Law of The Web - Zetro Translation

I’ve always known my job is a bit nuts. Working with venom for a top biomedical company isn’t for anyone who wants a cozy, predictable life.

It’s not like I grew up dreaming of this gig. It is a lonely venture, that is equally intense, and honestly, sometimes feels like I am flirting with death itself.

But for me, it’s not about the thrill or the paycheck, I genuinely love the job for how simple it is despite it’s various dangers.

There is something beautiful about taking apart nature’s deadliest stuff and figuring out what makes it tick. I’ve been obsessed with bugs, especially spiders, since I was a kid.

My lab is not some shiny sci-fi setup. Forget glass walls or fancy gadgets. It’s all gray-white walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and a sterile environment and tools laid bare before me.

Rows of identical workstations are decked out with microscopes, extraction tools, and containment units built for the world’s most dangerous critters.

My spot’s in the back corner, away from the newbies and interns messing with the safer specimens. I deal with the real nightmares, the ones that can drop you before you even yell.

I am cool with it, though. The quietness is nice. It gives me space to think without all the nervous chatter from coworkers. You would have to be as crazy as I am about this stuff to even work with these dangerous critters.

As I prepare to work on the new subject, my partner from the outside talk to me, his voice echoing in the speakers.

“Alright, Harley.”

Dr. Kane’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“We got a fun one today. Primus Arachnis, Prototype Three.”

He announced to me.

Naturally I roll my shoulders, already feeling the tension.

“Great… one of the creepy one’s, huh? Not gonna lie, this guy gives me the chills.”

I mumble to myself, partially laughing with nervousness.

But Kane is not done.

“Haha, I don’t blame you. We don’t mess with P3 often, but you know how it is…the venom of this specimen is a game-changer when mixed right with other substances. Big shots upstairs want another vial, so we have no choice.”

He keeps going.

“This stuff is no joke, Harley. It’s super reactive. Screw this up, and it is likey that this might be your last day among the living.”

“Yeah, thanks for the warm fuzzies, Kane.”

I shoot back a sassy reply. My hands are steady as I grab my protective suit. It is a bulky, puncture-proof thing with gloves laced with anti-venom fibers.

Comfy? Well not really. But when you’re dealing with something that can kill you in seconds, comfort’s is the least of ones problems.

The containment chamber is built like a small fortress, a big glass box with biometric locks. Inside, the spider for today’s extraction chill on a fake branch, legs tucked in tight.

Under the UV lights, its black shell sparkles with hints of purple and green, like an oil spill. Gorgeous, but deadly. This isn’t your average spider, it is a lab-made freak, mixing the worst traits of black widows, funnel-webs, and Brazilian wandering spiders. Its venom could save lives or end them, depending on how it’s used.

I glance at the monitors, heart rate’s good, venom sac’s normal.

“Looking stable.”

I mutter, as I didn’t want to stress the little guy out, during the process.

My voice muffled by my my protective helmet. I grab the extraction needle, a slick little tool made to pull venom without hurting the spider.

“Harley.”

Kane pipes up again.

“Reminder if you forgot…P3’s venom isn’t just toxic, it is highly volatile. If the sac starts pulsing…

“I got it, Kane.”

I cut him off, keeping my cool. My eyes stay glued to the spider as I ease the needle toward its venom sac.

“If it twitches too much, I back off. This isn’t my first rodeo partner, trust in me.”

The spider shifts as the needle gets close. Its legs move just a bit, and for a second, I swear it was staring at me.

Creepy eyes, red pearls of death.

I breathe slow, keeping steady, and puncture the sac. There’s a soft pop, and golden venom starts dripping into the vial.

“Nice and easy.”

I whisper, like I am talking to a nervous pet. It is going smooth, the vial was been slowly filled, glowing under the UV light.

Almost there, I said.

But then the spider suddenly move.

Its legs snap out, and it turns toward me, fangs tapping the glass.

“Kane!!”

I say, my voice tightening.

“It’s acting weird… Should I stop?”

“Stay cool.”

Kane said, encouraging me to continue.

“You”re almost done.”

The vial is nearly full. Just a few more seconds. I was on edge, because P3 was acting very aggressive today.

But then just as I was near completion, P3 suddenly lunge forward.

The chamber shakes as it slams the glass, fangs scraping. I flinch, and the needle slips, hitting the floor. The vial shatters, venom pooling on the tiles.

“Dammit.”

I hiss, stepping back.

GARBLE!!!..

The emergency system kicks in, blaring.

The chamber door starts to close, but it jams, grinding loudly.

“Kane!”

I yell, heart pounding.

“The chamber’s not sealing, and I can’t see it!”

“I am working on it, just hold tight, your suit’s on, so your safe.”

Kane says, his voice shaky. But at same time I saw the small critter on the chamber table.

But for something so large, it move’s quickly, scooting across the table. It leaps to the floor, moving crazy fast, and jumps onto my arm, taking me by suprise.

Its grips like a vise, and then…sting. It shouldn’t be possible, but it rips through my suit. The pain is immediate as it hits like a speed truck, and spread like fire, spreading fast, numbing my arm while my nerves scream.

I stumble, as my vision began blurring, and my heart start to race. Blood pours from my ears, mouth, eyes, and nose.

It’s toxic venom quickly spreading through my body, causing my veins to bulge.

“Gideon, stay with me!”

Kane’s voice fades as the room spins. The walls and lights melt into a haze. My legs buckle, and I hit the floor, convulsing. The last thing I see is P3 right in front of my face, sitting on the ground, its eyes glinting as my life slowly fades away.

Then, shortly after…nothing at all.

A jolt wakes me up. I gasp, choking on the stench of sweat and damp wood. My head is pounding like I got hit with a brick. Wooden wheels rattle under me, loud enough to make me wince.

“Where am I?”

I suddenly asked, puzzle by these new sensations.

I am on my side, arms twisted behind me, ropes cutting into my wrists and ankles. The air is thick with piss and alcohol, and I hear kids crying softly, behind and infront of me.

I blink, taking it in. I am in a wooden cart, iron bars like a cage around it. The floor is wet, splintered, and smells like mold. Dozens of kids, no older than nine or ten years old, are packed in with me, all tied up, faces pale and terrified.

“SHUT IT!”

A voice roars at side of me.

A huge, scarred guy stands at the front, cracking a whip. The kids freeze, their sobs cut off.

“You wanna cry? Save it for the pits!”

He snarls, spitting to the side. His voice is like gravel.

The pits? My brain was scrambling. This can’t be real.

I was just in the lab.

I look down, but I found no suit around me, just itchy rags and beat-up leather slippers.

Everything to my dismay felt like a really bad dream.

I tug at the ropes. They’re tight as hell.

“Where… am I?”

I croak, my throat raw.