Warning tags: Racial profiling, police brutality, gun violence, villain threats.

This has got to be the worst alternate universe ever.

Parker is very solemn. "This is Earth-11638, Miles. It's not a pleasant place. I've spent years fighting crime only to realize that some things take far too long to fix. People need better lives. Laws are slow to put into place, the red tape bids everyone, it stops us from directly helping out. So I stepped back from patrols, worked on myself, went to ESU, got the knowledge to be better, to make a name for myself, and get the money."

Parker leans back on his arms. "I needed more power. Physical strength, more abilities, whatever, I'm not picky. So I built the PRIME machine. You're sitting in its chamber. PRIME absorbs every last bit of your mutant and mutate genes and recombines it to my DNA so I can draw in and retain every part of your strength. The transfer makes me powerful and with every changeover, I'm more than capable of handling the world's problems."

Miles's head is swimming. This Parker is mad. Stealing people's power…?

"You can't," Miles sucks in a breath. "You can't do this! You can't just take my power, it's me! How—"

"I can and I will," Parker continues, unflinchingly. "You don't know what I'm capable of, Miles. This world was shit before I sought to make a change. I received the bite too and unlike the other heroes, I stepped up to do something about it. I am a success. I've taken down Dead Weight, put Doc Ock in prison years ago. I fought against Mysterio and the Chameleon, stopped Loki within days, put an end to the Green Goblin's experiments, killed all the Winter Soldiers of Siberia, destroyed ULTRON, took on AIM single-handedly, and won."

He puts his hands on his chest, eyes burning bright. "I am the world's savior. And it's all possible because I keep pushing myself to get stronger. If keeping billions of people safe requires a hundred people to die, that's a choice I will make, time and again."

Miles croaks, scrambling against the glass. "That's now how… Spider-Man is supposed to do the right thing. This isn't the right thing!"

Parker makes a face. "Spider-Man? That's really the name you're going with?"

"What? Like the Amazing Spider is any better!"

Parker grins. It's all teeth. "The name makes people quake. It makes the world sing my praises. I'm more than a hero, I'm a legend. I'm a god."

A god-complex. Miles has some choice words that his mother should never hear of. In the background, Ben stands by a console, staring at the back of Parker's head. He has soft pride glowing on his face.

Miles swallows heavily, looking at him through the crack in the glass. "You said you liked me."

Parker now looks less smug. "It's true. You're a good person, with the right abilities. I deserve to have it."

"What if I need my powers to keep my world safe?" Miles argues, weakly. "Did you ever think about how I would need to help the people of my world? Did you ever think about all the worlds you'd taken the heroes from? If you don't care about the Spider-people, then you also hate the 17 other dimensions who don't have those heroes."

There is a long sigh from him.

"Their worlds aren't my concern," Parker says with the air of someone who's had to practice convincing his reflection. Miles wonders if all those Spideys had been completely out for the count when Parker beamed them to his universe and sucked out their powers.

"Not even mine?" Miles says, trying not to cry now. "I have parents. I got a family! All my friends, my classmates? I'm supposed to keep them safe. I'm supposed to protect my world. You're stopping me from doing that, Peter!"

Parker stares. It's like he's never had the thought that there is anything wrong with the kidnappings. Then he reaches into his pocket to pull out a familiar black gadget.

Miles chokes, bringing his hand into his own pocket, unconsciously mirroring him.

"Tell me, Miles," Parker says softly. "Why would you build a teleporter for yourself when you're completely satisfied taking care of only your world? Or did you have some over-the-top altruistic reason to keep all the dimensions safe? Do you think you can be the savior of the multiverse?"

Miles stares at his gizmo in Parker's hands. The unfinished device sits there, painfully ordinary looking.

"Or… did you build this so you could see your friends?" Parker adds.

Something like anger bursts in his chest. Miles feels the energy similar to the vengeance that burned him after Uncle Aaron.

"Peni Parker, Earth-312 or 512," Parker recites from memory. "It's a start, but I'll get there."

The tears threaten to join his anger. Miles is shaking, breaking out into a cold sweat. "You won't win against them."

"Won't I? Are you already giving up on yourself, Miles?"

"Not the way you've given up."

Parker frowns. "In what way have I…"

Miles coughs, his lungs feeling wracked. "You… you don't know what it really means to put on the mask. The mask keeps you safe, keeps your family safe while you go out, and do real good. But you're making excuses, taking on a larger-than-life persona. You're not a hero, you're not a Spidey. You're not one of us."

Parker looks gobsmacked. Miles reaches up and places a palm over the cracked glass. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the glass wall behind.

"Can I tell you what I learned from being a hero?"

Parker splutters. "Can you what…? You're new! I've been on patrol for twelve years—"

"It's not about you," Miles says, voice low and shoulders slumped. "It's about everyone you meet. It's about the kid trying to score a job so they can help the family. It's about the single parent working a double shift, graveyard hours. It's about those taking on multiple jobs to support each other. They're the heroes we need to look up to, that we need to respect. Singing praises isn't for us. That's not the point. You said you started out wanting to help everyone in the world. How did it go so wrong?"

Parker leans in. He stares at Miles's slack hand on the glass and matches the palm with his own. Miles can feel the warmth through the crack.

"Wrong?" Parker whispers. "Miles, you don't get and you never will. You're a kid, so it's easy for you to separate people into two exclusive groups. Good and bad? That's not how any world works. It's never perfect like that. You think I don't have enemies who believe they're in the right? I'm in a cold fight with the Wakandans, battling with Deadpool, keeping all the toxic superpowers at bay. I wish you could see what I was talking about. I wish we could really hang out. But we're done."

"Yeah," Miles says. His spider-sense is twinging painfully. And then, he feels around his pocket, finding a handle and pulling it out to reveal a comically large wooden mallet, completely looney tunes animated and very real.

The look on Parker's face is downright hilarious, but Miles doesn't bother, instead bringing down the heavy mallet on the metal base, busting all the wires that connect his chamber to the PRIME machine.

"NO!" Ben yells, as Parker snarls and rears his hand back to punch through the reinforced glass. The wall shatters loudly and he grabs Miles around the neck. Miles automatically flips the mallet up, smashing it against Peter's face. The mallet splinters, cracking as Peter's entire head swings to the side from the force.

Miles drops the broken mallet and holds Parker's wrist in both hands, squeezing it and charging up all the energy he's been building through the conversation. The knock-out gas was not strong enough for him.

He shoots out a barrage of yellow lightning. Parker screams, ripping his hand away, but the electricity steams out everywhere, bombarding the PRIME chamber and machine, overloading the servers.

Ben flinches, throwing himself away from the panel as sparks burst out and the machine seems to explode.

The noise is incredible. It breaks Miles's eardrums and he feels weightless, the blast shooting him off the broken chamber. He hits the wall and slumps into a groaning pile.

The world spins and blacks out momentarily. He hears Peter's voice in his head, choking through the broken Spider-Man mask, blue eyes going dim - Get back up, Miles.

"Ben!" Parker yells.

"Fire in the second quadrant! The wall's caving in," Ben shouts back. "Get outta there!"

"No, we have to shut it down! Put the fire out, I'll scrub the files!"

Everything hurts though.

His dad's voice was next. Get up, Spider-Man!

Miles sobs, pushing himself off the floor. His body hurts, arms burning, head whirling. But he gets up. And starts running.

Part of the building is on fire. Miles's ankles are painful like they're broken, but he pushes against a door, breaks the metal hinges, and feels cold air on his burning face. He's still in the casual wear Parker had loaned him, slightly torn. No spider-suit, no web-shooters, no gizmo. But, in return, Miles had damaged the multiverse teleporter and the PRIME machine.

Evens everything out.

Except now, Miles can't get back home.

He's far away from the warehouse now, running across the empty roads of the city. There's no sign of life in the row of abandoned buildings. It really is the perfect place for evil experiments. He's still sure that it's New York, but the exact sector remains a mystery.

With his spider-sense still sending an alarm, Miles tries to listen to his surroundings. His loud pants and pained grunts are taking up too much space in his head, so he ducks into a nook between two empty houses and sits in the dirty corner, trying to get his bearings back.

Miles has no way to go home. He can't contact anyone from another universe and knows nobody from this one. What did Parker say? This is Earth-11638. Miles really doesn't know anything about this place except that Peter Parker is the Amazing Spider and is evil.

He succumbs to his tears.

Shoulders shaking, Miles sobs, curling his body over his bent knees. Pain and panic, fright and terror overtaking, he cries into his arms for a good long time.

Miles might have gone into an unsteady slumber had it not been for the racing thrill of his spider-sense shooting pain into the back of his neck. His head snaps up, unwillingly alert.

Parker is near.

Before, the man barely set off his danger sense, but now, there's no doubt about it. Parker is close and looking for him.

There's also a loud siren of a cop car, turning around the corner and heading for the road Miles is hiding in.

His heart jumps, adrenaline rushing in. Can he tell the cops about Parker's plans? Will they believe him? If this world worships Parker, would anyone believe him?

Above his head, at the lip of the roof's wall, a sharp string of web thwips into sight, binding to the brick wall. Miles stifles a gasp, turning invisible immediately. He places both hands over his mouth, not daring to make a sound.

A suited being swings into view. It's Parker, Miles is sure, but he's in a very different kind of suit.

It's sleek and tight like most suits, deep red with purple sections and webbed lines running down his body. There's a long, red cape fluttering behind him. Oh, Peter B. would hate that.

Parker plants his feet against the wall, easily standing parallel to the ground. His fists are clenched, shoulders back. His eye slits are widened like he's surprised, but Miles wonders if his HUD is scanning the surroundings.

What if he has thermal imaging? What if he can sense Miles, mere yards below him?

Parker's eyes roam right over Miles's invisible body, looking over the rest of the dirty building alley before looking over at the road. Miles's heart is thudding so loud, it's a miracle that nobody in the city can hear him.

The sirens grow louder, smearing the air. Miles dares to turn his head and look over the entrance of the alley as the cop car comes into view and stops. One of the officers steps out, looking up at the Amazing Spider. Parker lets himself fall and lands with the grace of a ballet dancer.

"H… hello," the officer says, with wide eyes and a squeaky voice. He looks like he's Parker's age, with none of the experience or confidence.

"Officer Morrisey," the Amazing Spider replies, and Miles takes a jolt. It almost doesn't sound like Parker. His voice is different, far more polished, and deeper.

"You… you know who I am?" Morrisey asks, shocked.

"It's on your badge," Parker says. "I sent an alert directly to your captain, please tell me you have back-up?"

"They're on the way, sir!" Morrisey says, breathless. "My partner and I were the closest. What seems to be the problem?"

"Got a rogue, classification: Alpha," Parker answers, turning his band on his wrist up and bringing out a bright and frozen hologram of Miles from when he'd been in Parker's office, complete in the jeans and hoodie he's currently in.

"He's nineteen, but he can pass for much younger," Parker continues. "There's evidence of illegal experimentation from one of the warehouses beside the docks. I shut it down, but he managed to escape."

Morrisey, who's taking all this down, looks up baffled. "He… escaped?"

"He set off an explosion and escaped," Parker says, voice very tight. "Do not underestimate him. I'll pass on the list of his abilities. Get your people in line. I want him back by sundown."

"Sir, yes sir!" Morrisey is scrambling back into the cruiser. His partner is tight-lipped, hands clutching the steering wheel like her life depends on it. They're both sweaty, and it's clear why. Parker is giving off dangerous vibes.

Miles's shock is starting to wear into fear. The man wasn't just a vigilante, he really is in charge if he was barking orders to the ones in blue. He has the police under his thumb.

Will Miles's dad also be called in to hunt for him? This isn't the first time he's on the run from the cops, but it's far more dangerous now. Miles is alone in a world with no help, in a dimension where his enemy is the self-proclaimed leader.

The cruiser drives off and Parker turns to stand in the middle of the road, looking very much like a spirit of vengeance. Miles breathes very slowly to not tip him off under any circumstance.

"I know you can hear me," Parker whispers. Miles's heart skips a beat.

"You're hiding. You're right in my vicinity, but I can't see you, I can't sense you. Very adaptive," Parker says, and the relish in his tone makes Miles shiver. "You have more abilities it seems. A bonus for me. I will find you, Spider-Man. There's nowhere in this world you can run, there's nowhere you can hide. I own the world. You've put yourself in a very dangerous position."

Parker spins around slowly, taking leisured steps across the road. He faces the sea in the distance and Miles watches him roll his shoulders.

"Morales," Parker says in a regular tone like he's about to start a friendly chat. "I've heard the name somewhere… I know of Alisande Morales, Rio Morales… can easily find more. I'll show you a Miles Morales, just like you asked. I'll show your entire family from this world if they're here."

Miles feels his stomach drop through the ground as his danger sense reaches a high pitch, ringing incessantly in his ears. There's a swooping sensation like he's falling without web-shooters, with nothing to catch him.

Parker breathes in deeply and exhales. "It's just a matter of time, Miles. Either we drag you back, or you can choose to walk back. Nobody needs to get hurt. I'll make you a promise. You won't suffer in the end. It will be painless and swift. Turn yourself in, Miles."

He can't move. He can't. He's frozen, stuck to the earth. What if Parker finds his counterpart in this world. What if he takes away all of his family? What if he tracks down everyone named Morales, everyone named Davis? How many people are going to get hurt because of one life?

Miles should turn himself in to keep the others safe.

And yet…

He burns with shame as he stays still, not daring to move.

Parker waits for another minute before sighing and shaking his head. "Ball's in your court, Spider-Man. If you're a real hero, you'll make the right choice. I live at Parker Mansion in Queens. Big ol' building, you can't miss it. Just ask anyone on the street, they'll point you in the right way. I'll be waiting."

Miles watches as the Amazing Spider takes a standing leap, shooting a web onto a lamppost and swinging back from where he'd come.

The world is breaking down around him, inside him. Miles should go back. Nobody else should get hurt. It isn't fair. But his fright is overpowering. He doesn't feel like a hero, he feels like a little kid who's lost his mom's hand in a crowd as faceless people bowl over him.

Miles has never felt so alone.

MJ usually tries to stay away from Peter's business, but it isn't always easy. He's everywhere.

When it comes to medical métiers, police forces, emergency utilities, bank servers, all governmental agencies, real estate functions, STEM research, art fields, education programs, the bloody traffic systems, the tourist businesses, social media platforms, advertisements for anything on most of the planet, everything. Everything is processed through Parker Technologies and its subsidiaries. The modern world spins thanks to Peter Parker's brain, thanks to his effort, his skills, his global generosity. Peter might be on the periphery as a distant benefactor, or smackdab in the middle as an instigator, but he's there all the same.

MJ remembers him from school. She and Ned were the closest kids to Peter back then.

She doesn't recognize him now.

His involvement makes her job as a SHIELD agent very difficult.

Many departments under SHIELD were rendered defunct thanks to Parker's presence. He stops world takeovers and evil plots. He is barely short of the title of the alpha and the omega. The last vestiges of SHIELD are publicly known as the backup organization meant to aid Parker.

Once you stop laughing at the ridiculousness of that statement, you'll probably realize that there may be more to it than meets the eye.

The inner circle knows that the world isn't meant to be run by one person. The circle, of which MJ and Ned are a part, knows that Parker hides dangerous secrets. It's taken a few years to even narrow down the truth that he's up to something nefarious in the long run, and that truth was hard-earned through the loss of friends.

MJ walks down the quiet corridor, carrying a box of cold pizza. Her head is full of plans of a possible weak link in Parker's drone army that SHIELD plans to infiltrate. She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts for the evening.

Ned's room comes up on the right. She knocks on the door and pauses before entering. He barely ever responds immediately and she's seen him in every underwear he's ever owned, so shame was minimal between them.

He's at the table, three systems open and running in front of him. One PC has Galaga on, while the second is running through blueprints of one of Parker's drones.

The third has grainy footage of a CCTV camera running. MJ narrows her eyes at the screen which shows a remote warehouse in the distance. Nothing of consequence.

"You missed dinner," she says, dropping the box beside his mouse. Ned pulls down his headphones, blinking up at her with sleep-deprived eyes.

"Pepperoni and pineapple?"

"Of course," she drags a chair from the side to sit beside him. "What's your score?"

"23000."

MJ shoves at his shoulder. "No really!" Ned protests. "I'm at the morphing levels. Green ships are 2k apiece!"

"It's old school!"

"Yeah," Ned agrees, peeling a slice from the box. "It's also one of the games Petey doesn't own."

MJ stares. "Wait… really?"

"Oh, yeah. I was surprised too. He was nuts about arcade games, but hasn't gotten all of them… probably too caught up trying to buy Disnéyland."

"Thought he already had that?"

Ned spoke through a mouth full of pineapple. "Nah, he has Coney Island. But the news said something about Diz, and now everyone thinks he has them in his pocket too."

MJ groans. "Can we have one conversation that doesn't revolve around him?"

Swallowing down a particularly large piece looked ambitious, but Ned does it. "Something caught my eye last night. Warehouse 97, Brooklyn dockyard. Sweet light show."

Ned plays the video and MJ leans in. The camera is focused on a large dull building on the docks. As she stares, the dark warehouse suddenly lights up from within, in the dead of night. Unearthly bright red, blue, and yellow lights stream through the windows. There are globules of radiance, hovering in the air and—

And the center window suddenly misplaces, as though the pixels that make up the video glitch. It shows the window moving over the wall, bricks shifting around. It lasts a bare two seconds.

"What's wrong with the footage?" MJ asked, borrowing a slice of stale pizza for herself. "Condensation or chewed wires?"

Ned shakes his head. "The footage is fine. I've been running through it, there's no tampering."

She gives him a look. "Then what was that? Play it again."

He obliges. MJ watches closely this time. Again, the window makes the exact same motions, displaced from its original place and being shifted to different parts of the wall before returning to its spot.

MJ doesn't understand.

"It's like… it's glitching."

Ned nodded. "It's the Matrix. This proves my theory. Petey's taken over the entire world and turned us all into battery cells."

MJ squints at the screen, annoyance bubbling. "Can you stop calling him that?"

He doesn't agree or refuse, but MJ finally touches the screen at the point the light first erupts. "Is the light displacing solid matter?"

"Seems like it. Or… the video is corrupted and my comp's crying from having to scan it."

MJ glares at the screen. "Is there better footage? A different angle?"

Ned raises an eyebrow, now looking amused. "Nope. I just got this, before the thing got scrubbed from the web."

Now that is interesting. Why would Peter want to remove this from the traffic system? He could easily pass off the lights as an odd glitch in the camera, faulty wiring, whatever.

"Bring this up to Shuri," MJ decides.

Ned looks surprised. "Are you sure?"

"You used SHIELD resources to scan this. Which means you think something's off here."

"But I just thought it's odd that he'd take the footage down. I got lucky taking a back-up of it before it was completely wiped."

MJ pats his shoulder. "Then let's use this luck and do something about it."

"What if it's a waste of time?" Ned asks, suddenly nervous. "You're all planning Operation Park It, what if—"

"First of all, that is not the code name," MJ sighs. "Second of all, you knew Peter the best. If something about his behavior tips you off, we should look into it. Get this into a drive and pack it off to Shuri. She'll want to know your theory."

"About the Matrix?"

"... she likes the movie. Either way, it's not a wasted trip."

Ned pouts and downloads the video into his USB, and leaves his smelly room. MJ picks up the box and they walk down the long, blue corridors.

SHIELD's lesser-known maze of offices in East Brooklyn also doubles as a living space for some of the agents who prefer to stay at work rather than live in a place outside in the real world where everyone is under the strict eye of Uncle Sam. Or Brother Petey.

Two agents walk into an elevator ahead of them and Ned shouts, "Hey! Hold up!"

Captain America steps into eyesight from within the box. He immediately jabs one of the buttons, but the doors are already closing. A metal arm shoots out and catches the edges just as they close around the vibranium digits. The elevator doors keen before relenting and opening again.

"Thanks, Wilson, Barnes," MJ says, stepping in. Sam and Bucky are curious about the box she has.

"What kinda pie?" Bucky asks, taking a peek.

"Pepperoni and pineapple," MJ says and smirks as both Sam and Bucky grimace.

"Pepperoni? Yuck, what's wrong with you?"

Ned snickers, "More for me."

"2nd level," MJ adds and Sam hits the button for it.

"How was your Op yesterday?" Ned asks. "I didn't get a chance to meet you at dinner."

Sam rolls his eyes. "It was so and so. We waited for an hour for the dude to show up. He goes by the Scorpion if you can believe it. We just got the good stuff when Parker's drones flew out of nowhere and tasered the lot of them. Took the entire gang down in minutes. It was ridiculous."

"It was like Sam and me were just there to sit and look pretty," Bucky grumbled. Sam jerked his head in response. "And Bucky wasn't even doing that."

Bucky throws an elbow out at him. "We could have gone there with blank rounds and still have the same result. How the hell did he even know the deal was going down? We'd set it up under the radar!"

"He's getting bolder," MJ says. "He's definitely got a bug on us."

"Urgh!" Bucky grunts. "The sooner Shuri can get everything set up, the sooner we can get more answers. I'm tired of being shown up all the time."

Sam suddenly looks serious. "We can't be sloppy this time. She needs hardcore evidence."

The elevator grows silent. MJ thinks about Steve. Infallible, unflinching Steve.

"Ned might have something," she says.

"MJ!" he hisses, face flushing when their superiors gauge them. "It's not… it's nothing concrete. It's just weird."

"Could be something worth looking into," MJ adds firmly.

Sam exhales. "We can use every bit, Ned."

Ned nods, flushing a bit. The elevator dings and all four move out, heading towards Shuri's underground lab.

It's a modest-sized room but fitted with out-of-the-world Vibranium powered systems. This is the one thing Peter hasn't gotten his hands out. SHIELD's most sacred secret is that its undercover operations are based mainly on Wakandan technology. It is the foremost piece of advancement their planet has ever seen and it is a blessing that the country manages to stay away from Peter's empire.

Even so, it's foolhardy to assume that he's not heard of them.

Shuri is at her sand-table, testing some of her newly developed Kimoyo beads for upcoming missions. Natasha is on a swivel chair, carefully disassembling a Glock 19. Both women are in gym wear, possibly having come down from a training session to unwind in the lab.

MJ stops beside Ned, intrigued by the purple glow of the silicon and vibranium markings on the weapons they're fiddling with.

"How's the mood bracelet coming along?" Sam asks, drawing patterns on the sand to mimic the shape of the Kimoyo bead bracelet. Shuri jerks her braids aside without breaking her concentration. "Optimal. Of course, there'll be only one setting for you, Sam. Cursed with a lousy sense of humor."

Bucky and Nat bark out a laugh. Sam grumbles but is eased into the ribbing. Nat shoots MJ and Ned a bright smile, silently encouraging the young man to speak. Ned says, "I have something for you to see, Shuri."

He holds out a USB drive for her to take. Shuri looks at it curiously before turning to the holo table. She finds a newly installed port for "old-world tech" and plugs it in.

"Peter scrubbed a piece of video from the traffic system last night," Ned says as the five of them look up at the enlarged hologram of the warehouse footage.

"Parker?" Shuri asks, frowning at the bright lights bursting through the hologram's warehouse. Sam and Bucky are also perplexed.

"I think the footage is faulty," Ned says. "It freaked exactly like that on my screen too. The window moved there, see?"

Nat places the silencer down and leans in. "It looks like the real world is glitching."

Shuri reaches in with both hands, moving the hologram around, zooming into the image. The brightly colored pixels offer much better quality than Ned's PC, but the grainy look persists.

"It looks like that movie, doesn't it?" Bucky begins. "The green backdrop with numbers—"

"The Matrix!" Ned adds, almost delirious now.

Shuri stares at him. "It really does look like that. Like the world isn't real. Like… the fabric we know isn't as solid as we believe."

Sam squints. "Or… it could really just be a bad video."

"But why would Peter remove it from the web?" MJ says. She points at the window that keeps dancing around the wall of the warehouse. In the high-resolution hologram, it's very clear that the physical window literally moves.

"Then it's not a bad video," Bucky suggests. "It's really well edited. People can make anything look like anything these days."

"MJ's right though," Nat says with a frown. "Parker wouldn't have removed it unless there's more to it. Where's the location?"

"Um," Ned murmurs. "Warehouse 97, Brooklyn dockyard."

"That comes under Dead Weight's territory, right?" Shuri asks, bringing up new holo displays of aerial views of the mentioned place.

"Fisk is detained in Ryker's indefinitely," Sam remembers. "Who wants to bet Parker bought the place?"

"Likely he did. But there's barely a trail connecting him to this place—"

One of the new holograms shows a city-wide alert for a mutant hunt.

The six agents stare at the face of the boy in a red hoodie and grey denim trousers. He looks painfully young, sleep visible in his eyes, barely the face of a dangerous mutant.

Sam swears. "Why're the cops being less than useful today and hunting for a kid?"

"Classification level: Alpha," Shuri reads out the report. "Caused an explosion in Warehouse 97 and escaped into the city limits. The Brooklyn and Queens' precincts are searching for him."

"Holy shit, look at the place," Bucky whistles, eyes moving past the report and at the current state of the warehouse. The building is partially caved in, with one section in the wall completely missing. The windows are shattered, the roof is broken, and the place is wrecked.

"The search was initiated by the Amazing Spider," MJ reads, a bad taste filling her mouth. They know that Peter is the Amazing Spider, but there's no solid evidence to back it up. Most of the world believes that Parker Technologies funds the Amazing Spider, supporting his missions and ordeals. Even with Parker never outright saying that he isn't the superhero, nobody is brave enough to loudly connect the two dots.

"What is going on?" Ned whispers and nobody of them can answer him.

"This kid managed to escape him," Nat says. "That's no small shakes. If Parker's got the cops looking for him, we need to find out more. Shuri, what can you-"

"Done," Shuri says, bringing up the first profiles put together by the precincts.

"Suspected pyro tech, electric boost, and magical weaponry," MJ raises an eyebrow. The profile does not seem very well put. "This doesn't feel right. Something about the notes is putting me on edge."

"Zoom in on the suspect," Nat says, getting to her feet. Shuri moves the hologram around, focusing on the boy again.

"Nineteen years," Sam frowns. "Not a chance."

"What's this logo here?" Nat points to a small colorful patch half concealed in the bend of the Alpha mutant's hoodie.

"A symbol?" MJ cocks her head to the side, trying to look at the strange yellow lettering. It looks like a single yellow ribbon twisted and moving in a concentric circle. Wait, not a circle...

Oh no.

"PT," Ned whispers. Nat glares, already pulling out her cellphone, thumb moving furiously over the screen.

"Petey strikes again," Bucky says darkly, staring at the enhanced image of the letter "P" on a black background. "Why's the kid wearing Parker Technologies issued clothing?"

"We need to get to him," Sam decides. "Parker's lying to everyone and got the entire police force looking for the boy. Shuri, how's Op Pit going?"

Shuri mutters a curse. "It's still in the testing phase. His drones are directly connected to the EDITH server, completely offline from his primary AI. EDITH functions on a different level—"

"Brownout reset," Ned suggests.

MJ has no idea what it means, except that it probably isn't a total blackout. Shuri looks curious about the idea though.

"But the units run on independent power sources. Battery, Ned."

"Petey uses wireless charging," Ned says. "We can send enough current through the generator and cause a temporary outage."

"How long will that take to set up?" Nat butts in.

"If we can disrupt EDITH's signal, then… half hour?"

Sam nods. He nudges Bucky and says, "Split up. Let go out in teams. I've got lookouts posted around Brooklyn and Queens. We can alert the others. Shuri, Ned, give us the go-ahead when we get the window. We need to get the kid before Parker can find out."

Bucky groans. "Who's gonna tell Fury?"

Everyone in the room chimes, "You."

Sam and Bucky march out, the latter grumbling. MJ slaps a hand on Ned's back, wishes him and Shuri good luck before following her mentor out of the labs.

MJ trains under Natasha on a daily basis, barring mission weeks. If there is ever a role model to look up to, regarding assembling and disassembling arms, performing the perfect thigh strangle, spinning on her toes, using deadpan humor to maximum fruitfulness, and petting cats the right way, Nat is your woman.

She's known the experienced agent for nearly four years. Nat was impressed with MJ's entry scores, putting in the word to recruit her ahead of the other greenies. Flash was jealous, but Ned gave her an encouraging pep-talk before MJ walked onto the wrestling mat to face the Black Widow.

MJ remembers that memorable day. Nat had soundly pummeled her into the mat. She still does, except it takes longer for MJ to stay down.

Pushing her harder than the other recruits had been something MJ loathed at times, but in the end, it's worth it. No one was prouder than Nat to watch her graduate at the top of the class.

Nat rattles her bike keys, leading MJ to her quarters.

"You ever seen him before?" Nat asks, pulling up the image of the boy hunted by New York's worst. MJ scours the young face, Black and unassuming.

"Must be a new mutant," MJ hums. They reach Nat's room, grabbing for her biker jackets and helmets before heading out again. MJ flicks at the intricate metal windchimes she'd gifted Nat last Christmas, listening to the jingle as the door closes.

"I keep thinking…" Nat mutters. "There's been a string of missing child reports across the country. No leads, very professional. Not your typical runaway kid."

"A string?" MJ frowns. "Are you talking about Case file 29-10LA? That was only four kids. Fury said to drop it—"

"And since when does Tony ever listen to him?"

MJ falls silent. Tony Stark is a name that rarely crops into casual conversation. Nat and the others don't like chatter about Tony or Steve anymore.

"Could he prove that these kids are mutants?"

"Yes," Nat says, turning on the lights to the garage. The underground chamber lit up, revealing a line of sleek motorbikes. MJ looks over the heavy-duty machines, built for speed and power, courtesy of Wakanda. One of the bikes turns on, headlights coming on and reversing out of its parking space.

Auto-controlled by Nat's remote key, it rides around the parking lot to come to a stop in front of the women. MJ feels excited. She's yet to get her own bike issued.

As Nat ties her hair into a quick bun, their watches beep simultaneously. She rolls her eyes, tapping the tiny screen. Nick Fury's face appears as a hologram above her wrist.

"Leaving without a debriefing?" He asks, sour-faced. His scar pulls underneath the black eye patch. MJ wonders if his sour face is any different from his happy face.

"We need to run on this fast. Shuri's got Ned working with her, they'll give us a shot to work under the drones."

"What we need is a bigger team."

"Sam's got his informers on the ready, but no more than that. Parker can't find out," Nat insisted. "Sam and Bucky are taking the North route. MJ and I will approach from the East. We'll circle the docks and use offline scanners."

"You'll have less than a half-hour with a small resource count," Fury glares at her. "It's a poor plan at best. I surprised Nat, this isn't your style."

Nat blinks, her eyes flashing. "We're six people plus the informers. And we have to do this fast. You've got no better team than us on short notice. We need to get that kid. And you need to contact Stark."

Fury stares at her, his good eye growing an understanding. He swears up a storm before relenting. "Your hunch better be right, Romanoff. And Jones, don't take her shit."

"I never do, sir," MJ salutes, cheeks going warm at being addressed directly by the freakin' Director.

"If Shuri and Ned say it's a no-go, we'll retreat. But their plan will work, so we can't falter in ours," Nat throws a leg over the bike, revving the engine as MJ scrambles in behind her.

They take off, the bike going from zero to a hundred in under 3 seconds. MJ shuts her eyes against the speed and wind, glad for the helmet's visor. They ride up the floors of the underground parking lot and reach ground level, practically flying out of the building and into the city.

Against the setting sun, the backdrop of Manhattan is a sight MJ revels in. The road is smooth underneath the tires as they deftly navigate through the traffic. MJ holds onto Nat as tight as she can, praying she doesn't fly away.

"Give me a plan!" Nat says into the com in her helmet. MJ sucks in a breath and starts building an idea of sorts to evade cameras, cops, drones, and most importantly, Peter.

The drones are scarily silent. Miles hides behind large broken crates in an alley on the other edge of Brooklyn. Cobwebs litter the place and it stinks to high hell.

Three drones, white metal covers with guns out and armed, hover around the street right outside the alleyway. Miles honestly has no idea how he managed to cross several miles without too much disturbance of a city on red alert. He's never been more thankful for his spider sense which is working overtime now, making him duck behind stores, hide in trees, and climb into dumpsters to avoid being tracked by every single traffic camera.

And now, he's standing just a few floors below Uncle Aaron's apartment. Or where his apartment is on Earth-1610. This world might be different, but Miles has to know. Did his uncle survive here?

Heatwaves come off the shells of the drones. Miles waits for the light buzzing to move away, signaling that the drones have moved on, checking the subsequent lanes. The street light gives him more illumination than the setting sun.

"I want him back by sundown," Parker had said.

Miles climbs up the wall to reach the fire escape. The iron rungs creak ominously, so he clings closer to the wall, scuttling all the way up to Uncle Aaron's apartment.

The large French windows are closed, but the curtains are pulled aside. Miles peers in and notes a dark room furnished well, but uninhabited at the moment.

Ignoring what happened the last time he'd sneaked into the place for safety (only to find out the identity of the Prowler,) Miles carefully wrenches open the window.

A sharp klaxon goes off. The window must have been set to an alarm feature. It's high and painful to his brain. Miles flinches, his ears ringing from the suddenness and pitch of the alarm.

Through the alarm, his own spidey-sense springs up, wailing in his head. Miles feels the jolt, feels the air move, and leaps to the side, leaping onto the wall just as an array of bullets pepper the window he'd been standing beside.

The glass shatters, but the drones close in, shooting all around the alley. Miles is frantically invisible, sweating and dodging lead. At one point, his hand is slick enough to slip from the brick wall and Miles falls thirty feet onto rotting pieces of wooden crates below. A cat screeches, rats flee, and Miles yells out in pain as a bone in his ankle snaps.

Fruit flies buzz around and a heatwave grows around him. Miles jumps to the side just in time to avoid a hot, red light that cuts through the damn wall.

The things have freakin' lasers.

The drones swoop down, trying to find Miles. He shifts to the left and, with pure luck, snags one of the drones by clamping a sticky hand over its top.

The unit buzzes angrily suddenly taking off from the ground, bringing Miles along for the ride. A crazy idea hits him as the front armor plates of the drone split apart to reveal a tiny periscope-like device. It turns around, glowing red.

Miles kicks off his shoes and plants his unhurt foot over the wall, sticking to it. The drone tries to pull away, but he grunts, using all of his dwindling force to spin the thing around and aim it at the other units that had been trying to find a clean shot.

The laser cuts right through the second drone. Miles whoops and tries the same trick again, but the units recognize the repeated movement. The armor of the third drone splits and reveals two sets of tiny speakers.

The loudest blast of air hits Miles head-on. The invisible waves slam into Miles, wrenching him away from the first drone and shoving him into the bricks, leaving a nice dent in the shape of his body. Miles's head bangs against the wall and he cries as he falls down on the crates again.

Two cars have sirens on, growing louder. Cruisers, he realizes dimly. He tries to roll over to a cleaner part of the alley, but the drones flying above now aim both air cannons at him, blasting him into the ground again.

The stench of the alley will forever be associated with the pain radiating through his entire body. It's almost as though he's glitching again. Miles presses his head on the wet ground, trying to think. He needs to turn invisible. The drones couldn't find him like that, but more than that, the cops shouldn't see him.

The air cannons hit him again and Miles shouts in pain, crumpling in a heap. He can't concentrate.

A pair of eye-searing headlights hit him, illuminating the dirty alley. Miles squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head down and curling on his side, halfway to giving up.

A loud voice shouts into the air, enhanced by an orange loudspeaker. "Suspect Alpha mutant! You are surrounded. Kneel on the ground and show your hands!"

The lights are too bright. Miles feels pinned down, as though Kingpin has slammed his meaty fists on his skull again. Things are screaming in his head, the police sirens, the window alarm, the airwaves, his spidey sense. Miles is burning from the inside out, his frozen form succumbing to the exhaustion.

"Suspect is down!" The loud voice says again. The ground quakes with several footsteps approaching him. Miles buries his head in his arms, panting wildly like he can't have enough air.

Rough hands grab him and turn him over his belly. Miles's face is pushed against the ground, his hands being wrestled over his back. He starts crying.

"Wait, please!"

"Quiet!" The faceless man says, loudspeaker right in his ear. "Anything you say can and will be held against you—"

The loudspeaker shorts out. Lights burst and the car and window sirens get abruptly cut out. The drones hovering over them seize up, lights going out and falling to the ground.

Smoke grenades hit the scene. Several people jump out of the way, but the thick stream of smoke hits everyone, burning lungs. Miles holds his breath, but it's like he's inhaled bear spray. The air is clogged and sharp spice and pepper attack his windpipe. Miles yells in despair, coughing out as much as he can to get rid of it.

Another set of hands find him and Miles jerks away, but these are gentler. The zip ties over his wrists are neatly cut and the person whispers, "You need to lift your head, kid."

Miles shakes. "I ca… I can't!"

"You can't breathe this stuff, come on! Get up!" she insists.

Miles lets out another coughing fit, raising his head. She pushes him over to his side and slips something over his face. There's a hiss of air and he almost shrinks away, before realizing that this is fresh oxygen. He sucks in a deep breath, lungs crying with gratitude.

The gas mask is fitted over his face now and Miles can blink through the small fiber screen to look at the woman in front of him. She too wears a gas mask, her pocket knife snipping through the ties around his feet. Miles winces as she jostles his bad ankle.

"Sorry," she mutters, looking over at the chaos behind her. Miles stares at the smoke shown where the silhouettes of cops are fighting a losing battle against a small team of mask-wearing people.

"We're here to save you, kid," the woman beside him says urgently. "Come on, let's go!"

His spider-sense isn't pinging wildly around her as it did with the drones and the sirens. And Miles is so dizzy and drained that he lets her push him through the smoke to the street outside.

"I got him," the woman says. "File out, guys."

"Prowler's on the way. One block down, blue Fed-Exe van," someone responds through the com in her ear. Miles nearly stumbles at the name.

Sure enough, the woman leads a fatigued Miles towards another corner where an inconspicuous dark blue van awaits them. They get into the van and close the doors, the driver peeling out in record time.

She takes off the mask, revealing a head of brown, wavy strands and a sharp, pretty face. She's in dark clothing, regular sweats like she'd been out on a jog. But Miles spares her only a glance, turning to get a look at the driver. He's tall with familiar cropped hair under a worn cap.

"Uncle Aaron," Miles whispers, taking off his mask.

Aaron Davis turns around, his face a perfect look of confusion and suspicion. "What did you just call me?"

It is him. Miles can't believe this. His face is younger, lesser stress lines and crinkles, but it's his Uncle Aaron in the flesh in this alternate universe. Alive and kicking. Breathing and driving. Blinking and still staring at him, as was the lady.

The day has already been a lot for Miles and this is too much. His brain fizzles out and he falls away.

"What had I said?" Peter asks Morrisey lightly. The man along with his colleagues standing in the middle of the street, quiver at the sight of the Amazing Spider.

Morrisey mumbles something almost unintelligible.

"Louder."

The man shakes at the heavy voice, eyes trained on the ground. "You said… you wanted him found by sundown."

"Is that what I said?" Peter asks, as calmly as possible. The rage thrumming through his veins is anything but calm.

Morrisey winces before whispering, "No… you said you wanted him back by sundown."

"Back. As in found and brought to me. Is it sundown?"

The skies are dark now, all traces of red having vanished.

"Y—yes."

"So, why isn't he back?"

Morrisey has no courage to answer. Peter could kill him. All he has to do is send a taser web at his chest and overload his heart. Or signal one of the many drones hovering above them to cut a hole through his head. Or really, just slapping the yellow man with a fraction of his strength could fracture his skull.

How tedious.

"We were attacked," Morrisey's partner says. Peter scans her profile, her report flashing up in his HUD. Betty Brant, late twenties, has been in the force for two years. Her name, badge number, and information appears.

"Description," Peter all but barks.

"Civilian wear, crude smoke bombs, homemade gas masks," Brant rattles off, eyes wide. She's sporting a black eye and a split lip.

"A ragtag bunch bested seven cops?" Peter asks.

"They might have been mutants," another foolhardy cop pipes up. Peter glares at him.

"Did you detect any mutant abilities? Enhanced reflexes, unexplained powers?"

"No, sir."

"They took all of you down with a few punches and kicks?"

"They… were fast," the cop says weakly.

Peter exhales, working through the information. If he wipes out the cops, the city would become frightened of him. Can't risk that, there are far too many assets to having the government on his side.

Brant's assessment of a local team outwitting the police can be the official statement. But it doesn't explain how they managed to take down his drones, depleting the power sources of all the units in the area in one go. That is very suspicious.

It can't be Spider-people from other dimensions, Peter would know. No, this is something else.

"Get back on patrol," he finally says. "Keep an eye out for the mutant and the team that took him. This may be a dangerous uprising."

The others back away, intensely relieved. They scramble into their cars and drive back, tires screeching on the road. The drones follow Peter into the alley where Miles had nearly been arrested. The scene is a mess. Dirty pieces of crate boxes are scattered, broken bricks lie on the ground. There's a Miles' shaped hole somewhere up the wall.

"Search for blood, EDITH," Peter says. "Did he suffer injuries?"

"Minimal traces in the scene, boss," EDITH replies, far more professionally programmed than KAREN. "During the fight, he dislocated his left ankle and received a minor concussion after his second fall."

Minor. Peter huffs. The kid is very resilient.

"Why was he here, though?"

"He triggered the house alarm on the third floor of the apartment. It belongs to Aaron Davis, a gym instructor in lower West Brooklyn."

"Healthy commute," Peter muses. Looking up the profile of Aaron Davis, early thirties. His gymnasium ID card is very flattering.

EDITH's voice becomes more self-possessed. "Aaron Davis is the brother-in-law of Rio Morales."

The family tree shows up in his HUD. Aaron, his brother Jefferson Davis, married Rio Morales. No Miles in the picture yet.

"Rio Morales is currently on maternity leave," EDITH continues.

Peter smiles. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Shall I call the crew to clean this up?"

"Go ahead. If it's a local group that found him, we can break in easily…" Peter trails off, his confidence faltering for a moment.

The broken zip ties are on the ground. They look oddly scored, as though cut through by a grated knife; a very short grated blade that leaves distinct grooves.

His first thought is MJ.

She has an old Swiss knife that once belonged to her dad. It contains many implements, growing blunt with use. One of the corkscrews is also rusted. It's the perfect weapon of someone impersonating a vigilante to make the operation look local and unimportant.

But MJ is a SHIELD agent.

"EDITH, scan please," Peter says, kneeling down to pick up the zip ties. "Check for rust over the edges. And call President."

It may be a coincidence. Anyone with a rusted blade could have sliced through the ties, but these are industrial-grade ties, meant for immediate restraint. MJ's knife fits the bill.

"Military-issue, Victorinox and Wenger 1977 Soldier Swiss Army knife, oxidation residue is present on the edges of the zip ties."

"Well shit," Peter swears. Then it wasn't the locals. SHIELD broke their contract with his department and messed up his operations.

And MJ is a part of this.

It makes sense. Peter's always suspected SHIELD to be in throes with the Wakandans. No other tech in the world can counteract his inventions.

Ben, codename-President, picks up the call. Peter's screen lights up with his face. He's in the massive underground lab space affectionately called the Web. and Peter immediately launches into a full rant. About Miles, Davis, Morales, SHIELD, the drones failing—

"All the drones?" Ben asks, sharp. Peter is aware of how whiny he sounds like a child tattling to their favorite teacher about the class bully.

"Power drained. I checked the server, nobody got past the code, but the batteries drained all at once for all 68 units that were patrolling in a 3-mile radius of this place."

"SHIELD doesn't have the resources for this," Ben says, shaking his head. "Not unless they're in touch with the Wakandans or—"

"Then they are," Peter answers. "We can't dismiss that. This is the proof we needed."

"Or Ned's behind this."

The surety in Ben's words startles him. Peter has not felt so caught off guard in such a long time. Ned Leeds, once a faithful friend and trusted advisor, left Parker Technologies more than a year ago, taking with him a hoard of secret plans, blueprints for the latest satellite developments, and heaps more intricate details.

Ned had been the last person Peter would ever pick for a traitor and yet, there he was - someone who defected entirely. He'd dropped under the radar ever since his disappearance, covering all his tracks so well, even sending his aging grandmother to live in

Malaysia.

As though Peter could not simply make the trip over there.

Ned is the one person outside of Peter's circle who knows the workings of many of the systems. Peter's changed many of the layouts and rules, reworking the code several times to block out anything remotely similar to Ned's signature style. He shouldn't be able to get in.

But what if Ben's right? What if Ned orchestrated the power outage?

Then that means Ned and MJ are in on this together.

"Rude," Peter whispers.

Ben sighs. "I'm sorry, Petey. Maybe it wasn't him, but let's be careful. You can block out further outages in case someone tries it again. But about the kid—"

"I'm gonna call her."

Ben halts in the middle. His face is frozen.

"Petey…"

"I… think I've bitten off a little more than what I can chew," Peter says. "I've done nothing but underestimate Miles ever since we brought him here. That's a dangerous flaw on my part. But now, it's more than likely that SHIELD is involved and if Ned is working with them, we have a severe problem."

"She might not respond."

"I need to talk to her. Even if we solve the whole mess without her help, just knowing where she is can help."

"Petey, are you doubting yourself?" Ben asks, turning away from his desk to face the camera now. "Because that's not helping us. You know exactly the person that you are, the hero that you are. No one gets to undermine that, not even you. Listen to me, baby. You're the hero who's going to save this world. No matter the obstacles and the people that try to stand in your way, you will push through and be the one true savior. You have a responsibility to the world. And you know what this means?"

Peter nods tightly. "It means I need the power to save it."

"It means you deserve the power to save it. Nothing less," Ben reinforces. "Now come home. We need a plan B."

Peter agrees, ending the call. Technically, plan B had been the drones. He leaps up from the alley and throws a web out, swinging up to the rooftop. Plan C is definitely closer to home, though.

"KAREN, call Minister."

taiwoeretan1: Thanks. Hope you enjoyed this one!