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Chapter Text

 "...¡Ay, coño! Miles! Miles Morales! He's entering Sector Four!" Said Miguel, already frustrated by the other Spider-Men's confusion.

 "Which one?" Said another multitude of voices. 
 "There's at least thirteen of them!" Said a Spider-Woman.
 "Miguel, you're not talking about me are you?" Said an adult sounding Miles.
 "No! No! This ones a teenager!"
 "Most of  them are teenagers..." Said a Spider-Man with a monotone voice.
 "From Earh-1610B!"
 "Miguel, I know you probably can't tell this from up in your ivory tower, but most of us don't where what universes we come from on our chest!"
 Miguel, angered further that remark, let out a frustrated growl. "Look, he has a black and red suit..."
 "That's all of them!" Yet again, hundreds of voices spoke in unison.
 "LET ME FINISH!" Screamed Miguel. "He has red on his arms..."
 "That's most of them, again." Said an also frustrated voice. "Be more specific."
 "MIERDA!" Screamed Miguel. "Just...If you see any Mileses in Sector Four, bring them too me!" 
 Miguel shut his communicator off.
 "Idiots! Someone please get me a drink..."

--
 The Spider-People in sector four, all looked around confused. After few minutes, a diminutive figure walked in.
 "Hello everyone!" Said the Miles Morales of Earth-TRN888. The other spiders stayed, many looking uncomfortable themselves. "...Why's everybody looking at me like that?" 
 After a few seconds one Spider-Man shot webbing at the chibi Miles.
 "Wait! What are you doing!? You've got the wrong guy!"
 As the other Spider-People marched the tiny Miles up the control center, the Miles of Earth-1610B ran past, briefly looked at the situation and felt guilty about it, and then continued running.

Chapter Text

Sam and Jay arrived at a small, local cafe that they wanted to try. As the two entered the building, Sam noticed something odd.

In the middle of the restaurant stood a man dressed like a medieval friar. He stood next to a table occupied by an elderly couple. Smiling to himself, the friar bent down and gave a plate of pancakes sitting on the table a massive lick, followed by several more.

Sam stared at the man, obviously a ghost, with bewilderment and disgust. After a short while, the man noticed Sam, turned beet red and stood straight up.

“AH, A SEER!” He said with fear and embarrassment. “THE LIVINGS KNOW ABOUT ME!” He then ran towards the other end of the restaurant, disappeared, and then reappear on the other side, continuing running, disappearing, and reappearing.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” Said Sam.
“Annoying ghost?” Said Jay.
“Annoying ghost.”

Chapter Text

 The doctor stood out front of a stong wall with a large gate on it. Over the top of the gate, the words “WELCOME TO HELL” was written. This did not surprise the doctor. After all, he spent his career murdering elderly patients under his care. It made sense.

 The doors open and he was compelled to walk in side. There was a huge flash of light.

 He was in a room with four walls, which moved around similar to a graphic from a 90’s screensaver. On each wall, the music video to the song “Life is a Highway” by Tom Cochrane played.

 “I suppose it isn’t so bad...It’s not like it’s a bad song…”

 5,800,000 years

 “ MAKE IT STOP!!! MAKE IT STOP!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAKE IT STOP!!!”

 The hit head repeatedly on the invisible platform that he seemed to be suspended on. He then turned his head to the side. There was something he had never noticed before. T h ere, floating just a few feet from him, was a larger than average vent grate. He walked over to it and pulled the grate off. Inside, sure enough was a much larger than average vent. He climbed inside and began to crawl through it.

  He crawled through for several hours. Eventually the vent came to downward bend, ending in another grate, with light coming through. He gazed at for a few minutes. Eventually, he tried to climb down, only to clumsily fall through the second grate.

  He landed in a room similar to the one he had already spent millennia in. This time it was playing “Tarzan Boy” by the band Baltimora. Near where he landed, there was a sealed envelope. He picked it up and opened it.

 We know you don’t feel bad about killing those people, read the letter. Until you fully repent, things aren’t going to get any better.

 He snarled in anger. Whoever wrote the letter, God, Satan, whoever, was right. He didn’t regret the murders he committed at all. He just wanted the music to stop.

 P.S., the letter continued, Tom Cochrane and Jimmy McShane are both in Heaven :).