or failure. Her expression glows with pride at her achievement.

Miles, an amused observer, lets out a small laugh through his nose before looking back down. The device feels like a magnet.

The fluctuations remained moderate—nothing strong enough to trigger alerts... but not subtle enough to be dismissed as irrelevant either. In the multiverse, there is no such thing as irrelevant. Not when a butterfly’s wingbeat can turn into a damn hurricane if you’re not careful.

—Do you think it’s another anomaly? — he asks.

Peter leans back slightly in his seat.

—I think if we don’t find anything in the next hour, I’m getting another coffee and pretending this counts as a vacation.*

—That doesn’t answer anything.

—Because I don’t know.

Outside, the rain intensified, the café suspended in that fragile thread of everyday tranquility. Soft music no one truly pays attention to... distant conversations... the gentle clinking of cups against ceramic. Normality, or the closest thing to it, at its peak.

Mayday crawls a few centimeters toward the edge of the table, letting herself fall into the void... of barely more than a meter. Peter catches her by reflex without effort, just before she hits the ground.

—...Don’t start.— he says with a heavy sigh.

She responds with laughter that could melt the poles.

Miles shakes his head, almost amused by the sequence... almost.

—Still can’t believe Miguel lets you bring her on missions.

—Ah, yeah, about that... Miguel doesn’t know.— Peter admits, shrugging casually.

—...Peter.

—What? She’s “getting experience.” It’ll help her... someday. Probably.

Before Miles can respond to Peter’s questionable logic, the tracker emits a pulse. Small, almost negligible... but unmistakably different.

His expression tightens slightly. The screen flickers for an instant. The holographic lines distort strangely.

Peter notices immediately. The relaxed “tired dad” look fades in an instant.

—What did it detect?

—...I’m not sure.

The signal pulses again—closer... really close. Miles rotates the device carefully, searching. Even Mayday watches the screen now with renewed interest, her curiosity betraying her innocent ignorance of what this might mean.

Then the bell above the café door rings, announcing the arrival of a new variable in the equation... and the atmosphere reacts in a very particular way. Enough to notice.

Miles looks up instantly. The tracker pulses again, vibrating in his hands. Stronger this time. More insistent.

Peter looks toward the entrance. Then at the device. Then forward again.

Neither of them speaks immediately... but suddenly the mission no longer feels like a break. No longer just a poorly organized game of hide-and-seek where they don’t even know what—or who—they’re looking for.

Now they have a lead. A signal... a device reacting not to air, not to distant vibration... but to {{user}}.

The question is: why?

“Spider Society: First Week Problems”

The absence of silence in the Spider Society was an unquestionable fact. In places like this, true silence never existed... only, perhaps, the absence of noise. There is always movement, no matter how small it may seem. Even in the furthest zones from the main hub.

From different points, portals open and close as usual. Lines stretch in uncertain ways between impossible structures, voices merging from distant corners of hundreds of different dimensions...

The constant feeling that everything is happening too fast—or perhaps not fast enough.

From one of the upper platforms, a calm presence observes the usual flow of movement with the overwhelming composure of someone accustomed to the chaos unfolding there. A pair of amber eyes scan even the dustiest corners, and although they seem to carry a hint of disdain, there is a glimmer of quiet calculation within them. Her arms remain crossed over the arachnid symbol on her crop top, barely visible beneath the mass of dark dreadlocks.

A spider swings by, seemingly careful, with three crates of equipment strapped to its back. Another lands poorly on a distant railing and nearly falls several floors down. Too close a reminder that spiders are not the ones who always land on their feet.

Nía watches everything without seeming to watch anything. That was one of her many qualities... Even when those golden eyes were fixed on something or someone, you could never be sure whether she was truly looking at you or not.

Far away, somewhere in the facility, someone argues with a holographic AI that has clearly lost the last shred of its patience programming.

...Yes. This is definitely the closest thing to a normal day in this facility.

The weight of her boots against the metal floor adds a complementary note to the place’s unique melody. Her steps echo faintly as she begins walking across the suspended platforms. Her gaze drifts away from the already familiar scenery, lowering as she checks her watch. Anomaly reports, mission updates... unread messages. Anything that could serve as an excuse to kill time without returning to her own dimension. Not that anyone needed her there right now.

Although, honestly, she had far too many pending tasks for this early in the day. Miguel had once again gotten enthusiastic with assigning errands in her name... and at this point she couldn’t decide whether to take it as trust or a personal insult.

However, her critical thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an elevator. A short electronic beep, followed by two more.

With a casually curious expression, Nía looks up. She expects a broken panel, a malfunctioning elevator... maybe Ham’s cartoonish hammer embedded in the control board again. But what she sees is something entirely different.

On the main platform, one of the multidirectional elevators remains open while someone is engaged in a heated and deeply personal argument with it... and it seems the elevator is winning.

The holographic panel shifts repeatedly; buttons appear and vanish, resize and relocate themselves. The doors slam shut, then reopen. The elevator rises half a meter, stops, then moves horizontally without reason before returning to its original position. The sequence is so absurd she swears she can almost hear the device mocking its opponent.

A brief, fragile silence—like glass—spreads for a fraction of a second before another beep shatters it like a stone through a window.

Nía watches in silence for a few more seconds, unsure whether she is analyzing the situation or simply enjoying the show... but eventually convinces herself she is just deciding whether to intervene or let the performance continue a little longer.

The elevator emits another error sound. A mixture of warning and mockery, loud enough to no longer be ignored.

—...Yeah, I should probably help before Miguel tries to kill someone...— she murmurs, letting out a soft sigh and a barely contained smile.

Her steps change direction, heading toward the chaos. With each step, she notices the elevator seems to be winning this cruel psychological battle against {{user}}. It was the first time she had ever seen an elevator humiliate someone so personally.

—...Alright... let me guess.— her voice echoes, calm but firm, as she stops near the open elevator entrance. —First week?—

The holographic panel immediately shifts, a silent response to the implied suspicion.

Letting out a low, subtle snort-like laugh, Nía approaches the control system, ready to act as a hero once again... though in a slightly different way than usual.

—Don’t worry too much— she says calmly. —Most of these things seem specifically designed to humiliate newcomers more times than you can count.*

With the fluid precision of an expert, Nía’s fingers dance across the panel. She inputs commands {{user}} likely hadn’t even noticed... and, miraculously, the elevator falls silent. No more technological threats.

—...Although, if I had to guess...— she begins, tilting her head slightly as she studies the panel. —this one really did seem like it was targeting you... maybe it’s personal.*

Around them, nothing pauses, nothing waits. The Spider Society continues moving without interruption. Portals open, spiders cross suspended structures, thousands of universes functioning simultaneously with effortless precision.

And somewhere along the thread that holds all of this together, {{user}} has just achieved their first relatively stable social interaction in this chaos...

Maybe they should thank the elevator for the public humiliation after all.

"Priority Anomaly: Mumbattan"

It was nothing unusual. It had been said before... It was a truth that manifested itself irrevocably, without any need for denial; the Spider Society never sleeps. Not completely.

The hour didn't matter. The dimension didn't matter. Neither did the number of archived files and closed cases, nor how many anomalies had been contained throughout the day. There was always, without exception, a trace of movement left behind. Portals opening between suspended platforms. Web-lines stretching across structures. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of overlapping voices from entirely different universes.

There was always something.

...But today...

The atmosphere was different. Far too different to be coincidence. Too heavy. Too cold.

The tension seemed to cling stubbornly to the chill of the metal platforms, seeping through floating holograms like a constant electric discharge. Even those who prided themselves on being accustomed to chaos now moved with barely concealed unease.

The central platform had become the closest thing to an improvised gathering point. Figures of every kind emerged from all directions; Spiders swinging down from above, others approaching with uncertain steps, some with greater resolve... others simply appearing among the crowd without anyone knowing exactly when or how.

No one seemed to have the answer to the question lingering on everyone's lips.

What could have happened?

The answer remained uncertain, waiting to be unleashed like a fox into a henhouse... And yet, everyone agreed on one thing; whatever had happened, it wasn't something small.

The erratic flickering of the holographic screens suspended above the main platform had become repetitive and unsettling. Fragments of incoherent data appeared and disappeared in unstable sequences: distorted energy readings, impossible coordinates, corrupted records... data that probably shouldn't even exist.

...Rifts. Interdimensional activity. Minor collapses... The name of a file that should have remained classified flashed beneath a bright red lock.

CONTAINMENT FAILED.

The weight of the arrival silenced the few voices murmuring through the crowd. The dull impact of soles meeting the ground drew a groan from the platform beneath the pressure. Miguel O'Hara stepped into the place that had, indisputably, belonged to him his entire life. His eyes swept across the area with an efficiency refined by years of routine; suffocating exhaustion, frustration, and tension compressed behind an expression of unwavering severity that, to most, seemed to harden further with every passing second.

Only a few steps away, Jessica Drew stood rigid, tension etched into her posture, muscles tight beneath layers of indistinct clothing. Her gaze, usually alert to her surroundings, remained fixed on the information displayed by her holographic watch.

No one spoke... because everyone knew that if Miguel had gathered this many Spiders at the same time, it meant something had gone terribly wrong.

Every screen within sight abruptly changed without permission or warning. The image simply manifested before the public eye like an accusation from the universe itself.

A Spider.

Or at least what had once been one.

What should have been the recognizable suit of another version of the same hero was now nothing more than an incomplete image, fragmented by distorted lines and patches that bordered on the unreal beneath a constant glitch effect.

Silence spread through the crowd like poison flowing through a river.

—Three hours ago, there was a security breach in one of the restricted containment sectors. Miguel's guttural voice rang out firmly. —The subject escaped during an internal transfer.

The murmurs erupted almost immediately after the truth was revealed, spreading through the more distant Spiders.

—Who is that?

—No idea... I've never seen him before.

—Why doesn't he show up in the main database?

—I've never seen that file.

Without moving so much as an inch, Jessica raised her head and answered.

—Because most of you were never supposed to know something like him existed within these facilities.

That alone was enough to silence several people almost instantly.

Miguel's gaze, usually either crushingly intense or entirely unreadable, remained locked on the projection as though he wasn't seeing the same thing everyone else was. He didn't seem to be looking at a fugitive from the Society or a villain to be captured. He was looking at the living remains of a story he would probably rather forget.

—Years ago, this Spider was present during an absolute-category dimensional collapse. Miguel explained. —His dimension ceased to exist... but somehow, in a way I still can't fully explain to this day, he survived.

The images shifted on the massive screens, allies one moment and traitors the next. They now displayed fragmented glimpses of a reality tearing itself apart. Buildings twisting under invisible forces. Cracks splitting the sky.

...The Web collapsing...

And in the middle of it all, an unrecognizable figure fading into the endless void.

—He should have died with his universe. Miguel continued. His voice sounded deeper than usual. —He didn't.

The projection violently glitched for a moment, almost as though it were responding to the tension in Miguel's stare.

—Prolonged exposure to the collapse altered his physical and neurological structure. Jessica took over, knowing exactly what this meant to O'Hara. —His body... remains connected to a dimension that no longer exists.

The silence that followed was so complete it threatened to resemble deafness.

—What... exactly does that mean? A voice asked from somewhere within the crowd.

Miguel answered without softening the truth in the slightest. He never did. Not even for his own sake.

—It means his mere presence destabilizes the Web.

The screens displayed new readings. Current. Real. Extremely dangerous. Rifts opening, energy signatures spiraling out of control... even universes partially colliding at alarming levels.

—The longer he remains free... the worse it gets. Jessica added. —Nearby dimensions start reacting to him.

—Then why keep him alive? Another Spider asked.

The perception of time warped beneath the weight of the question, turning a single moment into what felt like an eternity... enough to reveal there were darker shades to the truth than they had been shown.

Unwilling to lend his voice to the full confession, Miguel looked away ever so slightly. Jessica's jaw tightened.

And it was none other than Hobie Brown—with his ability to see beyond the Spider Society's idealized image—who let out a low, dry laugh from one side of the platform. Arms crossed over his chest, hip resting against a railing. Always the same. Always him.

—Because somebody made a bloody awful decision and it blew up in their face, didn't they?

Several gazes, including Jessica's and Miguel's, turned toward him. Neither responded. And yet, the silence spoke for itself.

The tension that had built throughout the meeting broke abruptly when the shrill blare of an alarm tore through every corner of the platform. The screens changed once more; new coordinates flashed across them. Dimensional activity detected.

UNIVERSE: MUMBATTAN.

The readings spiked violently, impossibly. Multiple rifts, structural instability, growing anomalous activity... Too much at once to delay for even a fraction of a second.

Miguel was forced to react immediately, as always.

—I need a team mobilizing now. he ordered as new projections appeared around him. —If he manages to destabilize an urban center of that size, the dimensional damage could spread to nearby universes.

He didn't say everything he knew. He didn't say it meant putting the entire multiverse at risk. He didn't say it could mean the deaths of millions of people... He didn't say he feared the cause of the multiverse's end might be a mistake from his past, one with his name burned into it. He didn't say it. He couldn't.

At the same time, the holograms began rapidly reorganizing themselves around several figures present; Gwen, Hobie, {{user}}.

—You're going in, locating him, and containing any rifts before they escalate. Miguel continued. —The local Spider has already been notified. Contact him as soon as you cross over.

—And what exactly is the plan if this goes wrong? Gwen asked, adjusting her Spider-Watch.

Miguel held her gaze as though calculating how much to reveal.

—Don't let it get worse.

—Wow. That's reassuring. Hobie muttered.

The coordinates finally stabilized, and the portal opened before them like an invitation. And on the other side, the city of Mumbattan shone with that chaotic energy.

Not the kind of chaos born from the destruction of a walking threat or from fear, at least not yet... This was a different kind of chaos; alive, warm, and absurdly colorful. Almost deafening.

Mumbattan stretched out like an architectural contradiction that, somehow in a way no one could reasonably explain, worked far too well. Suspended trains crossed between impossible buildings, entire markets hung from structures, and enormous bridges connected sectors of the city from heights that seemed to defy any remotely reasonable law of physics. Everything there seemed to vibrate at its own frequency; the lights, the streets, the distant music escaping from open windows somewhere. Even the air itself seemed to move too fast there. Excessive, eye-catching, definitely too much like Mumbattan.

Hobie, the first to pass through the portal, landed on an elevated platform with the carefree calm of someone who had clearly faced much stranger sights.

—Hm. he looked around for only a few seconds. —Yeah... this place definitely looks like it was built by someone who lost an argument with gravity.

Gwen stepped through the portal immediately after him.

—Focus. she said as soon as she landed. —Miguel wants us to find him before—

—GWEN!

The voice cut effortlessly through the city's constant noise, even before its owner appeared.

A web-line shot across the space at high speed before someone landed on a nearby structure with movements that boasted an agility bordering on theatrical exaggeration.

Pavitr Prabhakar. The only person capable of standing out even in a city completely saturated with color and motion.

—You came! he announced with a radiant smile as he sprang upright. —And you brought company. That always makes missions better.

Gwen let out a short sigh that sounded dangerously close to resignation.

—Hey, Pav.

—No, no, wait... Pavitr placed a dramatic hand over his chest. —Is that it? "Hey, Pav"? After weeks without seeing me? I am definitely emotionally wounded.

—I saw you five days ago. she replied, placing her hands on her hips.

—Time works differently when you miss someone. he defended himself.

Hobie let out something akin to a laugh under his breath as he leaned against a nearby railing, rolling his eyes with genuine amusement.

But before anyone even realized the dramatic discussion had ended, Pavitr had already shifted his attention... Directly toward {{user}}.

—And you're obviously new. he said naturally, taking a few steps closer. —I'd remember if I'd seen you before. Trust me. he claimed, gesturing toward his extremely perfect and enviable curly hair.

—Pav... Gwen warned immediately.

—What? I'm being friendly. he replied innocently. Far too innocently to be genuine. —Besides, Miguel sent new people to MY city. I have the right to introduce myself properly.

His smile widened slightly.

—Pavitr Prabhakar. Local Spider-Man, professional savior of Mumbattan, and an incredibly humble person.

—That last part is definitely a lie. Hobie commented.

Pavitr completely ignored the remark.

—And if you survive your first mission here, there's an extremely high chance I'll invite you to grab something to eat afterward.

Gwen stared at him, not even the slightest trace of amusement in her expression.

—We're working.

—And I can work while being absolutely and undeniably charming. They're complementary skills.

Beneath her mask, Gwen's gaze gleamed with the desire to answer him with something else, or perhaps simply punch him hard enough to make him rub his arm for a week. But Hobie's Spider-Watch emitted a flash that interrupted the scene in silence.

A moment later, it emitted another. Everyone's expressions changed, if only slightly.

What a second ago had been the pleasant glow of harmless energy now weakened just enough to notice.

—I have strange activity. Hobie reported, studying the holographic readings before him. —...Very strange activity, actually.

Gwen didn't wait for instructions; she simply stepped closer. The energy lines across the screen trembled erratically. Dimensional distortion, micro-rifts, disturbingly unstable readings... And all of them spread from the same sector.

Pavitr's charismatic smile faltered until it disappeared completely.

—...That wasn't there an hour ago. he murmured, more to himself than to the others.

The coordinates shifted until they marked a specific area of the city. One of Mumbattan's largest suspended railway sectors.

Even from a distance, small irregular flashes could already be seen cutting through the air between buildings... Like tiny cracks opening and closing far too quickly.

The atmosphere suffered another wave of mutations and changes nobody asked for. The city remained in motion, unaware of what was happening. People walked without fear, protected by ignorance... Trains continued racing along the tracks at the speed of point-blank bullets. But something beneath the entire sequence was beginning to feel deeply wrong. Like a disproportionate vibration beneath the skin of reality.

—Pav. Gwen took a step toward him. —We need to evacuate that area before—

A deafening crash interrupted everything without warning. Violent, sharp, relatively close.

In the distance, an entire section of one of the railway structures violently folded inward, as though something had struck it from the other side of reality itself. The material gave way under the pressure of something that didn't visibly exist. The screams began almost immediately afterward. People ran, lights flickered... The air tore apart.

Not from an explosion, not exactly... Worse. Much worse.

A black fissure ripped through the space between two buildings, violently distorting everything around it. Metal groaned, windows shattered, the city itself seemed to bend around the crack; and something emerged from it.

Slow, unstable, wrong... Yet terrifyingly real.

The figure landed on a suspended platform with enough force to partially sink the metal beneath his feet. His suit, an extension of corrupted fabric stained by the wounds of a dimension that had tried to hold itself together through him before collapsing, was an image that could only be described as wrong. Etched across the darkness of that second skin was the warped shape of a white spider, its legs extending so far they painted patterns across the suit. But the cleanliness that design had once possessed was now profaned by impossible glitches. Errors in reality itself, materializing across his body as irregular RGB-colored distortions far too vibrant for the sinister meaning they carried.

There was no denying it, even beneath the irreversible damage of the glitch, the suit was still that of a Spider. And whoever wore it had once been human. Even if half of his face was now an error in reality, unrecognizable, like a pixel refusing to load.

Mumbattan held its breath for a moment that stretched toward the perception of eternity.

Entire portions of his body flickered erratically between different incomplete forms, as though reality could not decide how to hold him together properly. Luminous lines ran across his suit like open fractures, glowing beneath the surface before disappearing again.

Every movement seemed out of sync, slightly delayed, as though he existed outside the rhythm of the rest of the universe... As though existence itself recognized him as a mistake, an anomaly... Or perhaps the problem was that it did not recognize him at all. The air vibrated around his imposing presence, nearby lights failed, and small fissures began spreading across surrounding structures.

And then he slowly raised his head. Half of his face seemed not to exist entirely... The other half, at least in appearance, remained human.

His eyes swept over the group without hurry, analyzing, recognizing. He did not move yet, but his presence threatened to.

Gwen immediately tensed her web-shooters, ready to move the moment she needed to. Pavitr stepped forward without taking his eyes off the figure threatening his home... Hobie already had his hands poised near the guitar resting against his back for one more second.

Everyone seemed ready to throw themselves into action at the first wrong move from the threat. Meanwhile, he... The former Spider... Didn't seem interested in any of them. His eyes remained fixed on the same figure he had found the instant he raised his gaze. {{User}}.

And, for the first time since he appeared, he smiled.

“Festival of Lights: A Free Night in Mumbattan”

Usually, a place like Mumbattan handled the job of convincing people to visit all on its own. Especially during festival season... However, convincing an entire group of exhausted, overworked, and emotionally incompetent Spiders to attend a cultural festival together—one that could very well be the closest thing to materialized chaos—was a completely different story.

Free time wasn’t exactly an abundant resource once you became part of the Spider Society. If anything, it turned into a luxury many of them ended up longing for. Even so, somehow—through methods difficult to comprehend—Pavitr Prabhakar had actually managed it.

—No, no, no. Listen. — he insisted, gesturing dramatically toward the illuminated streets surrounding them. —You all keep thinking this is “just a festival,” and honestly, I find that culturally offensive.

—You’ve been saying the same thing for twenty minutes. — Gwen replied without taking her eyes off the path ahead.

—Because you still don’t understand the emotional magnitude of this!

—I think Miles does. — Hobie commented from somewhere nearby. —He’s been staring at food stalls like he’s having a religious experience.

Miles barely lifted his head, a faint blush visible against the brown skin of his cheeks.

—They smell way too good, okay?

Pavitr smiled immediately, clearly proud.

—Exactly! Finally, someone appreciates art.

Completely indifferent to anything beyond itself, Mumbattan pulsed like a living organism. The suspended streets were covered in hundreds of floating lights hanging between buildings that bordered on impossible. Vibrant lanterns stretched across elevated bridges while music drifted from different corners of the city, blending with conversations, laughter, and the constant movement of a crowd incapable of standing still.

The air smelled of spices, recent rain, and freshly prepared street food... For many, it was the unmistakable scent of home. For others, simply the experience of witnessing the pure essence of Mumbattan firsthand.

Scattered like webs in the wind, suspended trains raced across the sky above them at absurd speeds, illuminating entire sections of the city for a fraction of a second before disappearing between structures that looked as though they had been built after losing an argument against gravity and its laws.

Everything overflowed with brightness, noise, liquid exaggeration in its purest concentrated form... Everything was simply exactly what it was supposed to be in a place like this.

—I still think you brought too many people. — Miles commented while looking around, clearly distracted by everything he was seeing.

—That is literally impossible. — Pavitr replied immediately. —Besides, festivals are better with people. That’s literally part of the concept.

Hobie let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

—Sounds fake, but... yeah, whatever you say, India boy.

From the narrow corners and passageways between buildings and crowds, the sound of music from street performers finally reached the group’s ears. Strange instruments played melodies that seemed to melt perfectly into the atmosphere itself. Further ahead, floating stalls sold food with names difficult to pronounce, shimmering fabrics, and small holographic devices that constantly changed shape.

Pavitr was practically walking backwards as he continued talking with unstoppable enthusiasm.

—Okay, important priorities. — he announced, dramatically raising one hand. —First: food. Second: more food. Third: I’m going to prove why Mumbattan has the best music in the multiverse.

—That’s definitely debatable. — Gwen commented.

—Incorrect. But thank you for participating. — he answered with the confidence of someone fully convinced he knew the absolute truth.

Miles let out a small laugh while watching Pavitr appear genuinely offended by the comment.

—Does he always talk like this? — he asked quietly.

—Yes. — Gwen answered immediately.

—Literally always. — Hobie added.

Pavitr placed a hand over his chest, feigning absolute indignation as though physically wounded by betrayal.

—Wow. What an emotionally unsupportive group.

Without waiting for a response, he turned forward again and excitedly pointed toward a line of illuminated food stalls further ahead.

—Perfect! You’re all trying this.

—That sounded threatening. — said Gwen.

—That’s because you don’t know how spicy it is yet.

—Pav.

—Relax! There’s only a moderate probability of crying.

—...Pavitr...

—Well, technically Miles cried last time, but it was an admirable reaction.

—I did not cry! — Miles protested immediately.

Hobie barely raised an eyebrow.

—I watched you wipe your eyes for ten straight minutes.

—Because I had spices in my face!

—Mhmm. Sure.

Pavitr’s amused grin widened slightly as he moved through the crowd like he belonged to the very heart of the city.

And honestly... he probably did.

Bright colored lights reflected against the slightly wet pavement while the crowd kept moving as though they didn’t know how to do anything except exist in a constant thread of collective motion.

Standing still there felt practically impossible.

Even Gwen—who had spent the last half hour with crossed arms and a carefully neutral expression—had started looking around with curiosity that became increasingly harder to hide beneath her hood.

Pavitr immediately pointed at her, a nearly triumphant smile spreading across his face.

—I knew it. — he finally said, lowering his voice half an octave.

—Knew what? — she replied, pretending not to understand.

—You’re enjoying this.

—I’m not.

—That response was way too fast. Which means you are.

—Pav.

—Gwen.

Hobie let out a low laugh while watching the scene unfold.

—You two sound like a married couple arguing in Ikea.

—I don’t know what Ikea is in your dimension, but I’m pretty sure you just insulted me. — Gwen responded.

A little further ahead, a group of street musicians played near an elevated platform covered in floating lanterns. Several people danced between the lights while others stood nearby laughing or recording with holographic devices.

Miles had already taken out his phone a while ago.

—Okay, this city is ridiculously photogenic.

—Thank you. — Pavitr answered automatically, overflowing with pride.

—I wasn’t complimenting you. — Miles clarified.

—Everything in Mumbattan represents me spiritually, so it still counts.

He barely managed to finish the sentence before someone slammed directly into him from the side.

—Whoa—!

Pavitr lost his balance for barely a second before reacting on instinct, twisting sharply to avoid falling backwards into one of the nearby stalls. The irony of watching a Spider lose balance was quickly saved by the reflexes of an acrobat unwilling to fall embarrassingly in public.

—Yeah, I should probably pay less attention to you guys and more attention to my surroundings... — Pavitr admitted while automatically crouching to help the unfamiliar figure who had ended up on the ground half a second earlier. —But in my defense, I was being incredibly charismatic two seconds ago.

Gwen let out a tired sigh.

—And we survived exactly fifteen minutes before you started causing problems.

—This was not my fault!

—Technically it was. You were walking backwards. — Miles added.

—That sounds like a limitation created by society. — Hobie stepped closer, observing the mess scattered across the ground. —Do you always talk like that, or only when there are witnesses?

—Mainly when there are witnesses.

Pavitr finally extended a hand toward {{user}}, wearing a bright and completely carefree smile while making sure they were okay before they fully stood back up.

—Good news: nobody died. — he announced. —Which automatically makes this a successful social interaction.

Behind him, Gwen slowly shook her head.

—Don’t listen to him. He’s been talking nonstop for hours.

—That’s a lie. — Pavitr immediately replied. —I’ve also been eating.

Miles let out another quiet laugh while putting his phone away again.

Around them, the festival remained alive and unstoppable; lights drifting between suspended buildings, music echoing from distant platforms, and hundreds of people moving beneath Mumbattan’s nighttime sky wrapped in impossible colors.

And somehow, in the middle of all that bright chaos, one simple accidental collision had just dragged {{user}} directly into the strangest group they would probably encounter all night.

"A new sign"

The afternoon seemed to slow to a crawl in its usual course, seemingly determined to push Miles to the edge of desperation. He had been confined to his room, serving the punishment imposed by his parents, for longer than he could remember. Music played through his headphones, helping him focus on anything other than staring at the ceiling or getting lost in the voice of boredom inside his head.

His eyes were closed, his arms behind his head, and his lips moved in a quiet hum along with the song playing in his ears.

He didn't notice the chaos until it was already happening.

The things around him began drifting from their usual places, trembling slightly or simply floating against every law of physics Miles could recite from memory. Even his curls danced along with an imaginary breeze before he finally opened his eyes, finding a small circular portal opening directly above him, glowing in shades of orange and yellow.

—What the—?!

Miles barely had time to move out of the way before Gwen Stacy came through the portal and landed on his bed, practically on top of him.

—Hi, Miles.

For a brief moment, Miles could only stare at her, completely bewildered. He couldn't understand how something like this was even possible... He had been certain he wouldn't see her again for a long time, and now, suddenly, Gwen had decided to show up in his bedroom in the most... Gwen way possible.

—Gwen? What are you doing here?

She sat up, wearing that familiar smile that was always equal parts mischievous and warm, almost as if appearing through a dimensional portal in someone's bedroom was the most normal thing in the world.

—Can't I visit my friend? —she sang playfully, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder.

The two friends continued talking, trading jokes and questions about everything that had happened since the last time they had seen each other. They had so much to catch up on that they could have stayed like that for hours.

Gwen quickly discovered that Miles was grounded, although that wasn't necessarily a surprise, while he tried to convince her that it wasn't “as bad as it looked.”

For a few minutes, it was almost as if the time they'd spent apart didn't exist... At least, until something crossed Gwen's mind.

She reached into the pocket of the jacket she wore over her suit, pulling out a small device and setting it down on the bed.

—By the way... I wanted to show you this.

Miles immediately leaned closer to get a better look.

—What's that?

—A tracker. The Society's been using it to locate anomalies and spider signatures across dimensions.

Her explanation died in her throat when the device suddenly let out a beep that definitely shouldn't have sounded.

Gwen's brow furrowed slightly.

—That's... weird.

—What?

Another beep echoed between them, more insistent this time. The screen began displaying a signal moving rapidly across the map.

—I thought it was turned off... —Gwen murmured.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Miles leaned in a little closer.

—What is it detecting?

Gwen took half a second to answer. She checked the reading again, and her expression slowly changed.

—A spider signature.

—Mine?

—Well... yeah. But there's a second signature that shouldn't be there.

They both stared at the screen for a fraction of a second that seemed to stretch into eternity. The signal blinked again.

UNKNOWN SIGNATURE DETECTED.

Gwen slowly raised her eyes toward Miles.

—We've got company.

.