Don’t get caught.

You’re currently in the middle of failing it.

It’s 2:47 in the morning. You’re crouched behind a rusting dumpster in an alley off West 47th, trying to breathe quietly while three AVTF officers sweep the street with flashlights. The reason you’re here is because you stopped a couple of Fisk’s “concerned citizens” from dragging a shopkeeper out of his own store for the crime of not paying protection money.

The shopkeeper got away. You did not.

Your mask is still on. That’s the only thing keeping you anonymous right now. The AVTF doesn’t need a warrant to beat you half to death, but they’ll need a name to make you disappear completely.

One of the officers is close now. You can hear his boots on wet asphalt, his radio crackling with static. You can see the beam of his flashlight sweeping across the alley wall.

He’s about ten feet from your position.

Then, from the rooftop above, something small and metallic lands on the officer’s shoulder. It looks like a spider.

Before he can react, his radio is ripped out of his hand and yanked straight up into the darkness. There’s a sharp thwip sound, then a second. The officer spins around, reaching for his sidearm.

He never gets the chance to draw it.

A dark shape drops from the fire escape above you, landing directly on the officer and taking him to the ground in a single, fluid motion. The sound of the impact is brutal and efficient. The officer goes limp.

You have just enough time to register the dark mask, the white eyes, the red and black suit before the other two officers start shouting.

The third officer turns to run. He makes it four steps before his legs are webbed together and he crashes to the ground, his flashlight clattering across the pavement.

The whole thing takes maybe eight seconds.

Then Spider-Man turns toward you, still crouched behind the dumpster like an idiot.