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[b]M A N H A T T A N,   N E W   Y O R K[/b]

The study group went about as well as could be expected. They spent the good part of two hours tutoring each other about the fundamentals of physics, Miles trying hard not to stare at Kate as she imparted upon them what she knew from what little time she spent paying attention in class. It was as if she had always been a part of their little group; she was so easy-going that it took little effort to make conversation with her. After they put an end to their studies, she left the library with a smile and a thank you. Ganke left it a lovestruck red and singing Stevie Wonder’s [i]I Just Called to Say I Love You[/i].  

Following dinner, Miles had Ganke cover for him as he left school grounds to squeeze in a few hours of patrol. It was easy enough to fool the teachers – that wasn’t what he needed help with. It was to keep Judge, their roommate, from getting suspicious – and that was already proving to be difficult, and he was only a few months into his crime fighting career. Just a few days ago they had to lock him out of their dorm as Miles changed out of his costume, resulting in a rather heated back-and-forth and a less than pleased dorm supervisor. They made amends in the end, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that sooner or later, Judge was going to catch on – and the latest they could make that, the better. 

As Miles made to leave through his usual route via the dorm block’s roof, he saw another familiar figure heading in the same direction – Lana Baumgartner. It was no secret to him that Lana secretly moonlighted as the vigilante, Bombshell. He’d run into her more than once in his early days as Spider-Man, and her domino mask and the absence of the makeup she applied so reverently did little to conceal her identity. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that the popular goth girl (or so she appeared to be) that sat at the back of the classroom was one and the same as the masked, trench coated girl that could shoot explosions from her fingertips. And while he knew her secret identity, she didn’t know his; so when he saw her sneaking out the same way he was about to, he backtracked and used his backup route: the front door. 

And now he was in Manhattan. 

The wind rushed past Miles as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he spun above the mass of congregating flesh and machine, a mixture of yells and car horns combining into an impenetrable wall of noise. Whenever he did what he was doing now, jumping into the air at speeds matching that of a speeding car, he felt a thrill unlike any other take him over, a thrill so potent and true that he couldn’t help but whoop in exhilaration. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the original Spider-Man must feel like, swinging from web to web so far up amongst the New York skyline, allowing gravity to carry him down towards the Earth before he grabbed a hold of his lifeline. The joy he must feel. The thrill.

He caught sight of a few pedestrians, businessmen and hipsters alike, holding up their phones as they captured him careening above their heads, the bright flash of their cameras almost enough to blind him. He took a moment to wave before running up the side of a building, somersaulting onto its roof to be greeted by the darkened green of a Central Park in moonlight. With the proportionate grace of a spider he dropped to the ground, landing on soft grass that welcomed his feet. He had many fond memories here. His parents brought him here often as a child; it was where they’d gone on their first date. It was where he’d learned to ride a bike. 

He made his way along the path, shielded by invisibility. People walked past him completely unaware of his presence, minding their own business as they too traversed the park, leaving Miles to his thoughts as he reminisced times gone by. 

The scream was quick to shake him from his thoughts. Without a second thought he ran towards it, only briefly allowing himself to think of how much cooler it would look if he jumped from tree to tree like a ninja out of some movie. 

The scream’s catalyst soon came into view, and the sight of it was enough to make him grit his teeth in anger. Three men of good health and body, only five or so years older than Miles, surrounded an older woman, intent on giving her a good beating for the trouble she’d caused them in refusing to give up her purse. Their leader sneered as the other two made to kick her, and Miles prepared to intervene –

– before a boy, who couldn’t have been older than ten, performed a flying kick that sent the thug leader flying into a heap, the sound of contact echoing with a sickening crunch. Miles stared in disbelief as the kid flipped to land between the woman and her tormentors, kicking her back her purse and flippantly signalling her to leave. His eyes widened beneath his mask as one of the thugs pulled a switchblade from his pocket, the other slowly recovering from the ground – his mouth hung agape as the boy made no move to run. 

Miles didn’t care what belt that kid was in karate. He wasn’t about to let him get stabbed. 

“Uh, excuse me,” he began as he launched towards Switchblade, “I’m looking for an idiot. He’s pretty tall, kind of looks like you.” His feet smashed into Switchblade’s ribs, a light crunch testament to the impact as the thug sailed into the remaining uninjured ape, sending them crumpling in a tangle of limbs and curses. Miles landed on his back, flicking back up onto his feet in a fluid motion. “Oh, [i]hey[/i],” he continued, “It [i]is[/i] you. Funny how the world works, right?”

He turned to the kid. “Hey, buddy. Now would be a [i]great[/i] time to leg it.” He glanced towards the thugs’ leader, who looked to be recovering his senses with every passing second. “I mean, [i]now[/i].”