Spider-Man sulked in his newly acquired room. It was a good size, with one dresser and a closet. His full bed was in the middle of the room, and the blue, fuzzy carpeting felt good on his feet. He threw his costume in the 'to-be-washed bin' and threw on a brown sweatshirt and jeans. All of his clothes, as well as the other heroes' clothes, had been brought here. They also received a copy of The Daily Bugle each morning.

Peter Parker glared at the newspaper that he had webbed to the ceiling. No matter what he did, it was always wrong, incorrect, a boo-boo, and a wasted lifeline. He couldn't help but sulk. Was he to be this frustrated accusation for the rest of his life? No, it couldn't be so.

Dr. Matro had fully healed Johnny Storm, who was making his room feel more like 'home', as he put it. No one else knew what he was up to. And frankly, no one wanted to know. Spider-Man sought the advice of Captain America next. He knocked on his door and entered.

"Hey, 'Cap."

"Peter. Good to see you."

"Yeah."

Captain American was still in his costume, which was odd because everyone else wasn't. Peter stumbled on his own feet, and sighed impassively.

"What's wrong?"

"What?" Peter asked.

"I can tell. I've been in the 'biz' for a while, using the hand gesture more commonly known my Dr. Evil in Austin Powers, when he used the word 'laser'.

Peter sat down on the bed beside one of the greatest superheroes known. He asked himself, Captain America, why are you even talking to me? But he acted as if he had the right to be there. He buffed out his chest a tad, then sighed.

"Do you think I'm a good super hero?"

"Be specific?"

"I'm just...I don't know if what the press says is true or not."

Captain America laughed a healthy, hearty laugh. Peter could not find what was so funny.

"Son," he began, "Don't let one bad review ruin your entire outlook. Don't change who you are, what you stand for, or what you do just because someone else doesn't like it. If you think you're right, then you are."

Peter nodded intently, wishing he would go on. But that was it.

"But, what they think does matter!"

"Only if you want it to matter."

"I don't."

"Then there you go." He said as if it was obvious.

Peter left the room, feeling better and worse at the same time. He knocked on Johnny's door to check if his flame was out again. "Don't come in!" Johnny answered. Peter opened the door anyway. He found Johnny tapping pictures of Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and all other beautiful girls on his walls.

"Holy fucking moose piss!"

"Hey!" Johnny said. "I'm making it feel more like home!"

"Try heaven!"

"Ha ha! I was gonna put one of a hot, sexy model named Mary-Jane up there, but I figured a certain someone wouldn't be too happy."

"As long as she's dressed." Peter laughed.

"Okay," Johnny said. "Then I'm glad I didn't put it up."

Matt Murdock (Dare Devil) and Logan (Wolverine) were playing poker, and Matt was reluctantly kicking Logan's ass. Matt had his special brail cards brought up. He made them himsef. Peter shrugged. Maybe a blind man could see, he thought. Wait- that didn't make any sense. How can a blind man see? Wait- why am I arguing with myself? Oh, this is great. I'm having a whole conversation with myself. I better stop doing that. I'm trying. Shut up! Ooh, that's me.

"Alright, Brial Boy, I've got ya beat this time. I'm all in!" Logan laughed, acting very almighty. Matt smirked. "Me too." Logan stood up as they revealed their cards. "Four Kings! Damn! Can't beat that, huh Blindy?" Matt smirked again. "Wanna beat?" He flipped over his cards. "Four Aces." Logan looked like he was going to die. He looked almost white, shocked; beat at his own game.

That's when Spider-Man understood it all. This wasn't a game. It was serious. A matter of life and death. This stupid contest they had been chosen for wasn't for the faint hearted. It would take skills and wisdom to overcome the obstacles.