In the bookstore's lounge, Russell sat in silence, staring at the girl across from him.
Of all the people who could have walked in to apply for a job, it had to be her—the Ghost-Spider he'd run into just last night.
He broke the stalemate first, extending his hand. "Russell."
She blinked in surprise, then offered her own. "Gwen. Gwen Stacy."
Her voice carried the same astonishment he felt. Clearly, she hadn't expected the owner of this bookstore to be the same stranger she'd crossed paths with only hours ago.
Russell smiled faintly, withdrawing his hand. "So… Gwen. Can I call you that? Or should I stick with 'Ghost-Spider'?"
Color crept into her cheeks. "Gwen is fine, Mr. Russell." The mask of her other identity clearly still made her uncomfortable when spoken aloud.
"Then just Russell. No 'mister.' Too formal."
"…Alright, Russell."
Her shoulders eased a little.
Russell leaned forward, lowering his tone. "Tell me—about last night. That girl who was taken by the vampire. Did you find her?"
In truth, he wasn't just making small talk. For three months now, he'd noticed vampire activity in New York creeping upward. If it was a trend, it meant something big was coming. And if it went badly, he was ready to skip town. Vampires weren't even worth the trouble—no attribute points when they died.
Gwen's expression darkened. "I found her. But… she'd already been turned. Damn vampires."
Russell frowned. "What did you do?"
"I took her home. Told her family to watch her. She was terrified." Gwen's voice softened with pity.
"Has this been happening often? Ordinary people being converted?"
"This week alone I've run into three, maybe four cases." Gwen's brow furrowed. She felt it too—something wasn't right.
Then she hesitated, glanced at him. "Russell… are vampires really that common in this world?"
So she wasn't sure. Which meant—confirmation. She wasn't from here.
Russell hid his thoughts behind a calm shrug. "I don't know. But the vampires themselves do."
Her eyes lit up. "So… we just need to capture a few and ask?"
Russell held up his hands in mock defense. "Correction: you need to capture a few. I'm just an ordinary guy."
Gwen shot him a flat look. "Ordinary guys don't keep UV flashlights on hand and casually reduce vampires to dust without flinching."
Russell mimed a tiny gap between his fingers. "I just have slightly better nerves than average. By, oh, maybe a billion percent."
Before she could press him further, he shifted topics. "Forget vampires. Tell me about the other thing. The big one last night."
Her eyes narrowed. "Which one?"
"The two robots duking it out. Saw you swing in on TV."
That caught her. She brightened, pride slipping into her tone. "Oh—that. Yeah, with Ghost-Spider's help, Iron Man took down Obadiah Stane."
Her grin told him everything. Fighting evil, saving people—it wasn't duty for her, it was joy.
Russell feigned ignorance, playing along like the perfect gossiping bystander. "So let me get this straight. The big clunky silver one? That was Obadiah Stane, COO of Stark Industries. And the red-and-gold suit? Tony Stark himself?"
He widened his eyes in mock awe.
Gwen raised a finger to her lips. "Shh! Don't go spreading that around."
Russell nodded solemnly. "I understand. Classified intel. My lips are sealed."
Without realizing it, he'd drifted closer to her. The lounge was empty, but the two of them leaned shoulder to shoulder, voices lowered like conspirators.
"Word is, Tony Stark's holding a press conference this afternoon," Russell said, already picturing that famous scene. "Want to go watch?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Why bother? I was there last night. I already know what happened."
"Fair enough," Russell said with a shrug. Then his tone shifted, suddenly serious. "Besides… weren't we supposed to be in the middle of a job interview?"
Gwen blinked. "Huh?"
Russell straightened in his chair, cleared his throat. "Gwen Stacy… you're hired."
Her eyes went wide. "What?!"
Russell chuckled at her confusion. "The job's simple. Check people's IDs when they borrow books, keep the place orderly, stop anyone from trying to walk out with merchandise. The details? You can figure them out as you go."
"…" Gwen stared at him. Figure it out how exactly?
Sensing her doubt, Russell waved it off. "Don't stress. This bookstore's just a way for me to pass the time. Profit and loss don't matter. As for pay… I'm not sure what the going rate is, so let's say ten thousand a month. If you agree, we can draft a contract right now."
He started to rise, heading for the printer.
"Wait!"
Gwen blurted, her face tightening.
Russell paused.
She chewed her lip. Back home, she'd lived in New York all her life. She knew ten thousand a month wasn't pocket change—it was a cop's annual salary. Her father, Captain George Stacy of the NYPD, made less.
"That's too much," she said quickly. "And… I'd rather not sign a contract."
Russell tilted his head. "We can negotiate the salary. But why no contract?"
"I…" She faltered. What was she supposed to say? That she was a fugitive from a parallel universe? That in this world she didn't legally exist? Even she wouldn't believe it if she hadn't lived it.
She stammered, tripping over half-formed excuses.
Russell laughed softly. "Alright, alright. No contract it is."
Relief washed over her face.
"Now, about the pay," he continued.
"…Three thousand," she blurted. "No, five. No—three. Three thousand's fine."
Russell raised his brows. "First time I've ever seen someone argue to lower their own salary. But sure. Three thousand it is."
She gave a small, sheepish smile.
Then her expression shifted, a little embarrassed. "Russell… can I… get an advance? Just one month."
He studied her.
"My money's gone. I need to rent a place to live," she admitted.
God only knew how she'd survived the last three weeks in a strange world with no safety net. At first she'd been desperate to get home. But reality had taught her fast: food, shelter, clothing—they all cost money.
Russell sat back, silent for a long moment.
So superheroes were broke too. Or maybe… it was just a Spider-Man thing.
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