It was on every news station, every talk show, every radio frequency in the country within twenty minutes. Every newspaper in the world wanted pictures, and information to go with them. And the focus of all this attention? A beat up twenty – three year old college boy sitting in a Manhattan jailhouse.

Spiderman had been revealed.

"So. Spiderman. You got a name? A real one, I mean."

The boy sat, handcuffed to a chair in the dark questioning room, staring coldly at Detective Brandt. He didn't reply.

"C'mon, kid. This silent act ain't makin' you look a whole lot more innocent."

Brandt hated interrogations. The dark room, the intimidating guards, the subtle questions… All masterfully planned to break down the twisted mind of a criminal. And its effectiveness was disturbing.

"Your name, boy. I don't want to have to beat it out of you."

The young man's eyes flashed intensely. "You can't harm me. I know my rights."

The burly old man smirked and leaned forward. "Those rights apply only to humans, webhead."

Anger and hurt flared up on Spiderman's face, and for a moment, the detective wished he could take the words back. But the boy's face smoothed over quickly, all traces of emotion erased. His eyes grew steely, and his chin rose defiantly.

"Fine. Do your worst."

The kid had called Brandt's bluff, and he knew it. This time, it was Spiderman's turn to smirk. The old man felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.

"Have it your way, then! But I'll find out sooner or later. We've already sent your fingerprints to the archives. I'll have a file with everything about you, down to your shoe size, within the hour."

That wiped the smile off Spiderman's face. He coughed into his hand, which came away black with smoke, and grimaced. This short sign of weakness handed Brandt a golden opportunity on a silver platter. Leaning forward once again and putting his forearms on the table, he tried to look sympathetic.

"You fell pretty far, didn't you kid?"

The boy looked at him suspiciously.

"I bet you're pretty busted up inside, ain'tchya?"

Spiderman's look of discomfort was as good as a confession. Brandt was hard put not to punch the air in triumph.

"Well, Spiderman, we've got some pretty good doctors right around the corner here. They could fix you up in a jiffy. All you got to tell us is who you are, and we'll get you right over there."

The kid looked torn. He was obviously in a fair amount of pain. But at the same time a look of fear and distrust filled his features. For the second time, Brandt felt a pang of regret. His own son would be about this boy's age, if he were alive. When had he become so heartless as to torture a kid?

"Peter Parker." The name seemed torn from the young man, as though it were his last defense. And in a way, it was. "My name's Peter Parker. I'm a – "

"A graduate student majoring in nuclear physics at Colombia."

A tall, blond - haired man had entered the room. He held an open file in front of him, and was reading it as though it was a best – selling novel.

"A photographer for the Daily Bugle. A part – time waiter at the Moondance Café. Lives in a dilapidated old apartment on the north side of town. No surviving relations."

The man placed the file on the table and leaned against it nonchalantly. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you led a pretty boring life."

He leaned forward until he was inches from Peter's face. The coldness in those gray eyes sent shivers down Peter's spine.

"But I do know better."

Standing upright again, he picked up the file and flipped through it.

"You've had it rough kid, I'll give you that. Your parents killed by a pair of muggers right in front of you, uncle shot by a carjacker, aunt murdered by a crazed supervillain…"

He looked up into Peter's stricken face. "No wonder you turned out the way you did."

"What do you mean?" Peter said through gritted teeth.

"Well, it's only natural to want to take from this city everything that it took from you. You just chose a rather strange way of going about it."

"You've been reading the Daily Bugle, haven't you?" the boy said with a small smile. "You actually believe that I'm behind all those fires, and robberies, and muggings? Why would I do that? How would I do that?"

The blond man looked annoyed. "How should I know how you do it? All I know is that whenever something goes wrong, you're there playing the hero. You can't possibly just be at the right place at the right time!"

Peter stared at him fiercely. "Oh, but that's exactly how it is. You're exaggerating; I'm not always there when something goes wrong. You know how much it hurts when I hear about someone I could have saved, but didn't get to in time? Some accident I could have prevented? I try my best to save as many people as I can, and you act as if it's some sort of crime! You arrest me for trying to help, well why don't you go arrest the guy helping the little old lady cross the street!"

"That's different…"

"No! It's not! You think that guy arranged to have that lady be there, put her in danger, just so he could look good? No, he's doing it because he actually cares about her safety, just like I care about the safety of every single person in this city! And I will continue to care, no matter what you schmucks say about me!"

The blond – haired man's body stiffened, and Brandt recognized the signs of one of his partner's approaching rages.

"Alan…" he warned. But it was too late. Alan struck out at the man in the chair, and the sound of his nose breaking echoed sickeningly throughout the room. Brandt was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing his partner by the arms and dragging him away from the reeling young man. Alan fought him, and yelled furiously.

"You lying son of a bitch! You're a criminal and a murderer and everyone knows it! You've made us look like idiots for the past six years, and now you're gonna pay!"

"Alan, calm down!" Brandt shouted, but there was just no stopping the man when he had gotten himself all worked up like this. Reminding himself to begin the search for a new partner when this was all over, the old detective threw Alan out of the room and locked the door. He turned back to see Spiderman wiping his nose with his free hand. The blood dripping freely down his face and onto his bare chest did not improve the young man's already ghastly appearance. Suddenly remembering the promise he had made to the boy, he walked to the chair and took out the key to the handcuffs. Peter looked up at him in surprise.

"You're letting me go?"

Brandt nodded. "We don't have any evidence to convict you. We just brought you in for questioning in the hopes that you would confess."

The young man looked him right in the eye and said evenly, "There's nothing to confess."

And somehow, Brandt knew that he was telling the truth. He didn't know how it had happened, but during the course of the interrogation, he had developed a strong respect for this Peter Parker, replacing the open hatred he had felt for Spiderman. He no longer believed that this man's intent was to destroy. Whether he admitted it or not, Nathan Brandt had become a fan.

"You might want to drop by the doctor's before you leave, and get cleaned up." Nathan gestured to the young man's nose. Peter nodded wearily and made for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and turned around.

"Everything's going to change… isn't it?"

At that moment, Brandt didn't hear the voice of a world – famous superhero. He heard the voice of a boy; forlorn, desperate, and utterly alone, his deepest secret exposed to those he fought to protect. Nathan almost didn't have the heart to answer.

"Yeah, kid… Peter. Everyone knows now. Your face is plastered on every newspaper, every TV from here to Shanghai. Everywhere you go, people will recognize you."

Peter looked shell-shocked. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know." Brandt shrugged. "That's your business. I wish I could help, but I haven't really had much experience with this kinda thing."

The kid cracked a smile, the first one the detective had seen. "No, I don't suppose you have."

As he turned to leave, Brandt felt the need to say something more, something in parting.

"Hey kid."

Peter paused.

"Good luck."

"Thanks." And the boy left, the door swinging shut behind him.

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