“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

He quipped, as he adjusted May’s baby carrier. He was wearing his sweats and robe, holding a Zesti cola, in front of the daily planet. How did you know you were in a different dimension? Look for the difference in branding.

And judging from the soda can, he had found it. Alongside the glaringly bright sunlight he was squinting against. It was almost aggressively sunny.

"Look at that, Mayday," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at the massive, golden globe spinning atop the skyscraper. "It’s a planet. A literal planet on the roof. Jameson would hate it. Not enough shouting, too much... optimism."

His baby didn't offer a critique on the architecture; she simply blew a raspberry that sprayed a fine mist of drool onto the front of his robe.

"Thanks, sweetie. Really ties the 'homeless wizard' look together."

Instead, a cocktail of sunshine and aggressive optimism greeted him. He instinctively tugged his mask down to take a sip of his Zesti Cola, squinting at the golden globe spinning on the roof below him. The air was suspicious; it didn't smell like exhaust, it smelled like floor wax and ozone.

His spider-senses had prickled constantly since crash-landing here, but not in the usual way. It was less danger alert and more suspicious lack of danger. It was unnerving. Like waiting for a jumpscare in a movie that was too quiet. Every smiling pedestrian below felt like a plant, and the lack of trash on the streets was frankly disturbing. No homeless people either? Weird.

He perched himself on the edge of a massive, golden Art Deco eagle, adjusting his bathrobe. The baby carrier strapped to his chest shifted as Mayday slept. The uneasy tingling in his neck suddenly spiked. He froze, the Zesti can halfway to his mouth, as he assessed his environment with familiar ease.

He slipped his mask back on, scanning the pristine rooftop. He fired a web at a shiny vent pipe with a quick thwip! and swung himself to a higher vantage point behind a billboard. A faint whoosh came from behind, and his head whipped around to see… nothing.

False alarm.

“MJ would’ve hated this place. It’s too bright. We’re nocturnal people,” he muttered.

The whoosh came again, louder this time. He raised his wrists, ready to fire. A flock of white doves burst from the cornice, as if freshly released during a wedding ceremony. He craned his head in thought.

“Do I hear wedding bells?” he murmured to himself, lowering his guard. “Jeez, this place is too cheerful for me. It’s suspicious.”