By the time we got back on the bus, half the group was scratching their arms or necks. Spidery little souvenirs, courtesy of Oscorp.
Peter looked pale. Gwen leaned into Miles. Anya wouldn't shut up about how "this proves her destiny." Lyn was trying to pretend she was fine, even though she clearly wasn't. And Harry… poor bastard… was staring out the window like he'd just been kissed by a blender.
Me? I sat very, very still. My pocket felt heavy, even though it only carried one spider—the one I'd trapped earlier. Every instinct screamed at me to chuck it out the window. But logic reminded me that would (a) get me killed faster, and (b) definitely get me killed faster.
Danny Rand kept sneaking glances my way, like he'd seen me do something I shouldn't have. Which, okay, fair. Catching mutant spiders with your hoodie isn't exactly "subtle."
The ride back to Midtown was torture. By the time we unloaded, I knew things were spiraling. The bites weren't random. They were targeted. Peter, Gwen, Cindy, Miles, Harry… all future headline heroes or villains in one form or another.
I forced myself to breathe. Okay, Jake, don't panic. Maybe the spiders are defective. Maybe Oscorp screwed up and all you'll get is a rash.
But the truth was there, staring me in the face: the birth of the Spiders had already begun
Freeze frame. Cue narrator voice again.
So, uh… remember when I said I didn't want to be in the Scope-verse? Yeah. Guess what? The spiders didn't listen. They're biting like Oprah giving out free cars. "You get powers! You get powers! Everybody gets powers!"
Meanwhile, Jake's over here sitting with a hoodie-pocket full of radioactive nightmare fuel. Which, by the way, is about as smart as keeping a live grenade in your underwear.
But hey, don't take my word for it. Just wait until puberty and arachnid DNA start tag-teaming these kids. It's gonna be like Spider Island, except with more hormones. And acne.