"Deathstroke? I don't know him that well." Peter shook his head warily and hid Fury's LMD behind himself. "I do know his cousin, Deadpool. What do you want?"
"You're talking to a Symbiote." The shadow approached with terrifying pressure. He stood before Spider-Man with his arms folded, and through the gap between them, Peter could only see the huge bat emblem on his chest. "So you're a Superhero."
"Hold on, what kind of reasoning is that? If a normal person saw me dragging a headless corpse down the street in the middle of the night, shouldn't they assume I'm the bad guy?"
Peter dropped Fury's LMD and held both hands up in the timeout gesture used in sports.
"You're not." The man opposite him was utterly confident, even disdaining to explain his reasoning. "You're very poor."
"How could you tell that? If you don't answer me, I'm not talking to you!" Peter clutched his chest, feeling as though he had no secrets in front of this man, let alone any sense of security.
The shadowy figure stood in the darkness like a statue, with only a faint blue glow shining where his eyes should have been:
"You're malnourished. Your muscle groups have atrophied. Compare yourself to African refugees."
"You're carrying a headless robot somewhere in a hurry. You probably intend to trade it in for some sort of reward or praise."
"The Symbiote has replaced your suit, which means your original suit was poor quality. You needed this deep down, and it fulfilled your wish."
"There are molecular traces of more than fifteen fast-food ingredients on your body, concentrated on your back. So you work part-time at a fast-food restaurant and ride a bike making deliveries."
"Your voice indicates that you are no older than sixteen. The natural curvature of