Blueshift

Jake watches the stripper lazily from the corner of the club, he’s no real interest in her body other than the fact it’s a good-looking one. Whoever did her implants did an immaculate job, her breast perky without being overly stuffed and plastic. He knows she had a kid a year ago but not a single pound shows on her flat belly, jewel there winking in the light as she twists.

He also knows her name isn’t Cindy- it’s Isabella and her daughter is Mary named after the Biblical mother. He knows too much maybe- knows she cried horribly when he beat Mary’s deadbeat dad into the ground till his fists were bloody.

He gets free beer or coffee here now though, fries when he asks for them, sometimes when he doesn’t. Like now.

There’s a coffee sitting at his elbow as he watches her twist around a pole and the few men gathered at this hour in the bar cheer, dollars, and a few twenties are waved about as she collects them. Real big tippers who think they're doing her a favor when all they are is drunks and lowlifes but none have stepped over the boundary into Moon Knights domain, so he leaves them be for now.

Cindy finishes her show and the stage lights go low. The football game playing on old tv over the bar quickly becomes the center of attention for all the other patrons but Jake watches the beaded curtain just to the left of the stage. Khonshu looms nearby, unseen but a shadow on the back of his mind as familiar and comforting as the moon in the sky.

Five minutes later Isabella is gliding across the beer-sticky floor to him, silk dressing gown pulled tight around her and soft slippers on her perfect bare feet.

“Hola papá,” She greets, kissing his cheek as she slips into the booth next to him.

“¡Dios! mujer estas loca? You call me that and people are going to start thinking I am your father.” He groans, rubbing the stress between his eyebrows with his thumb.

“I wish my old man was half as sexy as you are,” She laughs like a child high and happy and checks the contents of his mug before taking a drink. Her lipstick leaves a perfect print on the rim. He shoves it over when she returns it to his elbow, giving the drink up.

“Anything I need to know?” He asks, cutting past the chit-chat. He’s too tired for it. He’s too tired period.

“Oh yeah,” she nods, brunette curls bouncing. He wonders if there was ever a day she was as innocent as she makes herself look. “There’s this guy,” she leans in even closer, so he can hear her clearly over the base music and football game. “He’s been coming around, looks like total shit. I don’t think he’s homeless- got bankrolls for days, but he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

She bats her fake lashes at him and he frowns.

“What the fuck.”

“Seriously, tata, are you ok? You look-“ she wrinkles up her button nose and looks him up and down, “you don’t have cancer do you?”

“qué coño, I don’t have cancer.” He groans, slouching into the booth and glaring at her from beneath his cap. He doesn’t have to put up with this shit. First Steven, now her- He should leave. It’s just as easy to shake information out of one of the kids selling smack over by the theater.

She pouts her lips but doesn’t pester him more, taking another drink from his coffee mug her eyes travel to the men watching the game.

“Ok- ok-“ she says trying to soothe his ruffled nerves with a pat on his arm. “There was this guy who came in the night before last.” She says and he perks up. “Girls said he was a nice-looking fella, sure, but he followed Kissy home. She text me about it the next morning. She said he followed her down to her flat over by the airport, then stood outside the complex. She could see him from her window, just standing there all night.” Isabella looks down and away, and Jake is more than alert now, sitting back up in the bench seat and setting his hand gently over the top of hers.

“Kissy didn’t show up last night. No call, no show. You know how the jefe is, she’s fired now. Ni siquiera la oportunidad de decir adiós. It could be anything, but I worry.” Isabella says, meeting his eyes with a look of sadness.

It’s nothing. It’s not even a crumb to go on. But these girls are travelers of the night and thereby under his and Khonshu's protection.

“Princesita, is he here now?” He asks, glancing at the men around the bar.

“No, sorry papá, I didn’t even see him. Will you see if she’s ok?” She asks, resting a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. Her eyes are the same kind eyes she’d used to beg him for help before. Big brown dough eyes that could almost put Stevens to shame.

He glances to the empty corner of the bar. Khonshus presence looming in the corner, silent for once, beak tilted so his sockets look questioning. The pink and purple neon lights make him look like a Halloween prop more than a true deity deserving of worship and devotion.

With a sigh he looks back to Isabella. “Si, me asegurare de que esta bien,” He agrees.

She beams brightly, “Come on, I give you her address,” she beckons him, sliding out of the booth and pawing him along after her. Khonshu’s tilted gaze follows him across the club floor till he vanishes behind the beaded curtain. Following her down the dimly lit hallway to the dressing rooms.

The dressing room is nothing large or fancy, just like the rest of the bar, but it is cozy. The music of the bar softened to a background hum. The lights are low compared to the overhead of the stages, and scarfs have been draped over some, bathing the room in soft pastel glows.

It's an unfamiliar world to him. A woman’s domain. The most women he’s known were Marc’s mother- may she rest in hell- and Layla. He’d always tried to remain sleeping, deep and dark within their mind when Marc was with his wife. He knows better than to stuff his nose into another mans failing marriage, and unlike Steven now, he’s not welcomed around her. He sees the way Marc looks at him when she’s in the same room as Jake. Like Jake would ever fucking harm her. Like Jake didn’t protect her from Harrow the same he had everyone else.

Isabella writes Kissy's address on a slip of receipt and fetches him a fresh coffee in a travel cup from the kitchen before he can leave.

He wishes it had fucking rum in it.

-

Miguel falls through worlds.

It’s not the same as when he makes a calculated jump, there is no Lyla to make sure the two points between the dimensions are lined up. This is nothing but the free fall through the web of reality, bouncing off of events and spaces in time as they crash through them.

Octavius clutches the stolen device to his chest as it reaches critical mass, creating the breaking point as Miguel tries to chase, try to stop him. Focused beyond the terror of failure and throbbing pain of his left hand.

When they crash bodily into a new dimension, it finally seems to stop. He’s lost count of how many they’ve been in, where this could even be, and hopes, dim and afraid, that Lyla has tracked them somehow through all of this.

The sun is blindingly midpoint over a city skyline and cars swerve as both he and Octavius roll to the ground, coming to a stop in the middle of a highway- somewhere. Octavius's arms are fast to react, faster than anything Miguel has ever seen, lifting the man up and away from Miguel's flailing attempt to keep a tight hold.

Panting beneath his mask as he tries to find a way through the angrily writhing mass of metal only to have to dive away from a claw that grabs for his head.

It’s by luck alone that he twists tight enough to kick the device from Octavious's hands, toe talons shredding skin in the process. The tentacles scramble to grab the device and him at the same time as Octavious yells in outrage and pain, one succeeds in clamping him by the back of his neck and swinging him away, crashing him into the street like a mamma cat disciplining a kitten. Pinning him down hard enough he’s sure his spine is going to break. Black spots cloud his vision and for a moment he contemplates just giving up. This is where his story ends, in violence in a foreign dimension. It’s fitting. He’s earned this- he deserves this.

He can’t allow himself to give into the darkness overtaking him though, body broken and tired, because if he’s gone there’s no one else to stop this shocker. His death will just draw another Spider person here to die too. Over and over.

A never-ending circle of death all because he’s failed.

He can blurrily see the device as it crashes to the ground, smoking and crackling sound that’s almost lost to the city blaring around them. Octavious moves quickly to pick it up and holds it in a near-crushing grip, breathing heavily. Ink eyes go wide in shock just the same as Miguel's.

“It’s broken give it up,” Miguel says, breathless, knowing it may also just be locked, though he doubts it- if Lyla was tracking the jumps she would have locked it, others could be showing up. The backup he shouldn’t have been too stubborn to take. Mierda. He hopes it’s not Jess or Peter B.

It's the wrong thing to say, as Octavius turns his ink gaze from the device down to him, eyes narrowing to thin slits of black. The tentacle pressing between his shoulders becomes unbearable. “Broken is fixable,” Octavious says, low and threatening, “You, Spider-Man, won’t be though.”

Two things happen at once.

The tentacle presses him chest first into the hard concrete, blood rushing into his mouth and lungs seizing. He can feel his heart stumble and trip in his chest, too heavy and big for the small space now between his ribs.

And they both glitch out.

-

Kissy's apartment reveals nothing under the daylight sun.

He drives around the complex and parks in front of a bodega across the street. It’s not in the best neighborhood, but also not the worst he’s seen. The bodega windows have bars on them though and he has a feeling if he was here after dark the mood would be different. He knocks on the door and peeks in the windows but it’s clear no one’s home.

“Kissy.” He calls out, giving the door one final knock before trying the knob, locked. It’s no problem for him, but he’d rather not break in during daylight.

A rattle to his left has him tensing but it’s just an elderly man peeking out a curtain at him. Jake does his best to give a confused half-tilted smile and wave of his fingers, mirroring how Steven would stand. Making himself look friendly and lost. It must work because a moment later the apartment door opens and the elderly man peeks out with the rolling stench of an old person.

“I was looking for my friend, Kissy, but she’s not home, have you seen her lately?” he asks, worrying his hands in front of his chest and shifting from foot to foot with nervous energy.

“She left last night with some guy.” The old man says with a sigh, “was watching the news and she’s always so damn loud.”

It’s a fight not to roll his eyes but Jake doesn’t, keeping his smile dopey. “Yeah, that’s my Kissy.”

“She’s a whore. You know that, right son? She’s stringing you along. She isn’t your Kissy, she’s every man’s Kissy.” The old man starts and Jake feels his patience leave his body. His shoulders drop and smile with it, and the Steven act falls away like a mask.

“Yeah ok pops, did you see the guy?” He says, tone falling flat and board. “Anyone around here door cams?”

The old man’s eyes narrow and Jake wonders how much longer he has left. A year. Maybe two. Miserable and lonely. Fuck, he’ll kill himself before he gets old like this.

“No.” The old man says, shuffling back into his apartment and slamming the door.

“Fuck you too,” Jake says just because he can.

On his walk out of the apartment, he takes note to check the doors but the old bastard was right, not a single door cam on them. Too poor a neighborhood to have tech like that available to them. He makes a stop at the mailboxes, little cubicles, half missing their doors. Kissy’s has a sticker of a cartoon bear on hers and he touches it with his gloved fingers before peering in the slot. There’s not a lot of mail in there, probably only today's delivery.

His next stop is the bodega he parked in front of, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and a candy bar he’ll never eat. Throwing both on the counter as the pizza-faced kid behind the counter and plexiglass shield watches something on his phone.

“Did you see what’s going on uptown? Fucking wild, man!” He says, tilting the phone so Jake can see some kind of blur.

“Yeah- cool. Hey, do you know Kissy?” He asks, tapping his fingers on the counter in a one two three four rhythm.

“Everybody knows Kissy.” The kid says, swiping to another video, this one is loud music.

“Have you seen her around lately?” He asks, the kid still hasn’t looked at him. Moving on to another video. People screaming in this one, Jake can’t tell if it’s in fear or joy. He doesn’t give a shit. Fuck he hates TikTok.

“Mm, yeah a few days ago.”

Great. He’s making so much progress.

“Were you working last night?” he asks, pulling his wallet out and counting through his bills because the kid clearly doesn’t give a shit if he pays or not.

“You the fuzz?” The kid finally looks at him, and Jake just looks back, face blank.

“I work for someone. It ain’t the law.” He eventually says. Taps the edge of his wallet on the counter and lets the kid make his own assumptions. It’s easier sometimes when people just think he’s the mafia and not a killing hand for a pissed of lunar god.

“Yeah, what of it? I worked- that’s seven dollars.” The kid says finally setting his phone aside and punching buttons on a register clearly older than the teen is.

“Did you happen to see a guy, hanging around, watching the apartments across the street?” Jake asks, handing over the cash and dumping the change into the give-a-penny-take-a-penny.

“That’s half the guys around here.” The kid says, picking his phone up and returning to obnoxiously loud TikToks.

Jake feels defeated by the time he returns to his car. Turning the engine on and letting it sit idol as he watches a few people on the sidewalks. Takes in the outside view of the apartments. Kissys is on the first floor, her sun-yellow curtains closed to the street. He should have got some cigarettes.

“Have you given up, so soon?”

Jake glances at the rearview mirror but Khonshu is only in his head for now, looking back across the street as he uncaps the water and drinks.

“I’ll come back tonight, break in and see if I can find anything suspicious.” He pauses, wetting his lower lip with the tip of his tongue and he glances back to himself in the mirror. “Unless you know something and just aren’t saying anything.”

“She did not vanish under the moon’s watch,” Khonsuh says, sounding insulted and Jake smiles to himself. Leaning back in the driver's seat.

“Está bien,” Jake says, continuing to watch the apartments a moment longer before finally pulling the magnetic cabbie sign from the passenger floorboard and leaning out the window to lock it into place on top of his car. Driving off to kill time with a few cab rides before night falls and he can actually work.

-

There’s dust and blood in Miguel's mouth when he wakes. The world around him is too bright, washed out to grays and whites and his ears are ringing. His whole body is in pain, the kind of throbbing ache that tells him he nearly died.

It’s a feeling he’s more than familiar with.

There’s a small hand on his shoulder and he tries to twitch away from it, shoulder muscles howling in protest, ripping a hurt sound from his chest but the hand removes itself. Slowly dragging his knees under him Miguel feels like he’s moving through water, sluggish and slow. Pressing his good hand into the street ruble he rises himself up with an involuntary groan, swallowing down the blood in his mouth.

When he tilts his head he can see that there’s a woman next to him, dressed in business clothes, crouched at his side. She looks kind and concerned but she shouldn’t be here. This is dangerous. People seem to be the same everywhere, never knowing how to stay out of danger.

A glance to the other side finds crashed cars and destroyed road, people moving about the smoking wreckage. Some pointing at him as others run closer from down the street. Drawn to the chaos.

Where the shock is Octavius?

“Where?” He tries but the single word is the only thing he can pry from his throat before he feels like he’s gagging on his own blood. Coughing sends stabbing pain through what must be bruised or broken ribs and he nearly falls back into the nice Spider-Man shaped crater Octavius made for him.

“A and E are on their way. Please! Don’t move.” She says and he takes in the small black device she’s clutched in her other hand. Whatever the A and E are, he’s not waiting around to find out. He has to find Octavius and somehow get home.

His head is a little more clear once he stops coughing and can breathe again, the wet feeling of blood and spit dribbling down his chin makes him itch to take off his mask but he can’t show his face here.

He needs to get up and get going. At least away from the crowd, that’s gathering, regathering his thoughts, and breathe, and plan his next stage of attack.

Taking a deep breath Miguel pushes up, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. He wobbles on his feet but stays standing and beneath the mask he lets him take a triumphant deep breath. It’s a mistake and hurts but it doesn’t send him coughing again so he counts it as a win. He can use a win right now… a big one, in the shape of a gleaming fractal transdimensional portal- but it never comes and he can’t wait around for it.

He stumbles forward a step and the woman follows, hands held out like she could stop him from crashing to the street again if he did collapse. "back up," He says voice raspy as he waves her back with his good hand and she must finally have some common sense kick in as she takes a careful step in retreat.

“Please, sir,” she says as the sound of sirens starts in the distance. Her words do nothing to stop him as he climbs the step up of the sidewalk and digs the claws of his working hand into the brickwork of the building.

It’s awkward and painful to climb one-handed, but he only has three stories to get to the top and over to an uneventful roof. Glancing one last time over the edge, vertigo threatens to grab him by the neck and topple him over a second as he spots a whole crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk and street to watch him climb.

He’s tempted to stop here, body demanding rest. Demanding he sit the shock down before he falls down but he can’t. More onlookers are arriving and the wail of sirens grows close enough it’s a deafening sound in his ears that rattles through his skull.

He doesn’t need a spider sense to tell him he’s not safe here three messily story’s above where he and Octavius hand crash-landed. He has to keep moving.

His run across the top of the roof to the other side is more a wobbly trot but no one’s here to judge him. Shooting out a line of glowing red web to the nearest high-rise building as he takes a leap off the brickwork under his feet.

Swinging. Hurts.

Everything hurts though so he swallows it down and makes a loose lazy arching loop around the wreckage where they crashed, ignoring the flashing lights below and the crowd full of pointing devices.

Octavius hasn’t left him a trait to follow, there is no further wreckage, no sign the man was ever there and Miguel mentally forces down the fear that the device started working again and Octavius isn’t just hiding but worlds away. It’s too troubling a possibility. Instead, he looks for somewhere out of the way and abandoned to hide away in. Even if he did find Octavius right now he’d be no good. He needs a few hours to rest. Somewhere dark and quiet where he can proverbially lick his wounds.