Sol came back to consciousness the way you surface from a nightmare—fast, violent, and confused.
Cold air. Brick smell. Judy's hands on his face. Her voice doing that thing where it tries to sound calm and fails.
"Sol—hey—Sol, look at me. Blink. Don't you dare die on me, I swear to—"
He blinked.
The world snapped into focus in jagged pieces: the alley light buzzing above them, the trash bags shining with rain, Judy's wide eyes, and the sick little twin dots on his wrist.
He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.
His stomach lurched. His head throbbed. Everything was too loud—cars, wind, distant sirens, the blood rushing in his own ears like a drumline.
"I'm… I'm up," he croaked.
Judy exhaled so hard it was basically a prayer. "Oh thank God."
Sol swallowed, throat raw from the mist. "How long was I out?"
Judy looked at her phone. "Two minutes. Three. Something like that."
Sol stared at his hands again, like they might start floating. "I— I passed out."
"You collapsed like a fainting Victorian," Judy snapped, then softened when she saw his face. "Sorry. I'm… I'm scared."
Sol laughed once, bitter and shaky. "Yeah. Same."
He tried to stand.
His body stood like it had been waiting for permission.
No wobble. No dizziness. The headache stayed, but his legs felt… spring-loaded. Like he'd been running on a bad battery his whole life and someone had just swapped it for a brand-new one.
Judy noticed. "Okay. That's creepy."
Sol took one step, then another. His balance was perfect. Too perfect. He could *feel* the ground through his shoes—tiny pebbles, cracks, the slope of the alley.
He hated it.
"Okay," Judy whispered, grabbing his sleeve. "We are leaving. Right now. Before they—"
A distant sound carried on the wind.
Not sirens.
Not traffic.
A low mechanical whir, like a drone.
Sol's skin prickled again—same feeling as in the lab, the warning itch under his ribs.
He didn't know how, but he knew—
"Down," he hissed.
Judy blinked. "What?"
"DOWN."
They dropped behind a dumpster just as a small quadcopter drifted past the mouth of the alley, its camera eye sweeping side to side like a hunting animal.
Judy pressed a hand over her mouth.
Sol stared at it, heart banging.
The drone hovered, then glided away.
Judy whispered, barely audible, "Helix doesn't use drones for *rats*."
Sol's mouth went dry.
He could feel his pulse in his wrists. Right where those puncture marks were.
A new sensation bloomed there, too—tightness. Pressure. Like someone had filled his forearms with carbonated water.
He flexed his fingers and winced.
Judy noticed. "What is that?"
Sol whispered, "My wrists feel like they're about to… pop."
Judy's eyes flicked to his palm, then to his wrist. "Sol. Don't tell me the myth is real."
Sol whispered back, "I don't want it to be."
Judy's grip tightened. "Okay. We do a plan. Step one: you get home alive. Step two: we pretend nothing happened. Step three: we panic later."
Sol nodded because he couldn't think of anything better.
They ran, keeping to side streets, cutting between fences and backyards like the city itself was holding its breath with them. Judy kept checking behind them.
Sol didn't need to.
He could *feel* the shape of the night now. The angles. The open spaces. The places danger could come from.
It was like his brain had installed a map overlay labeled: **BAD IDEA ZONES.**
They reached Sol's block.
His apartment building sat above a corner store with flickering signage and a busted vending machine that had been "out of order" since the Obama administration.
A light was on in their window.
Sol felt a punch of guilt.
"Mom's up," he muttered.
Judy whispered, "You text her?"
Sol pulled his phone out with shaking fingers. Another text waited.
**Don't make me come find you, Solomon.**
His mom only used his full name when she was about to become a thunderstorm.
"I'm dead," he said.
Judy looked up at the window, then back at him. "No. You're not. You're… weirdly not dead. Which is a different problem."
They moved to the stairwell entrance.
Sol reached for the handle—
And stopped.
His palm tingled.
He stared at the metal bar.
Then—like he'd done it a thousand times—he put his hand on it and pulled.
The door opened.
Normally.
Not ripped. Not bent.
Judy frowned. "So you can choose when you Hulk doors?"
Sol hissed, "Stop calling it that."
Judy held up both hands. "Sorry. Sorry. It's just—this is insane."
They climbed the stairs quietly, shoes soft on old concrete. Sol's heart pounded harder the closer they got.
Because no villain, no drone, no secret lab—none of it scared him like disappointing his mom.
They reached the apartment door.
Sol didn't get a chance to knock.
It opened so fast it almost hit him.
His mother stood there in leggings and an old work hoodie, hair wrapped up, face tight with fury and relief.
"Solomon Smith," she said, voice low and dangerous, "where have you—"
Her eyes dropped to his face.
The scrapes. The grime. The streak of dried blood at his wrist.
Her anger broke like glass.
"Oh my God," she breathed, grabbing his shoulders. "Baby—what happened? Are you hurt? Are you—"
"I'm fine," Sol lied automatically.
His mom's eyes narrowed like she could smell dishonesty on him.
Judy stepped forward fast, voice high and practiced. "Mrs. Smith, I'm so sorry—this is my fault—"
Marcia's gaze snapped to Judy, then back to Sol. "Judy? What are you doing here?"
Judy's brain moved at the speed of panic. "We were—uh—studying."
Marcia stared.
Judy added, "Outside."
Marcia stared harder.
Judy said, "At night."
Marcia's expression turned into the exact face she made when the microwave lied about being done. "Girl."
Sol cut in, hoarse, "We got jumped."
That part was close enough to truth to wear the disguise.
Marcia's hand flew to her mouth. "Jumped? Where?"
"On the way back," Sol said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Some dudes. They ran off."
Marcia scanned him like she was checking for missing pieces. "You need the ER."
"I don't," Sol insisted. "I swear. I'm okay. I'm just—tired."
"Tired?" Marcia repeated, like she'd never heard the word in her life.
From the couch inside, a small voice called out: "Sol?"
Nia appeared in the hallway, wearing fuzzy socks and a too-big T-shirt, eyes squinting with sleep. Then she saw Sol's face.
Her eyes widened.
"Did you get in a fight?" she whispered, like it was Christmas.
Sol tried to smile. It came out crooked. "No."
Nia immediately pointed. "That's a lie. Your face is doing the liar thing."
Marcia shot Sol a look that said: *even the child knows you're lying.*
Judy backed away slowly. "I should go."
Marcia didn't take her eyes off Sol. "No, you shouldn't. You're staying until I know what happened."
Judy froze like she'd been caught by a freeze-ray.
Sol's stomach sank.
Marcia turned slightly, raising her voice. "Nia, go get the first aid kit."
Nia saluted like a soldier. "Yes, ma'am." Then she leaned in close to Sol as she passed and whispered, delighted, "If you got powers, I'm telling everybody."
Sol whispered back, horrified, "You don't know anything."
Nia smirked. "I know your face. It's the same face you made when you broke the sink and blamed 'the pipes.'"
Sol's mom guided him to the kitchen chair like she was handling a wounded animal. Judy hovered by the counter, hands clasped, looking like she'd rather face the Helix rifle guy again than Marcia Smith's parenting stare.
Marcia cleaned the scrapes on Sol's cheek with the kind of gentle anger that hurt worse than anything.
Sol didn't flinch.
Not because he was tough.
Because it didn't really hurt.
And that scared him more than the pain would've.
Marcia dabbed his wrist. The puncture marks were still visible.
Her brow furrowed. "What is that?"
Sol's throat tightened. "Just… something. Maybe a nail. Or—"
Marcia stared at him. "A nail did that?"
Judy made a noise that might've been a cough or a guilty sound.
Marcia looked at Judy. Judy immediately looked at the ceiling like the ceiling had answers.
Nia returned with the kit and leaned on the counter, watching like this was her favorite show.
Marcia's voice softened. "Sol. I need you to tell me the truth."
Sol opened his mouth.
And the truth piled up behind his teeth like a wall.
*Mom, I broke into a corporate lab and got bitten by a weapon-spider and now I can rip doors off hinges and I think a drone is hunting me and I might be turning into an urban legend.*
He swallowed it all.
"I got scared," he said instead. "We ran. I fell."
Marcia held his gaze.
Her eyes were tired. The kind of tired that came from carrying a family alone and still smiling anyway.
She sighed, long and shaky. "Okay. Okay." She cleaned the last cut, then put a hand on his head, pulling him down until his forehead rested against her stomach like he was little again.
"Don't scare me like that," she murmured, voice breaking just a little. "I can't—Sol, I can't lose you."
Sol's chest tightened.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. And this time it wasn't a lie.
Judy's phone buzzed.
She flinched so hard she nearly dropped it.
Marcia looked up. "Who is that?"
Judy stared at the screen, face going pale.
Sol saw the name.
**MOM**
Judy's mom.
Judy swallowed. "Uh… I should answer."
Marcia's eyes narrowed. "Put it on speaker."
Judy looked like she'd been told to walk into traffic.
Sol's spider-sense—he was starting to think of it that way, because what else could it be—tingled again. Like warning bells under his skin.
He whispered, "Judy… don't."
But Judy, trapped by Marcia's authority, tapped accept.
Dr. Ward's voice came through, tight and controlled. "Judith. Where are you."
Judy's voice cracked. "Hi, Mom."
A pause. Heavy. Dangerous.
Dr. Ward: "I asked where you are."
Judy looked at Sol. Looked at Marcia. Looked at Nia, who was watching like she had popcorn.
Judy tried, "I'm… at Sol's."
Another pause.
Dr. Ward: "Put him on."
Sol's stomach fell.
Judy mouthed, *sorry*, and held the phone toward him.
Sol took it, forcing his voice steady. "Hello, Dr. Ward."
A quiet inhale on the other end.
Then: "Did you go into the building."
Sol didn't answer.
That silence was answer enough.
Dr. Ward's voice turned sharp with fear. "Solomon. Listen to me very carefully. If you went into Project Arachne—if you got into that lab—you need to tell me right now."
Marcia's face snapped up. "Project what?"
Judy made a strangled noise.
Sol's heart thumped. "Dr. Ward—"
"Tell me," Dr. Ward demanded, and there was something behind her voice that wasn't just anger. It was terror. "Were you bitten."
Sol's hand tightened around the phone.
Marcia stood up slowly. "What did she just say."
Nia's eyes went huge. "Oh my God. He got bit by a spider. Like in the movies."
Sol hissed, "Nia—"
Dr. Ward's voice, low and shaking: "Solomon."
The pressure in Sol's wrists surged again—hot and tight and wrong.
He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes."
The room went silent.
Marcia's hand flew to her mouth again. "Bitten by what?"
Dr. Ward's voice went deadly calm. "Okay. Okay. No, listen—don't panic. Don't—" She stopped, as if choosing her next words very carefully. "You cannot go to a hospital."
Marcia's eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
Dr. Ward's voice snapped, still controlled but urgent. "Mrs. Smith—if he goes to a hospital, Helix will find him. If his blood gets tested—if it gets flagged—"
Marcia's voice rose, furious now. "Helix will find my child? What is Helix? What did you do?"
Dr. Ward swallowed audibly. "I didn't do this to him. I didn't *want* this. But it happened, and now we have to be smart."
Sol's spider-sense buzzed again, sharper.
His gaze snapped to the window.
Nothing outside.
But he felt watched anyway.
Dr. Ward continued, voice quick. "Solomon, I need you to stay inside tomorrow. Do not go to school. Do not go out. Do not—"
Marcia cut her off, voice shaking with rage. "You don't get to tell us what to do. You put my son in danger—"
Dr. Ward's voice broke, just for half a second. "I know."
That tiny crack silenced Marcia more than shouting would've.
Dr. Ward whispered, "I know. And I'm sorry."
Then her voice hardened again, fear back in it. "Judy. You too. Stay there. Lock the door. If anyone knocks—anyone—you call me and you call the police."
Judy's voice trembled. "Mom… what's happening?"
Dr. Ward: "They're going to look for you."
Sol's blood ran cold.
Marcia whispered, "Who?"
Dr. Ward answered quietly, like the name itself was a curse.
"Helix Containment."
The call ended.
Judy stared at her phone like it had just bitten her too.
Marcia turned to Sol slowly, expression unreadable.
Nia whispered, starry-eyed, "This is the coolest and worst thing that's ever happened."
Sol wanted to laugh.
He wanted to cry.
Instead he said, very softly, "Mom, I didn't mean—"
Marcia held up a hand.
"Don't," she said, voice trembling. "Don't try to fix it with words. Not right now."
She pointed to the hallway. "Go to your room. Both of you."
Judy flinched. "Me too?"
Marcia gave her a look. "Yes, you too. Because if I look at you any longer, I'm going to start yelling and I don't want to yell at a child who looks like she might throw up."
Judy whispered, "Fair."
Sol stood.
And the chair scraped back—
Except Sol hadn't moved it.
The chair slid away on its own like it was repelled by him, legs squealing on tile.
Sol froze.
Judy froze.
Nia whispered, delighted, "Poltergeist powers too?!"
Sol's mom inhaled slowly, like she was gripping her soul with both hands. "Room. Now."
Sol and Judy retreated down the hall like soldiers being sent to the principal's office.
Sol shut his bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
Judy looked around his room—posters, laundry basket, a stack of comic books on the desk like they were evidence of his nerd crimes.
She whispered, "Sol…"
He whispered back, "Yeah."
Judy's eyes were bright with fear. "We are so screwed."
Sol tried to laugh.
It came out as a short, broken sound.
His wrists pulsed again—hot pressure, building.
He pressed his palms to his eyes. "Why do my arms feel like soda bottles."
Judy blinked. "That's… a sentence."
Sol lowered his hands.
His palms were sticky.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
He looked down.
Thin, translucent strands clung between his fingers—like sugar threads, like spider silk.
Sol's stomach dropped through the floor.
Judy stared, frozen.
Sol whispered, "No."
The pressure surged again and something *shifted* under his skin near his wrists, like tiny muscles flexing that weren't supposed to exist.
Sol's spider-sense lit up—
Not danger from outside.
Danger from himself.
He flung his hands away from his face instinctively.
And his body did something it had never done before.
A thick, pale strand fired from his right wrist with a wet *thwp*, slamming into his ceiling and sticking like it was welded.
Sol froze, arm still extended.
Judy's jaw dropped. "Oh my God."
Sol stared up at the ceiling. At the web strand. At the fact that it was real.
"Okay," Sol whispered, voice shaking, "I officially hate everything."
Judy stepped closer, eyes wide like a kid at a science museum and a horror movie at the same time. "Do it again."
Sol snapped his head toward her. "DO IT AGAIN?"
Judy pointed at his wrist like it was a new iPhone feature. "Sol. You just—like—*thwipped*."
Sol blinked. "I did not thwip."
"You absolutely thwipped."
Sol tried to retract his arm.
The web didn't retract.
Because it wasn't a gadget.
It was him.
Sol's face drained. "How do I—how do I turn it off?"
Judy reached for the strand, then stopped herself. "No touching. Remember? That was our rule."
Sol stared at her. "Our rules got murdered in the lab."
Judy swallowed. "Okay. Okay. We think. Spiders… silk glands. It's biological. You probably have—"
Sol cut her off. "Don't explain it like it's normal."
Judy's voice softened. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to not freak out."
Sol laughed once, sharp. "I'm freaking out enough for both of us."
He grabbed the strand with his left hand and pulled, trying to rip it off the ceiling.
It didn't budge.
He pulled harder.
The ceiling creaked.
Sol panicked and let go immediately.
Judy hissed, "Bro—your mom will kill you if you pull the ceiling down."
Sol whispered, "My mom is already halfway to murder."
Judy looked at the web. "Okay. It's strong. That means—Sol, you can do a lot with that."
Sol stared at his wrist, at the faint puncture marks that had started all of this.
"Or," he muttered, "it means I'm a walking biohazard."
Judy's face tightened. "Don't say that."
Sol's spider-sense buzzed again.
Sharp.
Outside threat this time.
He turned his head toward the window.
He couldn't see anything through the blinds.
But he *felt* it.
Like eyes.
Like a presence.
Judy noticed his change. "What?"
Sol whispered, "Someone's outside."
Judy's eyes widened. "How do you know?"
"I don't know, I just—" Sol swallowed. "I just know."
He moved to the window carefully, pulling the blinds down a fraction.
Across the street, under the streetlight, a black SUV sat parked like it belonged there.
Except it didn't.
Not on this block.
Not this late.
Two figures sat inside, silhouettes. One lifted something—binoculars? A camera?
Sol's stomach dropped.
He backed away from the window.
Judy whispered, "Sol—what is it?"
Sol's voice came out thin. "They're here."
Judy's face went pale. "Helix?"
Sol nodded.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Not a neighbor knock.
Not a casual knock.
Three firm hits, perfectly spaced. Like authority.
Marcia's voice called from the living room, tight and controlled. "Who is it?"
A man's voice answered, calm and too polite.
"Ma'am, we're looking for Solomon Smith. We have reason to believe he may have been exposed to a hazardous substance tonight. We're here to help."
Sol felt the world narrow into a tunnel.
Judy whispered, terrified, "That's not help voice. That's 'we own you' voice."
Sol's wrists pulsed again—hot pressure, adrenaline reacting like gasoline.
Another knock. Sharper.
"Ma'am," the man said, still calm, "please open the door."
Marcia's voice rose, fierce. "My son is asleep. It's late. Come back tomorrow with a warrant."
A pause.
Then the man's voice—still polite, but colder now.
"We don't need one."
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
The doorknob downstairs turned.
Hard.
Metal groaned.
Marcia shouted, "NIA—GET BACK!"
Nia yelled, offended, "I AM BACK!"
Sol's heart slammed.
Judy grabbed his arm. "Sol—window. Now."
Sol stared at the web strand still stuck to his ceiling.
His brain connected dots fast.
Web.
Window.
Escape.
He swallowed hard. "I don't know how to swing."
Judy barked, "Then don't swing! Just *get out*!"
Downstairs, the door shrieked under pressure.
Sol moved on instinct.
He yanked the web strand, not down—but sideways, snapping his wrist like throwing a ball.
The strand peeled from the ceiling with a loud *rip* and whipped across the room like a living rope.
Sol aimed his wrist at the window and—
*THWP.*
A fresh web line shot out, slamming into the window frame and sticking.
Judy stared. "Oh my God you're a superhero."
Sol grimaced. "I'm a disaster."
He grabbed Judy's hand.
Judy's eyes widened. "Wait—me too?"
Sol hissed, "You're not staying here!"
Judy sputtered, "Your mom will—"
Sol said, "My mom will survive. If they get me, she won't."
He didn't wait for permission.
He yanked the window up.
Cold air rushed in.
Streetlight spilled across his room.
Downstairs, something *cracked*.
The front door giving way.
Marcia screamed, "STOP!"
Sol's spider-sense detonated with warning.
He didn't think.
He climbed through the window onto the narrow exterior ledge.
And his feet stuck.
The brick grabbed him like gravity had changed its mind.
Judy climbed after him, shaking, whispering, "I hate everything."
Sol whispered back, "Welcome to my life."
A voice downstairs shouted, "CONTACT!"
Boots thundered.
Sol looked down.
If he hesitated even a second—
They were done.
He aimed his wrist at the building across the alley.
His forearm tightened like a muscle cramp.
Pressure built.
He flicked his hand—
*THWP.*
The web line shot, anchored to something solid, and Sol felt it go taut.
His stomach flipped.
This was the part in the videos where Spider-Man did it like he was born for it.
Sol was not born for it.
Sol was a kid in sweatpants with fear in his mouth like metal.
He grabbed Judy around the waist with one arm—firm, protective, no hesitation—and stepped off the ledge.
Judy's scream ripped out of her like a siren.
Sol's body dropped—
Then swung.
The web line held.
Hard.
Like a steel cable.
The pull nearly ripped his shoulder out of its socket, pain flaring bright, but he didn't let go.
He swung across the alley in a messy arc and slammed into the opposite wall feet-first, half-catching himself like a panicked cat.
Judy clung to him like she had become a scarf.
Sol gasped, "Okay—okay—okay—"
Judy screamed into his shoulder, "I'M GOING TO DIE!"
Sol whispered, "Not if you stop yelling!"
They clung to the wall.
Actually clung.
Like it was normal.
Sol's mind broke a little at that.
Then footsteps reached his window behind them.
A man leaned out, scanning the alley.
He wore black tactical gear with a small Helix logo on the shoulder. His eyes were flat.
He saw Sol.
Saw Judy.
And his hand went to his radio.
Sol's spider-sense screamed again.
Sol yanked another web line, aiming higher this time—roofline, fire escape, anything.
*THWP.*
The line anchored.
Sol hauled himself upward, dragging Judy with him.
His muscles should've burned.
They didn't.
Not like they should.
They reached the roof edge, scrambling onto gravel and tar.
Judy collapsed immediately, gasping, "Okay—okay—that's… that's… I'm never skipping leg day again."
Sol didn't laugh.
He was staring back at his building.
Down below, he saw his mom at the broken door—standing between Nia and the men like she was a shield made of rage.
Marcia Smith, five-foot-something and fearless, shouting at armed strangers like they were disrespectful customers.
Sol's chest ached.
His spider-sense buzzed with helplessness.
He whispered, "Mom…"
Judy crawled closer, eyes wet. "Sol… we can't go back."
Sol knew.
He hated it.
A man stepped out onto Sol's rooftop from the stairwell access—like he'd anticipated them.
He wasn't Helix security.
He was something else.
Bigger. Calmer. Wearing a dark jacket, no logo, hands bare.
His eyes locked onto Sol like Sol was a number on a clipboard.
"Solomon Smith," he said, voice conversational. "You're a hard kid to find."
Sol's blood turned to ice.
Judy whispered, "Who is that."
Sol didn't know.
But every instinct in his body screamed the same message:
**This one is worse.**
The man smiled faintly.
"You can call me Mr. Crane," he said. "And I'm here to bring you in before you hurt yourself… or someone else."
Sol lifted his hands slowly, palms out.
Web strands clung between his fingers, trembling.
He forced a shaky quip out of his mouth, because fear was trying to swallow him whole and humor was the only weapon he had.
"Okay," Sol said, voice tight, "quick question—do you guys have, like, a membership card? Because a lot of people keep showing up to ruin my night."
Mr. Crane's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"That's the spirit," he said softly. "Now come with me."
Sol's wrists throbbed with pressure.
His spider-sense screamed.
And somewhere deep inside him, something answered back—raw instinct, hungry and protective.
Sol's fingers curled.
And the first real fight of his new life began.