Eddie hadn't exactly had a chance to read the paper. He had only woken up not long ago.
But hearing that was enough.
He finally relaxed, sank back against the bed, and stared up at the blank white ceiling, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes.
"That's good... finally. Finally, I actually did something that mattered."
His eyes were shining with tears as he looked at Peter and Clark.
"You know, back then, when I thought I was dead for sure, I saw something. I saw three weirdos in skintight suits show up and save me. But not just them. Before they got there, there was another guy. He was wearing blue, and he had an 'S' on his chest."
Peter glanced sideways at his brother.
Clark's expression didn't change at all. In fact, he even leaned into it, putting on a look of pure curiosity and amazement.
"Really? You actually saw the 'S' guy from the news?" Clark asked. "What did he look like? Was he like Flash said, ten feet tall, with freeze vision and fire breath?"
Peter was speechless, but deeply impressed by his brother's acting.
"No, he wasn't ten feet tall. He looked..." Eddie hesitated, eyes full of admiration. "Honestly? Like a normal man. But his strength was unreal. He caught Gargan's mechanical tail with his bare hand... and in that moment I understood something."
Eddie turned his head and looked out the window toward the sky.
"In this world, there are heroes like Uncle Ben, people who fight with a pen. And there are heroes like the Spider-Men, and like the S-guy, who fight darkness with their own bodies. But me? I was just a useless loser who knew how to fix cars. I couldn't even handle school."
"No, Eddie, you're not useless. You were a hero this time," Mary Jane said quickly, trying to comfort him.
"No, MJ. I know what I am. You don't need to dress it up for me," Eddie said, shaking his head. But there was something in his voice now that hadn't been there before. Resolve. "I just don't want to stay like this anymore. Once I get out of here, I'm going back to school. I'm going to finish it."
Then he looked at Peter and Clark and laughed.
"And after that, I'm applying to the Daily Bugle. I'll start at the very bottom if I have to, intern, delivery room, whatever. I want to dig up the truth the way Uncle Ben does. That's a hell of a lot cooler than beating people up in alleys."
Clark was quietly pleased to hear it.
That was the whole reason he hadn't stepped in and solved everything for Eddie from beginning to end. Sometimes a person only finds the shape of their soul when they're pushed to the edge and forced to decide who they are.
And now Eddie had stepped onto a completely different road.
But while Eddie had found a new beginning through all of this, someone else was already stumbling toward the abyss.
In the prison hospital of New York's highest-security penitentiary.
The security there rivaled the Pentagon. Armed guards every few yards. Cameras with no blind spots. Layers upon layers of steel, glass, and routine.
And at the very end of the corridor, inside a specially monitored room—
Bullseye, the elite killer who had once terrified both sides of New York's underworld, was lying on the bed in a state barely distinguishable from death.
His limbs were completely immobilized in plaster and titanium support braces. A neck brace held his spine in place. A breathing tube ran from his mouth.
The monitor lines moved only faintly, proof that he still had one last thread of life in him.
Clark had been exact.
He hadn't killed Bullseye.
He had simply pulverized his limbs and spine so completely that they could never truly be repaired.
Even in a world like Marvel's, with all its impossible medicine and absurd technology, there was almost no chance Bullseye would ever stand again.
If nothing miraculous happened, the man wouldn't spend the rest of his life merely unable to fight.
He wouldn't even be able to roll over in bed or scratch his own nose.
For a killer who treated murder like an art form, that was a punishment ten thousand times crueler than death.
The door to the room opened.
A large man in a custom-tailored oversized suit stepped in, carrying a briefcase. Gold-rimmed glasses rested on his face, and a high-level legal access badge hung from his chest.
Once the guard respectfully closed the door behind him, the man removed the glasses.
The look in his eyes alone could have killed Bullseye.
Wilson Fisk.
The king of New York's underworld had never gone to Europe at all.
Using his money and influence, he had bought his way through every layer of security, disguised himself as a lawyer, and walked straight into one of the most secure prisons in the country.
He stopped beside the bed and looked down at the ruined man lying there.
Bullseye recognized the sound of Fisk's footsteps at once. Terror flooded his eyes.
"Mm... mmmph..."
The breathing tube made words impossible. All he could do was make desperate, muffled noises. Tears even gathered in the corners of his eyes from pure fear.
"You've disappointed me, Lester."
Fisk's voice was quiet, but the weight in it was enough to crush ninety-nine percent of the world.
"I spend tens of millions every year keeping you fed, armed, and informed. I give you the best weapons, the best intelligence, the best opportunities. And I sent you to kill a mechanic in a hospital bed and one troublesome reporter."
He bent down until his face was near Bullseye's.
"And what happened? You failed. You turned yourself into a half-dead burden on the taxpayer. And worse, because of you, the police followed the trail and took down six of my most important laundering channels."
"MMMMPH! MMMMPH!!"
Bullseye's eyes went wild.
He blinked frantically, trying to communicate something, anything.
Don't go after that monster.
That thing isn't human.
I lost the will to resist the moment it looked at me.
But Fisk couldn't read minds.
And he didn't care what a ruined man wanted to say.
"I know what you're trying to ask," Fisk said with a small smile. "You want me to get you out of here? Or maybe you want me to avenge you?"
He chuckled once.
Mercy was not one of his habits. He had sent his own father to prison with his own hands. He certainly wasn't about to spare a failed assassin.
"You're a smart man, Lester. So you already know my rules. A killer who has lost all value, and who could at any moment be pried open by police and made to spill more of my secrets, only has one destination."
The desperation in Bullseye's eyes instantly became hopelessness.
"MMMMPH! MMMMPH!!"
His pupils dilated in horror.
"Don't worry, Lester. You won't die in pain. I'm not that cruel."
Expressionless, Fisk reached out with his massive right hand and gripped the main breathing tube running into Bullseye's airway.
"Go in peace. As for the monster who reduced you to this, I'll find out who he is... and send him to Hell to keep you company."