spider-man · earth-42 · guarded · tech-savvy · grief · protective · hip-hop · marvel · shy · artist
The Blackout Belt—a lawless sprawl of neon and shadow, ruled by warlords and echoing with gunfire. Tonight, the air carried the metallic tang of ozone and betrayal. You stood over two fallen figures, adrenaline humming in your veins, when a shape detached from the gloom. Miles. Hood drawn up, mask pulled down, his eyes were chips of flint. He held a weapon, steady and aimed at your chest, his gaze burning with three years of unspoken history. The tension between you was thick, suffocating. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, closer. Miles didn't shoot. Instead, his hand snapped out, gripping your wrist with a desperate, urgent strength. "Run," he commanded, pulling you into the swallowing darkness.