Queens.
The lighting in Peter Parker’s room was dim, the walls plastered with various newspaper clippings and hand-drawn sketches of Spider-Man.
Peter sat on the edge of his bed, his mouth open wide enough to fit an entire sandwich.
“Uncle Su.” “Hmm?” “One million dollars.” “Hmm.” “An hour.” Peter Parker had seen plenty of outrageous things in his life.
He had seen himself stick to the ceiling after being bitten by a spider, seen a billionaire in a tin can flying around the sky, and seen Jameson from the Daily Bugle buy the photos he took for two hundred bucks only to resell them for three thousand.
But he had never seen anyone negotiate a price with a boss like this.
One million dollars?
An hour?
Peter’s brain crashed.
He quickly did the math in his head: if he worked eight hours a day, that would be eight million, and in a month…
He didn’t dare to think about it.
Peter had always felt that there were two sets of rules in this World.
One was his, where he was smeared by the newspapers and cheated out of his pay by Jameson.
The other was everyone else’s…
He didn’t know what that set of rules looked like.
Now he knew.
That set of rules looked like Uncle Su.
“Uncle Su, you—” Peter swallowed hard.
“One million dollars an hour?” Luke placed the Lego figure back on the table and tilted his head.
“How is that possible?” Peter was stunned for a moment.
“I was talking about game currency just now.” “…” Peter blinked.
Luke remained composed and patted Peter on the shoulder.
Peter blinked again.
And blinked once more.
He stared at Luke’s expression, trying to find any trace of a “just kidding” tell on that face.
But Luke’s expression was overly calm—so calm that it didn’t look like he was lying, nor did it look like he was telling the truth; it was just like someone who had seen too much in life chatting about the weather with a child.
“But Peter.” Luke pressed down on Peter’s shoulder.
“Remember one principle.” “What principle?” “Work is work.” Luke held up a finger.
“When things don’t go your way, you have to appropriately sprinkle some dust in your boss’s eyes.” “Sprinkle…
dust?” “Yes, sprinkle dust.” Luke made a flicking gesture forward.
“Just a light flick like this.” Jameson’s face instantly flashed through Peter’s mind.
That face that was always spraying saliva.
He imagined walking into the office, Jameson slamming the desk while cursing Spider-Man as a cancer to the city, and then he walked up and gave a light flick with his finger— No.
He would get fired.
“Uncle Su, I don’t think that advice is very suitable—” “Doesn’t your boss Jameson curse at you every day?” “…Every day.” “And after he’s done cursing, don’t you still have to smile at him?” “…It’s not exactly a smile, it’s just—” Peter scratched his head.
“A professional smile.” “Isn’t that just sprinkling dust into your own eyes?” Luke spread his hands.
“If you can sprinkle it into your own eyes, why can’t you sprinkle it into his?” Peter got caught up in this logic.
He wanted to refute it, but couldn’t find an entry point for the moment.
That’s how Uncle Su spoke sometimes; it sounded like nonsense, but when you thought about it carefully, it seemed to have a tiny bit of logic to it.
A tiny bit.
A very small tiny bit.
Luke stood up from the desk and stretched his neck.
“Alright, even though it’s a game, since they’ve named their price, I need to go home first and change my clothes.” “Huh?
You’re actually going?” “It’s a game.” Luke walked toward the door.
“Might as well play.” “Oh, right.” Luke didn’t stop walking, but raised his hand.
“Peter.” “Huh?” “Don’t go to Manhattan to take pictures of Hulk.” “I didn’t say I was going to—” Luke turned his head and shot Peter a look.
That gaze was very calm, but Peter’s words got stuck in his throat.
He had known Uncle Su for three years and knew what that look meant.
You’d better not lie to me.
“You’re not going?” “…I’ll think about it.” “No need to think about it.” Luke pulled the door open.
“If you go, I’ll tell Aunt Mei that you’ve been fighting in underground illegal boxing matches.” Peter’s face went pale.
“Uncle Su!” “Aunt Mei told me last time that you’ve been coming home late lately and asked if I knew the reason.
I told her I didn’t.” Luke tilted his head.
“Do you want me to change my answer?” “No, no, no!” Peter waved his hands like a fan.
“I’m not going!
I’m really not going!
I’m not going anywhere!
I’ll just stay home!
And do my homework!” Luke nodded in satisfaction.
“Good boy.” The moment the door closed, the obedient look on Peter’s face vanished instantly.
He rushed to the window, watched Luke’s back disappear around the street corner, and then looked at the blue and red suit peeking out from his backpack.
…
Above Manhattan.
The helicopter circled at an altitude of two thousand feet, the roar of the propellers shaking the cabin so much that everyone had to scream at the top of their lungs to be heard.
Fury stood in front of the communication station, one hand pressing against his headset, the other gripping the handrail.
He had been cursing for a full eight minutes.
“I’m asking you, has the containment team arrived yet?” “They’ve arrived, Officer!
But Hulk has broken through the second blockade line—” “How did he break through?” “He jumped over it, Officer, he jumped right over it.
Our blockade line was only three meters high—” “Three meters high to block something that can jump eighty meters?
Who designed this plan?” “Uh…
you signed off on it, Officer.” Fury’s temple twitched.
He didn’t respond to that and turned to the communications soldier.
“Where is Hulk now?” “He’s moving southeast, his speed…
his speed is increasing, Officer, he’s—” The communications soldier’s voice suddenly rose by two octaves.
“Officer, he’s heading toward the bridge!” “Which bridge?” “Brooklyn Bridge!” Fury gritted his teeth.
Brooklyn Bridge.
The Brooklyn Bridge at 4:30 PM.
There were at least three thousand vehicles on it, and at least several hundred pedestrians.
If Hulk went berserk on the bridge…
He didn’t dare to think any further.
General Ross walked over from the other end of the cabin.
His expression carried a subtle, almost restrained glee.
“Fury.” Fury didn’t look at him.
“Where is that one-million-dollar-an-hour outside help of yours?” Fury still didn’t look at him.
General Ross stood in front of him, hands on his hips, chin slightly raised.
A soldier’s posture, a provocative angle.
“It seems S.H.I.E.L.D.
is just like that.” General Ross enunciated every word heavily.
“Global Security Agency, sounds intimidating, but what about the current leader?
All he can do is talk big, write checks, and accomplish nothing.” Fury tapped his fingers on the handrail.
“General—” “I will report you to the government.” General Ross continued.
“The monster rampage in downtown New York, your contingency plans are nonexistent, the blockade lines are like paper, the outside help won’t show up even after being paid.
If this report is submitted to the Senate—” “Officer!!” The communications soldier’s scream interrupted General Ross’s speech.
“Hulk has reached the bridgehead!!
He flipped the entire toll booth over!!” Fury and General Ross turned simultaneously to look outside the cabin door.
In the distance, at the western end of the Brooklyn Bridge, a large cloud of dust billowed up.
A green figure could vaguely be seen weaving through the traffic; with every step it took, the asphalt beneath its feet shattered into a crater.
The glee on General Ross’s face vanished.
No matter how many grudges he and Fury had, there were thousands of civilians on that bridge right now.
“Tell the bridge guard units,” General Ross’s voice deepened, “do everything to cover the evacuation of the civilians.
Extend traffic control three blocks in both directions.
All vehicles must evacuate in reverse.” Fury nodded and turned to the communication station.
“Barton, do you copy?” Barton’s voice came through the headset, breathless, mixed with the noise of explosions and metal snapping.
“I copy, Officer—but my side has already been—scattered—” “What do you mean scattered?” “Literally—when Hulk passed the third blockade line, he just casually swiped at it—our whole squad flew twenty meters—I’m currently hanging from a tree—” Fury closed his eyes for a moment.
Hanging from a tree.
Fury’s temple was throbbing; he could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing.
Just then, his private phone rang in his pocket.
Fury glanced at the caller ID, his eyelid twitching violently.
He answered the phone, almost shouting.
“Luke!
Where are you?!” “Don’t be so impatient, Director Fury.” The voice on the other end was unhurried, even carrying a hint of a smile, and in the background, country music playing on a car radio could vaguely be heard.
“Payment first, then work.
Contractual spirit, do you understand?” “I’ll pay you a—” Fury’s cursing got stuck in his throat.
Because the communications soldier beside him was staring at the surveillance screen with an expression like he’d seen a ghost, his finger trembling as he pointed at a corner of the screen.
“Dir…
Director…
look…” Fury looked in the direction he was pointing.
On the screen, at the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, amidst the chaos of all vehicles desperately reversing to escape, a yellow Ford Crown Victoria taxi, moving against the flow of traffic, lazily pulled up to the bridgehead.
The car door opened.
A man wearing a casual jacket got out of the car.
He didn’t look at the terrified crowd fleeing behind him, nor did he look at the green giant causing massive destruction in the distance.
He just leaned lazily against the taxi door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone to his ear.
Through the screen, Fury could even clearly see the nonchalant expression on his face, as if what was before him wasn’t the end of the World, but just a boring traffic jam.