The next morning, at Queens Presbyterian Hospital's outpatient lobby.
The sharp smell of disinfectant mingled with the chatter of hundreds of people, filling the ten-meter-high lobby with a restless hum. A network fault seemed to have hit the outpatient registration system. Patients had backed up across the ground floor, the line snaking crookedly through the lobby. Many slapped their medical folders in irritation, while several tattooed thugs stood near the information desk, cursing. The atmosphere was tense and stifling.
In the seating area outside the endocrinology department on the second floor, Chen Xiao slumped bonelessly across a row of plastic chairs in a charcoal-gray jacket. Even the cola in his hand had gone flat.
Beside him, Tony Stark had wrapped himself in an exceptionally understated navy trench coat. Oversized brown-tinted sunglasses sat on his nose, and a New York Mets cap was pulled low over his head.
Neither spoke. Their gazes stayed fixed on the ground-floor information desk beyond the glass railing.
Down there, Happy Hogan wore a Red Cross vest two sizes too small. It squeezed his belly so tightly the zipper looked ready to burst. Carrying two heavy cartons full of ultrasound gel, he followed a chestnut-haired nurse, sweat pouring down his face.
"May, where do these go? Exam room three or the storeroom?" Happy panted. His face was bright red, and every step looked unsteady, as though the cartons might crush him at any moment.
May Parker, walking ahead, turned and hurried over to help. Her voice was apologetic.
"Sorry for the trouble, Happy. Old Tom from logistics took the day off. Thanks for helping out. Put them in the storeroom first, then take a break. Don't wear yourself out."
"I'm not tired! This is nothing. I work out all the time." Happy immediately straightened his back,