Chapter Text
Miles has a problem.
Normally, he would welcome the challenge. He finds most things in life too easy for him and he would happily face difficulty with open arms.
But the problem he has been facing for the past few months has been a real pain in his ass.
Now, given his occupation and life-style he was bound to encounter these things. He was told as such by his uncle when he followed in his foot-steps as a legendary thief and was given the legendary (or infamous) name that was associated with it. And he has faced problems during his career. He had run into trouble multiple times with various of New York"s supervillains who either wanted a slice of the pie or conveniently just so happened to launch their machinations nearby the places he was in the process of robbing. That wasn’t even mentioning the overwhelming number of policemen and women actively trying their hardest to hunt him down, led by the infuriatingly stubborn captain of theirs, George Stacy.
But, see, these are problems he can handle. They are manageable. Are they difficult? Yes. Do they mess his plans up from time to time? Yes. Do they frustrate him to no end? Absolutely. But they are less of challenges and more of minor inconveniences.
This? This isn’t manageable. This isn’t something he can handle. And this is definitely not a mere minor inconvenience.
This is probably the biggest challenge he has ever faced in his time as The Prowler.
And it was all because of Spider-Woman.
Miles Morales was fifteen years old when his life fell apart.
Even after all these years, the pain of what happened still aches terribly in his heart and hurts his life even today. He still has nightmares of that day.
He still has nightmares of seeing his dead father in that coffin, slowly lowered down into the Earth below while all he can do is just stand and watch and wish desperately that what he sees was nothing but a sick, twisted figment of his imagination.
But it was real. He remembers the absolute distraught and sadness painted across his mother’s face when she was told of her husband’s death over the phone. He remembers the regretful look his uncle wore during the funeral, no doubt wishing that he and his brother reconnected before the end.
And he certainly remembers visiting the gravesite last week.
In hindsight, none of them should have been surprised. The life of a police officer is a dangerous one and often involves sacrifices for the greater good. Jefferson Davis knew this when he dedicated himself to protect and serve the innocent people of New York City and when he received promotion after promotion for his heroic acts, the risks increased. It was only a matter of time before his dangerous lifestyle came back for blood.
And it did so. But it wasn’t in the form of some epic shootout or a great sacrifice to save another life. He wasn’t even on-duty when he was mercilessly killed.
When the crying teenage Miles composed himself long enough to hear what more his mother had to say, he learned what happened that day. According to reports, Jefferson was out getting groceries for tea later on in the evening and when he started walking to the checkout to pay for his items, he saw that the cashier was getting robbed by a hooded figure holding a gun. When Davis tried to intervene, he was callously shot. It was a lucky shot, really. But sometimes a lucky shot is all you need to get the kill.
Jefferson Davis died that night in a run-down 7/11 without having the chance to say goodbye to his wife and son, lying in a pool of his own blood while the frantic cashier screamed into the phone for an ambulance.
The killer was never caught. Even after twenty years, the man who ruined his life never faced justice for his crimes.
The death of his father was what started it all.
Rio Morales, his mother, tried her best. She really did. She took up more shifts at her job in the local hospital to keep her and Miles afloat and provide food on their plates and she tried to be the best loving, supportive mother that she could be for her young boy who just lost his father. And she succeeded for the most part. But despite what she claimed or tried to appear, she was never the same after her husband’s death. He can still hear her mournful cries at the dead of night long after moving out. She never dated again either.
Uncle Aaron, on the surface, seemed to deal with his brother’s demise better but that was only because he spent most of his time working to stop himself from thinking about the time they lost and the time they could have had. When he wasn’t working as a construction worker, he was The Prowler. When he wasn’t either of those, he was sleeping. He allowed himself little free time. When Miles discovered his uncle’s double life, he finally realized just why he always looked so, so tired.
As for Miles himself…he changed the most.
If you knew him before the incident, you would be startled and saddened at how much the death of his father changed the young man. When he attended Brooklyn Visions Academy, he was the star of the show. Despite his rocky start, he quickly became known for his lively personality, his attractive charisma, and admirable passion for art. He was everyone’s friend, never afraid to say hi to random strangers in the corridor, and always wore a smile.
After Jefferson Davis’ death, Miles became anything but.
In the span of a few years, he went from as warm as a sun to as cold as a comet. He distanced himself more and more from his friends. He didn’t engage in his classes. He sat alone in the cafeteria. He barely spoke to his roommate, let alone anyone at all.
By the time he graduated, he had no friends to celebrate with.
But Miles didn’t care. Why should he? People were a distraction. You can have them in your life one day and lose them suddenly in the next. There’s no point in keeping them around.
It wasn’t long after his graduation when he discovered that Uncle Aaron was secretly The Prowler, New York City’s most notorious thief. If it had been the Miles before his father’s death that learned of that, he would have been horrified. But it wasn’t. Instead, he begged him to teach him everything he knew.
To this day, Miles isn’t entirely sure why he asked him to train him. Was it for the money? Was it for some sort of revenge? Was it a way to distract himself from the pain? He couldn’t say.
Regardless, his uncle trained him after great reluctance and soon afterwards he, too, became The Prowler.
He thought it would be just that. Just him, his mother, and his uncle. He needed no-one else.
At least, that was the plan…until Uncle Aaron died.
It was sudden and anti-climatic, just like the death of his brother. He was killed in a construction accident. It was quick and painless.
And then it was just him and his mother.
But even now she might leave him soon. She was diagnosed with some disease called Oshtoran Syndrome six months ago. It always seems like the universe tries to play some sort of sick joke on him.
Not this time, though. This time, Miles was determined to save her. He won’t lose her like he lost his dad and uncle.
Although both have somewhat decent jobs, the money they have isn’t merely enough to pay for proper research and treatment. And for that, is where The Prowler comes in.
Unlike his uncle, Miles chooses specific targets to steal from: Corrupt targets. While the original Prowler just stole from whoever as long as they had enough money, the successor decided that he will try to help his city in his own way. New York City is full of maggots and scum and villainy. The only way you can fight fire is by fighting with fire.
Not this time, though. His mother has gotten sick. Really sick. The last time he saw her, she was as frail and white as a skeleton, hair falling off like leaves from a tree. She was coughing out blood and couldn’t even get out of her bed. The image of his mother on her death-bed has been burned into his mind and still sees it whenever he closes his eyes.
Rio Morales didn’t have time for Miles to be ethical. He needed the money now.
Thus, The Prowler started stealing money and valuables from the most expensive locations in the city.
Which led him to the problem that has been driving him crazy.
It was what led him to Spider-Woman.
The first time The Prowler met Spider-Woman he had already stolen from a few places scott-free. While no proof was evident at the crime scenes, most people pretty much suspected that it was he who was responsible. Only he could have been able to accomplish what he did.
He had already known of Spider-Woman. He would have been living under the rock if he hadn’t noticed the vigilante in town. She ambushed everyone from the shadows and announced herself to the world as she took down criminals left and right. When he watched the news, he just saw her as some sort of novice that was in over her head.
But seeing her in person was an entirely different experience, however. He was in the process of placing the money into his duffle bag when all of a sudden he heard a thwip and in a flash the bag was sent flying into the wall and was stuck there, covered in spider-web like a net.
“I get that the economy is kinda crap right now but can you just not?”
As soon as he heard that voice, he whipped around and that’s when he saw her. There, perched on one of the stone statues that was present in the building, was the one and only Spider-Woman. A figure smaller in size and stature, she was covered mostly in black and white with the outline of her lenses and the inside of her hood painted pink. She seemed to be wearing some sort of ballet shoes too, suggesting she prioritised acrobatics.
It seemed like the vigilante was observing him, too, as she quickly lit up and pointed at him with excitement. “You’re that big scary thief that’s been stealing from places. Prowler, right?”
Miles didn’t respond when she asked him that. Instead he stood there in his combative stance as he tried to think of a way out of it. The bag full of money was on the other side of the room, still attached to the wall. Based on his calculations, it would have only taken him a good few seconds to run, retrieve the bag, and make a quick getaway.
As he was coming up with the plan, Spider-Woman was still chatting away. That was one of the traits that stood out to Miles long after they departed.
“...and I did some research on you and are you a different Prowler? Your costume looks different than the one from ten years ago.”
Miles frowned when he heard that remark. Over the course of his time as The Prowler, he only had two costumes. The first one consisted of an automatic retractable mask that wrapped around his face, sharp metallic claws, a sprayed painted logo on the chest area, and sneakers that were fused with tech Uncle Aaron had developed for him. When his predecessor died, he made a few changes. Now, he wears a simple cloth mask but still has hidden tech inside that allows him to analyse any situation. His claws were smaller but sharper. His sneakers were replaced with leather boots. Instead of wearing black and pink, he wears black, purple, and green. Overall, a fusion of his uncle’s suit and his old one. He intentionally designed it as such to honour him.
Spider-Woman seemed to have seen an old photo of his uncle and for reasons Miles couldn’t explain even now, the mention of him was what set him off.
He set his plan to action.
However, it seemed like Spider-Woman already knew what was planning or, if she wasn’t, she had great reflexes and improvisation because the very instant he started rushing toward the bag he was immediately slammed into a nearby desk by a kick from the vigilante.
“Sorry, pal, but I can’t let you do that.” She said and like that their first battle began.
It was a relatively short battle but it was a costly one because in the end he was forced to escape with no money in hand when the cops arrived at the scene.
Miles never felt so enraged in his life. He had everything planned out to the T and Spider-Woman ruined everything. Now he had no money and less time to save his mother.
He thought that event would be the only time Spider-Woman caught him off-guard. He will not be outplayed a second time.
But he was.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Until today.
“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”
Miles almost fails to repress a groan when he hears her voice. Placing the money in the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he turns to see the biggest nuisance in his life perched on one of the desks.
“I mean, aren’t you getting tired of this?” Spider-Woman tells him. “It must be pretty embarrassing to have your butt being kicked so many times.”
He frowns at her. She’s trying to rile him up, he knows this. But he also knows that she’s working because his anger for her since their first encounter has been building and building. Any minute now he feels like he’s going to snap.
Either the woman doesn’t notice this or she simply doesn’t care because she won’t fucking stop talking. “I mean, how old are you? A gazillion years old? You probably should retire from all of this.”
And for some stupid reason, that’s what sets him off. For the first time in their interactions, he speaks.
“I’m thirty-five, actually.”
His mechanical voice visibly startles the vigilante for a moment and her lenses widen in surprise, caught off-guard about the volume and intensity. Miles silently curses to himself that he let Spider-Woman get under his skin and break his determined goal of being silent.
And, what was that? Did he really need to reveal his age just to prove a point? What is he, twelve?
“So, you can talk.” The vigilante finally says, still sounding surprised. “I’m almost offended that you only decided to speak now. Oh, well. Thirty-five is still pretty old, you know.”
Miles grits his teeth. The little shit…
“Thirty-five is not old.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it-” And then Miles stops abruptly as he realises he fell for the oldest trick in the book. How did he fall for a trick that was made by toddlers?
Spider-Woman giggling at having him duped just makes him even angrier. Who the hell does she think she is?!
“Enough!” He yells and then chucks a nearby chair in her direction with a speed so fast that it looks like it teleported halfway across the room. He doesn’t see whether the vigilante dodged it or not because he immediately bursts into a run as he charges toward one of the windows. Smashing through it will cause some damage but it"s the quickest escape route right now.
So he acts. He bursts right through the glass window and resisting the pain the glass shards inflict as they cover his body for those precious few seconds. He grabs onto the wall of the building opposite and frantically climbs up.
By the time he reaches the top he hears her voice again.
“Sorry, Prowler! Your change needs to go back!”
He swings his head to the direction of the voice only to see his visual screens covered by the mask of Spider-Woman as she crashes right into him, causing both of them to fall onto the roof of the building. The impact also causes the bag to slip from Miles’ fingers and sees it land on the other side at the very edge.
But he can’t move to reclaim it because Spider-Woman has him pinned to the ground. She holds both of his wrists down and is still talking.
“I gotta admit, I’m impressed. You have a new high score. You never managed to get outside before.”
Then, as if the vigilante timed this, the dreadful whining sounds of police sirens enters Miles’ range of hearing, proceeding by tires screeching to a halt.
Spider-Woman briefly looks back over her shoulder. “Hey, look. Our boys in blue are here. Isn’t that convenient?”
No. This can’t be happening.
The image of a third gravestone right by his father’s and uncle’s rises to the forefront of Mile’s mind, the name “RIO MORALES” written boldly across the stone like it was meant to be. A coffin, black as the void, lowers into the empty grave slowly, almost tauntingly, and the coffin swings open to reveal his mother…lifeless.
Rage begins to fill Miles and he grates his teeth like a hungry predator ready to kill.
No.
Not again.
He will not lose another person dear to him because of some stupid vigilante who thinks she knows what"s best.
It will not end like this! He will not lose his mom!
“ENOUGH!”
Spider-Woman lets out a shout of shock and surprise as he overwhelms her with all the rage and adrenaline-induced strength he can muster and chucks her off to the side, giving him distance from her.
“Stay away from me!” Miles yells, consumed by pure anger now. “I need this money! I must have it!”
He starts to charge toward the bag of money, still lying on the edge of the roof, but stops dead in his tracks as a bright light floods his senses, blinding him. Before he can even wonder what is going on, he starts to hear the chopping sounds of a helicopter blade and his heart drops to his stomach.
“This is the NYPD!” A male’s voice says, his voice amplified by the megaphone. “Get on the ground now!”
Miles grits his teeth in frustration. This is just what he needed.
“Oh, great.” Spider-Woman yells over the sound of the chopper. “Guys, I swear this is not what it looks like!”
“Prowler and Spider-Woman, get on the ground now or we will open fire!”
The bag of money is directly under the helicopter. There is no way he can get to it without being full of bullet holes by the end of it.
Which means there is only one thing he can do. He has to get out of here now.
But that means he has to leave the money, the very thing he needs to save his mother.
The image of a coffin flashes in his mind once more and tears brim at the edges of Miles’ eyes. Another chance of saving her has gone to waste. How much time does she have left? Will he get another opportunity?
He forces the doubt, fear, and uncertainty down, down, and down in his gut, burying the distracting emotions with manufactured coldness and determination. No, there will be another chance. And he will make sure that he seizes it next time.
With his mind finally made up, Miles breaks into a run to the left in a sprint so fast that it seemingly catches the gunner on the chopper off-guard as they only start to open fire precious few seconds afterwards. That short amount of time was all he needed to outrun the bullets dancing just behind his feet and he quickly jumped off the roof. Acknowledging the police cars that lay on the road, ready to ambush him when he lands, he uses his clawed hands to grab onto the corner-edge of the building and twisting himself around in a half-circular motion so he would head right into the dark alley that lay between this building and the one beside it. He lands in a roll and when he is back on his feet he recognises with his prowler-vision that a manhole cover was present, concealing the labyrinth as the sewers beneath.
Miles almost smiles at the convenience he just experienced. Almost.
By the time he starts to hear footsteps approaching the alley, he is already underneath the city.
He gets back to his apartment safely and soundly. Miles thought that Spider-Woman would be hot on his trail but for the rest of the journey back he did not which made him surmise that amidst all the chaos Spider-Woman wasn’t able to pursue him.
By the time he snuck through his living room’s window, it was already past midnight. Miles frowns. He left at 10am. What was supposed to be a quick and swift operation turned out to be a three-hour long goosechase and it was all because of that insufferable woman with the big mouth.
The mocosa needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later.
He immediately starts to walk towards his laptop on the kitchen table to prepare to plan for another heist when his phone starts to ring, vibrating madly.
The frown on Miles’ face deepens. Who calls at 1am?
Slowly but surely he grabs the phone and answers. “Hello?”
“Oh, Mr Morales. This is the New York-Presbyterian Hospital. We tried to call you earlier but you were unavailable.”
Dread fills Miles and his heart freezes. He feels like he can throw up. “I-Is something wrong?”
The woman on the other end, in a gentle, compassionate voice, responds softly. “I’m so sorry, Mr Morales, but I’m afraid to inform you that your mother has sadly passed away in her sleep.”
The funeral was cold and wet. Just like his father and uncle’s were.
Miles didn’t remember much of the details during the whole event. It was less of an emotional torment and more of him going through the motions like he was some sort of spectator.
He sat, motionless and silent, as he saw the coffin that held his madre hermosa being lowered into the deep, dark empty grave that awaited her. He continued to sit, still as a statue, staring as the grave was being slowly filled in by the workers while the attendees expressed their condolences to him and left him with his mother. And he still continued to sit long after the coffin was finally buried and kept on doing so until he was forced to leave when the cemetery closed for the night.
When he finally returned to his apartment, he didn’t eat, drink, or shower. He didn’t turn on the television or go on his phone or pick up a book. Instead he just sat down on his couch and just…existed.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t shout. He didn’t say anything. All he did was just sit there until the beams of light shone on his face from the rising sun that marked a brand new day.
After that, he just carried on.
Miles knew that if he focused on the gravity of the situation that he would shatter like glass. He knew that the second he realised that he was all alone with no-one to turn to he would completely break. What’s better to distract oneself than to bury yourself in your work?
Not his work as The Prowler, however. He’s not ready for that. Instead, he returned to the work he is truly, unashamedly, passionate about: Art.
Even after his father died, Miles was heavily well-known that he was truly a genius in art. No matter how much he changed, his love for drawing didn’t waver. He pursued the one thing that still made him truly happy after he graduated from Visions Academy and not too long after that he made a name for himself in the creative arts industry.
In the public light he was Miles Morales, one of New York’s finest artists. Many of his works are in galleries and he sometimes does commissions whenever he’s bored or needs a distraction.
This was one of those times.
After a month or two of doing art for someone else, Miles decided it was time to make something original. He pretended to not notice that his art shared the same theme of death.
All the while, the suit of the infamous Prowler lay in his closet gathering dust like an artefact buried in the sand as a fragment of a forgotten past. He wondered if he would ever wield it again. Everytime he even thought of carrying out a heist he immediately felt sick to his stomach.
Perhaps his time as The Prowler was at an end.
Turns out, four months after his mother’s death, it wasn’t.
Miles isn’t sure if this is the best idea but he finds that he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter.
He was mindlessly browsing through the television channels, hoping to provide him with some sort of entertainment, when he stumbled onto a recent news case. He was just about to switch the channel but his attention was grabbed when he realised that it was about the Cultural Museum in Harlem.
Someone had robbed a number of the most valuable objects in the museum. If the pieces aren’t retrieved and returned to the cultural centre of African-American art and history then its funders would withdraw and abandon it to die.
Miles and his mother frequently visited the Cultural Museum, the latter especially. Rio Morales adored the location and tried to support it whenever she could. Miles, too, offered his own money to the place. The place had precious memories of his mother and he will not let it die. He refuses for it to die.
He may not have saved his mother but he can save the last golden memory of her.
And that’s how he ended up in the cold and dark, rushing to the Cultural Museum like he hadn’t run in years. It certainly feels like it.
When Miles finally arrives, he is able to successfully disable the security alarms and sneak inside through one of the windows. When he quietly lands, he sees traces of the police investigation that happened hours ago in the form of police tape covering the entrance and the places where the missing antiques were once located.
Miles did a quick scan using his prowler-vision before entering the museum so he knew that no-one was there. The police officers that guarded the place seem to have left a while ago which gives him the perfect opportunity to find anything that can trace him to the ones responsible.
For the first fifteen minutes or so, nothing of significance occurred. Miles scoured the museum and found nothing valuable that could help him. When another quarter of an hour passed, he felt his frustration growing with intensity.
“This is a waste of time.” He mutters angrily. “There’s nothing here.”
He turns to leave, thinking about his next course of action and how he can find some other way to locate the thieves, when out of nowhere another figure walks into the same room he’s in from the other room.
And not just any figure. It’s her.
Spider-Woman.
She freezes when he sees him and her eye lenses widen in shock. Miles can imagine that he probably looks similar and that he and her are mirroring each other.
The next few seconds that follow stretch into an eternity as they stare at each other, not even a single sound being emitted. Just dead, intense silence.
Then Spider-Woman frowns and she breaks the silence.”Prowler.”
“Spider-Woman.”
The vigilante gets into a fighting pose and looks like she is half a second away from pouncing on him. “So you’re the one who has been stealing from the museum. That’s low coming from you. Have you come back to steal the rest?!”
Miles frowns and clenches his fists. Why of all people did she have to arrive? “I didn’t steal the objects, araña.”
“Yeah, right.” She retorts, snorting as she does so. “Like I’m going to believe the greatest thief in New York City.”
“The fact that I am the greatest thief in the city means you should believe me.” Miles tells her, trying his hardest to de-escalate the situation. The last thing he wants is for a fight to break out and bring more harm to the museum than it has already endured. “If I take something, I own up to it. This wasn’t my doing.”
He studies her closely, trying to decipher what she’s thinking. She just glares at him for a moment, still in her offensive stance, but then the expression on her lenses soften a fraction. Then, her body posture relaxes slightly, and she stands straight in a neutral position. She then crosses her arms and looks up and down at him. “Well, what are you doing here then?”
Miles lets out a sigh of relief that he managed to defuse the situation. He looks around the museum and responds. “Same reason as you. Trying to find something that can link back to the people who did this.”
“So you can take the objects for yourself?”
He snaps his head back into the direction of the vigilante and glares. “So I can return them to the museum.”
The thief watches as Spider-Woman’s lenses widen in surprise then all of a sudden burst out laughing, head thrown back.
Growling, Miles barks out, “What’s so funny?!”
She doesn’t respond immediately. She just keeps on laughing and laughing and laughing for almost a minute and each second that passes increases his own anger. When she finally calms down, she is still chuckling a bit when she formulates a response.
“It’s just…you, The Prowler, doing something good for once? Feels like a dream.”
“Well, it isn’t.” Miles angrily tells her. “And I don’t have time for this. There’s nothing here.”
He turns, ready to leave the vigilante high and dry, but then stops dead in his tracks when he spots an object in the far corner of the room.
Spider-Woman seems to have noticed his abrupt stop. “What is it?”
Miles ignores her. He just walks towards the corner and kneels so he can take the object in his hands. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it’s a…
“A…tissue.”
He stands up tall and shows it to her. As he does so, he realises that he’s treating her like some sort of…partner.
Partner. Hm.
Spider-Woman walks closer to him until their bodies are barely touching, the closest they’ve ever been, and she inspects the tissue. When she sees the abundance of snot, her lenses squint to suggest a feeling of disgust. “Looks like someone had a nasty cold.”
He ignores her insignificant comment and continues to stare at the tissue in his palm. Using his prowler-vision, he analyses the traces of DNA left on it. Thanks to being connected to the criminal database, a match was quickly identified.
“Michael Barnes.” He announces in a neutral tone. “Low-life thug. Arrested for minor, petty crimes. No way an estúpido would be capable of doing something like this.”
“Which means he is working with others.” Spider-Woman surmises, coming to the same conclusion as he.
“Meaning someone must have hired them.” Miles continues. “Find Michael-”
“-And you find the puppeteer.” Spider-Woman interrupts, finishing both of their trails of thought. Then she turns to him and seems to give him an amused look. “You’re not omniscient, are you?”
“If I was, I would have had the items in my grasp by now.” He grumbles. “How did the police miss such a vital piece of evidence? Idiotas.”
“Not all of them are stupid.” Spider-Woman tells him, sounding slightly annoyed. “They’re trying their best.”
“Sometimes their best isn’t good enough.” The thief retorts. Then, he looks back at the vigilante in mild surprise. “You speak Spanish?”
Much to his surprise, her lenses widen in shock and let out a gasp of offence. “I-Yeah! What about it?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just assumed you’re one of those who don’t give a shit about their education.”
“I have you know I went to a prestigious school and got top grades!” She retorts, pointing at him in anger.
“Whatever.” Miles says, dismissing the irrelevant, but admittingly amusing, back-and-forth banter. “We have a man to find.”
“I’m sorry, “we”?” Spider-Woman asks in disbelief. “Hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t work with criminals.”
Miles almost failed to suppress a sigh though he can understand her confusion. Working with the maldita araña is not what he had in mind when he came here, especially after all the times she stopped him from getting the money to save his mom.
Then again…
“Firstly, technically you’re a criminal too since you are breaking the law to go on your little crusade.” Miles begins. Then, when Spider-Woman looks like she’s about to speak up to refute he presses on, “Secondly, we have a common enemy and a common goal. If we join forces, we can return the objects back to the museum before it shuts down for good.”
The woman still remains unconvinced. “I can get by on my own.”
“Araña terca.” He mutters under his breath. Then, in a louder volume he asks her “Do you know where Michael Barnes is? Do you know how to locate him?”
As he expected, she’s silent. That’s all the answer he needs.
“I thought not. I have the means of finding him and you have the strength and agility. If we team up, we can save the museum.”
Spider-Woman stares at him for a long time, her expression unreadable because of the mask.Then, after what seemed like forever, she relents and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to regret this…”
Miles smirks. Victory.
“Sabia elección. Let’s find Mr Barnes, Spider-Woman.”