The first time Sol Smith trespassed into a corporate lab, he wasn't thinking about destiny.
He was thinking about two things:
1. **How stupid this was.**
2. **How much he was going to regret it if Judy got them caught.**
Judy moved like she'd been born in a hoodie and bad decisions, crouched low behind a row of parked cars in the garage beneath **HELIX DYNAMICS**. The security lights washed everything in a sterile white that made the concrete look like bone.
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned like this was prom.
"Breathe, Sol."
"I *am* breathing."
"No, you're doing that thing where you inhale like you're about to jump into cold water."
Sol adjusted the strap of his backpack and tried not to imagine his mom's face if he ended up in jail tonight. His mom didn't do "quiet disappointment." Marcia Smith did *full-volume heartbreak* like it was a sport.
"Judy," he whispered, "tell me again why we're doing this."
Judy's eyes sparkled. That was the problem with Judy: she got excited about danger the way other people got excited about new shoes.
"Because my mom is lying," she said, like she was stating the weather. "Because Helix is lying. And because if I don't see what they're building, I'm going to explode."
"That's… not a reason. That's a threat."
"Okay. Fine. Reason." She tapped her phone, pulling up a security feed that looked way too official for a teenager to have. "My mom's been coming home with… *that face.* Like she saw something she can't unsee. And then she lies and says it's budget cuts or 'just stress.'"
She leaned in, voice dropping. "And I heard her on the phone. Crying. My mom doesn't cry. She yells at the microwave."
Sol wanted to laugh. Wanted to. But his stomach stayed tight.
He thought of home. The small apartment above the corner store. The smell of fried food that refused to leave their curtains. Nia asleep on the couch with her math workbook on her chest like a shield. His mom moving through the kitchen after her shift, shoulders slumped, still managing to ask him about school like the world hadn't taken a bite out of her that day.
Everyone was tired. Everyone was fighting something.
Helix Dynamics just had better lighting.
"Okay," Sol said softly. "We peek. We don't touch. We don't hero it up."
Judy saluted. "No touching. No heroing."
A beat.
She smirked. "But if there's a self-destruct button—"
"Judy."
"I'm joking!"
She wasn't.
They slipped along the wall, ducking cameras the way Judy directed: two steps, stop, wait for the sweep, move. Sol hated that she was good at this. The competence made it worse, like she'd rehearsed criminal behavior the way other kids rehearsed TikTok dances.
A side door waited ahead—plain, steel, "employees only." Judy produced a keycard.
Sol stared. "You stole your mom's badge."
"I borrowed it."
"You borrowed it without permission."
"That's stealing with better PR."
Sol exhaled through his nose. "If we go to jail, I'm telling the judge you said PR."
Judy swiped the card. The lock clicked.
For a second, nothing happened, and Sol thought the building had decided to be smarter than them.
Then the door opened.
Cool air hit his face, filtered and clean in a way that made his lungs feel poor.
They slid inside.
The corridor was too quiet. Not "late at night" quiet. This was the quiet of money. Of places where the floors got cleaned even when no one walked on them.
Judy's phone cast a soft glow. She moved ahead, confident. Sol followed, hands slightly raised like the universe could see he was just here to observe.
They passed glass-walled rooms with dark monitors, empty chairs, equipment that looked expensive enough to have its own security detail.
At the end of the corridor was a door with a biometric panel and a sign:
**PROJECT ARACHNE — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**
Sol stopped. The word *Arachne* landed in his brain like a rock.
He glanced at Judy. "That's… not subtle."
"Right?" Judy whispered, thrilled. "Like, just put 'EVIL SPIDER THING' on the door."
Sol's skin prickled. Not fear. Not exactly. Something like instinct, an old animal part of him whispering, *turn around.*
But Judy was already crouching by the panel, pulling a small device from her pocket.
Sol blinked. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."
"It's a signal repeater."
"That's exactly what I think it is."
Judy plugged it into the panel like she belonged here. Her fingers moved fast, a dance of taps and swipes.
"You built that?"
"I improved it," she said. "Off a design."
"From where?"
Judy grinned without looking up. "Reddit."
Sol made a face. "We're about to commit federal crimes with *Reddit*?"
"It's not like I used Pinterest, Sol."
The panel beeped.
Then went green.
Sol swallowed. "Okay. That's… impressive."
Judy rose, dramatic as a magician. "Thank you. I accept cash, snacks, and your eternal respect."
"My respect is broke."
Judy pushed the door open.
And Sol forgot how to breathe.
The lab beyond was bigger than he expected—wide, open, layered with platforms and glass partitions. Machines hummed softly, lights blinking in slow rhythms like the building had a heartbeat.
In the center, behind reinforced glass, was a containment chamber.
Inside it was… a habitat. Branches. Webbing. A fake rock formation. A little ecosystem.
And moving across the branch like it owned the planet—
A spider.
Not a normal spider.
It was bigger than Sol's palm. Metallic sheen to its body like oil on water. Legs too long, too precise. Its abdomen had faint glowing lines under the surface, like circuitry living inside flesh.
It moved with a grace that made Sol's throat tighten.
Judy exhaled a laugh, reverent. "Oh my God."
Sol whispered, "That's not a spider. That's a… *problem.*"
Judy's eyes darted across the lab equipment. Monitors. Labels. Chemical symbols. Charts. A large screen with a paused video frame of the spider crawling over what looked like synthetic skin.
Beside it: a clipboard with a bold title.
**DELIVERY VECTOR TRIAL — SUBJECT RESPONSE PARAMETERS**
Sol's chest sank. "Delivery vector."
Judy's smile dimmed, just a little.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Weapon language."
Sol stepped closer to the glass, staring at the spider. It lifted its front legs, tasting the air with tiny movements.
And for a second, Sol had the insane feeling it was looking back.
A memory surfaced—something he'd seen years ago online. Grainy video. A guy in red and blue swinging between buildings, moving like physics was a suggestion. People argued whether it was fake, whether it was a stunt, whether it was just a drone trick.
Sol had never seen Spider-Man in person. Never even seen a clear photo.
Just the myth.
The joke.
The "New York has weird weather and we have weird people" rumors.
He'd laughed like everyone else.
Now, in this lab, staring at something built like a nightmare wearing a spider costume, it didn't feel funny.
Judy was moving again, scanning documents.
"Sol," she whispered, and her voice had changed. Lost the playful edge. "This is… this is bad."
Sol forced himself to look away from the spider.
"What?"
Judy pointed at a screen.
There was a diagram of the spider's fangs. Microchannels. Reservoir sacs. A label in bold:
**NEURO-MUSCULAR OVERRIDE AGENT — PROGRAMMABLE DOSING**
Sol felt cold.
"Override agent?" he said.
Judy nodded slowly. "A bite that can… control. Shut down. Enhance. Whatever they tell it to do."
Sol stared at the words until they blurred.
"Why would they need that?" he asked, like maybe the answer could be anything other than what his gut already knew.
Judy's eyes flicked to him. "Soldiers."
Sol's mouth went dry.
"Or…" Judy swallowed. "Or civilians."
Somewhere in the building, a faint click echoed—like a door closing.
Both of them froze.
Judy's phone light trembled.
Sol whispered, "Tell me that was the air conditioning."
Judy's face went pale.
"That was a latch."
They heard footsteps.
Not running. Not panicked.
Measured. Confident. Like whoever was coming had authority and didn't fear being challenged.
Judy mouthed: **security.**
Sol's heart started hammering.
They backed away from the containment chamber, slipping behind a row of equipment. The lab smelled like sterile plastic and cold metal.
The door at the far end opened.
Two men entered.
Helix security. Black uniforms. Earpieces. One carried a tablet. The other carried something that made Sol's stomach twist.
A rifle.
Not a normal one. Compact. Sleek. Matte. With a canister attached under the barrel like a medical device pretending to be a weapon.
The guy with the tablet spoke quietly. "Motion ping in Sector C. Probably a rat."
"A rat with a keycard?" the rifle guy replied.
Tablet guy shrugged. "Could be a glitch. Or—"
His eyes landed on the repeater device still plugged into the panel.
He stopped.
The air got heavy.
"Or," he finished, voice flat, "it's kids."
Sol's brain screamed **RUN**, but his legs didn't move fast enough. He was a half-second behind his own survival instincts, like his body needed a software update.
Judy grabbed his sleeve and pulled.
They bolted.
The lab exploded into sound—shouting, boots, alarms that hadn't been on until now.
"STOP!" one of the guards yelled.
Sol and Judy sprinted between tables, dodging stools and cables. Sol's backpack bounced against his spine, smacking him like it disapproved.
Judy swerved toward the door.
A guard cut them off.
Sol's mind flashed: *If we get caught, my mom. Nia. My life is over.*
His body moved before his fear finished talking.
He shoved Judy sideways, just enough to avoid the guard's grab—
And slammed shoulder-first into the guard.
There was a crack.
Sol didn't know if it was the guard's teeth or the table behind him, but the sound was wet and wrong.
The guard hit the floor hard.
Sol stumbled back, shocked.
"I— I didn't—" he started.
Judy grabbed his arm again. "MOVE!"
They ran.
Behind them, the rifle guy raised his weapon.
Sol heard a hiss.
Something hit the wall beside them and burst in a cloud—white mist, sharp chemical smell.
Judy coughed. "Gas!"
Sol's eyes watered. His throat tightened like someone had grabbed it from the inside.
They crashed through the corridor door and into the hallway.
Alarms wailed now. Red lights strobed.
Judy yanked him toward an emergency stairwell.
The door was locked.
Judy swore. "Are you kidding me?"
Sol's fingers fumbled for the handle—
And the handle bent.
Not the metal. Not the latch.
The whole handle, like it was made of cheap plastic instead of reinforced steel.
Sol froze, staring at his own hand.
"What the—"
Judy stared too. "Sol?"
Behind them, footsteps thundered closer.
Sol didn't think.
He pulled.
The door ripped open with a shriek of tearing metal.
Judy's mouth fell open. "Sol—what—"
"Later!" Sol rasped, still half-choking from the mist. "GO!"
They spilled into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time. Sol's lungs burned, but his legs didn't feel tired the way they should.
Halfway down, Judy looked back at him, eyes wide. "Dude. You just— you just *Hulked* a door."
"I didn't *Hulk* anything!"
"You Hulked it politely!"
Sol wanted to scream, laugh, throw up, all at once.
They burst out into the parking garage and ran for the exit.
Security lights flashed. A distant gate began to lower.
Judy swore again. "We're not making that!"
Sol's body moved again—faster, sharper. He grabbed Judy's wrist and pulled her into a slide under a half-lowered barrier.
They hit the concrete hard and rolled.
Sol's shoulder slammed the ground—
And he didn't feel the kind of pain he expected.
He felt… impact. Pressure. But not the sharp, stabbing "you're done" pain that should come with that fall.
They scrambled up and ran into the night air.
Cold wind slapped Sol's face like the city was trying to wake him up.
They didn't stop until they hit the alley behind a closed laundromat three blocks away.
Judy bent over, hands on knees, panting. "Oh my God."
Sol leaned against the brick wall, chest heaving, throat still raw.
"What… was that?" Judy whispered.
Sol stared at his hands like they were strangers.
"I don't know," he said hoarsely. "I don't know."
Judy stepped closer, eyes scanning him like she was trying to diagnose reality.
"Your grip," she said. "That door. That guard—Sol, you hit him and he folded."
Sol's stomach churned.
"I didn't mean to."
Judy's voice softened. "I know."
A beat.
Then Judy's expression snapped back to alert. "We need to go. Like, right now. They're going to look for us."
Sol nodded.
He pushed off the wall—
And his palm stuck.
Stuck.
Like the brick had turned into glue.
Sol froze.
Judy froze.
Sol slowly lifted his hand.
The brick made a faint peeling sound.
Judy stared at the wall, then at his hand, then back at the wall.
"…Sol," she said, voice shaking with disbelief, "why are you doing the Spider-Man thing."
Sol swallowed hard.
"I'm not doing anything," he whispered. "I'm just—"
His fingers flexed.
The skin on his palm tingled. A crawling sensation, like tiny invisible hooks had woken up.
His stomach dropped.
"No," he said. "No, no, no."
Judy's eyes widened like she was watching a car crash in slow motion. "Okay. Okay, so… that myth online—"
Sol's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He flinched like it was a gunshot.
He pulled it out with a shaking hand.
A text from his mom:
**Where you at? Nia's asking for you. You better not be out doing dumb stuff, Solomon.**
Sol's throat tightened.
Home.
He had to get home.
He had to be normal.
He had to—
Something sharp stabbed his forearm.
Sol gasped and looked down.
There were two tiny puncture marks on the inside of his wrist.
Fresh.
Beading red.
His blood looked too bright under the alley light.
Judy followed his gaze, face draining of color.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Sol… did it—"
Sol's vision swam.
The alley tilted.
The last thing he saw before his knees buckled was Judy lunging forward, catching him, her voice suddenly distant:
"Sol! Sol—stay with me—"
And somewhere, deep under his panic, his body pulsed with something new.
Something hungry.
Something awake.