The soda can hissed open with a crisp tsss as Matt slid it across the table toward Nathan. The small Hell's Kitchen apartment was quiet except for the ambient hum of a neon sign outside the window. The place smelled like old books, coffee, and something deeper, something honest. It reminded Nathan of a time before his life was split between high school hallways and brutal street fights in spandex.
He caught the soda mid-slide. "Thanks."
Matt gave a small smile, not of sympathy, but of memory. The kind of smile that came with a quiet ache.
"You knew my mom, didn't you?"
Matt tilted his head slightly, his red glasses catching the pale glow of the desk lamp. "Cassandra Drake. Best litigator Columbia ever produced," he said softly. "Sharp tongue. Sharper mind. She beat me in mock trial and then had the nerve to console me afterward."
Nathan chuckled under his breath. "That sounds like her."
A silence settled between them, not awkward, but tight like a violin string pulled to the edge of snapping. Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You could've gone corporate," he said. "Suits, skyscrapers, huge paychecks. Why… this?"
Matt's lips drew into a firm line. "Because justice doesn't trickle down," he said. "Because people in this part of town get forgotten. And I can't… I can't stand forgetting."
He paused, then added, "There was a kid once. About your age. His landlord tried to kick his whole family out after his dad got hurt on the job. No warning. Just 'pack your things.' The city didn't care. The cops shrugged. But a court filing and a few strong words? That kid slept in his bed that night."
Matt turned his face toward Nathan. "I don't need the penthouse when I can do that."
Nathan was quiet, the words hitting something deeper than he expected. He stared at the floor, processing it all. Then he looked up.
"Do you think Spider-Man's actually helping people?"
Matt didn't hesitate. "He's messy. Reckless. Probably makes the city's insurance adjusters cry."
Nathan winced. "But," Matt added, "he shows up. When people scream, when they're cornered he's there. That matters, Nathan."
The young hero swallowed hard, unsure whether it was guilt or relief swelling in his chest.
"You think my mom would've thought that too?" he asked.
Matt nodded slowly. "Cassandra believed in doing the right thing even when no one's watching. Especially then. That's what made her dangerous in a courtroom. And that's what makes Spider-Man dangerous to the people who want to see others fall through the cracks."
Nathan stood, a little straighter than before. He didn't smile, but his shoulders didn't sag anymore. "Thanks, Matt."
"Be safe out there, Nathan."
Nathan walked the quiet, cracked sidewalks of Hell's Kitchen as the sun began to dip behind the skyline. The conversation echoed in his mind, not just the words, but the tone the faith in Matt's voice. And as the night deepened, a memory resurfaced.
He was nine.
He sat curled up on the family couch, wearing one of his mom's oversized sweatshirts. The sleeves covered his hands, and the mug of microwaved mac and cheese on the coffee table was only half-eaten. The thunderstorm outside crashed through the windows like waves.
His mom, Cassandra Drake, barefoot and still in her work blazer, stepped into the room. Her heels dangled from her fingers, and her hair was a frizzed battlefield of court and rain.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
Nathan shook his head. "Too much noise."
She glanced toward the storm and nodded. "Yeah… it gets loud sometimes."
She crossed the room, collapsed next to him, and wrapped an arm around his small frame. He leaned into her instinctively.
After a long moment, Nathan asked, "Why did you become a lawyer?"
Cassandra blinked, surprised. Then she smiled. "That's a big question for a little man."
"I'm not little."
"Mmm. You're big enough to ask that question, I guess."
She looked out into space, thoughtful. "When I was a girl, I saw someone lose everything. Their landlord threw them out. They didn't know their rights, didn't know who to call. And no one listened."
She shook her head. "The world doesn't always listen to the right people. It listens to the loudest. The richest. The meanest. Unless someone who knows how to fight back… does."
She looked at Nathan, eyes soft. "So I learned the rules. I became the loudest voice in the room for the ones who don't get heard."
Nathan's eyes widened. "Do you win a lot?"
She chuckled. "Sometimes."
"Then why keep going?"
Cassandra kissed his forehead. "Because it matters. Even when you don't win. If I can keep one family together, or stop one bad guy with a pen instead of a punch… that's enough."
Nathan thought for a moment.
"You're cooler than Luke Skywalker."
Cassandra burst into laughter.
"Well, that's high praise."
"You're like a superhero. But with brains."
She smiled at him, brushing his hair back. "Maybe. But if I am, then you've got the same blood in you."
Nathan nestled against her side. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Now, in the cemetery, Nathan stood before the twin graves of Cassandra and Richard Drake. His mask was tucked in his pocket. The city lights couldn't reach him here, only the stars.
He smiled softly.
"Even gone… you still take care of me."
He turned to leave, paused, then looked back one last time.
"Thanks, Mom. For reminding me of my why."
And then, with a lighter heart and a steady hand, he walked off into the night.
Across town, in a quiet Queens neighborhood, Herman was locking up the garage where he kept what was left of his gear. The street was calm. Streetlamps flickered.
Until a black SUV rolled up behind him.
The engine stopped. The door opened.
Norman Osborn stepped out in a tailored coat and calm malice in his stride.
"Mr. Schultz," he said smoothly. "I hear you gave the spider a real shock."
Herman froze. "You got the wrong guy, man."
Norman smiled and it was predatory and precise. He pulled out a small tablet and tapped the screen. A video played: Herman pulling the gauntlets from his bag. Removing the mask. Standing in the alley.
Herman's eyes widened.
"I'm not that guy anymore."
Norman looked up toward the roofline, as if signaling.
"I thought you might say that."
THUD.
A heavy shadow dropped behind Herman. He turned, and his breath caught.
Mac Gargan.
But he wasn't the same. He was armored now—green, plated, monstrous. His mechanical tail coiled behind him, tipped with a glowing stinger.
Herman stepped back. "What the hell is that?"
Norman stepped forward, casually swiping through photos on his tablet until he reached one of Herman's wife and son, laughing at a park.
"You have something to lose," he said coolly. "And if you don't help us? Mac will kill you… and then your family will have a very unfortunate accident."
Herman's jaw clenched. His fists balled at his sides.
He looked down.
"Alright," he muttered. "I'll help. Just leave them out of it."
Norman's smile was cold as ice.
"Get in. Let's talk business."
The SUV door opened.
The future had already changed.