"What? You want to pay me to help you fight crime?"
Peter froze, his half-sipped cola suspended in mid-air.
He stared across the cheap diner table, the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead reflecting in his wide, disbelieving eyes. Across from him, Mark just watched, his expression completely calm, as if he'd just asked to borrow a pencil.
For a moment, Peter's brain short-circuited. He was just a high school kid, months away from graduation, drowning in a sea of college applications and part-time job searches. His biggest daily concerns were dodging Flash Thompson, getting his homework done on time, and making sure Aunt May and Uncle Ben didn't find the weird sticky stuff on his bedroom ceiling.
Becoming a paid vigilante wasn't just off the table, it was in a different universe.
Mark leaned forward, his voice low and steady, cutting through Peter's confusion.
"You won't have to fight anyone," he explained patiently.
"You won't be in any danger. I just need you to be my eyes and ears at night. Use your abilities, get a high vantage point, and let me know when you see a crime happening. Send a text, that's it. I'll handle the rest. And for your time, I'll pay you one hundred dollars an hour."
Peter's jaw went slack. The number echoed in his head.
Mark delivered the offer as if it were nothing, but he knew the weight of his words. He didn't have that kind of cash on him right now, but he was certain it wouldn't be a problem for long. Paying the future Spider-Man a few hundred dollars a night was a bargain for what he was planning.
"One hundred… an hour?" Peter whispered, the number feeling foreign and impossible on his tongue.
His skepticism vanished, instantly replaced by frantic mental math. 'Okay, say I go out for three hours a night. That's three hundred dollars. Every day. That's nine thousand dollars a month. Wait, seriously? That's over a hundred thousand dollars a year!'
The sum was so staggering it made him feel dizzy. Uncle Ben had worked his entire life, breaking his back at every job he could find, and had never earned even half that much in a year.
Suddenly, a flood of possibilities washed over Peter. He saw an end to the constant worry on his uncle's face, the stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter vanishing. He imagined paying his own way through college, buying a new computer that didn't sound like a jet engine, and maybe, just maybe, being able to ask Mary Jane out without feeling like a complete charity case.
"I… I'll think about it," Peter finally managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.
As tempting as it was, a heavy knot of guilt formed in his stomach. He could practically hear Aunt May's gentle-but-firm lecture. They wouldn't just disapprove; they'd be terrified. They worried when he was home a few minutes late from school. Hiding something this massive from them would feel like a betrayal.
But still… one hundred dollars an hour. It was a chance to change everything for them.
Mark saw the war playing out behind Peter's eyes and didn't push. He just smiled, a picture of patience.
"You don't have to decide now. Take your time," he said, sliding a small slip of paper across the table.
"If you change your mind, text or call me. The number's on here."
As Peter took the paper, Mark added casually, "And if you ever need the money in advance, I can pay a few years ahead. Ten, even. I'm flexible."
Peter stared at the neatly written number, then back up at Mark, completely baffled. He wasn't sure what was more shocking—that this stranger somehow knew about his powers and trusted him, or that he was being offered a real chance to use them for good while also solving his family's biggest problems.
He stood up to leave, but paused at the door and turned back.
"Can I ask you something?" Peter asked, his curiosity winning out. "Why are you doing this? All the news reports I've seen about mutants… they make you guys sound dangerous. I've never heard of someone like you trying to help people."
Mark's friendly expression didn't waver.
"Do you believe everything you see on the news?"
Peter immediately shook his head.
"No. After… what happened to me, my body changed, but I'm still me. I figure it's the same for mutants. People shouldn't be judged just because they were born with powers."
A genuine warmth entered Mark's eyes.
"You have a good heart, Peter. That's the real reason I came to you. I want to show the world that people like us aren't monsters. That we can do good. We just need a chance to prove it."
He let out a small, wry chuckle.
"Also, I really, really don't like criminals."
A small smile finally broke through Peter's anxiety.
"You're a good man. Good men deserve good things."
He walked out of the burger joint, the little bell on the door jingling behind him. Mark watched him go, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He knew the kid was already hooked.
"Spider-Man recruitment, phase one complete," he murmured to himself.
Whistling a quiet tune, he left the diner and climbed onto his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life as he sped off into the night.
There was still more training to do.
10:00 p.m. The Danger Room
"Push harder! You've got this, Wanda!"
Mark's voice echoed through the vast, metallic chamber. He was balanced perfectly on two fingers in a handstand, not even breaking a sweat as he offered encouragement.
Across the room, Wanda stood trembling, her arms outstretched as shimmering, chaotic crimson energy swirled from her fingertips. Sweat dripped down her temples, plastering strands of her hair to her face. Her concentration was a fraying thread.
"I… I can't do it anymore!" she gasped, the red magic flickering out as her knees gave way.
She collapsed onto the cold floor, panting for breath.
In a fluid motion, Mark dropped to his feet and crossed the room in an instant. He knelt beside her, a look of genuine pride on his face. She had maintained the complex energy field for a full hour—a new record.
"That's enough for today," he said, his voice soft.
Wanda was only thirteen, a kid forced to wield power that could rewrite reality. Her control was still fragile and her stamina was low, but her potential was terrifyingly immense. Tonight, under pressure, she had blown past his expectations.
He was about to offer her a towel when she looked up at him, a faint, mischievous grin on her exhausted face.
"Oh no," she whispered, her voice laced with playful drama. "I think I pushed myself too hard. I can't even stand up..."
Mark tilted his head, a knowing laugh escaping him. He gently scooped her up into his arms, her slight frame feeling almost weightless.
"Alright, you little manipulator. Let's get you to bed."
A light blush colored Wanda's cheeks as he carried her out of the training room. Her trick had worked.
When she was little, he used to toss her into the air and catch her, her delighted giggles filling the room. Now, being held in his strong, safe arms stirred something different in her chest, a warm, fluttering feeling that was both new and a little confusing.
"Do you think I'm useless?" she asked quietly, her head resting against his shoulder, the question coming out of nowhere.
Mark stopped just outside her bedroom door and looked down, meeting her gaze directly.
"Not even close. You were incredible tonight, Wanda. You helped me more than you could possibly know."
He walked into her room and laid her gently on the bed, pulling the covers up.
"Get some rest. I have a little something for you."
He returned a moment later holding a small, elegantly wrapped gift box. Wanda pushed herself up, her eyes widening as she recognized the logo on the lid.
"No way! Is this the full Estée Lauder set?" she shrieked, her earlier exhaustion completely forgotten.
Her joy was pure and unfiltered, lighting up her entire face as she carefully took the box from him.
Mark chuckled.
"Looks like you made a miraculous recovery. That's a relief."
He hadn't planned on buying it for her. But on his way home earlier, he'd passed the department store and remembered seeing her staring at that exact set through the window weeks ago, her face pressed against the glass. It had cost nearly every dollar he had left, but seeing her this happy made it worth every cent.
Wanda paused, realizing how quickly she'd dropped her act. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of her dramatic fatigue.
"Ahem. Yes. Well. I guess I'm suddenly feeling much better."
She gave him a sheepish, adorable smile.
Mark just shook his head, his own smile soft and fond as he turned off her lamp.
"Goodnight, Wanda."
The room grew quiet as she lay back on her pillows, cradling the gift box to her chest like a priceless treasure. Outside her window, the moon cast a soft, silvery glow, and the day's training finally came to a peaceful end.
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