[Quentin's trying to not frame this in a bunch of babble or verbal side-stepping, and he doesn't have much of a better way to refer to his past besides 'ah, that shit again' when he thought most of it was buried by now. Plus it is a little funny to get your 'superhero' name from a gaggle of teenagers. Gotta take the small laughs where you can.

His face does twist in genuine confusion, though.]

...That's a place? Huh. Surprised mine wasn't... [He gestures vaguely, trying to figure out how to word this delicately so he doesn't expose Peter's secret identity as Spider-Man.] Combined with somebody else's, considering things. But- okay. You have a vague idea of Mexico, Morocco, Venice, Prague, and-

[His face drops a little, because of course he's about to bring up how he fucked up a London landmark to a British man. That's not even including the fact he very much died there.]

London, then. The story we threw together for all of that, right-? [He gives Steven a questioning glance, to make sure he's on the right track. If his team didn't show up as part of the exhibit in some capacity, he'd be surprised.] I don't know where to start with all of this, honestly. I never... really thought I'd have to. Ever. And I'm not saying that as an excuse, just-

[He gestures a bit helplessly, unable to find his words for a moment. He's just Quentin Beck here, with no forward planning or a team to feed him lines. His next words come out bluntly, treated like absolute fact in his book.]

If I was caught, I was dead. If I succeeded, no one would ever know. Simple as that. No third option.