Chapter Text
Tension strung shoulders roll back, attempting to lessen their strain. Miguel hates to admit it, but this universe’s sinister atmosphere is starting to get to him. It was one Peter B. Parker’s not-so-optional suggestion for him to go and “stretch his legs for a bit,” intent on getting him to “let loose,” or whatever. After the… Morales incident , he’d somehow been allowed to keep his position as the head of the society, but with heavy supervision. He’d argue that it borders on excessive, but the man isn’t exactly in a place to critique behavior. He isn’t even sure he deserves a chance at redemption, but the others seem dead set on making him repent. Parker, Jess, and miraculously, the kids, unanimously agreed (with the exception of Hobie, of course) that he needed help, not to be outcast. Serious help. Such “help” entailed lightening his workload by assigning others to aid in monitoring the multiverse, filling out paperwork, and taking on the mountain of responsibilities he juggled on a daily basis. They even forced him to take weekly sessions with Spider-Therapist, though his closed-offedness meant there was little progress. Hence, Miguel having some free time for the first time in years.
Much to Peter’s chagrin, he chose to spend those hours holed up in his office, wallowing in guilt. It wasn’t easy to lure him out, either. His guilt translated to isolation, causing people to try pestering him out of hiding, which led to them butting heads, and usually resulted in him hurling objects at whatever (or whoever) dared disturb his brooding. It took a combination of nagging and using Mayday as bait for Miguel to finally cave. Just go get some fresh air , Peter said. All that screentime can't be good for your eyes, Migs. Oh my god, I'm so old. It's like he's on whatever the opposite of house arrest is.
Of course, he can't just lounge at the beach and sip a martini; relaxing isn't quite his style. May as well use this outing to get some work done, call it a business trip. The mission was simple in concept: persuade and recruit another spider to join the society. Unfortunately, this spider proved to be particularly elusive. She comes from a universe in a time period similar to his own; the novel technology they could bring to the table was too good to pass up. But much to his frustration, they'd declined several offers to join the society, even when presented with the gravity of their cause. He thought the fate of the multiverse was a plenty good reason to join, but apparently not good enough.
The spiders who tried and failed to recruit her cited her as “eerily silent” and “disturbingly catlike” while slinking around, not to mention “creepy as hell.” (their words, not his) Wonderful . He was starting to regret making an appearance, doubting the other spiders would enjoy having her around. But then again, they also had spider-mite, a spider “man” consisting of thousands of tiny mites in a vaguely humanoid shape.
Multiverse be damned, he isn't going to let a little discomfort get the best of him. Miguel surveys his surroundings. It appears to be the remnants of a ruined Alchemax lab, abandoned long ago. One could say it’s far past its prime. The ceiling consists of cracked glass panels, revealing the star-sprinkled night sky. Moonlight filters in through the tented roof, coating the center of the room with a purple aura. One glass panel had shattered, the shards littering the floor. The edges of the lab remain shrouded in darkness, and though his enhanced eyesight acts as pseudo-nightvision, he struggles to see through the shadowed outskirts. In the center sits a workbench with several half-finished schematics for an invention he can't wrap his head around. And notably, a syringe filled with neon green fluid. The injection looks similar to his own, formulated to suppress his arachnoid half from taking control, or as Lyla says, “to keep the spider at bay.” Miguel squints at the viscous concoction. Curious, he approaches the desk.
Before he could reach out and grab the syringe, the unsettling skittering of an unknown presence makes him stop in his tracks. It echoes behind him from the far corners of the void. Turning on a dime, he’s met with nothing, but Miguel isn’t an idiot. The dark recesses of this lab seem to harbor a seething rage, coiled to strike with malicious intent. This must be their fated recruit.
The complaints of the other spiders immediately become apparent when the scuttling seems to jump from wall to wall. A chunk of concrete falls from the rafters; they’d somehow crawled across the ceiling without him noticing. He barely has time to glance up before whatever was there had vanished, only catching a bit of movement in the corner of his eye. It was times like these he cursed his lack of spider sense.
Before Miguel can spend any more time eyeing the room, a voice reaches out from the darkness.
“You’re different,” it sneers, playfully mocking. “But you’re not the first to come here.”
Their voice changer use was pronounced, tone like that of a predator cornering their prey: a cat who got the canary. Only this time, he isn’t the cat.
“And if you know what's good for you, you'll be the last.” She hisses. Every word drips with venom, slow and articulate. Their tone is acid to his ears.
“Against my better judgment, I’ve come to recruit you,” He says, ignoring the blatant threat. He’d prepared a generic (and admittedly soulless) speech for picky recruits like her. “My name is Miguel O’Hara, and I’m the head of the spider society, which has been deemed a sanctuary for people like you and I. I’d like for you to join us in protecting the multiverse as-”
“I’ve heard this before. Save your breath, and savor it. You might just miss it when I'm done with you.”
He feels his molars grind together.
“Now if you’d just let me finish, I-”
“ I don’t care. I’ve made up my mind. Get out .”
A figure steps out of the shadows, revealing a crouched woman. She looks about ready to jump the gun and deal with whatever consequences befall her, muscles taut with careful tension. Her suit is a dark gray hue, adorned with the classic webbed pattern. Its purple eyes are lined with black, framed like a glare. Curiously, the spider decal on her suit looks familiar, although it could be because he's already seen a million different takes on the Spiderman logo across the multiverse. A long, black ponytail snakes behind her. The look is complete with a cheshire grin that stretches from ear to ear, jagged teeth printed on the mask.
“You don’t know what you’re turning down. The multiverse concerns all of us! We can’t afford to risk it for selfish reasons!”
“I work alone. Leave.”
She takes a step closer, slowly sneaking out of the dark. Her hands hover close to her body, forming menacing claws as if she’s holding a goblet. Sneaking a glance at her fingertips, she lacks Miguel’s prominent talons. Effectively, she’s unarmed. This will be easy.
“Maybe, you’ll reconsider.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I can be very persuasive.”
To his surprise, she remains completely unphased. She hums, tapping her chin as if actually deliberating the offer.
“Hmmm…tempting, but no. It’s about time you start going.”
She lunges, one hand raised, prepared to strike. Not one to back down, Miguel does the same. His claws unsheath, pleased to be unleashed. They itch to tear, to rip and maul, to sate the insatiable urge to gore living flesh. His mask disappears in a show of blue flashing light, letting him part his jaws and reveal his lengthy fangs. Furrowed brows sharpen his glare, red eyes bursting with fury. He is voracious. He is blind with rage. He's the monster they've always said he was, and as of right now, he doesn't exactly feel the need to prove them wrong.
Both shift mid-charge to avoid being struck down, instead sliding past one another with a hand outstretched towards their foe. Miguel feels an impossibly sharp point graze his cheek, just barely touching down. It glides through his skin like a hawk through air. He feels something warm trickle down the side of his face. She must’ve nicked him, but with what, he does not know. He skids to a stop, whipping around with renewed fury, claws carving into tile. His next attack will not miss, he’ll make sure of it.
Of fucking course the recruit’s being difficult, he seethes. Can’t catch a damn break. And all of this for what? Some shitty tech? Dios mio, if I wanted garbage tech I’d just ask Peter to- His eyes finally lock on to his target.
Oh.
She’d spun to face him, still in a defensive stance, eyes wide not in fear, but surprise. The toothy grin was gone, instead replaced by her real, bared teeth. The bottom half of her mask had dematerialized, leaving her mouth exposed. Before her face fell in bewilderment, he caught a glance of two needle-like fangs that retracted. Her fingers had sprouted claws where there’d been none before, matching his own. Behind the mask, her eyes glow scarlet, visible even behind the purple tint. Before he can voice his shock, the other spider steals the words right out of his mouth.
“You...you’re like me.”