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 before getting up from my makeshift bed—nothing more than a cardboard piece my size and an old, torn pillow I found in a dumpster.
I walk through the alley I call home, infested with graffiti and piles of trash bags scattered everywhere. The stench is terrible, but after a while, I kind of got used to it. I step out of the alley and onto the street.
Since it's early, the streets are nearly empty. Walking through the deserted roads, surrounded by half-destroyed, vandalized, or abandoned buildings, I get the feeling that I'm at the end of the world.
Step by step, I walk in a straight line until I turn onto another street to the right. It's a dead-end street, closed off on both sides by two old, abandoned brick factories. I keep walking toward the factory on the right. Its walls are worn down, and the paint has long since faded. The enormous gate is a mix of green and brown due to rust, and even though I might get tetanus, I knock on the door.
"Clank!" "Clank!"
The sound of my hand hitting the rusty metal breaks the silent peace I had enjoyed for a few minutes. I soon hear footsteps approaching from the other side, abruptly stopping. Then, the inspection window on the door opens quickly.
"What is it, kid? I don't have time to waste," said a rough, aged male voice.
"I'm here to sew…"
"Then get in already!"
The man closed the inspection window and opened the enormous door. I finally got a full view of him. He was short and fat, seemingly in his fifties or older, wearing a dark jacket and a matching hat. Just standing near him, I could smell his foul breath, reeking of rotten eggs.
"The Cat Burglar will be pleased to see a new worker as full of energy as you," the man said with a wide grin, signaling for me to follow him into the factory.
If the outside of the factory was in bad shape, the inside was in a miserable state. Most of the rooms and hallways were destroyed or covered in graffiti, and the entire building looked like it could collapse at any moment.
We entered a hallway, in slightly better condition than the others, which led to a double door. Opening it, we stepped into a warehouse-sized space filled with hundreds of people of various ages wearing ragged clothes, all seated at sewing tables in neat rows.
They were stitching a variety of clothing styles. At the end of each row stood two thugs dressed in black, holding rifles.
The fat man led me to a staircase in the corner. Climbing it, we entered a room overlooking the factory floor below. Inside, there was a large black sofa that, in my eyes, looked more expensive than any I had ever seen, along with desks and computers occupied by more henchmen.
"Boss, we have a potential new recruit," said the fat man to the figure sitting on the sofa.
"I see."
The man sitting down was middle-aged, with black hair, wearing a green jumpsuit with brown gloves and boots.
"You can go; your job here is done," the boss said to the fat man, who then left.
"So, kid, do you know who I am?" the man asked me.
"The Cat Burglar," I replied.
"Good, good. Now tell me, how did you hear about this place?"
"I overheard some talk in the alleys yesterday that this place offered shelter in exchange for work," I answered truthfully.
"Seems like our message spread far and wide through the alleys. Well, from what I see, you look about ten years old. And I assume you know how to sew?" The Cat Burglar raised an eyebrow.
"I guarantee, sir, that I know how to sew," I said as confidently as I could.
The Cat Burglar examined me from head to toe thoughtfully before speaking.
"Kid, what's your name?"
"Manelau."
Manelau Ioannou was the name I was given.
"Judging by your eyes and tone, you've been through a lot to get here, and you wouldn't be stupid enough to come empty-handed."
"Now go and take one of the empty tables. I have more important things to do," the Cat Burglar continued, dismissing me.
I obeyed and went down to the factory floor, heading to a row with fewer people. I sat at the last sewing table, where a paper with the clothing designs was taped to the wall beside it.
I sighed, waiting for one of the henchmen to bring the fabrics.
"Who would've thought I'd be helping a criminal with his plans," I murmured to myself.
And the worst part was that the criminal wasn't just any street thug but a Spider-Man villain.
When I realized which universe I was in, I panicked for an hour.
Many would be thrilled to reincarnate in one of their favorite worlds, but that wasn't my case. My memories started returning when I turned five, and after some time, they all came back completely—at least my academic and general life knowledge. However, things like family, friends, work, and so on were missing.
Most importantly, I knew where I was.
My life up to the age of eight was relatively normal. I had a mother, Thalia Ioannou, of Greek descent. My father abandoned us when I was born. Those eight years were the best of my life—my mother loved me, and I loved her.
But everything changed when she suddenly developed lung cancer. It started with mild symptoms like coughing and shortness of breath, which worsened 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 there tomorrow.
And that's exactly what happened—two days before my birthday, she died of respiratory failure. That day, I lost a part of myself.
After her funeral, my custody passed to my uncles, whom I soon discovered hated my mother and me. On my birthday, as a "gift," they threw me out onto the streets.
For a year, I struggled to survive. When I tried to approach people, they avoided me because of my smell and appearance. Against my will, I had to steal to survive—just small thefts, like food and such.
It's truly surprising that I'm still alive. I suppose I have my luck to thank. I even remember a time when three shady men came after me.
But once again, luck was on my side. A storm began, and as I ran away, lightning struck them, electrocuting them.
Yesterday, while walking through the alleys, I overheard two homeless men talking about this place, but since it was late, I decided to come today. I never expected to find a C-list Spider-Man villain.
A rather obscure one, I must say. I only know about him because he later takes on the mantle of Prowler.
Despite all his bravado, the Cat Burglar is nothing more than a henchman for another villain—Madame Belladonna.
A supervillain obsessed with fashion, so obsessed that she steals and kills fashion designers, selling their work as her own. That's where this place comes in—it wasn't hard to connect the dots with my knowledge.
To create the designs, she needs cheap labor, and of course, she wouldn't want to spend a fortune. So why not use the homeless and destitute? Offering shelter and food would be enough to win them over.
Typical of a supervillain, but also brilliant—especially here in the Bronx, New York's poorest district.
"Thud!"
I snapped out of my thoughts when a box full of fabric was dropped beside my sewing machine. The henchman who delivered it walked away without a word.
"Haah…"
Well, I should start sewing—something that came with my memories.