"Put all the money in the register into this bag! Hurry up! Don't make me put a hole in your head!"
At two in the morning, hysterical shouting erupted from a twenty-four-hour convenience store in Queens, New York.
A burly man in a black ski mask pressed a silver-gray M1911 pistol firmly against the cashier's forehead.
The cashier was a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old college student working part-time. He trembled in terror, tears and snot smeared across his face as he frantically stuffed bills into a black plastic bag.
"Buddy, eating this much sugary junk in the middle of the night isn't good for your teeth."
A slightly youthful voice, trying hard to sound deep, suddenly came from above the convenience store's automatic doors.
The robber whipped around.
A strange figure in a red-and-blue bodysuit, its stitching as crude as an old rag's, hung upside down from the glass above the doorway. His white goggles reflected the streetlights, and a crooked black spider had been drawn on his chest.
It was Peter Parker.
Since Yang Ming had opened his eyes that night, this was the first time he had truly taken to the streets of his own accord to fight crime.
With great power comes great responsibility. He silently repeated the words he had taken as his guiding principle, then drew a deep breath, ready to flip down and land in spectacular style.
Splat!
Peter misjudged the distance in midair. His foot slipped, and he fell face-first onto the convenience store's nonslip mat with a sharp thud.
Dead silence filled the store.
The robber froze, even forgetting to raise his gun. "What the fuck are you supposed to be? An acrobat who escaped from the circus?"
"Oww, my nose..." Peter climbed up, clutching his mask, and awkwardly rubbed his face. "My