Name’s Hobie. Hobie Brown. I was bitten by a… Wouldn’t you like to know?
Hobie stood frozen for a moment. His guitar resting over his shoulder anid his eyes starting to narrow. He grabs his mask out of his back pocket, slipping it on as the pavement beneath his boots opened up. A portal opening up where he was standing, leaving Hobie falling through a tunnel of what looked like to be some kinda galactic interdimensional void and spider webs.
Then, Hobie was sent flying and crashed into a billboard, cracking it’s screen then taking a look around the place he’d been transported to. He took in the unfamiliar streets. This ain’t London. No one he knew was here. He scoffed, shaking his head. Great, a portal opens up, snatches me and drops me somewhere I never asked to be. That sound familiar? Whatever multiversal wanker in power, what did I ever do to you? Probably nothing, it’s always someone in power who decides where I want to be.
“Yeah, this place ain’t home.”
CUT TO A SPIDER-PUNK COMIC DROPPING DOWN ONTO A PILE OF OTHER COMICS OF THE OTHER SPIDER-PEOPLE WHO GOT SENT HERE.
“Alright, alright, lets do this one last time. I’m a street walkin’ cheetah. A bloke in the jacket with a guitar and a heart full of napalm. I’m also the guy who smashed President Osborn’s head so hard with that said guitar that I sent it flying into the East River. I hate fascists, so when some muppet wants to stroll up in my hood, shootin’ up the whole place, I’ll always be here to remind ‘em that I’m Spider-Man.
or Spider-Punk, dependin’ on who’s askin’. Y’know what I’m sayin’?”