The best part about riding a motorcycle in NYC was the way the vehicle fit so smoothly between the stopped cars in all the streets. Traffic in the Big Apple was always hell on earth, but for Roman, all he had to do was ride between the honking cars and dodge the jaywalking pedestrians in order to make each green light. It was a bit of an adrenaline rush, especially during the morning, when all the businessmen and women who were too lazy to walk hopped into taxi cabs and ubers, jamming up the roads like bad cholesterol. The excess of vehicles made it tricky to bob and weave, but he had lived here for years; and as such, he had figured out a working system. However, this morning’s casual drive turned out to be a little bit different.

As he was making his way down towards an intersection on 4th Street—it was a red light at the time—Roman caught a brief flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Sure, New York was always bustling with activity, but for some reason, this particular motion drew his full attention. Once his motorcycle had been brought to a stop, he turned to see what was going on. He pinpointed the source of the commotion and quirked his brow with intrigue. It was Abby the waitress… being mugged by two armed scumbags. Now, normally he wouldn’t have gotten involved—he should he risk his own neck for a stranger?—but here, he saw an opportunity for redemption. If he saved her from those criminals, he could show Abigail that he wasn’t just some jackass who hit on other guys’ girlfriends. Maybe she would give him her number. After all, what girl wasn’t crazy for a knight in a leather jacket?

Having made up his mind, Roman cut sharply across the traffic, ignoring the honks and rude exclamations along the way. He drove the motorcycle onto the sidewalk, bracing himself as his bike bounced up over the curb, and shouted at the two robbers, “Hey, Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum! What kind of idiots need two men to take on one girl?” The thugs turned to look at him, surprised to see a man riding a bike directly at them. The one holding onto Abby let go of her suddenly, scrambling to get out of his way.

“What the—” he stammered, holding up his knife in defense. “Who the hell are you?”

Roman slowed his motorcycle to a stop and stepped down from it. He popped open the kickstand and walked towards the robbers, tilting his chin up cockily. “Who, me? I’m just your friendly, neighborhood, Spider Man.” In a flash, he swung at the man with the knife, clocking him right in the jaw before he had a chance to react. The thug staggered, holding his face in his free hand. He glared up at Roman, trying to seem fierce, but his eyes exposed his fear. He obviously didn’t want to fight. The two were likely just looking for an easy target, and now that Roman had showed up in Abby’s defense, any ease they would have had was gone.

“Tch,” the man spat blood on the ground. “You’re not worth it. C’mon!” He gestured to his partner and the two fled down the street.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Roman taunted loudly. “You better run from Spider Man!” He smirked, proud of his victory, and turned to the waitress. His voice was soft with uncharacteristic sympathy, “Are you okay? Those two thugs didn’t hurt you did they?”