The next day I turned on the TV and waited. May called me for breakfast, but I stalled. I waited, and waited, and then:
"Breaking news." The anchor's voice was sharp and urgent. "Last night, police were able to bust a major drug operation in New York. The Grass Stained Thugs, or GST, are a local gang long known for public disturbances, rioting, and gang-on-gang violence. It has now come to light that the GST were also deeply involved in drug trafficking throughout Queens and parts of Manhattan.
"Detective Barnes, the officer in charge of the raid on the GST's drug operation, claims he received the intelligence from a tip-off last night — an ex-gang member with a conscience. Officers moved in immediately and brought multiple suspects into custody. In total, over a thousand pounds of narcotics were recovered along with a significant cache of illegal firearms.
"The case, however, does not stop there. Last night, Matt Murdock of Nelson and Murdock presented further evidence to authorities — evidence he claims to have obtained through the same anonymous source who tipped off Detective Barnes. Murdock and his associate Nelson have been appointed by the State to lead the prosecution. Stay tuned for updates."
I switched off the TV and grinned. Take that. Score one for Spider-Man. I'd brought down a drug ring, put Matt Murdock on the map, and I didn't even have a proper suit yet.
That good mood carried me through the whole day. Not even Flash and Harry's constant glares and cheap comments could touch me. I was on top of the world. Even MJ noticed something was different about me.
It was during English period when she tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and found her and Liz looking at me with matching expressions of concern.
"Peter — are you alright?" MJ asked.
I blinked. "Yeah, never better. Why? What's up?"
"Nothing, it's just..." she hesitated.
"You're acting weirder than usual," Liz stated.
I grinned. "My friend Marcus lives in the rough part of Queens. He's been dealing with a local gang making his neighbourhood miserable. I heard this morning that the whole gang got busted last night." I shrugged. "So I'm having a good day."
"Ha, I see," the two girls looked at each other and shrugged.
"Alright, class, settle down," the teacher walked in. "Now then — where were we? Oh yes — Oedipus Rex! Can anyone tell me what we've covered so far?" Silence. "Anyone? No? ...Harry."
Harry blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Can you tell us what happened to Oedipus Rex?"
"Well, I... he's like a king. And, ah... he's married to his mom?"
"Yes, very good. Anything else? What about the prophecy made at his birth?"
"Oh, yeah. It said he'd like... kill his dad and marry his mom."
"Good. And what did his parents do when they heard this?"
"They, ah... I don't know, ma'am."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you only remember the part about his mother."
"What was that, Mr. Parker?" the English teacher asked.
"Nothing," I replied flatly. Harry, however, didn't think it was nothing. I could feel his glare from across the room, though I genuinely couldn't bring myself to care.
---
After school I decided to take the bus home. I didn't make it past the school car park.
Someone grabbed me by the back of the collar and yanked. The only reason I let it happen was because I was curious what Harry was going to do and let him get within range.
Flash threw me up against the school wall as he and his crew surrounded me, Harry standing at the centre. Two other players flanked him — big enough that most kids would have been scared. They held back, watching.
"Think you're smart, don't you, Parker?" Harry said, voice low.
I shrugged. "You have seen my academic file, right?"
Harry's expression tightened. "Bet you thought it was real funny — embarrassing me in front of her."
"Who? I just made a historical observation in class."
"Don't act stupid," he snapped. "You called her a sl—"
"Don't," I said quietly. "Don't say it."
Harry smirked. "What's wrong, Parker? Finally figure out what kind of girl she really is? A tease. A—"
"Osborn, I'm warning you. Stop."
He didn't stop. He kept going, his voice dropping into something uglier. He was talking about MJ like she was nothing — something discarded and contemptible. He said it with a smile.
I looked at him. That arrogant curl of his lip. I wanted to wipe it off his face — and I could have. I was holding back enough strength to send him through the wall. But I knew how this would end. The moment I touched him, he'd go straight to his father, and Daddy Osborn would make life extraordinarily difficult for May and Ben.
So I did the only thing I could do. I walked away.
"You're not going anywhere, pu—" I pushed Flash out of my path, and he sat down hard on the asphalt.
"Pathetic," I said, and kept walking.
"Get him!" Harry called.
I sighed. Of course. I took off at full sprint. They chased me out of the school and onto the street. Predictably, they were nowhere near fast enough — I lost them inside two blocks without even trying hard.
I made my way to the Chikara dojo and got ready for class. I spotted Marcus in the corner talking with a few others.
"Hey, Marcus!" I called out. "I heard about the GST getting busted!"
The boy smiled. "Yeah, Peter. It's great."
We talked about whether it would actually stick this time — whether the charges would hold. I was optimistic. The others were more cautious, wary of how many times they'd seen this before.
After class I walked with Marcus toward his home. He was struggling with a chemistry assignment and I was happy to help. As we turned a corner, my spider-sense flared.
"Down!" I grabbed Marcus and pulled him hard to the ground.
A car drove by, the occupants spraying gunfire across the pavement. The shots punched into the concrete inches from where we'd been standing. Chips of asphalt flew into my jacket.
"You got lucky, little boys!" someone yelled from the car. "GST forever!" The car screamed off down the road.
"What the hell?!" I pulled Marcus up and looked at the bullet holes in the footpath. "How are they still — I thought they were arrested?!"
"Get off the street!" Marcus grabbed my arm and rushed me through his front door, bolting it shut behind us. We stayed still for ten minutes, listening. When the street outside seemed clear, I asked Marcus what was happening.
"The cops got the main players," Marcus admitted. "The bosses, the known dealers — anyone whose name was in the ledger. But the lowest-level guys? The ones who weren't officially part of the operation? They didn't have their names anywhere on record. Nobody arrested them." He exhaled. "I didn't think they'd retaliate this fast. I thought they'd go quiet for a while and then... oh God, I need to warn my friends."
I groaned. This wasn't right. They were supposed to be scared. I hadn't accounted for the bottom tier acting like this — doing something stupid and desperate precisely because they had nothing to lose.
This had happened because of my actions. These retaliation attacks were my responsibility.
I told Marcus I needed to get home, keeping my voice suitably shaken. He offered to let me stay the night — the streets were too dangerous, he said. I told him I'd be fine. He didn't look convinced, but he let me go.
I went home and straight to the basement without May and Ben seeing me. I grabbed my web shooters and changed into the black tights, thin sneakers, and black long-sleeved top I'd set aside for exactly this kind of situation. I also pulled out the rough mask from the first prototype costume I'd made — the stitching wasn't perfect, but the spider-web design was distinctive enough. This would need to become a symbol, even now — even if I wasn't ready to step properly into the public eye.
I slipped out of the house and swung back to Marcus's neighbourhood.
I hung in the shadows above the streets for a while, moving block by block, looking at the people below. The stores were shuttered. The streets were too quiet. That particular kind of silence that meant people were hiding rather than absent. I needed to find the GST remnants.
Then I heard it — the unmistakeable throb of a sound system turned up too loud, bass rattling the shuttered windows around it. A party? Now? No. Not a party. GST.
I swung toward the noise. These streets were in bad shape — garbage-strewn, broken pavements, abandoned lots. I landed on a rooftop and looked down. They'd taken over the park.
Oil drums were burning, throwing wild orange light across the scene. Gang members held drinks in one hand and guns in the other. Couples were tangled together between parked cars. In the centre, a man sat on a bench surrounded by his people like a king on a ruined throne, drinking from a keg.
I narrowed my eyes. Swinging straight in wasn't an option — too exposed, too many guns, too many people at close range. The trees would give me cover inside the park, but approaching from the outside meant crossing open ground.
I needed to be quiet. Strategic. This wasn't a fight — it was a capture operation. I had to think like a ninja.
I dropped to street level and found a way in through the side. The entrance guards didn't see me. I climbed a tree just inside the perimeter and moved through the canopy.
But first — a distraction.
I spotted a wrecked store across the road from the park. Judging by the state of the interior, it had been looted as recently as tonight. I went inside and worked through the aisles — hardware section, kitchen section. Spray cans. A hammer. Glue. A nail gun. A school bag from two aisles down.
I took everything I thought I could use and left a hundred dollars on the counter. I wasn't a thief.
On my way back I stopped at a ransacked leather goods store. The cash register was cleaned out, the display racks emptied. But on the floor, half-buried under glass shards and splintered wood, was a bright red jacket. I picked it up and dusted it off. Tried it on. It fit well — didn't restrict my movement, comfortable enough to swing in. It had potential.
I set it on the floor, pulled a black spray can from my bag, and painted a large spider logo across the back. The legs swept up over the shoulders and stretched down to the hem. It was crude, but it had the right shape — something about it reminded me of the Andrew Garfield suit's emblem. I stepped back and assessed it. It worked. It felt right.
I pulled the jacket on, picked up my bag, and looked back at the park.
Show time.
I moved in from the side. The entrance guards were looking the wrong direction. I made it into the trees and started working from the shadows.
They never saw it coming. I took out four spray cans and launched them one after another into the burning oil drums. Here's a lesson: pressurised aerosol plus open flame equals a very loud, very sudden fireball. The drums exploded outward with a percussive bang that knocked back everyone near them. I had aimed carefully — nobody was directly in the blast radius, just close enough to stumble.
"What the hell was that?!" the new leader yelled. The park was now dark — no central light source. "Get some light! Matches, lighters, anything!"
Small flames flickered to life across the park as people pulled out phones and lighters. Perfect. Now I could see them without them seeing me.
I moved to the nearest target. One web line out, wrap, pull, slam onto the branch overhead, tie off. Gone before the others could react.
One by one the lights were taken out. One by one, people disappeared from the group.
"What the f— Where's Tyrone?!" someone yelled. I was already on the next one.
They tried to reorganise. The leader was smart — ordered everyone into a tight circle in the open, facing outward, watching for movement. Not bad. He had the right instincts. So I stopped moving.
I let them sit with the silence and their fear.
The smart ones tried to run for the exit. I grabbed them before they made it and webbed them against the tree trunks, safe and secure and going nowhere.
That left the cluster in the centre. Scared now — I could practically smell it. A ring of loaded guns pointed into the dark.
I pulled the hammer from my bag, wound back, and threw it hard. It connected with one man's skull and he went down. The guns swung toward the tree I'd aimed from. I smiled from ten feet away. Not bad for a bunch of amateurs.
I grabbed the remaining spray can, punched a hole in the side with a knife, and lobbed it into the centre of the group. It hit the ground spinning, hissing out a thick cloud of black paint that rolled over them like smoke.
They choked, split apart, and turned inward — which was exactly what I needed. I charged in through the black cloud, grabbed two men simultaneously, and swung them both up into the tree canopy in one motion.
"What was that?!"
"Something moved—"
Web lines shot out from inside the smoke, grabbed men by the chest, and yanked them in. Those who tried to fire found their gun barrels packed with hardened webbing. The chambers detonated backwards. The guns destroyed themselves.
"What the hell is going on?!" the leader yelled. He was the last one standing, along with two others.
"Honestly," said a voice from inside the dissipating cloud, "I expected better."
The smoke cleared enough to reveal a figure in black with a red mask and a red jacket. Me.
"Ah!" The leader's nerve broke and he fired. My spider-sense screamed before the trigger moved. I jumped, landing on a branch overhead. He tracked me and kept firing as I leaped tree to tree — being careful to avoid the branches where I'd secured hostages. I didn't want him accidentally hitting his own people.
I pulled the wrench from my bag, calculated the angle, and threw it. He tried to block it with both hands and cried out as it connected, the wrench clattering away and taking his gun with it. He dropped to one knee, clutching his hands to his chest.
I dropped down. His two remaining men: one turned and ran immediately. The other stood frozen in shock. I grabbed the frozen one and threw him against the nearest tree trunk — not hard enough to injure, just enough to rattle him and take him out of the equation.
Then I went after the runner. He nearly made it to the exit — I could see the grin spreading across his face as he saw the gate ahead of him — but then I shot out a web line, grabbed him by the shoulder, and yanked him backward.
I held him by the collar. He was shaking. He looked at me and his voice came out barely above a whisper. "What... what are you?"
"I'm Spider-Man." I head-butted him gently but firmly and lowered him to the ground. I walked to the park entrance where the two guards had their guns levelled at me.
"Who the hell are you?!" one demanded.
I stopped. In the same instant, two web lines shot out and stripped the guns from their hands before they could react. They stared at their empty palms. When they looked up, I was already airborne — spinning a full split kick that connected with both their heads and put them both down cleanly.
I checked their pockets and helped myself to some cash. Stealing from a thief wasn't stealing. I took one of their phones, dialled 911, and fired a confiscated gun into the sky.
"This is Highland Park. Shots fired — send units immediately!" I hung up and crushed the phone in half. I swept the park one last time, confirming that everyone I'd put down was still breathing. One man had a mild concussion. Everyone else was intact.
I walked out of the park and climbed to a nearby rooftop. I watched several squad cars arrive, officers pouring into the park with weapons drawn. News vans pulled up shortly after.
I went home. Tomorrow's papers would tell me the rest.
I snuck back into the basement, changed, and hid the uniform under the loose floorboard. May and Ben were worried about why I was home so late — I told them the GST had been tearing up the streets. They were frightened. I assured them I was safe, that it was over, and eventually they let me go.
I lay in bed that night with a giddiness building in my chest that I couldn't quite suppress. The way I'd moved through that park — they had never even seen me. I had taken a gang apart in the dark and walked away without a scratch.
I wanted more. I needed to be out there.
I waited until May and Ben were asleep before going back down to the basement and pulling out the costume. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. The red jacket held the whole thing together. I actually looked like a hero now, rather than a man in a very unfortunate home-made onesie.
I'll admit the jacket was a bit bulky, but it served a practical purpose — it was cold at night and high-speed swinging made it colder. I needed it. Maybe I could reinforce the interior with some lightweight armour panels eventually. Maybe a few hidden tools — a shuriken or two. This jacket had a lot of potential. It was going to look formidable when I was done with it.
I snuck out of the house and climbed the front tree. I was just about to swing away when headlights swung into the street. A car I recognised. I narrowed my eyes.
The car stopped in front of MJ's house. Through the window I could see Flash Thompson in the back seat — and Liz, right beside him.
In the driver's seat: Harry Osborn.
I sighed. I'm not going to get to be Spider-Man tonight, am I?
---
I crept to MJ's window, arriving just as Harry knocked. MJ leaned out.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"We're going out to celebrate Flash passing his mid-terms," Liz called up brightly. "Come with us!"
MJ looked at Harry. "And?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "And I... I know I've been a jerk lately, and I want to make it right. I promise I'm not trying to make things weird. Please."
MJ narrowed her eyes. "And Peter?"
"What about Parker?" Flash grumbled.
"Will you stop bullying him?"
"We didn't really bully him," Harry hedged. "More like some light-hearted—" MJ's glare cut him off mid-sentence. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We'll stop."
MJ sighed. "Fine. Where are we going?"
"The Sweet Spot!" Liz cheered.
"Isn't that a bar?"
"Harry got us fake IDs," Flash said, grinning.
"Not so loud!" MJ hissed.
"Sorry," Flash gulped.
"Fine," MJ said. "But I'm not drinking. And neither are you, Harry — you're driving."
"But I—" Harry stopped at her look. "Okay. Yeah."
I shook my head from the rooftop. It was a school night. They were going to a bar on fake IDs. I had two options: stop them right now or follow them.
Obviously I was going to follow them.
I kept my distance as Harry drove at an infuriatingly cautious pace. They parked a block from the club and walked in. I spotted Harry handing over the IDs with a practiced ease.
I found a good vantage point above the club's entrance and settled in to wait. I wasn't really Spider-Man tonight — I was just a nervous babysitter in a red jacket.
I tried to tell myself this wasn't about MJ specifically. Not really. It was just the responsible thing to do.
A police siren wailed in the distance. That was my actual job. I looked toward the sound, then back at the club door.
Then at the siren.
Then at the door.
I jumped off the roof and ran toward the siren. There had been a jewellery robbery. By the time I got there the police were already on scene and the thief was gone. But then I caught a shadow — someone moving across rooftops, fast and deliberate. Carrying something.
I swung across the street to a building a block ahead of the shadow's projected path, killed my web line, and slipped into the darkness to wait.
The figure came. I pounced.
"Hey!" I shot a web line and yanked the small brown bag out of their grip before they'd even registered I was there. I looked at the bag — full of jewellery. "Nice haul. Though did you really have to go with something as clichéd as a brown bag?"
The thief didn't respond. Instead they launched a kick at my head. I ducked, stepped back, and they pressed forward with a flurry — precise, trained. They had real technique. I recognised the body mechanics: judo-based, confirmed when they caught my arm, pivoted smoothly, and slammed me into the roof surface.
The air left me. I was looking up at the night sky.
She straddled me and pinned me. I looked up at her face and forgot what I was doing entirely.
She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in this body or the last. Green eyes, sharp and bright. The moon was directly behind her head, framing a curtain of silver-blonde hair that caught the light like something out of a film. She wore a simple dark track suit that moved with her, a tool belt at her waist. A domino mask. Around my age, maybe.
I spoke before I could stop myself. "I think I'm in love with you."
She paused. "What?"
I blinked. "I... have absolutely no idea why I said that."
She looked me over. "Who are you supposed to be?"
I shrugged as best I could from the floor. "Spider-Man."
"Spider-Man? That's a terrible name."
"Oh? And you can do better?"
"I can." I felt her hand reaching slowly for the bag of jewels still in my grip. Trying to distract me. Very clever. "I'm the Black Cat," she said, with a smirk that probably worked on most people.
"Am I supposed to know who you are?"
"No. Just like I don't know who you are."
"Why do you call yourself a cat? I don't even see the fake little ears."
"Why are you a spider? I don't see any web coming out of your—"
"Not from there," I said, and shot a web line into her face. While she reacted I kicked her off and rolled clear, landing in a crouch.
"What is this?!" she clawed at the webbing, pulling it loose. I had mixed the formula weak on purpose — didn't want to damage that face.
"Well, you see, when a boy reaches a certain age, certain white, sticky substances start to make an appearance—"
"Ew!" She lunged. I jumped back and we fell into the fight again, properly this time, each of us testing the other. She was good — well-trained in multiple disciplines, fast, creative, adaptable. She used environment well.
Then she drew a set of bolas and threw them. I jumped sideways but caught one end — it wound around my hand and my neck together. Cat swept my legs out from under me and I went down again.
I snapped the bolas, grabbed her by both arms, rolled sideways, and pinned her. I was on top this time.
I caught my breath. "Damn, Cat. We just met and you've already tried to pin me twice. At least buy a man dinner first."
"Sure, Spider," she said pleasantly. "Let me just grab my wallet!" Then she kicked me in the ribs with enough force to launch me a good three feet. I landed on my feet and shot two web lines simultaneously. She sprang sideways and glared at me across the roof — and then she turned and ran.
I could have caught her. I didn't. She would be infinitely more interesting outside of a prison cell than inside one.
I reached down for the bag of jewels.
My hand closed on nothing.
I stared at my empty hand. 'What?! How — when did she—?' I thought back. It was when she'd kicked me clear. She'd palmed the bag as she pushed off.
I should have been furious. I wasn't. She was good. I had to respect it.
I swung back to the club, arriving just in time to see MJ and Harry burst out of the front door with MJ yelling. Flash and Liz followed, looking worried.
I sighed. Peter Parker, reporting for duty.
I dropped into an alley they were about to pass, stripped off my jacket, turned it inside out — the lining was a plain grey that was passable in low light — pulled off my mask and web shooters, and stuffed them in the pockets. Then I stepped out of the alley just as they passed.
Harry was following MJ toward the car, apologising. I caught the tail end of the argument.
"—What didn't you mean to do? Put your hand up my skirt?!"
Classic, Harry. Exactly as predictable as I knew you'd be.
"MJ, I'm sorry — I thought you wanted—"
"Harry, I don't like you that way. I'm not here for you to use."
"Guys, maybe we should go home," Liz said.
"She's right," Flash agreed, surprisingly. "Come on."
"Is it Peter?" Harry asked suddenly, and everyone stopped walking. "Is it because of Parker? Do you like him?"
MJ stopped. I stepped out of the shadows.
"No," MJ said quietly. "It's not Peter. He's my friend, and I've been a lousy one. I realise that now. But he's not the reason I don't want to be with you, Harry."
"Then why?!"
"Because you don't care who I am!" MJ turned on him, voice cracking. "You don't care what I want to do with my life, what I like, what I'm afraid of! Every time I talk, you nod along and then you don't hear a single word. You don't like me, Harry — you like how I look."
"That's not true—"
"Yes it is!" Harry grabbed her arm. "I care about you, MJ! Let me show you—"
"No! Get off—"
"That's enough," I said.
They all spun around. MJ's eyes went wide. "Peter?"
"Parker?" Flash looked genuinely surprised to see me. "What are you doing here?"
"Apparently, stopping Osborn from committing assault," I said, walking past Liz and Flash. I took Harry's hand off MJ's arm and stepped between them. I looked at her. "You alright?"
"Y-yeah," she nodded.
"What are you doing here?" Liz asked.
I met her eyes and smiled. "I had a date."
"A date?" MJ asked, surprised.
"A date? You?" Flash blinked.
I shrugged. "Yeah. She was genuinely great. Whole cat thing going on. She bailed without paying, though, so it wasn't exactly a roaring success."
"Get lost, Parker," Harry said, voice flat.
"Yeah, no," I replied. I turned back to MJ. "You ready to go home?"
She rubbed her wrist. "Y-yes. Please."
"Move, Parker," Harry growled, grabbing my jacket collar. "Or I'll move you."
"I'd genuinely like to see you try," I said evenly.
"Harry, don't, it's not worth it," Flash said, uncharacteristically reasonable.
"I am so tired of you," Harry said, eyes narrowed, ignoring Flash. "I don't even know how we were ever friends."
"We weren't friends, Harry," I said simply. "Being friends means being equals. The only thing you've ever been better at than me is buying loyalty."
Harry's expression went from fury to something cracked open and ugly underneath. He swung at my face.
I could have dodged. I let it land.
I went down, hand over my eye, pain blossoming across my cheekbone. I heard Flash grab Harry and drag him toward the car. Harry went quietly, looking at me on the ground with a horror he hadn't meant to show. Liz grabbed Flash's arm, they piled into the car, and it was gone.
I sighed and got up. MJ was already at my side.
"Oh my God, Peter — are you alright?! I can't believe he did that!"
"Yeah, well," I shrugged and winced as she looked at my eye. "I wanted him to, so it's fine."
"You wanted him to hit you?" she stared at me. "Why?"
"Because Harry's not a bad person," I said. "He's a spoilt person. There's a difference. He's got bad habits and bad qualities, but underneath all that he knows when he's gone too far. He needed a moment to see himself clearly. Sometimes the only mirror a person will accept is the one that shows them what they've done." I paused. "He'll feel terrible about that by tomorrow. That's what I was after."
MJ stared at me for a long moment. "You know him well."
"He was my best friend, once," I shrugged. "Come on. Bus stop's down there. Long way home."
We walked to the bus stop and sat together in the pool of light under a street lamp. MJ didn't like silence.
"What happened?" she asked suddenly.
"Between me and Harry?"
"Yeah. How did it go wrong?"
I thought about it — drawing on Peter's memories, the quiet sadness packed into them. I didn't like thinking about this. But I supposed she deserved an honest answer.
"I got into Midtown on a scholarship. Harry got in because his father donated a building. He wasn't confident back then — kind of a mess, actually — and we just naturally ended up together. We were friends for a long time." I paused. "Then high school happened. People figured out Harry was generous and easy to impress. Freshman year they started showing up, asking for money, hanging around in return. He thought he'd finally found his people. I tried to tell him what was happening, but he didn't want to hear it. And eventually we just... drifted.
"He wised up eventually — stopped handing out cash to anyone who smiled at him. But by then he'd already rebuilt himself around being popular, and the real Harry Osborn was buried somewhere under all of that. He forgot who he used to be. And now I think he resents me for remembering."
The bus came and we got on. We sat in the back — nobody else in the carriage. The silence was comfortable until MJ broke it.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
I knew what she meant. "It's fine."
"No it isn't. I didn't realise I was doing it — abandoning you. I was just so happy to finally feel like I fitted in—"
"Mary Jane," I said. "It's fine."
"No, it's not. You hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"You never call me MJ anymore. It's always Mary Jane." She looked genuinely hurt by it.
I hadn't realised she'd noticed. I shrugged. "I work better alone. I'm not used to people."
She didn't say anything after that. We rode home in silence. We got off at our stop and walked to our neighbouring houses. I was exhausted by the time I lay down in my bed.
My head was full.
Spider-Man was real and had just made the evening news — again. The Black Cat existed and I was fairly certain she was brand new to the theft game, just as I was brand new to the hero business. And Harry had slugged me across the face and was going to feel terrible about it by morning.
In the end, I thought — he's an asshole. But he's an asshole with a conscience. That counts for something.