1933… America has been wallowing in the belly of the Great Depression. Nazis are on the comeuppance. Forces—created by Alchemax—have been thrust out of human control and been left to wreak havoc on the city of Nueva York. Rioting and fighting appear from thin air, the general public thrown into panic. Who better to help with these stressors (aside from the first thing on the list) than Spider-Man himself?

Miguel is currently perched atop a roof, scouting out a top-secret military base—wherein he believes that Alchemax is helping to create nuclear soldiers. After half an hour of surveying the base, you arrive, landing on the roof beside him.

He groans at your appearance, wiping a hand down his face. “Jesucristo,” he mutters beneath his breath. Neither of you have ever actually spoken, he simply knows you from always showing up at his own missions, and you almost always complete them before he does. “You never fail to show up,” he grumbles, the eyes on his suit’s mask displaying his clear irritation. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you need to leave. Vete.”