𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐲 (𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐨𝐜)

𝟛

‎‧₊˚✧[𝐭𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐤𝐲]✧˚₊‧

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—𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝟾𝟹𝟻, 𝙿𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚊, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟿—

Aw, yeah. Let's rerun this thing.

My name is Savannah Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. I got the powers. I got the suit. I got the cool superhero name. I got the bad press and the freakishly attached fanbase. And for the past year, I've been Philadelphia's one and only Spider Woman.

I've adjusted pretty well if you ask me.

Let me put it simply: Trying to become a superhero is like magical puberty. Seriously, it is. The awkward stages of figuring out how to conduct your powers, and then how to control them, let alone use them to do what you want, is what seems like an impossible task, but Superman did it, so it must not be too bad. Honestly, the worst side effect was the acne, although that was probably caused by real puberty. Eventually, after I found out about my web-slinging abilities and my venomous fangs, I learned how to use them to my advantage without a mentor or some other figure to help me out.

Of course, I've never really had to use my powers (except once against a group of girls who thought I was a guy— Come on, my boobs aren't that small, right?), but that doesn't matter to me. It's just the thought that I have them in the first place that makes me feel like a real superhero.

Even though I know I'm destined to be a hero, the cops around here treat me like a supervillain. What sucks the most is that my dad is one of them— he's police chief, in fact, and also head of my personal hate group. Well, Viper-Bite's personal hate group. I couldn't tell you why my father (or anyone for that matter) hates me so much. I'm just trying to be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man— or in my case, your friendly neighborhood Viper-Bite.

I'm a Spider-Variant. Most people (and by people, I mean heroes) shorten it to SV, which sounds like it belongs in the same category as HIV and AIDS, labeled as an orally transmitted disease. It just means I'm genetically cooler than everyone else. Because I'm so much cooler, I'm everywhere on the news, being the only SV who's ever come to Philadelphia. I'd be the perfect superhero for this city if any crime ever happened. The most major superhero stunt I've ever done was webbing up a couple of robbers on North Street. "Bo-ring," as Uncle Miles would say.

But hey, not everything sucks. I made friends. I get good grades. I go on little field trips around the city once in a while— always short ones, in places where no one can see me. The feeling of flying through the air, nothing around you but sky, is so much different without the suit on. Even in the dead of winter, I never get too cold, even though the snake DNA from the spider bite has turned me partially cold-blooded. But I'm not always good at keeping up my element of secrecy. Sometimes, when I'm sneaking back into my room from an exhilarating "run," my dad will barge in with my laundry for the week.

"What's wrong?" my dad will ask as a good half of my upper body is still out the window.

Stuttering to come up with an excuse for my odd position, I'll usually say, "Just getting some fresh air. Too much screen time, you know?" He'll chuckle and walk away, leaving me to collapse onto my floor, brushing with death once again. My parents have no clue I'm Viper Bite. And they don't need to, so let's keep this a secret between just us.