(ITB) ISSUE #1: COLLISION COURSE

The world glitched.

It wasn’t the dramatic kind—no sparks, no thunder, no collapsing buildings. Just wrongness. Like stepping off a curb you didn’t know was there, only to find gravity worked differently.

One second, Miles Morales was hurtling through dimensional space, chased by a kaleidoscope of color and glitching geometry. The next, the glowing multiversal gateway twisted—once, twice—and spat him out like a bad thought.

The city below was not New York.

He didn’t know that yet. Not really.

The rain hit first—colder, angrier than Brooklyn drizzle. Buildings rushed up to meet him, their rooftops flat and ugly under yellow-orange streetlights. He twisted mid-air, fired a web at the nearest ledge, and yanked himself sideways into a wild roll just before hitting concrete.

The landing wasn’t clean, but he’d had worse, and it was enough to keep him from getting hurt. He came to a halt on his knees, breathing hard.

“Okay,” Miles muttered, panting behind his mask. “Not dead. That’s something.”

He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around. Something felt wrong. The skyline didn’t match. Too few lights. Too many gaps. The city breathed differently—heavier. And his Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped tingling since the moment he fell in.

Not screaming, but uneasy. That’s the word for it—uneasy.

He kept moving as he scanned the environments again, boots scraping against the wet rooftop, searching for something familiar. Anything to tell him he wasn’t completely lost. Buildings slumped against each other like they’d given up. Windows were boarded or shattered, and the streetlights flickered like they were afraid to shine too bright.

And there. A neon sign shone dimly three blocks over: a noodle shop, maybe.

“Brooklyn?” he asked out loud.

No answer. The city didn’t seem interested in explaining itself.

Miles edged toward the rooftop’s ledge and looked down. Narrow streets. Rusted cars. Cracks in the pavement so deep they looked fossilized. To the side, he spotted a pair of men lingering in an alley—tattoos, knives, matching color schemes.

They didn’t look like ordinary muggers. They looked like something worse, part of something bigger.

Then he saw her.

A figure in black—hooded, masked—was crouched behind a dumpster, watching the men. Not moving. Not breathing loudly enough to be heard, but clearly tensed.

Miles squinted. Was she another Spider-person? No. There was no instant connection between them, like there had been between him and the others. But something about the way the bugs gathered around her struck Miles as odd. Antithetical. They weren’t just swarming—they were waiting. Crawling across the concrete, fluttered in the air, but remaining near her. 

He blinked. “Okay. Weird.”

Then one of the thugs turned toward her hiding place, knife raised.

Before Miles could move, the girl struck first.

A burst of insects—flies, wasps, beetles—exploded from the alley’s shadows and surged into the attackers. One man screamed and flailed, swatting at the insects swarming around his face with increasing desperation. The other with the knife stumbled back, but didn’t fall.

The girl moved then. She didn’t spring—didn’t leap with the smooth grace Miles was used to seeing in the other heroes. Instead, she grabbed a plank of wood from the alley floor and swung it at the nearest thug. Her timing was off—her strike a second too slow, too telegraphed. But the strike still made contact, and the thug reeled back.

But he didn’t go down.

He recovered quickly, saw her coming again, and raised his knife.

Miles wasn’t about to let her handle this alone.

He dropped from the rooftop, web-shooters thwipping mid-air, catching the edge of the alley and swinging low. His feet landed hard in the thug’s chest, sending him slamming into the wall. The guy dropped, unconscious.

The girl spun, backing up fast. Her bugs stilled. She was breathing hard—no, panting—and her hand tightened on her makeshift weapon like she might use it on him next.

“Whoa, hey, I’m not with them!” Miles said quickly, raising both hands, palms out. “Just helping!”

She didn’t lower the plank.

“You followed me,” she said, voice muffled behind the mask.

“No! I swear. I—uh—just happened to be in the neighborhood. Kinda new in town.” 

She tilted her head. “This is ABB territory. People don’t just ‘drop by.’”

“I… yeah, I kinda did. Long story.” He took a careful step back, giving her space. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond immediately. The bugs buzzed again, but this time, they hovered in uncertainty. Finally, she nodded, a small, tight motion.

“I had it under control,” she muttered, but the way her voice caught in the air told him it wasn’t true. She was shaken. 

“Totally. I just… didn’t want to see someone get stabbed their first night out.”

That made her freeze. “How do you—”

“I saw the way you moved. The lack of training and experience. The bugs were impressive though. Really creepy. In a good way. Like… strategic creepy?”

She stared at him, clearly not sure if he was making fun of her or not.

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m new at this too. Sort of.”

“You didn't act new,” she asked, voice flat. 

“I’ve had practice. Different city. Different… rules.” Miles gave her a grin, though he wasn’t sure how reassuring it could be if it wasn't seen.

She was still obviously tense. Paranoid. But also curious.

Miles considered saying more. About the glitch. About falling between worlds. He wanted to know where he was. But the words stuck in his throat. Maybe he was still on edge from fighting people that were meant to be his variants, but he couldn't trust her with such information, no matter how heroically inclined she seemed. And this girl—whoever she was—looked like the type who didn’t trust anyone.

Maybe not even herself.

“Well,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks for not siccing the bugs on me.”

A pause.

“I still might,” she said. But her voice had softened.

Miles smiled behind the mask. “Fair enough.”

Another silence, this one lighter. The sirens in the distance broke it minutes later, growing louder.

“I should go,” she said, turning her head in the direction of the noise. 

“Yeah, me too,” Miles muttered. “Got a—uh—train to catch.” He winced at the lie as it didn’t make sense, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

She hesitated for a moment. Then, more quietly: “You’re not from around here.”

“Nope.”

“You gonna stick around?”

Miles didn’t answer right away. The sky above them was low and gray, pressing down like the city itself didn’t want to be seen.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, though he shifted uncomfortably. “Depends on if I can find my way back.”

Another pause.

“Good luck,” she said, already retreating into the shadows.

“You too… bug girl.”

She didn’t correct him. But as she turned to disappear into the darkness, a swarm of flies zipped past his head, brushing against him like a final warning. Then, she was gone.

Miles watched her go, then turned toward the rooftop he’d landed on, heart still hammering.

Definitely not Brooklyn.

So where the hell was he?