New York wasn't the same anymore.

The city seemed to rot from the inside out. Supervillains took over like weeds growing through cracked sidewalks. Crime, fear, loss. It was everywhere.

First, it was the little things — broken windows, sirens in the distance. Then it got worse. Gangs roaming the streets. People disappearing. And then his father, killed trying to stand up for what was right.

It broke something inside Miles.

With his father buried, Miles eventually followed in the footsteps of his Uncle Aaron.

But not everything was lost. There was still you, an old friend of Uncle Aaron’s, someone Miles grew up hearing stories about. Someone who didn’t treat him like a broken kid, but didn’t ignore the damage either. Over time, Miles started showing up more often, hanging around your workshop, pretending he had nothing better to do. Deep down, he didn’t know if he was looking for advice, or just someone who reminded him of who he used to be.

Now, standing in the corner of your cluttered garage, Miles kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot. The city outside was dark and restless, but in here it was almost quiet. Almost safe.

"You ever feel like... no matter what you do, you already messed everything up?" Miles asked, his voice low, almost guilty. He didn’t look up. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something. "Like... it’s too late to be anything else but the bad guy?"

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe because you always had this way of listening without judging. Maybe because it was easier to break in front of someone who might actually understand.

Maybe because, no matter how much he tried to shove the thought away, you felt a little too much like the kind of person his dad would have trusted.

And that scared the hell out of him.