The subway arrived.
Peter followed behind Joren, his steps uneven.
Joren didn't look back. Hands in pockets, he walked straight toward the exit.
Peter stared at his hand.
Moments ago, that hand had intercepted Joren's wrist.
His other hand had thrown a punch.
That wasn't him.
His reactions had never been that fast.
His strength had never felt like that.
"Wait!"
Peter hurried after him.
Joren didn't slow.
"What happened on the train?"
Peter caught up beside him, his voice trembling.
"My hand… it moved on its own."
Joren glanced at him but said nothing, continuing up the stairs.
The silence worsened Peter's panic.
"And you — how did you stop it?"
"You barely grabbed my wrist. I couldn't move."
"Your strength…"
He remembered Thompson falling.
The manhole cover launching.
The force of Joren's shoulder bumping into him.
They emerged from the station.
Peter sniffed instinctively.
The scent of pizza drifting from a shop.
The sour rot of garbage bins.
The smell of hot asphalt.
They had never been this vivid.
A wave of nausea surged through him.
Joren was already waiting at the intersection.
Peter staggered beside him.
"Who are you?" he asked. "You're not an ordinary high school student… are you?"
Joren said nothing.
The light turned green.
He crossed.
Peter followed.
"Please… tell me what's happening to my body."
"I feel terrible."
"My head is spinning. I'm burning up. I can't stop sweating."
"In Oscorp… I think something bit me."
He touched the back of his neck.
The swollen bite was hot and hardened.
Joren stopped walking.
Peter couldn't see his expression beneath the brim.
"What do you think is happening?" Joren asked.
Peter blinked.
"I don't know."
"I feel like I'm dying… or becoming something else."
A car roared past.
Its horn blared.
The sound exploded inside Peter's skull.
He flinched, clutching his head.
The noise felt amplified tenfold, drilling through his nerves.
"I—"
Before he could finish, Joren resumed walking.
Peter followed.
He had no choice.
They moved along Ingram Street.
Peter had walked this road his entire life.
Today, it was unrecognizable.
He could see microscopic cracks in the pavement.
A pigeon preening feathers on a distant rooftop.
He could hear a couple arguing two blocks away.
Water flowing through sewer pipes beneath his feet.
Information flooded his brain in violent waves.
His mind couldn't process it.
Dizziness intensified.
"I… I'm going to die."
He leaned against a lamppost, gasping.
"You're adjusting."
Peter looked up weakly.
"Adjusting?"
"To what?"
"The new you."
Joren pointed across the street.
A brightly lit 24-hour supermarket.
"I'm buying dinner."
He walked away.
Peter stared after him.
The new you.
Those words echoed.
He looked down at his hands.
Slowly clenched his fist.
Power coiled inside muscle and bone — unfamiliar, immense.
He looked at the metal lamppost.
An idea surfaced.
He stepped back.
Just to test—
"Don't damage public property," Joren's voice called from across the street.
"It's troublesome to pay for."
Peter froze.
He turned.
Joren stood at the supermarket entrance, watching him.
How did he know?
A chill ran through Peter.
This man knew about his changes.
He could predict his actions.
What exactly was he?
Peter crossed the street and entered the supermarket.
Cool air eased the burning in his skin.
Joren stood in the refrigerated section selecting steaks.
He lifted one package.
Examined the marbling.
Put it back.
Picked another.
Peter approached.
"You knew, didn't you?"
"You knew when I told you about the manhole cover."
Joren didn't look up.
"Know what?"
"Everything."
Joren selected a steak and placed it in his cart, then moved toward the vegetables.
"I didn't know."
"You're lying!"
Peter's voice rose.
Nearby shoppers looked over.
Joren stopped and turned.
"I only know Oscorp is conducting dangerous experiments."
"And I dislike trouble."
He met Peter's eyes.
"Right now, you are a large problem."
His gaze was calm.
But the message was clear:
Be quiet.
Peter swallowed his words.
He watched Joren select broccoli and potatoes with practiced efficiency.
Weighing the broccoli.
Checking color.
Squeezing a potato for firmness.
He was genuinely planning dinner.
Peter felt a wave of absurdity.
His life was transforming.
He might be becoming something inhuman.
And the only person who might understand was choosing vegetables.
Joren added milk and a bag of toast to his cart.
Then he moved to checkout.
Peter followed like a ghost.
He didn't know where to go.
He feared going home.
He feared Aunt May and Uncle Ben seeing him like this.
He feared hurting them.
"Thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents," the cashier said.
Joren paid.
He collected his groceries and walked out.
Peter lingered at the entrance, staring into the night.
Traffic lights.
Voices.
Smells.
Everything felt overwhelming.
"Aren't you going home?" Joren asked.
Peter hesitated.
"I… don't know what to do."
His voice trembled with helplessness.
"Then find somewhere quiet and figure out what you've become."
Joren adjusted his hat brim.
"And don't get captured as a monster and taken to a lab. That would be troublesome."
He turned and walked away.
Leaving Peter standing beneath the supermarket lights.
Cars rushed past.
Voices overlapped.
The world spun like a whirlpool ready to swallow him.
He watched Joren disappear around the corner.
His chest filled with dread.
And uncertainty.