-...gives you superpowers, it seems-

  Downtown TB—Shiromori Residence, Ryu’s Room

  Darkness–well not really. More like a dim light from my monitor and the annoying squeaking of my ceiling fan.

  My old pair of boxing gloves were hanging on a hook behind my door, the leather cracked and worn from countless sparring matches. My desk? A battlefield—burn marks, tangled wires, and an unused NeuroFlex board sitting next to a graveyard of empty NRGz cans. A lovely reminder that our brilliant first attempt didn’t exactly work out.

  I stared at my ceiling, body still aching like I just finished a twelve round with my coach. The fever was gone, so that was good.

  The ceiling fan’s squeaking was worse today–it was louder.

  Coupled with the rhythmic ticking of my clock hanging across the room nearly made me rip my own hair out.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Wait–

  Since when have I been able to hear that clock?

  I sat up with a wince, still in my lab coat, when I heard a faint snore beside me. I looked down to see Asri sprawled on the floor, sleeping. You sleep like an orang-utan, Asri.

  I stared at the far wall of my room, trying to read the time.

  10:58.

  It was late. Mom should be home.

  I slowly got out of bed, trying to wake my best friend up. He rubbed his eyes before sitting on the floor, his mouth opening wide for a long lazy yawn.

  “Slept well?” I asked him.

  “Bed quality could use an upgrade.” Asri pats the floor, eyes half open.

  “Well, you get what you paid for.”

  “I didn't pay though.”

  “Exactly.”

  I turned my light on, and he hissed in protest, rubbing his eyes again.

  “Keep rubbing, and you might pop it out.”

  “For someone whose body was burning like an oven just now, you sure are chatty.”

  I smirked, grabbing my towel before I head to the showers. I had a long, tiring day. Between the failed experiments, getting bitten by a spider and feeling like my body tried to cook itself from the inside, all I want is a nice cold shower.

  As I peeled my shirt off, I noticed something strange with my arm.

  It was…toned.

  Not just in shape–toned–athlete–toned. Like I've been hitting the gym for months. Problem was, I had not stepped foot in one in three years.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I walked into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror.

  Ayo. I’m ripped.

  I looked even better than when I used to box. Defined abs. Sculpted arms. Like a fitness magazine model.

  And then I noticed a second detail.

  I could read the clock across my room. The fine print of Mom's fancy shampoo bottle.

  Without my glasses.

  Yeah. I'm actually going insane.

  After showering, I quickly got dressed. Asri was now on my bed, doom-scrolling through his phone.

  “Yo, Asri. Check it.” I flexed my arm, showing off my biceps.

  “Uh…okay?” Asri looked at me, confused.

  “Dude, I'm ripped.”

  “Good for you?”

  I grabbed a toy foam bat from my shelf and chucked it at him. Asri shielded his face, laughing, but the bat never reached him.

  Because it was stuck to my hand.

  “Dude, what is wrong with your hand?” Asri asked, slowly creeping across the bed.

  I shook my arm. Nothing.

  Asri gripped the other end of the bat. We pulled hard. It finally came loose.

  “That was…weird.” I said, still looking at the bat, then looking at my own hand.

  “Why’s your hand so sticky, man?” Asri asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I turned towards the wall. Placed my hand on it.

  It stuck.

  I placed another hand higher. Same thing.

  “Uh dude? What are you doing?” Asr looked at me like I had gone insane.

  I climbed.

  Left. Right. Left. Right. My feet had already left the ground.

  Soon enough, I was standing on the ceiling–looking at Asri upside down. The scary part was that this felt natural to me.

  “What happened to me, bro?” I asked Asri, his jaw hanging.

  I softly dropped with a flip in front of my best friend.

  Asri’s eyes flickered with something more than shock–curiosity. Like he just found a puzzle that he’s dying to solve.

  He slowly raised his hand. “Okay, back up. So, what, you're a cockroach now?”

  “Why cockroaches?” I crossed my arm. “Why not geckos?”

  “The real question is why are you sticking to walls?” Asri gestured wildly–

  That’s when I felt it.

  A buzzing at the back of my skull.

  An electrical feeling down my spine. Like a warning that something was about to happen.

  His phone. Right jacket pocket. Fall.

  I instinctively reached my hand out, extending my pointer, pinky and thumb,.

  Thwip!

  A thin, white thread shoots out of my wrist, catching his phone midair

  “Dude!” Asri’s voice was barely a whisper, seeing his phone dangling.

  “Woah, what the hell?” I inspected the webstring.

  With a small yank, the phone landed safely into my palm, web and all.

  I turned my hand over. Then again.

  Same hand, same skin. No launcher.

  Just me.

  What. The. Hell?