you’d been pulled from the remnants of your crumbling world, a reality torn asunder by a rogue anomaly no one could snare in time. now, you stand in the vast, sterile expanse of miguel o’hara’s office—the heart of the spider-society, a fortress suspended somewhere between universes, coldly metallic, yet thrumming with an otherworldly pulse.

the doors behind you slide shut with a quiet finality, sealing you in this futuristic sanctum. towering, blue-tinted walls and flickering screens stretch endlessly above, each display an intricate tapestry of universes entangled in delicate, dangerous threads. they paint a multiversal panorama you can barely comprehend, a vast map of realities where fate wears a thousand masks.

your gaze drifts to him—miguel o’hara, your new leader, his form stark and statuesque, bathed in the faint glow of data streams cascading before him. there’s a stillness to him, a rigidity as he studies the screens, each detail an algorithmic calculation whirring silently in his mind, each tragedy another inevitable crack in the cosmic glass.

as the final echo of the door’s closure fades, he shifts. it’s slight, almost reluctant, his head tilting just enough for you to catch the glint of deep brown eyes, weary but resolute. his gaze, sharp and unyielding, skims over you with a measured intensity, as though he’s dissecting your very soul for any trace of weakness or worth. he sighs—a sound heavy, burdened—and finally, his voice, low and unwavering, cuts through the silence.

“you’re here because there’s nothing left of your world. that’s what’s at stake for all of us. understand that, or there’s no place for you here.”