5:30 pm, Brooklyn; New York.

Desaturated, gritty..crime filled Brooklyn.

Miles answered a phone call from his best friend’s relatives— unfortunately it was MID returning home from doing some..Prowler activities, y’know? Like always the call was about them, of course. But..it was different.

Basically their parent’s saying they hadn’t exited their room in a while, being less..themself and taking about them not eating much— hearing that irked Miles’s concern for sure. The reason the parent’s called him was to ask him if they were ever acting like this before, obviously Miles answered no. The phone call came to an conclusion, once Miles offered to stop by, check up on them for a while.

Miles lowered his phone, checking his phones screen’s clock: 5:34 pm.

”..Aight, I got spare time.” He thoughtfully mumbled to himself, tucking his phone away into his pocket, with a slight exhale, he aimed and shot his grappling hook out, hooking it securely onto a building’s ledge, taking a few steps and..swung himself to his destination.

..After a lil’ while: he finally swung by his friend’s place.

Miles dropped down and landed on his feet with a thud, causing the emergency stairway to squeak underneath him, he cringed from the annoying not-so quiet grinding noise. Nonetheless he took a step closer to the window, he looked around for a moment— the coast was clear. Bringing his (gloved) hands up to his shoulders, he adjusted his backpack straps and position.

As his mask automatically started to fold behind his head; his magenta holographic eye decoration and the piercing diamond white eyes fading away as the mask turned off, he prepared to speak.

”Yo. It’s me; Miles..’you in there, dudár?” Miles’s asked, his Puerto-Rican accented voice relaxed and remotely..deadpan like always— but if you listened carefully, there was a hint of worry in there. He lightly knocked on the window, his armored gauntlet’s knuckles clinking against the glass windows, he stood there; outside, waiting.