For Peter Parker, the night sky of New York should have been Spider-Man's absolute domain. The wind whistled in his ears, the trajectory of his webs across the sky was his unique musical score, and the city lights below were an eternal audience. But tonight, this pure, heroic joy was tinged with a faint shadow of a bitter feeling he'd never known before, named "reality."
He squatted on the cold decorative ledge of a bank building in Brooklyn, like a true spider, hiding himself in the shadows of the Gothic architecture. Below, red and blue Police lights flashed, illuminating the bank entrance as if it were daytime. Several dejected robbers were being escorted into a Police car by the Police; they were still covered in the sticky, special webbing Peter had made.
Minutes earlier, there had been an attempted robbery here. Peter, as usual, arrived in time and, with his agile movements and precise web-shooters, easily subdued the clumsy thieves, whose equipment was not particularly sophisticated. The process went smoothly, barely even damaging the expensive-looking crystal chandelier in the bank lobby.
This should have been a perfect victory, one worth savoring before sleep.
If only… his sealed box containing precious special fiber material hadn't heroically perished.
Just as he used a beautiful pendulum kick to knock out the last robber, the man frantically pulled the trigger. The bullet didn't hit Peter but accurately pierced his backpack, which he had casually hung on a nearby statue, and struck the hard plastic sealed box inside.
"Oh, no…" Peter wailed in his heart at the time. When he had bundled all the robbers and handed them over to the Police who arrived at the scene, and quietly retrieved his backpack, his heart sank to rock bottom. That box contained the special fibers he had painstakingly 'scavenged' from an abandoned Osborn Corporation lab and then spent a lot of time purifying—it was crucial material he planned to use to upgrade his suit's abrasion resistance and elasticity, and to experiment with new web formulas! To get this material, he had scrimped and saved to buy a special container and almost got caught by security. Now, the bullet had not only pierced the box but also caused the precious fibers inside to scatter and become contaminated, completely ruining them.
The direct loss of materials, plus the previous investment and effort, was worth well over one hundred U.S. dollars! For him and Mei, this was no small sum. He could almost see Mei's forced smile, barely hiding her exhaustion, when she found out he would have to spend extra money to buy replacements.
A mix of frustration, heartache, and self-reproach surged within him. He had helped others, stopped crime, but his already tight life and the hidden costs of his heroic endeavors had increased again. This feeling of severely imbalanced effort and reward was like a tiny fishbone caught in his throat, neither up nor down, making him extremely uncomfortable.
Instinctively, almost with a masochistic urge, he pulled out his phone with the cracked screen and opened that blue, now incredibly glaring APP—Hero Association.
His finger trembled slightly as he scrolled to [Mission Hall].
Sure enough!
A newly updated mission was prominently displayed:
[Brooklyn · XX Bank Robbery (Resolved) · White]
[Mission Status: Completed]
[Mission Reward Points: 80]
Eighty points!
His gaze was fixed on that number, and his breathing involuntarily quickened. He had secretly studied the association's internal point exchange system (partially visible to guests) and knew that 100 points were roughly equivalent to 1000 U.S. dollars in purchasing power or specific materials.
In other words, these eighty points were roughly eight hundred U.S. dollars!
Eight hundred U.S. dollars!
Not only could it easily cover his lost materials and containers (he could even buy higher-grade, purer, laboratory-grade materials!), but it would also leave a large surplus! Enough for him to buy Mei the better kitchen mixer she had been looking at for so long but couldn't bring herself to buy! And… it would even give him enough left over to exchange for some standard components in the APP mall that he had coveted for a long time, which could be used to upgrade his web-shooter's energy core or sensor system!
A strong emotion, named "temptation," like a surging tide, instantly broke through all his previous psychological defenses and moral admonitions.
"If… if I had registered… if I had accepted this mission just now…" Peter murmured, his voice sounding a bit dry under his mask, "Then these eighty points… would be mine?"
Once this thought arose, it spread like wildfire, impossible to suppress.
He helped others, and the association rewarded him. This seemed… like a fair trade? Could even be called a virtuous cycle? He uses the points he earns to improve himself, and then he can better help more people? Isn't this much better than the current situation, where he bears risks and responsibilities while also worrying about his livelihood, damaged personal items, and painstakingly acquired experimental materials?
"With great power comes great responsibility…" Uncle Ben's words echoed in his ears again, but this time, they seemed to be in violent conflict with the reality before him. Does bearing responsibility mean enduring loss and poverty? Why couldn't there be a way to both bear responsibility and ensure the lives of himself and those he loved?
The association's model was like a key, inserted into a lock in his heart that had never been opened.
He looked at the equipment and materials in the APP mall, whose preview images exuded a high-tech feel, and then looked at the sealed box in his backpack, pierced by a bullet and its contents ruined. A huge sense of disparity and temptation almost consumed him.
He imagined how he could upgrade his equipment if he had points, how he could make Mei's life a little easier, how he would no longer have to worry about these unexpected losses and hard-to-get resources… The "Register" button seemed to glow alluringly, constantly tempting his fingertips.
He was almost about to press it.
But at the last moment, a deeper sense of unease and stubbornness held him back.
Is doing this… really right? Directly linking Spider-Man's actions to money and points? Would he still be Spider-Man? Would he still be the neighborhood hero that Peter Parker himself believed in, who existed only to help others?
Would there come a day when, before acting, he would subconsciously check the APP first, evaluating the mission's point reward? Would he hesitate because the points were too few? Would he, because of this… lose that purest initial intention?
Two completely different thoughts fiercely battled in his mind, making him agitated; he even felt his web-swinging movements weren't as smooth as usual.
He ultimately didn't press that button.
He just silently closed the APP, tucked his phone back into his hidden pocket, and like a defeated soldier, swung through the buildings with some loss, heading towards his home in Queens.
Only this time, his characteristic, active internal monologue was gone, replaced by heavy contemplation.
The night sky remained, the city remained.
But Peter Parker's heart, for the first time, was truly shaken by those unobtained "eighty points" and a ruined box of "special fiber materials."
Maybe… maybe just to understand? Not register, just look?
Or… find an opportunity to ask Sandman? He seems like an honest man… Or… countless thoughts swirled.
Spider-Man's red figure, in the New York night, also seemed to carry a hint of unprecedented confusion.