𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

Into the Spiderverse

"Welcome to Oscorp Industries. And welcome to the spiderverse."

"Oh. My. God." You drifted into the room, dazzled and a little shy. You had all the breathless wonder of gazing up at the mall Santa when you were 6. But with no grandfatherly white beards and more red and blue spandex.

"Hi, I'm spidergirl," you called into the mass of spiderpeople, feeling a little like you were launching a web into a void, hoping it would land.

"Me, too," a few voices called back. Somebody giggled.

"How many of us are there? How come I've never seen any of you on the news before?" You demanded, staring at Spiderwoman.

"The news? Oh, honey, let me give you some news." Spiderwoman planted her hands on her hefty hips. "We're all from different dimensions. Most of us were bitten by radioactive spiders and come from Queens. In this room, there are about 30 of us. How many in existence? Probably billions."

"Billions," you repeated, stunned. A spiderman perched on the rafters dropped to the floor, graceful as a cat. A mohawk stiffly jutted from the top of his head, spiky and unkept. Spikes studded his black wristbands.

"Hey, luv." He extended his hand. When you hesitated, he said in his airy accent, "I won't tell you I don't bite, cause it's not true. But I'd never bite a lady." He winked. "Unless you ask me too."

"Hobie. How many times have I told you to stop flirting with the new recruits," Spiderwoman chided, but her eyes glittered with begrudging amusement.

"Just making her feel welcome, no harm, no foul." Hobie shot her an impish grin and shrugged with his palms up.

"So, why am I here?" You interrupted. "And why are only thirty of the billions of spiderpeople here?"

"You're in luck," Spiderwoman said, "You're the last one Miguel told me to bring in." She turned to address the entire room, packed with the swarm of costumed bodies. "I'm sure you're all wondering the same thing. We're looking to craft an elite strike force. Everyone in this room has been selected as a candidate. You'll train here at Oscorp."

"What if we don't want to stay?" A black-and-blue spiderman, body coiled taut with anger, challenged. "What if our cities need protecting?"

"It's an unfortunate sacrifice we need you to make," Spiderwoman reluctantly said. She gave a sympathetic half-smile at the recruit. Disquieted murmurs scuttled across the room.

"They can't keep us here if we want to leave... can they?" A girl with a blond ponytail sticking out of her costume said, her arms crossed indignantly.

"Sacrifice." a husky, quiet voice descended on the gathering. The murmurs silenced, snuffed out like candles. He rolled in the way a storm cloud moves: slow, deliberate, ominous. He had a broad, powerful back. A body that would make it easy to be cruel.

The blond-ponytail spiderwoman beside you swallowed nervously and straightened her posture. You noticed yourself stiffening, standing attention. Whoever he was, this man had the immediate effect of a commanding sergeant on the heroes.

"Sacrifice," he continued, steps echoing cold across the shiny floor. "Is what makes us spiderman. All I'm asking is for you to sacrifice a few months of your life for the fate of the multiverse. Then, most of you will be dismissed. We only want the best for our elite force."

"Any questions?" The question was cold, so frigid that if you dared to speak up your fingers might freeze into icicles and snap off. Understandably, the room hushed and shivered. "Good. Jessica will take care of you." Like a winter wind, he whisked out of the doors.

"That was Miguel," Spiderwoman, or Jessica, explained like she was giving an apology. "He's a little rough around the edges, but inside..." her cheerful, raspy voice teetered a little, and she laughed sheepishly. "Well, he's rough inside, too."

"He's not gonna work with us, Jessica, is he?" The ponytail girl laughed nervously, twirling a strand of her blond hair behind her head. It was evident from her frown that she desperately hoped the answer was no.

"He and I will be your joint coaches for this project," Jessica sighed, tossing down a bowl filled with cheap, flimsy plastic wristbands. "Everyone, put these on. They'll stop you from glitching."

"I'm not putting anything on," the combative black-and-blue spiderman from before growled, glaring at Jessica. You got a feeling that he liked to complain.

"Suit yourself." Jessica shrugged as the other spiderpeople advanced around the bowl. You slid the dark blue band over your wrist. "This training complex will be your home for the next few months. For the multiverse's safety, you'll find all the doors locked and guarded, should you try to leave."

"I'm sorry, I know this may be hard to take in right now. You have the rest of tonight to gather your bearings. Training begins tomorrow at 6am, sharp. Please let us know if you need anything. Hey, we even have therapists if this is freaking you out!" She finished with a conspiratorial grin that quickly wavered as her joke fell flat. Jessica cleared her throat. "Anyways, we want to support you. Help yourself to the facilities, and I'll see you tomorrow." She exited out the front door, a silver slab of metal lined with futuristic, orange rims.

Without thinking, you rushed out after her. A system of white catwalks stretched across the cubit-like rooms below. Gyms, yawning spaces, a perfectly engineered training complex. Everything was clean and white, but not in a sterile, hospital-like way. The daylight from huge window panels brightened the complex, pooling sun onto the floor.

"Are you crazy, following them?" The ponytail girl hissed, hair swishing as she jogged after you. Her suit colors were blue-and-red, the color you'd realized most spiderpeople had adopted. You felt slightly out of place in blue and gold.

"This is the closest to a tour we're gonna get," you shrugged, "If we want to learn about this freakshow, we should start with following around the ringmasters. See where they go."

"Arachnida," she eventually said after studying you for a few seconds and probably deciding you were, in fact, crazy. But she kept pace next to you, walking along the sheer white catwalk.

"Spidergirl." you grinned, offering her a fistbump. "But there seem to be a lot of those here, so you can call me (y/n)." When she knocked her fist against yours, that odd vibrating energy singed your fingers.

You and Arachnida trailed behind Jessica and Miguel, far enough back that you could pretend to just be exploring the complex. From ahead, words from their conversation drifted back, and you couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"Miguel, you're scaring the recruits," Jessica argued, her tone hushed and annoyed. Her steps were unnaturally clipped and quick to keep up with Miguel's broad gait.

"Good. I want them to be scared."

You couldn't help the snicker that escaped your lips at Miguel's conceited statement. But you hadn't expected him to hear it.

"What's funny?" Miguel calmly said with deceptive, fake curiosity. He stopped walking, glancing over his shoulder at you with unreadable eyes.

"I'm not scared of you," you rambled, immediately cursing your bad habit as the words leaped from your mouth.

Miguel didn't respond, slowly sizing you up. He didn't give you a quick appraisal, the way boys do at the mall. His narrowed eyes skidded over everything; the blue-gold details of your suit, the grips on the bottom of your feet, your muscles, your lips, the sweat on your forehead, your nervous eyes. He took his time, entirely unashamed. His calculated assessment made you feel like a cheap computer program he was trying to hack.

Finally, he stepped forward and spoke softly. Right above your ear. "You should be."