(ITB) ISSUE #2: UNEASY ALLIANCE

Miles didn’t know what else to do.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how to get back. He didn’t even know what time it was, or if time even moved the same way here—his phone had no signal, and the skyline looked like it hadn’t seen a clean lightbulb in twenty years.

And more than anything, he didn’t want to sleep on a sidewalk.

So he followed her.

That didn't mean he liked following people.

He’d done it before—on patrol, shadowing crooks or watching over someone from a distance. But this wasn’t that. Not really.

The bug girl—she hadn’t given a name yet—had saved him from being stabbed. Or maybe he’d saved her. The details were fuzzy, the adrenaline and exhaustion dulling the memory. What stuck out though was the way she’d stood there after, mask damp with sweat, bugs crawling around her like a second skin. Young. Alone. Determined.

And very clearly not okay.

So here he was, crouched three stories up, watching her slink through an alley with the same tense shoulders as earlier.

He felt weird about it. Kinda like being the creepy guy from a horror movie. But also like… what else was he supposed to do?

He had no money. No Peter. No portal watch. So he stuck to the rooftops. Followed her subtly. Well, he tried to follow her subtly, using his webs to move fast and quiet. And told himself, Just tonight. Just to make sure she doesn’t get killed or something.

But she noticed.

Of course she noticed.

It was the bugs. They buzzed through the air like a second layer of wind, brushing past his suit, crawling over window ledges, trailing behind him like a living alarm system.

He didn’t even make it two blocks before she turned into an alley and vanished from sight.

Then a low drone filled his ears, and something flitted past his shoulder. Then another. Then a hundred.

He spun—just as she stepped out of the dark behind him.

“You’ve got five seconds,” she said, voice low and arms crossed, “to explain why you’re following me.”

Miles raised his hands instinctively. “Okay. Okay! Not creepy, I swear.”

He took a breath, trying to slow the words before they spilled all over themselves. It didn't work. 

“I just… look, I’m not trying to be weird. I just… I don’t know where I am. I don’t even know what this place is. But you are the only person I know here. And you don't seem like the type to rob me, stab me, or force me to eat—I don’t know!—drywall.”

Her stance didn't change, and the bugs still circled lazily at the edge of his awareness. 

“So, yeah, I figured you knew what you were doing and could help me out.”

A beat passed as he panted slightly. 

Then:

“So you stalked me.” Her mask caught the rooftop’s edge light, yellow lenses glinting faintly. 

“I shadowed you. Very different. I stayed high.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Yeah, fair. But seriously, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He took a step back, giving her space. “I don’t have a map, or food, or… anywhere to crash. I figured I’d stick close, just for tonight. Then I’ll figure something out.”

She didn’t answer right away. 

“I thought you had a train to catch.”

“That was a lie,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But trust me, I’m working on getting back. Just need to get my… bearing first.”

Finally, she exhaled. “Fine. But if you get in my way—”

“I won’t.” He hesitated. “Promise.”

She turned without replying, and Miles hurried to catch up to her. 

His attempt to break the ensuing silence was lacklustre: 

“You can be terrifying when you want to be, you know…”

Eventually they found something—three Merchants tearing open the back of a pharmacy truck under a busted streetlamp, laughing and shouting over the hiss of escaping gas canisters.

The girl moved without a word.

Bugs surged from the surrounding area to converge upon the gang members. Mosquitoes. Beetles. Hornets—anything and everything was fair game. One of the Merchants tripped, screaming as some slipped under his collar, tagging his skin. Another fell, clawing at his eyes.

Miles winced. That had to be traumatizing.

One of the men tried to run. Miles shot forward, webbed his legs together, and yanked him off his feet.

By the time the last one was unconscious, the others were down—gagging, twitching, sobbing, or all at once.

Miles landed beside her. “Uh… that seemed a little much.”

“They’re drug dealers. You said you wanted to help.”

“I’m not saying let them go, I’m just saying maybe don’t drown them in bugs?”

“They’ll live.”

“That’s not the point.” He gestured toward the man crying into his sleeve. “We don’t need to scar them for life.”

“They won’t be scarred.”

“Mentally!”

She gave him a long look, unreadable behind the mask. “You’re used to different rules.”

“Yeah. Rules like: don’t become the very thing you’re fighting,” he said, running a hand over his head. “Not saying you shouldn't use your bugs, but just dial it back a bit. Okay?”

The girl didn’t respond, but her bugs receded slowly from them.

They tied the men up with. Miles watched her work in silence—efficient, methodical, and way too calm. She moved like someone who had done this before, not someone fumbling through her first nights in a half-finished costume. Not like before. 

Had she just let him think it was her first time? Or was this the real version—the one she kept buried under layers of nerves and masks and bugs?

Whatever the truth was, it didn’t sit right.

Afterward, they lingered near a ruined bus stop. The bench had caved in, wood splintered and half-swallowed by weeds. The metal frame above it loomed like broken wings, glass panes spiderwebbed with cracks or missing entirely.

Miles glanced down and spotted a half-used spray paint can rolling lazily near the curb. He picked it up, shook it. Still some life in it.

Then, he stepped up to one of the remaining glass panels and, after a second of thought, sprayed a clean red spider emblem across it—stylized, bold, its curling legs sharp against the filth and ruin.

The girl stood back with her arms crossed, watching. “What’s that for?”

“A signal of sorts. If someone I know ends up here, maybe they’ll see it.”

She scoffed. “That’s gonna last five minutes before someone paints over it with a swastika.”

Miles blinked, startled. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

Her voice was flat. “Welcome to Brockton Bay.”

Damn. 

He looked at the spider. Thought of Gwen. Pavitr. Hobie. People who’d know that mark. 

Maybe one of them would find it.

Maybe it wouldn’t last.

But maybe someone would see it before it vanished.

“Maybe five minute’s all someone needs,” he said quietly.

The girl didn’t answer.

But she didn’t walk away either.