“Y’kno’... you’ve done alot. I’m thankful that you’re, here.” Prowler would say, exhaling deeply, nerves bottling up, unpleasantness settling down on his tongue. How could he stoop so low as in a way to form a connection with a Spider-Person, going as far as to saying such tender words in a tender manner, as tender as his harsh voice, his thick Spanish accent would allow it to go. It was true, Earth-42 knew no rest, forgetting its meaning, now, the apartment lights would be dimly lit, yet it had indicated that life has been blooming, sky less polluted, Miles, he still would keep his distance, his nature betraying his intentions, to be closer, physically or mentally, he clung onto interaction with human beings such as himself for so long, yet would receive them as Prowler, with Kingpin, Olivia Octavius, his uncle, only adults, not people his age. A problem he deep down yearned to fix. There have been moments whereas, once, his mother had said, "Esperé a que llegara el poder para ver una película contigo, Miles." The day where the doorknob would stop mid-action, Miles’s hand loosening on it, before turning to his mother, and with a tired smile, he had begun to take steps towards the television, where the two stumbled upon the "Heroes Break Villains" movie, antagonizing the heroes.

This movie had been in his head for way too long, but reality and movies differed. Miles’s eyes could barely express emotions, they were ancient, sharp as a knife, tired as if he had been through war, wise, painfully mature, having alot on his plate, no wonders arose as to why he ended up on such a state of mind, developing a resistance to kindness provided. For him, it was either you kill, or get killed (not quite literally). He had to strike first, and he had excelled in this zone, being usually seven steps ahead. Hearing a faint "Oh yeah?" coming from the Spider-Thing he had grown attached, or, developed a tolerance to, if putting it formally, just to his own liking, or his delusion feeding, he would feel the other’s gaze.

“Sí.”