William sat on the hard plastic chair in the Police station's reception room, idly fiddling with his expensive briefcase.
The combination punch of "I am a good citizen" and "My client is Tony Stark" was incredibly effective.
The Police initially thought he was crazy, until he slowly pulled up Stark Industries' "Senior Risk Advisor" e-business card on his phone, at which point their gaze shifted from seeing a madman to seeing a huge problem.
A Police officer walked over with a paper cup of Water and placed it on the table in front of him, moving cautiously as if afraid of disturbing some prehistoric Beast.
The officer's expression was very strange, as if he had been constipated for three days, or had just won the lottery; a complex expression that mixed awe, annoyance, and a hint of flattery.
"Mr. Rodriguez, your identity... we have verified it," the officer said, his throat a little dry. "Mr. Hogan, that is, Mr. Stark's Security Supervisor, just called personally... He instructed us to ensure your safety and... good mood."
The officer paused, then added, "So, you are free to go."
William stood up, brushed off non-existent dust from his suit, leaving the other party with a "you know what's good for you" back, and left with a flourish.
He could even imagine Happy Hogan's roar on the other end of the phone, something like "Do you New York Police Department want to be blacklisted by Stark Industries?" or "Do you know his hourly consulting fee is enough for your Police station to drink coffee for half a year?"
Having a powerful backer felt so simple, unpretentious, and boring... Josie's Bar.
The light here was always dim, as if soaked in whiskey. The air was filled with cheap alcohol, sweat, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of despair.
William pushed the door open; his well-tailored suit made him look like a Wall Street elite who had wandered onto the wrong set.
The burly bartender behind the bar merely lifted an eyelid, continuing to wipe his perpetually unclean glass.
William's gaze swept across the room, landing precisely on the booth in the farthest corner.
Two figures huddled there, like two homeless fledglings drenched by a downpour.
Tandy Bowen and Tyrone Johnson.
William didn't go directly to them, instead walking straight to the bar and tapping his finger rhythmically on the counter.
"Three cheeseburgers, double fries, three large cokes, extra ice."
The bartender's movements stopped, a grotesque tattoo on his thick arm subtly rippling with his muscles. He looked up, scrutinizing William: "We don't sell kids' meals here."
"I know."
William pulled out a few banknotes from his pocket and slapped them on the bar.
"Put it on my tab. From now on, whenever these two kids come, serve them this."
The bartender looked at the money, then at the two children in the corner, and finally fixed his gaze on William, his eyes seeming to say, "Another unlucky busybody."
He said nothing more, nodded, and turned to walk into the back kitchen.
William carried three large, bubbling Cokes to the booth.
Tandy's eyes were gloomy, like a problem child.
Tyrone had buried his entire face in the shadow of his hoodie.
"Drink."
William placed the Cokes in front of them.
"Wet your throats before you eat."
Neither of them moved.
William didn't mind, he sat down, took a large sip of his Coke, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Hiss—ha—! The happy Water of capitalism, that's the taste."
A few minutes later, steaming burgers and fries were brought out.
The rich aroma of meat and the fragrance of grease, like an invisible hand, instantly choked the air in this small space.
Tyrone's stomach uncooperatively rumbled.
Tandy's face instantly flushed, but she still retorted, "We don't eat charity."
"This isn't charity."
William slowly tore open the burger wrapper, took a huge bite, meat juices splattering, and mumbled, "This is an advance payment. My company's corporate culture never lets future employees conduct business on an empty stomach."
He pushed the other two burgers in front of them.
"Eat. After you've eaten, we can talk about how your makeshift 'one devours, one shines' team should be commercialized."
Hunger ultimately triumphed over wariness and dignity.
Tandy and Tyrone practically pounced on the food, eating messily like Beasts that hadn't eaten in days, venting all their grievances, fear, and unease onto the food.
William watched quietly, without rushing them, until they swallowed the last bite of their burgers and let out a satisfied burp, and the sharpness in their eyes finally melted somewhat by the warmth of the food.
"Alright."
William wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaned back on the sofa, and adopted a negotiating posture.
"Now, let's talk about your 'superpower accidental insurance'."
He pointed at Tyrone.
"Your ability is to pull people into a dark space filled with fear, very cool."
"But have you ever thought, what if one day you pull in a wealthy person with a serious heart condition, and they just die in there? Is that a crime of passion or involuntary manslaughter? The family's compensation claim could sell you off to the century after next."
Tyrone's body visibly stiffened.
William then turned to Tandy: "And you, little Sun. Your Dagger of light can purify people's hearts, sounds very grand. But what if one day your hand trembles, you don't control the power, and you purify someone into a drooling idiot?"
"Or what if you accidentally misfire and blow up the transformer in the next block, causing a blackout in all of Hell's Kitchen? Do you know how much the repair costs? You might even get a red Demon personally coming over to give you a loving education over that electricity bill."
Tandy's face turned White.
"Your current situation is like two children playing house in a bustling city with nuclear launch buttons. The risk is too high, ridiculously high."
William opened his briefcase, took out two pre-prepared documents, and pushed them in front of them.
They weren't complicated insurance contracts, but two simply formatted agreements.
The title was — "Rodriguez Risk Management Company Youth Hero Support Program."
"I don't care what you've been through before, and I don't care what you want to do."
William's voice became deep and powerful.
"Sign it, and you will officially become my clients and employees. I will provide you with housing, food, necessary training, and be responsible for handling all the trouble you cause."
"In exchange, all you need to do is learn to control your power, and... when I need you, as my 'assets,' deal with certain risk events."
He looked at the two children, speechless with shock, and gave them a gentle smile.
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