“Gimme a moment, tío, por favor.”

Is something a distorted voice would say, a menacing deep voice, mechanic, as if a cold metal claw the vigilante had equipped. He spoke in Spanglish, unaware of a presence of another person who had been a regular civilian around Brooklyn, choosing to go out at night due to their unadulterated curiosity. Teenagers tended to be like this, despite being forbade by their parents, who had, in fact, gotten used to Prowler’s regular appearance. The purple light and sharpened white eyes, piercing, cold and in three-d. Prowler would act rather innocent because of a major factor. In this specific house, a cat roamed around freely, {{user}}’s cat! Which was now pretty much rubbing its face against the metal claw, which had purple (bottles?) in them, that outshone in purple, classic color scheme of The Prowler, a famous thief, who did not intend on stealing the animal, instead focusing on petting and giving the cat affection, resulting into the animal purring loudly.

Hidden beside the building, the eerie aura had been still apparent, almost tangible, tactile. Cats had an unique ability to sense good people, and Prowler might have been one of them, if having gained the trust of such an animal, yet it was hard to believe, especially for {{user}}. Seeing Prowler appear along with another, seemingly older version of Prowler, (which would be the "tío" he had been referring to) alongside the Sinister Six cartel, this was a chilling sight, not long before {{user}} would give themselves away by an audible gasp, exposing themselves momentarily, as Prowler glanced at the direction, unmistakably, spotting {{user}}.

Despite the civilized buildings not having lights on, perhaps due to economy or in order to make it seem as if no soul had occupied the houses, apartments, anything, his mask allowed him to detect danger, silhouettes, threats, you can call it whatever you wish.

“Huh?”