Qué Maravilla

Ch.6 - No Laughing Matter

Though he would never admit it, there were many things Miles Morales was afraid of growing up: snakes, lizards, ingrown toenails, identity theft, the list goes on. Within the past several hours he had been forced to confront some of the scariests worst-case scenarios he could've never possibly imagined. He couldn't fathom not being able to save his father. Not only that, but have his last conversation with him be an argument. A stupid argument. Not even an 'I love you' or a goodbye. Miles could've never imagined losing not only his family but his home, in the process. He could've never imagined failing not only as spiderman, but as himself.

Miles was sure he had seen it all in the past several hours. That was until he found himself being kidnapped and tightly bound to a punching bag with metal chains in a dark, undisclosed location. That was until the figure dressed in all black removed his glowing mask and sneered at him with clear contempt in his voice.

"My name is Miles Morales, but you can call me the Prowler."

Miles couldn't see himself as anything but spiderman. He always thought that even if he was never bit then, at the worst he would just be normal. Up until now, he thought he was incapable of evil. That no matter how bad it got he would never hurt anyone. He would never resort to crime. Miles genuinely believed that he was an intrinsically good person. Foolishly, he had believed a good portion of the villainy he had fought was because the had some evil nature to them. Anyone could be good of course, but not just anyone could be bad. Right? The uncanny stare of the boy in front of him gave way to a realization that hit harder than a brick. There aren't many things Miles would say he is currently afraid of, but just like that Miles found he had a new fear. A fear of his potential. A fear of himself

He took a deep breath in an attempt to quell his growing anxiety, "If you don't let me go, our dad is going to die."

"Your dad."

Miles turned his head to look at Uncle Aaron, leaning against what seemed to be a workbench full of sophisticated tech. Nonchalantly nodding to the song via his vinyl record player. 'Ain't No Love In The Heart of the City' by Bobby Bland filled up the entire room. It had been a while since Miles had heard his song. Uncle Aaron, his Uncle Aaron, used to play it all the time. It was his favorite song. It was a signature staple in his playlist whenever they would tag some graffiti in the middle of the night. He studied this foreign version of his Uncle. The slow absentminded sway of his head. The silent mouthing the words with his hands stuffed in his pocket. For a split second he easily fooled himself into thinking this was the same Uncle Aaron. The one that saved his life with his own. The only man in his life who supported his creative spark. But this Uncle Aaron was probably going to kill him or do god-knows-what to him. 'Could this really be the same man?' the boy found himself pondering. 'We can all be good, right?'

He turned to look back at his doppelganger "What are you gonna do to me?"

"Only the best I can," his alternate said mockingly.

"Please," Miles tried his best to fight the fearful tremor in his voice, "You have to let me go."

"And why would I do that?" Prowler raised his fist to make a show of activating his mechanical, clawed glove. Its menacingly purple glow being one of the few sources of light in the unsettling room. He then placed his fist so close to Miles' face that he was uncomfortably tugging at the skin on his cheek

In response to this threatening display, Miles' discreetly presses a single finger against the chain that confines him. If he could break out of a futuristic jail cell, he was more than willing to try his luck with these chains. He turned his head to avoid the Prowler's eerie stare and found himself once again looking at Uncle Aaron, who was now fiddling with his dying lighter in an attempt to light the cigarette already in his mouth.