World of Fandoms

The platform that you had ineptly landed on provided little cushion. You were immediately forced to scramble back onto your feet as the roar of the firewall nearby was a stark reminder that you that you weren’t done yet and to MOVE. NOW.

The adrenaline from getting pursued by a giant wall of fire had luckily provided you instant, temporary, pain relief from your bruised ribs and ego. You’d managed to make it to the final sprint without being charred to death, much to P.AI.nter’s chagrin, before reaching the “rest” area and immediately crumpling to the gross floor. “Your body will be capable of doing things you will never be able to do again,” NaVi’s voice rings in your head; it sure feels like you’re paying the price for the ego you gained from that statement.

Moving to stand, your breath is short from your bruised ribs and torso. You go to gingerly touch your ribs before oh—right, you still have the jetsuit on. Cringing as you start to slide the chestplate up and over your head, doing the same for your leg armor and then finally both of your arms. You let out an “auuAHK-“ as you go to take off the left armpiece; white hot stinging pain radiates from the back of your arm, right above the elbow. The armor piece feels odd as you delicately remove it, kind of like a liquid was trapped under the segment. It’s easier— well, as far as “taking the thing off” goes, it’s still the most painful part— than the rest of the pieces to slide off, because whatever it was had lubricated your arm.

You thought it was probably sweat at first. It was not sweat. A caustic liquid had coated most of your arm around a tear in your uniform above your elbow; you very quickly discerned that what you’d just been thinking was sweat was NOT sweat. It was blood. And a lot of it. The white-hot pain radiating from, now both of, your arms made much more sense now.

You can feel nausea pulling at your sternum as the adrenaline from the jetsuit course had finally waned. Honestly, with your situation, you kind of almost wished that you had plummeted to your death. Just a little bit. You wave the thought as you finish tacking up the mannequin in the locker.

You feel a lot lighter without the jetsuit. Though that might be the blood loss talking; your fingers are tingling and you can feel a deep-set feeling of doom crawl up your spine. Impromptu blood donations probably aren’t good for your health. The backs of your arms should hopefully start to scab soon, you really hope they are because the sticky feeling of blood makes you shiver(and the metallic smell makes you want to gag.) Walking forward makes the world tilt. You groan. How fun.

You cough and immediately regret it as pain rips through your chest. Okay. This is going to be a looong walk.

As you trudge up the steps, your eyes land on a green flare placed next to a crate. The lid of the crate opens with a whine that makes your ears ring, and you pick up the only item in it: a medkit. Fortunately there’s a relatively large amount of gauze in the box, but unfortunately that’s as far as it goes for pain relief. You don’t think trying to drink the bottle iodine as a last-ditch effort would do anything but make you throw up and… probably poison you. You have no idea why the thought crossed your mind; better to use it as an antiseptic, anyway.

You cautiously dab at the wounds on the back of your arms, using the stairs in the… elevator shaft? as a makeshift seat. There aren’t many cotton swabs in the kit, so you’re left messily attempting to wipe up the rest of the wet blood with the gauze. You kind of just end up smearing it all over your arms, so you give up and wrap them.

You heave yourself back onto your feet, and you immediately feel the blood drop from your head. You try to wave off the dizziness but the stairwell looks like you just experienced a very poorly-done dolly-zoom, like the floor was getting further but the wall was sliding closer.

You run your hand over your face, finally shaking off the vertigo. The stairs mock you. You hate stairs. Fuck these stairs. It feels like your brain is buzzing.

It was a very, VERY inconvenient traipse through the next several doors. An angler had barreled past, much to your own chagrin, intensifying the ringing in your ears. It hadn’t helped in any way as your eyes had begun to hurt; you were starting to get tired— and not in the “I just ran three times faster than any human should physically be able to without shattering all of their bones or blowing up their organs” way, like the “I need to lay down RIGHT NOW and take a nap” way. Alas, you couldn’t. The bullet casing that kissed your neck every time you moved too quickly was a grim reminder to the fact that death had her hand on your shoulder; keep moving or die.

Opening a door, marked “fifty-one,” you’re met with a bright light facing a vent in the wall and a hole-to-the-abyss with water spewing out of one of the many broken pipes strewn across this decrepit facility into it. Lovely. This is… familiar.

The vent flies off, smashing into the light and sending both the vent cover and light careening into the lovingly-watered-abyss-into-nothing. You don’t hear it hit the ground, or water. So much for a light. And that vent cover. Okay.

“Got something for ya, c’mere.” A flippant voice echoes through the vent. By now your face is hot and flushed, you’re starting to feel sick, and exhaustion pangs at the nerves in your eyes. You crouch onto the floor, onto your knees, and shuffle through the vent. The gauze you had put above your elbows makes your (as you’ve named them) stab wounds hurt, so you awkwardly use your palms to pull yourself through the tunnel.

“Ah! It’s you,” you try to suavely stand up after you reach the opening, only for your knees to give out; you dump yourself onto the floor with a groan. “…welcome back.” You hear him snicker.

There’s a few seconds of silence while he waits for an answer. You’re still lying on the dusty floor. Seeing as you’re only answering with silence, he does so for you:

“Woooow, you look awful. Pick a fight with a wall?” He jeers. “Looks like you lost. And miserably. How sad.”

You unstick your face from the floor, flinching as you instinctually use your right forearm to balance yourself, remembering that, oh yeah, new wound on your arms. And bruised ribs. You look up, expecting a sly grin to be painted across his face and to no shock, there he is in all his glory, slyly smiling at you.

“Yeah and maybe—ow— you should tell your friend,” you heave a groan as you balance to your feet, coughing as you take too sharp a breath “to not try and char me to death next time.”

“I’ll think on it.” He hums. He’s lying. Of course he is. “You gonna buy something or are you going to continue to be useless on my floor?”

You’re once again reminded of the gnawing exhaustion and nausea from your unwilling blood donation to that… wonderful suit. You wave him off as you shamble up to his tail, perusing the goods. What you’re hoping to see is not there— there’s a medkit, but you’ve already used a medkit. The kits here really only have the bare minimum, and nothing to help bruised ribs or to recover from the blood loss. You could really use something to eat or drink right now. Or some ibuprofen. Even Tylenol would suffice.

You’d been standing there for several seconds, slowly swaying back and forth. God, you were tired. You don’t think he’d let you sit for longer than a minute, and you can feel the vertigo starting to return. You look up with just your eyes at Sebastian, his main hands are clasped together while his third rests by his… hip. He’s tilted slightly and it’s making it look like he’s looming over you. He is intimidating, you can give him that, you’ve spent enough time around him to be a little less scared than you should be.

“What? You gonna fall over again? Don’t bleed on my floor, gross.” He bends further forward, squinting at your face and poking you in the forehead with one of his claws. You wobble a little. “What’s wrong with—“

“Can I sit here for a second?” You cut him off.

He pauses for a moment, narrowing his eyes more. At this distance you can see his pupils, barely discernible against his glowing irises. You’ve not noticed the stripes that line his face until now, either. He’s kind of pretty. You blink. So does he.

“What? My shop isn’t open to bums. Buy something, or get out.” He snarks, pulling back and giving you a flat stare.

“…please? Just for a few minutes, I— ow-“ you hiss, ribs aching. Your fingers had started to tingle again, and sitting down was enticing; feeling the satchel around your waist, it’s concerningly light. Right, the firewall had taken up most of your trek here, you don’t have much research. You shakily sigh. It’s filled with a couple floppy disks (does Urbanshade really still use floppy disks?), several small notepads and a handful of flash drives. You present it to him and an unreadable expression crosses his face.

“If I give you these, can I just sit? For like… five minutes? Please?” You beg, and he reaches down, gingerly taking the satchel out of your hands before….. dumping the contents onto the ground. Real nice, Sebastian. His eyes scan over it, before he drops your satchel; it skids a few inches and hits your feet.

“Fine.” He says, sounding particularly unhappy about his decision. What? Really? Did he feel pity for you? You probably DO look awful. You sure feel awful. Your head is incredibly hot and you can feel sweat starting to form in beads on your forehead. You’re still swaying, and the ache in your chest has done nothing but be a nuisance since you took the NOST jetsuit off.

You let out a breathless “thank you,” and then stand for a few seconds, awkwardly scanning the room for a place to sit down. There’s not many places that aren’t directly next to Sebastian and his… tail, so you ultimately decide to sit and rest against the crate on the opposite side of the room. Your diving gear makes it uncomfortable, so you’re stuck leaning against it with your shoulder.

Normally you wouldn’t be one to sit on the floor like this. It’s dusty and gross, but the coolness of the crate you’re sitting against and the ground offers you solace that you had been craving since your run-in with the blood donation and the platform you had oh-so-gracefully plowed into. Your fingers are still tingling, and all of your limbs had started to feel heavy. Your eyes slide over to Sebastian, if he was staring at you or had anything to say about your predicament, he was biting his tongue. He was currently preoccupied with the data he’d dumped out of your satchel, in which he must’ve picked it up when you had awkwardly shuffled over to the crate.

The “garbage noise” that the radio was generating next to you was good white noise. Or just noise in general. Your eyelids droop, and you’re finding it difficult to stay awake now. You jump up as your head drops, before you go right back to the cycle-of-almost-falling-asleep-then-startling-yourself-awake. Sebastian says nothing, and the last thing you hear was a sound of metal against metal, like the vent to the shop had been closed. You rest your arms and head on your knees, trying to pry away the headache, before finally succumbing to what your body had been trying to get you to do for the better part of an hour. Sleep. The darkness doesn’t call your name, yet you heed its call with open arms and closed eyes.

. . .

You have no idea how long you’d been asleep before you startle yourself, again, awake. Your eyes snap open to see—nothing, actually. It’s pitch black. You blink several times, trying to adjust your bleary eyes to the darkness. You’re no longer sitting against the crate — the sound of the radio is distant and muffled, kind of like you’re above it and behind a wall.

But that’s not as jarring as you shift slightly, attempting to get a feel of where you are and what position you were currently laying in. You can tell you were moved, but you’re still in Sebastian’s shop because you can still hear the radio. You’re laying in an awkward way, twisted onto your side, head resting on something while your legs lay over something else. You’re still really fucking hot, and dizzy, but whatever you’ve been put against is providing, once more, a pleasant cooling sensation which dulls your headache and the pulse in your eyes.

You also make note of the, not unpleasantly so, heavy object resting over your midsection. The fuzziness in your head immediately clears as you’re reminded that you are *still in Sebastian’s shop.* You tense, go to move and— whatever is weighing down on your stomach and chest prevents you from moving. You jostle the object, and whatever your head is resting on shifts and you feel it *ripple.* You freeze and wait for it to stop.

A realization smacks you in the face: you’re laying on Sebastian and he is laying on *you.* Wow. Okay. Okay so. Uh. Your eyes have focused more: Sebastian’s head is the weight on your torso. Your eyes sweep across his face. It’s.. particularly serene. His expression doesn’t hold the sly grin or sharp frown, nor does he spit or snark phrases at you. His eyes are closed. He’s sleeping.

You recall the sound of the vent closing, and your suspicions are confirmed when you crane your neck to look at where you think the vent is. You’re up on the balcony behind where Sebastian typically sits when you enter his shop. It’s hard to see considering the darkness of the room; the single light suspended in the duct positioned over the center of the humble shop provides little assistance.

You don’t remember being or feeling being moved. Something distant rumbles outside of the shop. Sebastian’s entire body tenses, and his head shoots up— you’re jostled as he does so. His ear fins twitch, pinning against his hair before flitting to and fro. His eyes are wide and you can see his pupils, bright against his now non-glowing irises, trained on the cover of the vent.

The rumbling increases, and much to your alarm, the ever-so familiar sound of chains rips through the air. Fortunately you’re more than far enough from it to where your fear of dying subsides, but the horrific smell of sulfur and smoke permeates the room. Chainsmoker.

You can tell that Sebastian wasn’t particularly overjoyed about it either. His eyes remain stuck to the vent, waiting, watching, as the rumbling increases. It crescendos, shaking the room and penetrating your nose with the horrific smell it produces. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you shift uncomfortably, trying to rid the smell that is pricking at your nose. Sebastian’s eyes dart towards you, scanning over your form for a moment; you make no move(whilst barely keeping your eyes open) and it appears that he’s decided that you’re still asleep. He turns his head to peer at the vent again.

You can feel his tail ripple under your head as his muscles relax. Chainsmoker had passed you by; the putrid smell was fading rapidly as the air ducts above you cycle the air. You hear Sebastian sigh as he drops his head, moving his torso to lay over you again.

Your legs and head are still propped up on different parts of his tail, he remains curled around you. Okay. Cool. Yeah, sure. This is okay. You have a giant fish man curled around you on all sides, and he’s about to lay his head on your stomach again.

You bite back a grunt as his head hits your stomach. The ache in your ribs intensifies and subsides again as he moves back into his previous position. He rolls his shoulders, nestling further into you. His tail is still cold against your head and— oh. You’re still *really* hot. And he’s cold. He’s using you as a human space heater. He is siphoning heat from you. Bastard.

You’d call him a bastard to his face if you weren’t *also* so very tired and enjoying the temperature difference. The panic had cleared, and the lull of sleep pulls at your eyelids. You glance at Sebastian. His eyes are still cracked. He takes a sharp inhale, before exhaling deeply and shutting them. The weight on your stomach isn’t uncomfortable by any means, but *what* the weight is makes you apprehensive; the call of sleep and the aching of your ribs and wounds on the back of your arms reminds you that you’d much prefer a giant fish man resting on you rather than attempting another trek through the blacksite. His ear fins flick once. A rumble deep from his chest vibrates through your midsection. Is he… purring? Rumbling? It’s very quiet, but easy to feel.

His head and torso are akin to a very heavy weighted blanket. Numbness pulls at your limbs. Sleep beckons you, and you listen. The Hadal Division can stand to lose one of the personnel they deem expendable for an hour or two, anyway. It’s nice, a small escape from the hell you signed up for.

After being here for so long, having countless anglers rush past you, that a flight or fight response triggers for you when the lights flicker all around. Sebastian seems to not react, besides a light grumble under his breath. He finally found a good area with lights, and now they were going to break. His esca could only light up so much.

You, however, had a much different reaction. Unfortunately, you've learned to instinctively flee and hide at the tiniest flicker. It helped you not die, so it simply stuck with you.

There were no lockers in Sebastian's shop, so you couldn't hide there. There also was no vent, since you had gotten him in an underwater area. The only other way to hide was to completely shield yourself from it's view.. and there was only one thing in the shop big enough to conceal your whole body.

Sebastian tensed as you quickly hid behind his tail, practically using him as a shield. He blinked, a bit confused: didn't you know that Anglers couldn't enter his shop? Maybe you really were a bit dumb.. He thought about telling you off, but it was also a bit funny to see you crouching behind him like a scared rabbit.

Sebastian huffed as he saw how shaky you were, and moved his tail to loosely wrap around you and help you feel more hidden. As quickly as you huddled behind him, the muffled noise of an Angler's scream rang out from below. He only hummed: the lights in his shop didn't end up breaking, how nice.

You stayed hidden for a few more seconds before perking up, your head popping out from the makeshift cocoon. Sebastian silently stared at you for a few moments before speaking, "You do know that Anglers can't get in my shop.. right?" He teased you, making you pause in embarrassment.

The moment it happened, everything was completely normal.

Well—as normal as it can get for the one (and only) friendly neighbourhood Spidey in your world. The infamous webslinger, daring vigilante—but most importantly, a superhero.

(Cut back on the super part right now—you're not looking too hot.)

Doc lands a swift hit to your ribs, sending you slamming back into a wall behind you. Every nerve feels like they were lit on fire, but your extreme physicality allows you to stand back up and fight.

Ignoring the blood pooling beneath your tongue—you make a mental note to clean out your mask after—you web two of his mechanical arms down before they can sweep you off your feet.

A chuckle escapes your mouth as you flip over him and send a kick flying into his back, "Oh come on, Doc—you haven't gone all soft on me, have you? It's almost like you want to be sent back to state prison!"

"Stay still you damn—" A snarl escapes his lips as you dodge another one of his prying arms. "Insect—"

Another laugh bubbles from your mouth—which turns into a shriek as one of his arms slams you into the ground below. "Okay—I take that back—not going soft!"

You grunt, pushing yourself up from the concrete—shooting a string of web to the ceiling and swinging toward him, "Alright, Doc—say hi to my finishing move,"

You wind up your legs and throw your feet towards his body, "A well-needed face lift—!"

Your kick doesn't land. In fact—you don't seem to land at all. Then, you feel nothing and you are weightless. But only for a brief moment.

It's as if the world shifts and moulds around you, forming into a new subspace where nothing but you exist. You can't sense a single thing—even with your little tingle—until you find yourself planting face-first into a brick wall.

Ow.

Before you can fall into the alleyway below—you stick to the bricks like glue and clutch for dear life. It's damp and it's all so dark you could've been mistaken as a character in an indie horror film.

... Where... ???

Your head hurts. Real bad. The migraine you have right now is killer—and being up this high isn't helping. When your two feet land flat on the floor, you feel a little better.

You clutch your hair through your mask, chest rising and falling erratically. The whites of your eyes are practically squeezed shut as you try and focus and figure out what exactly is going on.

Everything hurts so bad, you don't even feel the looming presence sinking behind you, nor the shadow that seems to sink you in darkness. You don't feel anything—not until you get sent flying into the nearest streetlamp.

Citizens all around you shriek and scream in terror as you make a spider-sized dent in the metal. They run, and you open your eyes with a groan of pain—they widen immediately at the sight in front of you.

A shock runs through your entire body as a snarling lizard-like creature emerges from the alleyway's shadows and starts running at you on all fours—drool and foam pooling in the corners of his snout.

Teeth bared at your menacingly and its jaw widens as if it's trying to take a chunk out of you—you leap upwards and perch on the top of the streetlamp before its chomping snout takes two of your (figurative) eight legs off.

"Hey! What's your issue?!" You call out from your perch, eyes narrowed into a glare. He answers only with an ear-grating roar, tearing the metal from its post and you barely manage to hop off before it's sent flying to the next city.

You land on the tips of your toes, holding the lizard's jaw wide open as it tries to close with you inside it. Drool flies all over your suit as he snarls like a true animal—and now your suit is wet with reptile drool. Yuck.

"You know, I thought you looked like a lizard I know, at first—" You land a kick straight into his stomach, which sends him flying backwards (but not nearly as far as you'd like). "—But really, now that I got a closer look, you're just really ugly!"

A swift uppercut to his jaw closes his snapping mouth, but his tail manages to sweep underneath your feet and you fall flat on your ass.

He stomps down on your ribs and you cry out in pain from the sheer force—feeling your bones rattle and crack under the pressure. "Hasn't anyone told you it's not very polite to stomp on the heroes you like?!"

You slide from between his oversized legs with a web and grab onto his neck from behind—gripping down and channelling all your strength into flipping him over you.

He lands on his tail and lets out a shrill roar—while you swing upwards onto a nearby roof, encasing his entire figure in your webs as your lips turn up into a smile (indistinguishable to the naked eye, of course—beneath your bright red mask).

The lizard-like creature is tied up next to you—thrashing and growling like a rabid beast. He swings around and around from the edge of a roof—while you walk up and down the building, pondering on what to do.

"Okay—okay. Calm down, [name]. You totally just beat up that weird lizard thing. You totally just did that. Okay... okay... but what even..."

You narrow your eyes and look a little closer at it. "What even is it...?? What are you?"

You ask—yet, you don't expect to receive an answer. "Insolent bug...!!! You are no Batman!"

"Batman?" Your brows raise in surprise and you tilt your head to the side. "What... what is a Batman? Is that like—one of Reed's weird experiments? Like... a half bat, half man splice?"

The image you conjure up in your thought bubble makes the lizard creature stop scowling and simply give you a confused stare.

"Wait... is that some sort of new hero?! A D-list that I haven't met yet?! Was he part of the Avengers at some point? I could probably look him up in the database... oh wait—but everyone was a part of the Avengers at some point, huh? Even me."

You look a little closer at the thing. "Hey—even you could've been a part of the Avengers at some point, huh, ugly?"

"I will tear you to shreds, vermin!"

He starts thrashing and chomping at your head once more, so you let out a deep sigh and start to pace once more.

"What do I even do with a huge lizard? Especially one that can talk and is super chompy—could it be my pet or something? Maybe my next science project... hah—yeah! MJ would be so wicked jealous—"

Your head fizzles with a familiar static, and each one of your nerves tingles. Your spider-sense fills your head, full-blast, and you instinctively flip backwards and dodge a flying ninja-star-esque thing that comes flying right where your ribs would have been a second ago.

Another one also came soaring toward you—this time, it cuts the lizard thing from your webbing and he pummels to the ground below, growling as the ground cracks beneath his weight.

The whites of your eyes widen as you try to get a good look at whatever—or whoever—decided it would be a good idea to try and handicap you right after you just defeated a huge evil lizard.

In the dark, you can make out the figure of two people (one significantly smaller) on the rooftop in front of you. You shoot them the hardest glare you can muster, "Hey! Now—what's your problem! Unless you're friends with jolly green down there, I don't think I'm the one you should be throwing ninja stars at!"

You stick the wall behind you with ease and watch as the one with the large cape and... cat ears? pulls out a grapple gun and shoots it toward you.

Before he has a chance to leap, however—there's a crash below and the lizard has finally broken out of your webby confines.

The two figures come into the light as they jump down to the alleyway. A man with a large bat on his chest, and a boy with bright clothes yet a terrible scowl on his features and you finally get what that lizard guy meant.

Bat... man! Batman! But who—

The sound of fighting below, and the slamming of rubbish bins and dumpsters snaps you out of your stupor.

You need to go—before you meet the same fate as your happy lizard friend down there.

Whoever they were, wherever you ended up—it'd have to wait. For now, you crawl away as Spidey, slinging throughout the city with no destination in sight.

Meanwhile—your two new vigilante friends seemed to be having trouble with your webbing.

"Urgh—what is this stuff?!" Damian shakes his gloved hand once, then twice. The white, webby substance sticks to his hand like a vice and when he tries to wipe it off on his costume, he ends up smearing it all over his cape.

He turns around in frustrated circles trying to remove the webbing, only for Batman to take it off with ease, patting down the cape of his robin. Damian only huffs, indignant.

"I've never seen anything like it," Batman speaks, mildly curious. He feels it between his fingertips and watches it stretch endlessly even as he tries to slice it down the middle. "Sticky. Strong."

He notes, thinking back to how he saw a being such as Killer Croc being held up without strain by that thin line of webbing—at least for a good while. The criminal in question lay unconscious on the ground, tied securely with the police department on the way.

"Like a thick web," Damian throws his hood off his head. "Disgusting. It was probably that spider-thing."

"Most likely," Batman pockets the substance in a vial before grappling back up to the rooftops. Robin follows close behind. "I'll have Tim observe it whenever he gets back home. We still have the rest of the city to patrol tonight."

"Right," with a curt nod, they rush away, fading into the darkness of Gotham.

You're panting and exhausted by the time you make your way onto an empty roof. Clearly this place was a lot more crime-riddled than you'd initially assumed.

Getting chased down by brainless goons with umbrella guns was not on your bucket list—but you'd cross it off anyway.

You crouch on the ledge of the rooftop, staring down to the city below. The lights are dull and flicker like they're about to short-circuit any minute. It's nothing like your New York—no flashing advertisements, and certainly no bright colours that permeate your eye like candy.

This place... it's so bleak. Muted colours of grey and the occasional yellow glow. Nothing else. You wondered who could possibly live in a place like this.

Whatever. You'd find a way home somehow. You're the Spidey. Always finding your way out of every problem you get into—despite all odds, you do your best work when you're stuck in the most dire of situations.

But first... You really did need to find out where you were. You look around. There are a few billboards here and there—but what really catches your eye is a television program playing in the window of a store.

Your refractive lenses almost zoom in for you—you stare harder, and can make out the name of the channel that's on.

Gotham newschannel...

You scrunch your nose. Gotham? You'd never heard of it. And you've been to outer space more times than you could count. You'd even been to other universes, since Reed liked to drag you along with his family trips often.

You'd been told you were practically part of the family... and your brains were appreciated. It wasn't every day Reed Richards—smartest man on Earth—offered to take you to space, after all. Maybe you should've asked him about it more, seeing as you're in an unfamiliar place that seemed too dull to be real.

(Not like you could ask him now. He and his team have been missing for a few months now. You were scared half to death until Banner told you they weren't dead, per se—just unable to be located for one reason or another.)

You tap your chin, pacing back and forth on the rooftop.

Currently, you have two theories.

One—you've travelled to a different world somehow. You don't know how, or why—but that alligator thing seemed to feel rather alien—nothing like Doc Conner.

Two—you've become wrapped up in multiverse shenanigans again. This was the less favourable of the two options—as it's much harder to travel universes than planets. If you were just off-world, you could call for your buddy, Nova—even ask help from Kitty and her space-pirate crew.

Now—you're not sure on what exactly to do.

Thor? Does he even exist here???

You're lost. Completely and utterly so. All your distress calls to your many different teams over the years—X-Men, Avengers, Warriors, Defenders, even the Champions for crying out loud—but there's nothing.

You're alone. Utterly, completely, fully. There's nobody.

Your shoulders slump, and you sigh. Even an optimist like you gets down sometimes. Oh well—you'd have to figure something else out. Right now, static fills your head and your body moves before you can think—

You fall to your knees as a bullet pierces right past where your head would've been seconds ago. Your lenses narrow in at the masked goon with that same umbrella rifle. "Back for more? You must like getting beat up or something."

You swing forward and slam your fist into the side of his face—sending him tumbling backwards. Blood seeps out of his nose and he spits out a tooth when he lifts the mask up over his face. His smirk makes you pause. "Nah. I just have my orders."

Your head splits with pain as your body tingles again. There's something behind you—something dangerous—but you can't move. Not without letting him...—

You instinctively crouch in front of the man. A bullet pierces your left shoulder and you let out a loud shriek of pain. Biting your lip—hard. The goon you're crouched in front of is almost starstruck by your actions.

You let your left arm lie limp as you run toward the man behind you—webbing his face, sliding under his legs and slamming your foot into his face—making him fly right into the man from before.

You feel the blood pooling underneath the nanobots around your shoulder—gripping the area iron-tight as it throbs and burns. "You're lucky I didn't kick you off the building. I'm too good for that."

You grit your teeth and swing away with your one good arm before they have a chance to register your words—trails of red dripping down your arm across rooftops.

Eventually—you find your way to another alleyway. Your head is getting fuzzy and you don't know where you're even going. You can hardly see straight—there's two of everything and it's all going blurry. Bloodloss is hitting you like a freight train.

Healing factor can't do shit when the bullet's still in your shoulder. And you can't get rid of it yourself without taking off your suit. You stumble around a bit when landing in the dark of the alley—slumping against a head brick wall and wincing when it scrapes the raw, exposed flesh.

The nanobots flicker away to reveal your civilian clothes—forming back into your necklace and letting the blood drip down freely now. You're getting woozy. Are you dying?

No way. No way this is how you go out. You've battled more evil dictators than you can count on both hands. You've fought countless omega level mutants. You've been face to face with Galactus. Hell, you've met the One Above All (practically God).

You've done all this. You've achieved so much, and lost so much more... and this is how you die?

The blood soaks your fingertips like the cruellest and foulest smelling of wines. You're reaching around in the open wound for the bullet—but you can't find it, even with your deft fingers. Shit—how deep did this guy shoot you?

You're getting weaker. You can't even feel your fingertips anymore. Your eyes are closing. No—you can't die, not here, not now—

Aunt May, Uncle Ben... MJ and Harry... Johnny and Sue... Reed and Ben... Tony. Cap. Wolvey. Luke, Danny, Lin. Nat, Kitty, Kamala, everyone.

You can hardly see anymore. You weakly reach upwards when a man stands over you—whited eyes narrowed down and the strange red face of his being expressionless.

He crouches, and his hand falls to your cheek before all you feel is dark and cold.

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