Law of The Web - Zetro Translation

Gideon Harley had always known his job was dangerous. Testing venom for one of the world’s leading biomedical companies wasn’t a career for anyone looking for comfort or predictability.

It wasn’t the kind of job people dreamed about as kids. It was isolating, intense, and just a hair away from suicide. But for Gideon, it wasn’t about the danger or the money; it was about the precision, the challenge. There was something exhilarating about taking apart nature’s deadliest creations and figuring out how they worked.

He was someone who had always loved insects, especially spiders.

The lab he worked in wasn’t what most people imagined. There were no sleek walls of glass or futuristic gadgets humming with sci-fi brilliance. It was sterile and utilitarian. The walls were painted a lifeless gray-white that reflected the glare of flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

The workstations stretched out in identical rows, each one armed with microscopes, extraction tools, and containment units. All the equipment was designed to handle the most venomous creatures in the world.

Gideon’s station was tucked away in the back corner, far from the casual researchers and interns who worked with “low-risk” specimens. His was the section for the real monsters, the ones that could kill you in less time than it took to scream.

He didn’t mind.

The quiet suited him.

It gave him space to think and focus, free from the nervous whispers of coworkers.

It is because of this that only someone who shares his passion can work alongside him.

And in this business, those people can only be counted on one hand.

“Alright, Harley.”

Dr. Kane’s voice crackled through the intercom, clipped and professional as always.

“We’ve got a live one today. Genus Primus Arachnis, Prototype Three.”

Gideon sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension already building, but he was up for the task nonetheless.

“Great… so we are dealing with that scary one, egh… hehehe… not going to lie, that one makes me nervous in more ways than one.”

He muttered to himself, but Kane wasn’t done.

“Hahaha… I don’t blame you; we rarely extract samples from P3… but that should be expected, I guess, given how much of a miracle drug the venom from this thing is once mixed properly with other solutions, so the higher-ups are requesting another vile.”

Kane said and continued.

“This isn’t just any venom, you know. It’s highly reactive; as such, treat it like it’s your last day on Earth if you screw up.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the pep talk, Kane.”

Gideon replied dryly.

His voice carried a hint of sarcasm, but his fingers were steady as he reached for his protective suit. The suit was a full-body affair, reinforced with puncture-resistant fabric and equipped with gloves lined with anti-venom microfibers.

It wasn’t comfortable, but comfort wasn’t the priority when your job involved creatures that could kill you in seconds.

The containment chamber stood before him, looming like a glass fortress. It was about the size of a walk-in freezer, its walls reinforced with tempered glass and lined with biometric locks.

Inside, the spider sat perched on a synthetic branch, its legs tucked neatly beneath its body. Under the UV lights, its black carapace shimmered with hints of deep violet and green, like an oil slick.

Beautiful and deadly.

This wasn’t an ordinary spider. It was a genetically engineered hybrid, painstakingly created by combining the traits of Earth’s most dangerous arachnids. Black widow venom for its neurotoxicity. Funnel-web venom for its rapid paralysis. Brazilian wandering spider venom for its systemic effects. The result was a creature whose venom was as much a potential medical breakthrough as it was a biological weapon.

Gideon checked the monitors displaying the spider’s vitals: heart rate steady, venom sac activity within normal parameters.

“Vitals are stable.”

He muttered, his voice muffled inside his helmet. He reached for the extraction needle, a sleek instrument designed to draw venom without harming the specimen.

“Harley.”

Kane’s voice broke through the intercom again.

“Prototype Three’s venom isn’t just a neurotoxin. It’s chemically reactive. If the sac pulses…

“I know, Kane.”

Gideon cut him off, his tone firm but calm. His eyes never left the spider as he carefully guided the needle toward its venom sac.

“If it pulses too hard, I pull back. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

The spider twitched as the needle neared its abdomen. Its legs shifted slightly, and for a fleeting moment, Gideon had the unsettling sensation that it was watching him. He forced himself to stay steady, exhaling slowly as he punctured the venom sac. A soft pop sounded, and golden liquid began to drip into the vial attached to the needle.

“Easy… now.”

Gideon murmured, his voice low and soothing, as though he were talking to a skittish animal.

The extraction was going smoothly. The vial was filling, the venom glowing faintly under the UV light. He was almost done, just a few more seconds.

And then the spider moved.

It wasn’t a twitch or a reflex. It was deliberate, calculated. Its legs unfolded with eerie precision, and its body shifted toward him, fangs clicking softly against the tempered glass.

“Kane.”

Gideon said, his voice tightening.

“This thing’s moving weirdly… It’s not normal; should I stop?”

“Stay calm.”

Kane replied, though there was an edge to his voice now.

“You’re almost there.”

The vial was nearly full. Gideon just needed a few more seconds. But before he could finish, the spider lunged.

The containment chamber rattled violently as the spider slammed against the glass, its fangs scraping against the inner surface. Gideon flinched, the needle slipping from his hand and clattering onto the floor. The vial followed, shattering into a pool of glowing liquid that spread across the sterile tiles.

“Shit.”

Gideon hissed, backing away instinctively.

<<Emergency Protocols Activated.>>

The robotic voice echoed through the lab as the spider chamber’s door, where its artificial habitat was, began to seal automatically. But something was wrong. Instead of locking, the mechanism stuttered, emitting a harsh, metallic grinding noise.

“Kane!”

Gideon shouted, panic rising in his chest.

“The chamber’s not sealing, mate, and I don’t see that thing at all!”

“I’m trying to override… give me a minute; you have your suit on; you should be good.”

Kane said, his voice distant and a little strained.

On the other hand, the spider didn’t wait; it had escaped, barrow, and was currently on the table at the side of Gideon.

In a blur of movement, it darted at him as it jumped off the table and towards the ground, its legs skittering across the floor with terrifying speed. Gideon barely had time to react before it leaped, landing on his arm. Its legs clung to the suit with a vice-like grip, and before he could shake it off, he felt the sting, which should have been impossible, but the critter pierced his suit like it was nothing.

The bite was sharp and searing, a hot knife slicing through his skin. The pain spread rapidly, a fiery ache that numbed his arm even as it sent shocks of agony through his nerves. He stumbled backward, his vision blurring as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Gideon, stay with me!”

Kane’s voice was distant now, drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears.

The nodes in his body began to swell and inflame as blood poured from his ears, mouth, eyes, and nose.

The room swam around him, the sterile walls and harsh lights melting into a hazy blur. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath as his body convulsed. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the spider, perched a few feet away, its dark eyes gleaming with an intelligence that sent a shiver down his spine.

Then there was nothing.

…

A sharp jolt snapped Gideon awake.

He gasped, his lungs desperate for air, and the rancid stench of unwashed bodies and damp wood filled his nostrils. His vision swam, his head pounding as if someone had taken a hammer to his skull. A rattling sound, wooden wheels grinding against uneven terrain, thundered in his ears, loud enough to make him wince.

‘Where the hell am I?’

The moment his thoughts caught up with his senses, he realized he was lying on his side, his arms twisted uncomfortably behind him. Cold, rough ropes bit into his wrists and ankles, the restraints tight enough to leave raw marks on his skin.

The air was heavy with tension, punctuated by the distant sounds of children whimpering and crying softly. It took him a moment to fully process the scene around him.

He was in a cart.

It was large, wooden, and crudely constructed, with iron bars caging its sides like a mobile prison. The floor beneath him was splintered and damp, reeking of mildew. Surrounding him were kids—dozens of them, all no older than maybe 9-10 if he had to guess.

Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow with fear. Like him, their hands and feet were bound. Some sat huddled together, trembling, while others stared blankly at the floor, their spirits already crushed.

“SHUT IT!”

The guttural roar startled Gideon, yanking his attention to the front of the cart. A hulking man, his face weathered and scarred, stood on the driver’s platform. He held a cracked leather whip, snapping it threateningly in the air. The kids flinched at the sound, their cries silenced by terror.

“You want to bawl your eyes out? Do it when we’re at the pits!”

The man snarled, spitting over the side. His voice was like gravel, coarse and grating.

“You think anyone’s going to care about your sniveling? No! So shut your damn mouths!”

Gideon’s pulse quickened as he took in the man’s words. The pits? His mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. This couldn’t be real. Just minutes ago, or what felt like minutes; he was in the lab, dealing with Prototype Three.

But now?

He looked down at his body. He wasn’t wearing his protective suit anymore, but ragged, coarse clothing that itched against his skin. His boots were gone, replaced with flimsy leather slippers barely holding together.

This wasn’t a nightmare.

It wasn’t the lab.

The panic threatened to consume him, but he forced himself to focus. His hands twisted against the ropes, testing the knots. They were expertly tied. He wouldn’t be getting free easily.

“Where… am I?”

He croaked, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

A boy sitting nearby glanced at him, his wide brown eyes full of pity. He looked to be no older than ten, his face smudged with dirt.

“You’re awake… are you ok, he beat you pretty bad you know.”

The boy whispered, his voice trembling.

“You… shouldn’t talk. If he hears you…

Gideon wasn’t in the mood for vague warnings.

“Where. Am. I?”

He pressed, his tone low but firm.

The boy hesitated, his gaze darting nervously to the scarred man still beating down on the other children.

“The borderlands.”

He murmured finally, just loud enough for Gideon to hear.

“They’re taking us to be sold… to somewhere they call the pit… I overheard the adult saying they plan to sell us to the Black Moon Clan.”

The words hit Gideon like a punch to the gut.

Sold?

The pits?

What the hell was this place?

And then he shouted.

“Oiiii YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING RIGHT?!…. IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE?!”

Gideon shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and fury.

A few of the other kids flinched, their wide eyes darting between Gideon and the scarred man. Some shook their heads, silently pleading with him to stop.

One of the older boys nearest to Gideon hissed through gritted teeth.

“Hey, quiet down… or…

*WOOOOSH!*

The sound of the whip cutting through the air was swift and merciless.

*CRACK!*

“AAGHHHH!!!…

Gideon screamed as the leather snapped against his back.

The pain was immediate, white-hot, and searing, making his entire body convulse. He collapsed onto the splintered floor, gasping for breath, his tied hands clawing funnily at the rough wood in an effort to ground himself.

The scarred man climbed onto the cart, his heavy boots thudding with each step. His shadow loomed over Gideon as he approached with a scowl etched deep into his rugged face.

The whip dangled from his hand, its frayed edges stained dark.

“You again.”

The man muttered, his tone dripping with irritation.

“Didn’t my last beating teach you anything?”

Gideon struggled to lift his head, his body trembling from the agony coursing through him. Despite the pain, his glare burned with defiance, locking eyes with the man towering above him.

The man crouched down, gripping Gideon by the chin and forcing him to look up. His fingers were rough, calloused, and reeked of sweat.

“You think you’re special or something, huh? That you can talk back?”

He tilted his head mockingly, his lips curling into a sneer.

“You’re just another piece of meat for the pits. Better learn your place quick, boy.”

Gideon didn’t respond.

His jaw tightened, and what he did next shocked the other kids.

He spat in the man’s face.

The scarred man’s expression darkened instantly, his grip tightening painfully.

“Oh, you’ve got a death wish, don’t you?”

In the next moment, all Gideon felt was a searing pain as the man grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head face-first into the hard surface of the cart, causing him to lose consciousness yet again.