As Miguel slipped in and out of consciousness, he became vaguely aware of being dragged along the hallway by some unknown force. It wasn't until he regained some level of lucidity that he realized it was one of your black tendrils wrapped firmly around his ankle.
All around, the sounds of battle echoed - cries of pain and success melding together, only to become silence as you took him deeper into the structure's internal complex.
You hummed softly to yourself, navigating the maze-like corridors with ease while keeping Miguel close at hand
"V-Venom," Miguel managed to croak out, struggling against the paralyzing effects of Scorpion's poison coursing through his veins.
Continuing the journey deeper into the base, you cast a tender gaze upon Miguel. Your voice held a sickly sweet tone, gently whispering words meant for his ears alone.
"We've missed you so much, amor."
Miguel, however, was barely holding on, fighting back waves of nausea caused by the debilitating toxin coursing through his veins. He opened his mouth to respond, but only managed a pitiful moan in reply.
The sudden ceasing of movement rouses Miguel from his drowsy state just enough to notice you stopping in front of a door marked by a prominent medical symbol.
Everything became hazy again as your slimy, black tendrils went to work on breaking through the keypad lock securing entry.
Then, everything went black for Miguel…
~~~~~~~~~~
A low hum gradually filtered into Miguel's awareness, slowly awakening him from unconsciousness. He groggily blinked open his eyes, greeted by a harsh glare emanating from the sterile white ceiling above him.
Disoriented, he soon discovered he lay atop a cold metallic stretcher, rigid and unforgiving beneath him.
Grunting in discomfort, Miguel rolled his head to the side where a tray of medical supplies rested on wheels. Various syringes and vials occupied its surface, suggesting recent use.
Just as Miguel started to relax, a chillingly serene voice invaded his personal space.
"We were worried you wouldn't wake," you said nonchalantly, studying him with such intensity.
Startled, he whipped his head towards the source, finding you perched comfortably on another bed nearby.
Eyes locked onto yours, Miguel felt his blood run cold at your unsettling calmness – unmistakably predatory in nature.
An oppressive silence filled the space between you both, punctuated only by the relentless buzzing of fluorescent lights above.
Unsettling tranquility hung heavy in the air as you leaned forward expectantly, ready to continue your conversation.
"We hope you were dreami-"
However, before you could finish speaking, Miguel sprang into action. In one swift motion, he flung himself off the stretcher, grabbed its metal railing, and hurled the entire thing directly at you with impressive speed.
You remained entirely unfazed by the incoming projectile as long tendrils burst forth from underneath your clothing, effortlessly stopping the stretcher mere inches from your face.
Each individual strand contorted and flexed in unison, crushing and tearing into the metal structure with minimal effort before casting aside remnants like discarded waste material.
As quickly as it had begun, it ended; an eerie stillness hanging in the air.
Miguel was gone.
"Rude."
There was no anger in your tone - simply mild irritation tinged with disappointment.
~~~~~~~~~~
Miguel sprinted through the winding corridors without looking back, every fiber of his being urging him forward. Every muscle screamed in agony as he rounded corners and vaulted obstacles with newfound determination.
Eventually reaching the expansive hub of activity, he observed countless Spider-People working alongside each other, collectively pushing back against an overwhelming tide of evil forces.
Relief washed over him momentarily, replaced almost instantly by renewed determination - finding Spider-Byte and fixing The Go-Home-Machine was now mission critical.
~~~~~~~~~~
Suspended midair via tendrils looped around his neck, Hobgoblin gasped for breath while desperately thrashing around in random directions. His struggles proved futile against your iron grip; eyes bulging in terror as he looked at your calm expression.
You waved a photograph casually under his nose, tapping at the figure of Miguel. Two other figures were captured in the image, but they had been scratched out with sharpie in an erratic way.
"Have you seen him pass by?" You asked sweetly, casually flicking your wrist in a manner that tightened the hold slightly – eliciting a panicked yelp from the trapped villain.
With subtle adjustments to your grip, you allowed enough leeway for Hobgoblin to speak freely without fear of suffocation taking over completely.
His voice trembled as he stammered out his denial. "No, I swear! Never seen him!" He insisted, frantically shaking his head to emphasize sincerity.
You dismissed Hobgoblin's protests with a simple hum, signaling your skepticism but accepting his statement nonetheless.
You released Hobgoblin abruptly, your tendrils flinging him through the air until he collided with a nearby wall with bone-crunching force. Dust clouds rose as he slumped to the ground lifelessly.
Your attention shifted towards another hostage suspended upside down by your tendrils - a Western-style cowboy hat obscuring most of his face save for a pair of terrified eyes peering back at you warily through his red bandana.
"¿Y tú, arañanita?" you queried gently, pulling him closer while pressing the photograph up against his masked face for emphasis.
"Have you seen him?"
Unease etched across his features as he examined the snapshot showing Miguel's likeness within its borders. Despite attempts to hide his recognition behind a facade of stoicism, the slight twitch of his eyebrow revealed the truth.
He knows
"I don't even know who he is," he lied smoothly, maintaining composure despite the racing rhythm drumming through his body like wildfire.
Yet as his gaze met yours, fear gripped him fully as he saw a knowing look reflected in your irises and a faint smile gracing your lips.
You know
"We're in a hurry, so we'll make this quick," you murmured soothingly.
With those final words uttered, two thick tendrils snaked their way around his skull, muffling any protest that lingered on his tongue thereafter.
Within moments, the helpless cowboy found himself engulfed in complete darkness due to your suffocating grasp covering his face entirely.
His muffled cries grew louder but ultimately faded into the air of the isolated area.
