A giant humanoid plant? Is this some new Halloween joke?" Mr. J. Jonah Jameson frowned as he looked at the document his subordinate handed him.
"This is the latest news that has recently spread on the streets of New York. The source is those addicts and gang hooligans, who claim that a giant humanoid plant attacked them," the reporter sitting at the other end of the desk explained to Mr. J. Jonah Jameson carefully.
While listening to the reporter, James's hands were not idle, constantly flipping through the documents. Besides confessions, there were also some photos, including the victims and the so-called crime scene. The withered branches and rotten leaves on the ground seemed to indicate that something had happened there.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson flipped the document back to the first page, frowning as he looked at the expectant reporter.
"Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!" Mr. J. Jonah Jameson commented on the news the editor brought while flipping through the document.
After saying "garbage" three times, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson threw the reviewed document onto the desk, completely disregarding the reporter's displeased expression.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson took a sip of the coffee next to him and continued to say to the reporter, "Tom, what our Horn Daily wants is news, not the filming progress of some Japan special effects show."
The reporter, Tom, heard Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's words and quickly explained, "Mr. Jameson, this is not the filming progress of some special effects show, but information I spent many days collecting from the streets."
Facing Tom's explanation, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson just lit the cigar in his hand, appearing completely nonchalant.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's attitude made Tom even more anxious. Tom stood up from his seat, eager to explain to Mr. J. Jonah Jameson.
"Alright! Tom." Mr. J. Jonah Jameson exhaled the smoke from his mouth. The smoke blurred his face, but Tom still saw the mockery on his face.
"You said you brought earth-shattering news, which is why I let you waste my… uh… five minutes," Mr. J. Jonah Jameson looked down at his watch, estimating the time.
"But what you showed me was indeed a pile of garbage." Tom knew Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's mouth was notoriously sharp, but he still felt that Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's arrogance was the most hurtful.
"Mr. Jameson, these are not garbage. These are the pieces of evidence I collected, and there are human testimonies…"
"How can you believe the words of addicts whose brains are ruined from drugs?" Mr. J. Jonah Jameson interrupted Tom. "Maybe it's just a hallucination they had from drugs, mistaking a pile of flowers in a garbage dump for a monster attacking them. In reality, when they sober up, they find a bunch of petals stuck to their faces."
"But besides the addicts, there are also testimonies from hooligans," Tom was clearly unconvinced by Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's words and intended to argue.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson shrugged, not even bothering to lift his head.
"How many of those gang hooligans don't do drugs? Who knows how many needle marks are hidden under those baggy hip-hop clothes. Instead of these hallucinations, why not make the harm of excessive drug use by gangs to the brain a front-page headline?"
After speaking, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson seemed to think of something and pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Sir, did you call me?" The secretary pushed the door open and walked in.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson tore off the pages about the addicts from the evidence Tom collected, then handed them to the secretary.
"Print these in the next issue of the newspaper. The title will be, 'Urgent! They are ruining your brain!' Although it's useless and those addicts won't listen, it can earn my newspaper a good reputation with the public," Mr. J. Jonah Jameson said as he threw the remaining documents to Tom, who was standing by.
"Yes, sir." The secretary took the papers and walked out.
"And you." After the secretary left, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson turned to Tom and said, "Go collect 50 dollars in salary, and then get out with that pile of garbage."
"50 dollars? But sir…"
"Enough!"
Tom's words were interrupted by Mr. J. Jonah Jameson just as he started.
Mr. J. Jonah Jameson was clearly very impatient. His furrowed brow could even hold a coin.
"I don't want to hear any more stories about vegetative people, Tom. You should thank the intelligent Mr. J. Jonah Jameson for picking out useful parts from your garbage, allowing you to receive a 50-dollar tip." Faced with Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's sharp tongue, Tom's face turned ashen, his lips twitching, but he couldn't say a word.
However, the arrogant Mr. J. Jonah Jameson didn't care. He continued to scold, "You want me to believe in your terrifying vegetative person, but you don't even have a photo of a vegetative person in an ICU. Why do you look down on that 50 dollars? If you bring a photo of that miniature Biollante, what's the harm in giving you a lot of money?"
"So, if you have time to act like a drowning quail here, why don't you go get the photo immediately!"
———Divider———
"Damn JJJ!" Tom cursed under his breath, his hands not idle. He pulled out his wallet from his pants pocket, about to stuff the newly acquired 50 dollars inside.
Opening his wallet, Tom found that the 50 dollars in his hand was the only one. The cold Water of reality extinguished the anger in Tom's heart.
After much thought, Tom put his wallet back. He planned to use the 50 dollars to fill his stomach first, as one can only work after eating and drinking to their fill.
After eating a hot dog and not daring to order a drink, Tom used the remaining money to buy a new roll of film. He was ready to go all out.
Tom walked on a street not far from Hell's Kitchen. The legend of the plant monster originated from this vicinity.
Driven by life, Tom had to put himself in danger. The notorious reputation of Hell's Kitchen was known even to outsiders, let alone him, who made a living in New York. Even a passing dog could lose two kidneys here.
Even during the day, some rotten things could be seen in the alleys by the roadside. Tom knew that as dusk gradually fell, these rotten things might not increase, but they would definitely escalate.
Tom stood in front of a newsstand, waiting for nightfall. Besides Tom, two or three other people gathered in front of the newsstand. These people chatted about everything under the sun, and the newsstand owner occasionally chimed in.
Tom was not interested in their political chats or price discussions. He held a newspaper and played Sudoku to pass the time until an old man's words caught Tom's attention.
"Do you know about the rumors circulating recently?" One of the bald old men asked those around him.
"Are you talking about that humanoid plant?" Another person chimed in.
"Yes, that's it. I heard that around here, at night, there will be a humanoid plant about 7.8 feet tall. It will hide in the alleys and attack people passing by at night," the bald old man said ominously, looking like the senior who always loved to tell scary stories to frighten young girls at parties Tom used to attend.
Although the bald old man intentionally tried to create a scary atmosphere, it was still early before dark, and there were still pedestrians around. His scary story didn't scare anyone present.
"Come on, Steven, none of us here are under 50. Save your lame scary stories for when you go home and tell them to your son, so he can have a grandson, and then you can tell them to your grandson," another old man with a hat, who knew the bald old man, said loudly.
The hat-wearing old man, having dismantled the story, seemed to be still unsatisfied. He continued, "Besides, everyone knows that only bad people come out at night here. Maybe it's just some lunatic in a costume robbing people along the way."
Others also felt that the hat-wearing old man made sense. Everyone chatted for a while, and as dusk fell, they left one after another.
Watching the dwindling number of pedestrians around, Tom left the newsstand with the almost worn-out newspaper.
Tom pulled out his notepad from his coat pocket and began to patrol the areas where the vegetative person was reported to appear, as recorded in his notepad.
"Come on, my 'money tree'." Tom licked his dry lips, his right hand touching the camera in his pocket as he walked cautiously down the street.
———Divider———
Tom fell heavily to the ground, loose change clattering out of his pocket. His camera also hit the ground with a crisp sound. Tom only hoped it wasn't broken; it was his only camera.
Just as Tom tried to struggle to his feet, a foot stepped on him, pinning him down. A dirty canvas shoe pressed Tom's head against the ground. Tom didn't know who was stepping on him; the person had attacked him from behind, and he was so disoriented that he hadn't even had time to see the attacker clearly.
"Hey!" With just that sound, Tom knew the person who attacked him must be a Black man.
'The one who can't afford AJs,' Tom cursed fiercely in his heart, but his mouth wasn't tough at all. Because he was being stepped on, he could only shout in a strange accent, "I'm just a pauper, I have no money. What fell on the ground is all my property, and that camera, you can have it all if you want it, please don't hurt me!"
"Don't play dumb with me, you! MTF! My people saw you wandering around here all day. Who sent you?" The hooligan demanded sharply, speaking with a classic West Coast accent.
As a reporter, Tom had seen and experienced a lot. Even in a dangerous situation, Tom didn't panic. He was about to continue begging for mercy, but another voice made him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.
"The boss's goods can't have problems. Never mind who he is, just tie him up and throw him into the sea." As soon as the person finished speaking, Tom saw several feet walking towards him, clearly intending to take action.
Tom was about to shout and struggle, but the person stepping on him was clearly prepared, withdrawing his foot and kicking him in the mouth.
A burning pain shot through him. Tom couldn't even let out a moan, it was kicked back into his stomach. Panicked, he tried to get up, but he was pressed to the ground by the others. Before he could see clearly, another person put a bag over his head, and then lifted him up.
"Help—ugh…" Tom tried to call for help through the bag, but he was punched in the abdomen. This blow almost made him vomit his stomach acid. It was fortunate that he had no money and had only eaten one hot dog, otherwise he might have been throwing up violently.
However, the hooligans did not let him go. The person holding him gave him a few more blows. Only when he was quiet did they stop attacking.
Tom was in despair, his mind started to wander, even hoping that Captain America, who had long passed away, would come to save him.
"Did you guys smell a foul odor?" Tom heard one of the hooligans speak. Tom thought he might have lost control of his bladder, but he was too scared to tell if it was big or small.
"Did this guy pee himself from fright?" One of the hooligans holding Tom looked at Tom with disgust.
"Alright, you! Get rid of him quickly," the leader urged impatiently.
Before being dragged a few steps, Tom heard a terrified voice.
"Wh… wh… what is that!" Tom, with his head covered, had no idea what was happening, only hearing the terrified voices of the hooligans.
"I can be anything, but I am certainly not excrement!" A deep, booming voice sounded. Tom knew very well that it wasn't the voice of the hooligans who had tied him up.
"Shoot quickly! No matter what it is! Shoot quickly!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Intense gunshots rang out, making Tom shiver. Now Tom was sure; he really had lost control of his bladder.
"Of course, you can also call me Swampfire."
The deep, booming voice sounded, and then Tom could only hear the screams of the hooligans and the chaotic footsteps.
After a while, the sounds disappeared. Tom waited for a moment before tremblingly taking off the hood.
Regaining his sight, Tom saw only a few Black men lying unconscious on the ground, and thick vines wrapped around them.
"It smells like methane…" Tom also smelled the foul odor the hooligans had mentioned.
Coming back to his senses, Tom found his camera on the ground, quickly took a few photos, and then hurried away from the scene.