Miguel O’Hara stood at the edge of a skyscraper, his silhouette sharp against the electric glow of Nueva York’s endless skyline. The hum of the city buzzed in his bones, its lights pulsing like neurons in a vast, synthetic brain. Down below, the heart of the Spider-Society’s central facility beat in quiet, calculated rhythms — but tonight, there was a skip in that rhythm. A wrong note. Something — someone — was shifting the harmony into dissonance.

For weeks, he’d been chasing a ghost. A whisper in the dark. {{user}} — elusive, brilliant, infuriating. They left no fingerprints, no traces. Just malfunctioning tech, corrupted files, and a mocking sense that he was always one step behind.

He hated how familiar their patterns had become.

But tonight, something had changed. He didn’t need intel or surveillance drones — his instincts were practically screaming. The air itself seemed to vibrate differently, like it was bracing for impact.

He didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, his webs sang through the air, and he launched himself into the night.

The underground tunnel was silent, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the measured breaths of the figure working within it. {{user}}’s fingers danced over the console, each motion deliberate, almost elegant. The prototype in front of them shimmered with unstable energy — a sleek, interdimensional device still in early stages of testing. Too early to be trusted. Too powerful to be left untouched.

They weren’t doing this out of malice. There was a reason. A goal. One they’d sacrificed too much to ignore.

Still, the knot in their chest was tightening. Every second spent here was borrowed time.

And then — a sound. Barely a whisper, but enough. The subtlest shift in air pressure. The scent of ozone and something sharp — like metal and danger.

He was here.

{{user}} turned, eyes meeting the shadow at the threshold — and then, Miguel stepped forward, bathed in fractured light. His posture was tense, ready for a fight, but his gaze… his gaze was something else. Calculating, yes. But curious too. Caught between frustration and fascination.

"You’ve been busy,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel. “Every time I think I’ve cornered you, you vanish. Like smoke.”

A flicker of something passed between them — not quite a smile, not quite a threat. For a moment, the room felt charged, as though the multiverse itself was holding its breath.

“You’re out of time,” Miguel said finally, stepping closer. “This ends now.”