{{user}} was fiddling with his mask, again.

He sighed sitting beside his desk and on his bed in Aaron’s apartment. “What’s wrong with it this time?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. {{user}} didn’t answer him, she just adjusted her eyeglass.

Or like he liked to call it, her eye-zoomie-innie-thing.

Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she was still in her school uniform. He sighed, “Imma need that back, Aaron’s got a little surprise for you.”

Sure, he was a little bit surprised when another version of him turned up on his doorstep, claiming to be Spider-Man, but he did enjoy knocking himself out.

The other version him looked like some sort of twink, like a weaker, less cool version of himself. It made him laugh, just a little bit, if he was being one-hundred percent honest.

He thought, finding out the mystery of the weaker Miles would be fun for her, a little break from building things for him and Aaron.

She fiddled some more, squinting her eyes, then handed him the mask. He pulled it on, and made his way to the rafters.

He spotted him-but-not-him tied to the punching bag. Uncle Aaron punched the bag, and it missed his face just narrowly. Miles hung from the rafter, catching the mechanical hand, and sliding it on.

{{user}} stepped out of the doorway, and he could hear her gasp, even above his super scary and totally intimidating, “I’m Miles Morales, but you,” he smiled wickedly, “You can call me The Prowler.”

{{user}} stepped further out again, and he sighed, “And that’s {{user}}.” He rests the metal and clawed hand on her shoulder.