Chapter Text
Saps had to hand it to Ish—without him, Saparata would probably be scouting for the most comfortable park bench in the city right now. It wasn't that he was broke, it was the fact that his twin brother, Micro, had ditched him to room with his crush. Talk about "brother of the year" material.
Their history with Ish was... complicated. Part mentor, part lifeline, the scientist had been the one to pull the strings to get the twins into this university in the first place. But even with Ish’s influence, the school was a prestigious powerhouse for the sciences, and every single dorm room had been snatched up months ago. Saps had been halfway through a mental breakdown when Ish stepped in with a last-minute vacancy.
The only real wildcard? Joseph. Saps gripped the handle of the cat carrier, praying his new roommate wouldn't be the "deathly allergic to fur" type.
Stepping into the dorm, Saps found it surprisingly spacious for a college flat. It had that sterile, "nobody lives here yet" vibe. A naked couch sat in the center of the common area, stripped of pillows, facing a small kitchenette with a stove and a mini-fridge that looked like it had seen better days. Two closed doors branched off the main space.
Ish had mentioned he’d have a roommate, but as Saps stood there in the silence, he couldn't help but wonder who—or what—was waiting behind those doors.
As if on cue, a guy with long blonde hair drifted out of the room on the left. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt featuring a cat wearing headphones—looking like he had just been resurrected from a three-day nap. He froze when he saw Saparata, his bleary eyes slowly migrating down to the cat carrier in Saps' hand.
“Uh…”
They stood there for a beat, just staring. It was that classic, high-voltage awkwardness you only get from two strangers realized they have to share a bathroom for the next nine months.
“So… I guess you’re my roommate,” the blonde finally croaked.
“I guess I am…” Saparata replied, his voice hitting a pitch he didn't know he owned.
“Is that a cat?”
“Yeah! His name's Joseph!” Saps’ tone shifted instantly. He could be socially inept, but he was a professional when it came to Joseph.
“That’s cool! I’m Sharpness, by the way. Just call me Sharp.” The guy suddenly did a 180, brightening up like he’d just found twenty bucks in his pocket.
“I’m Saparata. Saps is fine!” Saps gripped the carrier handle, his nerves returning. “Also… uh… do you mind if I keep him? The cat, I mean? I know some people are… weird about fur.”
“Not at all. I love cats,” Sharpness said easily.
Saparata looked at Sharp’s shirt—a neon-colored tabby staring back at him with judgmental eyes. “Yeah… I can definitely see that.”
“Well, I don't wanna hold you up. I already snagged the room on the left, sorry about that…” Sharpness pointed toward his door with a lazy grin.
“No worries! I’m just glad I'm not living in a box,” Saps joked. Sharpness just flashed a final smile and wandered toward the kitchen, presumably to find caffeine.
Saparata retreated to his own room and began the depressing process of "settling in." He’d brought his gaming setup, which was a generous term for what he actually had. It was one monitor and a mic so disgustingly large it could be mistaken as an orb. To make matters worse, the only table in the room was a bedside stand that looked like it would buckle under the weight of a single textbook.
Saps grimaced. He was halfway through shoving a hoodie into a drawer and was seconds away from a victory-lap nap when his phone buzzed.
Ish:
Yo Saps. Head over to my lab. I need you for something
This is interest on the debt for finding you a dorm, Don’t be late :3
Saparata let out a groan that was roughly 40% scream and 60% exhaustion. As much as he wanted to pretend he’d died in his sleep, he owed Ish. Big time.
He sluggishly dragged himself back out into the common area. The dorm was quiet again—Sharpness had already retreated back into his cave.
"Lucky him," Saps muttered, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.
The walk to the university’s Science District was a blur of brick buildings and students who looked significantly more put-together than Saps felt. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, feeling the weight of his "debt" to Ish pulling at his shoulders. Ish wasn’t just a mentor— he was the only reason Saps wasn't currently sleeping in a laundromat. But Ish's favors always came with a high interest rate.
The lab was tucked away in the basement of the Advanced Research Wing. It was the kind of place that required three different keycards and probably a blood sacrifice to enter. When Saps finally pushed through the heavy pressurized doors, the air hit him—cold, sterile, and smelling faintly of ozone and expensive mistakes.
“You’re four minutes late, Saps,” Ish’s voice echoed from behind a wall of monitors. He didn't even look up. He was hunched over a microscope, his lab coat stained with something neon blue.
“The elevator was slow,” Saps lied, leaning against a gleaming metal table. “And I had to negotiate terms with my new roommate. He’s got a cat shirt. I think we’re good.”
“Fascinating,” Ish said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since you’re so socially occupied, you can spend the next few hours being useful. Move the crates from Lab A to the bio-containment unit in Lab C. And for the love of science, Saps, do not tilt them. They’re pressurized.”
The next hour was a grueling cycle of manual labor. Saps felt less like a student and more like a glorified pack mule. By the tenth trip, his legs were burning, and his boredom was reaching dangerous levels. He started lingering in Lab C, the restricted area. It was filled with glass tanks and humming machinery that looked like props from a high-budget sci-fi movie.
He stopped in front of a secluded workstation. In the center sat a reinforced glass enclosure, bathed in a soft, ultraviolet glow. Inside, a spider—no larger than a quarter—was suspended on a web that shimmered like spun silver. The spider itself was a deep, impossible violet, with glowing amber markings that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.
“What are you, some kind of government project?” Saps muttered, leaning in until his nose almost touched the glass.
His hand drifted toward the top of the tank. He saw a small sliding hatch used for feeding. Curiosity, Saps’ oldest and most persistent enemy, took the wheel. He just wanted a better look. He just wanted to see if the silk felt like regular spiderwebs.
He slid the hatch open just a crack.
In a blur of violet motion, the spider wasn't on the web anymore. It was on his hand. Saps didn't even have time to gasp before a sharp, white-hot sting lanced through his index finger. It felt like a needle made of liquid lightning.
“Son of a—!” Saps hissed, recoiling so hard he nearly knocked over a tray of glass vials. He shook his hand violently, sending the spider tumbling back into its cage. He slammed the hatch shut, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The sting didn't fade. Instead, a dull, thumping heat began to spread from his finger, up his wrist, and toward his elbow.
“Everything alright in there?” Ish’s voice boomed from the hallway.
Saps shoved his hand into his pocket, his face flushing. “Yeah! Fine! Just... tripped over my own feet! Classic Saps!”
“Hurry up and finish. I don’t pay you in dorm rooms to lounge around,” Ish grumbled, his footsteps receding.
Saps looked at his hand. The bite mark was a tiny, angry red dot, but the skin around it was starting to glow with a faint, translucent shimmer. A wave of nausea rolled over him, followed by a dizzying spike of heat.
“I gotta go,” Saps whispered to the empty lab. “Ish! I’m... I’m feeling sick! Must be the... dorm flu! Catch you later!”
He didn't wait for a response. He bolted, his vision swimming as the fluorescent lights above began to hum with a deafening, metallic roar.
By the time Saps reached the dorm, his skin felt two sizes too small. Every sound—the jingle of his keys, the hum of the vending machine in the hall—sounded like a gunshot. He fumbled with the door, practically falling into the common area. Sharpness was nowhere to be seen, likely tucked away in his room, which was the only stroke of luck Saps had had all day.
He staggered into his room, kicked the door shut with his heel, and plummeted toward his bed.
“Just... need... an hour,” he groaned, his face hitting the pillow.
He stayed there for a minute, waiting for the world to stop spinning. But when he tried to push himself up to take off his jacket, his hands wouldn't leave the bed. He pulled. The mattress lifted an inch off the frame.
“What the hell?”
Saps stared at his palms. They looked normal, but when he touched the wall next to his bed, his fingers didn't just rest on the paint—they locked onto it. It was like his skin had grown millions of microscopic hooks.
Panic flared in his chest. He jerked his hand away, and a strand of thin, translucent webbing shot from the base of his palm. It hit his desk with a wet thwip, instantly snagging his oversized gaming mouse.
“No. No, no, no,” Saps whimpered. He tried to shake the web off, but it only tangled further around his fingers. He scrambled backward, his feet hitting the baseboard, but instead of stopping, they kept going.
His sneakers gripped the drywall. His gravity shifted. Before he could process the sheer impossibility of it, Saps was crawling up the wall like a startled gecko.
“Stop! Feet, stop!”
He reached the corner where the wall met the ceiling, and his body naturally pivoted. A second later, he was dangling upside down, his fingers and toes firmly Velcroed to the white textured ceiling.
He looked down. His bed was six feet below him. His giant mic was still dangling from a string of goop attached to his wrist.
“Okay,” Saps whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m dreaming. I’m definitely in a coma. Ish poisoned me and I’m having a very specific, very terrifying hallucination.”
He tried to peel one hand off. It came away with a sound like tearing duct tape, but the moment he moved it, his other three limbs felt even more stuck. He was a human chandelier.
Suddenly, a rhythmic thump-thump-thump came from the other side of the door.
“Yo, Saps?” Sharpness’s voice drifted through the wood. “I’m ordering pizza. You want in?”
Saps froze, his chest pressed against the ceiling tiles. “Uh... I’m good! Don’t come in! I’m... uh... changing! And contagious! Very contagious!”
“Suit yourself,” Sharpness called back. “But Joseph is staring at your door like there’s a giant bug in there. Just saying.”
Saps stared down at the floor, his heart racing. He was stuck to the roof, shooting sticky rope out of his arms, and his roommate thought he was a plague-ridden weirdo.
Saps spent the next three hours peeling himself off various surfaces. By the time he managed to get his feet back on the carpet, his room looked like a spider had a mental breakdown in a craft store. Strands of sticky, translucent silk hung from the ceiling fan, his desk, and—most tragically—his single monitor.
"Okay. Okay, Saps. Focus," he whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. His skin felt electrified. Every hair on his arms was standing up, vibrating with a frequency he couldn't name. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen like it was a jet engine. He could hear the rhythmic scritch-scritch of Joseph the cat grooming himself three rooms away.
He needed to test this. If he stayed in this tiny room, he was going to end up webbed to his own bedsheets again. But he couldn't exactly walk out the front door and start wall-crawling in front of Sharpness.
He scrambled to his closet, throwing clothes onto the floor in a frantic search for a disguise. He didn't have spandex. He didn't have a cool mask. What he had was a closet full of laundry he’d forgotten to fold.
He pulled on a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a heavy black hoodie, pulling the strings tight until only his eyes were visible. For good measure, he shoved on a pair of cheap black sunglasses and a dark face mask he’d kept from the flu season.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced.
"I look like I'm about to get tackled by campus security for trying to heist a vending machine." he muttered, his voice muffled by the fabric.
But it would have to do.
Getting out was the easy part. He opened his window, checked the dark alleyway below, and—with a shot of adrenaline that made his teeth ache—leaped.
He didn't fall. His hands found the brick of the building opposite his window, and he stuck to it with the ease of a magnet hitting a fridge. He began to climb, his movements jerky and uncoordinated at first, but slowly smoothing out into a predatory crawl.
By the time he reached the roof of the tallest building on the block, the city looked different. The lights were brighter, the air was sharper, and the distance between buildings didn't look like a death trap—it looked like a playground.
He pointed his wrist at a distant chimney and squeezed his palm. Thwip!
A line of webbing connected. Saps took a breath, prayed to every god he didn't believe in, and jumped.
The first swing was a disaster. He didn't account for the centrifugal force, and he slammed shoulder-first into a brick chimney. "Ow! Mother of—!"
The second swing was better. He let go at the apex of the arc, soaring through the night air. For a split second, Saps forgot he was a "loser" who owed a scientist his life. He forgot about his twin brother ditching him. He was just a streak of black against the moon, weightless and free.
He was just starting to get the hang of the "thwip-and-release" rhythm when his head suddenly spiked with a sharp, localized pain. It wasn't a headache—it was a warning. A buzzing at the base of his skull that told him to look down.
In the alleyway three stories below, a boy was walking alone. He had soft features and an air of quiet confidence that usually kept people away, but tonight, he had company. Three guys were trailing him, their shadows stretching long and jagged against the concrete. They were closing in, their intentions written in the way they gripped their pockets.
Saps recognized him instantly. Fluixon. One of the star students from the science department—the kind of guy Saps usually avoided because Flux was actually "cool" in a way Saps couldn't mimic if he had a thousand years to practice.
"Hey, pretty boy," one of the creeps sneered, reaching for Flux’s shoulder. "You look lost. Why don't you hand over that bag?"
Flux froze, his eyes darting for an exit. He looked terrified, but he wasn't backing down. "I don't want any trouble. Just let me pass."
Saps didn't think. He didn't plan. He just dropped.
He landed between Flux and the thugs with a heavy thud, his knees absorbing the impact. In his black hoodie and shades, he looked terrifying—or at least, incredibly suspicious.
"Who the hell are you?" the lead thug barked, stepping back.
Saps didn't answer with words. He moved faster than the human eye could track. A web shot out, pinning the leader’s hand to the dumpster. A flurry of punches and kicks—mostly uncoordinated but backed by the strength of a literal spider—sent the other two sprawling into the trash.
Within thirty seconds, the alley was silent, save for the moans of the would-be muggers.
Saps turned to Flux. He tried to look cool, leaning one hand against the brick wall, but his hand accidentally stuck to the mortar, and he had to awkwardly wrench it off.
Flux was staring at him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked at the thugs webbed to the wall, then at the "man" in front of him who looked like a low-budget bank robber.
"What... what are you?" Flux stammered, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Are you... shooting rope from your arms? Why are you dressed like you're about to rob a 7-Eleven?"
Saps felt the old "loser" panic bubbling up, but then he remembered the mask. He remembered the power. He stood up straight, deepening his voice to a raspy, confident growl.
"Don't worry about the fashion choices, gorgeous," Saps said, the flirtatious energy hitting him like a wave. "You should be more worried about being out this late. A boy like you? You’re practically asking for trouble."
Flux’s face went from pale white to a deep, burning crimson in a matter of seconds. "I—I... gorgeous?"
Saps shot a web at the roofline above, giving Flux a two-fingered salute. "Get home safe. I'd hate for something to happen to a face that pretty."
With a powerful tug, Saps launched himself back into the skyline, leaving a stunned, speechless, and very confused Fluixon standing alone in the alleyway.
He groaned, the sound muffled by his pillow. He had said that. To Fluixon.
It had only been a month and a half since the fall semester kicked off, but "Fluixon" was already a name whispered in the back of lecture halls like a cautionary tale. It wasn’t just that he was brilliant—though his lab reports were rumored to be so precise they made professors weep—it was the Generational Fear.
In the hierarchy of the university, there were regular students, there were the science elites, and then there was the "Generational Fear" tier. Fluixon belonged to the latter. It wasn't just that Flux had a scowl that could wilt fresh flowers—it was the shadow of his siblings. Ender and Cynikka were legends of intimidation—people didn't just step out of their way in the halls, they practically phased through walls to avoid eye contact.
And Saps, wearing a five-dollar gas station mask and smelling like dumpster juice, had called their brother gorgeous.
“I’m a dead man,” Saps whispered, his voice cracking. “Ender is going to find me, and he’s going to fold me like a piece of origami.”