On a street corner in London, a red public telephone booth stood like a rusted relic forgotten by time. Inside, yellowed advertisements were plastered, and in a corner, a half-empty soda bottle lay, its bubbles long since dissipated.
The young man tugged at his hoodie, then pulled his backpack to his front and hugged it tightly. The old-fashioned buttons clicked under his fingers, and the static from the receiver mixed with the whistling wind outside.
"This is the emergency call center, what is your emergency?"
When the operator's sweet voice came on, the young man suddenly lowered his voice, deliberately making it hoarse and rough: "I want to report a crime! Yesterday, I saw a Shadow figure slip into the Stark Tower CEO's office through the outdoor glass!"
"Sir, please describe the situation in detail. Their clothing, appearance? Were they armed?" The operator quickly switched to a professional questioning mode.
After all, Stark Industries was one of the New York Police Department's sponsors, so they had to take it seriously.
The young man stared at the swaying street lamp outside the telephone booth, continuing to embellish: "A shadowy, dark mass, it went straight through the wall! Something important in the office must have been taken."
"Alright, we understand. We will confirm this with Stark Industries," the operator said seriously. "May I please have your name? We may need to contact you for more details later."
"Is that absolutely necessary?"
"Yes, it is absolutely necessary."
"Okay then..." The young man continued in a low voice, "I'm just a friendly neighborhood guy. If you really need a name... how about Spider-Man?"
"Sir, please don't joke, this could affect Police operations..." The operator's serious warning was cut short as the young man quickly hung up.
He vigilantly glanced left and right, confirmed no one was paying attention, then quickly exited the telephone booth, squatting with his back against the wall.
He pulled a small radio from his backpack. This radio was clearly modified, its casing covered with exposed wires and prominent knobs.
The young man's fingers lightly turned the knobs, his eyes fixed on the fluctuating frequency indicator lights on the radio, occasionally adjusting the antenna.
Finally, with a burst of harsh static, a clear human voice came from the radio.
It was the same operator, reporting the situation to a colleague:
"Director, we just received an emergency call claiming a Shadow figure entered the Stark Tower CEO's office through the wall. The caller..." The operator hesitated, a hint of confusion in her voice, "claimed to be Spider-Man."
After a brief silence, another deep male voice spoke: "I understand. I'm busy right now, but tomorrow I'll lead a team to Stark Industries to speak with the CEO. Please have someone schedule that for me."
"Understood."
After confirming the information, the young man finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He didn't want to do this, but there was no other way.
He had been observing for a day, and it seemed the CEO hadn't even noticed anything was missing.
Peter Parker also wanted to know what that moth had stolen, so he simply reported it to the Police and let them investigate.
He quickly pressed the red button on the side of the radio to turn it off, retracted the antenna, and deftly stuffed the radio back into his backpack. He then cautiously looked around again, not even missing the plastic bag fluttering behind the alley's trash can.
After confirming there were no suspicious eyes around, he quickly took off his loose hoodie, revealing the red and blue suit underneath, the Spider symbol on his chest faintly glowing under the streetlights.
He extended his right hand, shot out a web, and precisely hooked onto the top of a distant building. Using the elasticity, he soared into the air.
The night wind blew as his figure weaved between the buildings, like an agile red and blue Shadow, quickly swinging towards the distance... The third day arrived.
Peter Parker, who was often ill, had taken sick leave for a cold. And the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, who usually only came out at night, was now pressed tightly against the outside of the Stark Industries CEO's office.
On the top floor of the building, Obadiah Stane saw the Police cars below through the floor-to-ceiling windows and couldn't help but frown.
The Police came up quickly. Before long, there was a knock on the office door.
By the time he turned around, Obadiah's expression had transformed into a hearty smile.
He turned and said loudly, "Come in."
The door opened, and the leading Police officer entered, introducing himself: "Hello, Mr. Stane, I'm George Stacy, the Director of the New York Police Department, whom you spoke with this morning. We're here today because we received an emergency call."
Obadiah warmly shook George's hand, a perfectly timed look of surprise on his face: "Director, you're not here just to chat, are you? What's happened?"
At the same time, on the outside of the building, Spider-Man, in his tight suit, was pressed tightly into the decorative gap.
He carefully took out a suction cup camera, aimed it at the office glass, and gently pressed it. The camera firmly adhered; then, he pulled out a small suction cup microphone and placed it next to the camera's suction cup.
After confirming both items were securely attached, he flipped back over and began to view the interior situation through a small screen.
But when he saw Director George in the room, a strange look flashed in his eyes.
Could Uncle George be here because he used his Spider-Man identity to report the crime?
Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and Spider-Man continued to carefully listen to the situation inside the room.
"Someone reported seeing a Shadow enter the Stark Industries CEO's office the day before yesterday. We are concerned about potential security risks, so we came to confirm the situation."
Obadiah's brows furrowed, displaying a shocked expression: "What? Such a thing happened?"
However, Obadiah's expression quickly softened, and he said with a smile: "But Director, please rest assured, my office is equipped with surveillance. Aside from the area directly below it, there are no blind spots in the entire room."
"And to get to the area below the camera, the only possibility is to come through the glass here."
As he spoke, he raised his arm, his index finger pointing to the spherical monitor hanging in the corner.
The monitor was tightly encased in a layer of transparent glass, its base fixed seamlessly to the wall, making it impossible to manually adjust the angle.
But as Obadiah looked at the monitor, following his finger, the smile on his face faltered.
In his memory, the angle of this surveillance camera had never changed; it had always been pointed at his desk.
But for some reason, it was now rotated about thirty degrees, directly facing the filing cabinet on the right.
His throat unconsciously bobbed, and Obadiah felt a fine layer of cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.
No... it must have been an accident. Maybe this angle can still capture the desk?
He forced himself to calm down, his nails almost digging into his palms to steady his trembling legs, as he shuffled step by step to the desk.
"Then... I'll check the surveillance first."
George noticed Obadiah's uneasy state, frowned, and also came to the computer, waiting for Obadiah to open yesterday's surveillance footage.
Obadiah, at this point, couldn't care less about anything else. He mechanically scrolled the mouse wheel, dragging the video progress bar to the night before last.
In the footage, the surveillance camera was indeed steadily pointed at the desk at first, but shortly after the video progressed to Obadiah leaving the office in the elevator, a bizarre scene appeared.
The surveillance camera began to slowly rotate without warning, as if controlled by an invisible hand, leisurely shifting towards the filing cabinet.
When the camera finally stopped, the area where the desk was located had precisely become a blind spot for the camera, and all of this happened within the few minutes he was gone.
Obadiah felt his Sun temples throbbing, and his back was completely drenched in cold sweat.
If that thing was stolen, then it's highly likely he'd have to live the rest of his life under blackmail.