Chapter Text
When I was seven, I wanted to be just like the heroes I grew up reading about.
Someone brave.
Someone adventurous.
Someone who looks death and danger in the face every day and laughs at it.
Cut to now, when I'm sixteen and lying in a dumpster. My costume is ripped, my breathing's shallow, my bones are undoubtingly broken, my left arm popped out of its socket, and blood is leaking out of...somewhere in the facial region. Not sure where.
And as I'm laying there, dying in the garbage while feeling like garbage, I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, seven-year-old me could use a bit of a reality check.
But before we get to that, let's get some introductions out of the way.
My friends, family, and miscellaneous associates know me as the fantasy book nerd Luz Noceda. Now, that's a name you're going to have to keep to yourself, alright? It's called a secret identity, and I don't need the rest of the world knowing about it. So, pretty please do me a favor and keep that hush-hush, ok? Ok.
You see, since a teensy incident involving a radioactive spider biting me while on a field trip to Blight Industries, people have been calling me a lot of things over the past year.
Lilith Clawthorne, a famous news broadcaster and my number one fan, loves to call me a "menace to society."
Thugs and criminals adore calling me a "constant annoyance."
You? You can call me La Arácnida. Which literally translates to "The Arachnid."
But I said it in Spanish, so, you know...it sounds cooler.
At this point, you're probably thinking, 'La Arácnida? Why would some crazy kid call herself that?' Well, you know that spider bite I told you about? Turns out, instead of killing me with radiation poisoning, it gave me abilities that are distinctly similar to that of a spider. Stuff like climbing walls, disproportionate strength, all that good stuff.
I can even shoot webs! But they don't come from my butt. Because that'd be gross.
They instead come from my wrists. Which is...well, it's still gross, but not as much as it would have been if they shot out my butt.
And through my webs, I can swing throughout New York city as if I was Tarzan. That is, if Tarzan was a teenager, Latina, and wore a white and blue spandex. Other than that, I'm basically Tarzan.
Since the bite, things... could have been better. But it's still pretty sweet.
Swinging around the city is the biggest thrill that you wouldn't believe. It might actually be more fun than flying.
Fighting bad guys also has its own thrill. And I do say that I've gotten pretty good at making fun of them.
Yes, sir, it has been a blast to be your friendly neighborhood La Arácnida, looking out for the little guy and having fun while doing it. At first, it felt like I was becoming everything that seven-year-old me wanted.
That is, until recently.
Yeah, remember how I said I ended up in a dumpster, bleeding to death? There's a reason for that. And to understand why we need to jump all the way back to when it all began.
Before this, I thought the worst that could happen was being late to school while chasing criminals.
Turns out, there are more terrifying things about being a hero than I could have ever imagined.