You're Welcome to Come Over for Tea If You Have a Problem

"I'm not here for you."

With that, he turned his gaze to Jameson, who seemed lost in thought.

"J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of Daily Bugle Media, the man in New York most willing to speak the truth."

Russell paused. "You flew a helicopter over my head to broadcast live and took photos for the front page, all without asking me.

"Do you think that's polite?"

Jameson swallowed. His fear was fading, not because he was no longer afraid, but because his professional instincts had taken control of his body even faster.

He was a veteran journalist. A journalist's duty was to ask questions, expose the truth, and photograph, write about, and broadcast the things people didn't want seen.

Even when facing a Mutant who could turn him to ash in three seconds, he was still a reporter.

"I'm not here to discuss manners," Jameson said, his voice trembling slightly but remarkably firm.

"I'm here to discuss facts. You've killed enough people to fill a funeral home. You threatened the police. You slaughtered gang members in the street. Did you do those things or not?"

Russell looked at him for a few seconds, then smiled.

It wasn't mockery. It was the smile of someone who had been amused, with even a hint of appreciation.

"So what if I did?" Russell shot back, leaping into the air until he hovered level with the helicopter.

The helicopter pilot saw the terrifying sight and silently prayed for God to protect him.

"Then do you think what you did was right?"

"Yes."

Jameson froze.

He hadn't expected the answer to come so quickly, so bluntly, without hesitation or excuse.

It was like a child who had done something wrong. The teacher asked, "Did you hit someone?" and he said, "Yes." Then the teacher asked, "Do you think that was right?" and he said, "Yes."

A self-assured "yes," free of any moral burden and impossible to argue with.

"You—" Jameson choked. "How can you think you're right? You killed people. What about the law? What about order? What gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies?"

"Mr. Jameson," Russell said calmly, even addressing him as "Mr.," "have you ever been to Hell's Kitchen?"

Jameson opened his mouth. He wanted to say, Aren't we in Hell's Kitchen right now?

"Have you seen the people sleeping on cardboard boxes? The children whose organs were taken before they were dumped in the sewers? The nameless people sold off for parts?"

Russell didn't raise his voice, but every word struck Jameson's ears like a hammer.

"Maybe you did when you were younger. But not anymore. Now you sit in an air-conditioned Manhattan office, drink coffee, and write editorials about the 'Mutant threat.'

"You condemn Spider-Man, supervillains, and every masked superhero because you don't need their help. Your life is fine without them."

Jameson fell silent. His mouth was still open, but no sound came out.

His mind was arguing back: I'm a reporter. My job is to expose the truth, not to be a judge.

"Ahem." Jameson's professionalism helped him overcome his fear. After clearing his throat, he countered:

"Spare me the sermon. We're talking about the truth and reporting it."

"Good. There are things hidden in the dark that need your reporting." Russell snapped his fingers, and a stack of ledgers appeared in Jameson's hands.

The name of the Morgan Family, worth tens of billions, was written on the cover. Jameson's eyes widened at the sight of it.

"This..."

The ledgers recorded the Triad Gang's filthy dealings, including sending young girls to certain powerful families...

"What?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "Can't stomach it, you upright journalist?"

Jameson said nothing, because a voice in his head was saying—

This Mutant is right.

He didn't know how many cuts marked the bodies of the children pulled from the river. He didn't know how dark the glittering metropolis was behind the scenes.

Perhaps he did know, but for certain reasons, he had been unable to report it fairly, like a true journalist.

"Hey, Mr. Jameson isn't as bad as you make him out to be," Peter spoke up.

"He never favors any group. He reports the truth fairly, and he's willing to admit when he's wrong."

Then Peter added in a voice barely above a whisper, "Except when it comes to Spider-Man."

J. Jonah Jameson looked at Parker in surprise, never expecting him to speak up on his behalf. Peter, meanwhile, looked at Russell and tilted his head warily.

"What exactly do you want?"

Russell looked at him, his smile deepening. "I want you to point your camera where it belongs."

He reached out and took the camera from Peter, taking a tiny piece of tissue from the back of Peter's hand as he did.

Peter's Spider-Sense went wild the instant that hand came near, but he didn't move.

It wasn't because he was brave. He knew resisting now would be unwise.

Looking at the stinging red dot on the back of his hand, Peter knew it was bad news, but there was nothing he could do.

Russell gave a faint smile, raised the camera in front of himself, and spoke into the lens in that same calm tone:

"My name is Russell. I'm what you call a Mutant. I've killed a lot of people—soldiers, gangsters, organ traffickers. And I'll keep killing, because some people don't deserve to live."

He paused. "If anyone has a problem with that, tell them to come talk to me. I'll be happy to invite them in for tea."

Russell handed the camera back to Peter and looked at Jameson. "I hope you report this truthfully. Otherwise... you wouldn't want me dropping by the Bugle Building."

With that, he let himself fall.

A few seconds later, a soft impact came from the ground. Then there was nothing.

Inside the cabin, Jameson and Peter both fell silent.

"Boss," Peter finally said after a few seconds, "how are you going to edit this footage?"

Jameson glanced at him. "I'm not. We'll air it as it is."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

Peter froze. "Aren't you afraid—?"

"Of what? Him coming after me?" Jameson took the binoculars from around his neck and set them on his lap. "Journalists should report the facts."

This time, the helicopter didn't follow. It left the area instead. Other media companies were still filming remotely from streets in the distance.

But after seeing Russell confront the Daily Bugle, they all lost the nerve to keep filming and set their equipment on the ground. Among them was the Huaxin Daily, backed by Wilson Fisk.