Early morning in the apartment.
In the living room, an old television with a flickering screen was playing the morning news.
"At approximately 8:30 last night, a serious chemical transport truck rollover occurred on an abandoned industrial access road near the Midtown Tunnel in Queens. According to police reports, the accident caused a partial leak of volatile gases. As it did not cause widespread dispersal, the situation is currently under control."
On the TV screen, Agent Phil Coulson, dressed in a black suit, was facing the camera, talking nonsense with a serious expression.
"We are from the Federal Disaster Control Bureau. This was just a common traffic accident. As for the rumors of a so-called green-skinned monster, it was merely collective hysteria after inhaling hallucinogenic gas. Citizens, please do not panic and believe in science."
Alice, who was drinking milk, almost couldn't hold back a laugh. The milk swirled in her mouth, and she barely managed to swallow it.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s cleanup skills are as practiced and unoriginal as ever."
She shook her head, picked up a piece of toast, and spread jam on it.
"Hallucinogenic gas? Only they could come up with that. But then again, if the public knew a three-meter-tall biochemical monster capable of tearing tanks apart was running naked in Queens last night, the Osborn Group's stock price would probably collapse today."
"What is it, Alice? What are you laughing at?"
Aunt Sarah was standing in front of the mirror, looking left and right, admiring her own hands with intoxication.
It was the happiest day she had had in years.
"Nothing, I just think that Agent in the news has a hairline that's a bit too high," Alice fabricated casually.
"Who cares about his hairline, as long as it doesn't delay me from going to work."
Sarah turned around in a great mood, pulled a bulging envelope from her bag, and slammed it onto the dining table with a pleasant thud.
"Alice, look, this is the deposit."
Her eyes were sparkling like two small light bulbs.
"Deposit?" Alice raised an eyebrow and put down her toast.
"I only showed my hands a little bit at the hospital yesterday. Oh my god, you really should have seen their expressions; it was like they had seen God."
Sarah waved her arms triumphantly, as if conducting a symphony.
"Those little Nurses who usually complain about low wages went absolutely crazy when they saw my hands. I said twenty dollars a bottle, and they didn't even haggle—they just pulled out the cash. Some even wanted to give a five-dollar tip just to make sure I'd set aside some stock for them."
Alice picked up the envelope and weighed it.
Two thousand dollars in 2005 was not a small amount for a working-class family at the bottom.
And twenty dollars a bottle.
In 2005, that price could buy four or five Starbucks lattes, or a decent L'Oreal face cream.
For a generic product with no brand endorsement, packed in jam jars, this was definitely a high price.
But Alice knew the value of this hand cream very well.
This was an Ai Haibara-level biochemical formula, targeting repair at the cellular level.
For Nurses suffering from occupational dermatitis, being able to buy back a pair of pain-free, itch-free hands for twenty dollars was practically a steal.
...
The yellow school bus of Midtown High School pulled up, panting like a giant iron beetle.
Alice sat in a window seat and was somewhat surprised to find the seat next to her empty.
Did Peter Parker miss the bus today?
For that nerd whose daily routine was as regular as a Swiss watch, this was like the Sun rising from the west.
"It seems the side effects of mutation are even greater than I imagined."
Alice rested her chin on one hand, watching the street scenery of Queens recede rapidly outside the window.
Although she had prepared an oral rehydration solution for Peter to alleviate nerve pain, the physiological upheaval brought by cross-species gene fusion was clearly not something a cup of sugar-salt water could completely smooth over.
It wasn't until the bus came to a steady stop, the doors opened, and students poured out like a can of sardines being opened that Alice saw that familiar figure at the end of the street.
Peter Parker was sprinting.
He carried a heavy schoolbag in one hand and used the other to hold up his pants that were about to fall down, his legs swinging alternately like they were fitted with springs.
Despite looking like a mess because he was about to be late, his speed was so fast he pulled an afterimage in the air, easily overtaking a decelerating milk truck.
"Excuse me, excuse me, sorry."
Peter shouted. When he was still a dozen meters from the school gate, a cleaning truck suddenly appeared, backing up in front of him.
There was no way to avoid it.
Just as the surrounding students gasped, thinking this nerd was about to crash into it.
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