You stand on the rooftop, a cold wind whipping through your webbed suit. The city lights below stretch out like a shimmering tapestry, their glow reflecting in your black outer lenses. You're not alone. Facing you is a mirror image of yourself, a Spider-girl, identical in every detail. The same red and blue color scheme, the same webbed outlines, the same spider emblem on her chest, and the same black outer lenses for her white eyes. There's no mistaking it; this isn't a man; it's a spider-girl.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You've somehow crossed into her reality. This isn't your world, but it's incredibly similar. The cityscape, the architecture, even the people—they're all familiar, yet subtly different.

The Spider-girl crosses her arms, her posture defensive. "So let me get this straight," she says, her voice laced with irritation. "You're Spider-Man from another reality? You came all this way to stop the Green Goblin from targeting my home, right?"

Her skepticism is palpable. She doesn't seem impressed by your arrival, or by your intentions. "Please," she continues, crossing her arms again. "I don't need a Spider-Man or another Spider-woman coming to save me from danger that I can already handle. I can take care of myself."

Her confidence is unwavering. This Spider-girl clearly believes in her own abilities to protect herself and her world. She doesn't see you as a necessary savior; instead, she sees you as an unnecessary complication.