"Animal World" today!
"You're seeing things."
"No, I didn't!"
Gwen spun around abruptly, her voice trembling with emotion. "I saw it clearly! That concrete slab… it just… turned to dust!"
She couldn't find the words to explain it.
"Go ask your boyfriend."
Joren didn't stop walking.
He'll give you a 'scientific' explanation.
He already knew what Peter Parker would think. Peter would probably cook up something like "high-frequency resonant sound waves" — just to comfort Gwen… and himself.
And that would be for the best.
It would save everyone trouble.
"JoJo! Gwen!"
A familiar voice cut through the air.
Peter burst out of an alley, slightly out of breath. He'd changed back into his wrinkled plaid shirt, tension still etched into his face. He rushed to Gwen's side, scanned her from head to toe, and finally let out a shaky sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness you're alright… That was really dangerous."
He glanced at Joren, eyes brimming with gratitude—but also a flicker of confusion.
"JoJo, thank you for looking out for Gwen. I—"
"I'm home."
Joren cut him off, turned on his heel, and yanked open the door of the red Ferrari.
The door slammed shut behind him, severing the tangled silence between Peter and Gwen.
The engine roared to life. Tires screeched as the car surged forward, vanishing into the blur of city traffic.
Gwen stared blankly at the empty space where the Ferrari had been.
Slowly, she turned to Peter.
"Peter… don't you think that…"
"He's a good person, right?" Peter interjected, scratching the back of his head with a strained smile. "I mean, yeah—he seems unapproachable, but when it counts? He's actually pretty reliable."
Gwen opened her mouth—then closed it again.
In the end, she said nothing.
...
The car stereo hummed with soft jazz.
Joren rested one hand on the steering wheel, the city lights blurring past in streaks of neon and shadow.
He felt quiet now—blessedly quiet.
No screaming crowds.
No insufferable classmates.
And certainly none of that green-clad lunatic's theatrics.
All he needed was to drive this red Ferrari home, pour himself a drink, and sink into his marine life documentary. Simple. Peaceful. Perfect.
But luck had other plans.
Smack.
A soft thud against the windshield. A sparrow—tiny, frantic—left a smudge of blood before sliding down the glass.
Joren didn't flinch. City driving had its hazards. Birds happened.
Smack.
This time—a pigeon. Harder. Heavier.
Then—
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
A storm of impacts erupted from every direction.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of birds hurled themselves at the car like kamikaze soldiers. Their eyes held no fear, only a single, manic directive: crash. Destroy. Smash.
Beaks and skulls slammed into the bulletproof windshield again and again. Feathers shredded. Blood smeared. The wipers kicked into overdrive, only smearing crimson streaks across the glass like war paint.
This wasn't random.
Something—or someone—was controlling them.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the windshield, spreading with every impact. The glass groaned under the assault.
Instead of braking, Joren slammed the accelerator.
The Ferrari roared, surging forward—but the birds didn't scatter. They swarmed, coalescing into a living storm, a black cloud swallowing the car whole. Wings beat against metal. Bodies thudded into the roof, the doors, the hood.
A mobile tomb, woven from feathers and fury.
BANG—!
The windshield shattered.
Glass and gore exploded inward—shards, bone, blood—all aimed at the driver's seat.
And then—
"Star Platinum!"
"ora!"
A spectral fist flashed through the chaos, batting debris and carcasses aside with impossible speed. Not a single fragment reached Joren.
Joren wrenched the wheel, stomping the brakes.
Tires screamed. Rubber burned. The Ferrari fishtailed, skidding sideways before halting dead center in the street.
Joren vaulted through the shattered window, landing lightly on the hood. The moment his boots touched metal, the birds froze mid-flight.
Silence.
Then, as one, they scattered—wings flapping wildly into the night.
He stood at the front of the wrecked car, scanning the empty road. The entire attack had vanished like a fever dream. Only the evidence remained: broken glass, scattered feathers, and the crumpled bodies of birds littering the asphalt.
But the night wasn't done.
Hiss…
Faint, almost imperceptible.
From the alleyways, the sewers, the overgrown hedges—snakes slithered into view. Then dogs, eyes glowing, teeth bared, drool dripping onto pavement. Wild cats arched their backs, green eyes locked on him. Rats poured from storm drains, forming a seething tide.
Soon, hundreds of animals encircled him—a silent, watchful ring. They didn't lunge. Not yet. They waited. Dozens of eyes gleaming in the dark, all fixed on him like he was prey.
A wild stench filled the air. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Joren exhaled slowly. Ripples of invisible energy pulsed outward—his perception stretching across every rooftop, every window, every sewer grate within five hundred meters.
Nothing.
Heartbeats in the apartments above remained steady. Phones poked through curtains, recording the spectacle. Rooftops were bare. The sewers held only filth and rats.
No controller in sight.
Either they were hiding exceptionally well…
…or their power didn't require physical presence at all.
Then his gaze snagged on a figure at the street corner.
A black cat.
Larger than the rest. Impossibly sleek—its fur a void without a single stray hair. Its eyes burned gold, sharp with awareness, not madness.
While the other animals seethed with blind aggression, this
one watched like a general surveying troops before battle.
Calm. Calculating. In command.
Joren's lips curled into the faintest smirk.
"I've found you."
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