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wolven7After the events the papers dubbed "The Battle of New York" and the "Age of Ultron," the young people known as "Miracles" are common knowledge now. Whether by birth, design, or some species of accident, there are hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of people with amazing abilities roaming the streets of the world. This most recent calamity is over, and Captain America has won the day…but at what cost? The quick-eyed city residents will have caught glimpses of a pattern of red and blue, moving almost at random and at spectacular speed throughout the fight and now, tragically, scraps of fabric in the rubble are all that remain. Even without confirmation, they know what they've lost, and New York City mourns.
Weeks pass. A teenage boy with dark brown eyes, black curls, and a dark complexion walks home from school through a reasonably friendly neighborhood. Though his neighbors wave and say hello, his head is downcast, and his mind is wandering. The city's loss has been a particularly personal one for him because he knows, now, that he'll never look up at the buildings downtown and see someone like himself, there. Someone who looks like him. He walks in the front door, calls out to his parents, and, hearing no answer, walks to the refrigerator for a snack. As he turns to the table to sit, he sees it. Waiting there near the centre of the table, torn, stained, cracked… is the mask. HIS mask.
He doesn't drop his food, but he makes sure to set it down very, very carefully, and as he does, he sees the note. Typed and short, it reads simply, "I never found the time to try it, but if you reinforce the weave with a permanent variation on the webfluid polymer, it should be more resilient than mine was. But you're a smart kid; I'm sure you'll figure it out."
As his heart is pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears, a voice cuts through, stopping them both, and says, "I don't know that I'd wear that, if I were you. Some people might think it was in bad taste. Lucky for you, the folks in the lab have been working on some designs, for just such an occasion."
The boy spins around saying, "Who--"
"That's not important, right now," says the man with the eyepatch. "What's important is that the man who used to wear that knew all about you, and obviously thought that you should be the one to carry on what it stands for."
"What do you mean, 'What it stands for?'"
"You know exactly what I mean. You've known it since the first time you looked up and saw him swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Since the first time you saw him save someone's life. You've known ever since you first knew what YOU were, and what that meant for you in this world. It stands for HOPE."
They both stand silent for a few seconds, and then the man says, "You know, I never could convince him to work with me. Always thought I was too secretive, too shadowy. But you're your own man. So I'll just ask it:
Miles Morales, have you ever heard of the Avengers Initiative?"
Outside the kitchen window, a spider weaves a web in a bush, which suddenly shakes coinciding with a noise that's only faintly heard; a noise that sounds almost like… *THWIP*
Weeks pass. A teenage boy with dark brown eyes, black curls, and a dark complexion walks home from school through a reasonably friendly neighborhood. Though his neighbors wave and say hello, his head is downcast, and his mind is wandering. The city's loss has been a particularly personal one for him because he knows, now, that he'll never look up at the buildings downtown and see someone like himself, there. Someone who looks like him. He walks in the front door, calls out to his parents, and, hearing no answer, walks to the refrigerator for a snack. As he turns to the table to sit, he sees it. Waiting there near the centre of the table, torn, stained, cracked… is the mask. HIS mask.
He doesn't drop his food, but he makes sure to set it down very, very carefully, and as he does, he sees the note. Typed and short, it reads simply, "I never found the time to try it, but if you reinforce the weave with a permanent variation on the webfluid polymer, it should be more resilient than mine was. But you're a smart kid; I'm sure you'll figure it out."
As his heart is pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears, a voice cuts through, stopping them both, and says, "I don't know that I'd wear that, if I were you. Some people might think it was in bad taste. Lucky for you, the folks in the lab have been working on some designs, for just such an occasion."
The boy spins around saying, "Who--"
"That's not important, right now," says the man with the eyepatch. "What's important is that the man who used to wear that knew all about you, and obviously thought that you should be the one to carry on what it stands for."
"What do you mean, 'What it stands for?'"
"You know exactly what I mean. You've known it since the first time you looked up and saw him swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Since the first time you saw him save someone's life. You've known ever since you first knew what YOU were, and what that meant for you in this world. It stands for HOPE."
They both stand silent for a few seconds, and then the man says, "You know, I never could convince him to work with me. Always thought I was too secretive, too shadowy. But you're your own man. So I'll just ask it:
Miles Morales, have you ever heard of the Avengers Initiative?"
Outside the kitchen window, a spider weaves a web in a bush, which suddenly shakes coinciding with a noise that's only faintly heard; a noise that sounds almost like… *THWIP*
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Date: 2015-02-26 04:30 pm (UTC)