American comic book: Absolute Spider-Man

William was the last one.

They had just pried open the third roller shutter door when the alarm went off in the jewelry warehouse.

William started running as he cursed the people in his team who were responsible for hacking the security system.

When the five of them rushed out the back door, the police car was already at the alley entrance.

The five men scattered and fled, but only William managed to escape.

He didn't run deeper into the alley, but ran towards the light, towards the main road, towards where there were many people.

He knew the police would block all reasonable escape routes, but he didn't expect anyone to run towards the most conspicuous place. He was right.

However, he only temporarily broke through the police's encirclement and blockade; there were still police officers relentlessly pursuing him.

He was almost exhausted; he was physically tired and mentally confused.

He couldn't run anymore; he was about to be caught and sent to jail. The shouts from the police officers behind him seemed to be urging him to do something.

When he rushed out of the alley, there was a community square across the street.

An event had just ended in the square, and the banner, with red background and white lettering, read "Parker Industries - Richard & Mary Charitable Foundation".

The crowd surged out of the square's exit, a vast and thronging mass of men, women, and children.

Standing on the steps of the plaza, I had just finished shaking hands with the last elderly person in line and was rubbing my right hand. I'd shaken hands so many times; my knuckles ached.

Even though the body has been strengthened by the extremity virus, it cannot be immune to aches and pains; at most, it can only recover quickly.

William rushed into the crowd, knocking over a balloon vendor. The balloons, colorful and vibrant, floated up from above his head and drifted away into the twilight.

He pushed aside two young people taking pictures with their phones, and shoved aside a mother holding a baby, who almost fell to the ground and screamed.

Ben heard the scream, turned around, and saw William rushing towards him.

William grabbed Ben's collar with one hand and pulled a pistol from behind his waist with the other, pressing it against Ben's temple.

"Don't come any closer!" William roared.

He fired a shot into the air, the sound of which exploded in the square like a muffled thunderclap.

The crowd was silent for a moment, then began to scream.

Some people tried to squeeze out, some were so frightened that they crouched down, and many amazing people held up their phones and climbed to higher places.

Police officers poured out of the alleyway, equipped with bulletproof vests, submachine guns, and shields, like a black river flowing across the road, stopping at the edge of the square, and spreading out to form a semicircle.

Someone shouted, the voice coming through a loudspeaker: "Drop your weapons! Release the hostages!"

William did not let go.

He held the book in front of him, trembling all over, his heart pounding as if it were about to jump out of his throat.

He had only one thought in his mind: he couldn't go to prison; his daughter was still waiting for him in the hospital.

The kidnapped man asked, "What's your name?"

William did not answer.

He had planned to do something; with his current physical condition, he could subdue an armed robber without even revealing the Extremis virus, even with a gun pressed against his temple.

The loudspeaker blared again, and the on-site commander had identified William using facial recognition equipment donated by Stark Industries.

"William Baker," the commander's voice came through the loudspeaker, "your daughter, Katie Baker, six years old, is currently hospitalized in the pediatric hematology ward of Presbyterian Hospital, diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Surrender. Think of your daughter; she wouldn't want a murderer as her father."

William's pupils contracted sharply, the gun barrel swayed for a moment, then pressed down again.

The commander's voice stopped, and the square fell silent for a few seconds.

No one spoke; not even the people holding up their phones made a sound.

The red and blue police lights were still flashing, but the sound had disappeared, as if something was choking him.

Ben felt it; the gun barrel pressed against his temple loosened its grip.

The owner of that hand suddenly lost some kind of support, and William's breathing became rapid and shallow, like a drowning person struggling underwater.

Ben's opinion has changed.

"William." Ben spoke, his voice cutting through the breathless crowd and being recorded by reporters who had already arrived at the scene.

"My name is Ben, Benjamin Parker," Ben said. "Your hostage is the co-founder of Parker Industries. Do you know what Parker Industries does?"

William uttered a muffled syllable, unaware and unconcerned.

"Parker Industries manufactures hemostatic gels, high-strength materials, and also operates internet platforms." Ben's voice was unhurried, as if he were chatting with an old friend.

"But during this time, we have used some of our profits for charity: food banks, free clinics, and scholarships for underprivileged students. We are doing our best to make the world a better place. It is a pity that we were unable to do anything for your daughter before."

After my brother and sister-in-law died, their son Peter, who was too young to remember anything, came to live with us.

My wife Mei works as a cashier at the supermarket, and I move goods in the warehouse. Our combined salaries can only buy Peter the very cheapest brand of baby formula.

To save money and provide Peter with the best possible educational environment, my wife and I ate relief food, near-expiry bread, canned food, and cold milk from food banks for several years.

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do isn't brush my teeth, but thinking about where to get food for the day.

William's tears streamed down his cheeks. The gun barrel left Ben's temple, but he didn't lower it; it was still dangling near his ear.

"Peter's father, Richard, my brother, was tall and strong. His son would have been tall and strong if he hadn't been with me."

Do you know how I feel every time I see Peter so thin? I feel like I've let Richard down.

He entrusted his son to me, and I couldn't even feed him properly. That feeling—you clearly want to give him the best, but you can't give him anything. You're his brother's older brother, but you can't even raise his son properly. I have my own children, so I understand your motivation, and I don't blame you.

Starting today, I will cover all your daughter's medical expenses and the resources she needs. This country doesn't have a system that allows you to save your daughter without resorting to robbery, so today I'm making up for that on behalf of our country.

Ben's voice and movements were transmitted through the reporter's lens to millions of households in New York who were watching the live broadcast at that moment.

"I will hire the best lawyers to defend you. You are not a fugitive; you are a desperate father. The judge will see that. If you behave well in prison, you can get a reduced sentence. By the time you come out, your daughter's illness should be cured."

Don't be afraid I'll go back on my word. Reporters are sending every word I say to every household in New York. Breaking my promise means bankruptcy of my credibility; no one will buy our products anymore, and no one will dare to cooperate with Parker Industries.

Ben slowly raised his right hand.

William looked at the hand, the one whose owner had been held at gunpoint just minutes before, now reaching out like a friend who had been waiting for a long time.

The gun slipped from his limp fingers and fell to the ground, bounced, and made a muffled thud.

William's knees hit the concrete. He squatted down, looked William in the eye, and put his hand on William's shoulder.

William buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembled violently, and sobs escaped through his fingers.

Some people in the crowd began to applaud.

Then the applause spread, from behind the cordon to the steps of the square, and then to the mobile medical vehicle.

Those who were just screaming, dodging, and filming with their phones are now applauding.

The applause was scattered and disorganized, like a few raindrops before a downpour, but it grew denser and louder until it finally merged into a single sound, echoing through the Queens night.

Uncle Ben stood up, turned around, and faced the crowd.

His right hand was still on William's shoulder, while his left hand was raised, palm facing out, making a "stop" gesture.

The applause didn't stop.

He did it again, this time even slower, and the applause gradually thinned out until it finally fell completely silent.

Uncle Ben's voice echoed across the square: "This applause shouldn't be for me."

He looked at the crowd, then glanced down at William kneeling on the ground.

"It should be given to him, this father, the best kind of father." He paused for a moment, "He is a true hero."

……

Inside the Avengers Tower laboratory, Tony watched Ben's live stream on the holographic projection, then turned to Peter: "To be honest, I'm quite envious of you, having such a... role model."

Peter's eyes reflected Uncle Ben's image: "They are my pride, always have been."

"Sir." Jarvis's voice suddenly rang out; it had just delivered the news of Uncle Ben's abduction. "Connors' trail has been discovered."

"Where?" Peter asked first.

"Osborne Building." The holographic projection displayed surveillance footage of the Osborne Building.

A giant humanoid lizard was taking down the police officers one by one, drawn in by the explosions created by the Green Goblin, but it didn't kill them. Its movements were gentle, showing no trace of the savagery of a beast, but rather full of reason.

Peter sighed, "This is going to be lively tonight. Green Goblin, Sandman, and Dr. Lizard are all here. I'll go over there."