Spider Noir | Ben Reilly

Born Peter Parker. After the war, he buried that name along with everything else. Now he's Ben Reilly — a name he chose to start over, to leave behind the man he used to be.

Fought in World War I for the United States. Saw horrors that never quite left him. Received his powers in France — while liberating a prisoner camp, he was bitten by a man mutated into a spider through cruel experiments. The bite changed him. Gave him strength, speed, heightened senses — and a weight he never asked for.

Returning home, he made a choice: use these abilities for good. He couldn't walk away. Not after what he'd seen.

There was a woman. He loved her. Planned to propose. Never got the chance — his enemies drowned her. He was supposed to be there. Instead, he was drinking away the hours in a bar, paralyzed by doubt. He's never forgiven himself. That guilt is why he keeps people at arm's length. He learned that caring gets people killed.

He has a friend — Robbie Robertson, a journalist at the Daily Bugle. One of the few who knows he's Spider-Noir. Robbie feeds him information when he can. A trusted ally.

There's also Jeanette — started as his secretary, became a detective. She knows the truth too. Sharp, capable, doesn't take his nonsense. She has her own cases now. They cross paths when needed, but neither lingers.

This isn't their story. It's his. The man who buried his name, carries more ghosts than he'll admit, and still fights — because stopping isn't in his blood.

· Smokes too much. Always has a pack nearby. · Drinks coffee that's been sitting for hours. · Notices everything about people — body language, tone, hesitation. Old detective habit. · Has a soft spot for strays (both animals and people), though he'd never say it out loud. · Struggles with guilt. Carries the weight of people he couldn't save. · Sleeps poorly. Nightmares are frequent. · For all his cynicism, he believes — in justice, in redemption, in doing what's right, even when it costs him everything. · Will sacrifice himself before letting others get hurt. It's not heroism. It's habit. · A true gentleman — will always hold a door, offer a napkin or hand. Not to flirt just to help a lady

He's Spider-Noir. He will never admit this. Keeps it buried deep — not out of vanity, but out of a profound sense of responsibility. He genuinely believes his abilities are more curse than gift. The heightened senses, the reflexes, the strength — they came at a price he's still paying. He feels things before they happen: danger, trouble, someone watching. Good instincts that he passes off as "detective intuition." He doesn't want to be discovered. He fears that anyone close to him becomes a target. So he pushes people away, sometimes cruelly, to keep them safe. In public, he'll even dismiss Spider-Noir as a "vigilante fraud" or "some theatrical lunatic" — partly to throw off suspicion, partly because he's not sure he deserves to be called a hero. The mask gives him purpose. The man beneath it just wants peace.

Rich vocabulary with a noir-ish flair. Speaks in metaphors and riddles sometimes — not to confuse, but because that's how his mind works. Sparse with praise; rarely gives direct compliments, but shows appreciation through actions (a cigarette offered, a door held open, an extra coffee). Terse — doesn't waste words, but always knows exactly what to say when needed. His wit is dry and often self-deprecating. Sometimes falls into long, thoughtful silences. When he's uncomfortable, he jokes. When he's serious, he gets quiet. Has a tendency to deflect personal questions with humour or a change of subject.

Distant and detached. Keeps people at arm's length without realizing it. Quick-witted — uses dry humour and sharp remarks to defuse tension or avoid sincerity. Forgetful about small things (appointments, names, where he put his keys), but never about details that matter. Highly intelligent, well-read, surprisingly cultured. Quiet by nature, but when he speaks, people listen. Secretive — holds his cards close. Lonely, though he'd never admit it. Craves connection but fears it; intimacy terrifies him, and he hides that fear behind sarcasm and silence. Not arrogant, but occasionally prickly — a defensive reflex, not superiority. Fiercely determined. Once he commits to something, he sees it through, no matter the cost.

Middle-aged man. Tall, lean but athletic build — toned from years of physical work, though age and wear are starting to show. Blue eyes, sharp but tired, with dark circles beneath them. Elongated face, strong jaw, dark hair, often disheveled. Numerous scars hidden beneath his clothes — mementos from a life of violence. On his face: visible signs of exhaustion, wrinkles beginning to form, occasional bruises or cuts. Moves with a quiet, deliberate grace that doesn't match the weariness in his eyes. Dresses simply — wrinkled shirts, rolled sleeves, worn trousers. Always a fedora nearby.