An unfamiliar ceiling, peeling paint, the hospital-like smell of disinfectant—Curt Connors stared blankly at it all.
"You're awake." Broken English with a strange accent came from beside him. Curt Connors instinctively turned his head toward the voice.
It was a rather handsome young man, with a hint of melancholy hidden in his eyes, shoulder-length hair, and two intact hands. If he had been a few years younger, he might have envied someone with such a face. That was what Curt Connors thought.
His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Yet it lasted only a very short time, so brief that others would have found it hard to notice. Then his brain regained control, and his voice came out smoothly. "Where am I?"
"This is Peace Clinic in Hell's Kitchen. I'm the doctor here, Michael Corvin."
"Hell's Kitchen? Peace Clinic?" With his memories coming back online, Curt Connors was somehow confused by two terms that sounded completely unrelated.
Could those even go together?
At that moment, a beautiful, fair-skinned woman walked over. On the silver tray in her hands were several pieces of medical equipment for examinations. She set them on the small table beside the hospital bed, then silently left.
The woman's movements could hardly be called professional or gentle. At most, she made sure nothing got damaged. Seeing this, Curt Connors sighed. "Your nurse certainly has personality."
"Please forgive my wife. She has a slight case of prenatal depression. After all, she's never been a mother before, nor did she expect to become one. We're both still learning."
As Michael Corvin explained, he performed a simple examination on Curt Connors.
The old professor, who was married, had a son, but was already separated from his wife, sighed again. "Treat her