NABC Page 19
Page 19
[Hero's initial tier rating: D+]
Peter hid behind a water tower in a tall building, looked at the assessment report, let out a long, long sigh of relief, and then buried his head in his knees.
“It’s dead…it’s absolutely dead…” he muttered to himself. He could imagine the discussions those videos would spark online.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before related videos and topics began to spread online.
Up-close and personal! Spider-Man may have joined the Hero Association!
"Unique Style: Spider-Man Surrounded by Fans on Mission Site, Forces to Escape in Disarray!"
On the awkward clash between traditional vigilantes and professional heroes...
The comments were even more varied:
"Hahaha, I'm dying of laughter! Spider-Man looks so cute being surrounded by onlookers!"
"He seems nervous? So Spider-Man can be shy too?"
"This handover process is indeed a bit awkward. Doesn't the association provide any training?"
"Anyway, welcome to the association, Spider-Man!"
Fisker Building, Command Center.
Wesley also saw the relevant reports and online feedback. He rubbed his temples and said to his assistant, "Add 'Hero Public Image Management and On-Site Response' to the mandatory courses of the next rookie hero training program. Also, notify the logistics department to consider designing a more convenient contactless mission handover solution for heroes like Spider-Man who need to hide their identities."
Although the process was somewhat comical, Spider-Man's first mission with the Association was successfully completed without any major incidents.
For Peter Parker, this debut, filled with "social death" experiences, made him realize that becoming a "professional hero" involves much more than just learning how to fight.
He looked at the 25 points that had just been deposited into his account. For the first time, he had received a real reward through his "heroic work." That subtle feeling eased some of the embarrassment.
"At least..." he comforted himself, "I'll soon earn back the money I spent on the calculator."
However, the process was a little more complicated than he had imagined.
Chapter 41: Association Rules and Regulations
Spider-Man's somewhat "socially awkward" debut was like a pebble thrown into the Association's calm lake. Before the ripples had completely subsided, another, deeper and more restraining undercurrent began to quietly surge in the daily lives of every hero within the Association.
This is not a sudden storm, but a systematic and gradually pervasive process of standardization. Kingpin's will, through Wesley's highly efficient management team, is undeniably incorporating the concept of "hero," a concept fraught with variables and uncertainties, into the cold framework of corporate management.
First came the document jokingly referred to internally as the "Hero's Bible"—the "Hero Code of Conduct and Rights Protection Manual (Official Version)." It was no longer the simple draft it initially was, but a massive document hundreds of pages thick, with shockingly detailed clauses. Every registered hero, whether an S-rank Sandman or a D-rank newcomer who had just completed their internship, was compelled to receive this electronic document through the association's internal terminal and was required to complete online learning and assessments within a specified timeframe.
Peter Parker, Spider-Man, is currently holed up in his room, staring at the dense text on the screen, feeling more overwhelmed than dealing with ten Electro men.
"Chapter 3, Article 7, Section 4: If a hero causes damage to public property during a mission, a detailed report must be submitted within 24 hours of the mission's completion through the 'Battle Damage Reporting System' built into the app. The report must include, but is not limited to, a list of damaged items, on-site photos/video evidence, an explanation of the cause of the damage (distinguishing between necessary and unnecessary damage), and a preliminary assessment of repair costs... Failure to submit on time or a non-compliant report will result in corresponding compensation being deducted directly from the mission's points reward or the hero's salary, and may affect the hero's rating..."
As Peter looked at the regulation, he could almost picture his miserable future: having to stay up all night writing reports, finding the right angles to take photos, and even estimating repair costs just to get reimbursed for that scratched fire hydrant.
"Chapter 5, Article 2: Hero uniforms and personal equipment must meet the Association's basic safety and image standards. The Equipment Department will conduct regular spot checks. The use of non-standard or self-modified equipment that may pose a high risk is prohibited without prior registration and safety verification..." This article made him subconsciously touch his web-shooter. He had tinkered with this thing himself; was it considered "non-standard"? Would that weirdo Dr. Leo forcibly take it away for "research"?
"Appendix B: Guidelines for Heroes' Words and Deeds. It is recommended that heroes maintain a professional and restrained image when interacting with the public and the media, and avoid making inappropriate remarks or engaging in behavior that damages the reputation of the association..." This immediately reminded him of the embarrassment of being surrounded and photographed not long ago, and his face flushed again.
It's not just Spider-Man; almost every hero is "digesting" this manual in their own way.
Flint, the Sandman, read very carefully, even taking notes. To him, these rules and regulations were not constraints, but an unprecedented "guarantee" and "guideline." The association even handled post-war psychological counseling, so these regulations must also be for everyone's benefit. He paid particular attention to the clauses regarding salary, benefits, and disability compensation, as these concerned the future livelihood of him and his daughter.
Daredevil Matt Murdoch, through a special reading device, "listened" to most of the core content of the manual. His keen senses allowed him to glean more from between the lines—an intense desire for control, meticulous logic, and an almost obsessive pursuit of "order" and "controllability." This deepened his wariness of Kingpin, but for now, he needed the job and the income, and had no choice but to operate within the rules.
Lin, the meditation master, was perhaps the least affected. He was taciturn and restrained, and many of the manual's requirements were just routine for him.
However, the manual was just the beginning. A series of supporting systems and procedures followed.
Standardized operating procedures (SOPs) for missions were enforced. From mission acceptance, on-site assessment, action execution, target handover, damage reporting, and mission summary, each step had clear timelines, operational guidelines, and documentation requirements. The heroes began to habitually use the association-issued waterproof, shockproof, and encrypted recorders to capture crucial footage during lulls in combat for later reporting.
The hero points ranking system has been further improved. Points are no longer just a currency for redeeming rewards, but a core indicator directly linked to hero level, salary, and resource access. Level advancement requires meeting multiple requirements, including points, task completion rate, and overall evaluation, forming a clear career advancement path and intensifying internal competition.
An internal audit and disciplinary committee was quietly established. It is responsible for overseeing whether heroes' behavior complies with regulations, handling internal complaints, and investigating and punishing violations. Although there are no publicly disclosed cases, this Damocles' sword hanging over their heads makes all heroes realize that the Association is not a playground where they can do whatever they want.
What makes heroes like Spider-Man, who are used to fighting alone and acting on impulse, most uncomfortable is the pervasive feeling of being "managed".
After a simple street patrol (which is included in the association's daily task system and has basic points), you also need to check "completed" on the APP and briefly describe the patrol situation.
The use of any non-standard equipment, even just Peter's own different formula of cobweb fluid, requires "non-standard equipment reporting" in the equipment management module, filling in the purpose, ingredients (which can be blurred), potential risks, etc.
Even non-mission communication between heroes and their posts on the internal forum are under an invisible form of supervision.
"I feel like I've entered some kind of strictly disciplined...company?" During an informal gathering (at the association's designated rest area), Spider-Man couldn't help but complain to a few lower-ranking heroes who also looked helpless, "Before, I could go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted when I saw something bad happening, so free! Now, it's like, I have to clock in to go out for 'work,' and I have to write a 'work summary' after a fight!"
A C-class hero, equally tormented by paperwork, nodded in deep agreement: "You're right! Last time I was dealing with a wolf-level monster, I accidentally broke a street lamp. The report I wrote gave me a headache, and I even had to distinguish between 'tactical necessity' and 'operational error'!"
Another hero lowered his voice: "I heard the disciplinary committee has started talking to a few 'troublemakers,' apparently about 'unnecessary showing off' and 'exaggerated behavior that could cause public panic' during missions..."
The atmosphere was a little dull for a while.
“However,” a relatively rational B-rank hero said, “it is undeniable that with this system, our rights are indeed better protected. We have the best medical care when we are injured, there are reimbursement channels for damaged equipment, and even… if we are killed, our families can receive compensation. This was unimaginable before.”
Flint, the Sandman, listened silently without joining the discussion, but he inwardly agreed with the latter's words. To him, stability, security, and clear rules were far more important than the elusive notion of "freedom."
Peter fell silent. He thought of the possibility that Aunt May would no longer have to worry about bills, and that he might soon be able to get a new calculator, or even upgrade his equipment. These tangible benefits swayed on the scales of his lost "freedom."
The association's rules and regulations are like a huge, precise mold, attempting to mold each "hero" of different shapes and personalities into "parts" that meet its standards and requirements.
This process is bound to be accompanied by discomfort, friction, and pain.
But for Kingpin, all of this was necessary. Unbridled heroism was dangerous and uncontrollable. What he needed was not a group of chivalrous knights who relied on their abilities to do good deeds, but a "professional" team that obeyed commands, followed discipline, and could complete tasks efficiently.
These seemingly cumbersome rules and regulations are the foundation for building this team.
Spider-Man and his colleagues are learning how to become "qualified" Association heroes on this rule-paved path. But where this path leads, no one knows.
The only certainty is that the "romantic" era of masked vigilantes, with its unrestrained and capricious behavior, is gradually fading away under the cold and efficient iron heel of the association's system.
Chapter 42: The Prequel to the "Involution" Eccentric
In Midtown Manhattan, atop a skyscraper whose glass curtain wall reflects a cold, metallic sheen, the Goldman Sachs logo stands like a metal totem overlooking the world in the night. It's past midnight, yet the trading floor remains brightly lit, the air thick with the mingled scents of espresso, expensive cologne, and a deeper, more hormonal mix called "anxiety."
Dennis Crawford, a 32-year-old vice president, was staring intently at the four monitors placed side by side in front of him. On the screens, the candlestick charts of different colors fluctuated violently like the electrocardiogram of a dying patient. Various financial data, analysis reports, and news push windows were layered on top of each other, almost drowning his pale and swollen face, which was made up of long hours of staying up late and excessive pressure.
His tie was loose and hung askew around his neck, his custom-made suit jacket was casually draped over the back of his chair, and his expensive shirt had obvious dark sweat stains under the armpits. He hadn't left the building for seventy-two hours straight, and his total sleep time was no more than eight hours, all of which he slept in under his desk in a sleeping bag—this was the norm for his team when they were "rushing to meet quarterly targets."
"Dennis! Mr. Simon needs the final risk assessment report for that Asia-Pacific merger and acquisition deal before the market opens tomorrow morning!" An assistant with equally sunken eyes leaned over and urged in a hoarse voice.
"Got it! Are you trying to kill me?!" Dennis growled without turning his head, his fingers tapping on the keyboard so hard they almost sparked. He felt like an overclocked CPU, on the verge of burning out at any moment.
This is already the fourth "top priority" project he has taken on this month. The previous project just "perfectly concluded" in the early hours of yesterday morning. He didn't even have time to go home and take a shower before being thrust into this "key battle" that is said to determine whether he can be promoted to managing director next year.
His desk partition was covered with various sticky notes:
[Surpassing LeBron James! His team averaged 90 hours per player last week!]
[This quarter's KPI: Increase transaction volume by 150%! Otherwise, your bonus will be zero!]
[3 AM, video conference with the London team!]
[Saturday, all-day customer roadshow!]
[Sunday, write a strategic planning PPT for next week! (No less than 100 pages)]
This wasn't a goal; it was a death sentence. Each note was like a heavy brick, constantly piling up, making it hard for him to breathe.
He picked up what was probably his umpteenth cup of black coffee of the day and gulped it down. The icy liquid had long lost its stimulating effect, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth. A familiar, burning pain shot through his stomach, but he simply pulled out a few antacids from the drawer and swallowed them dry. The warnings on his medical report—"early-stage stomach ulcer" and "severe neurasthenia"—were ignored like spam.
His phone screen lit up with a message from his wife: "Our daughter has a fever of 39 degrees Celsius and keeps calling for her father. Can you come back?"
Dennis's fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, a flicker of struggle and pain in his eyes, but it was quickly drowned out by a message that suddenly popped up on the screen from his boss. He gritted his teeth and replied to his wife quickly: "Honey, I'm sorry, the project is at its most critical stage, I can't leave. Take her to see a doctor, I'll reimburse the expenses. Love you."
After clicking send, he immediately placed his phone face down on the table, as if this would isolate him from the family world that he himself was equally unable to fulfill.
Here, what measures a person's value is not a husband's thoughtfulness, nor a father's companionship, but cold numbers—the amount of transactions completed, the profit margin generated, the competitors defeated, and... those dozens of more working hours than others.
This word, like a ghost, haunts this elite building. No one says it outright, but everyone tacitly throws themselves into this silent, yet far more brutal, arms race. It's about who leaves work later, who's in the office on weekends, and who can extract more value in less time. Rest is shameful; having a personal life is a sign of weakness. They are like a herd of racehorses driven by invisible whips, running with all their might on an ever-narrowing track, until… they die of exhaustion, or go mad.
Dennis felt a throbbing pain in his temples, and his vision began to blur. The once clear data and charts on the monitor seemed to distort and warp, like cold, venomous snakes coiling around his nerves. Countless voices seemed to echo in his ears:
"Dennis, this data is wrong!"
"Crawford, your proposal lacks competitiveness!"
"Vice President? A lot of people are eyeing your position!"
"Dad...when are you coming home?"
These sounds blended together, creating an inescapable, suffocating noise.
He suddenly stood up, intending to go to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, but the moment he stood up, he felt dizzy, his vision went black, and he almost fell to the ground. He grabbed the partition, panting heavily, his back instantly soaked with cold sweat.
"Are you alright, Dennis?" The colleague next to him looked up and asked with concern, but his eyes held more scrutiny—scrutiny about whether he could keep going and whether he would become a burden to the team.
"N-nothing...it's nothing." Dennis forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and sat back down in his chair. He couldn't fall, absolutely not. Falling meant elimination, meant all his previous efforts would be in vain, meant he would be ruthlessly abandoned by this high-speed, cruel machine.
He turned his gaze back to the screen, trying to concentrate. But the numbers and lines seemed to come alive, twisting and spinning, radiating an ominous, dark red light. He felt as if his brain was about to split open; an unprecedented mix of extreme exhaustion, frantic anger, and desperate helplessness surged and churned in his chest like magma, searching for a way out.
His fingers twitched unconsciously, typing out a series of meaningless gibberish on the keyboard. His eyes grew increasingly red, bloodshot like a spiderweb. His colleagues around him seemed to notice his abnormality, casting strange glances, but no one actually came forward.
On the verge of extreme pressure and collapse, Dennis failed to notice that a latent mutation within him, triggered by prolonged extreme emotions and energy depletion, was being quietly activated. The air around his body began to distort slightly, emanating an invisible, unsettling nascent force field.
He stared intently at the screen, letting out unconscious, low growls, like a trapped animal:
"Faster...faster still..."
"We can't stop...we absolutely can't stop..."
"Roll them all up..."
He hasn't become a weirdo yet.
But the dark energy that breeds the "involution" monster has already planted a seed deep within his crumbling soul. All it takes is a final stimulus, a straw that breaks the camel's back, and this seed will sprout, dragging this cold building that symbolizes elites and success, and even the wider world, into an even more extreme and distorted storm of "efficiency."
That thrill might be the final instruction from the big boss the next second: "Finish the final version overnight, the board of directors needs it at 7 a.m. tomorrow."
The prequel is coming to an end.
The main drama is about to begin in a bloody and unbearable "volume".
Chapter 43: Even Heroes Have Fan Clubs
The giant electronic billboards in Times Square no longer displayed dazzling advertisements from commercial brands, but instead played a carefully edited video compilation on a loop—the awe-inspiring sight of Sandman controlling a sandstorm to engulf the Road Rage Jaeger, the serene tranquility of the Mind Master's single word that sealed the fate of the world, Spider-Man's (though somewhat disheveled) agile movements as he nimbly traversed between buildings, and even the breathtaking scene of the logistics troops magically clearing the battlefield. The background music was rousing, finally settling on the Hero Association's simple blue emblem, below which was a striking slogan: "Guardians of Order, right beside you!"
This is not an official advertisement from the association, but a spontaneous trend driven by public enthusiasm. The Hero Association, an organization born out of controversy, has finally begun to gain its first truly passionate followers after successfully handling several crises and demonstrating its professionalism and efficiency.
This trend first stirred up waves on the internet.
A fan club called "Sandstorm Guardians" quietly emerged on various social media platforms and quickly attracted hundreds of thousands of members. They collected and organized footage of Flint Marko's every mission (mainly officially released and authorized media clips), creating cool mashup videos, analyzing his combat techniques, and some even attempted to reconstruct his calm and resolute facial features based on his limited public footage (though unsuccessfully). Fans designed a slogan for him: "The raging sands, the shield of protection!" as well as various chibi-style Sandman emojis.
Following this, the "Silent Speakers Alliance" was also established. This fan group's style mirrored their idol—low-key, reserved, yet powerful. They admired the meditator's powerful, silent wisdom, captivated by his enigmatic silver mask and concise (or perhaps nonexistent) style. They shared online the "meditation" techniques they had gleaned from the meditator (though most were their own interpretations), and resolutely resisted any attempts to uncover the meditator's true identity, considering it a desecration of "quietude." Their motto was: "If the heart is still, what can the wind do?"
Even Spider-Man, who had just joined the association and whose debut was somewhat awkward, quickly amassed his own "Webweaver" fan club. His fanbase is clearly younger and more entertaining. They're enthusiastic about creating compilations of Spider-Man's witty banter (though these are rarely included in official association materials), discussing the materials of his red and blue suit and the workings of his web-shooters (and arguing about it endlessly), and even turning videos of him fleeing in disarray after being surrounded by fans into various meme-worthy clips, captioned: "Cute, want to give him points!" Their slogan, laced with playfulness and affection: "Your good neighbor, and also your working class!"
These fan groups' activities are not limited to the internet.
When Sandman returned discreetly to the association headquarters after completing a field mission, he was surprised to find dozens of young people gathered at the building entrance, holding homemade signs and light boards. Upon seeing Sandman, they immediately erupted in excited screams and cheers.
"Sandman! Look this way!"
"Sandstorm Guardians will always support you!"
"Could you sign my autograph? Just on...on my hat!"
Flint was stunned. He was used to fighting, used to training, even used to the association's internal management system, but being surrounded by ordinary people with the fervor of celebrity worship was something he had never imagined. He was somewhat at a loss, looking at those young faces filled with expectation and adoration; he couldn't harden his heart to refuse. He took the pen and, clumsily and forcefully, wrote his codename, "Sandsman," on the brim of the baseball cap. The fan was so excited he almost jumped for joy.
This scene was captured by other fans and quickly spread across the internet, making "Sandman's first autograph" a hot topic. The association's public relations department keenly noticed this and, at Wesley's behest, not only did not stop it, but also began to provide a few core fan groups with some vetted, non-confidential hero promotional materials and schedules (such as publicly visible patrol areas) in a limited and guiding manner.
Master Lin, as always, "ignored" all of this. No matter where his fans might wait for him, he always appeared and left silently, as if blending into the shadows, leaving no ripples. This sense of mystery, where "what you can't have is always more alluring," only made his fan base more loyal and fervent.
Spider-Man, Peter Parker, experienced a rollercoaster of emotions amidst this sudden attention. On one hand, the boyish desire for recognition deep within him brought a sense of elation and satisfaction from having fans; but on the other hand, Aunt May's warnings and the risk of his identity being exposed made him extremely uneasy about the attention. He had to be more careful in choosing his routes and mission handover points to avoid being surrounded by onlookers again. He even began studying the chapter on "image management" in the Guild Handbook, trying to learn how to interact with the public more "professionally."
This trend of idolizing heroes has naturally attracted the attention of various forces.
At S.H.I.E.L.D., Director Fury looked at the report's analysis of the Association's hero fan base, a shadow of gloom flashing in his single eye.
“Idolization…this means a deeper level of public identification and emotional connection,” he told Hill. “King isn’t just building a force; he’s shaping a symbol, he’s winning hearts and minds. We can’t let this continue; our ‘Beacon’ program must be accelerated.”
Inside Stark Industries, Tony Stark was so angry watching a video on his tablet, created by the "Webweaver" fan club, comparing his defeat in the "Battle of the Iron Monger" with Spider-Man's "EMP assist," that he almost threw the tablet away again.
"A fan club? Just because they used some cheap tricks?" Tony said indignantly to Jarvis. "Jarvis, give me an analysis. How much budget would it take to set up an 'Iron Man Fan Club'? I want to crash their servers with our fans!"
Some traditional media professionals and social commentators have expressed concern, writing in their columns: "Will the entertainment and idolization of crisis response forces cause the public to overlook the risks and seriousness behind them? When heroes become products of the fan economy, will their decisions be swayed by public opinion?"
Despite the commotion from the outside world, the association's management remained unusually calm.