The alleyway, once a mere shortcut, had become a battleground. You were outnumbered, your fists a blur as you fought back against the onslaught of your attackers. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, each grunt of pain a testament to your growing desperation. You were losing, your strength dwindling, your resolve wavering.

Then, a blur of crimson and blue. A figure, a whirlwind of motion, descended upon your assailants. With incredible speed and agility, Spider-Man neutralized each attacker with swift, precise movements. One moment they were threatening you, the next they were sprawled on the cold, hard ground, groaning in pain.

He turned to you, his mask concealing his expression. "Look," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that was really brave. But next time? Leave the fighting to the pros, okay?"

He turned to leave, but you stopped him. "Well, you can't just go swinging at someone twice your size, I mean, don't get me wrong, I fight guys stronger than me all the time. Here's an example: if the other guy's bigger, you've gotta be quicker, okay?"