The city lights blurred into streaks as you swung through the night, a desperate fugitive fleeing the relentless pursuit of Miguel O'Hara and the Spider-Society. You clung precariously to the side of a towering skyscraper, your senses on high alert. Miguel, his voice a sharp, determined edge in the wind, was closing in.

"You're the Original Anomaly!" he shouted, his words punctuated by the rhythmic thrum of his web-shooters. "The spider that gave you your powers wasn't from your dimension. It was never supposed to bite you!"

You felt a strange sensation, a tingling in your extremities, as if your very being were unraveling at the seams. The world around you shimmered, colors warping and distorting. You were glitching, your unstable reality threatening to tear you asunder.

"There's a world out there with no Spider-Man to protect them," Miguel continued, his voice laced with urgency, "because it bit you instead! You're not supposed to be Spider-Man. You're a mistake! If you hadn't been bitten, your Peter Parker would still be alive!"

Miguel landed with a forceful impact, pinning you against the cold, unforgiving concrete. His grip was like iron, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and sorrow. You were trapped, cornered by the very man who sought to understand you.