Spin It!

(or, Other Mutated Freaks of New York)


The Morlocks were, among other things, professional lawbreakers. They had to be, as a matter of simple survival. The more human-looking went out and begged for change during the day, while the obvious mutants went out and practiced their breaking-and-entering skills during the night. Around the clock, they went dumpster diving and scavenging, picking over the city's refuse and finding a rather surprising amount of usable items. People threw out all kinds of things that were still useful, like the personal computer whose monitor was cracked but which otherwise was in perfect working order. Evan had found that one, to the great acclaim of the group, which had gone computerless since the last such find broke for real. Hacking let them do a lot more, including altering police reports to their benefit.

But sometimes, they just stole things. Skids was a prolific pickpocket and petty thief; Ape was a great second-story man; and Callisto could have cleaned out any bank in town if she'd so desired. Evan was better at scrounging, but he had discovered - with a half-hearted dismay - that his X-Men training had given him a distinct talent for getting into places he didn't belong.

For example, the pawn shop they were currently raiding.

"The alarm is out but we need to move fast," Callisto said, hissing the words as she swept into the store proper, leaving the door swinging open behind her.

"Why?" Evan asked Skids, creeping in after Callisto. There were only four of them beside Callisto - just enough to carry away any loot.

Skids shook her head, on edge. "We're too far uptown. This is a bad area for us."

"Less talking!" Callisto ordered. "Daniels, get over here!"

Evan vaulted the counter and saw what she wanted him to do. He popped open the cash register's drawer with a bone spike and backed off to let one of the others rake out the money.

"There's a safe in the back," Cybelle said, reporting in to Callisto. "I think Daniels can bust the lock without trashing it."

"Where is it?" Evan asked, but he never did find out, because the grimy, cluttered front window suddenly exploded inward, and one of the Morlocks was snatched away by an invisible hand.

Callisto uttered a curse and then shouted, "Away!"

All the Morlocks in the pawn shop stopped what they were doing and ran, scattering into the night through every available exit. Evan left by the door they'd entered, not knowing what to expect but knowing he had to get out of there fast.

An energy blast lit up the street behind him, turning it briefly into noontime. The light was accompanied by a thumping noise, and a half-second later Erg came into view, framed by the alley walls, stumbling in the effort to flee faster, tugging at a viscous substance that covered his shoulder. He tripped over his feet and hit the pavement.

Evan stopped and went back to help Erg up, pulling him to his feet. "What was that?"

He shook his head, tearing away from Evan with a fear-stressed, "I hate Upworld, man, I hate it..."

Evan stared at his disappearing form, looked over his shoulder, saw nothing, heard nothing, and hesitated for a moment before running again himself. A moment too long, as it turned out, because something grabbed the back of his jacket and jerked him into the air. "HEY!"

"Shoot," a voice said above him. "All those fish and I caught the littlest one."

Evan kicked and struggled, trying to sever whatever it was that was holding him in the air. A rope of some kind, only more gooey and elastic. His efforts didn't matter because more of the stuff wrapped around him, trapping his hands in the folds of his jacket. He tried to see who was talking, who had nabbed him, but couldn't. "Let me go!"

"No," the voice said, drawing the word out until it was a mockery. "Here's a better idea: I leave the cops a nice little gift-wrapped package."

"I'm not a criminal!" Evan said, fighting to get his hands loosened enough to let him cut through the goo.

"Then what would you be, little fish?" The voice got louder as the speaker drew closer, and Evan could finally see who it was. Two big, ovoid white eyes stared back, set in a red mask covered with black webs. Upside down.

Evan's own eyes widened, and he momentarily stopped struggling. He knew that mask - saw it almost every day splashed over the city's newspapers. "Spider-Man?"

"Oh, good, my publicist is doing his job." Spider-Man tilted his head to one side, clearly evaluating, and making Evan suddenly conscious of the yellow-white bones jutting out of his face. "You know, you do look familiar."

"I'm a mutant, duh." Evan resumed twisting in the webbing, trying to get that one extra centimeter...

Spider-Man stayed exactly where he was, apparently frozen in thought, and in that time Evan managed to pop a bone out a little further and slice at the webbing, which accomplished nothing at all.

"The big robot fight - yeah, you're one of the X-Men!" Spider-Man said, snapping his fingers, sounding impressed and curious at the same time.

"Used to be," Evan said. He couldn't cut the webbing, but maybe, if he pushed out with all of his spikes at once, he could rip the stuff to shreds and escape that way. Whatever he did, he'd have to hurry, because Callisto was notoriously impatient, and he could hear sirens wailing already.

Spider-Man swung sideways and landed on the wall, right-side up and facing Evan, clinging to the brick with his fingertips and toes. He glanced back at the pawn shop, its door swinging ajar, window busted out, and nodded. "No offense, but it looks like they've got a lousy pension plan."

"Yeah?" Evan retorted. "I hope it's better than your health insurance!"

Then he pushed, making those bones near the surface pop free altogether and shoot out - his favorite trick - and those bones deeper inside merely expand. The end result was that the webbing was torn apart and Spider-Man suddenly found himself dodging a hail of spikes.

Some of the spikes caught Spider-Man's costume on the fabric's outer margin, pinning him to the building and probably cutting him besides. "Ow! Hey, watch it, X!"

Evan did no such thing. He fired one last spike, severing the final thread that held him up, then dropped and hit the pavement running. He veered around a corner and found Callisto waiting for him; the Morlock leader grabbed him as he flew past and pulled him, hard, into the shadows and into one of their better-hidden emergency access points to the tunnels beneath Manhattan.

Spider-Man, having taken a few seconds to wrench the bone spikes from the wall and the fabric of his much-abused costume, bounded into the same alleyway and found nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a helpful jingle from his spider-sense.

"Huh," he said, scratching his head. Then he shrugged and, having no time to waste solving vanishing acts, gave it up and went swinging off in search of non-mutant criminals, or maybe a fiendish mastermind or two. "Kids with bone spikes. What will they think of next."