Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales

by Brittney Morris

“Miles?”

  But I don’t have time to answer.

  By the time I hear him, I’m mid-swan dive. The world seems to freeze for a split second as I fall, watching the swarm of black birds that were once people, flapping their wings, pecking at civilians, hunting down any they’ve missed, filling the streets below me with their feathers. All the buildings are upside down to me as I dive and rotate mid-air, feeling the air on my face and shoulders as the night coolness descends upon the city, but my eyes are trained on Starling’s red wings fanning out and swooping her back up into the sky.

  But I’m prepared this time.

  This time, I’m right behind her.

  She whips around buildings so fast, I worry for a moment that I won’t be able to keep up, especially since the sun is sinking lower and lower over the horizon line. Any traces of orange are fading from the sky, and any traces of light with it. The streetlights below us begin to flicker to life, and I wonder why it’s getting so dark.

  New York is never this dark.

  And then, as I launch into my next swing, tuck my legs up, and thwip into the next swing, I realize what’s missing, and horror sinks in where confusion used to be.

  There are no headlights.

  There are very few apartment lights.

  Because nobody’s home.

  And nobody’s driving anywhere.

  Everyone’s been turned into birds. Nanobot-infested, hardly human, winged, deranged beasts. I see one below me pounce from the top of a trash can to the top of a taxi and slash holes in the tires, for no reason. Just aimless machines with one mission now: destruction.

  Starling does something that throws me for a loop. She soars straight upward into the sky, corkscrewing herself into a spiral before diving back down again, straight toward the ground.

  She’s trying to lose me.

  But it won’t work.

  Not if I lose her first.

  I latch onto a nearby balcony and yank myself up onto it, sticking to the wall and peering around the corner as she flies off into the skyline. I narrow my eyes up at her and tap my fingers against the balcony railing as I watch her grow smaller and smaller against the sky. And then I hear a crisp, clear, close-by ahem.

  I flinch and turn to see a familiar face behind me. An old man lounging in a lawn chair in a long-sleeve sweater, holding a tall glass of red wine, staring up at me blankly from under his wooly beanie. I realize where I recognize him from.

  He’s the old man with the skid mark in his backyard from earlier.

  “Oh, hey, sir,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck nervously, hoping he’s not still mad about that. “Sorry about your, uh… lawn earlier.”

  I glance around the corner again and find the tiny black speck against the clouds that is Starling.

  “Don’t mention it, kid,” he says, lighting up a cigarette and taking a generous sip from his wine glass. “They uprooted the rest of the garden this morning.”

  “Oh, the birds?”

  “No, the traveling circus in town. Of course the birds.”

  I freeze and feel a pang of guilt hit me square in the throat.

  “I… I’m sorry… all of this is happening.”

  I’m sorry for a lot of things right now.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t do more from the get-go.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Starling when I had the chance on top of the S.H.I.E.L.D. building.

  “I’ll make it right,” I say.

  “You don’t need to make it right,” he says with a shake of his head. “Not your responsibility. You just need to make it better. Don’t give up. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”

  Not my responsibility.

  Something clicks in my head.

  I remember what Peter said to me the other night.

  I admire that about you, Miles. Your sense of ownership. Of responsibility. Just… you know… be careful about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  And I realize something.

  What I did the other day was responsible—intervening when I saw something wrong. Saving that shop owner from a break-in, however I was treated afterwards. I can be as “responsible” as anyone else and still be seen as a villain the minute I take this mask off.

  But if I can focus less on making it right instead of just making it better, maybe I can help people, and still keep myself in mind.

  Maybe I’ll still be able to breathe.

  The expectations of others on my shoulders, or not, I feel a lift in my chest like I could fly. I nod determinedly and salute him before diving backward off the balcony and swinging down the street faster than I ever have before. I follow Starling’s outline all the way across town as the sun descends fully over the skyline. As the sky fades from a brilliant orange into a deep ever-darkening gray, I sail through East Harlem and across the bay, all the way to the skyscraper at the very edge of town that’s stood unoccupied for god knows how long. I heard it used to be a luxury apartment complex that fell into disarray, and the city was going to attempt to demolish it and put something else in its place. But here’s Starling, flying up to one side of it with the moon behind her winged silhouette, pulling herself up on one of its windows, and slipping inside.

  “Gotcha,” I whisper as I swing up to where the building stands.

  Just then, I hear a beep-beep-beep-boop-boop-boop ring from my pocket and gasp mid-swing, wishing I could slow down and reverse course. Luckily, I kick my feet enough to flip myself over and catch a shorter building next door, landing smoothly on the top terrace and ducking behind an air-conditioning unit where I can answer under the cover of distance.

  “Yo, Ganke, what’s up? You okay?”

  I can’t lie, it’s great to hear his voice. Good to know he somehow escaped being turned into a bird zombie. But does he have to call me right now? Like, right now, while I’m tracking down Starling to possibly her hideout?

  “Yeah, Miles, I’m fine! Listen, that bird guy you webbed earlier? In East Harlem?”

  Mr. O’Flanigan?

  “Yeah?” No need to tell Ganke who that really was that was trying to kill us. Ganke would never look at our biology teacher the same way if he knew he tried to peck us to death. “What about him?”

  “He got better! For like a split second, I swear it!”

  My eyes dart back and forth as I try to process what exactly he’s trying to tell me.

  “How ‘better’ are we talking? Are you sure?” I ask.

  “I mean, his wings started to shrink, that’s all. Couldn’t see his face since he was face-down on the pavement when he fell. Someone else—another bird—bit him too fast and he got re-infected. Saw it with my own eyes after I ran. I didn’t run far, even though you said to. Sorry. I just had to get all of that on camera! But before he was bitten again, he started shedding feathers right after you webbed him in the face, turning over and over in the alley as his wings shriveled down into nothing and got sucked right back into his back. Didn’t see his face, though.”

  “Where is he now?” I ask.

  “Uh,” he says, “well, I don’t know, actually. He, uh… we were attacked again by a few other birds, and… he turned into a bird again.”

  I sigh. Well that could’ve been some great insight.

  “But,” he continues, “I think that means your web might have some… extra potential, if you know what I mean! Some spider webs have antiseptic powers, you know? Like, real spiders. Why not yours? Try webbing people and see if you can reverse some of this damage! Couldn’t hurt, right?”

  Wait… how does this make sense? My web can just… what… disable nanotechnology then?

  “Ganke, thanks, but I don’t buy it. Antiseptic powers? This bird situation is due to nanobots. What would antiseptic even do to tiny robots?”

  “Uh… the webbing seemed to do nothing… by itself. But with your blood on it…”

  I sigh.

  “Was there anything special about how you got your powers? Something’s giving your DNA some ex
tra oomf.”

  I think back to the spider that bit me in my room. It just looked like a regular old spider. Nothing all that special about it.

  “You sure it wasn’t a robot spider? Alien spider? Genetically modified spider? …Demon spider?”

  “Wait, go back. It was a genetically modified spider!”

  The first thing Peter did after I first jumped up onto the ceiling and asked him what the hell was happening to me, and he jumped right up there with me to assure me that what I was going through wasn’t something to be afraid of, was take me to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility to have my DNA analyzed, and they said I was likely bitten by a spider that was… not normal. They used the words “genetically modified,” which I’d forgotten until now.

  “Maybe there’s something in your DNA that the nanobots don’t like.”

  I think for a minute and wonder if I should go back and try to test out this theory. Maybe… maybe I could web these bird-people and change them back?

  But… I’m just one guy…

  “Ganke, there’s no way I can take on all of those bird creatures all by myself, especially if it means I have to bleed on my web-shooter every five minutes.”

  But what if there was a way to amplify it…?

  I glance around the AC unit before asking Ganke for the biggest favor I ever have.

  “Can you look up if there’s a way to boost whatever’s in the webbing that’s making the nanobots lose steam?”

  “Way ahead of you,” he says.

  As usual. I grin.

  “I took a sample of the web with me as I left, and it seems to be made of a nylon-like material? Long-chain polymers knitted together like chains of amino acids, clearly synthesized quickly, most likely upon oxidation. Is it… it’s liquid before it’s launched, right?”

  “Yup,” I say. “To that last part, anyway.”

  If I’m honest, he was talking so fast I barely got a word of what he said earlier.

  “So,” I say, pulling my knee up against my chest, “can we make it stronger? Chemically, I mean?”

  “Should be able to,” he says, with a bit of hesitation in his voice. “I’m in Spanish Harlem right now, hiding out in a porta-potty at a construction site. They’re impressively safe—the ones that are bolted into the ground, anyway. No one’s bothered me for a while—”

  “Ganke, I’m glad to hear you’re safe, but what does that have to do with—?”

  “Point was, I’m in Spanish Harlem. Meet me at your new place in twenty minutes and we’ll figure out what to do with your webbing. I’d have to take a closer look, but I think we can boost the antiseptic powers with somethings you’ve got at your Abuela’s place. Ahh—!”

  “Ganke?!” I yell, clutching the phone tighter. A loud crash sings through the speaker, and his words come quickly strung together, sandwiched between heavy panting.

  “I’m okay!” he insists. “But porta-potties? In a birdemic? Bad idea!”

  “Ganke—”

  I’m interrupted by my phone beeping again, and I look down to see a spider emoji on the screen. It’s Peter, and he might be in trouble.

  “Ganke, hold on, okay? Gotta go. Get somewhere safe!”

  “Working on it!”

  I hope he actually is, and click the answer button.

  “Yo, Pete?” I ask.

  “Miles, are you…” This time Peter stops himself before starting his question over. “Miles, Vulture is subdued over here and I’m webbing birds as fast as I can, but without an antidote to… whatever this is… they’re gaining headway, infecting people faster than I can trap them. Any luck with Starling? Harungh!”

  Well, that settles that. Peter’s web apparently doesn’t have the same effects as mine. I’d be all alone out there, webbing people as fast as I can, which I know won’t be fast enough. They’ll devour me—or each other—as I heal them. I hear Peter heave something super heavy somewhere, and an explosive crash rings out through the phone.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window where Starling slipped inside the abandoned building. Suddenly, a huge gust of wind surges around me, and I startle, and when I look up again, I see a huge black bird with a yellow head, and an even bigger black bird with bone-colored wings. “I think I found their hideout. Starling, Shadow, and Hollowclaw are all here.”

  “Really?” Peter asks. “Okay, just tell me where. I’m on my way.”

  My chest tightens at that suggestion.

  “Not that I don’t think you can take on the three of them yourself,” he continues, to my relief. “I just think I could help. No need to make things hard for you unnecessarily, you know?”

  I smile at his sensitivity, grateful that he’s picked up on my need for independence, as silly as it sounds. The whole city is under attack by nanobot-wielding bird terrorists, but please don’t do anything about it, Spider-Man, because Miles Morales needs his independence.

  But at the same time, is it such a weird thing to ask for? I’ve taken on Starling myself and lost. Twice. I’ve taken on Shadow and Hollowclaw myself and lost. Also twice, if you count that conversation with Steven at F.E.A.S.T.

  Three times, if you count the time he got me handcuffed and almost framed for robbery.

  I should be the one to take them on.

  “Peter, listen,” I say. “I think I’ve got a plan here, but I’m going to need some help.”

  “Anything,” he says, and I know he means it.

  I stand up, take one last glance up at the hideout, and sprint for the edge of the building, taking a running leap off the edge and swinging myself over the city.

  “I need to go back to Harlem for a minute. I think something about my webbing might be able to neutralize these bots. Ganke’s helping me, and I trust him. I just need you to stave off some of these bird-people downtown and keep them from doing as much damage as possible. Do you mind?”

  “Subduing bad guys for a while? Not like it’s my job or anything.”

  I hear the smile in his voice, and I smile back.

  “Thanks, Pete.”

  I don’t know how exactly we’re going to do this yet.

  And I know the odds are not in my favor.

  But I know one thing.

  Whatever happens tonight, I’m not giving up. They can knock me down, they can kick me out the window Starling just crawled through, but I’m not stopping this fight until this city—my city—is safe.

  And human again.

  CHAPTER 15

  AND here I go, swinging back over the whole city of New York, between buildings and over trees and crashed cars and feathered victims of Vulture and Starling’s revenge plot. But my blood is racing in my veins with the urge to fix it—the need to do something. I fling my web up to the top of a power line and around a corner into what I know is the edge of East Harlem, and I hope that wherever my Abuela is, she’s safe. Maybe she chose today for one of her excursions into Jersey for that special rum of hers that you can’t get anywhere in New York. Or maybe she’s stuck on a subway train that’s not running, stuck deep in the tunnels of the MTA. I know she’d be scared down there, and maybe even a little pissed at the thought of having to wait for hours instead of getting home to her slippers and the TV, but at least she’d be out of harm’s way.

  Honestly, I wish I could’ve kept my mom safe in such a place.

  I remember her eyes as she changed—I remember watching the life drain out of them, like someone had turned off a light inside her. I can’t just leave her like that, out there somewhere in New York City, possibly attacking other people, trying to turn them into the very thing she fought to resist.

  With new determination, I swing over parked cars through mostly empty streets, flooded with the streetlights glowing and lighting up the way. After what feels like a little over half an hour, I spot my Abuelita’s apartment and swing into the nearby alley, where I can slip out of this suit under cover of darkness. If any humans are left on this block, I don’t need them looking out their window and seeing Spider-Man swing
through the neighbor’s window and putting together that the neighbor kid is about the same height and build. As I pull my hoodie over my head, toss my backpack over my shoulder, and turn the corner up the staircase to my Abuelita’s door, I spot Ganke sitting in the hallway. He’s sitting criss-cross against the wall with his headphones on, nose just inches away from his phone screen as he scrolls through something apparently very interesting.

  “Hey,” I say. He looks up at me and smiles and pulls his headphones down. “Really? Headphones? With a literal bird raptor apocalypse going on outside? What if one snuck through the window behind you and bit your head off?”

  Ganke glances up at the window like he had no idea it was even there, and then he pushes himself to his feet and smiles at me.

  “Pretty sure they’re more interested in spreading the nanobots to new hosts than actually killing people,” he says, holding the phone out to me. “I’ve been investigating some things. Read this.”

  He pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks my Abuela’s front door. Has he had that ever since helping us with the move yesterday? He must sense me staring, because he glances up at me before he even has the door open.

  “What?” he asks with a shrug. “I was gonna give it back soon.”

  I roll my eyes. This guy really is the brother I never had. Always welcome at my mom’s place, and now my grandma’s, enough to be trusted to hold onto a key for at least a few days. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mom made him a permanent one.

  “Nothing, man,” I chuckle as he swings the door open and we step into the apartment. Smells just as I remember—faintly of old furniture, and memories. I flip on the light switch and the memories of moving all those boxes up the stairs from the moving truck come flooding back, helping my mom unpack her heaviest kitchen equipment.

  “Abuelita?” I call, hoping that I’ll find her here, safe.

  But no answer.

  It seems like so long ago, even though it was literally just the other day. So much can happen in the span of a few days. Including a city-wide raptor bird takeover.

  Ganke must sense my disappointment, because he rests his hand on my shoulder and says, “Sorry, man. I’m sure where she is, she’s safe. You know your mom would make sure that nothing happens to her own mother. The first thing she did was check in with you, right? So I’m sure Abuela is safe too.”