He wasn't just a replacement for Peter Parker anymore. He was Brooklyn's one and only Spider-Man. And as he swung through the city later that night, headphones on and the sunset reflecting off his mask, he realized the truth: anyone can wear the mask. You just have to be the one to stand up.

He arrived at the collider just as the other Spider-folks were being overwhelmed. With his unique "venom blast" and a newfound rhythm, Miles didn't just join the fight; he led it. He sent his mentors back to their home dimensions with a final, confident salute, then faced Kingpin alone.

Miles didn't wait for permission anymore. He spray-painted his own suit—black with a bold red spider—and climbed to the top of a skyscraper. As the glass shattered under his feet and he plunged toward the streets of New York, he didn't fall. He soared.

Miles Morales didn’t ask to be a glitch in the system. One minute, he was just a kid from Brooklyn spray-painting murals in hidden subway tunnels; the next, he was watching the Peter Parker of his world die at the hands of Kingpin.

How did you feel about the of the film—did the "living comic book" look help you get into the story?

First, a washed-up, sweatpants-wearing Peter B. Parker from another dimension who was more interested in pizza than mentoring. Then Gwen Stacy, a drum-playing Spider-Woman with more grace in one web-swing than Miles had in his whole body. Soon, the cellar of Aunt May’s house was a crowded crossover of realities: a black-and-white noir detective, a futuristic girl with a psychic robot, and a cartoon pig who packed a mallet.