SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY

The Truth That Was Never There

We spent the whole night following every lead, every hidden file, every secret place her sister used to go. We climbed rooftops, snuck through basements, broke into locked offices and government storage rooms, dodging guards and alarms every step of the way. Jean used her powers to unlock doors and erase memories of anyone who saw us, but she still couldn’t touch my mind, still couldn’t understand why I was different. As we searched, slowly the pieces started to fit together—and none of them made any sense.

There was no dangerous weapon, no hidden cure, no terrible conspiracy waiting to be uncovered. V-Max was nothing more than a scribbled note her sister had written on a piece of paper right before she died—a random code name for a filing cabinet, something she’d made up to keep her notes organized, something that meant nothing at all. All that rage, all that pain, all that searching for something that would bring her closure… it was all for something that never even existed. Jean fell to her knees in the rain, and for the first time she cried, loud and broken, letting out every tear she had held back for a whole year. She sobbed until her shoulders shook, until she could barely breathe, all that anger melting into nothing but grief.

I sat down beside her and said nothing, because I knew there was nothing to say. I just sat there in the rain, letting her cry, because I knew what it felt like to carry something that heavy all by yourself. When the authorities and Damage Control agents arrived to arrest her, they came ready to fight, ready to shoot, ready to take down anyone who stood in their way. I stepped right in front of her, shielding her with my body, my suit torn and wet and useless against their weapons. I took every punch, every kick, every shot fired my way. I fell hard onto the wet concrete, my mask torn open, blood mixing with the rain, but I did not move. I did not let them get to her.

When I woke up hours later on the roof of my old warehouse hideout, she was gone. Next to me was a single white daisy—just like the ones I brought May—and a note written in messy handwriting: You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore. Thank you for reminding me how to let go. I held that flower tight to my chest, and for the first time in four years, I felt like I could finally breathe again.