The rooftop air was different. Crisp, biting, almost electric, as if the city's chaos below had charged the atmosphere itself. Leroy stood motionless, staring at the web shimmering in his hand. The intricate lines pulsated softly, glowing in shades of silver and blue. It wasn't just a web—it was alive, dynamic, as if tethered to something far beyond his comprehension.
The glow began to fade, dissolving into the darkness, but the sensation lingered. It wasn't like the strands he'd conjured before. This felt deliberate, intentional. Leroy closed his eyes and focused, imagining the lines of the web again, picturing them in vivid detail. A soft vibration spread through his palm, and the web flickered back into existence.
"What are you?" he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was asking the web or himself.
Below him, the city roared. The riots weren't dying down; they were mutating, spreading like fire across blocks. The distant wail of sirens, the sharp cracks of breaking glass, and the muffled cries of protest filled the night. Leroy had always felt like Baltimore was alive, but tonight it was a beast, wounded and lashing out.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out with a trembling hand, the cracked screen lighting up with a text.
Aisha:
What the hell was that?? Call me NOW.
Leroy stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. He wanted to respond, to explain, but what could he say? That he'd just yanked a riot cop off her with a strand of glowing, impossible web? That he didn't even understand what was happening to himself?
He shoved the phone back into his pocket. Not now.
The sound of footsteps on the rooftop snapped him back to reality. Leroy spun around, his pulse quickening. A shadow moved against the faint glow of the city lights, deliberate and slow.
"Impressive," a voice said, smooth and low.
Leroy's muscles tensed. The voice was familiar—the same one that had sent chills down his spine in the alley.
"Who are you?" Leroy demanded, taking a step back. His fingers twitched, and for a brief moment, he felt the web stir, ready to spring forth.
The man stepped into the light, his gray coat and hat immaculate, as if untouched by the chaos of the streets. His face was sharp, angular, with piercing eyes that seemed to see through Leroy, as if dissecting him with a glance.
"Someone who sees what you are," the man replied, his tone almost casual. "Or rather, what you could be."
Leroy clenched his fists. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, but you do," the man said, a faint smile playing at his lips. He gestured to Leroy's hand. "That... is the beginning. The first thread in a tapestry far greater than you can imagine."
Leroy hesitated. His mind raced, trying to process the man's words. "What do you mean? What's happening to me?"
The man tilted his head, studying Leroy like a scientist observing an experiment. "Your thoughts," he said, "are no longer confined. Most people's imaginations are shackled, bound by fear, doubt, and the illusion of reality. But you… you've broken those chains. You've touched the infinite."
The words hit Leroy like a punch to the gut. They were too close to the theories in his notebook, the ideas he'd scribbled late at night when the world felt distant.
"I don't want this," Leroy said, his voice cracking. "Whatever this is. I didn't ask for it."
The man's smile widened, though there was no warmth in it. "No one ever does. But the web has chosen you, Leroy. You can either weave it or be ensnared by it."
Before Leroy could respond, the man took a step forward, his presence almost suffocating. "Baltimore is on fire," he said, gesturing to the chaos below. "The people are crying out for change, for justice, but they don't realize the power they hold. You do. You've seen it. Felt it. That power isn't just yours—it's theirs too. But someone has to show them."
Leroy shook his head. "I'm not some savior. I'm just trying to survive."
The man's expression darkened. "Survival is a small game, Leroy. You're capable of so much more. You can shape this city, this world, into something better. Or you can let it crumble while you hide in the shadows."
The words stung, cutting through Leroy's defenses. He looked down at his hands, at the faint shimmer of the web still lingering in his palm. Could he really make a difference? Or was this just another burden, another thing the world was throwing at him to break him?
The man turned, walking toward the edge of the rooftop. "Think about it," he said without looking back. "The web is yours to weave."
And with that, he stepped off the edge.
Leroy ran to the railing, his heart pounding, but the man was gone. The street below was empty, save for the faint glow of streetlights and the distant shadows of protesters.
For a long moment, Leroy stood there, the city's noise fading into the background. The man's words echoed in his mind, intertwining with the fragments of his own thoughts: the theories, the questions, the fear.
The web is yours to weave.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The storm inside him was still there, but now it felt different—less chaotic, more… focused.
Leroy opened his eyes and stared out at the city. The fires still burned, the protests still raged, but beneath the chaos, he saw something else. Possibility.
He didn't know what the man wanted or why this was happening to him, but one thing was clear: he couldn't run from it anymore.
Leroy took one last look at the glowing strands in his hand before they faded into nothing. "If this is my web," he muttered, "I guess it's time to start spinning."