Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of the HYBE X Geffen rehearsal studio in Los Angeles hummed with a low, almost imperceptible frequency.
It was a sound that usually faded into the background, drowned out by the thumping bass of K-pop choreography tracks and the heavy breathing of six young women pushing their bodies to the limit.
But today, to Megan, the hum sounded louder than usual. It was a persistent, buzzing drone that seemed to vibrate right behind her eyeballs.
“Five, six, seven, eight! And turn, turn, isolation! Sophia, you’re dragging your feet! Manon, watch your spacing!”
The voice of their main choreographer, a tall man with a stern face and ridiculously endless energy for someone so old and gray, cut through the music.
Megan flinched, her body moving on autopilot as she hit the mark for the chorus of their latest single.
She was sweating.
They had been at this for four hours straight, running the same three-minute routine until it was muscle memory, until their joints ached, and until the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors looked less like six distinct people and more like a single, exhausted entity.
Megan was nineteen, but her body felt ancient today. She caught her own gaze in the mirror.
Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead, her tank top soaked through.
Behind her, Yoonchae was visibly panting, her cheeks flushed a bright pink, while Sophia, ever the reliable leader, maintained that infuriatingly perfect poker face of endurance, her movements sharp despite the fatigue.
“Again!” the instructor shouted. “From the top. Megan, you’re looking sluggish. Wake up!”
“Sorry,” Megan breathed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
She took her position at the center of the formation, shaking out her limbs to loosen the tension.
“Don’t apologize, just do it,” Lara, her best friend and the groups vocal powerhouse, whispered as she walked past Megan to her spot, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“You got this, Megs.”
Megan nodded, forcing a smile. The music restarted with a jarring synthesizer intro. Megan counted the beats in her head. One, two, three, go.
She launched into the routine. The physical exertion was usually a release for her, a way to shut off her overactive brain.
Being a trainee and then a debut artist in a global girl group was mentally taxing.
There were cameras everywhere, constant evaluations, and the pressure to be perfect. But in the dance, there was only the beat.
Or at least, that was usually the case. Today, something felt off.
It wasn't just the exhaustion.
It was a strange prickly sensation on the back of her neck, like static electricity building up before a storm.
She felt hyper-aware of everything around her. She could hear the rhythmic squeak of Daniela’s sneakers on the polished hardwood floor three yards to her left.
She could hear the specific pitch of Yoonchae’s heavy exhale.
She could even hear Manon, muttering the count under her breath in German, a habit she fell into when she was concentrating hard.
Megan spun, executing a body wave and transitioning into a hip isolate. The movement felt faster than she intended. It was as if her body had anticipated the signal from her brain before she had fully committed to the thought.
Whoa, she thought, stumbling slightly as she transitioned to the next move. Lightheaded.
“Focus, Megan!” the choreographer barked.
She bit her lip, grounding herself. The song built toward the bridge. This was the hardest part: a complex unison section that required them to move as a single organism. Sophia, Daniela, Lara, Manon, Yoonchae, and Megan.
They moved in a ripple effect. Megan reached out, her hand supposed to graze Sophia’s shoulder as they turned.
She overshot it. Her hand moved with a frightening speed, slapping the air where Sophia’s shoulder had been a split second prior.
Sophia didn’t notice, continuing the flow, but Megan’s heart skipped a beat. What was that? Her movements usually had a certain heavy, grounded quality, powerful but controlled. Suddenly, she felt light. Dangerously light. Like a balloon trying to float away.
“Stop! Stop!” The music cut out abruptly.
The six girls froze, chests heaving. The sudden silence was ringing.
The choreographer walked over to Megan, his brow furrowed. “Megan, what is going on today? You’re rushing. Your timing is off by milliseconds, but it’s noticeable. You’re usually the most solid.”
Megan swallowed hard, the dryness in her throat scratching. “I… I don’t know. I feel weird. Dizzy.”
“She looks pale,” Daniela noted, stepping forward. Despite them having barely a 2 year age gap, Daniela had a natural maternal instinct, often the first to notice when something was wrong with Megan.
She reached out to touch Megan’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Meg.”
“Just tired,” Megan lied, though she wasn't sure why. She didn’t want to be the reason they had to stop. They were weeks away from a major comeback showcase. There was no time for sickness.
“It’s not just tired,” Manon said, grabbing a towel from the floor and tossing it to Megan. “You’re shaking.”
Megan looked down at her hands. Her fingers were trembling with a fine vibration, like a plucked guitar string.
“Take five,” the choreographer sighed, checking his watch. “Drink water. We’re doing a full run-through in ten minutes. I want your head in the game, Megan.”
“Yes, sir,” Megan mumbled.
The group dispersed toward the corner of the room where their water bottles and bags were piled haphazardly.
Megan trudged over, her legs feeling like jelly.
She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest.
“Here.” Yoonchae handed her a cold bottle of Gatorade. The youngest member’s eyes were wide with concern. “You scared me Megan. You looked like you were going to pass out.”
“I’m fine, Yoonchae. Really,” Megan said, forcing a smile. She took a long swig of the drink, the cold liquid shocking her system. “Just a long day.”
Lara sat down next to her, stretching her legs out. “The AC is acting up again. It’s so stuffy in here.” She fanned herself with a choreography sheet.
“It’s not the AC,” Sophia said, wiping her face with a towel. She sat on the other side of Megan, creating a protective sandwich. “It’s the pressure. But Megan, seriously, if you need to throw up, go do it. Don’t hold it in.”
“I don’t feel sick like that,” Megan tried to explain, struggling to find the words for the sensation. “It feels… buzzy. Like I drank ten espressos on an empty stomach.”
“Adrenaline dump,” Daniela suggested, sitting cross-legged in front of them. She began rolling her ankles. “It happens when you’re overworked. You just need to breathe.”
Manon leaned against the mirror, looking at her reflection. “Or maybe it’s the ventilation. This building is old. I swear I saw a rat in the hallway yesterday.”
“Don’t say that!” Yoonchae shrieked, pulling her legs up. “I hate rats.”
“Not rats,” Megan murmured, her eyes drifting to the high corner of the ceiling.
The studio was located in an industrial part of the Arts District, a converted warehouse with high ceilings and exposed ductwork. It was cool and trendy, but it had its quirks. “I saw a huge spider in here yesterday.”
“Ew!” Lara shuddered visibly. “Why would you say that? Now I’m going to be checking every corner.”
“It was huge,” Megan continued, her gaze fixed on a dark spot near a vent. She squinted. Was that it? A small, dark shape huddled in the corner where the wall met the ceiling? “I think it’s still there.”
“Kill it,” Sophia commanded, looking at Manon. “You’re the oldest. Go kill it.”
Manon laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not killing anything. I’m Swiss. We respect nature. Just ignore it.”
“I can’t ignore it knowing it’s watching me dance,” Daniela said, shivering. “Spiders are creepy.”
Megan stared at the spot. It was definitely a spider. But something about it looked… strange. From this distance, it should have been just a black blob. But her eyes seemed to zoom in, her focus sharpening with unnatural clarity.
It wasn't a regular house spider. It was metallic-looking, its carapace shimmering with an iridescent sheen of blue and red under the studio lights.
That’s weird, Megan thought. I’ve never seen a spider like that in LA.
Suddenly, the spider dropped. It didn't dangle on a web; it just seemed to plummet, landing on a stack of equipment cases a few feet away from the girls.
“Guys…” Megan warned, her voice tight. She felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of anxiety, but it wasn't her own emotion. It felt like a warning siren blaring in her head. Danger. Danger.
“What?” Lara asked, scrolling through her phone. “Is it the spider?”
“It’s on the equipment,” Megan said, pointing. Her hand moved too fast again, a blur of motion that startled even her.
The other girls turned to look.
“Okay, that is big,” Manon admitted, tilting her head. “Is that a tarantula? Who keeps a tarantula as a pet in a studio?”
“Maybe it escaped,” Yoonchae whispered, hiding behind Sophia.
The spider sat motionless on the black plastic of the case. It looked like a jewel, almost beautiful in a terrifying way.
“I’ll get a cup,” Daniela said, standing up. “We’ll catch it and put it outside. No killing.”
“No, don’t go near it,” Megan said sharply. The buzzing in her head intensified. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, or to fight. It was a primal reaction completely disproportionate to a small bug. She stood up, her legs feeling lighter than air.
“Megan, relax,” Sophia said, grabbing her arm. “It’s just a bug.”
Megan shook off Sophia’s hand, gently, she thought, but Sophia stumbled back a step.
“Whoa, Megs, you’re strong today,” Sophia said with a nervous laugh, rubbing her arm.
“I’m sorry,” Megan said, looking at her hands again. “I just… I don’t think we should touch it.”
Daniela grabbed a plastic water cup from the table. “I’m just going to put the cup over it. It’s fine.”
Megan watched, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The room seemed to slow down. She saw Daniela’s footstep coming down on the floor in slow motion. She saw the dust motes dancing in the air. She saw the spider’s legs twitch.
It’s not moving like a normal spider, Megan realized. It’s twitching. Spasming.
Daniela approached the case. “Okay, little guy. You’re going for a ride.”
The spider didn't run. It reared up, its front legs raised in a threat display.
“Dani, wait!” Megan shouted, lunging forward.
She didn't just lunge. She exploded forward. One second she was standing by the wall, the next she was across the room, her hand shooting out to grab Daniela’s wrist. She stopped Daniela’s hand inches from the case.
“What the hell?” Daniela gasped, looking back at Megan.
“Megan, you’re hurting me!”
Megan immediately let go, horrified. “I didn’t mean to… I just moved. I didn’t run. I just… appeared here.”
“Your reflexes are insane today,” Manon said, looking impressed. “Maybe you should nap though, you’re acting crazy.”
The spider, perhaps startled by the sudden motion, didn't attack Daniela. Instead, it scuttled sideways with blinding speed, vanishing into the gap between the equipment cases and the wall.
“It’s gone!” Yoonchae yelped, jumping onto a chair.
“It went behind the cases,” Megan said, her eyes tracking the movement even though it should have been invisible to anyone else
. She could hear the faint scratching of its legs on the floor behind the heavy speakers. “It’s hiding.”
“Great,” Lara groaned. “Now we have a monster living in the studio.”
“Let’s just move away from that corner,” Sophia suggested, ushering the girls back to the center of the room. “Megan, come on. Sit down. You’re acting erratic.”
Megan hesitated. The warning signal in her brain was fading, replaced by a dull headache. She walked back to the group, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She felt a desperate need to sit down, to ground herself. She flopped down onto her yoga mat, extending her hand to grab her towel.
She didn't grab the towel. Her hand shot out, and his fingers brushed the fabric. A small, sharp pain pricked her index finger.
“Ouch!” she yelped, pulling her hand back.
“What happened?” Yoonchae asked.
“Nothing,” Megan said, inspecting her finger. There was a tiny red dot, barely visible, right on the tip of her index finger. It looked like a pinprick. “I just pricked myself on my zipper, I think.”
She looked down at her jacket. The zipper was plastic. It couldn't have pricked her.
She looked at her finger again. The skin around the bite was turning a faint shade of red, pulsating with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
The spider, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. It was behind the cases. It was near my bag.
She looked down at the floor near her bag. There, scurrying away under the baseboard, was the metallic glint of the spider. It was moving erratically, seemingly as confused as she was.
Did it bite me?
The thought was absurd. Spiders didn't hide in towels and bite people who sat down. But the pain was sharp, like a hot needle.
“Megan?” Manon’s voice broke through her trance. “You okay? You’re staring at your finger like it’s going to fall off.”
Megan quickly hid her hand behind her back. “Yeah. Just a hangnail. It stings.”
“Okay, break is over!” the choreographer shouted, clapping his hands loudly. The sound echoed through the studio, making Megan wince. The volume seemed physically painful to her ears.
“Already?” Yoonchae groaned. “That was not ten minutes.”
“Five minutes is enough. Come on, back in formation. Full run-through. Costumes on.”
They scrambled to get ready. Megan stood up, her body feeling strange. The dizziness had vanished, replaced by a vibrating, electric energy that coursed through her veins. She felt strong. Incredibly, unnaturally strong. And light. So impossibly light.
She walked over to the rack of clothes. Her costume for the run-through was a heavy, sequined jacket paired with combat boots. Usually, the jacket felt restrictive and heavy. Today, she picked it up, and it weighed nothing. It was like holding a feather.
“Need help with the zipper?” Sophia asked, rushing over to her.
“I got it,” Megan said. She grabbed the zipper pull. Her hand trembled slightly from the excess energy. She pulled.
Scrrritch.
The zipper slider came off completely in her hand. She hadn't yanked it. She had just pulled it up with a normal motion, but the metal tab had simply sheared off under the pressure of her fingers.
She stared at the broken zipper in her palm.
“Did you… rip that off?” Sophia asked, incredulous.
“That’s a metal zipper, Megan.”
“I… it was loose,” Megan lied, her face flushing. Her heart was racing. Why was she lying? Why was she breaking things? Why did she feel like she could punch a hole through the wall?
“It’s fine, just safety pin it,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “You’re having a day, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Megan muttered.
She hurriedly pinned the jacket, her fingers clumsy but strangely precise. She could feel the texture of the fabric, the weave of the threads, the coolness of the safety pin with terrifying sensitivity. It was like her sense of touch had been dialed up to eleven.
“Positions!” the choreographer called out.
Megan took her spot in the center. The lights seemed brighter, harsher. The smell of sweat, hairspray, and the rubber floor mats was overwhelming.
What’s happening to me?
She could smell Lara’s coconut shampoo from ten feet away. She could smell the metallic tang of the broken zipper in her pocket.
Focus, Megan. Just dance. Don't think about the spider. Don't think about the energy. Just dance.
The music started.
This time, Megan didn't try to hold back. She let the strange energy flow through her. As the beat dropped, she moved. It wasn't like before. She wasn't struggling to keep up. She was waiting for the music.
She spun, her body moving with a fluidity she had never possessed before. The gravity that usually weighed her down seemed to have disconnected. She leaped for a jump that usually required a deep knee bend to get height.
This time, she barely bent her knees, and she launched into the air, soaring higher than Sophia, higher than Manon.
She landed silently, her boots making no sound on the floor.
The choreographer stopped the music abruptly for the second time that day.
Megan froze, panic seizing her chest. How did I do that? Was that weird? Oh god the choreographer is going to kill me!
The other girls were staring at her. Lara’s mouth was slightly open. Daniela looked confused.
“What?” Megan asked, her voice cracking. “Was I rushing again?”
The choreographer walked slowly toward her. He looked at the floor, then at Megan’s feet, then up at her face.
“No,” he said quietly. “You weren’t rushing. You were… perfect.”
Megan blinked. “Perfect?”
“Your elevation,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen you jump that high. And your landing… silence. Not a sound. It was like… it was like you were weightless.”
“I… I felt good?” Megan offered weakly.
“Whatever you ate for lunch, keep eating it,” he said, a rare smile cracking his stern face. “That was the best bar we’ve seen from you all month. Again.”
Megan exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The other girls gave her small nods of approval. Sophia winked at her.
As they reset for the top, Megan caught her reflection in the mirror again. The fatigue was gone from her face. Her eyes looked clearer, sharper.
And behind her, in the reflection of the dark window, she thought she saw a flicker of movement. A shadow with too many legs.
She turned around quickly. Nothing was there.
Get a grip, Meiyok, she scolded herself. You’re hallucinating from exhaustion. It’s just adrenaline. That’s all. Just adrenaline.
She didn't feel the pulse in her finger anymore. The redness had faded. But deep inside, a change was taking root. A rewiring of her genetic code, thread by thread.
She wasn't just Megan anymore. She was becoming something else. Something woven into the very fabric of the city.
But for now, she was just Megan, the girl who danced like gravity was a suggestion.
“Five, six, seven, eight!”
The music swelled, and Megan danced, oblivious to the web that was slowly spinning around her destiny.
The rehearsal ran for another three hours. By the end of it, the girls were zombies. They shuffled out of the studio, dragging their feet, carrying bags that seemed to weigh a ton.
Megan, however, felt like she had just woken up from a twelve-hour nap. She was buzzing. Her muscles weren't sore. Her lungs weren't burning. If anything, she felt like she could run a marathon.
“That was brutal,” Manon groaned, leaning heavily on Sophia as they walked down the hallway toward the parking lot. “My knees are screaming.”
“I need a bath,” Yoonchae mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “A hot bath. And sleep for a hundred years.”
Lara checked her phone. “My mom wants to video chat. I don’t even have the energy to hold the phone up.”
They reached the van that would take them back to their dorms. The driver, a quiet man named Mr. Henderson, opened the sliding door.
Megan climbed in last. As she reached for the handle inside the van to pull the door shut, she missed. Her hand swatted the air.
“What are you doing, Meg?” Daniela asked, half-asleep in the back seat.
“Nothing,” Megan said, embarrassed. Her hand was trembling again. She grabbed the handle—gently this time, she told herself—and pulled. The heavy door slid closed with a solid thunk.
She sat down next to Yoonchae, who immediately leaned her head on Megan’s shoulder.
“You were really good today, Mei,” Yoonchae whispered, her eyes already closed. “In the second half. You were like… flying.”
“Thanks, Yoonchae,” Megan whispered back. Her cheeks burned and she slapped herself in the face, willing the feeling to go away. She rested her head against the cool glass of the window.
She did not notice Lara’s intrigued eyebrow raise.
The van pulled out into the Los Angeles traffic. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon: red, white, and gold. Megan watched them pass. Her head was still buzzing with that strange static. She looked at her reflection in the dark window.
For a split second, just a microsecond, her eyes flashed. It wasn't a trick of the light. The pupils seemed to dilate and constrict with a rapid, predatory speed, independent of the light outside.
She rubbed her eyes. Tired. Just tired.
She reached into her pocket to pull out her phone. Her fingers brushed the fabric of the jacket. She paused. She could feel something else. A vibration.
Not a phone vibration. A physical vibration. A rhythmic thumping coming from the seat in front of her. It was Daniela’s heartbeat. She could feel it through the fabric of the seat.
Megan pulled her hand away as if she had been burned. She stared at her palm. The lines on her hand looked normal. The tiny puncture wound on her finger was gone, healed without a trace.
“What is happening to me?” she whispered, so quietly that even Yoonchae, leaning on her, didn't hear.
Outside, a spider spun a web between two streetlights, catching a moth in its silky trap. Inside the van, Megan Skiendiel sat in the dark, her heart beating in perfect sync with the city around her, unknowingly waiting for the moment she would have to save it.
She closed her eyes, drifting into a dreamless, electric sleep.