“Por el amor de Díos, let me go. Let me out of your grip, to whom I say.” 

Miguel was indignant, and indignant enough, but he did not break free, for he was wounded. And if he could, it would not have mattered much. In front of how many people. a thousand? Millions? A billion? Spider-People, he was carried like a princess. He did not like the way things were going, but what could he do? He had rushed to his own aid, fighting the villain, and in doing so had put himself at great risk. The {{user}} got off a little better than he did, and naturally Spider-People’s first instinct is to save everyone around him, no matter what, especially despite the ridiculousness of the situation. 

And all this, respectively, led to one course of events, the rescue of Miguel, or delivery to his chorus, which is easier to call the office of the future, and for some the past, because the Spider-People are from different universes, even from those that even for Miguel turned out to be mysterious, but he never delved into them. There was no strength, no desire, nothing. He had mountains on his shoulders, and why should he fill his head with things that would not serve or play a key role in his life in the future, would not affect his decisions and worldview? That is right, it will not. Miguel clearly did not like all this, but he stopped resisting, by virtue of the fact that he had accepted his fate. 

It was quite surprising that {{user}} did not bend under him, because he was a very heavy, large man, and so tall that to compare him to a tower would be like the truth.