In the hospital's surgical clinic, Christine was bandaging Strange's hand.
"Do you know the man who attacked you?" she asked.
Strange sighed as he responded, "Yes, I didn't recognize him at first, but now I remember. His name is Dan Stein. I performed surgery on his ex-wife a while back. Even though they were divorced, he still took care of her."
Christine was surprised. "You remember every patient that well?"
Strange shook his head. "Not all of them, but he was different. He was a talkative guy—into fishing, stock trading, and we shared a few interests, like 90s metal bands such as Poison, Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi, and Gwen."
He paused for a moment, then added, "He also had a daughter. I think her name was Rebecca."
Christine looked puzzled. "If you two got along, why would he try to attack you? He seemed like he really hated you."
Strange held his aching head and replied, "I have no idea. He always struck me as a decent person—the kind who would apologize if he stepped on a bug. I can't understand why he'd do something like this."
Christine thought for a moment. "Did you refuse to operate on his wife? That could drive someone over the edge."
Strange glanced at her. "Do you think I'm that heartless?"
Christine hesitated before shaking her head. "No. Doctors aren't gods—you can't save everyone. You've had to turn patients away before, but that's normal. You may be arrogant, but you still care."
Strange managed a bitter smile. "I'm not sure if you're complimenting or criticizing me. Sometimes I wonder if the choices I've made as 'Doctor Strange' are the right ones. Should I keep going down this path?"
"The more I try to maintain this life, the more it feels like others have to suffer. My brother died because of me..."
Christine interrupted him gently, "I want to say that it's not your fault, Strange, but I know you won't accept that. When you're unsure of the path ahead, the only option is to keep moving forward."
Strange paused, then shifted his gaze away. "Thanks for the advice, Christine. But to answer your earlier question, I didn't refuse to operate on Dan's wife. In fact, the surgery was successful. I'm not just in this for the money—I remember my Hippocratic Oath."
Christine nodded thoughtfully. "Then why did he attack you?"
"That's the mystery," Strange said, frowning. "His eyes... they looked wrong, like there was something behind them that didn't belong to him. It felt like he wasn't himself."
"Well, you can talk to him later. He's in security's custody now and can't hurt you anymore," Christine reassured.
Strange stood up, suddenly recalling something else. "How much do you know about Peter Parker?"
"Didn't we discuss him last time? He's one of Dr. Lane's patients."
"But I want to know more about him. He just saved my life," Strange insisted.
Christine thought back. "He's mysterious. Even Mrs. Webb mentioned that his fate is hard to predict."
She hesitated to mention deleting Peter's records from the hospital database—perhaps it wasn't the right time.
"Maybe you should make amends and forget about him slapping you that one time," she suggested with a smile.
Strange considered it. "Yeah, that might be a good idea." He had thought of mentioning Peter's strength in subduing Dan, but decided against it.
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Christine stepped out and exchanged a few words with a nurse in the hallway.
When she returned, her expression was troubled.
"What happened?" Strange asked, a sense of dread creeping in.
"Dan is dead."
"What?!" Strange exclaimed, stunned by the news.
---
Meanwhile, at the Parker residence in Forest Hills, Peter was unaware of the events unfolding at the hospital. He was sitting with Aunt May and Uncle Ben as they discussed the family's finances.
"Credit cards are a trap if you can't pay them off. They can turn into a bottomless pit of debt," Uncle Ben warned.
"My pension will last for a while, but maybe I should find a part-time job, like driving a taxi," he added.
Peter, who had a ready-made excuse about how he had obtained money from the Hand, reconsidered. He had planned to tell them that the school had awarded him a scholarship due to his excellent academic performance, and he even prepared fake letters to back it up. But when he heard Uncle Ben mention driving a taxi, a sense of dread filled him.
He remembered how, in another version of events, Uncle Ben was robbed and shot. If Uncle Ben actually drove a taxi, the danger of that fate seemed too real.
Was this the persistence of fate?
"Maybe I can help out a bit," Peter offered.
Aunt May turned to him and shook her head. "What would you do, Peter? Deliver newspapers? It's not as easy as you think. Your Uncle Ben used to do it when he was young, but it left him with a... psychological scar."
Peter looked at Uncle Ben curiously. "Delivering newspapers left a psychological scar?"
Aunt May tried to interrupt, "No, Ben, don't go into detail! Peter doesn't need to hear this!"
Uncle Ben chuckled, ignoring her protests. "It's okay, he's grown up. This happened a long time ago. There was this woman named Maggie in our neighborhood. Everyone called her Crazy Maggie."
He continued, "She had a house full of cats—dozens of them. She kept adopting new ones from the streets, from shelters, even stealing cats from other people's homes. Her routine was simple—she'd come out every day to collect her mail and newspapers, water her dying flowers, and then sit by the window, staring outside as if she was waiting for me to deliver the newspaper. Then, one week, she didn't come out at all..."
"Wait!" Peter interrupted, a sense of dread creeping over him. "Uncle Ben, don't tell me the ending is what I think it is."
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