6800 words today, hope you enjoyed reading.
The iron gate to the rooftop creaked open with a piercing sound.
Peter gripped the stair railing and descended the stairs step by step. His legs were still a little weak, and his knees trembled slightly with each step. It wasn't from exhaustion, but from the heavy weight in his heart that made it hard for him to breathe.
He clutched the crumpled handkerchief Lynn had tossed him. He looked down at his dusty shoes, his mind a jumbled mess.
Lynn's words were like a key, barely managing to pry open the tightly closed door in his heart. But the light filtering through the crack wasn't enough to dispel all the darkness. He knew he shouldn't dwell on being "deceived," but the pain of being betrayed by the person he trusted most was like a thorn stuck in his flesh, impossible to pull out, and painful to even touch.
He stopped at the corner on the first floor.
Tony's voice could be heard coming from afar.
" JARVIS, seal up all the equipment data from Quentin's team and hand it over to the United Nations without keeping a single piece. Also, notify the Ministry of Justice; I want them to spend the rest of their lives in jail."
"Sir, it's all taken care of. Also, the New York City government just sent a letter of thanks, thanking you and the SSC team for your timely assistance."
"Keep the thank-you note for cleaning up your mess," Tony said, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Have the civilian casualty statistics been released yet?"
Forty-seven people sustained minor injuries and have all been hospitalized; none are in life-threatening condition. The building repairs were completed by Mr. Lynn, and currently, 90% of the city's infrastructure has been restored.
"That kid..." Tony paused, his tone becoming more complicated. "He's so easygoing, he finished the repairs and left without even saying goodbye."
Peter stood on the stairs, listening to Tony's conversation, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
He took a deep breath, regulated his breathing, and then continued walking down the path.
In the main control room of Stark Tower, Tony sat at a huge curved table, with more than a dozen holographic screens floating in front of him, displaying a dense array of data and reports. He was only wearing a black bodysuit, and there were a few streaks of oil on his forehead, clearly indicating that he had been so busy that he hadn't even had time to wash his face.
Natasha stood beside him, holding a document and quickly flipping through it. She saw Peter come out of the stairwell, a hint of concern flashing in her eyes, but she didn't say anything, only gently patting Tony's shoulder.
Tony looked up and his gaze fell on Peter.
The air in the control room froze instantly.
JARVIS wisely turned off all the holographic screens, leaving only a few dim wall lamps in the room, casting long shadows of the three people.
Peter stood in the doorway, his hands behind his back, like a schoolboy who had done something wrong, his head down, not daring to look Tony in the eye.
"Come here." Tony's voice was calm, so calm it was unsettling.
Peter bit his lip, slowly moved over, and stood opposite Tony.
Tony stared at him for a full half minute without saying a word. He scanned Peter from head to toe, making him feel extremely uncomfortable, wishing he could disappear into the ground.
"Do you know where you went wrong?" Tony finally spoke, his tone not harsh, but carrying a fatherly authority.
Peter opened his mouth, his voice barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't have given him the access."
"That's it? Peter Parker, you're sixteen, not six. You think I'm angry because you gave authority to a fraudster?"
Peter suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with confusion. "Then... what's the reason?"
Tony sighed, stood up, and walked over to Peter. Looking down at the boy, his eyes held both disappointment and heartache.
"What angers me is that you lack even the most basic judgment," Tony said, enunciating each word clearly. "Who is Quentin Beck? A 'hero' who suddenly appeared, without any background check, claiming to be from a parallel universe. You believed him so easily? And you handed over the most crucial authority of your Stark Industries to him?"
"He said he came to help us..." Peter in defense.
You believe him just because he says so?
Tony's voice suddenly rose a few decibels, " Peter, what have I taught you? What's the first lesson of being a superhero? It's skepticism! It's never trusting anyone who hasn't been verified!"
Peter lowered his head even further, and his eyes began to redden again.
Tony looked at him, his tone softening. "I know you're kind, I know you want to trust others. But this world isn't a fairy tale, Peter. Not everyone will smile at you, not everyone who reaches out a hand is there to help you. Some people reach out to push you off a cliff."
He reached out and placed his hand on Peter's shoulder, pressing down hard.
"This is a lesson you have to learn on your path to growth. Remember this pain, and the next time someone smiles at you, think about how Quentin Beck handled it."
Peter sniffed and nodded vigorously. "I understand, Mr. Tony."
Tony stared at him for a few seconds, finally managing a helpless smile, and reached out to ruffle his hair. "Alright, stop looking so gloomy. Go take a shower, change your clothes, and I'll take you to get pizza later."
Peter paused for a moment, then a glint of light flashed in his eyes. "Really?"
"Really. But you have to treat me, and use your allowance from next month."
"Huh?!"
The atmosphere in the control room finally eased. Natasha watched this scene, a gentle smile playing on her lips, and quietly slipped out, leaving the "father and son" alone.
Three days later.
Avengers Compound.
In the days following the New York Incident, Peter lived a peaceful life. Tony didn't mention it again, only occasionally joking about Quentin's name, which made Peter both embarrassed and annoyed. Lynn, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened, spending his days wandering around the base, either watching movies with Natasha or sparring with Wanda in the training room, living a leisurely life.
That afternoon, Wanda and Quicksilver finally returned to base from their mission.
Peter met them at the entrance to the training room.
Wanda wore a deep red trench coat, her long hair casually draped over her shoulders, her face showing a hint of travel fatigue, but her eyes remained bright. Quicksilver followed behind her, a lollipop dangling from his mouth, looking rather nonchalant.
Peter's eyes lit up, and he ran over quickly.
" Wanda, my sister!"
Wanda saw him, a gentle smile spreading across her face, and reached out to ruffle his hair. " Little Peter, how have you been these past few days?"
Peter's smile froze for a moment, then he lowered his head, his voice muffled. "It's... it's alright."
Quicksilver, chewing on a lollipop, glanced at him sideways. "Hey, what's with that look? Did Tony yell at you?"
"No..." Peter shook his head, hesitated for a moment, then mustered his courage to ask, " Wanda, did you... already know about Quentin? Is that why you kept delaying your mission and didn't return?"
Wanda's eyes flickered slightly, but she did not answer.
Quicksilver, ever the straightforward one, shrugged. "Yeah, I know. So what?"
"Then... why didn't you tell me?" Peter's voice held a hint of grievance. "If you had told me sooner, I wouldn't... wouldn't have been so badly deceived by him."
Wanda was silent for a moment, then sighed softly, " Peter, it's not that we didn't want to tell you, it's that Mr. Lynn told us to avoid Quentin first."
"Avoid?" Peter was stunned. "Why avoid?"
Wanda looked him in the eyes and said seriously, "Because if I were here, Quentin wouldn't have the right to act recklessly."
Peter blinked, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
Quicksilver interjected, meaning that with Wanda's abilities, Quentin's little tricks wouldn't last three seconds against her.
Peter opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word for a long time.
So... so they all knew, they just deliberately chose not to get involved.
The only ones who were deceived from beginning to end were him and the low-level agents.
A feeling I couldn't quite put into words welled up inside me; it was like feeling wronged, like feeling relieved, and a little bit of anger at being "tricked."
He lowered his head, staring at his toes, feeling somewhat withdrawn.
"So... you just watched me get played like an idiot?" Peter's voice was muffled.
Wanda stepped forward, gently hugged him, and patted his back like an older sister comforting her younger brother. "I'm not watching you get tricked, I'm watching you grow up."
She released his hand, looked into Peter's eyes, and said in a gentle yet firm tone, " Peter, you know what? Mr. Lynn taught me the same thing when I first started out."
Peter looked up abruptly, his eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"
"Really."
Wanda smiled slightly, "Back then, I was even more naive than you. I always thought I was powerful enough to solve all problems. And what happened? I got a good 'lesson' from Mr. Lynn."
"How were you educated?" Peter asked curiously.
Wanda shook her head, not going into details, but just smiled, "I won't tell you the specifics. Anyway, after that experience, I understood a lot. Strength isn't everything, and trust shouldn't be blind. Mr. Lynn may seem cold and unapproachable, but everything he did was to make us stronger."
She reached out and gently wiped away the last trace of a tear from the corner of Peter's eye. "So, don't be sad. What you're going through today is what I've been through, and what every true superhero must go through. It's growth."
Peter into Wanda's gentle eyes, Peter's pent-up resentment and isolation slowly melted away.
He sniffed and nodded vigorously. "I understand, Sister Wanda."
"That's more like it." Wanda smiled and pinched his cheek. "Let's go, I brought some local specialties, and I saved you a piece of chocolate."
"Really?!" Peter's eyes lit up instantly.
He followed Wanda and Quicksilver toward the rest area. Sunlight streamed in through the corridor windows, warming him.
In the control room, Tony watched this scene through the monitor, a smile playing on his lips.
"That kid has finally figured it out."
Natasha stood beside him, holding a cup of coffee, and took a small sip. " Wanda is very good at comforting people."
Tony nodded. "That's true. But Lynn's parenting style is really... unique."
"Unique? You mean he let Peter get fooled so badly just to help him grow?"
"What else?" Tony shrugged. "If we expose Quentin from the start, Peter will never learn to doubt. Only by making him stumble and fall will he know the pain and how to walk next time."
"You're quite open-minded."
"I'm doing this for his own good." Tony paused, a complex look flashing in his eyes. "After all... I don't want him to lose his life one day because he's too naive."
Natasha didn't speak, but simply watched the boy laughing and talking with Wanda on the monitor, her eyes full of tenderness.
Growth is always accompanied by pain.
But as long as you become stronger after the pain, then it's all worth it.
Geneva, the United Nations Headquarters, three basement levels.
There were no windows, no sunlight, only cold metal walls and the incessant hum of the exhaust fans. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and rust, so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
Quentin Beck was imprisoned in a specially designed cell in the deepest part of the cell.
The prison door was made of a high-strength alloy and was covered with runes.
This was designed by Lynn and Tony specifically to prevent superpowered individuals from escaping. The cell contained only a hard bed, a stainless steel toilet, and a small table fixed to the wall.
Quentin sat on the bed, his hands holding his head, his hair a mess like a bird's nest, his face covered in stubble, and his eyes sunken.
He hasn't eaten much these past few days.
Whenever he closes his eyes, the scene from that day in New York appears in his mind.
His meticulously planned drama, his seemingly flawless lies, the portal that appeared out of nowhere at the end, and the looks in Tony's and the young man's eyes when they looked at him.
"Fake... it's all fake..."
He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse as if it were being squeezed out of his throat.
He was once the Mysterio " who garnered worldwide attention, and a "parallel universe hero" in the media's eyes.
But now, he's just a prisoner, a fraud despised by the whole world.
The cell door suddenly opened.
Two bailiffs in black uniforms walked in, each carrying a document.
Quentin Beck,
One of them, expressionless, said, " The United Nations Special Tribunal will hold a public trial for you and your team tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Here is the indictment; please take a look."
The agent placed a thick file on the table, then turned and left, the cell door closing again.
Quentin's hands trembled as he picked up the indictment.
The first page was filled with a dense list of crimes.
"The crime of deliberately creating widespread panic"
"The crime of fabricating supernatural phenomena"
"Crime of illegally trespassing into Stark Industries systems"
"Crimes of endangering public safety"
Fraud
"..."
He faces a total of twelve charges, each enough to land him in prison for decades.
Quentin's hands trembled even more violently, and the documents slipped from his fingers, scattering all over the floor.
"No... it's impossible..." He shook his head, his eyes filled with despair. "I am a hero..."
He jumped to his feet, rushed to the cell door, and pounded on the alloy door, roaring, "Let me out! I'm Mysterio! I'm a hero! You can't treat me like this!"
The only response he received was the echoing sound in the corridor and the incessant hum of the exhaust fan.
Nine o'clock the next morning.
United Nations Headquarters Building, First Trial Chamber.
This place, originally used to try war criminals and international terrorists, is now filled with journalists and observers from all over the world. The gallery is packed, and all eyes are focused on the defendant's dock.
Quentin Beck, dressed in a gray prison uniform, stood there with his hands handcuffed electronically, his head bowed. Behind him, in the dock, stood his team members, all ashen-faced and trembling.
The presiding judge was an elderly man with gray hair from Switzerland, known for his impartiality. He adjusted his glasses, glanced over the defendant's dock, and then tapped his gavel.
"Silence."
The courtroom fell silent instantly.
"Court is now in session."
The judge's voice was loud and authoritative. "The defendant, Quentin Beck, and his team are charged with twelve counts, including intentionally creating a mass panic, fabricating supernatural phenomena, and illegally accessing Stark Industries systems. Now, the prosecution will read the indictment."
A prosecutor in a black suit stood up and began reading the indictment line by line.
Each charge read out was followed by a murmur of discussion in the gallery. The clicking of cameras from reporters filled the air, their flashes illuminating Quentin's pale face.
"... Defendant Quentin Beck and his team, using their professional skills, staged a fake 'alien insectoid' invasion of New York City, causing panic among millions of citizens and resulting in severe social disorder..."
"... The defendants and their team, by forging identities from parallel universes and fabricating heroic deeds, gained the trust of several superheroes, including Peter Parker, and illegally obtained access to Stark Industries ' core systems..."
"... During this process, although no one died, forty-seven civilians sustained minor injuries, and the psychological trauma was immeasurable..."
The prosecutor's voice was cold and objective; every word struck Quentin's heart like a hammer blow.
Quentin closed his eyes, his body trembling slightly. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but he knew it was all over. The evidence was irrefutable, with witnesses and physical evidence to prove him wrong; he had no chance of turning the tables.
"Defendant Quentin Beck," the judge looked at him, "Do you have anything to say about the charges against you?"
Quentin slowly opened his eyes, raised his head, looked at the judge, and then at the contemptuous and angry gazes in the audience.
He opened his mouth, his voice so faint it was almost inaudible. "I... I just wanted... want people to remember me..."
"What?" The judge frowned.
Quentin took a deep breath and raised his voice slightly, "I just want people to remember me! I'm Quentin Beck! I'm a genius!"
His voice grew louder and more agitated. "I did nothing wrong! I just wanted to be a hero! I just wanted people to see me!"
An uproar erupted in the gallery.
Reporters frantically jotted down this sentence; tomorrow's headline already featured " The Mysterio's Confession: All for Fame."
The presiding judge banged his gavel and said sternly, "Silence! Defendant, your motive does not affect your crime. Now, call the witnesses."
The first witness summoned was Peter Parker.
Peter, dressed in a neat suit, entered the courtroom accompanied by Natasha. His face was still somewhat pale, but his eyes had regained their usual clarity and determination. He walked to the witness stand, picked up the Bible, and solemnly swore an oath.
"Witness Peter Parker," the prosecutor looked at him, "Please tell the court how you were deceived by Quentin Beck."
Peter a deep breath and began to recount his previous experience.
"... He told me he was Mysterio' from another universe, sent to help us fight against the Elementals..."
Peter's voice trembled slightly, but was clear. "I gave him the authority Mr. Stark gave me because I trust him..."
Peter paused here, his gaze sweeping over Quentin in the dock.
Quentin was also looking at him, his eyes filled with complex emotions—guilt, shame, and a sense of relief.
"... Finally I realized it was all fake. The Elementals were created by him using holographic projection..." Peter's voice trailed off. "I was angry and disappointed. But I also understood that trust isn't blind."
A low sigh escaped from the audience. Many people looked at Peter with a mixture of pity and admiration. This young man had experienced such betrayal, yet he had not been defeated; instead, he had become even stronger.
Next, Tony Stark appeared in court as the second witness.
Tony, dressed in an expensive custom-made suit and wearing sunglasses, looked nonchalant. He walked to the witness stand, did not take an oath, but simply raised an eyebrow at the prosecutor.
Mr. Stark,
The prosecutor smiled wryly. "Please explain how Quentin Beck illegally obtained access to Stark Industries' systems."
"It's very simple,"
Tony took off his sunglasses, his gaze turning icy as he looked at Quentin. "I gave him the permissions."
An uproar erupted in the gallery.
Tony waved his hand and continued, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid. I know he's a liar, and I can't judge anyone based on something that didn't happen."
He paused, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "So, I was just watching, not stopping him. That's why he caused such a commotion in New York. Then, with Lynn's help, we caught him and his team in one fell swoop."
Upon hearing this, Quentin shuddered violently, his face turning even paler.
So... Tony knew from the very beginning.
It turns out that from beginning to end, I was just a clown being manipulated.
The trial lasted a full day.
The prosecution presented a wealth of evidence: the remains of the holographic projection equipment, records from Stark Industries, recordings of communications from Quentin's team, testimonies from New York City residents... Each piece of evidence was like a knife, tearing Quentin's lies to shreds.
As evening fell, the presiding judge struck the gavel again.
"After hearing the case, this court finds the defendant, Quentin Beck, and his team guilty."
The judgment is as follows:
Quentin Beck, convicted of twelve counts including intentionally creating a mass panic and fabricating supernatural phenomena, was sentenced to 120 years in prison without parole.
The remaining team members were sentenced to prison terms ranging from twenty to fifty years, depending on their respective crimes.
All illegally obtained technical data from Stark Industries has been recovered. All of Quentin Beck's personal assets have been confiscated and the proceeds will be used to compensate civilians injured in the New York Incident and to provide psychological trauma relief.
The gavel fell.
Quentin Beck's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground.
One hundred and twenty years.
No parole.
Whether he can live another 60 years is a question.
Two bailiffs stepped forward, pulled him up from the ground, and dragged him out of the courtroom. Quentin did not struggle or resist; he simply let them drag him away like a walking corpse.
Reporters in the gallery rushed towards the exit, eager to send the news back to their respective newspapers as soon as possible.
Tony stood at the entrance to the courtroom, watching Quentin's retreating figure as he was led away, a cold smile playing on his lips.
That evening, Peter sat on the sofa in the lounge, watching the rebroadcast of the trial news on TV. On the screen, Quentin was being led into a police car; his once spirited face was now filled with only despair and numbness.
Peter felt no pleasure in revenge, only a faint sense of relief.
"It's over," he said softly.
Lynn walked over with a cup of coffee, sat down next to him, glanced at the TV screen, and said casually, "Yeah, it's over."
Peter turned to look at him. " Mr. Lynn, tell me... why did he become like this?"
"Why?" Lynn took a sip of coffee and thought for a moment. "Because of ambition, I suppose. When a person's talent doesn't match their ambition, they'll go astray. Quentin is talented, but his ambition is too great, so great that he lost his moral compass."
He patted Peter on the shoulder. "Remember, Peter. With great power comes great responsibility, that's true. But more important than power is the bottom line. Never, under any circumstances, harm innocent people for fame or profit."
Peter nodded vigorously. "I understand."
Lynn smiled and stood up, "Alright, don't think about it too much. Tony said he's taking us out to dinner tonight, want to come?"
"Go!"
Peter immediately stood up, his eyes regaining their light.
"Then remember to bring plenty of money."
"Huh?! Wasn't Mr. Tony treating?"
He said he would "take us out to eat," but didn't say he was treating.
"..."