The moment the words left his mouth, a massive uproar exploded!
No, it wasn't just limited to the studio.
Broadcast through television signals, Peter's borderline tyrannical statement pierced through the screens like a bullet, embedding itself directly into the heart of every single individual watching across America.
In an instant, the nation's public opinion completely detonated.
"Is he insane? He actually expects money to come out of our pockets to build defensive measures just so those street trash can survive?"
Inside a luxury penthouse apartment atop Manhattan, a financial tycoon who had just made a fortune shorting the market smashed his red wine glass against the massive floor-to-ceiling window in a fit of rage.
"Is this guy an idiot? I'd rather spend tens of millions of dollars building a private solid-alloy safehouse than spend a single cent helping those poor bastards survive!"
In an ordinary household in Queens, the head of the family slammed the remote control onto the coffee table with a loud thud, knocking a framed family portrait askew.
"Fuck! Does that son of a bitch actually know what he's spouting? We work ourselves to death every single day just to barely put food on the table.
And with one sentence, he wants to hike our taxes? On what grounds! Has he ever saved me? He's the God of Brooklyn! What the hell does that have to do with Queens!"
His wife opened her mouth but hesitated. She had once been saved by Ghost Spider, so she held immense goodwill toward superheroes. But... a tax hike, for a family living on the absolute edge of their financial margin, was a lethal noose.
Similar scenes played out across countless households.
The common citizens grumbled with bitter resentment over the suggested tax hike, while the capitalists wished nothing more than for these masked monsters—who wanted to forcefully extract wealth from them—to drop dead immediately.
Consequently, social media completely erupted. Within hours, the entire internet was flooded with trending tags:
#ArbiterGetOutOfNewYork
#SayNoToTaxHikes
#SuperheroesOrMoneyGrubbers
Highly inflammatory headlines, paired with screenshots of Peter's televised quote, "Either give your money, or you will have to give your life," frantically triggered the public's sensitive nerves.
The blissful ignorance of the education system ensured that the baseline population lacked critical thinking skills, let alone the capacity to plan for a rainy day.
They only understood that while an alien invasion might kill them eventually, a government tax hike to build defensive installations would definitely kill their finances by next month!
Thus, a populace that could be convinced by a single presidential remark to drink bleach to cure a disease was easily swayed to alter their core stances by the overwhelming tide of online rhetoric.
Within a mere ten minutes, the official government petition platform crashed under the sheer volume of traffic. Immediately following that, angry crowds spontaneously poured onto the streets, organizing massive marches, chanting in unison to boycott the tax hikes and reject the Arbiter!
Aside from Brooklyn, which remained relatively tranquil, almost every other region in America was completely swallowed by this deafening wave of outrage.
The White House, the President's Office.
Looking at the overwhelming tide of negative comments flooding the screens and the angry mobs marching in protest on the news networks, General Mac laughed so hard the corners of his mouth practically reached his ears. He slapped his thigh, nearly toppling his chair from leaning back too far.
"Did that fool genuinely believe possessing raw power meant he could do whatever he pleased?"
"He practically delivered himself to the firing squad this time," a defense department official chimed in, a reserved smirk playing on his lips. "Just a brat who doesn't understand a thing about politics, yet he honestly expected everyone to follow his every whim blindly?"
After the brief wave of excitement, the room collectively shifted its gaze toward the President. The implication was glaringly obvious—it was time to introduce the "Registration Act"!
The White House, which historically behaved with agonizing sluggishness when confronting fierce public opinion, executed its maneuvers with unprecedented speed this time.
While the furious crowds were loudly protesting against the tax hikes on the streets, the giant screens at Times Square flickered to life. Mr. President's face materialized before the public, and he began to recite the carefully drafted script:
The core summary of the address was remarkably simple. The government would fully back the funding for the defense installations; the administration would not enforce a mandatory tax hike.
However, the non-negotiable prerequisite was that all superheroes must pass the Registration Act, becoming registered operatives under 24-hour government surveillance, with a mandate to disclose their complete information to the public.
This speech acted exactly like throwing a bucket of ice water into a vat of boiling oil.
The furious masses instantly found their outlet, feeling they had finally secured a perfect solution that allowed them to "solve the problem" without paying a single cent or bearing any personal cost.
"Yes! That's exactly how it should be!"
"Support the Registration Act! On what grounds do those powerful individuals get to wear masks and do whatever they want?"
"Want us to believe in your so-called crisis? Fine, take off the mask first! Let us see who you actually are!"
"If they don't register, I won't pay an extra dime in taxes! Besides, if the sky falls, those tall guys can hold it up!"
Driven by their terror of financial strain and an unsuppressible desire to peer into the true identities of superheroes, nearly ninety percent of the populace flagrantly declared their absolute alignment with the Superhero Registration Act.
A massive storm, ignited by Peter himself and heavily fueled by the upper echelons of the government, had officially taken shape.
As the proactive instigator of this entire tempest, Peter looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the marching protestors. Far from harboring a single shred of anxiety, he casually sipped on an ice-cold Coca-Cola. A relaxed smile even played across his face.
It wasn't a bitter smile, nor was it a cold sneer. It was a completely composed, strategic smile of "I anticipated your anticipation."
Watching the various talking heads on television eloquently analyze how the "Registration Act" held nothing but pure benefits for the citizenry, Peter almost wanted to send them a commemorative banner reading: "The Ultimate Assist Award belongs to none other than you."
While Peter was leisurely enjoying his soda, marveling at how cooperative and useful these political tools were, Tony and Captain America found themselves entirely unable to sit still.
"Dammit, Peter, you were right. Those politicians would actually stoop to this level!"
The expression on Captain America's face was incredibly complex. He had never imagined that after dedicating his entire existence to this nation, he would ultimately face an outcome like this. They exhausted their lives to protect the people, only to be met with a public eager to trample over their right to privacy.
In contrast to Cap's deep disappointment with the government leadership, Tony, who had long since seen through the true nature of those politicians, was merely curious about Peter's next strategic move.
"Pal, the powder keg you ignited this time won't be easily snuffed out. Once things escalate to a point where none of us can control the parameters...
What exactly do you plan to do? Do you truly expect us to act like clowns before the cameras, splitting into two factions to tear into each other with live weapons?"
"Of course it won't escalate to that degree."
Peter's voice remained thoroughly relaxed, his tone radiating absolute confidence that everything was firmly within his calculations.
"Remember the 'Inheritors' I had you prepare to defend against from the very beginning? They will graciously assist us in flattening every single voice of opposition!"
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