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The Roxxon Corporation was a monolith, a spire of corruption and secrets rising above the streets of Manhattan. Led by Phillip Roxxon, it was a looming titan of corporate power that no one dared to question or oppose, to fight or stand against.

No one but Miles Morales.

He watched the building from a few blocks away, the sound of car horns and shouting below him just a background to his thoughts. He didn’t know if what he was about to do was a good idea. He didn’t know if it would fix the problem. He [i]did[/i] know that breaking into a multi-gazillion dollar corporation wasn’t your typical superheroic deed – but he needed to know. He needed to know why Roxxon put a bounty on his head.

Kate’s words that afternoon had stuck with him. She found the problem, and she fixed it. It was simple, almost glaringly obvious advice, advice that he found himself valuing more and more with each passing hour. The moment she gave it to him, he’d begun to formulate a plan. It wasn’t much of one – probably only twelve percent of a plan, really – but it was the best he could come up with. If anyone knew what the problem was, it was Roxxon. And what do you do when someone has answers? You ask for them.

Taking a short run-up, he jumped off the side of the building, hearing both awed and disgusted gasps in equal measure as he landed on the opposite rooftop. With the proportionate speed of a spider he leapt and ran towards the Roxxon building, unable to help the smile that formed beneath his mask – he loved it. The adrenalin that ran through his veins as he coursed through the air, the thrill, was all-encompassing. He once again found himself thinking of Spider-Man, and of how he must feel swinging on his webs.

Before he knew it, he was running up the side of Roxxon, his feet his only anchors as he glided along the glass exterior. He didn’t know where Philip Roxxon’s office was, but he was pretty sure that his best bet was up. Reaching the highest window, ten or so feet below the gigantic Roxxon logo, he reared back with his right arm, building up as much power as he could before letting loose with a punch. The glass shattered around his fist, flying into the room it bordered in a plethora of shards. Climbing into the room, Miles took in his new surroundings – 

– to be greeted by Philip Roxxon’s smiling face, an amused glint in his eye. 

He looked to be in his mid-forties. His brown hair was receding, brushed backwards in a respectable hairstyle; wrinkles were beginning to line his square face. His buff frame was covered by an expensive suit, no doubt made of only the finest material – and he clapped, long, loud claps, a low rumble escaping his throat, bearing semblance to a chuckle.

“Bravo, bravo,” he cheered. “Wow. I’ll be honest with you, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Miles eyed him with caution, standing ready for any trouble that might show up. While Roxxon was yet to get up from his desk, he could never be sure – security could be on their way right this very second.

As if reading his mind, Roxxon said, “Oh, loosen up. We’re all friends here. Don’t you worry, security won’t be coming to bother us. We’re free to talk, as all civilized men should.”

Miles didn’t budge. “Why are you sending people after me?”

That low rumble again. “It’s always the same with you superheroes, isn’t it? Straight to the point, formalities be damned.” He chuckled. “Okay. Let me explain, Spider-Man.” His smile grew into a wide grin, his eyes staring knowingly. “Or should I say… [i]Miles[/i].”

Icy shock spread through Miles like a disease, enveloping his body until all he felt was a cold, dreadful chill. How did Roxxon know his name? [i]How did Roxxon know his name?[/i]

“Come on, now, don’t be like that,” Roxxon said, “How hard did you think discovering your identity would be? Especially considering the fact that I [i]created[/i] you.”

The chill only went deeper. “What are you – ”

“You haven’t let me explain, Miles,”  he interrupted, “You haven’t let me explain. It started with the first Spider-Man, as you can imagine. This building was a site for one of his battles, did you know that? He came here, and he fought like you wouldn’t believe. And it was then, watching him pull off these amazing feats, that I knew: I wanted to make more of him. Imagine the [i]profit.[/i]

“So we got to work. Me and my brain trust, we worked hard, hour after hour, day after night, week after week, month after month – and finally, we had something. The [i]Oz Formula.[/i] It was a… a [i]concoction[/i], if you will, designed to enhance the user’s physical capabilities a hundred fold. The theory was that if we were to inject it into a spider, which would then bite a human subject… We would create the next Spider-Man. But for whatever reason, no matter how hard we tried, it wouldn’t work. And then your uncle came along.

“Aaron Davis, am I right? The Prowler. He broke into our facility, if you can believe it, with the best possible security money can buy –  and he stole one of our spiders. We still don’t know why, but he did. Spider number forty-two. And it bit you.

“Oh, the universe has such a mean, ironic sense of humour, wouldn’t you say? Our [i]one[/i] successful specimen is stolen by a thief, going on to bite his nephew, who then becomes the second Spider-Man – the very inspiration for this whole experiment. Now, I’m sure you don’t need me to explain it much further. I created the very thing that gave you your powers. I created you. So, going by that logic, it’s easy to see, isn’t it? I [i]own[/i] you.”

Any humour he may have held in his eyes was gone, replaced by something else – anger. Rage. Malice. “And like any sane person… I want my [i]property[/i] back.”

Miles took an involuntary step backwards. Gone was the good-natured mask Roxxon had worn just moments ago. He was seething now, shaking, his face red and the veins on his neck popping out. Despite that his spider-sense wasn’t warning him of any danger, Miles remained on-edge – for the first time since he donned his costume, he didn’t trust his instincts.

“Now, come here,” continued Roxxon, “I want to show you something.”

Against his better judgement, Miles obeyed. Taking cautious steps, he stopped in front of Roxxon’s desk. The CEO – the madman – turned his computer’s screen towards him, pressing space to start playback.

It was CCTV footage. Spider-Man – the original – flipped and leapt across the screen, dodging and weaving between his enemy’s attacks. He was doing a good job of it, too, until a hand grabbed at his mask, passing through his defences as it yanked it off, revealing the face of a brown-haired young man with handsome features, barely out of highschool, shocked and frantic. With speed that could only come from alarm he hit his opponent, stunning him enough to grab back his mask, pulling it on before resuming the fight.

Roxxon paused the video and stared at Miles, his eyes boring into Miles’ very soul. “This is footage from the night he was here. Do you know why I showed it to you?”

Miles remained silent.

“I showed it to you so that you knew: I've seen his face. I know what your hero looks like. All it would take is a simple inquiry, and I would know who he is. Where he lives. Who his family is, and who his friends are. What he eats, what he drinks, when he sleeps and what he does. I would know [i]everything[/i] about him. Just like I do you.

“So run along now, Miles. Leave. But know that you are [i]powerless[/i] to fight me. I [i]own[/i] you. And I [i]will[/i] have my property back. Just pray it’s before your loved ones get hurt.”

Roxxon’s gaze went to his computer, and just like that, the conversation was over. 

So Miles ran.  He ran, and he didn’t dare to look back.

And beneath his mask, he cried.

Because he didn’t know what to do.