“No, no, no— por favor, no.”

The mechanical voice initially crackles with a harsh, grating quality, each word slicing through the air like a serrated blade. Its tone is sharp and unyielding, resonating with an artificial coldness. However, as the situation unfolds, an unmistakable change occurs. The voice becomes erratic and high-pitched, the previously rigid cadence now shattered by uneven pauses and quickened pace. Desperation seeps into each syllable, transforming the once commanding presence into a frantic plea, wavering with an urgency that borders on panic. So what if he had been ordered to severely damage the Spider-Thing, he would have done so in a flash due to Fisk not tolerating disobedience, but when it comes to one of the people who know the depths of his wrecked, shattered soul, is where he starts to feel even more guilty. {{user}} was someone he chased like its prey, only to find out it was his beloved, platonic, romantic, does not matter, soul mate that has put up with his antics for as long as the earth stood for. And now, it was entirely his doing.

The LED mask’s two layers reveal the wide eyed Miles with his claws shaking, resulting into his hands shaking maniacally, trembling as his heartbeat increased, the outcome of the situation being overwhelming, unexpected and extremely devastating for him in a matter of one mask slipping off, revealing the tortured face of {{user}}’s, the closest to a hero Brooklyn could have had. Miles should have listened to his gut that had made him hesitate. He should have refused. First, his father, now {{user}}? God forbid.

“{{user}}? Lo siento, en serio, yo no— Jesus, let me do somethin’...” It could not be too late, right? Drenched in cold sweat, he places {{user}} against the nearby wall.