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    Summary

    "You're tracking him like he's a serial killer, Verity," Creator growls, leaning over the police desk until his shadow swallows the light. Verity just smiles, a sharp, empty thing, and pins another photo to the board. It's a close-up of Spider-Man's exposed jaw from a tear in his mask, dark, mahogany skin glistening with sweat.

    "No," Verity replies softly. "I'm tracking him like he's my missing piece."

    On the other side of town, Mob sits on Twixxel’s workbench while Twixxel patches up a suit tear, complaining that some weird detective keeps showing up at Mob's alleyway drop-points smelling like a distressed, desperate Omega.

    Mob just laughs it off.

    He shouldn't.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    11,337
    Chapters:
    3/?
    Comments:
    22
    Kudos:
    113
    Bookmarks:
    17
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