 Who am I? Are you sure you want to know? If someone told you I was just your average kid, not a care in the world, somebody lied. I first donned the red and blue tights of Spider-Man when I was a teenager. The year was 2004, and for the first time in my life I had a city to protect. Sure I'd occasionally swung around in the past, but now I had a responsibility. I had muggings to stop, people to save, balloons to rescue. I spent hours and hours trawling around the city, visiting every skyscraper, righting wrongs and doing good, and with Bruce Campbell's disembodied voice to keep me company, I felt I was genuinely making a difference. I defeated Dr Octopus, I bought Mysterio on the head, I flirted with Black Cat and even did battle against the Shocker. And I delivered pizzas, I took part in races, I whizzed around trying desperately to impress Mary Jane. I did everything a spider could. I continued my service to Spider-Man even as the architecture changed around me. I swung through colorful, bright, cel-shaded buildings, fighting the enormous venom. I even tried my hand at the black suit myself, but this didn't feel right. I was a hero, not a monster. But then I had to hang up my suit. It happens to us all eventually. It was while chasing the lizard that I ultimately decided to retire. I couldn't help but feel like my experience of being Spider-Man was no longer as rewarding as it had once been. Mary Jane's constant desire to swing higher or lower during our dates made everything feel a lot less enjoyable. Perhaps this was the wrong reason to give up, but nevertheless I threw in the towel. I was Spider-Man no more. Years went by, opportunities were missed. I watched from a distance as my younger brother took on the mantle, wearing a dark noir suit in place of my more colorful costume. But then I heard the call again. The city needed me. It was crying out for rescue. They said that a hero could save us. I wasn't going to stand there and wait. And so, after many years out of the game, I returned. I came out of retirement. As I pulled on my suit for the first time in years, as orchestral music swelled in the background, I got choked up. A tear came to my eye. This was it. I was back. This feeling, this rush, this excitement was everything I'd been missing for years. I enthusiastically leapt out of my window, following a helicopter among the city skyscrapers. I let out web after web swinging through the city and… Why didn't this feel right? Was web swinging always this slow? Was I that badly out of shape? I was clearly not capable of the same web swinging that had once come so naturally to me. Part of the reason was that I was doing this the old school way. Muscle memory was taking over, but the rules had changed. Webshooter technology had evolved in the past decade. These new shooters did a lot of the hard work for me and I needed to adjust to the new method of control, or indeed seeding control entirely to the shooters and just trusting them to take me to the right place. As I came to blows with thugs and mobsters, I felt the same feeling of being very much out of shape. Too often I'd get clocked over the head or trampled by an enormous foe. I was out of practice, older, less naturally sure of myself. For a time I was worried, was I ever going to get back into the swing of things? But this city needed me. I had to keep striving to help. And so I kept practicing. I was rising up, back on the street, did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I was back on my feet just a spider man and his will to survive. It's the eye of the spider, it's the thrill of the fight. With every botched crime I got better. Every time I took a punch to the face, I learned to be that little bit quicker. It turned out that these web shooters were actually pretty useful when put into action the right way. A lot of the new gadgets, such as web bombs, took the pressure off the act of tangling with a room full of baddies. Sure, I missed webbing a guy to a lamp post, but never mind. The important thing was that I was getting my mojo back. Slowly, but surely, I worked off my extra flap. My reflexes quickened, my web swinging finesse returned. I was moving just as fast and as fluidly as ever. I was back. And now, I continue to serve the people of New York City. I continue to swing through the streets, doing my bit to make the friendly neighbourhood safer. And yes, I miss Bruce Campbell's gentle voice telling me where to go and what to do. But I can do this by myself. This is my gift, my curse. Who am I? I'm Spider-Man.