"Bad news. You and I are on the same side. You're going to like my proposal."
The fear had yet to leave Smithson's face, but a trace of instinctive wariness had already surfaced in his eyes.
People like him were very professional.
They got scared with a gun pressed to their forehead.
They started calculating when they heard the word "proposal."
After hearing "you're going to like it," even their breathing could find its rhythm again.
Smithson steadied himself against the edge of the table, his legs still shaking.
"What proposal?"
Chen Mo pushed a new document in front of him.
There was no blood on it, no threats, no scrawled kidnapping statement.
The title was as neat as something fresh out of a City Hall printer.
"Draft Supplementary Ordinance on Registered Superhuman Rescue Response."
Smithson glanced down at it.
His eyes shifted slightly.
Chen Mo said, "Don't be scared, Commissioner. This thing is so legal it makes you want to puke."
Smithson said nothing.
He opened the first page.
...Registered Hero Rescue Response Fund?
Smithson looked up at the black-clad Spider-Man.
Urban high-risk incident rapid dispatch center.
Superhuman disaster site deployment allowances.
Registered hero equipment maintenance subsidies.
Community rescue priority assessments.
Corporate-sponsored response packages.
Supplementary personal emergency rescue coverage.
Third-party auditing.
Dedicated fund trusteeship.
Interdepartmental dispatch coordination fees.
Every word wore a suit.
Every word had taken a bath.
Every word could be read aloud at a hearing in a perfectly calm voice.
The farther Smithson read, the more smoothly he breathed.
Chen Mo leaned over the dining table, watching him with a smile.
"See? Great big stacks of hundred-dollar bills."
Smithson looked up.
"You want superheroes to charge people for rescues?"
Chen Mo raised one finger.
"That sounds awful. How can a professional like you have so little