"New York City. City of Opportunities," Adam thought, watching the blur of lights and towering buildings outside the taxi window. "Well, I guess in the end, everywhere is the same, just with different colors."

The streets were alive with noise: car horns blaring, street vendors shouting, and conversations bleeding into one another. Adam adjusted his seat, his fingers tracing the frayed edge of his jacket. At least the job at NexGen Bioworks was enough to pay the rent, for now. "It could be worse," he muttered under his breath.

The taxi cut through the chaos, weaving between yellow cabs and delivery trucks. Adam's mind drifted back to the endless mopping and scrubbing awaiting him. Scientists left more messes than he'd imagined, chemical spills, shattered glass, and God knows what else. Still, it was a paycheck.

"We arrived, sir."

Adam was lost in thoughts.

"Sir!" the driver repeated, his tone rising with irritation.

Adam snapped back to the present. "Yes, thank you." He fumbled with his wallet. "How much?"

"Thirty bucks."

Adam grimaced but handed over the cash. The bills felt too thin in his hand. "Here you go."

    As he stepped out, a cold breeze cut through the street. He muttered under his breath, "If this keeps up, I'll need a second job, or just start walking here. Either way, I'm going bankrupt."

The entrance to NexGen Bioworks loomed ahead, a sleek, glass-paneled building that gleamed under the streetlights. It was a fortress of innovation, sealed tight against the chaos of the city. Adam approached the security booth and swiped his janitor card.

The guard, a burly man with a bored expression, barely glanced up. "Evening," he muttered.

"Evening," Adam replied with a nod, slipping past the checkpoint.

Inside, the air changed, sterile and cool, tinged with the faint scent of cleaning agents. The polished floors gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights. Adam exhaled slowly. The noise of the city faded behind the thick glass doors, replaced by the hum of machinery.

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the weight of the night shift settling in his bones. It was just another night cleaning up other people's messes. But tonight would be different, though Adam didn't know it yet.

    Adam entered the changing room, the flickering fluorescent light casting pale shadows across the tiled walls. He slid his janitor card through the locker panel, hearing the faint click as the door released. Inside, a pair of gloves, safety goggles, and an apron hung neatly. He suited up with mechanical precision, tying the apron tightly around his waist.

Grabbing the carpet sweeper, he exhaled sharply and made his way toward Sector C, Room 7, the lab notorious for chaos. Scientists worked there late into the night, their experiments leaving a trail of shattered glass, sticky substances, and discarded equipment. Adam had been cleaning it for a week now, and curiosity gnawed at him.

"What are they working on in there?" he wondered, pushing through the wide hallway with gleaming walls that smelled faintly of disinfectant and ozone.

The automatic door to Room 7 hissed open. The air inside was heavy with a chemical tang. Yellow goo splattered across the floor and countertops, remnants of some experiment gone wrong. Adam muttered under his breath as he began sweeping the mess into a collection bin.

Time dragged on, the rhythmic scrape of the sweeper against the floor filling the room. Nearly an hour had passed when a shrill, piercing alarm shattered the monotony.

Adam froze. Red lights strobed across the walls. Every automatic door hissed open simultaneously, the sound echoing like a chorus of metal whispers. His heart raced as he turned toward the far end of the room, the previously locked door now stood ajar.

"What the hell?" he whispered, instinctively backing toward the nearest counter.

Curiosity battled with caution, but curiosity won. He set the sweeper down and approached the door, his pulse hammering in his ears. The room beyond was dimly lit, filled with rows of glass boxes and a single large glass cage at the center. Strange shadows flickered across the walls as machinery hummed faintly.

Adam's breath caught when he saw it, a spider, suspended inside the cage. Its exoskeleton gleamed under the faint light, dark and iridescent. Its legs twitched with eerie precision.

A mix of terror and awe gripped him. He'd never seen anything like it before.

"What kind of freak show is this?" he muttered, stepping closer despite the chill running down his spine.

Before he could process the scene further, a sudden explosion ripped through the room. Sparks showered from the fuse box near the wall, and the shockwave threw Adam backward.

His body slammed against the cold floor. Pain shot through his ribs, and his vision blurred. Ears ringing, he forced himself to move, muscles screaming in protest. The room was a chaos of smoke and flickering lights. The cage, it was shattered.

The spider was gone.

Adam's stomach twisted. He didn't wait to find out more. With desperate, uneven steps, he staggered toward the nearest exit. His eyes caught a flickering red neon sign above a reinforced door: EMERGENCY EXIT.

Teeth gritted against the pain, he pushed forward, adrenaline the only thing keeping him upright.

Adam flung the door open and spotted a dimly lit staircase spiraling downward. Without thinking, he rushed down, his footsteps echoing off the metal steps. Sweat clung to his forehead, and his lungs burned from the acrid smoke wafting through the building.

At the bottom, a narrow hallway stretched out before him. A group of janitors clustered near a grid door, their faces tense. The door panel beside it flashed red, unresponsive.

"What's going on?" Adam asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

"The damn panel's stuck," one of the janitors said, frustration thick in his voice. "We can't get it to open."

"Let me see," Adam said, shoving past them. He crouched by the panel, fingers moving instinctively across the buttons. Nothing.

His eyes scanned the room until he spotted a rusted manual lever mounted on the wall.

"There!" Adam shouted, heart racing. He sprinted toward it and gripped the lever. "Help me out!"

The other janitors scrambled to his side. Together, they pulled with all their strength. The lever groaned, resisting, but finally gave way with a heavy clunk.

The lock disengaged.

The grid door creaked open, and the janitors poured through, desperate for escape. Adam followed behind them, the heat at his back urging him forward. Relief flickered in his chest, until a sharp, piercing scream cut through the chaos.

He froze.

His instinct screamed to run, to save himself, but the sound of that voice anchored him in place. A woman was trapped somewhere inside.

Gritting his teeth, Adam turned and sprinted toward the source of the scream.

"Where are you?" he shouted, his voice hoarse.

"I'm here!" she cried.

Adam skidded to a halt, his eyes locking onto a woman pinned beneath a collapsed iron shelf. The heavy structure had crumpled like paper during the explosion, trapping her legs. Her face was twisted in agony.

"Please," she whimpered, "don't leave me here."

Adrenaline surged through Adam's veins. He gripped the edge of the shelf and pulled, muscles straining. It wouldn't budge. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"You can do this," he told himself, though doubt clawed at his resolve.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Adam planted his feet and lifted again. Pain seared through his arms, burning deep into his muscles and even his bones. His vision blurred, but he refused to let go. With a guttural cry, he heaved the shelf upward just enough to free her legs.

"Come on," he grunted, sliding his arm beneath her back and legs.

She clung to him as he carried her toward the exit, his legs threatening to buckle under the weight. Flames licked at the walls, and the air was thick with smoke. Each step felt like a mile.

Finally, they burst through the emergency exit and into the open night. Fresh air hit Adam's lungs like ice. Behind him, the building erupted in a deafening explosion, fireballs shooting into the sky.

Firefighters and ambulance crews were already on the scene. People cheered as Adam staggered forward, the woman still cradled in his arms. His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees, gasping for breath.

Paramedics rushed to the woman's side, checking her condition. One gave Adam a nod of gratitude.

"You saved her, man," a firefighter said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Adam barely registered the words. Pain flared in his right arm, sharp and searing. He winced, biting back a scream. Lifting his sleeve, he saw that his forearm was red, swollen, and pulsing with heat.

"What the hell?" he whispered, bewildered.

Before he could process it, a young woman approached him. She had sharp brown eyes and hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Her expression was a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

"Well, I've been better," Adam said with a weak smile, trying to mask the pain radiating through his arm. He let out a soft chuckle, though it lacked conviction.

"Glad to hear you're still standing then," the young woman said with a faint grin. "Emily White, journalist with New York Report." She extended her hand.

Adam hesitated. His instincts urged him to avoid unnecessary attention, but he reluctantly shook her hand. "Adam Malik," he responded.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Malik." Her tone turned more professional. "I have some questions," She grabbed her camera and adjusted the settings.

Before she could finish, Adam's head spun. A wave of dizziness hit him hard, and his vision blurred. He stumbled, barely keeping himself upright.

"Whoa! Are you alright?" Emily asked, concern flashing in her brown eyes. "Should I call the paramedics?"

"No," Adam said, forcing the word out. His voice was strained and unconvincing. "I just... need some rest."

Emily frowned, clearly unconvinced, but before she could press further, Adam turned and pushed through the crowd.

His steps were unsteady as he moved past firefighters, curious onlookers, and paramedics. Each breath was labored, and pain gnawed at his arm. His muscles trembled with fatigue, but he forced himself forward, driven by the need to escape the chaos.

The cold night air stung his face as he weaved through the streets. He barely remembered the walk home, his surroundings blurring into indistinct shapes.

At last, he reached the worn, graffiti-streaked building that housed his apartment. He fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking, before unlocking the door. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew and stale cooking oil, but it was familiar, his sanctuary from the outside world.

Inside his unit, the cramped space greeted him: a single bed pressed against the wall, a chipped table, and a flickering lamp. Adam staggered toward the bed, his legs threatening to give out. His body trembled violently as he collapsed onto the mattress.

The room spun, and darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. His last coherent thought was of the spider and the strange, burning pain in his arm.

Then everything went black.