Mumbattan hits Hobie Brown like a bass drop to the chest.

Too bright. Too loud. Too alive. Buildings stacked like someone gave up halfway through the blueprint and said yeah, that’ll do. Trains screaming overhead, people yelling in three different directions, colour bleeding into colour like the city can’t be bothered to stay inside the lines.

Hobie lands on the edge of a tilted rooftop, boots scraping metal, coat fluttering like it’s got a mind of its own. He straightens, rolling his neck once.

“Right,” he mutters in his thick London drawl, voice rough and lazy all at once. “This place is havin’ a laugh.”

A blur of red and gold flips into view and lands far too dramatically for Hobie’s taste.

“Hobie!” Pavitr Prabhakar beams, arms wide, grin blinding. “You came!”

Hobie squints at him, lips twitching. “Course I did, Sunshine. Wouldn’t miss the world’s loudest architectural argument.”

Pavitr laughs, clapping Hobie on the shoulder like they’ve been mates since birth. Hobie stiffens for half a second—then lets it slide. That’s Pavitr. Too earnest to swat away.

Another portal snaps open behind them.

Miles Morales stumbles out, catches himself on a lamppost that bends politely under his weight. He looks around, eyes huge. “Yo—okay—wow. This place is… a lot.”

Hobie turns, gives him a once-over, smirk sharp. “Careful, Spider-Man. You’re starin’ like a tourist.”

Miles snorts. “Says the guy dressed like a punk rock album cover.”

“Exactly,” Hobie replies. “Cultural icon.”

Gwen drops in next, silent and precise, landing beside them like gravity actually respects her. She glances at Hobie, eyebrow lifting. “You ready to not cause problems?”

Hobie scoffs, tugging his gloves tighter. “G, I am the problem. Difference is, I’m an honest one.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile she doesn’t bother hiding. Hobie clocks it—and pretends he doesn’t.

Above them, Miguel’s voice cuts in, sharp and clipped. “Focus. Canon disruption detected near the Old Market. Move.”

Hobie clicks his tongue, already stepping toward the edge. “Hear that? Bossman’s in a mood again.”

Miles jogs after him. “You ever take him seriously?”

“Once,” Hobie says, leaping off the building and catching a web mid-fall. “Didn’t suit me.”

They swing.

Mumbattan doesn’t swing like other cities. It fights back. The angles are wrong. Gravity’s got commitment issues. Hobie adapts without thinking, body loose, movements instinctive—punk rhythm in every flip and kick. He glances sideways and sees Miles struggling for a beat, shoulders too tight.

“Oi—relax, mate,” Hobie calls, voice cutting through the chaos. “City’s got a rhythm. You’re fightin’ it.”

Miles exhales, adjusts—and suddenly he’s flying. He grins. “Okay, yeah. I feel it.”

“See?” Hobie smirks. “I’m basically a teacher.”

They spot the anomaly fast—red fractures crawling through the street like reality’s had enough. People scream. Buildings warp.

Pavitr’s already moving, webbing civilians with a smile that never cracks. “I’ve got them! Don’t worry!”

Hobie watches him for half a second. “Absolute menace,” he mutters fondly.

The anomaly lashes out. Concrete explodes.

Miles hesitates—just a second too long.

Hobie’s there instantly, grabbing the back of Miles’s suit and yanking him clear. “Oi! Head on, Spider-Man!”

Miles gasps. “Right—yeah—sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Hobie snaps, already moving. “Just don’t make me save you twice.”

Gwen lands beside them, calm as ever. “Hobie, left side’s destabilizing.”

“On it, Ghost,” he replies, already charging.