George Stacy was actually feeling quite content. Naturally, it wasn't just because he had been promoted from Lieutenant to Captain—taking charge as the precinct commander of the NYPD's 12th Precinct—nor was it simply because he finally found the time to grab lunch with Gwen and Peter.
Rather, he genuinely believed that the second surge of superheroes, which had begun in 2010 when Tony Stark publicly announced he was Iron Man and reached its fever pitch during the Battle of New York, was finally winding down. A period of long-awaited calm seemed to be right around the corner.
"The crime rate in New York went wild in the second half of last year—it looked like we were fast-tracking straight toward becoming Baltimore. But things improved quite a bit in the first half of this year. By the second half, we should be pretty much back to pre-Battle of New York levels."
Captain George Stacy spoke while eating his fried rice. Contrary to what Peter had imagined, located right across from the 12th Precinct was a standard Americanized Chinese restaurant. It served all the usual staples—General Tso's chicken, orange chicken, and the like—all loaded heavy on oil, salt, and sugar. It felt less like a neighborhood joint and more like something meant for a construction site entrance.
Oh, and of course, there were the classic fortune cookies—a piece of "Chinese cuisine" that had absolutely nothing to do with traditional Chinese food.
"So, if we can keep pushing the crime rate down next year, I might actually get to use my annual leave for once instead of working myself to the bone from January to December."
Hearing her father's wishful thinking, Gwen offered a slightly helpless smile. "Provided you don't keep getting promoted, Dad."
"...I doubt that'll happen. I really don't think so. After all, the layoffs are already finished. Over ten thousand people, you know."
The NYPD employed over fifty thousand people in total, with around thirty-eight thousand sworn officers and over ten thousand civilian staff. During the reign of Octopus City, nearly sixty percent of the NYPD personnel had aligned themselves with Doctor Octopus. Among them, twenty-three percent were fired on the spot, fifteen percent of the department's positions were permanently abolished, and several precincts were merged together.
Furthermore, as internal investigations drew to a close, the remaining thirty-seven percent of those officers were determined to have joined Doc Ock's regime willingly—not out of coercion or a lack of better options. As a result, New York suddenly found itself with over ten thousand vacant police positions.
Peter paused, recalling the homeless individuals he had encountered while volunteering at the FEAST shelter. He turned to Captain Stacy and asked, "Uncle George, do you know what happened to those officers after they were fired?"
Captain Stacy shook his head. Since those officers had voluntarily followed Doctor Octopus, he naturally had no common ground with them, nor did he keep in touch. Curious about Peter's inquiry, he asked in return, "Why do you ask, Peter? Did you notice something?"
"I've been volunteering at the shelter for the past few days, and... I haven't seen a single homeless former police officer. In other words, after losing their jobs, their lives don't seem to have been affected in the slightest."
Captain Stacy's expression turned serious. If a large portion—or even the majority—of those former officers had taken out loans or secured jobs at private security firms, that would be understandable. But the fact that not a single former officer had ended up on the streets following the collapse of Octopus City was thoroughly strange.
Over ten thousand people—forget average companies, even giant syndicates or massive private security contractors couldn't possibly absorb that many unemployed workers all at once.
The anomaly put Peter on high alert. "Have any new security firms or large corporations cropped up recently? It's impossible for these people to just vanish into thin air without leaving a single trace, right?"
Captain Stacy frowned deeply. "I haven't heard of any such organizations popping up lately..."
The table fell into a sudden silence. Gwen, who had been quietly digging into her food, watched the two men turn a casual lunch into a work discussion. She wasn't sure what to say, but then something caught her eye through the glass. "Maybe you two should look out the window? Looks like that might answer your question."
Both Peter and Captain Stacy turned toward the window. Outside, a van was passing by. Printed on its side was the image of a solidly built, bald white man in a white suit, wearing a gentle smile. The van was playing a recorded commercial on a continuous loop through its loudspeaker.
"The Fisk Relief Center: Providing a safe harbor for every citizen in need."
The broadcast repeated four or five times before the van finally took a turn and drove away. Listening to the fading audio, Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fisk... Even if his new charity needs to recruit security personnel and staff, there's no way it requires that many people. To this day, I still don't know what he plans to do after making bail. I heard he joined the Republican Party?"
"The New York mayoral election just wrapped up this year. Unless he plans to run for Congress in next year's midterms and then go for the presidency in '16," Captain Stacy said with a light chuckle. Then he looked at Peter and added, "He wouldn't, right? He has zero political experience, he's a former mob boss, and at best, he's a laundered businessman now. There's no way he could get elected."
Well, if you knew about a certain reality-TV president from another timeline, you probably wouldn't say that so confidently, Peter thought. Still, he didn't jump to conclusions and simply resumed eating. The three of them finished their lunch, and Captain Stacy picked up the tab before excusing himself, saying he had matters to attend to.
Once her father left, Gwen stood up and moved to the seat opposite Peter. She looked at him and asked, "I have to say... aren't you guys overthinking this a bit? Fisk is completely outmatched by the Avengers or the Defenders right now, isn't he? As long as he doesn't want to end up back behind bars, he definitely won't step out of line."
"That makes a lot of sense, Gwen. Which is precisely why it's so concerning."
Gwen looked at Peter in confusion. What, do I have something on my face?
"Fisk changed his playbook. He really isn't committing crimes anymore; everything he's doing right now is entirely legal. But just because it's legal doesn't mean it's right." Peter let out a quiet sigh. "A bad guy protected by the shield of the law... that might just be the most dangerous kind of villain."
"Well, there's not much you can do about him then—unless you can rewrite the law, or just ignore it entirely. Though... I guess superheroes break the law pretty often anyway."
Listening to Gwen's quip, Peter was rendered speechless for a moment. Then, something suddenly clicked in his mind. "Wait a minute... have you still not told Uncle George that you have superpowers now?"
"Nope. I really don't feel like getting lectured by my dad."
"...And is it also true that you haven't told him you joined a rock band over a year ago?"
"Yeah? What about it?"