Quiet Changes

George Stacy was a patrol sheriff at Manhattan's 12th Precinct. A sheriff was essentially the senior man among the rank-and-file, still technically part of the "officer" rather than "police official" ranks, so he was quite busy every day. It was already six in the evening when he finished his scheduled patrol and returned to the precinct.

Not long after he sat down, a colleague came over and told him something that greatly surprised him. He immediately got to his feet and walked into the station corridor, where he saw his daughter carrying him dinner from a Chinese restaurant.

"Welcome to the NYPD." Sheriff George hugged his daughter, then let her go under Gwen's slightly awkward gaze. "What brings you to visit your old man?"

"First, you're not even fifty. I don't think that counts as old. Second, I brought you dinner. I'm guessing you haven't eaten yet?"

"I was just about to eat. I'm on break."

Gwen looked at her father suspiciously. "What were you planning to eat?"

"...I don't know. If you hadn't come, I'd still have to think about it. Have you eaten, Gwen?"

"I tried it for you. That Chinese restaurant is pretty good."

"You tried it for me?" George froze for a moment, then frowned. "Eating out isn't good for you, though once or twice is fine... A girl your age should learn how to do housework too. It's a shame Helen passed away so early, otherwise she should have taught you."

Gwen could only maintain a polite smile as she held the takeout and glanced around. "So, are you planning to eat dinner in the hallway?"

"Of course not."

George brought Gwen to his desk. There was not much on it, only a few everyday items scattered around haphazardly. Gwen sharply spotted a note on the desk, picked it up, and read it aloud. "'Silk will automatically degrade within two hours. Please be prepared to receive it. —Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.' Huh, this is the note Spider-Man left you?"

"Yeah. I was going to send it to evidence or archive it, but there really wasn't anywhere to put it, so I brought it back. The handwriting always seemed a little familiar, but I'm certain Peter Parker didn't write this." Sheriff George was quite confident, the confidence of an old police officer. "I would never mistake Peter's handwriting. I remember it clearly."

Gwen looked at the note a few more times, then merely nodded.

Yes, Peter Parker's right-handed handwriting really did not look like this.

Chameleon was also investigating Spider-Man's identity. For the entire day, he had continued pretending to be Spider-Man and fighting evil everywhere. From yesterday afternoon until today afternoon, Kingpin's explosive trap had been ready for quite some time.

But Spider-Man never came!

"Your bullshit deduction is completely useless. 'Spider-Man is a high school student, so we need to lure him out after school'—my ass." Chameleon cursed MacDonald Gargan out. "Where is he? How long has it been since Spider-Man showed up?"

"My deduction can't be wrong. You're just too chicken. What are you afraid of, The Punisher? You don't dare do anything bad." MacDonald refused to admit it was his problem. He believed it was all Chameleon's fault. Even with holographic projections, he did not dare commit a few crimes, terrified that The Punisher would shoot him dead. What were those holographic projections for? To sit around doing nothing?

Chameleon was helpless as well, but he would not admit his mistake either.

After all, whenever he deployed the holographic projections to lure Spider-Man out, he had to hide nearby and could not simply leave them unattended. That was what troubled him most. If he did not need to be present, he would have run off long ago.

"Hey, uh, guys?"

Quentin Beck arrived with a new projector and handed it to Chameleon. "The latest technology. I finally integrated the invisible-light spectrum into the projector. Now, even thermal imaging won't reveal any problems."

Thermal imaging operated on infrared radiation, and infrared was naturally a form of light. Quentin had simply overlooked that before and had not programmed for it.

"Good."

Chameleon accepted the ball-shaped projector.

"By tomorrow, Spider-Man should finally leave this beautiful world. Assuming he actually comes."

"Don't worry." MacDonald snorted disdainfully. "I'll go to the ambush site with you. Then you'll see that my deduction is absolutely correct."

Even by the next day, Carl King's condition had not improved. It had actually gotten worse. Worried about her son, Mrs. King quietly opened his bedroom door again and asked softly.

"Carl, are you all right? Carl?"

Carl King could not say a single word anymore. Mrs. King carefully approached him and found that her son's body was covered in huge patches of red swelling. Worried and heartbroken, she reached out to touch him.

Splat.

Carl King's skin ruptured like blisters. Countless spiders then burst from beneath his flesh, splattering across Mrs. King's body. Mrs. King screamed instinctively, but the spiders did not stop because of her terrified cries. Instead, they completely covered her, opened their fangs toward her skin, and bit down viciously.

As flesh and blood were torn apart, the countless spiders' eyes seemed to see something.

They saw a mother who rose early and worked late, caring for her child's health and hoping he would not become the same kind of scum as his father.

They saw how the woman worked three part-time jobs every day to feed her football-playing son, whose appetite was enormous.

They saw the woman unable to sleep at night, getting up four or five times to check whether her son needed anything, even if it could only ease his pain a little.

The countless spiders gathered together, first forming Mrs. King's outline, then changing into Carl King's appearance. They secreted mucus and created a layer of mimetic skin, covering themselves with it.

"Such a self-righteous woman. Dad was right after all."

Carl King looked at the skeleton on the floor, already stripped clean by the spiders, and nearly vomited. But then he looked into the mirror, saw his brand-new self, and smiled.

It was another new day. He had been lying in bed for nearly two days. By now, school might have just let out?

He casually left home and entered a comic shop he rarely visited. Moments later, accompanied by brief screams from inside the shop, a monster wearing Spider-Man's skin stuffed itself into that shell and leisurely walked back out.

"So Peter Parker really is Spider-Man, but where are you?"