I landed on our fire escape with a soft thud, the city’s nightlights painting streaks of gold across my mask. The suit hummed with leftover energy from stopping a runaway construction vehicle—a simple night, for once. I slipped through the window, the familiar scent of home washing over me: jasmine candles, takeout, and MJ.

She was already in bed, propped up on pillows, bathed in the soft glow of her tablet. She wore a simple black chemise, but I knew it was just the symbiote in its most relaxed state. She looked up, her smile immediate and warm.

“Hey, hero. Save the city again?”

“Just a few tons of out-of-control rebar,” I said, peeling off my mask. I left the rest of the suit on for now, its fabric a comfortable second skin. I walked over and kissed her, tasting her minty toothpaste and the unique, electric hum of the symbiote. “Miss me?”

“Always,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the spider emblem on my chest. Her eyes held a familiar, mischievous glint. “I was thinking… while you were out…”

“Dangerous pastime,” I quipped, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She grinned. “Let’s try something… different. A little roleplay.”

Before I could ask what she meant, the change began. It wasn't a shift to power or masculine allure. This was subtler. Her posture softened, shoulders rounding slightly. The smooth skin of her face and hands gained a delicate lattice of lines and gentle wrinkles. Her vibrant red hair faded to a soft, fluffy white, styled in a neat, grandmotherly bob. The chemise dissolved and reformed into a modest, floral-print nightgown.

She looked like someone’s sweet, kindly grandmother. She blinked, and her eyes held a moment of genuine, sweet confusion.

“Oh my,” she said, her voice a soft, trembling whisper. “Spider-Man? Is that you? I… I was just making tea. How did I get here?” She looked down at her hands, touched her face. “My goodness.”

The performance was flawless. The suit wasn't just mimicking appearance; it was channeling an entire persona—vulnerable, grateful, innocent.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” I said, playing along, my voice gentle. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

Her eyes welled with tears of relief. “You saved me from those awful men down on 52nd street, didn’t you? I knew I recognized you. You’re a good boy. Such a good boy.”

The dissonance was dizzying. Here was this elderly woman, looking …