Chapter Text

Chapter 1: He has some ‘Issues’

Miguel O’hara. Known as a brilliant geneticist, inventor, billionaire, and philanthropist to many. Known as Spider-Man 2099, the leader of the Spider Society, and a failed gene experiment to some. Known as a husband, brother, son, and father to none. This is the way he walks.

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The year is 2100, approximately one year after the “Miles Morales-42” incident happened. Miles had somehow made friends with the variant of himself, kept his powers, saved his father, and beat the spot. In fact, the society even let him join. (Miguel begrudgingly agreed.) How did he do it? Don’t ask questions, because no one is really sure. After everything was sorted out and confirmed, the spider society flourished. Instead of being anomaly-removal only, the society had dedicated itself to spider-person research and assistance. Spider people from across the multiverse can visit the HQ, talk and meet their variants, learn about their biology, and add to the ever-growing research. It’s become more than a job; it’s become a community. Although most spider people are more than happy with the experience, others are more hesitant. Miguel is one of those people.

Miguel Ohara, Spider-Man 2099, is the leader and founder of the Spider Society. You would think he would be more open to the community he built, wouldn’t you? Other than his close “allies” (since he refuses to call them friends, at least to their faces), he tends to keep to himself and stay professional. Jessica Drew, the second in command, gets along with him well, keeping him in place with her sharp tongue and motherly glares. Peter B. Parker gives some comedic relief, although Miguel only keeps him around for Mayday. He would never admit it, but Miguel would kill and die for that toddler. Ben Reily is… well, he’s something. No one really knows why Miguel lets him be so high up in the chain of command. Hobie Brown, much to Miguel’s annoyance, is a brilliant and resourceful fighter whose resilience saves many missions from certain failure. Peter Parker 90214, also known as Spider-Noir, is a cutthroat fighter who shines in hand-to-hand combat. Not to mention that he adopts practically any kid or teen in the society. Then there’s the spider kids, as the rest call them. Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, Margo Kess, and Peni Parker. Some of the smartest, yet also dumbest, young spider people in the society. Finally, there’s Lyla, Miguel’s AI assistant. Even as something programmed to help, she doesn’t really do much but gossip and post on the official spider-society Twitter and Insta. All these people make up the inner circle, Miguel Ohara's most trusted allies and partners.

Even with this inner circle, Miguel keeps his distance, only speaking with them when necessary or engaged. Lyla is the only one Miguel ever really considers a friend, but then again, she is a piece of tech programmed to talk to him. He obviously has some ‘issues’, but being an abrasive and impatient man, he’d rather just bottle it up. Lyla has suggested talking to one of the many Spider Society therapists. (Ever since Spider-Therapist retired, they’ve hired more. Spider-Therapist now lives in the Bahamas with his wife.) Yet Miguel always refuses, even having the audacity to claim he’s fine. A little spoiler here, he’s not. I could ramble for days about his mental health, personal care, attitude, bad habits, and self-destructive behavior, but I don’t have the time or energy for it. Plus, if he finds out I wrote this, I’m screwed.

At the end of the day, Miguel doesn’t have much personal time. Being the leader of a multiversal super-human society weighs on a person. He barely sleeps, occasionally falling unconscious at his desk after Lyla replaces his coffee with decaf. He eats nothing but microwaved empanadas the spider kids drop off, and the occasional home-cooked meals Jess forces him to consume. He drinks coffee and energy shots like it's air, having a raging caffeine addiction. Even an idiot can tell this is not good for self-preservation. All he does is sit at his desk, typing reports and yelling at spider people through their watches. Occasionally, when it’s needed, he’ll go on an anomaly capture mission or the even rarer recruitment mission. Though Lyla and Jess have pointed out that he’s not exactly welcoming , so he shouldn’t go on them that often.

Despite all this lack of care for his health, maybe once a week, if he’s lucky, he’ll let himself have a break.

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It’s a warm day, late in the evening. The sun is setting against the city of Nueva York. Miguel gets up from his desk with an ungodly noise of discomfort, cracking his back. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think someone’s middle-aged dad just got up from the couch for a beer with how he acts.

“Damn Miggy, you need to schedule an appointment for that.”

Lyla glitches into view in front of Miguel, wearing her signature pink Heart glasses and white fur coat. As usual, he sighs and glares at her. He’s standing up fully, hunched over with eye bags so heavy you could call them suitcases.

“It isn’t that bad. I just need to stretch my legs a bit.”

“Yeah, suuuure . You gonna head up to the roof for some air?”

“I think I need it. Put on do not disturb. If anyone asks for me, tell them I died.”

Miguel yawns into his hand and stumbles over to a table, grabbing a hoodie. He wears his suit even when doing desk work, claiming it saves time if he’s needed elsewhere. After sliding his hoodie on over the suit, he walks over to the exit. Within a couple of moments, his holographic screens dim and disappear. Lyla blips away after giving him a quick thumbs up. Miguel begins to swing up farther from his desk, climbing through his vast lair. (He refuses to call it that, even though that’s exactly what it is.) His platform is already located on the highest level of the spider HQ, so getting up top doesn’t take much effort. Just a few web thwips and scaled walls behind him, he reaches a little fire exit door that’s hidden from view. He’s up in the air ducts and ventilation system, the structure looking more grimy than futuristic.

For Miguel, his breaks are his time. Time for him to get some fresh air, watch the city, and be away from work. Most importantly, away from the bullshit that is people. It’s not that he hates the people working for him… mostly. He just doesn’t really do well with people. He’s never been good with people, holding conversations, and unspoken social rules. The way people can’t make eye contact with him for more than a few seconds, the way people either stare at their feet or have to crane their necks up to meet his gaze. It’s not just that he doesn’t like people. People don’t seem to like him .

But he doesn’t have to worry about any of that right now. He’s by himself, he’s sure of it. He made sure of it. Practically the entire society is open to spider people. Every crack and crevasse, every room and hall. Plenty of hiding spaces for introverts and plenty of open spaces for extroverts. Yet this one area is for him. He made it entirely inaccessible to anyone. No matter their powers, clearance level, or ingenuity. The only way in or out is through the fire escape door. The only way to that door is from his office, through the ventilation system. It’s a space just for him.

With a relieved sigh, he walks over to the door, ready for a break. The area in itself is nothing special. Just a little piece of roof, hidden by air circulation systems and pipes. Nothing more than some concrete with a little metal ledge. He doesn’t mind though. For him he wants nothing more than to sit on the ledge and relax, watching the sunset as the city lights up for the night.

With a quick twist of the wrist, he opens the door. The evening sun peeks around to greet him, wind flows softly past him. Nothing is better than this. Just him and himself…

What the shock.

Over on the brick ledge, overlooking the city, someone is sitting, watching the sun glow. They’re still wearing their spider suit, but their mask is off. The faint sound of music is drifting from a pair of cheap headphones hanging around their neck, some generic indie pop band. Light humming comes from them as they bob their head and swing their legs offbeat to the music. They hold a steaming thermos with the tag of a teabag hanging down from the rim, the smell of hibiscus and honey wafting from it. Unusually, they don’t seem to notice eyes on them. Do they not have a spider sense?

They look like a completely average spider person. A mossy green suit, with sleek black accents and splotches. It’s a bit baggier than the average spider suit, more comfortable than practical. The spider decal stretches its front legs from their neck, with its back legs extending and wrapping around the person’s own. The spider decal looks more anatomically correct than the usual spider suit decal, resembling some sort of large venomous spider. Their knuckles and ankles look like they're wrapped in bandages, perhaps spider silk? Almost the way a fighter would. A decorated messenger bag covered in pins and patches leans against the wall, with some snacks sitting on top of it. He can barely see their face from this angle, just the back of their head and hair moving in the breeze.

Who are they? How are they here? He made sure no one, absolutely no one, could get here. Yet they don’t even seem to care that this place is off-limits? Do they know it is? Who do they think they are?

One thing is for sure. They better pray to whatever gods watch over their universe for a good excuse, because he is not in the mood for this.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Mint Pocky and Redbull

What the shock do they think they're doing? Do they even realize this area is off-limits? Slowly, Miguel exits the dark and cramped hall to the rooftop. He quietly walks up behind them, watching them as he moves closer. The door behind him softly clicks shut, causing the person to snap up straight. They spin around only to stare directly into Miguel's chest, making their gaze shoot up at Miguel’s face. They have a surprised expression at first, only to immediately morph into a polite smile. Miguel's expression stays fixed in a scowl, with tired eyes looking down at the person.

“Hello, sorry I didn’t realize you were there.”  The person chuckles a little anxiously. “Honestly, I didn’t even expect anyone to be here. Usually, this area is empty.”

“I’m aware. That’s because it is off limits.” Miguel speaks bluntly, glaring down at them.

The person's face shifts to a bit more of a nervous and apologetic smile. “That would make more sense”, they say with a quieter tone, “Well, I promise I'm not doing anything bad up here. I just like to sit and have a snack away from all the people.”

“There are plenty of places for you to sit and eat alone. So, what are you doing here?” He asks accusingly. Honestly, he’s about ready to push this person off the ledge. They’re a spider-person, so they’ll land it.

“I just like it here. I mean, it’s a great view! There’s an overhang to protect you from the rain, and it’s high up from all the city noise. Sorry, am I doing something wrong?” They adjust their body to sit more straight, twisting the tea tag between their fingers in a nervous tic. Miguel is aware he stresses people out easily, but he couldn't care less right now.

“Yes. This area is off-limits. How did you even get here?” Miguel, even as pissed as he is, has no clue how they got here. All the futuristic protection in the multiverse, and this random person got here? They must be a genius.

“I don’t know, I just kinda got here. I'm not sure how, I just did.” They shrug apologetically, wanting to give a better answer.

Oh. They’re just an idiot.

“That makes no sense. Didn’t you have trouble getting here?” Miguel says, getting annoyed with how incompetent they are. He worked so hard to hide this place, and they got here with no issues? Not knowing how to answer, they stare up at him with a sorry look.

“Y’know, if it helps at all, I don’t mind if you sit here with me. I know you probably came here to get away from people as well”, they trail off for a moment rethinking their words, “but I have some snacks.” They smile kindly, almost obliviously.

Miguel just frowns at them for a moment. Are they stupid or something?

A bit more excitedly, they gesture next to them and scoot over a bit to make room.

Miguel stands there for a moment debating whether he should push them off the ledge, throw them back to their universe, or straight up deck them. Against his better judgment, he sits down begrudgingly. Even sitting down next to them, they have to look up to make eye contact.

“So what's your name? I probably should have asked that first, shouldn’t I?” They smile and chuckle at their own awkwardness. Miguel analyzes them, watching them carefully. He doesn’t trust them, especially after getting through his defenses.

“Miguel.” He states frankly.

“Oh, cool, most people just call me Webs. Cause my last name is Webbs, and I’m a spider person, so… y’know. Puns.” They extend their hand to Miguel with a friendly smile after trailing off.

Wait . It just hit him. Do they not know who he is? Even though he’s not a social butterfly, most people in the society at least know who he is. Are they dumb, or just don’t care?

“You do know who I am, right?” He asks, genuinely confused by them.

Their eyes get big as they realize they might have done something wrong. They stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out who he is. “Uh, I’m so sorry, but no. I’m not sure I recognize you. I'm sorry if I don’t remember you, I’m not great with faces. Or names for that matter. Should I know you?”

Huh. They’re oblivious. “No, it’s just that most people here recognize me.”

“Oh, are you part of the inner circle or something?” They ask curiously.

“…yes, you could say that.” He says, not sure if he should tell them who he is. Usually, he would immediately make it known who he was, but they seemed embarrassed enough.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I mean really! I know everyone here is important and all, but y’all are amazing. It’s one thing to protect a city, or a country, for that matter. But you guys protect the multiverse. That’s just so crazy, you guys do such incredible work.” They ramble about how enthusiastic they are about the Spider Society’s senior staff.

Miguel didn’t expect this response. He knows his work is important, of course it is. He protects his city, his earth, and every earth across the multiverse. But has anyone actually told him that? All the spider people are aware of the importance, but they never say anything. Miguel short-circuits for a second, not sure how to take the words.

After a bit of trailing on, they finally stop catching themselves. They laugh nervously and look back over to Miguel. “But I guess y’all get that a lot. Still, it really is amazing the work you do. I don’t do much around here, so it seems really cool to me.” They notice Miguel staring at them and shift a bit.

Miguel finally snaps out of it and clears his throat. “Thanks, I suppose it is interesting.”

“Anyway, about those snacks,” They thwip a web to their bag and drag it over. It’s full of random crap, basically overflowing. Just glancing over it, he can see first aid supplies, notebooks, pencils and pens, and an assortment of bright drinks. “Let’s see, I’m out of chips and gummy bears…,” suddenly they make an excited noise and pull out something. “But if it sweetens the deal, I have Pocky!” They hold up two colorful boxes of snacks.

“What the hell is that?” Miguel had never seen this stuff before. It doesn’t even look edible. He wonders what universe thought this was okay to consume.

“You’ve never had pocky before? C’mon, dude , this stuff is amazing. Here, have some. I have two of the best flavors.” They fidget with the boxes for a moment before handing him some. “So this one is Almond Crunch, it's like the original but with little almond bits in it.” Miguel takes one and stares at it, questioning if he should eat it. “And this one is cookies and cream, my second favorite flavor! It's like eating an Oreo.” They grab one and crunch it happily swinging their feet a bit.

“What’s an Oreo?” Miguel asks, sniffing the Pocky to see if it’s poisonous or something. He’s always been a picky eater, and this is not in his comfort zone.

“Oh, they’re these amazing cookies in my universe. They come in like a billion flavors, some are more questionable than others. They’re little chocolate crispy cookies with crème stuff in the middle. They discontinued them after they found out they can be made into explosives… but still, they’re delicious. Full of chemicals, but so good.” They explain as Miguel becomes more horrified by their universe's food safety.

“I’ll just try the almond one.” He says, putting back the Cookies and Crème Pocky.

“Your loss.” They giggle before grabbing another.

“So what’s your favorite flavor? You said Cookies and Creme was your second favorite.” Miguel asks, trying to make conversation. As much as he’d rather be alone right now, this person seems nice enough.

“My absolute favorite is the Mint Chocolate flavor. I’m a sucker for mint flavored anything and love chocolate. So putting those two things together is like crack for me. Plus, they remind me of a brand of candies I would eat when I was younger.” They ramble on, seeming to take Miguel’s hook and make conversation. They’re easy enough to talk to, even if they’re a little too naive for his taste. 

They continue to munch on the Pocky happily, kicking their feet lightly over the ledge. Miguel brings the pocky up to his nose and sniffs it. It smells like artificial sweeteners, stale bread, and chocolate. He does not want to eat this. But this is the first person in a while whose spoken to him and doesn't seem afraid. He hesitantly takes a tiny bite. The texture is a dry biscuit covered in way too chewy chocolate with some crunchy bits mixed in. The flavor is… confusing. The biscuit portion is tasteless, maybe even a little salty. The chocolate isn't very good, but is edible. The almond bits are the only good part. It isn't horrible, but it's something he could down if forced.

Webs glances over to him as he swallows the tiny bite he took. They narrow their eyes, cocking their head to the side and speaking up. “You don't have to eat it if you don't want to. I understand Pocky ain't for everyone.” They say in a voice attempting to be reassuring, but a little unsure of how to convey it. They dig through their bag once again, moving stuff around and taking things out. “I'm not sure if it's your thing, but I have some energy drinks in here. Let’s see.. Either white monster, monster punch, or Redbull.” 

Miguel raises a brow when they list the options. Redbull was banned in his universe about a decade ago, due to the study confirming its link to heart failure and stroke. Miguel’s been damned by that and has missed it every day since. He reaches out and takes the can from them, claws discreetly hidden in his fingertips. It's something he does without thinking, hating to be reminded of his quirks.

“Thanks.” He mutters quietly, cracking it open and taking a long sip. It tastes like straight sugar, taurine, and jet fuel. Oh, how he's missed this . He lets out an inaudible sigh and nod of his head. “So, why do you have so much junk food in your bag? It seems an inefficient use of space.” He says bluntly, enjoying his drink with a silent and stern expression. If you looked up RBF in the dictionary, his face would be there.

“Not all of it is for me if that's what you're thinking.” They say with a light laugh, leaning back a bit with their hand, keeping them upright. “I’ve noticed a lot of Spider people neglect themselves and forget to eat, so I carry snacks and drinks with me. I know they’re not the healthiest options, but it tempts them into actually eating something.” They point out.

Miguel tenses a bit, feeling called out by their words. He is the epitome of neglecting oneself. He clears his throat and takes another long chug of his redbull, looking off to the side. “I see. That's a noble cause.”

“Heh, not really. I just wanna help where I can since I don't do much in the field. But I’m sure you get that feeling sometimes when-” They’re abruptly cut off by the familiar ring of their watch gizmo. They look down at their wrist, clicking a few things and turning off the irritating sound. “So sorry to be rude, but I gotta go.. Someone’s waiting outside my lab.” They say, turning around and gathering everything back into their bag. They chug down the rest of their tea and screw on the lid, eating the last of their pocky like a pencil sharpener before throwing the empty box into the trash can off to the side.

“It was really nice meeting you, Miguel. Sorry again about being in this off-limits area, I’ll find somewhere else to loiter next time.” They say with a soft chuckle, throwing their bag over their shoulder and zipping it shut. “See you around!”

With that, they thwip a web and attach it to the wall, jumping backwards off the ledge. They swing away back inside the bustling Spider Society HQ. He was tempted to stop them to interrogate how they got up here so easily, but he didn’t want to willingly speak any longer. He sits there and chugs the rest of his redbull, crushing it in his hand and throwing it into the trash. 

What a confusing person. Even more confusing than people usually are for Miguel. He scoffs and shakes his head, standing up and stretching. His back crackles like popcorn, eliciting a grunt of discomfort. Welp, he doesn't have to think about them anymore. There are thousands of individuals in the Spider Society. The chances of meeting them again are slim to nothing, especially with how infrequently he leaves his lair. Best to forget they exist and go back to work.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Injections

It’s been about three or four days since Miguel met Webs. He’s not sure of the exact time since hours melt together in his stuffy lair. Miguel is hard at work, hunched over his desk like some undead creature while clicking through various holographic screens. He reaches up and itches his throat, his skin feeling like something's crawling beneath it. His fangs ache, and his amplified senses have been all over the place lately. He hasn't been missing Rapture doses as far as he knows, but for some reason, they aren't working like they used to. 

Lyla pops into existence over Miguel's hand, leaning back on nothing and filing her non-existent nails. “Miggy, your heart rate and blood pressure are higher than usual, which is saying something since it's always looking like a heart attack waiting to happen,” Lyla chimes.

Miguel squints and looks away, the brightness of Lyla’s holographic form hurting his eyes. That’s another thing that's been happening, his sensitive vision has been worse. “I'm fine.” He grates out through gritted teeth, staring straight ahead into the endless glowing screens. “We both know that's a lie, “ Lyla says, standing up and reappearing in front of Miguel's face. Miguel flinches back, bringing a hand up to shield his eye. He looks like a vampire caught in the sun.

“Listen, Miguel, something is actually wrong with you. I've been monitoring your vitals and bodily functions. Your rapture shots haven't been helping. You need to go see someone,” Lyla says, leaning forward with her hands placed on her hips like a scolding mother. Miguel's expression contorts into one of disdain.

Miguel hates doctors, for obvious reasons. Just stepping foot into the medical bay of the spider society makes his hair stand on end. He hates it all: needles, beeping monitors, sterile walls, metallic smells, rubbing alcohol fumes, blinding LED lights. The idea of being poked and prodded, stared at like some failed science experiment. He’d rather kill himself than willingly set foot in a doctor's office. “No. I’m not seeing anyone. I’ll be fine.” He says in a sharper tone, swatting at Lyla’s hologram to try and shoo her away.

Lyla huffs in annoyance, glitching momentarily through Miguel's hand without moving an inch. “I know what you're thinking, but I have another idea. What about instead of seeing a doctor, you see someone more… casual?” Lyla offers, floating closer to Miguel's face. He grumbles and sits up straight to put some distance between them.

“What are you suggesting?” He questions, not following Lyla’s vague words. Lyla grins, adjusting her pink shades and snapping her fingers. A screen pops up in front of Miguel. A familiar face with a few paragraphs beside it. That person he met on the balcony. What was their name again? Webbs? Something stupid like that.

“This is Dr. Webb! They're the Spider Society's head entomologist, specializing in arachnids!” Lyla presents, floating beside the screen and showing it off like a prize on a game show. “The general consensus is that they are very helpful with spider power-related issues.” She continues, glitching away and popping back up next to the description. “I believe they'd be more than willing to help you out with your little issue. Plus, it would get you to open up a bit.” 

Miguel glares at the screen, eyes shifting between the description and the image of their face. Instead of speaking to a professional doctor trained in medicine and genetics, Lyla is suggesting visiting a bug scientist? This has got to be a joke. And not only that, she expects him to “open up” about his problems? Lyla must have a virus or something, because she should know him better than this.

“Absolutely not. I’m not talking to some bug enthusiast about my issues. I’ll be fine, just up my rapture dosage.” Miguel states firmly, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the screen with distaste. Lyla frowns and goes to speak, but Miguel mutes her before she can. Lyla waves her arms around angrily, yelling at him with no sound coming from her. He shooes away the screen and returns to working, hunching back over and refocusing. How stupid is Lyla to suggest that? He is not going to do that, not unless he is on his last breath. 

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He got worse. The days tick by, unbeknownst to Miguel in his dark lair. It feels like bugs are crawling beneath his skin, digging into his veins, and chewing on his bones. His teeth throb in his gums in time with his pulse, as if they’re daring to pop out of his mouth. His eyes are bloodshot and red, burning when even the softest of light is turned on. He went as far as permanently dimming all screens in his office, and even Lyla’s hologram. His lungs feel off, like something inside them is leaking air. He can't seem to get enough oxygen in his lungs, any pressure feels like he's choking. He can hear every single creak of metal, every scrape of a pipe, and any crackling of electricity. Each of those noises is amplified, ringing through his head with the intensity of a sonic boom.

It’s been hell for him. He looks like a zombie, some sort of amalgamation like Frankenstein's Monster. Even Peter B. has been leaving him alone, realizing that something is off about him. Jess has been barred from entering, leaving food outside his door, only to be untouched. Lyla has tried talking to him, finding loopholes in her programming, and even calling others in the inner circle to help. Nothing works. He’s been giving himself doses of Rapture more often. It's supposed to be daily, but then it shifted to twice a day. Then thrice. Then several. Now he shoots up every single hour. It doesn't work, it's not helping. Yet he doesn't stop taking it, feeling like he needs to for survival. Like it's the only thing keeping him alive. He knows he’s spiraling, but he's too deep to stop.

Suddenly, a sharp knock sounds out from the locked-up entrance of his lair. It makes him flinch, the noise echoing through his skull, ready to shatter his eardrums. He snaps his gaze down to the entrance, gritting his teeth in anger. He’s been more irritable, enraged by the slightest thing. Lyla pops up, clearing her throat. Miguel can immediately tell something's wrong by how Lyla is acting, like she knows something. His stare hardens, fists clenching with his nails digging into his palms. “Go check outside. I swear it's not a trap.” She says, looking at Miguel with an oddly sincere expression. Miguel doesn't want to believe her, but she's not capable of lying to him due to her code. “There's no one there, just a drop off.” She ends, blipping away and leaving Miguel alone once again.

A drop off? Is Jess delivering food again? He hasn't touched a single meal she’s left, so why is Lyla adamant about it now?

Miguel begrudgingly gets up from his chair, his back feeling like concrete had been injected through it. His bones grate together and crackle, loud enough to be concerning. He hobbles from his desk and swings down to the floor of his lab, stomping over to the door. The many locks he's installed open, and the door slides to reveal…

A box. Just a box. Not worth the worry Lyla was displaying, but ok.

He grabs the box, oddly cold to the touch, and turns on his heel to quickly make his way back up to his floating platform. He carelessly drops the box onto his desk. There seems to be a folded piece of paper stuck to the side of it with a piece of webbing. He rips the paper off and unfolds it to reveal a written note in less-than-professional penmanship. He mumbles something in annoyance along the lines of “¿Por qué estos idiotas no pueden dejar de molestarme?” He brings the note up closer to his face and reads it over.

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Hi Miguel! You probably don't remember me, but I met you up on the roof a little over a week ago. Lyla reached out to me and told me what you've been going through. So she sent over some samples of your genetic code, rapture supplements, and other stuff. In this box are injections I need you to take once a day. You take them with the rapture, and it’ll help you wean back to taking it once a day. I promise these are safe and I’ve tested them out. They have an 89.75% chance of working correctly and a 4.25% chance of doing nothing. Don't worry about that last 6%.

Anyway, reach out to me if you have any questions or concerns. I’m in my lab from 9am-5pm. Also, please make sure you drink water and eat something with these. You should be doing that anyway, but I just wanna make sure. Ttyl!  

Love, 

Dr. Webbs (:

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Miguel scowls, nails poking through the paper and crumpling it. What the hell is this about? Are they serious? They expect him to randomly inject something into himself without knowing what's in it? And Lyla told them about his rapture addiction and mutations?!

“Lyla!” Miguel barks, whipping his head around and practically snarling. Lyla, of course, pops up over his shoulder. “Ah, I see you got the package. Did you read the note?” She questions, ignoring the fact that Miguel is seething with anger, looking like a rabid dog. 

“Yes, I read the letter! You shared my personal information and genetics with some joke doctor?! What is wrong with you? I should reboot your servers for this, you little puta madre!” He growls, swiping at her holographic forms with his claws. He is pissed, and his current predicament isn't helping his mood. “Calm your tits, big guy, they’re a professional. They keep everything confidential. Plus, this will actually help you.” She says, wagging her finger at him and tsking. 

“Help me? You expect me to trust this shit?” He snaps back, slamming his hands into the desk. He's overreacting a bit, but he can't control it right now. “Miguel, I’m serious. You know I would never do something that might harm you. I’m not asking you to trust them, I’m telling you to trust me.” Lyla says, suddenly becoming very serious. Her form floats in front of Miguel's face, her little glowy hands holding onto his face, though it feels like nothing.

Migeul glares at her, biting back the urge to scream and yell. After what seems like over five minutes of tense silence and death stares, Miguel releases a long and heavy sigh. His shoulders are still tense, and a vein is bulging from his forehead.

“Fine. But if this doesn't work, I’m rebooting you and firing that coño.” He spits through a clenched jaw, fangs throbbing in sync with his high pulse. He grabs the box off the desk and rips it open. Inside are 6 vials packaged with extreme care, padding, and an ice pack included. He takes one vial out to inspect closely.

The liquid inside is an acidic yellow color. It's clear but tinted, more viscous than water. He unscrews the cap and sniffs it. Instantly, he recoils and coughs. It burns his nostrils as if he just snorted citric acid up his nose. It smells like ethanol and bleach with an extremely distinct sour smell. He screws the cap on tight and puts it back into the box, shutting it with a bit of webbing.

He doesn't trust this in the slightest. He doesn't trust this whole situation. And most of all, he doesn't trust that doctor person. Human error is what caused this mess years ago, and human error keeps digging him deeper into his grave. He’ll be damned if he trusts another person with something as important as this. But, he does trust something. Lyla, who was programmed by him. He doesn't trust himself, but he trusts his programming. 

He’ll try it tomorrow morning.