Miguel, in costume, mask in hand, is walking away from Dana, Net Prophet and Xina. He storms towards the reader, battered and bruised with a look of frustration on his face.
Spider-Ma—Miguel! Wait, he’s—
Don’t Dana, we’re done with this.
Megacorps isn’t going to put their plans on hold while we argue what to do, and who should do what.
At least let Net Prophet come—
Miguel rests a hand on the frame of an open window. He’s looking out into the city, his back turned to the group.
No more relationships. No more partners. No more games.
Miguel crouches in the window sill, looking back at Dana, Net Prophet, and Xina.
I do this alone.
Xina looks furiously at Dana. Net Prophet stands around awkwardly.
You know this is all your fault right?
You two were as unstable as the molecules that make up his suit even before I came along!
Okay… I’m just going to…
Same as Panel four, though now Net Prophet has teleported, only leaving behind a small puff of matter, a fragment of a sign that he was ever even there. Xina and Dana are staring at the space where Net Prophet was.