Copy: 10-65 : Missing Person

          There was absolutley nothing to beat the feeling of flying by your own weight. Up high with the birds, and the ability to twist and fling yourself from building to building with only the moral conviction that you had it down to muscle memory, and didn't have to worry with the genuine semantics of flying. Gwen found herself here, below the clouds yet above the buildings to the music her own wind made and the honk of horns below. She was so quick and lithe that it was rare those below her had a chance to recognize her, let alone call up. This was most likely for the best, considering the fact that this New York did not appreciate their friendly neighborhood spiderman. Er, spiderwoman. Spider-ghost? 

Spider Gwen. 

Stopping atop a random set of apartment complexes, she caught her breath to the beat of her converse against the concrete roof. "Exit lights," she murmered, druming toes against the edge, and her fingers to the soft shine of her thigh. It was exhilerating to be someone else for a while, behind the white mask and black suit. Of course, no spider was complete without their own personal touch. The hood had taken some drafting, but in the end a rightous choice. Not only did it allow for an interesting shillouette, it gave extra autonomy in the case of being de-masked. Gwen wore her hood like she used to wear her hair, as an excuse to hide. 

Beside her came to rest a second spider, and yet behind him another and another. They sqwated and stood for moments, breathing harshly at the brisk pace Gwen had set between them. "I have coverage of police, if we need it?" She asked the tribe, turning from the traffic below to stare at the rag-tag team. One spiderpunk stood on the edge with her, back to the roof peering over the edge. 

"Bloody hell," he told himself. "These people have lost the plot, mates. Look at em, complete wankers!" He called back down at the end. A small spat had broken out on the block below, folks yelling up slang at the sight of their spider along with several others. 

"Oh oh, are we getting cussed? I've never been cussed before! The people in your universe sound so delightful, Gwenny!" One Indian spider laughed, sauntering over to peer off the edge with his mate. The only member left behind frowned at the literal children before him, patting the fifth and final member of the crew on the head. Mayday was already down for the count at nap time. 

"Police coverage might be nice, for wearabouts sake. I'd rather know if I'm about to be arrested or not," Peter B. Parker spoke behind his mask, staying firmly away from the edge unlike his counterparts. 

"Wanker!" Hobie egged on pedestrians down below, and Gwen's shoulder's fell. If the situation were less dire she would have found herself beside herself with glee. Who know she needed a punk spider to put her civillains in place? "You'll have to stay put, then." She told Peter, and was about to take off North when one british boy wrapped her underneath an arm. 

"I'll come with, mate." 

"Hobie I love you but no-"

"I've met the old man! Let me have this!" 

"It's not about my dad, Hobie." 

"Take him with you," Peter snarked in, clearing getting impatient at how long this all was taking. He bounced Mayday against his chest with quick and jerky movements, and Gwen lost her will to fight it for the thousandth time this week. 

You see, when your best friend and long time crush gets absconded due to his own idiocy to an entirely random dimension because some spot dude made of literal holes decided to try and obliterate his family, only to be in part aided by one cabon leader, who made the entire process much more screwed up and complicated in the long and short of it and you finally get back your own drive to do literally anything about the situation only to be hindered by those who you thought would be your biggest help, you have to give up the ball occasionally. At one moment some few hours ago Gwenny stood atop a roof with her crew, all angry and totally ready to fix this disaster of a storm and get her not-boyfriend back. In those hours she had unfortunately not slept, not eaten, and Definity not been in the best of moods. Therefore her drive had dropped significantly, but it was in no correlation to her innate need to find one Miles Morales. 

They knew he was on Earth 42, thanks to the tech chick who turned her back on Miguel once she realized he was ready to murder another of their kin, but that wasn't enough. Gwen double checked in on Mile's original universe, and sure enough in a glass case sat spider number 42, the origin story of the original anomaly. But that wasn't enough. "My watch won't take you there," Hobie told her, and she grit through her teeth. 

"Why not?" 

Hobie shrugged. "I'm not sure, mate. I think I'm missin' a few bobs here and there, it doesn't seem to want to go nowhere," he spit, turning the device over in his long fingers. It got hung up on one of the studs in his leather cuff, and he yanked hard to get it unstuck. 

"No wonder it won't work," Gwen muttered in response to tough treatment. 

"Lettme see that," Penni Parker asked, reaching a tiny hand out for Hobie's makeshift work. "Your welds aren't worth shi-"

"Laungage," Noir reminded. Peni glared at the watch goober and flipped it around, typing quickly in code. 

"Well, have you tried with one of the originals?" 

"That implies we have an original-" 

"Oh. I do," Gwen told the consensus, and dug around in her suit for the device. She pulled it out smashed, which made no difference to Penni, who grabbed it deftly and inspected it. In not even ten minutes had the nine year old from the far future fixed the device, and shrugged to the others. 

"No way to find out but to try," and hit the code for Earth 42. All spiders in the room held their breath, including Peter Porker who was asleep on the rug in the hall of Peter B. Parker and MJ's newly furnished home. Each one turned to look at each other then back at Penni when nothing happened. Not even a dial tone. 

"Mate, press it again," Hobie edged from his spot leaning against MJ's new coffee table. He jerked forward to reach for the device, knocking a lamp off in the process. Gwen caught it quick enough with a web without even looking up, and MJ glared at the punk spider with an entirely new conviction against him. The boy shrugged, not bothered in the slighest. Peni jammed her fingers over the DEPLOY button, over and over, quite overkill. 

"Okay, that doesn't work, either." 

"If that's the case, it might not have to do with the system Miguel set up, but rather the dimension itself. No spider? No OG spiderman? Humm, possibly it's already collapsed? No, then it doesn't register on the system at all... maybe..."  The spider gang leaned in tight, held on to each word Peni spoke. She suddenly snapped her fingures, jolting upright. If the lamp wasn't still trapped underneath a slew of webs, the appointed spidergang would have for sure been kicked from MJ's new home without a second care. Fortunately, the lamp was safe from Hobie's wrath as he jumped towards Peni and shook her by the shoulders. 

"Get on with it, mate! We gotta' find the bloody boy before he get's eat'n." 

"I think I need a part from alchamax, preferably in perfect order and not recently tampered with. Er, off a collider. You see it has to do with interdimensional warping, and quantum-" Hobie deflated. 

"You don't have to explain, Peni." Parker said not unkindly. "I would offer my alchamax, but it is currently not up to operating standard." 

"Mine hasn't even been developed yet," Noir butt in, pulling on the feathers at the end of a cat toy. 

"I refuse to go to my world," Spiderbyte choked out, which earned her several hard looks but was ultimately passed over. The rest of the crowd passed over excuses as to why their own worlds would not be suitible, and visably the crowd started to thin and deflate. Pav's world was amist collapsing after the most recent actions, peter poker wasn't entirely sure that alchamax existed outside of the one he had seen. Peni's was too advanced for old tech as she was working with, and Mile's had all but been blown up by the missing man himself. 

"I think my universe has what you're looking for," Gwen said over a cup of long since cold tea. MJ had the worst selection, and refused any sugar at all. The only reasion Gwen continued to nurse on the item was the free caffine. "I try my hardest to stay away from alchamax, all things considered. I figured that one experience with a collider was enough for a lifetime." Her face scrunched as she took a sip of the bitter liquid, and Peter balanced a fatherly hand on her shoulder. The harsh movement made Gwen spill the tea down her front, and all the poor girl could do was close her eyes and blink unnessesary tears away. Deep breath in, shallow breath out. The hand on her shoulder tightened, and she couldn't be bothered to look up to the man. 

In short, she hated herself. But maybe that was the stress talking. 

"Gwen I will love you forever if you go get that piece for me," Peni squealed, bouncing the goober in her hand. 

"I don't think I have any other choice?" 

--

The window to Gwen's room was closed but not locked, and she shimmied it open with one Hobie hanging around her shoulder. It was interesting to watch him slide in, something like a sardine slipping out of a sandwich, all lean, limp and unnatural. It was similar to the way he demasked, hair floundering after being trapped under the physic-defying material. Together they shed their secret identies in the safety of her apartment. The pastel colors of her world would always bring a sense of peace, but specifically her own room. Everything here was coated in a shimmery pink or light blue-green hue. From her downy comforter and maxed out drum set, the pen cases untouched on her desk as a gift from dad and shelves lined left to right with trinkets. It was irrevocably hers, in every sense of the word. 

Hobie had only ever been over on his own to deliver his handmade special, so was at the surprise that the house was empty and devoid of life. "Thought the old man quit?" 

"He did," Gwen replied, shuffling through the clothes on her floor for the penguin disguise. Amidst the stuffing she pulled her own decommissioned walkie, and it clicked on with no issue at all. Gwen didn't like talking about her dad too much, lest of all to someone like Hobie who was completely orphaned nowadays. It made her feel ungrateful or something, mentioning any bad complaints against the man who raised her. But her hesitation stemmed from more than just guilt. More than anything Gwen just didn't want to face the truth of her own emotions, since she wasn't even sure what they were or where her own convictions stood. 

After a moment of awkward silence and turning the walkie over in her hands, "Lettme write a note quick, please?" Hobie nodded back without looking at her, rather focused on touching everything in her room. Gwen rolled her eyes, grabbing a sharpie and pad of sticky notes off her bedside table. "Don't steal anything I'll miss," she called walking to the kitchen. 

Gwen pushed the trash on the counter away with a left arm and set to writing a quick note. All the regular things you tell your father, like you're not sure when you'll be home and the correlation to coffee-water ratio, since the man admitted last he'd been getting it wrong since Gwen disappeared. Always a tablespoon and a half for each cup, she slung onto the note carelessly. Then, at the bottom, in the tiniest script she could manage, she told him she loved him. Gwen had not said those words to her father in over six months now, and wasn't even sure if he loved her still. She tapped the pen against the epoxy top and thought about scratching it out, since it was just a bit awkward to tell him that in a sad note, but got distracted by the radio she threw down on the counter top. 

"10-96, need back up." It crashed, and Gwen reached to turn the stupid thing down since it scared her half out of her wits at how loud the dispatch was. She had to bend down for the sharpie, cursing that it left a black stain across the tile. Spit wasn't working, so she opted to deal with it later. 

"Officer Stacy, I need a 952?" 

Hobie poked his head out of Gwen's bedroom, mask flopping on hand. "I'm taking your drumsticks, Gwenny," he told at the same time an unmistakable voice came through the radio. Gwen hissed at Hobie with teeth, holding up a right hand to cradle the walkie at her face. 

"Suspect has been apprehended, need backup for search." 

"Oi, that's not good." Hobie said, and Gwen threw the walkie at his head. 

"What the hell?!" She seethed, tearing the note up into a million tiny pieces and throwing counter trash at the floor. "How dare he!" she squealed, and didn't realize she was yanking her own hair out of her head until one british spider made her release her grip. "He told me he quit," she begged, looking up into Hobie's dark eyes. He stared back at her, petting and trying to be as placating as he could manage. 

"I'm sorry, Gwenny."

"That was him!" 

"I know, Gwenny." 

"Fuck.." Hobie patted her on the head and pulled the walkie from her hand and stuck it to one of his many belts. 

"We should probably head back," he reminded her, and she nodded. This was the last thing she needed to be dealing with right now, was her own selfish problems. Miles was stranded in an entirley different universe, all alone and in chance of dying by glitching out. Not to mention his drive to save his father, which Gwen wished for with all her might. 

After all, if Miles couldn't save his own dad, Gwen would be left all alone in her own universe. If Mile's couldn't, how could she?

---------

Miles' couldn't get purchase on the floor, no matter how hard he tried. What a pity it was, to hang from the same bag he had been taught to throw on? Try as he might to slyly get a good look at the room around him, he couldn't do so if he couldn't spin around. Just barley could the tip of his shoe edge the floor, but it wasn't enough to shake the chains that held him. And damn if he wasn't chained, tied, and strapped into the screwed up amusement park ride. Miles snorted at his own joke, and received a coke thrown at his side for his efforts of entertainment. 

One Miles Morales clone stood leaning against the couch in not Uncle Aaron's apartment, smug smile overtaking his pretty boy face. What a trip to see your own face on what had, for a time, at least, been your worst enemy. (It still in a way was. Miles had nightmares about the Prowler almost every time he closed his eyes, but not just because the villain tried to kill him. Almost always did it involve uncle Aaron dying in Miles' arms, reaching out with a bullet wound staining his dark flesh. 

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up. You're just gonna get your claws sticky next time you hit me," Miles taunted his alter ego. His alter ego, who, apparently didn't think that was so funny and clocked him on the oppisite side that was drenched in coke. Miles choked down on any noise possible, but was still pretty sure a little squeak came out. 

"Nah. I'll just use this side, man." The alter told him. At least the hit let him swing and spin to face the rest of the apartment. It seemed rather similar to his own universe's version, only with one big difference. It was more Miles, in a way that just screamed attention. Most people overlook their own belongings, but Miles could recognise the TV stand full of used sketchbooks that uncle Aaron never would have bothered with. That meant that other-him had to spend a lot of time hanging around, therefore why his own room felt dank and left Miles with smaller probablility of escape. He was hoping only one person lived there, therefore bigger chances of being left alone. The last thing he picked up on, as he made the full 360 view, was the lack of extra locks on the front door. 

At least that was in his favor, but if push came to shove he could jump out the window. That mode of transportation seemed to get more use, anways, judging by the breeze blowing in through it. Miles wasn't sure where uncle Aaron had run off to, after his alter decided to give him an old haymaker in the right side brains and Miles took a little midnight nap. The bag back in position Miles could see the sun bringing to rise across the horizon, and his chest rose in hope that that was not the dawning of his second day here, but rather the first. The alter took a lackadaisical step around the bag, throwing falsies into it here and there for intimidation. 

Miles, for lack of better words, did not feel intimidated. 

The chains around him rattled and pulled at awkward angles as his alter decked the bag, and Miles got to go for round two of the tour de France, getting a better veiw of the apartment. 

Instead of feeling intimidated, Miles was scared. Scared that his alter would learn that the half of this big old hostage situation had become a charade, and one Miles Morales friendly neighborhood spiderman had been untied for the last night. He just needed a gameplan, alright?! 

Unfortunately, spidermen were known for having the worst luck of the draw. One wrong hit and a bungee strap came unhung, then another and a rachet and eventually even the chains fell at Miles' feet around the bag and he slammed into the wood floor hard. Looking up, his alter had an interested look on his face. 

"I knew, if you were really me, you'd put up a fight." Miles scrabbled to get to his feet but-