Those were terrifying words to hear when you happened to be Spider-Man. He already had two clones that he knew of here in the city. Some unseen force must have taken minimal pity on him, because neither Kaine nor Jessica resembled him too closely. But he worried that it was only a matter of time before some version of Octavius, in some messed up universe out there, perfected the process and made a perfect copy. Or nearly perfect; Peter in every way except the one that matters most. His mind, his abilities, but not his conscience. A dark mirror. It was exactly the sort of thing that madman would do.

The woman before him looked sad, though, not frightened. And Peter knew enough about the doppelgänger phenomena here in Darrow to feel at least momentarily relieved. Miles had recognized him from the papers, his identity posthumously revealed to all. (Still not sure how I feel about that, by the way. Not gonna think about it.) But this woman said she knew him, or the person he resembled. It probably wasn't Peter Parker or Spider-Man that she was looking for.

He climbed to his feet and stood for a moment, stretching out his limbs. "I'm Peter," he said, lifting his hand in a quick wave. "Sorry about my, uh... face."