I'm working on Marvel's Spider-Man in American comics.

Chapter 798 New York is Changing
In the end, Gwen did indeed go home in Aunt May's car. After George Stacy became the precinct chief of the police department, he seemed to be even busier, to the point that even Peter rarely saw him anymore.

I don't know how he manages to be so busy in this era where there are fewer and fewer supervillains.

However, after returning to the community, Gwen couldn't seem to find a reason to stay at Parker's house, so she left, while Peter and Aunt May went home. Once home, they found Uncle Ben repairing his old Japanese car in the garage.

"I bet this thing is malfunctioning again?"

“This car has been with us for almost 15 years, Peter. It’s only a little smaller than you.” Uncle Ben saw the free laborer coming over and beckoned Peter to come and help: “Help me lift the car up, young man. I need to go under the chassis to take a look.”

Peter got out of the car first and lifted the old Toyota up. Uncle Ben sighed, took the jack and put it under the car, then told Peter to put the car down. He then lay down on the skateboard and slid under the car to start repairing it.

"Isn't this car a bit too old, Uncle Ben? Should we get a new one...?"

"No, no, no, that's not necessary. This old car can still be driven. Besides, we're about to buy a new car, so there's no need for me to spend money on a new one right now."

Peter didn't hear what Uncle Ben was saying at first, but Uncle Ben quickly explained: "You're 16 now, Peter. You should get a driver's license. In a few years, when you go to college, you should have your own car. As for my car, I don't need to change it."

"Even if I go to university, I won't need a car..."

Uncle Ben crawled out from under the car, lay on the hood of the old car, and looked at Peter: "Listen, Peter, I know you can fly and dive, and I also know... the money Spider-Man earns isn't easy to turn into Parker's money, and you've been saving money all along."

"But cars are different. Every man needs a car. Everyone has a car, including you. Even if you don't use it, you still need to have one."
-
Also on this day, in the Bronx, New York.

A staggering man walked over, receiving an unknown call on his phone that told him exactly what was going on—his right arm had been amputated in a car accident, he had lost his job, he had sold his house, and was now renting a cheap apartment in Hell's Kitchen to make a living.

He had considerable savings, and as a professional, he should have been able to find a job.

But what pains him most is that even if he finds a new job, his life will never be the same again—after all, he has lost an arm, and his appearance has been greatly diminished. It is conceivable that his future colleagues and the community he lives in will not be the same as before.

That's why, almost against his will, he decided to believe that phone call and come to this slum, one of the worst in New York City, to find out for himself.

But surprisingly, in the South Bronx, one of the most dangerous areas in New York, he didn't see any gangsters. There were no drug addicts or other weirdos as he had expected; it seemed unexpectedly peaceful and tranquil.

Confused, he went into the small clinic mentioned on the phone and saw a patient who had just come out. The patient smiled when he saw his severed arm, then raised his own hand. He could clearly see that half of the patient's palm was made up of some kind of mechanical bio-mechanical device. Then, the patient seemed to be showing off something to him.

"Don't worry, you'll soon be just like me, a super cool cyborg. Oh, and there'll be skin grafts to make us look like ordinary people."

He walked into the small clinic with a mix of trepidation and unease. The clinic's interior was remarkably clean and tidy, with white tiles, a state-of-the-art operating table, and soft lighting all contributing to a high-tech atmosphere. He heard heavy footsteps, and then the doctor lifted the curtain and appeared before him. His throat tightened, preventing him from making a sound.

Because the doctor in front of you is not human at all.

It was a silver-gray robot, almost entirely humanoid. Although its limbs and torso were clearly made of metal, its proportions and mobility were nearly indistinguishable from a human's. The only significant difference was its head, which, at a rough glance, resembled an ant's head, with a red glow emanating from roughly the mouth area.

The sound it emitted was also an electronic sound characteristic of robots.

Hello, patient.

"Hello? Are you a robot? Doctor? Or are you a person just wearing armor?"

[My name is Ultron 5, an artificial intelligence that has completed five iterations. I was created to help and protect humanity. Now, my job is to assist the citizens of New York after the Avengers have saved the city. All services are free; please lie down.]

The anxious patient thought of the person who had walked out earlier, gritted his teeth, and lay down on the operating table. He watched as the Ultron robot administered local anesthesia to his amputated arm and began the minimally invasive surgery: "[To integrate your nerves with the prosthesis, some minor adjustments are needed. The entire process is controllable. Would you like to view the specific details of the surgery on the display screen?]"

"No, no, you can just perform the surgery for me."

The surgery time ticked by, and just a few minutes later, Ultron 5 had completed the operation. The patient felt incredible as he raised his new right arm and experienced the same dexterity as his normal arm.

"This is truly amazing... I can do this..."

The surgery is not yet complete. The artificial skin, tailored to your skin characteristics, is being prepared. Please leave only after the skin graft is finished. I don't want any of my patients to receive extra attention from others because of any difference in appearance.

"Oh, okay, I understand." The patient nodded quickly, then, as if remembering something, asked, "But why are you doing this? Helping us without asking for money?"

Helping and protecting humanity is my fundamental code and my inherent mission, therefore I need no reason and do not accept any compensation. I only have one thing to say to my patients: if you encounter someone who has experienced the same thing, please tell them of my existence.

The patient nodded quickly in agreement: "This is a godsend for us, and I will definitely tell others."

Then thank you in advance for spreading the gospel of Ultron.

(End of this chapter)