[PETER]
I arrived on the rooftop a few minutes late, a recent bad habit I developed. Tonight, I wasn't swinging through the city skyline, dodging laser beams or rescuing innocents. Instead, I found myself staring at a simple setup: a small table, two chairs positioned with a view of the nocturnal New York skyline, and a bottle of wine paired with a couple of glasses.
Whitney Chang had extended the invitation, asking for a conversation with no cameras, no recordings.
I took a deep breath. Knowing her record, I wasn't entirely surprised that she'd choose this unconventional setting. The rooftop, with its isolated ambiance and sweeping cityscape.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, trying to keep my voice light, though internally, my thoughts were stormy. I was wondering why she invited me here. We weren't exactly close friends, certainly not close enough for her to invite me to this weirdly romantic setup.
Whitney gave me a wry smile as she motioned toward the vacant chair. "No worries, Spider-Man. I appreciate you coming on such short notice," she said. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding.
"Care for some wine?" She asked poured it into her and my glass.
"I'm afraid not tonight, I belive it's illegal to swing through New York under the influence." I replied.
We began with small talk, discussing the simplicity of the night, the calm of the wind, the city's soft glow, and eventually, the conversation started to veer toward topics I normally evaded. I could feel the tightening in my chest, an unease as I had a suspicion of what would be asked.
"Spider-Man," Whitney began softly, "I've been asking myself, what was it really like on the frontlines during that battle? Facing Sabertooth and Vulcan, people don't consider you at the very edge of the conflict, but I know you were there. What went through your mind?"
Her question was gentle yet piercing. My fingers trembling ever so slightly. It was like reopening a wound, one I had desperately tried to keep closed. I looked out over the city, as if the lights might offer a distraction.
"The battle…" I started hesitantly, "It's something I would much rather avoid talking about, I hope you understand" I said softly, hoping she would just let it go.
Whitney's expression softened, but I could sense her determination to peel back every layer. "I get that, but if you could share even a piece—the microseconds that defined courage, fear, or friendship, wouldn't that help the public understand you better? Would it give them hope?" Her words hit me like a punch. In the end maybe I really was just her big story and nothing else.
My mind flashed back to that savage day, the scent of burning rubble mingling with the iron tang of my own blood. I remembered Sabertooth's relentless bellow, his ferocity that nearly overwhelmed even my best instincts, and Vulcan, whose presence was as imposing as the weight of legacy he carried. Those moments were playing out like a cruel reel, one I'd worked hard to suppress.
"There are things that are best left unsaid," I murmured, feeling the urge to walk away. "Not because I'm hiding from you, Whitney, but because the memories are…sensitive."
"It's just that the public sees you superheroes as invincible," she said, her tone a blend of admiration and frustration. "Don't you think embracing your vulnerabilities might make you more…real? I'm not after sensational headlines; I want to capture the truth of the person behind the mask."
"Vulcan," I finally began, shifting uncomfortably in the chair, "was unlike any adversary I'd ever faced. His power…it wasn't just physical. It was as if he carried centuries of anger and grudges, determined to resurrect a legacy of hatred. And Sabertooth made me realize that sometimes, even our adversaries are just broken people, who needed someone to put them back together."
I paused for a moment, letting my words drift into the cool, night air. "But every time I relive those moments, I feel the weight of every life I wasn't able to save, every choice that haunts me. I've lost friends, made decisions I wish I could take back. So yes, I was at the frontlines, and yes, I faced horrors that define the worst of humanity. But those moments also remind me why I keep fighting. They are a constant reminder of imperfection—of the human condition that I see in both my allies and my foes."
Whitney leaned back, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. "Do you ever forgive yourself?" she asked softly, and the question reverberated through the quiet space between us.
"I don't think forgiveness is ever complete," I replied, voice barely more than a whisper. "Every battle leaves a scar, some visible, and others that run deep inside."
I could see the conflict between her professional detachment and her human empathy. For a moment, the cynicism dissipated, replaced by a rare shared understanding. "Maybe," she said after a thoughtful pause, "that's what makes you truly human, even behind that mask. The struggle, the scars—they're all part of your story, and they're more important, more inspiring than any act of valor."
I found myself nodding, moved by the unexpected kindness in her gaze.
For the rest of the night, we sat together, talking in fragments and furls of memories and confessions. The conversation wasn't a comprehensive revelation of every detail, nor did I lay bare all the horrors I witnessed. But it was honest enough, a tender glimpse into the life of a superhero who, like anyone else, was human, profoundly fragile, and unwaveringly determined.
As I eventually left the rooftop, the cool night air mingled with a newfound sense of lightness. Whitney's questions had not consumed me or reopened every long-sealed wound.
SOMEWHERE ELSE IN NEW YORK
[3rd Person]
Iceman waved at the crowd and stood proudly as police cuff two shivering masked men, and placed them in their cars.
"Iceman! Someone is going crazy with a knife at Forest Park!" Yelled a citizen.
"Thank you, I'll be over there shortly!" Replied Iceman, immediately rushing over as fast as he could with no hesitation.
Iceman rushed through the park, listening for the slightest sound or smallest murmer. Before long he could hear loud screams amongst the trees and he raced towards the sound.
When he reached the sound he looked down towards see a small radio, the source of the screaming. He slowly picked it up and turned it off, confused and looking all around him. He knew he was lured into a trap.
"I've been bored for a while you know? Mercenary work has become so boring and now I've become so infamous people don't even come after my bounty anymore. So know I search for something else. A different kind of prey." Exclaimed a voice from the dark.
"Who are you? Show yourself!" Yelled Iceman.
"I wonder, does a man made of Ice bleed?" Replied the voice, before stepping out from the shadows.