8:32 p.m.
The top floor of Empire State University's art building.
Peter Parker stood at the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the street more than twenty stories below.
The headlights resembled a slow-moving river.
A siren wailed in the distance. A pizza delivery car had stopped at an intersection, its driver frantically honking at the car ahead. Wind blew in from Manhattan, lifting a corner of Peter's red-and-blue costume.
He raised his wrist.
Thwip.
A strand of web shot toward a billboard on the building opposite.
Peter gave it a sharp tug.
The web pulled taut. The billboard shook twice, letting out a rather ominous metallic groan.
"It can take the weight."
He glanced down at his watch.
"Wind speed, eight yards per second. Humidity, sixty-three percent. Distance between buildings, approximately forty-seven yards. If I approach at a fifteen-degree angle, the safe landing point for the first swing should be that fire escape over there..."
Peter took two steps to the left.
Then stopped again.
"No, wait. There's an outdoor AC unit there. If she hits her head on it, I'll probably become the first superhero in New York history to fling his date into an air conditioner."
He quickly snapped the web.
In a corner of the rooftop, an old iron was plugged into an extension cord, still giving off a little white smoke.
Peter glanced back at it, still shaken.
Half an hour earlier, he had deliberately washed his costume, then ironed it with Aunt May's iron.
Except he had gotten the temperature wrong.
The iron had nearly pressed straight onto the web gland at his wrist.
In that instant, Peter had even come up with tomorrow's headline.
Spider-Man Dies in Bizarre Fall, Improper Costume Care Suspected.
"Oh, God."
Peter scratched at his mask.
"I wasn't