Overwhelmed- Spider-Man

Second Impressions

"Chief Murad asked to meet again."

Peter smacks his head against the railing of the police precinct's roof. "I can never look that man in the eye again."

Yuri rolls her eyes. "I think you're overreacting. What's the worst thing that could happen?"
"Last time was the worst thing that could happen."

Jon Murad knew. It was bad enough for Yuri to know what happened— he had dedicated years of his life to making sure Peter Parker and Spider-Man never crossed over— but he didn't know Chief Murad. He didn't trust him, either.
And now the Chief of Police had information that Spider-Man had purposefully buried under the mask.

"It was not the worst," Yuri replies, chewing her gum like Peter had accidentally dumped coffee on Murad's shirt, rather than deathly personal information. "Believe me, worse interrogations have happened at the Raft."

Peter hopes his glare still reads through the mask. "I don't want to go."

Yuri, the ever-wonderful friend she is, ignores his whining. "Tuesday. Two o'clock. Don't be late."
"Fine."

"And wear a coat. He wasn't kidding last time."

<><><><>

Peter was late. Yuri and Murad were already waiting outside the entrance when he got there. To his credit, he did wear a coat, though.

Murad beamed when he leapt down onto the concrete, jogging over to extend his hand. "Spider-Man! It's nice to see you again."

If he was put off by their last interaction at all, he didn't show it. Peter shook his hand and hoped he didn't look as awkward as he felt. "It's nice to see you, too."

"I like your jacket."

The jacket, in question, was a sickly gray color, fraying at the sleeves, and dotted with tears and stains. In a vain attempt to make it look more artsy and less threadbare, Peter had stitched patches over the more unsightly gashes, colorful flowers and stars etched over the thinning fabric. In theory, it was cute.

In reality, the effect was more like he was wearing a kindergarten art project he'd found collecting dust in the attic. He appreciated the attempt at flattery, though.

"Why don't you two come inside? I'll make coffee."

<><><><>

Murad's office was incredibly cluttered. Two black fabric chairs were set across the desk from his rolling office chair. Stacks of papers lined the side of his desk, tabbed with colorful sticky notes, and sorted into haphazard stacks. The pile closest to Peter hung precariously over the edge of the desk, threatening to scatter across the floor if he sat down too hard.

The Raft must come with a lot of paperwork.

The three of them settle into the chairs; Murad pushes a mug toward Peter with a grin. He cradles it delicately, cringing as the heat seeped through his gloves.

Murad ducks into a drawer under his desk, setting a manila folder on top of the cluttered surface. "The Demons you caught at the warehouse were taken into interrogation. Most of them don't remember much, but a few of them had valuable information."