In the back kitchen, Chen Mo slammed the half-kneaded dough onto the cutting board.
Boss Gary was standing to his right, his belly pressed against Chen Mo's shoulder. Through a layer of faded overalls, the heat and grease of that slab of flab were transmitted with absolute clarity.
The boss's wife circled around to his left, her red-nailed hand hooking the strap of his apron. Her heavily lipsticked mouth split open into a grin, revealing a capped gold tooth.
Chen Mo raised his left hand.
He backhanded the boss's wife right across the face. It wasn't a huge movement--just a flick of the wrist--and his fingertips swept perfectly across her powder-caked cheekbone.
The sound was crisp, like snapping a fresh carrot.
The boss's wife staggered two steps to the side, her high heels scraping a piercing screech against the tiled floor. Her back slammed into the storage rack, causing a bag of flour to wobble, though it didn't fall.
Four red welts rose on her face, and a chunk of the lipstick stuck to the gold tooth at the corner of her mouth was knocked loose.
Before Boss Gary could even open his mouth, Chen Mo's right hand had already swung out.
Another backhand, the same flick of the wrist.
Gary's face was thicker than his wife's, so the sound was duller, like a slap on over-proofed dough.
His head jerked violently to the right, the fat on his chin wobbling along with the momentum. His entire body retreated a step, his lower back hitting the edge of the oven, causing him to howl from the heat.
The kitchen fell dead silent for about half a second.
The alarm in Chen Mo's system shrieked like a boiling kettle.
"I know what I did wasn't right, but if I didn't do it, I really wouldn't feel vindicated, alright?" Chen Mo tried to reason with the system.
The boss's wife was the first to react.
Clutching her face, her eyes welled with tears born of pain, her heavily lipsticked mouth gaping into an irregular oval.
"You--you hit me? You hit me!"
Her voice was as shrill as fingernails dragging across a baking sheet, insanely annoying.
But with that scream from the boss's wife, the system finally stopped flashing warnings.
Boss Gary's reaction was a beat slower, but it was far more direct.
He looked down at his flour-stained apron, then looked up at Chen Mo. The expression on his face shifted from dazed bewilderment to raw fury, like a fat pig that had finally realized it had been kicked.
He clenched his fists, the few black hairs on his knuckles tightening along with them.
Chen Mo even had the spare time to count exactly how many hairs there were.
Through the perception of his Spider-Sense, that fleshy fist moved as slowly as a starving snail crawling along.
He even found the time to mentally deliver a roast: You're a bakery owner, shouldn't your hands be covered in flour? Why are they covered in machine oil?
Do you seriously do zero actual work?
How has this crappy bakery stayed in business when the bread tastes this awful?
Chen Mo sidestepped.
The movement was minimal, just enough to let that sweaty, foul-smelling fist fly right past his earlobe.
Thud.
The fist smashed into the sheet metal of the oven, letting out a heavy, dull thud.
The oven door popped open a crack, a wave of heat rushing out, and the row of baguettes inside began to deflate at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"Awoooo--"
Gary's tragic wail pierced through the flour-laden air, sounding like a groundhog that had its tail stepped on.
The system started chiming the prelude to another warning.
Chen Mo quickly put on an expression of utter terror, flailing his hands wildly in the air.
"Oh goodness, Boss! Are you okay? I mean, why did you have to strike me? The oven is innocent! It bakes bread for you every day, you hit it so hard, doesn't it hurt?"
As he spoke, Chen Mo "stumbled" forward, his center of gravity shifting ahead in an extremely natural tilt.
He seized the momentum to hoist his elbow upward, planting it precisely under Gary's chin.
The system went quiet.
Talk about acting in self-defense.
Crack.
It was the sound of teeth violently slamming together, making one's roots ache just listening to it, like two pieces of cheap tile being forced together.
Gary's head snapped backward. His entire body went limp like a sack of de-boned meat, spinning half a circle on the spot while letting out a garbled whimper from his mouth.
Chen Mo stood in place with an innocent look on his face.
He had good intentions; things just accidentally went wrong. He had bad luck, so what could he do?
Even the system had forgiven him, so weren't the boss and his wife going to show some forgiveness?
"Gary! You little animal!"
The boss's wife clearly had no intention of forgiving him as she lunged forward with a shriek.
Her tight dress restricted her movements, making her look like a blood sausage shot out of a slingshot. Her nails were sharp enough to be used as bottle openers, aiming straight for Chen Mo's face.
The four red marks on her left cheek hadn't faded yet, making her expression look exceptionally hideous.
Chen Mo put on a face that looked on the verge of tears and scrambled backward in a fluster.
"Boss's wife, don't get excited! Let's talk this out nicely, don't use force! Your nails are so long, if you scratch up my face, can you afford to compensate me?"
His back "accidentally" bumped into the nearby storage rack.
The rack was already wobbly to begin with. Shaken by the impact, the neatly stacked flour bags wobbled twice before dropping vertically from a height of two meters.
Puff.
A flour bag landed squarely on top of the boss's wife's head, exploding instantly. At that moment, the back kitchen looked as if a white smoke bomb had been detonated.
The boss's wife was dyed snowy white from head to toe, even her eyelashes were coated in white powder, looking exactly like a freshly excavated terracotta warrior.
She opened her mouth to curse, but ended up inhaling a huge lungful of flour. Her old face turned flush red from suffocation, and she began to cough violently.
With the white powder as a backdrop, the four red marks on her face became even more obvious, like four fingernail scratches gouged into the snow.
Gary finally recovered his wits by now.
His face was covered in a mixture of flour and nosebleed--white patches mixed with red--making him look like an enraged clown whose makeup was only half-done.
He roared, lowered his head, and charged toward Chen Mo like a fat pig that had been poked in the rear.
Chen Mo looked down at the floor, then looked at the dough that had fallen near his feet.
That piece of dough was the one he had been halfway through kneading. It had perfect elasticity and a smooth surface; it was a good piece of dough. What a waste.
He squatted down to pick up the dough.
The timing of his movement was clocked perfectly.
When Gary rushed over, his foot caught right on Chen Mo's extended ankle.
This massive momentum was impossible to stop. Gary took off right into the air, tracing a clumsy arc before plunging headfirst into the oversized trash can in the corner with a loud clang.
The trash can shook violently twice. Unable to withstand this sudden weight, it tipped over directly onto the ground.
Gary's two fat legs stuck out from the mouth of the bin, kicking helplessly in the air. His pants had been snagged by the rim of the bin when he tumbled in, exposing half of his dingy underwear waistband.
Chen Mo averted his eyes. He was going to get styes; it was an absolute assault on his vision.
Gary struggled inside the trash can, covered in rotten vegetable leaves and coffee grounds. His voice echoed out from the bin, sounding as muffled as if it were separated by a coffin lid.
"Get out! You jinx! Get out of my shop right now!"
For once, Chen Mo didn't waste his breath.
He didn't want to stay in this crappy place for another second.
The mixture of overnight garlic, cheap perfume, and scorched flour created a chemical weapon in his nasal passages--one he would gladly trade for being hung from the top of Wayne Tower by his webs to blow in the freezing wind all night just to get rid of.
He turned and walked out of the back kitchen.
As he passed the cash register, Chen Mo paused and pulled open the drawer.
A few scattered bills lay inside, crumpled and dog-eared, looking as though they had been repeatedly rubbed together many times. With an expressionless face, Chen Mo pulled out a single twenty-dollar bill, folded it carefully, and stuffed it into his pocket.
That was his wage for today.
He didn't take a single cent extra.
He had kneaded dough for three days, standing for ten hours a day. He took this money with absolute justification.
He walked out of the bakery.
Gotham's daytime was as lackluster as ever. The sky was a murky gray, and the sunlight filtering through the heavy cloud layers was reduced to a dirty, pale yellow, like overnight strong tea spilled onto old bedsheets.
The air forever carried that unwashable smell of rust and the musty odor rising from the sewers.
He had already grown used to it.
Used to it to the point that when he occasionally caught the scent of fresh bread, he would think it was an illusion. Lifting his battered backpack, he kept his head down and walked toward the street corner.
He cursed in his mind as he walked.
He hadn't worn a mask or covered his face when he went out today. According to the usual schedule, by the time he got off work, it should have been time for Spider-Man to clock in, allowing for a seamless transition.
He had originally thought he was just coming to work, knead some dough, and bake some baguettes. Who could have guessed he'd have to perform a full-blown action sequence along the way?
...Sigh, he should have known better.
He needed to quickly find an empty alley to change into his gear. His temper was a bit volatile today, making it perfect for finding a few punks to vent some steam... bah! It was that their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was in peak condition today, making it the most suitable time to chat with young folks who had strayed into the mud early on!
The sooner, the better.
Stroking his devastatingly handsome face, Chen Mo turned into a secluded, narrow alley.
The good news was, he ran into punks.
In Gotham, this was practically more natural than breathing, and it was perfect for venting his anger after he changed.
The bad news was, he hadn't had time to change yet. The even worse news was, those three punks weren't entirely straight.
He hated LJPG... Lpjg... forgot the acronym.
Anyway, Chen Mo's ideal version of a beautiful world was one where men liked men and women liked women.
...Bah!
Where men liked women and women liked men!
He hoped everyone's sexual orientation in this world was normal, just like how when choosing a gender, there were only options for male and female, without needing to choose male, female, other, or custom.
Deep in the alley, three young men with cigarettes dangling from their mouths were leaning against the wall.
Their eyes scanned Chen Mo with ill intent, sliding from his face to his neck, from his neck to his waist, and finally resting on the battered backpack in his hand.
Chen Mo was all too familiar with that kind of gaze.
It wasn't an "I want to rob your money" look. It was... so damn disgusting.
The leader spat his cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it fiercely with the tip of his shoe. A faded mermaid was tattooed on his arm, her tail warped out of shape by his muscles, making it look like a catfish undergoing dissection.
"Well, look at this face." He laughed, a laugh that made Chen Mo feel as if a slimy slug had attached itself to the back of his neck. "Tenderer than the cream cake in the bakery display window. Kid, you new here? Whose territory are you from? Haven't seen you around the East End. Do you like eating cream puffs?"
Chen Mo stood at the mouth of the alley, holding his battered backpack, and looked down at himself.
A suit of cheap overalls, still covered in flour stains that hadn't been dusted clean.
The sleeves were a bit short, revealing slender wrists with wristbones protruding like two underdeveloped walnuts.
Coupled with a face that, in the eyes of Gotham's criminals, was equivalent to a "welcome to sample" sign.
He sighed. He really should have checked the lunar calendar before leaving the house today.
If it had been three big sisters, who knows, maybe he would have willingly gone astray?
What if?