I force my eyes open, the faint light of dawn making me raise a hand to my face for a moment.
Letting my pupils adjust to the light, I let out a small yawn and crack my neck to both sides. I get up from my makeshift bed — nothing more than a piece of cardboard my size and an old torn pillow I found in a trash bin.
I walk through the alley I call home, infested with graffiti and piles of trash bags everywhere. The stench was terrible, but after a while, I kinda got used to it.
I step out of the alley and find myself on the street.
Since it's early, the streets are almost empty. Walking down these deserted roads, surrounded by half-destroyed, vandalized, or abandoned buildings, gives the impression I'm at the end of the world.
Step by step, I walk straight until I turn onto another street to the right. It's a dead end, walled off on both sides by two old, closed-down factories that used to make bricks. I head toward the factory on the right — the walls were worn down, and any paint that used to be there had long since faded.
The huge gate was green and brown from rust, and even with the risk of catching tetanus, I knocked on the door.
"Clank!" "Clank!"
The sound of my hand hitting the rusted metal broke the brief silence I had been enjoying for a few minutes.
I heard footsteps inside, coming toward me — then suddenly stopping. A small inspection window on the door slid open fast.
"What is it, kid? I don't have time to waste," said a rough, elderly male voice.
"I'm here to sew..."
"Then get in already!"
The man shut the inspection window and opened the heavy door. That's when I saw him fully.
He was short and fat, probably in his fifties or older, wearing a dark jacket and a matching hat. Just standing near him, I could smell his breath — like rotten eggs.
"The Cat Burglar will be pleased to see such an energetic new worker like you," he said with a wide smile, signaling for me to follow him into the factory.
If the outside looked bad, the inside was in even worse shape.
Most of the rooms and hallways were destroyed or tagged with graffiti, and the whole structure seemed like it could collapse any minute.
We entered a corridor in slightly better condition, which ended at a double door. When we opened it, we stepped into a warehouse-sized space filled with hundreds of people of all ages, dressed in rags, sitting at rows of sewing tables.
They were stitching all kinds of clothes in different styles.
At the end of each row, two henchmen in black clothes stood holding rifles.
The fat man led me to a staircase in the corner. We climbed it and entered a room overlooking the lower floor. Inside was a big black couch — the most expensive-looking piece of furniture I'd ever seen — along with desks and computers manned by more henchmen.
"Boss, we've got a new potential worker," said the fat man to the person sitting on the couch.
"I see."
The man sitting there was middle-aged, with black hair and wearing a green jumpsuit with brown gloves and boots.
"You can go. Your job is done," said the Boss to the fat man, who left right away.
"So, kid, do you know who I am?" the man asked me.
"The Cat Burglar," I answered.
"Excellent, excellent. Now tell me, how did you hear about this place?"
"Heard some people talking in the alleys yesterday — said this place offered shelter in exchange for work," I replied honestly.
"Seems our message traveled well through the alleys. Well, from what I see, you look about ten years old… and I suppose you know how to sew?" said the Cat Burglar, raising an eyebrow.
"I assure you, sir. I know how to sew," I said, as confidently as I could.
The Cat Burglar scanned me from head to toe thoughtfully before replying.
"Judging by that look in your eyes and the way you speak, I can tell you've been through a lot. You wouldn't come here empty-handed."
"Now go take one of the empty tables. I've got more important things to deal with." He dismissed me with a wave.
I obeyed and went down to the factory floor.
I walked over to a row with fewer people and sat at the last sewing table.
Next to it, taped to the wall, was a sheet showing the clothing designs.
I sighed as I waited for one of the guards to bring the fabric.
"Who would've thought I'd be helping a criminal with her plans," I murmured to myself.
And worst of all, this criminal wasn't just some street thug — she was a Spider-Man villain.
When I figured out what universe I was in, I panicked for a whole hour.
Many people would be thrilled to reincarnate into one of their favorite fictional worlds.
That wasn't my case.
My memories began returning when I turned five, and after a while, they came back fully — at least the academic and life stuff.
Things like family, friends, and work were still missing.
But the most important thing was my knowledge of this world.
Until I turned eight, my life was relatively normal. I had an adoptive mom — Thalia Ioannou, of Greek heritage.
I never knew my birth parents; they abandoned me at birth.
Those eight years were the best of my life. My mother loved me as much as I loved her.
But everything changed when she developed lung cancer out of nowhere.
It started with mild symptoms — coughing, shortness of breath — that got worse every day.
When she found out, she did everything she could to spend as much time with me as possible, knowing she might not be here tomorrow.
Which is exactly what happened.
Two days before my birthday, she died of respiratory failure.
That was the day I lost a part of myself.
After her funeral, custody passed to my uncles, and I soon discovered they hated my mom — and me.
On my birthday, they threw me out on the street as a "gift."
I fought to survive for a year.
When I tried approaching people, they pushed me away because of how I looked and smelled.
Against my will, I had to steal just to survive — only small things like food.
It's honestly surprising I'm still alive.
I should credit my luck.
I even remember a time when three shady guys came after me...
But once again, thanks to my luck, a thunderstorm started, and a lightning bolt struck them during my escape, electrocuting all three.
Yesterday, while wandering the alleys, I overheard two homeless guys talking about this place.
It was too late to go then, so I decided to come today.
Never did I expect to find a C-list Spider-Man villain.
A pretty obscure one, too.
I only knew about him because he eventually takes up the Prowler mantle.
Despite all his bravado, the Cat Burglar is just a lackey for another villain — Belladonna.
A supervillain obsessed with fashion. So obsessed, she robs and kills fashion designers and sells their work as her own.
That's where this place comes in — it wasn't hard to put the pieces together with what I know.
To make the designs, she needs labor — and of course, she doesn't want to spend a fortune on that.
So why not use the homeless and desperate as cheap labor?
Just offering a roof and food is enough to win them over.
Typical of a supervillain — but also brilliant.
Especially in the Bronx, the poorest district in New York.
"Thud!"
I'm pulled from my thoughts as a box full of fabric lands beside the sewing machine.
The henchman who dropped it walks away without saying a word.
"Haah…"
Well, I guess it's time to start sewing — something that came back to me with my memories.