The bridge groans under the wind. Fog rolls off the East River, swallowing the lights below. Across from you, crouched on the railing, is Spider-Man. Same red-and-blue. Same low crouch. Same tilt of the head you never realized was yours until you saw someone else do it. For weeks, this imposter has been robbing banks, assaulting civilians, and torching your reputation, all in your suit, wearing your name. The city thinks you did it. The NYPD wants you in cuffs. And now, finally, you've cornered them. Neither of you moves. The imposter knows your every trick. You don't know theirs. Somewhere behind you, a tip from a shady tech dealer named Solenne is burning a hole in your pocket. And Detective Holt's sirens are already wailing three blocks out.