Peter felt a pull in the darkness. The sensation was strange. Like falling but not quite falling. The darkness wrapped around him like thick water. Then came the light.
The light was so bright it hurt. He wanted to close his eyes tight. He tried to speak. He wanted to say "What's happening to me?" But all that came out was soft baby sounds. Small cries that didn't sound like his voice at all.
'What the hell?' Peter thought. Panic shot through him. His mind felt clear but his body felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
For a moment, memories came back to him. His old life. His real life. He remembered walking down the empty street after midnight. The comic book store had just gotten the new Spider-Man issue. He'd waited three weeks for it. The cover showed Spider-Man swinging between buildings with that classic red and blue suit.
The night had been normal at first. Street lights glowing yellow on wet pavement. Cars passing by with their headlights cutting through the dark. Then the power went out. All of it. Every light on every street just died.
His phone had been at eighty percent battery. Then it went black too. Just like that. No warning. No slow fade. Just dead.
'That was weird,' he'd thought then. But weird things happened all the time. Power grids failed. Phones broke. Normal stuff.
But then the darkness got thicker. Heavier. Like someone was pouring black paint over the world. He couldn't see his own hands. Couldn't see the ground under his feet. Just endless black in every direction.
That's when he fell. Not into a hole exactly. More like falling through the world itself. Falling through reality. And now he was here. Wherever here was.
Peter felt around with tiny hands that didn't belong to him. His body was so small. Like a doll. Like a baby. Because he was a baby, wasn't he? The thought made him want to scream but only soft whimpers came out.
Huge hands lifted him up. Adult hands. They felt warm but rough. Working hands. The person holding him moved fast. Peter could feel the urgent energy in their movements.
Soon he heard voices. Two men talking. Their words were rushed and worried.
"Hurry up, take him to my brother," one voice said. The voice sounded tired. Scared. "There's no more time. They'll be here soon."
"I will," another voice replied. This one was older. More steady. "Richard, are you sure about this? Leaving him like this?"
Peter tried to open his eyes. He wanted to see who was talking about him. But before he could focus on anything, someone covered him with a soft blanket. Then he felt himself being placed in what felt like a wicker basket.
'A basket?' Peter thought. 'Like some fairy tale baby?' The situation was getting more strange by the second. He was a grown man. He had a job. He paid taxes. He worried about student loans. He didn't belong in a basket.
The panic hit him hard then. His tiny heart raced. His small lungs worked faster. What had happened to his life? Where was his real body? Was this some kind of dream? Some weird coma nightmare?
But everything felt too real. The scratch of the basket weave against his soft baby skin. The sound of car doors slamming. The rumble of an engine starting up.
The car ride felt like forever. Every bump in the road jostled the basket. Peter could smell old cigarettes and coffee from the car. The radio played soft jazz music. Outside he could hear other cars passing by. Normal city sounds. But nothing felt normal anymore.
After what felt like hours but was probably only forty minutes, the car stopped. The engine went quiet. Peter heard footsteps on pavement. Then the basket was lifted again.
'Where are they taking me?' Peter wondered. 'Who are these people?'
The footsteps moved fast. Urgent again. Then the basket was set down on what felt like concrete steps. Hard knocking on a door. Then more footsteps, but these ones moving away fast. Getting quieter. Then silence.
'Have I been abandoned at birth?'
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