Miles Morales sang the lyrics to Despacito blasting from a rumbling Aston Martin Vantage beneath his high-view perch. The hotel wasn't too tall, none of them were at South Beach compared to the monoliths in New York, so his hearing picked out the distinctions of vocals and noises easily. The song, played through boisterous, top-notch speakers, rubbed elbows with other musical blares in the area. It did so without jumbling into a distorted cacophony, as if Miami's residents could be blocks away, playing tonally, lyrically, fashionably different music, and meld it together like a saucy, spicy blend.
This place was amazing, but it was way too different. Far too different for the likes of the young crime fighter experienced in the high-speed nature of the NYC. Unlike the Big Apple, the Magic City hustled and jived at a slower pace, a pace that crawled over Miles's nerves for the past two weeks as he got acquainted with his new environment. A pace his mother, Rio Morales, thought would be good for him, pulling him away from the flights and furies of New York. And even while Miles complained, argued, and even shouted, switching from English to Spanish, and back, his mother held her ground. His father, Jefferson Davis, backed her up.
And now Miles held oversight on Collins Ave near Lincoln Rd knowing this wasn't a place a teenager should mingle on a Saturday night. But as Spider-Man - one of the Spider-Men - he should have enough authority to go as he pleased if necessary, right? Right? Doubt it. Let's be honest, if it was the OG Spider-Man, maybe. People still appreciated him like an urban legend down here for dealing with The Lizard a while back, but Miles's Spider-Man was still a nobody. Lost in the shuffle among the other Spider-People, and that sentiment was enough to put a damper on his mood, pushing away the festive atmosphere surrounding him like Miami's thicker-than-cheese humidity.
While readjusting his suit, which had trapped his steaming sweat, a ding sounded in his right ear. Miles tapped his finger at the spot. From above the earlobe a tiny projector emitted a holographic image the size of a laptop screen in front of his face. Ganke Lee's head filled it to the edges. "Dude!"
"I'm not playing League tonight, Gank-man," said Miles, although he doubted the conversation would start with League of Legends.
"But I need your Jungler skills, man."
Miles screwed his mouth to the left, drawing lines on his mask in the same direction. He flicked his gaze down to Collins Ave as a bridal party of reveling Latinas spilled out of a yellow limousine. They sounded Guatemalan, or somewhere from the central Americas.
Ganke moaned like he was on a Broadway play in someone's backyard. "Okay, okay, I'm ready to quit this team anyway. Three straight matches of the highest toxicity."
"Did you get the Flying Spiders going?" asked Miles, eyes centering on the screen.
"The program is ready for testing on the hardware." Ganke rubbed his thumb over his cheek, a tendency of his when he wasn't certain on his own answer, but he wasn't exactly lying. Miles imagined he finished the program just today but hadn't ran sufficient tests of the OS, which meant failure was likely while on the field. When Ganke dropped his hand, he leaned forward, looking determined to turn the tables on Miles.
Miles didn't give him the chance. "I've finished rework on the web-fluid formula, redesigned the web-shooters, and I got a drone ready right here." His hand patted a duffel bag he had hauled with him all the way to South Beach. Since they were on the subject, might as well unzip the bag and take out the machine. Just another quad-copter with a decent camera with night vision optics. Miles had to spend most of his savings from his part-time jobs as a temp blogger in New York and his current job in landscaping - mowing lawns - in his Aunt's business. But it should be worth it. It should help him get closer to the goal.
"Geez, Miles, could you swing back up to New York and help on the around the world puzzle? Sounds like you don't have enough to do."
Miles chuckled. "Miami's slow, man."
"Maybe that's a good thing," said Ganke, which strikingly sounded like a parroted version of Miles's mom, reassuring him over an abrupt and radical change. Ganke winced as if what tumbled out of his mouth were heavy stones striking down a quiet mountain side.
Miles eased out a withheld breath. "I'm going to make good on this. Okay? Really, I am. Told you I had a realization before I left, didn't I?"
"Teenagers don't have realizations, we have observations of life screwing us."
"Point is, Ganke, maybe I can be my own Spider-Man here."
Ganke smacked both hands over his face and dragged them down, catching and tugging his eyelids slightly under his fingers tips. "But Miles, you are your own Spider-Man."
Miles shirked up his shoulders. "Okay, are we running this thing or what?"
"Already started, turn it on."
Miles switched off the video feed and flipped the switch on the drone. He stood back a couple feet while the blades whirred to action. It elevated, spun around, and examined him for a few seconds, before drifting in a lazy circle around him, stopping at the same spot where it started. It hovered and watched him like an obedient pet.
Miles stared, holding back the rising elation like a volcanic hole full of bubbling water ready to geyser its way up. Couldn't let his joy go free until he was certain the thing operated as designed, so he started moving. The hotel's rooftop curved and rounded with a dome in the middle surrounded by a ring of AC units. On the edge a metal railing closed off the rooftop from fifteen stories of open air.
It was an easy enough course to skip and hop around, changing elevations and speed. Started off slow at first, until he was bounding from the railing to the middle in one quick step. The drone didn't lose track of him, not even when he lunged from one corner of the rooftop to the other. It trailed, staying close no matter what.
"FS-Command: Stay." Miles backed away, his hand running over the chassis of an AC unit. The metal trembled beneath his gloved hand. The drone didn't follow, only turning to watch him go. Even after breaking line of sight behind the dome, the drone stayed at the demanded position. Miles reached up to his ear, opposite of the one that controlled the holographic call, and pressed a button behind it. "FS-Command: To me." The drone swooped in and stopped nearby. "FS-Command: Return to previous stay." The drone fled. Miles went after it and found it at the spot he had originally told it to stay. He shouted in joy, pumping a fist into the air. "Ganke, your coding is out of this word, dude."
Ganke's chuckle started out nervously before building into confidence. Then the airy and fun arrogance set in. "Well, I am a genius."
"Albert Einstein would look like an idiot next to you," said Miles as Ganke's laugh, a track on a sitcom weaved between a couple snorts, hooted back through the earpiece.
Ganke had been Miles's best bud for a couple years now, since he had managed to get accepted into Brooklyn Vision Academy. And despite the current range between them - 1,283 miles by the way - Ganke insisted they continued their friendship and partnership as a two-man team taking the fight to crime. That's an awesome way to overcome distance and try on new tactics. One glance at the drone running on the Flying Spiders program gave Miles a sense of comfort.
Maybe things will work out after all.
That blissful glow circling his positive thoughts hurtled from the heavens to the depths of reality when the drone dropped without being prompted. It pitched heavily to one side, clearing the railing, and dove for the top of a palm tree many stories below.
Oh no you don't!
Before it even got a couple feet near the broad leaves, Miles rotated his arm and thrust it at the machine - thwip - and caught the drone's tail in webbing. One yank of the arm and the adhesive tether pulled tight and bungee-corded it up to the rooftop. His other hand snatched the drone out of the air, which would have been an impressive feat if Miles was a normal human. Instead, he was a teenager with the strength and abilities of a spider and some.
"You see, that's why I keep three drawing boards," said Ganke, his voice starting off flat until it dialed down to an ashamed whisper.
Miles let out a one note laugh. "Don't worry about it. You'll figure it out soon."
After turning off the drone and collapsing its rotatory wings, he aimed a tiny nozzle from the top of his wrist at the webbing attached to the carbon fiber frame. Some of his spare time was put to good use while getting accustomed to his new home, new family, new life, new everything. He played around with the web-shooters and the web formula while using Peter's notes for references. Through some of Miles's own research on the web formula, which required sketchy lab equipment he found in backyard sales on the internet, he created a web-fluid solvent. Then he redesigned the web-shooters to include the solvent as well as another nifty gadgetry. Thus, the end of the adhesive web attached to the drone dissolved after a few puffs. Seemed like an unnecessary accessory since the webbing dissolved over time.
But nothing's unnecessary if you know when to use it for the right reason, right, Peter?
Ganke talked into Miles's train of thought like a person stumbling into their neighbor's yard. "So, what's the plan for tonight, dude? From what an uncle told me once, there's a lot of fun and trouble to find in South Beach. And cops. Lots of cops."
"Yet there's been disappearances, and that's more trouble than fun." Miles returned to his perch, observing the people below.
"I also hear that place is, like, infamous for trafficking. And not in just drugs, either. You know what I'm saying." Ganke's voice shivered like a leafless branch stressed by wintry winds. "I was watching some crime documentaries on Miami, and dude, that place isn't all music and fun like Will Smith made it sound. Yeah, sure, Welcome to Miami until you get caught in shootouts or get eaten by an alligator. I wouldn't want to be a girl out there, either. Their families must be terrified for them if they're disappearing."
"It's dudes with this case."
"Dudes?"
"Someone's kidnapping groups of men age eighteen to mid-twenty. Every night for the past week, too. It's still hush-hush, no larger than street and cop-level. But there's been reports of multiple disappearances over social media. All tourists in South Beach."
"If it isn't big time news, how'd you learned of it?" asked Ganke in one excited rush of a breath.
Miles shrugged, which was a wasted expression since Ganke didn't see it, the video portion of the chat was still off. He left it that way, ignoring the question while focusing more on the street.
An altercation between two aggressive parties sparked and grew into a heated shouting match. In both parties was a person gesturing in a way that alarmed Miles's sensibilities. He predicted a deadly fight on the horizon if the argument continued to ascend past face-to-face posturing. "Yo, Ganke, talk later. Got to break up a fight before it gets bad."
"Alright dude, go out there and be the best Spider-Man ever."
Smirking, Miles stuffed down a chuckle as he tapped the button to end the call. Ganke may or may not know it, but Miles more than appreciated that last comment from him. A part of him still felt silly for making such a bold declaration to his best friend the day before he departed for Miami. It almost seemed like a spurn of the moment claim, but when he said it aloud, it clicked like the perfect key for a certain lock, opening something new and dangerous inside of Miles.
Ambition.
And as he nursed such a strong desire, it covered him like a blanket, buzzing his skin, warming his soul, applying subtle changes to him that were unprecedented of his usual nature. The group of people he was dropping on were about to get a taste of it, in fact.
A quick fall into a palm tree followed by a kick-off and a back flip landed him on the hood of a parked sedan. He triggered the car alarm on purpose to snatch the attention of the dozen people seconds from brawling in front of a ritzy restaurant. Bubbling champagne and fresh fish wafted from the kitchen inside while meeting the thick and lingering scent of weed in the hostile crowd.
He wasn't certain on the reason for the beef, or how people could be high and angry, but he dropped onto leveled ground with an authoritative swagger. He raised his voice, backing it with as much bass as he could, as he spoke over the alarm. "I already know what you're thinking. And it's true. I'm Spider-Man. And it's your lucky day, cause I'll sign autographs here and now if you can do me one favor. Chill. Chill out or get webbed."
