Queens, General Hospital, outside the pediatric intensive care unit.
Flint Marko pressed his forehead against the cold glass wall, looking through the thick isolation layer at the small, thin figure lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to various tubes. It was his daughter, Penny. Her pale little face was almost devoid of color beneath the oxygen mask, with only the fluctuating lines on the monitor proving the tenacity of life.
The Doctor's words still echoed in his ears, like a dull knife repeatedly slicing at his nerves: "...The condition has worsened, conventional treatment methods are not effective... A new round of targeted therapy and special care is needed... Estimated cost, at least another three hundred thousand U.S. dollars... Time is running out, Mr. Marko..."
Three hundred thousand.
For this man, who once could only do odd jobs on construction sites and later resorted to petty theft and being a human sandbag for underground boxing rings just to make ends meet, this number was astronomical. He had emptied all his savings, borrowed from everyone he could (though few were willing to lend to him), and even sold blood a few times, but it was still a drop in the bucket.
Despair, like icy seawater, slowly engulfed him.
He had once possessed power; that cursed particle accelerator experiment accident had given him the ability to turn his body into sand. He had thought this was a heaven-sent opportunity, allowing him to escape poverty and give Penny a better life. He tried... taking shortcuts. Using his ability to rob and steal. But after each successful attempt, seeing the terrified ordinary people, and seeing his wanted poster in the news, his heart was filled with self-loathing and fear. This was not what he wanted; he did not want Penny to know her father was a criminal.
He gave up. He carefully hid his ability, living like a rat in a gutter, just to occasionally save a little money to buy Penny her favorite cartoon stickers or a cheap ice cream.
But now, even this last hope was about to be taken away.
He clenched his fists, his rough knuckles turning white from the effort. The instinct to turn into Sandman subtly surged as his emotions flared, a faint, almost imperceptible grittiness appearing on his fingertips, but he forcibly suppressed it. What good was this power, other than causing trouble?
Just then, a deep, magnetic voice came from the television hanging in the waiting area. Flint instinctively looked up.
On the screen was the man who had recently stirred up the entire New York scene—Wilson Fisk, Kingpin. He was at a press conference, speaking eloquently.
"...A hero should not be a lonely symbol, nor should he be a tragic victim. It should be a glorious, promising, and... fully insured profession!"
"...We will provide all registered heroes with market-competitive salaries, comprehensive medical insurance, disability pensions, and... retirement plans!"
"...Acknowledging the value of heroes, giving them their deserved rewards, and guaranteeing the lives of them and their families, this is not a defilement, but the greatest respect!"
Every word was like a heavy hammer, striking Flint Marko's heart.
Salary? Medical insurance?
His gaze was fixed on the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen—"Hero Association Global Recruitment... Official website and APP now online..."
A crazy, yet fatally tempting idea, like a flame ignited in the darkness, suddenly lit up in his heart.
Association... Hero... Money... Penny's medical expenses... He was no longer the Flint Marko who yearned to acquire ill-gotten gains with power. Now, he was just a desperate father, willing to exchange the only thing he had (even if it was this cursed power) for a glimmer of hope for his daughter.
"Hero..." He mumbled the word, a bitter taste in his mouth. Did he deserve this title? He was just a failed father, a societal outcast.
But... what if this "Association" really didn't care about the past, only about ability and future performance, as they claimed?
What if... they could really advance salaries? Even if it was just a portion?
Once this thought appeared, it could no longer be suppressed.
He stood up abruptly, feeling a little dizzy from the sudden movement. He took one last deep look at Penny in the intensive care unit and said in a voice only he could hear: "Wait for Daddy, Penny. Daddy... is going to earn your medical fees."
He turned and left the hospital, his steps, initially faltering, gradually becoming firm, even carrying a sense of desperate determination.
Following the address he found on his phone, he arrived at Fisk Tower in Manhattan. Looking up at the towering glass-walled building, shimmering in the sunlight, Flint felt a deep sense of inferiority and out-of-place. He was wearing faded jeans and an oil-stained jacket, a stark contrast to the well-dressed white-collar elites around him.
The security guard at the entrance eyed him warily, but after he said, "I'm here to apply for the Hero Association," the guard's gaze, though still suspicious, nevertheless verified it through internal communication and then motioned for him to pass through security and proceed to the designated floor.
In the elevator, Flint could hear his heart pounding like a drum. He nervously rubbed his hands, his palms slick with sweat. He imagined all sorts of possibilities: being ridiculed, being thrown out, or even being directly handed over to the police because of his previous criminal record... The elevator doors opened, revealing not the imagined opulent reception hall, but a technologically advanced space dominated by blue and white. The sign "Hero Association Temporary Reception Center" was clear and concise. Behind the front desk sat a young woman with a polite smile.
"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" The woman's voice was gentle, showing no sign of disdain for his shabby attire.
"I... I'm here to apply." Flint's voice was dry and hoarse, "To apply... as a hero."
"Alright, please follow me. You'll need to fill out a basic information form first and have an initial discussion of your intentions." The woman led him to a relatively private cubicle and handed him an electronic tablet.
The form was detailed, including basic information, ability description (optional), past experience (optional), and so on. Flint hesitated for a long time. In the ability description section, he tremblingly typed, "Body turns into sand, can manipulate sand to a certain extent." In the past experience section, he struggled even longer, and finally, gritting his teeth, he simply wrote, "Due to life circumstances, had minor illegal activities, have deeply reflected." He didn't want to hide, but he also didn't dare to be completely honest.
After submitting the form, he waited nervously. A few minutes later, the front desk woman returned, still with a professional smile: "Mr. Marko, please follow me, Mr. Wesley would like to see you."
Wesley? Flint had no idea who that was, but it sounded like a manager. He took a deep breath and followed her through several corridors to an office.
Knocking and entering, a middle-aged man in a well-pressed suit with a capable demeanor sat in the office. James Wesley looked up, his gaze sharply sweeping over Flint, showing no emotion because of his appearance, only pointing to the chair opposite: "Please sit, Mr. Marko. I've seen your application form, your ability... is very interesting."
Flint sat down stiffly, his hands on his knees, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
"Can you describe your ability in more detail? For example, the extent of sandification, the range and precision of control?" Wesley asked, his tone calm, as if conducting a normal interview.
Flint tried his best to describe it, his language a bit muddled, but he demonstrated turning one hand into sand and then reforming it.
Wesley watched carefully, a flicker of imperceptible surprise in his eyes, but it quickly returned to calm. He then asked: "So, Mr. Marko, why do you want to apply for the position of 'Hero'? As far as I know, with your abilities, there seem to be... easier ways to make money."
This question struck a chord.
Flint's body stiffened for a moment. He lowered his head, looking at his rough palms, and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his voice filled with uncontrollable trembling and pleading:
"I... I need money. My daughter, Penny, is seriously ill and needs a lot of money for surgery... I've tried everything... I have no other way..." His voice choked, "I know I don't deserve to be a hero, I've done wrong things in the past... But I beg you, give me a chance! I'm willing to take any mission, no matter how dangerous! As long as you can advance me a part of my salary to save my daughter's life! I beg you!"
He revealed his most humble, most vulnerable side, without reservation. He no longer cared about his dignity; he only wanted Penny to live.
Wesley listened quietly, his face devoid of expression, neither sympathy nor disdain. Only when Flint had finished, leaning back in the chair almost exhausted, did he slowly speak:
"I understand your situation. The Association's principle regarding applicants' past is to 'look forward.' We value ability and willingness more. However, advancing salary... this requires approval from a higher level."
He picked up the internal communicator and spoke a few words in a low voice.
A moment later, the office door was pushed open.
A figure as vast as a mountain almost completely blocked the light from the doorway.
Wilson Fisk, himself, had come.
Flint Marko instantly felt his breathing stop. He watched the man, whom he had only seen on television, a symbol of power and might, approach. The invisible pressure made him almost want to flee.
Kingpin's gaze fell on Flint, a gaze so substantial it seemed to penetrate his skin, seeing the deepest struggles and desires within him. He asked no questions, simply giving Wesley a slight nod.
Wesley immediately said to Flint: "Mr. Marko, please come with us, a detailed ability assessment is required."
Flint, bewildered, followed Kingpin and Wesley into a room he had never imagined, filled with various strange instruments and glowing with a faint blue light—the [Ability Assessment Room] from the system.
When Flint stood on the platform in the center of the room as instructed, a soft beam of light scanned his entire body. Immediately after, a cold, non-human electronic voice (system simulation) echoed in the room, announcing a series of data that even moved Wesley:
"[Target detected: Flint Marko.]"
"[Ability Type: Material Assimilation and Manipulation (Sand).]
"[Current Ability Development: 17%.]"
"[Potential Assessment: S-Rank.]"
"[Ability Characteristics: Physical Immunity (most), Morphological Change, Environmental Utilization, Immense Potential...]
"[Comprehensive Recommendation: Strongly advised for recruitment, Key training.]"
S-Rank! Immense potential!
Wesley looked at Kingpin in shock. Kingpin's face still showed no expression, but in his sharp eyes, a glimmer of light, as if he had discovered a rare treasure, flashed.
The assessment ended, and Flint walked out uneasily. He didn't understand any of the jargon, only knowing that it seemed... his ability was pretty good?
Kingpin walked up to him, looking down at him, and asked directly: "How much do you need?"
Flint didn't react for a moment: "Wh-what?"
"To cure your daughter, how much is initially needed?" Kingpin's tone was flat, yet carried a decisive power.
Flint's heart pounded wildly; he could barely believe his ears, and tremblingly reported a number: "Th-three hundred thousand... U.S. dollars."
Kingpin didn't hesitate, saying to Wesley: "Advance him five hundred thousand from his first year's salary. Immediately arrange the transfer to his designated account. Contact the best hospital and Doctor to ensure his daughter receives the best treatment."
Then, he looked back at Flint Marko, who was completely stunned, and extended his large hand, which had once crushed "pearls" and sent monsters flying:
"Welcome to the Hero Association, Mr. Marko."
"From now on, your codename is—"
"Sandman."