AN: We're b-back at last. :D Sorry again for the longer wait! Uni is still taking up a lot of time and last chapter didn't get a ton of feedback, so I had to put this half-finished chap on the back burner for a bit. Apologies asipaioopviawe. But here we are! Chapter 5! Enjoy and leave a review~

Target

Babylon Towers...

"Good morning, Miguel. You have a priority call."

"Tell 'em I died."

"Ok, Miguel," Lyla cooed cheerfully.

It was still dark out, even without the windows blackened. If Miguel had to hazard I guess, he'd say it was about 0600 hours. Miguel groaned and burrowed his head into his pillow, sleep eluding him now that he'd been woken up. Maybe that was a good thing, though. His fitful slumber had been plagued with nightmares, probably from working too hard on that project. Gabriel was right; Alchemax really was an unhealthy work environment, but it paid well and it was all he knew.

Aw man, what a dream. Spider powers, talons on my fing...

Suddenly Miguel's eyes shot open. He sat up and screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Times like these his apartment's soundproof walls really came in handy. This was insane. Last night was real. All of it. Miguel's mattress and sheets were a mangled mass, ripped to shreds. Miraculously, Miguel was untouched.

Ever the scientist, Miguel decided to do a little experiment. "Okay," he breathed. "I'll try touching my chest veeeery carefully... maybe..." He yelped when his fingers touched his skin, fully expecting for a second to be grievously punctured. No such thing occurred.

"Well how about that? They retract automatically whenever I touch my own skin. Must be a defense mechanism." He tried it again, fascinated. As he touched himself Miguel observed the downwards facing talons flatten to his fingertips. They were nigh-invisible in this state. "That's good. Otherwise going to the bathroom would be an adventure, and picking my nose would be lethal. So... so if it's a safety reflex of some sort, maybe if I concentrate, I can retract them consciously." Like in all those superhero movies, Miguel thought about it, really really hard. He concentrated until he thought his brain might burst. Nothing. No, wait, they'd twitched back a little. Progress.

"Well... maybe with some practice..." Miguel muttered, getting out of the tattered remains of his bed. It would be a necessity to learn, until he could find some way to cure himself. If there was a cure. He refused to think otherwise. Speaking of his condition...

Moving to a mirror, Miguel began a thorough examination of himself. He'd stumbled in last night, half-conscious, without having a chance to process the probability of his changed appearance before he passed out. Thank Dios he looked the same... for the most part, anyhow. Still the same face and reddish-brown hair. His eyes though... something was off about them. They were still brown, technically, but every once in a while their colour seemed to shift in the light. It called to mind Mr. Sims' sad, dying eyes, red with large pupils. Overall Miguel's eyes weren't too suspicious, but he had a feeling that could be subject to change depending on the lighting. Those talons would be hard to hide, but the fangs were less obvious so long as he didn't show them off.

"Lyla, darken the windows. The sun's killing my eyes."

Making an appearance again, the AI said, "Darkened, Miguel." She complied without question, even though the windows were technically already at half-shade settings. Once that was done, she chirped, "Priority call again."

Disgruntled, Miguel rubbed at his face, feeling the flattened talons faintly on the otherwise smooth texture of his fingertips. From his closet he retrieved a housecoat, which he managed to only minimally cut. It was way too early for this. "Who the shock is it?"

"Your brother, Gabriel."

"Oh, Lord. OK, put it through." There was no avoiding this call; not for forever, anyway. Better to just get it over with before Gabe busted down his door.

Peppy as always, Lyla politely bowed out of existence, her yellow light reconstituting itself into a hologram of Gabriel. As per usual Gabe had his goggles on his head, ready for use. Damn dork. He wasn't even at work. As the call connection established itself, Gabriel's "eyes" found Miguel's. For a moment he just took in the sight of his older brother, postponing the conversation that they were probably both dreading.

"Miguel. Man, you look like toxic waste."

"Thanks, Gabe. What do you want?"

"What do I want? Mig, Dana called me last night. She was freaking out. She said you were freaking out. Now I'm freaking out. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, Gabe. Nothing," absently sighed Miguel as he returned to his closet to carefully riffle through his clothes.

"Like hell. I'm coming over there."

Miguel whipped around to shout, "No! Don't!", but Gabriel had already hung up. In his place Lyla reformed, holding her hands behind her back.

"Transmission broken," Lyla updated him unnecessarily.

"Terrific." He'd already returned to digging through his clothes. At the back was a certain outfit that he found with ease. It was striking, and the spikes on its sleeves stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the assorted clothing. He hadn't seen this thing for almost a year, let alone considered wearing it again or bothering to sell it off. With significantly less care than what he'd granted to the rest of his apparel, he pulled the outfit from its hanger.

"Y'know, it'll cost me a fortune, but I might have to start buying all my clothes made from Unstable Molecule Fabric. Otherwise, one wrong move and 'rrrriiiippp'." UMF. One of the few surviving inventions of the late Reed Richards. Like the rest of the Fantastic Four, Richards' career in science, superheroing, and living had unceremoniously ended under vague circumstances.

"Only thing I own made from UMF is this death's head costume I bought when I went to Mexico last year for the Day of the Dead festival." Once upon a time the Mexican-Aztec holiday had been a celebration of death, and more importantly an appreciation of life. Presumably it still was, as a concept. But like the rest of the world, most people didn't care about life and death anymore. Only when it concerned their own mortality did they find it in themselves to take an interest. Nowadays the Day of the Dead was a conglomerate of the most intense, crazy, die-hard parties in North America. "Festival can get pretty wild. I wanted something extra sturdy."

After setting the outfit on his bed, Miguel stumbled his way into the kitchen. On the counter he found a pair of round black sunglasses which he promptly put on. He was hungry, but couldn't bring himself to eat. Delgato's slimy face swam in his thoughts. Lyla followed him, immaterial feet ghosting above the floor.

"Maybe I should start wearing it all the time," Miguel contemplated. "The festival celebrates the dead, and my days of being normal are dead. I'm dying by degrees. How's that song go? 'If they're going to kill me tomorrow let them kill me once and for all'. Prep coffee, Lyla. Black."

"You seem distressed Miguel. Would a change in my default appearance improve your mood? I have two-hundred and ninety-three appearances and personalities in my file that you have not viewed yet."

"Yeah?" Miguel snatched up his steaming coffee mug from the instant beverage maker. The mug was proudly branded: "WORLD'S GREATEST BRAIN". He had some precious minutes to spare before Gabriel would grill Miguel and gnaw onto the details of his life. Seeing some alternate settings might be entertaining, or if nothing else would pass the time. "Like what?"

/

Elsewhere…

The trail first went dead on a large outside ledge, a result of the tube-frame design on the building. 'Dead' wasn't really the right word. The trail had just gone cold. Venture's target had climbed up there, leaned over the edge for a long enough while to leave a large heat imprint, and then jumped clean off again. By all rights the target should be dead, but the hunt wasn't over until Venture found a body or delivered a live specimen.

Venture scoured the streets surrounding the building next. By now his scanning gadgetry was specifically keyed into the target's unique body signature, effectively blocking out all other organic distractions. It didn't take him long to find where the target had landed, or to figure out how he'd accomplished the feat. A crumpled glider frame laid at Venture's feet, surrounded by fresh footprints from his target.

He followed the trail in a line from the crash site. Though the steps may have started straight, they seem devolved into a meandering mess. Still, there was a sense of purpose to them, a sure direction. His target had been tired, injured even, maybe still was. Regardless he hadn't been in his right mind, and frightened prey always fled back to the familiarity of their home for safety and comfort. Rookie mistake. Venture would flush him out soon enough.

The buildings gradually got nicer and nicer, but Venture paid no mind to his surroundings. His gaze was to the ground, head bowed, hat tipped. Humans walked on either side of him. His machine-like indifference drove them away, parting them like a dike in a river. The track of past steps stretched out before him without an end in sight yet, but Venture was patient. Good things come to those who wait, and all trails must come to an end. Soon, his target would find himself at the end of his.

/

Back at Babylon Towers...

"C'mon, ya slacking slag off! Get your butt in gear!"

Lyla's newest trial state was the loudest of them yet. Where once had stood his typical holo resembling a nostalgic-twencen celebrity, now bellowed the visage of a punk-rocker. The hair at the top of his head stuck up every which way, a long ponytail flowing down from the rest of the chaos. Spikes embedded in shoulder pads and arm gauntlets covered his leather jacket. Miguel tilted his head slightly, intrigued by this setting that seemed intent on insulting him into action. It was definitely refreshing, if a little grating on the ears.

"What're ya sittin' around mopin' for, ya piece of-"

"That's quite enough, Lyla."

"Ok Miguel," Lyla's voice returned, giggling through the mouth of the aggressively-dressed holo. It was like this was all a game to her. AI's weren't supposed to be playful, if they were even able, but to Lyla it came naturally. Without further ado she changed again, this time appearing as a well-dressed, balding butler. Her voice was male again, and heavily English in its accent.

"Ahem," he coughed. "Certainly, sir, an individual of your breeding and taste can put his intellect to greater use than sulking."

"Next."

"But I'm right, right?" hummed Lyla, morphing from the older man into an even older woman. The woman's weathered face was kindly and sweet. Infuriatingly so. She wore a long, straight skirt and a baggy cardigan. When she spoke, her voice trembled with simulated age but dripped with honey and concern.

"I know! Instead of that nasty coffee, I'll make you some warm milk and some of my chewy brownies. Meantime, you go put on a warm sweater. You're so fragile... I worry about you so."

Right leg crossed over the other, Miguel brought the coffee cup up to his lips to sip at its contents. It somewhat washed down the disgust he was experiencing. "Kill that one."

The setting blinked out of existence before Lyla reappeared as her regular self, in all her golden and flirtatious glory. She adjusted her dress and puffed up her hair, virtually preening with pride at the show she'd produced. "Gabriel is here. Shall I let him in?"

Grimly, Miguel braced himself from his position on the long, built-in couch that hugged his living room window. "If you don't he'll just chew his way through the door. Go ahead."

As soon as the sliding door was open Gabriel O'Hara charged through, hands and pointed fingers flying all over the place in a passion. Already he was rambling, ranting, raving. Questions and demands for answers flowed forth from his mouth like a tidal wave. He was still wearing dark green gloves from work, not to mention his constant goggles that were practically a permanent feature of his forehead by now. Miguel barely moved as he entered, reclining back and resting his head against his right palm, ready to ride out the storm. There was no reasoning or calming Gabriel in this state.

"Okay, Mig. You want to tell me what's going on? Why's it so dark in here? What's happened to you? What did that 'company' of yours do to you? Dana said you were strung out on Rapture."

"Whatever happened to 'Hi big brother, how's it going'?"

"Why are you mumbling?"

"Because I've grown fangs, and if I open my mouth too wide you'll see them," Miguel intoned monotonously. "Now will ya shut up for a minute?"

Used to such antics from his older brother, Gabriel simply snorted. "Ha, ha. Very funny." He leaned over the seated Miguel, one hand on the pull-out tabletop for eating while the other continued to gesture. His eyes narrowed in seriousness, a protective but firm scowl coming across his face. "Look, I know you're short-tempered. Me too. When you're half Mexican, half Irish, you're not gonna be Mr. Sweetness and Light. But you have to be square with me."

"Okay, look. I was on Rapture, yeah," Miguel admitted, posture stubborn. He was resolute in looking past Gabriel, never meeting his eyes through the sunglasses. God, why he took this shit from his younger brother, he'd never know. Gabriel was a worse nag than Mom. "But I beat it. Okay? Problem solved."

Blessed silence settled over the room at last. Gabriel's jaw dropped, word dying in his throat and eyes bulging incredulously. Miguel savoured the seconds of no-sound, counting up to a solid fifteen before Gabriel recovered from his shock, louder than ever.

"NOBODY beats Rapture! It bonds GENETICALLY! I'm no big-brain scientist like you, but you're the one who told me that!"

"Well, I was wrong. Even big brains have off days," said Miguel dismissively.

Between hearing Gabriel freak like a mother hen and feeling his forearms start to itch, Miguel was becoming increasingly irritated. It was evident that his new mutation wasn't quite finished with Miguel's body. The initial itch was quickly becoming intolerable, less of an inconvenience and more of an aggravation. It was like someone was slowly dragging razor wire through his muscles.

Gabriel took a deep breath to settle his voice, speaking more softly and persuasively now. "Mig, I know you feel some degree of loyalty to Alchemax. They found you, educated you, shot you through the ranks, gave you free reign. And you've been willing to turn a blind eye to what they're all about because of that. But you can't keep doing that."

Annoyed and only half-paying attention, Miguel shifted to pout out the window at his back. Something he saw with his new, wacked vision caught him off guard. He did a double-take, not hearing Gabriel at all at this point. Shaken, he stood and lifted his glasses to get a better, second look. Gabriel followed, still speaking.

"It's a bad place Miguel, with bad people."

Miguel's field of vision seemed to zoom in on the closest streets, zeroing in on the focal point that had caught his interest. Hundreds of stories melted away, and the specks of pedestrians formed fully-fledged figures. Set aside from the rest of the foot traffic, one specific figure made Miguel shiver. He was striking, and there was no mistaking who he was. Venture, Miguel's mind confirmed.

"The corporate raider program... it's evil, Mig, it's wrong, it's-"

Spinning on his heel, Miguel interjected abruptly, "We're done talking, Gabri."

"Wha- NO we're not?!" Gabriel protested, but his brother was already ushering him to the door. Eager to return to the window where his enemy was visible, Miguel kept casting furtive glances over his shoulders.

"Yes, we are. I'll call you later," said Miguel distractedly, words coming out as hurried, short-lived bursts. It wasn't safe for his family to be here anymore. A firm shove sent Gabriel out, the door starting to slide close once he was over the threshold. "And Gabe... watch your back. Bye."

"But... But..." Bemused, Gabriel could only scramble for words before he was locked out. On the other side, the shaken elder brother pressed his palms and back flat against the door, feeling Gabriel bang and rail against the door. Moving away, Miguel heard Gabriel's muffled voice curse in parting, "Miguel! You fuck! You didn't have to tear my jacket!" After that there was only the sound of Gabriel's retreat. Miguel's mind was on other matters, however, namely the highly-qualified bounty hunter parading around his neighbourhood.

I was right, Miguel internally screamed, returning to his window to watch his approaching doom. That's Venture down there.

Miguel easily recognized the cyborg from browsing the Alcehemax "Elite Corps" file in his free time. He recalled that Venture had a psionically enhanced heat tracker, one that made him better than any bloodhound. There was no way to evade him, now. Venture would follow him straight up to his apartment, to the ends of the Earth, even. The only thing to do was to get out of there, and fast. But what good would running do in the long run? Regardless of Miguel getting away for the moment, he'd be nailed when the trail lead to his personal residence. Unless...

Venture wasn't looking for Miguel O'Hara. His target was the Spider-Man who escaped from the Alchemax building. The only way to put him off the track of the former was to give him the latter. Christ, this was crazy, but it was his only shot, and if it worked...

Movements frenzied, Miguel sprinted back to his bedroom, shedding his housecoat and glasses by the wayside. He plucked up his old Día de los Muertos
costume with one hand, and with the other gathered up the shimmering section of glider textile from where he'd abandoned it last night. The light byte cloth from the Thorite's skysail wouldn't be enough to keep him fully aloft, but with the combination of updrafts and his own newfound agility, it might be enough to keep him alive...

"Lyla! Where's that handheld quick-sealer?!" he hollered, nearly tripping over some stairs in his haste.

"On your workbench, Miguel," Lyla reminded him patiently. In contrast to her frantic, human charge, the golden hologram seemed quite at peace.

Miguel dashed to the table and scrambled for the device, buried beneath all manner of contraptions. Clumsily, he lined the edges of the advanced glider piece up with the shoulders and arms of the costume, then started to drag the sealer along the fringe to connect the two types of cloth. A firm tug confirmed that the individual components were irreversibly fused together.

Almost falling over his own feet, Miguel stepped into the legs of the costume and brought it up to his chest. A few kicks from a position on his back finally got his legs through the skin-tight material and cemented his feet in the inner-shoe-like structures that were supposed to protect his soles from walking. He wriggled his arms through the appropriate holes on the second try, almost tangling it backwards. The claws on his hands and feet showed obviously through the black-blue of the outfit, but the UMF was unyielding to their keen edges. Lastly, Miguel pulled the separate mask segment over his head. It flattened the curls of his hair to his head and was tricky to see through under ordinary circumstances, but with Miguel's new sensitivity of sight, the mask over his eyes was more of a convenience than a handicap.

Ready as he was ever going to be, and feeling rather ridiculous, Miguel ran to his curved bedroom windows. He screeched, "Lyla! Open the window!"

"The windows don't open, Miguel. They're sealed for tenants' protection," calmly responded Lyla.

Oh, shock that was right. He was on a top floor of Babylon Towers, one of the tallest apartment complexes in Nueva York. No duh, the damn windows didn't open. Mind scrambling, Miguel backtracked to the door of his bedroom and braced himself for what he was about to do. His new spider-strength and the UMF should be sufficient to save him. Time was wasting. He needed out now.

"Miguel... I'm concerned about your safety," Lyla started, just as the windows crashed open in a cascade of glass.

Miguel flailed in mid-air, arms awkwardly outstretched. At first his form had been dramatic enough, but then he was falling ass-first with his bent legs over his head, and soon after the other way around. Style was the least of his concerns, though. What really grabbed his attention was the rapidly approaching street. He did his best to aim for the oblivious cyborg while still trying to slow his descent.

"All right," he told himself, his heart a jackhammer in his chest cavity. "The updrafts should catch the light byte cloth right about... NOW!"

Nothing. Venture was less of a speck now and more of a doll. Miguel gritted his teeth.

"I said... right about... NOW! I SAID..."

Venture started to look up. Though he still couldn't see his quarry, the heat impressions were getting stronger, alerting him that he was closing in. The last thing he expected was to be drop-kicked to the floor by a flying man in a cape. Face-receptors ringing with simulated pain, the cyborg fell over with a surprised sound. The computer enhancements to his mind were whirling with new sensory information and recommended courses to take, so for now, he just sat there, stunned.

Meanwhile, Miguel was just grateful to be alive. It was a good thing the glider material had finally kicked in, or else his escape attempt would have been ruled suicide. He felt like screaming 'hallelujah' into the heavens, and he wasn't even religious. That would be a premature celebration, however. The worst of it wasn't over yet; far from it.

Using the momentum from his first blow, Miguel kicked off from Venture and landed sideways on an overhang. It was a pedestrian bridge, packed with people both below and above it. They all stopped in their tracks to investigate what was going on, dumbfounded by the sight before them. Upon jumping, some part of Miguel's mind had opened, like a vault full of knowledge and instincts that weren't quite his. It hadn't exactly taken over, but in that moment, he'd known exactly what to do, just like he had when falling from Alchemax. His talons were plowed into the special cement of the bridge's side. Through them and some strange combination of sheer willpower, he'd stuck effortlessly. His body splayed out, spider-like, but nothing had ever felt more natural.

Ok... caught him flatfooted. Now... have to say something that will shake him up and show him who's boss. And not let him know that I'm terrified out of my skull... Something like... like...

Spider-Man adjusted his wide stance into a crouch, clutching a clawed fist over the bounty hunter below. "Hi," he squeaked.

...That wasn't it.

End of Chapter

It's hard to illustrate in a non-visual medium, but the old woman Lyla turns into is in fact a direct reference to Aunt May, lol. The point of that moment (besides being humourous ofc) is to demonstrate the difference between Miguel and Peter, I believe.

Next chapter: Venture. One, long, arduous, chapter-long fight. Ho boi.

Reviews are greatly appreciated and directly correlate with my writing speed (other factors notwithstanding)!