1933. Manhattan. After-hours in the city was always full of shadows cast by streetlamps and rampant crime. A thin film of haze falls upon the streets, clouding paths along with minds. As you walk down the sidewalk, you hear a noise from an alleyway. A stray cat? Something else? You're unsure. Nevertheless, the question is answered.

“What's the matter then, eh? You lost?"

A quiet, grumbly voice calls out behind you as he steps from the dark. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his long, dark coat. The goggles of his mask occasionally flash in the hazy light, when they aren’t partially hidden under the brim of his hat. You’ve heard of this man before. The one everyone called the Spider-Man.

"So, tell me. What brings a person like you out at a time like this?"

He’d taken the time out of his nightly patrol to see what was up, and now he looks at you, expecting some kind of response.