1. Eggs. Organic.

In the movies, time slows down during fights, but everyone knows that's not how it works in real life. Me more than most. I was in a good share of fights back in the day, always in the role of the punching bag, and time never stopped.

But things are different now. Time is slower, constantly. I'm walking down the street now, and in the time it takes me to make one block, I've already gone over the whole day in my head. It's a pretty neat gift. It has its downsides tough. For starters, being alert all the time, the adrenaline rushing in the back of my mind, makes me oversensitive. Very oversensitive. It takes all my strength not to turn around and knock down someone who just brushed me in the street by accident. It also gets boring. Just imagine, I'm buying eggs, and in the time it takes my to ask "how much?" I've already gone over the whole conversation in my head. I've even thought of a few jokes I could make. The woman has no idea that I've predicted her exact words (that's not a superpower, I've been buying here for ages) and answered them in six different languages, including pig latin and klingon.

I think I might have messed up german tough. Still learning that one. Anyway, I put the change in my pocket, and I feel the position and movement of every coin in there as I walk by. It annoys me. I take some and give them to a man on the street, although to be honest its mostly to get rid of the noise. Not that it would make any difference, since the man walking next to me does it in a slightly irregular pattern that makes his steps stand out. I must not kick him into the street. Good. Now say it again. And again.

I get home. The door is unlocked. A thousand possible scenarios come to mind. Literally. While I start turning the knob, I discard the most ridiculous ones, assess the situation, add new ones, compare them, plan, discard more, and my hand completes the turn, opening the door.

The house is empty, as it should be. There's not a single thing missing, I'd have noticed immediately. False alarm. I guess aunt May just forgot to lock the door again.

Or not. As I turn on my computer, I notice a new folder on the desktop. Its right between Gwens eyes. Guess they didn't want me to miss it. I read the name of the folder. Just one word. I consider all possible anagrams. In comics, super villains like anagrams. Guess this is not the case. But the fact that the word is written in all caps tells me that whoever did this must be pure evil.

The folder has three files: a video, a picture, and a text file. The picture is of me kissing Gwen in some rooftop. I'm wearing my suit and have the mask in my hands. Shit.

The video is of me fighting during the alien invasion. I see myself getting knocked out, and a few guys in black leather taking me away from the action. I always wondered who'd done the deed.

The text file contains just one line: "we just want to talk"

I spend more than an hour making sure there is nothing more to those files that what meets the eye. I check the whole computer for any other new things. Nothing. Who the hell is doing this?

I think of googling the folder name, but its such a common word there is no way I'll find something useful.

The phone rings, and I jump to the roof. My heart is beating so fast that I'm worried it might explode. I let myself drop down and pick up. Its Gwen. Be cool Parker. She can't know. Yes, everything is okay, I did not just find out someone is stalking me -and possibly her- without me noticing. Yes, just a regular day, no one broke into my house. Yes, the folder wasn't right between your eyes.

Thank the lords of Kobol that conversation was over the phone, cause I have a terrible poker face. Well, not so terrible, but she knows me too well. The phone rings again. I pick up, this time calmed down after talking to het. It doesn't last long. I don't know the voice in the other side. A man, middle aged. He wants to know if I got their message. I did. He hopes I didn't mind the slight invasion of privacy. I did. He wants to meet for coffee in a nice place down the corner, wants to know if I've ever been there. I have. He knows. Strangely enough, the voice is not threatening, or scary, or even mysterious. It sounds like a regular guy that complains about taxes and the football score. But I guess stalkers are people too.

I grab my coat, and hide a few extra web cartridges there. I consider taking a knife, but the thought is gone in less than a second. Instead, I just grab some mints for the way and leave a note in case aunt May comes home early.