"You wanted to talk, Parker?" Prowler crouched down on the ledge next to Spider-Man, clad in his infamous black suit.
"Yes." The low reply came.
His white lenses narrowed.
"They'll be here in a little bit, Brown. 'Till then, we're going to talk."
Hobie quirked a brow underneath his cowl.
"What about?"
Slight pause.
"I'm leaving."
"Leaving what?"
Down in the alleyway, a white industrial truck was backing in.
"Leaving New York."
"For how long?"
Another pause.
"I'm not coming back, Hobie."
Prowler clenched the stone under his claws tighter.
"Why?"
"My last living family member died. I could have stopped it. But the price was too much. Mephisto asked for too much."
Spider-man's tone grew darker, more mournful.
The ledge cracked under his hands.
"What was the price?" Hobie didn't want him to leave. People were counting on him.
"My marriage. My unborn child. My life."
"Yeah. Way too much." They stopped conversing.
A few armed men opened the back doors of the van.
"Ready?" Peter asked.
"Ready."
And so, the two went to work; one working his last shift.
