The dense ledgers and transaction records on the laptop screen were like countless vipers flicking their tongues, making George Stacy's scalp tingle with a primal dread.
As for that handwritten diary...
That wasn't just a viper anymore. That was a goddamn time bomb. A death warrant signed by the Reaper himself. The contents within were enough to trigger a political earthquake that would shake New York.
The first half, detailing petty bribery and kickbacks, was small potatoes. The truly "Earth-defying" part was the tip of the iceberg Kingpin had touched in his role as an underworld "logistics manager."
Those were the kinds of secrets that didn't just end careers—they ended bloodlines.
George instantly deduced Peter's intent, and by extension, where these "gifts" had come from.
"Kingpin... you killed him, too?"
Facing George's interrogation, Peter remained breeze-blown and calm, even taking a moment to pour himself a glass of juice from the pitcher on the table.
"It was on the way," Peter replied casually. He took a sip before locking eyes with George. "Uncle George, do you think these items are enough to... move your seat up a few notches?"
"Fark!"
George was so exasperated that he almost laughed. To rise to the rank of Captain in the NYPD. He wasn't a "diversity hire" or a legacy coat-tail rider; he was a man who got things done with a sharp mind and flexible tactics.
Precisely because he was capable, he didn't entertain a single second of fantasy. He gave a flat, immediate rejection:
"What kind of daydream are you having?! If I expose this, I'll be lucky if I'm not 'suicided' in my own office by tomorrow morning. You actually expect a promotion?"
George knew the score. If he handed this to the Supreme Court or leaked it to the press, the people named in those files wouldn't be the ones to die. It would be George, his mother, and his daughter.
He looked at Peter and Gwen, trying to find the words to explain how terrifying this "gift" was without making them completely lose hope in their country.
"Peter, Gwen... you're Naive. There are things about how this world works that you don't understand yet. Evidence doesn't mean justice. These files won't make those people step down; they'll just make them eliminate the man holding the files."
George tried to simplify the complex web of upper-class collusion, but Peter didn't give him the chance to finish. He reached into his bag and placed a second item on the table.
"Then how about this?"
George looked down. It was a vial of emerald-green liquid, shimmering with an eerie, seductive glow under the dining room lights.
"What is this?" George asked, his voice low.
"Lizard Serum. The same strain used by Curt Connors." Peter's tone remained light. "Of course, this is a version diluted tenfold.
It won't turn you into a mindless beast or send you into a predatory rage. When combined with my healing ability, it's enough to turn a person—or many people—into stable Super-Humans.
Peter tapped the vial with his finger. "Uncle George, is this enough to move your seat up?"
George's breath hitched. A stable Super Soldier Serum! It was the military's Holy Grail, a project they'd poured billions into for decades without success. If he handed this over, it would be the ultimate political capital.
For a fleeting moment, the embers of ambition—long thought extinguished—flared up like a wildfire in George's chest. But he suppressed the urge, answering honestly:
"It could. But I'd have to do it on my knees."
He knew the serum would buy him allies, but they would never respect him. He'd just be their favorite guard dog.
"Then..."
Peter slid the Kingpin's ledger toward George, then placed the Lizard Serum directly on top of it.
"This... plus this. Can you get promoted while standing on your own two feet?"
Sss—!
George sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. He suddenly realized he was the amateur here. He thought Peter was playing checkers while he was playing chess, but Peter wasn't even on the board—he was in the stratosphere.
This kid's heart was blacker than a gutter!
He wanted George to use the serum to lure one faction into his debt, while using the blackmail to keep the other faction under his thumb. This... this was playing the entire political landscape like a fiddle!
George's throat bobbed. He hesitated, then threw out one last "What if?"
"What if... I say it's still not safe? What if they still try to pull a fast one?"
Peter's smile turned slightly... predatory.
"Then you wait until those 'gentlemen' are addicted to the power the serum provides, and you whisper in their ears: 'Sirs, you wouldn't want your voters to realize their beloved leaders are actually the legendary Lizard Men, would you?'"
Boom!
The hair on George's arms stood on end. He had been wrong. Terribly wrong.
He thought Peter was a hero. But Peter was a demon in a teenager's skin. He didn't want protection from the system; he wanted to put a leash on everyone who could ever threaten him. He was turning the hunters into his personal hounds.
Ambition and morality waged a war in George's soul. On one side, an abyss; on the other, a path to the heavens. He stood at the ultimate crossroads of his life.
Seeing George sweat, Peter's voice dropped the edge. He spoke with a sincerity that felt startlingly real:
"Uncle George, I honestly have zero interest in power. I don't want to rule anything."
"All I want is for Gwen, Aunt May, Uncle Ben, you, and Grandma Pauline... for all of us to live a quiet, safe life. I want to make sure no bastard ever has the leverage to threaten the people I love."
"That's all."
The words hit George like a physical weight, softening the armor around his heart. He looked at Peter, then at his daughter and mother, who were struggling to keep up with the dark turn the conversation had taken.
Finally, George let out a long, weary sigh.
"Peter... you've really put me in a difficult spot, haven't you?"
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