Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 3RD, QUEENS.

IT RAINED  the night they killed the boy’s last remains of a family.  

The weather came before they did, the waterdrops arriving almost like an omen. He knew from the second he walked up to the apartment and felt his Spidey Sense throb wildly at the back of his skull, that something was horribly, horribly wrong. 

He remembered his senses going haywire: yelling for him to run the other direction and flee from the scene. Still, he opened the door. Never would he know that it was going to become the move he was going to regret the most.

The rest of the memory was foggy. Flashes of loud noises, angry voices. His aunt’s cries. He remembered sneaking, trying to address the situation, his heart pounding hard in his chest. His clothes soaking wet from running home from the subway in hammering rain.

He remembered fighting. Heavy, dreadful footsteps. Pain, he remembered how his head suddenly hurt. The dizziness. A crash, a thump, guns pointed at him before he kicked them out of grips. How he dodged. 

It was chaos. It had only been mere months since he had been bitten by a radioactive spider and gotten his powers, so he had barely had the time to teach himself how to throw some good punches. Though there was no doubt he was strong. 

There were five, six soldiers, dressed black to the bone. Maybe more. Most likely more. As he was too busy trying to knock them out, he had no time to count how many they were. But hell, they fought good. 

Heavy machinery guns. A man and a woman stood out, dressed far more formally in the midst of it all. Neither of them looked menacing, but not particularly kind either. Around ten people in total.

“That’s enough.” 

He remembered how his heart had dropped, and the fear that had shivered down his spine when he turned to see the gray-haired woman pointing a gun at his dear aunt. She was tied. Unable to speak. Crying, his uncle too.

“Stop resisting, Spider-Man,” she had said. Peter could only watch the utter emotion of surprise, yet disappointment, mix with sadness on his family’s faces. This was not how he had imagined they would find out. Not at all.

The way the room had spun in front of him was unforgettable. There had been an ocean of nausea before his eyes, shock in his bones. He wanted so desperately to wake up from the nightmare, but he was stuck, frozen in place with his feet tied to the ground like roots. 

“That’s right,” the woman had continued. Peter knew already then that he didn’t like her, and it wasn’t only because she was still pointing a gun at his aunt’s skull. She spoke in such a calm yet cold tone that made him utterly sick to his stomach. “We know who you are— and you, Peter, are coming with us.” 

Peter had felt so lost, so trapped, unsure of what to do or say. He didn’t want to be there.

He had hesitantly met her eyes. “Look. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’ve got the wrong guy,” he had tried, hopeful in his own words.

The woman had laughed at that. It was a gut-wrenching laugh that made his blood run cold, yet he let out short chuckle to appear more convincing. 

Peter played along with the lie. “Yeah. It’s funny. You must’ve made some sort of mistake.” There was a short pause. “But, I mean... I’d gladly help you with anything else if you could just be so kind and let my aunt and uncle go. And, you know… put down the guns. I would appreciate that.” 

“Listen,” The strange man in the room had suddenly and impatiently spoken up, his voice cool. Peter took in his features: his tailored suit, how he carried his tall height with easy self assurance, and his hair which was streaked with gray— the haircut obviously expensive. He couldn’t be older than in his mid 40’s. His gray eyes held a basic wariness as he signaled for the woman to lower the gun, then cautiously approaching Peter. 

Despite that Peter was tall too, the man crouched down in front of him. Peter had considered taking up the fight again, but there were too many soldiers, too many guns pointing at him and his poor, innocent family. Fuck, they didn’t deserve to be in this situation. He couldn’t risk his aunt May’s- or his uncle Ben’s life; however his deep eyes couldn’t hide the horror that was festering inside of him like a black hole.

“I’m sorry it has come to this... but don’t make it any harder than it needs to be, son.” 

Peter swallowed hard. So they knew. There was no point in trying to convince them otherwise. They really knew.

He had looked at his last remaining family members with a broken glance, his aunt May and uncle Ben who had taken him under their wing after his parents’ death. The two people who had raised him like their own son. They had done nothing but good to him, and now they were being paid by it like this. They were being taken away from him, he taken away from them. 

It was unfair. It was his fault— not their.

When he felt the man’s hand on his shoulder and onto the back of his head, Peter grunted, and, now officially in a state of panic, flinched away and made a run for the the nearest exit. It was an entirely vain attempt to free himself, he knew, but he had wanted to call someone, maybe the police, or even Ned or Harry. MJ. He needed someone to help him. He needed to get out, he needed to free his family.  

What else could he do in such a situation? These... people wanted him, for a reason that was unknown to him then. 

The two soldiers blocking the door stepped forward and prepared themselves for impact, but Peter had been quicker and pushed them hard into the wall, sending them flying through it and into the bathroom. 

Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout-  

Suddenly there had been a sharp pain in his back launching itself through his muscles, sending him propelling to the ground. It had only been a matter of seconds before the 15-year old teenager was crumpling on the floor. 

A pair of soldiers came to lift him up, but Peter had lost it. He snarled like a wild animal and tried desperately to get out of their strong grip on his arms. 

“Let me go! Let me go, you-… you… ” It was for no use. The world around him was fading. His eyelids were suddenly so heavy and sounds overlapping one another. That was when he realized his body was no longer responding, that he had been sedated, and reality hit him like a brick. 

The man’s face was suddenly in his suddenly cloudy vision again. “You’re apart of something bigger than yourself now, son. Don’t fight it.”

When the man turned away, the two soldiers half-carried, half-dragged him out of the house. Next came the sound of two gunshots cracking through the frozen air, and his heart sank into a dark abyss knowing he would never see his aunt and uncle again. 

Chapter Text

Around the shadows creep

Just wanna lay me down and finally

Try to get some sleep

We carry on through the storm

Gotta remember what we're fighting for

PART I

PRESENT TIME

DAY 1 | 8.42 a.m.

WITH A sharp gasp of air, Peter’s eyes shot wide open.

He squinted and tried to bring a surprisingly heavy arm up to shield himself from the bright, unwelcoming light that shone from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Struggling to comprehend where he was, he pressed shaking fingers to the ache in his temples. His hair was sweat slicked; dark brown strands clinging to his forehead. His gaze, bloodshot and blurry. He looked awful and he felt it too.

In an attempt to stand up, he rolled down from the rock-hard bed in the center of the room and onto the freezing, concrete floor. He whimpered involuntarily as pulsing pain kicked in without a warning. A wave of nausea flowed through his body. 

As Peter’s consciousness sobered up, the distant ache in his arm came to his realization. His brows connected in a frown and he moved his arm around for him to see, only for the view to make his heart drop down a cliff. 

Near the center of his wrist were three boxy letters tattooed into his skin: 019. 

He brushed his fingers over the black ink birthed into his forearm, feeling his breaths pick up again.

019?

What did it mean?

It was then Peter realized he was wearing no ordinary clothes, that he was wearing gray sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt with a logo he didn’t recognize— that his own clothes were gone.

The teenager released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t possibly happening. The thought of a stranger stripping him naked made him sick. 

Trying to convince himself that this was all a dream, he scanned his surroundings with dilated pupils. Alone. In a sparse room devoid of color, the only thing between the four solid, white stone walls a single bed with a thin blanket. Sterile and cold. No windows. Complete silence and isolation.

Questions began to swirl through his mind. How long had he been out? No— how long had he been in this place? Why and how the hell had he gotten here? 

Where was he?

Noticing the camera in the far corner of the room, the teen stumbled to his bare feet to inspect it further. He was being watched, he knew it, no matter how paranoid it sounded. Someone was following along with his actions. But why?

Apprehension tightening his chest, he looked around with wild eyes and quickly made his way for the closest door to him. He gripped for the handle and yanked the door open, only for it to show an awfully small, dark, unfriendly bathroom; there was only a steel toilet and a sink. He had hoped it would be a way out of this room, this cell, because he needed answers. 

His throat felt like sandpaper and begged for water, so without much reluctance he approached the sink, though every step was a trial in itself. Even nights after being out as Spider-Man, Peter couldn’t remember his muscles feeling so stiff. Simply putting one feet in front of the other hurt. 

After gulping down what felt like gallons of water, he realized there was another door in the room, and silvers of hope wrapped around his heart. On the wall furthest away from him, there was another door. A slightly bigger, metal exit; another chance to break free.

As there was no handle on the strange door, he gripped the iron bar on it, attempting to push it open, but it was locked. He pressed his shoulder on the door without hesitation and battered it with all his strength, but it stood intact as if nothing had happened. 

With an exhausted sigh, he slowly stepped back next to the bed. Here goes nothing, he thought, before giving it one last try and launching himself into the door.

It flew open, unleashing itself from the frame and diving for the floor on the other side, Peter with it. 

Sound that had previously been completely cut off erupted around the teenager. They were mostly voices but also the humming of machinery and computers in the distance.

He found himself in a the middle of a wide, long corridor, one that reminded him awfully a lot of Star Trek.

Whatever could light up, lit up. It was cold and bright and unbelievably modern, with nice wooden brown, gray and cold blue tones.

It looked like a mix between an underground hospital and a highly advanced military base. 

Peter then realized the men and women (some sort of scientists or doctors, Peter assumed by their lab coats) that were originally passing by, had stopped to stare at him with expressions he couldn’t quite make. Was it fear? Shock? 

Confusion crossed his face, because he could not make out why they were looking at him like that. Were they the ones who put him in that room— the room he just escaped?

“Hey!” 

Peter startled at the sudden outburst of a loud shout behind him. It only took him seconds to realize they were meant for him. Suddenly heavy shoes hammered against the solid floor, the sounds getting louder and louder for each millisecond that passed.

It was then he knew he hadn’t quite escaped just yet.

He scrambled to his feet and made a desperate attempt to flee. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pain and exhaustion he had felt earlier seemed like a mere joke.

“Stop that boy!”

They kept shouting, but Peter kept going. 

He was getting out of here. 

He had no clue where he was, if he even still was in Queens, let alone the state, or if there was a possibility of escaping such a facility… but he was doing it. He was escaping God knows what they were doing here, what they needed him for. Because why else would they keep him alive… when they had killed his family? 

Suddenly memories came flooding back. The struggle and desperation. A tall man, a woman pointing a gun at his aunt’s skull. Guards with their official-looking black uniforms and heavy armor, their huge guns. 

The gunshots. 

No, Peter shook his head, desperate to keep his head clear so he could focus on what was important right now. Stop. I can’t think of this right now.

He was getting out of here, through one identical corridor through the next, running like his life depended on it, because it did. He was going home, home to Queens, home to his friends and family the family he didn’t have he was alone because aunt May and uncle Ben were dead and it was his fault his fault his fault—  

Losing all control and spiraling into his own thoughts of madness, Peter fell and tripped; his body propelled to the white concrete with his head first. Clumsily standing back up with what little determination he had left, the boy managed to run through an awfully modern entrance and into what looked like an examination room as darkness threatened to take him. He wanted to web the doorway shut, but as he held up a hand to do so he realized his webshooters were gone.

Peter could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he sank down the far wall, because it was his fault he was stuck here. 

Suddenly it all made sense. 

It was his fault his family was dead. The simple fact struck him like a spear through his chest. Aunt May and uncle Ben, torn away from the world, all because of him and his terribly selfish, stupid choices. 

He felt empty. From the tip of his fingers to the tip of his toes, he felt numb.

He needed to rip off his skin and bury the feelings inside of him deeper, somewhere they could never be found. He had no idea that his thoughts, his mind, could break him down so quickly in a matter of mere seconds. He wanted to forget, to never even know. He wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare, but every time he pinched his skin he was reminded that this was the reality he had never thought would come.

He had lost everybody.

His entire family. His mother, his father, and now his uncle and aunt. He was the last of the Parkers, and he was only fifteen. His life had just begun. Aunt May had always been there for Peter, she had been more of a mother to him than Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker had ever been. Uncle Ben had taught him everything Richard Parker hadn’t been there for him to teach. Even when they died, there had been a certain comfort in knowing that his aunt and uncle would always stick around, that they were just too stubborn to die, or so it seemed.

Now they would never get to see him graduate from the college he always rambled about, or see him fail so miserably at love. They would never see him prove successful at a career in science. Never again would uncle Ben give him words of wisdom as if he was some big Greek philosopher, yet that would make him steer clearly at life’s path. Never again would aunt May create another batch of wheatcakes that would be shared between the three of them. Now they were gone forever.

And it was his fault. He could have saved them. But he didn’t.

This was on him, and he knew it.

And just like that, he allowed the black hole tearing at his insides to grow bigger and bigger. This was really happening. There was nothing he could do, so he remained on the floor. Numb. Barely alive, barely breathing. He couldn’t stand, he was falling through the floor, slowly slipping away from the world. 

He couldn’t escape because he deserved to be here. 

Peter didn’t really grasp what was being said. There were voices around him and shadows of tall figures looming over his small, crumpled body on the ice cold floor. 

Eventually someone crouched down before him, but he couldn’t find the strength to look away from the concrete tiles. Instead a hand gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet the person’s eyes. He could only meet them as all bravery he had felt earlier was replaced with an overwhelming sense of submission: not because he was giving in already, but because grief had rooted in him, squeezing at his heavy heart.

The gray eyes belonged to a man Peter recognized from yesterday. His snow-streaked hair, his expensive dark suit— obviously a man of authority at this place. Someone who calls the shots, but has never gotten their hands dirty, he concluded by the softness of the grip.

Peter wasn’t sure what to make of him. Here, studying him with an expression Peter couldn’t quite make out, one hand gently stroking his back, the man seemed kind. Kind, unlike the woman who had threatened to shoot his aunt. However, he had a feeling that might change, that the truth would soon be uncovered.

After all, a kind man wouldn’t work at such a place, would he?

A kind man wouldn’t steal a boy from his parents and imprison him, tattoo a number into his arm and take away all of his belongings, his identity.

“Please…” He began in a whisper, his voice strained from disuse. “Please… let me go. Just… just let me go.” 

The man furrowed his brows at Peter’s words. It was obvious he saw the boy as no threat to himself, but the guards? The complete opposite, despite how small and vulnerable the teen felt. 

“Just… let me go.” 

He swallowed hard, each breath a struggle in itself. He hated himself for being so weak,  letting himself be captured like this, how he remained on the floor instead of running away or fighting for his freedom. A coward was what he was. But he deserved it, didn’t he? He couldn’t bring himself to move. He wanted to get away.

“You killed them,” Peter breathed. His own words clenched at his chest and he had to blink away the tears threatening to overfill his eyes. “It may not have been you who pulled the trigger, but you still killed them… didn’t you?”

A sudden rage blossomed inside him, sparking inside of his body and lighting up a raging fire. The heavy hole inside of him was being filled with pure anger and frustration. 

“Son… we only did what was necessary.” 

“Necessary?” Peter scoffed. “H-how.. how?”  

What came next was something Peter could never have predicted. The man’s voice turned cool, his eyes icy. “You’re a mutant, Nineteen.” 

His jaws dropped at the nickname. Nineteen? His name was Peter. It was his. His parents had given it to him. It was one of the few things he had left.

“Regardless of how you received your gift, whether you were born with it or not, it is here you’re meant to be,” The man continued. “We are on the brink of one of the the greatest scientific discoveries in the history of mankind.” 

There was a short pause. Peter could only stare as he spoke, his eyes drilling into the man’s cold pair.

“And you, Nineteen, will play a vital role in our breakthrough. I see you are… less than thrilled about this, but you’ll soon realize just how important this is for all of humanity.” 

Peter gulped, anxiety tightening his throat. His Spidey Sense was throbbing hard at the back of his skull: danger danger danger danger. 

“It’s not fair… Where’s my choice in this?” 

“Look, you’re just a kid. And I know you’re obviously really bright. But you’re going to have to accept the loss of things and realize that certain matters are bigger than yourself.”

The man stood back up and Peter remembered then just how tall he was. 

It wasn’t right. Nothing of this was right. It had evil written all over it, Peter knew it; he had seen enough sci-fi movies to know so. The only question that was drifting through his mind was why; why on Earth did they need exactly him? He knew he wasn't the only mutant on the globe. Was his luck really that bad? Was Spider-Man to blame because of this? 

“You know,” He began. He sniffled. “I’d like to try seeing things from your perspective, but I honestly cannot get my head that far up my ass.” 

At Peter’s, - or rather Spider-Man’s, - daring, spitting words, the man only stared at him with an unreadable face for a long time before letting his head fall into his hand.

“Get him up,” was all he said, his voice barely more than a tired whisper.

In an instant, one of the guards surrounding him pulled him to his feet by the back of his shirt. Gripped by a surge of panic, Peter jerked away, ignoring the fact that he was being held at gunpoint. 

It was now or never. 

He didn’t hesitate. Swinging his elbow backward in the face of the guard behind him and just as he kicked the knee of the one in the front, he took two of the bad guys out in a rather rapid succession. Both fell to the ground, stunned, but recovered quickly.

He dodged as a female guard went for him, pushing her into the far wall, the concrete wall breaking at impact. He jumped to the wall and nearly pushed himself off it with his feet and great force, colliding his fist with another guard’s nose. The nose cracked broken and he had to wince. This was what he knew, the only thing that was familiar anymore. Spider-Man. Fighting crime. Violence. 

Suddenly there was a gun pointed directly at the back of his skull. Peter didn’t waste a second. He reached for the weapon and moved its mouth to point at the ceiling, but the man brought it around and smashed it into the side of his head.

Stumbling back as pain exploded in his head and bile came halfway up his throat, he held on to the wall, trying his very best not to black out. Losing track of his surroundings, he was, before he even knew it, crumpled to his knees, then flat onto his stomach. 

Come on, Parker. You’re stronger than this. You have to get outta here, find aunt May and uncle Ben.

Peter put his hands under him to get up, but a sudden sharp pain exploded in his back, coursing through his veins like bullets. It was far more than just a slight tingle that ran underneath his skin. No, it was as if someone had attached a live wire to each of his nerves, and his body convulsed as the violent electrical current pulsed through him.

His body twitched uncomfortably as he attempted to roll onto his side and remove the thing that was causing him such great pain; he had to bite his lip not to cry. But his body didn’t seem to be responding to his brain and he had to let out an involuntary whimper. Fuck. He was absolutely fucked. 

Two guards held his entire weight up, his legs trailing behind and far too shocked to move.

Through his foggy vision, he saw the man in the suit staring at him with crossed arms, before turning around and walking further down the hallway. The group of guards followed him, Peter held and dragged firmly by his arms between two male guards. 

Peter sat in a strange chair when his consciousness sobered up. The chair’s various built-in instruments pressed into his legs and back. Wireless sensors were attached to his temples, neck, wrists, arms, shoulders and chest.

His gaze drifted from the console next to him that beeped and chirped as it collected data, to the solid restraints that were strapping his arms to the chair. Ah. Restraints. Awesome. 

“Ain’t this just peachy keen…” The teen muttered to himself, his voice coming out surprisingly slurred from the pain that had thankfully nearly faded now.

These people were really starting to get on his nerves. He tugged on the restraints, a wave of panic surging through him at the realization of the fact that even his super strength couldn’t get through it. 

The man in the suit who sat in the chair barely a meter away from him, fiddling with some stuff Peter couldn’t see properly, seemed to have noticed his awakening.

“I’m sorry, Nineteen,” he said. Peter looked at him through a blurry gaze. He had to frown at how sympathetic the man suddenly sounded. “I would’ve waited a little longer before even considering this… but it seems we no longer have a choice,” he continued.

“Normally we would have given you some time to readjust. I was hoping you would take your new name voluntarily, like so many others have.”

There were others?

“But this… this is a shortcut. A way to speed things up. It’s going to save us for a bunch of unnecessary trouble.” 

When the man revealed the item in his hand, fear began to tug at his guts, churning his stomach in tense cramps.

It was like out of a Star Wars movie: The item reminded him awfully much about Han Solo’s blaster. It looked like a mix between a futuristic gun, (although it wasn’t) and a strangely put-together shot. Through the technological tool’s “window” he could see a tiny piece of silver.

What the hell is that? 

Suddenly the man leaned toward him with it, and as a reflex he began to pull helplessly on the restraints like a wild animal, anything to get away. But nothing worked. Much to the amused guard by the far wall of the room, he was really stuck. 

“Hey hey hey— what’re you doing with that?” His heart was beating so hard and so fast for a moment he thought it would explode. His senses were going crazy he could barely think. 

“Relax, Nineteen. It’s a pain stimulator,” The older man said. “What it’s gonna do to you solemnly depends on your cooperation. Don’t worry, you’ll flush it out of your system in no time. Now, sit still.” 

The needle piercing through his neck was far by not as bad as he had first thought. However, when sharp pain abruptly exploded in his neck and he felt something literally dig into his veins, he couldn’t help but let out a pathetic cry. But just as quickly as the pain had come, it disappeared. The teenager exhaled a couple of shaky breaths.

“Now...” The tool was put back on the table. “... All you need to do is tell me your name.” 

He gave a heavy sigh, having some idea of what was wanted of him. “Peter,” he said, because if it was one thing he was, it was stubborn . He was not going to give up before he was out of this place.

The man gave Peter a disappointed look before he turned to a woman in a lab coat and spoke two words: “ Do it. ” 

Do what?

If he thought the pain he had felt earlier was bad, this was a million times worse. Fiery tempest spread in his body like nothing he had ever experienced before. The agony lanced through his muscle, from the tip of his fingers to the tip of his toes.

His head fell back and he had to bite down a weak scream. Colors flashed before his eyes and bullets of rain from ragged black clouds came pouring down on him with absolute brutality.

It hurt. It hurt bad. He could no longer hear his rapid breathing nor feel the oxygen flooding quickly in and out of his lungs. 

Oh. That.

When the hurt finally came to an end, his head fell forward as he panted like a tired dog, sweat already draining his forehead. “Woah! That was… refreshing.” He laughed weakly at his own joke. 

“I tried to tell you, I'm not playing any games here. We are wasting time, time we cannot afford to lose. Now, I’ll ask you again, what is your name?” 

He glared at the man for a moment. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He spit back. 

Up until this moment, Peter hadn’t known what to make of the man. He could only surmise he was some sort of doctor, but their last encounters and the amount of respect his workers had for him indicated something else.

His best guess was some sort of leader-like position. There was a noticeable difference between him, the woman from yesterday and the other people around here, that was for sure. Besides, no one else dressed so formally. He had yet to learn his name and might as well do so now— people only seemed to refer to him as ‘sir.’ 

“My name is Dr. Randall Graves. I am the Director of Operations at this facility.” 

Peter didn’t know what he had expected. Something like “Ask me that one more time and I’ll electrify you again,” maybe, but surely not the truth. 

“Ah.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to respond with. “I’m Peter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was as sarcastic, of course. 

“It’s time for you to start taking this seriously, Nineteen. Nothing of this is a bluff,” Dr. Graves said, his patience running low though his demeanor surprisingly enough still was wrapped in calmness. “It is important for everyone that you accept your new name. I only want what’s best for you.” 

Peter nodded, though he couldn’t quite wipe off the amused smirk on his face. “Right… You start calling me by my actual name, I think we can agree on a few things.” 

“Nineteen—“ 

“No!” He cut in, anger burning from within him. “Stop calling me that!”

He was more than just a two-number digit. He was Peter. He was not giving in to this, they were not going to break him so easily.

There was a moment of complete silence, the only noise filling the room being the low hum of the machinery and the beeping monitors. 

Dr. Graves rose from the chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Peter watched as he paced around the room before stopping and turning back to Peter. 

“What is your name?” 

His voice came out stern, drained from all life. Only cold. Only darkness.

The boy sighed. “Peter.”

Pain exploded like a bomb in his entire being and he had to grit his teeth in agony. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Okay, okay!” He quickly said under heavy exhales. He wasn’t stupid— he could only pretend. “My name is Nineteen.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

Peter let out a strangled yell as the hurt returned. Blood welled into his throat from the tongue he had just bitten through in vain attempt to keep quiet.

Peter, Peter, Peter. My name is Peter.

“What is your name, son?” 

“Nineteen!” He leaned over to spit crimson on the floor. “My name is Nineteen.” 

“Again.” 

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Graves hadn’t been speaking to him. The pain came back, ten times worse, ten times faster. Black mists swirled at the edges of his vision and he passed out. 

When Peter came to again and his surroundings became clear. He blinked a couple of times but had to groan at the words that filled the room.

“What’s your name?” 

“Oh, come on.” Tears began to fill his reddened eyes but he continued to tell himself to stay strong, to get through this. 

“I’ll ask you again, son. What’s your name?” 

Peter. Peter. I have to remember my name is Peter.

“Nineteen! It’s... it’s Nineteen.” He gripped at the chair, the metal crumpling under his very fingers. 

“Have you ever had any other names?” 

He must have hesitated, because the all-too familiar agony returned and the next five seconds were the longest of his life. 

“What is your name?” 

“Nineteen!” His voice was hoarse and strained from the blood and the pain. “Please just stop.” 

He bit down a scream as the burning sensation returned, feeling like his insides were being ripped out over and over and over. Darkness danced at the corners of his vision and he was out again.

“What is your name?” 

Peter, Peter… 

“Nineteen...” He slurred. The boy had been through so much pain for the last hour that his complexion was ashen. His natural golden skin had turned into something so pale and lifeless, his hair soaked in sweat and blood dripping from his mouth. His head hung low as he breathed heavily, all frustration he had felt earlier replaced by nothing but pure fear and exhaust.

“Have you had any other names?” 

“No,” Peter said, panting. “Only  Nineteen.” 

“I don’t want you to forget.”

“Please…” he whimpered.

“What’s your name?”

Pe- Nineteen.

It felt almost as if something was slipping away from his mind. 

“Nineteen.” Peter could barely speak. 

“Has anyone ever called you another name?” 

My name is only Nineteen. 

“No. Only Nineteen.” 

He grit his teeth and yelled out as the agony returned. 

“Will you ever forget your name?”

“No. My name is Nineteen.” 

Nineteen, Nineteen, Nineteen. My name is Nineteen. 

“Will you ever use another?”

“No... My name is Nineteen, only Nineteen.” 

“Good. Then I’ll give you one last reminder.” 

“No,” He desperately shook his head, but it was for no use.

Many hours later, the teen was laying on the rock-hard bed in the center of an identical small room, bleary-eyed and dirty as he stared at the ceiling. He had run out of tears, his body so lifeless; it felt like it was asleep, only his mind awake. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Dr. Graves staring at him with the same, emotionless look as he inflicted the pain. 

I’ll never forget , he told himself, repeating the familiar phrase in his mind. Though something felt different, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. 

My name is Nineteen. I have to remember my name is Nineteen. I have to remember. 

Chapter Text

DAY 6 | 02:53 p.m.

SIX DAYS. 

For almost six days he had been stuck in this place. For six days he had been put in that damn chair, over and over and over, for several hours a day. And for what? His memories were slipping, he knew it; yet how desperate he was to hold onto them.

His body burned. Needles, knives, electric shock, it had seen it all, but never so much and never as violently as now.

How long had he been here, anyway? He had counted days, but it might have been weeks. Hours? He didn’t know, but liked to believe it would take more to reduce him to the mess he was now. 

Nineteen threw the tennis ball against the wall and let it bounce off the floor once before he took it. Apart from his clothes and tattoo, the ball was the only thing they had given him. Even such a simple item was the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity.

The teen started gasping in breaths and tried to remember something, anything, a memory, a name, but his mind was completely blank. There were bits and pieces he couldn’t put together, nothing but a two-siffered number—

Nineteen.

It was his. It was him.

Yet it felt so foreign.

With frustration bubbling up his throat, Nineteen threw the ball hard at the far wall. It bounced around in the room, going up and down and from side to side before its movements slowly died out, just as his own anger.

He let out a shaky breath. Leaned his head against the wall when a tear threatened to spill from the corner of his eye.

He was stuck here. The three boxy letters on his forearm reminded him of what he actually was: a prisoner. Though he longed for another life, something other than this, he knew he was meant to remain, he was truly nothing more than a mere lab rat. 

His attention snapped elsewhere when there came a loud buzz and the door suddenly opened with a thud. In walked two guards. Though it was obvious they were here for him, Nineteen didn’t even bother standing up. 

“Subject Nineteen, stand up and face the wall,” the one with the cap said. Still he remained on the floor as if he was deaf. He was utterly exhausted. He wanted a day off.

The words were repeated, but still the teenager didn’t move a muscle. It was first when the other guard held out a taser threateningly, he decided to actually weigh his options. Either he could stand up and let himself be escorted wherever he was going next, (which was probably to that damn chair again.) or he could get electrocuted and still be taken there anyway. 

He considered taking them out, try to escape this facility once more; however he knew the more he cooperated, the more blind they would be to the fact that he was planning an escape. 

His memories might be gone, but deep inside there was something telling him that his life here was just wrong.

But hell, how in the world he was going to pull it off, he had yet to find out. This place was like a maze, each part of the facility so like the other, yet so different. And that was only the small parts he had seen. It looked like a mix between a hospital and a military base. Some sort of laboratory. And not only that, but it was underground. It had security. Loads of guns, lots of men, so it wouldn’t be easy to get out. Nineteen had absolutely no idea where he was. 

With a sigh, Nineteen rose to his feet, ignoring how his muscles protested. He turned to face the wall and let the guards handcuff him. 

“Try to sit still, would you?” 

The doctor wasn’t particularly threatening, nor kind, but sitting here in this room and taking his vitals, the woman had the same coldness in his eyes as everyone else at this facility. Nineteen wasn’t sure how he felt about her. As he studied her further, he noticed she had short, raven curly hair that matched her eyes. Her lab coat read Dr. Alana Harrison. 

Nineteen rebalanced his position on the bedside, allowing the doctor to look into his ears.

“Give me your arm,” she said and put away the instrument. He looked down at her for the explanation as to why he should do that, but she was far too busy to meet his gaze. Reluctantly, he cooperated. 

A tourniquet was wrapped around the muscles of his upper arm, and he clenched his teeth as the rope bonded tightly around him. It suddenly felt weirdly numb and uncomfortable. 

The doctor gently dabbed antiseptic wipe on his skin. It was almost soothing in contrast to the sickly warmth of nausea that was beginning to form in his stomach— Nineteen had a bad feeling about this. 

He watched as she pulled something off the desk board and turned back to him with the item. In an instant all color drained from his face and he could’ve sworn he forgot to breathe.

It was a needle. 

She was going to drain blood from him.

Nineteen’s past was a lost cause, but something about drawing blood made him shiver. It was almost as if his brain was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite grasp, and instead a weird feeling of déjà vu fell over him. 

Although he knew this procedure would be a simple breeze compared to the torture he had been through for the last few days, this particular dread was something entirely different.

He felt his limbs weaken and his mouth dry. Panic tightened his chest. As a pure reflex, he retreated his arm and held up the other to dismiss the woman. 

“Yeah, no,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t think so.” 

Dr. Harrison leaned back in the chair with a frustrated sigh and cocked her head to one side. It almost seemed as if she was disappointed, to which Nineteen could only frown. 

“Look. Either we do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” she said. “It’s up to you.” 

Okay, it was settled. He most definitely did not like her.

The teen stared at her with narrowed eyes for a brief moment before he responded. “Not now.” Those two words were all that came. 

As if to prove she wasn’t afraid of him, or somehow better than him, she kept her eyes steady on the boy.

“I have direct orders from my supervisors to examine you before you’re to be moved elsewhere. Sampling your blood so we can analyze it further is simply apart of the procedure.” 

“Just…” Nineteen began. He sighed, hands trembling at the thought of having his blood drawn. Fuck. He was such a wimp… but he couldn’t do this now. “Just not today, alright?” 

The doctor almost seemed to find that funny, to which Nineteen only grew more frustrated. Why was this so important, anyways? He was completely normal, right? Why would they want a better look at his DNA, his genes? 

Peter continued to speculate before Dr. Harrison snapped him out of it with her British voice. 

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice in the matter, Nineteen.” 

“Fuck. Shit.” He cursed under his breath, wiping a shaky hand at his nose. Looking back at her, he felt an urge to punch her in the face but surprisingly found the strength to hold himself back.

“Fine.” His words came with reluctance. “Do it.” 

She set the needle on his arm, a gloved hand pressing on his wrist to keep his arm steady. Nineteen forced himself to inhale deeply and keep himself calm, but it wasn’t working. Oh god. Fuck. I hate needles. I hate this so much.

Right on cue, the needle pierced through his skin. The harsh sensation of the blood being pulled from his vein was enough to make him nauseous. His throbbing head began to swim, his stomach churning violently as darkness threatened to take him.

He urged his head to stay upright and willed himself to take another breath. In and out. Yeah, that’s it. In and out. Just breathe.

This was fine. He just had to keep breathing. Easy peasy. 

It was going relatively alright until Nineteen did something he knew he shouldn’t have. He looked. He abso-freaking-lutely knew he shouldn’t have looked. He knew better, but it was like a magnet drawing his attention.

“Oh god.” He winced at the sight of the crimson liquid being drawn out of his body through a plastic tube and into a little container. 

No matter how much he kept swallowing and his throat kept clenching he could not stop the warm feeling rising through his chest. 

Keep breathing, goddamnit. You’re not a child.

“Relax. You’re alright,” the doctor coldly assured him. 

No, no, no, no, no. He was not fine. He most definitely was not fine.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Suddenly all his emotions came washing over him at once, everything he had so desperately tried to hold back. He placed his free hand on the bedside to keep himself balanced as a spicy nausea rose up his throat. His stomach twisted so violently he had no time to reach the dustbin across the room, vomit overshooting the freezing floor that numbed his toes. He heaved again before he slipped from the bed and sank down to his knees, chunks of food from yesterday's meal spraying his clothes. 

Shit.

He had thrown up.

Wiping a hand at his mouth, Nineteen realized the needle was no longer in his arm. That he was free. A breath of relief washed through his bruised insides.

That was, until the doctor spoke.

“You goddamn animal!” 

He blinked rapidly and turned around, trying to focus on the blurry figure before him. But that only released more tears, and he was ashamed and angry at the same time, because while Nineteen might only be a child, he was desperate to appear tough, so he could never be seen crying. Not again. 

“What?” His voice came out slurred and hoarse.

He stumbled to his feet and looked at her warily, watching as she wrapped a piece of paper around the container of his blood. Just the look of her made him feel the same nausea he had felt only seconds ago, fear tightening his throat as he stepped back when she approached him. She harshly retrieved the tourniquet from his arm, not once breaking eye contact. 

He expected her to say something, anything, but instead she turned to the two guards standing by the exit of the room. “You can take him away now, I am finished.” 

If it hadn’t been for the guards roughly grabbing him by his arms and shoving him away, Nineteen was sure he would let his anger overtake and leap at the doctor so he could show her justice. Should he feel any more ashamed for doing something he had no control of: throwing up? 

He pushed the thought to the back of his head.

The teenager tried to remember each corridor they passed through, mapping each part of the facility. They came to a stop by a large, metal door. He had never been here before. An exit, maybe? Were they going outside? It could be.

A guard slid his keycard over the scanner. It hummed, then immediately lit green. However, the door lead to yet another corridor, this one far smaller and less modern. The guards walked in choreographed tempo before they stopped in front of another metal entrance, the same guard repeating his movements for the door to slowly open. 

A small spark of excitement lit up in Nineteen’s chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was his chance of finally and actually getting out of here. He couldn’t bear to spend another day in here, he wanted to go home, wanted to be free from the pain that was settling at the crevices of his heart.

To his big disappointment, this was yet another part of the facility. It looked like a small, completely empty warehouse, and just like the rest of the place it had no windows. Instead the only source of light came from the cold, square LED lamps that lined the ceiling.

As Nineteen continued to scan his surroundings, he noticed the large glass wall to his far left, a barrier that separated him from Dr. Graves and a group of other staff. 

“Hello, Nineteen.” 

After the metal door shut, those two words were the only sound that echoed throughout the large area. The boy’s attention snapped back to the glass to see a blonde woman and hear her voice through the speakers. 

“For a while now, we have been very eager to determine your range of abilities. So today, we would like you show us what you can do. Is that alright?” She said, as if he had a choice.

His abilities? Nineteen thought. Slightly confused, he simply nodded. 

“Good.” 

A man in a lab coat walked up to him and attached various wireless sensors and instruments to his neck, wrists, arms, shoulders and chest. Nineteen didn’t question it; he knew he wouldn’t get much of an answer anyway. The man backed away, leaving him standing alone in the large area.

Suddenly another door opened with a low hiss, and in stormed a group of seven obviously specially-trained soldiers dressed with scarlet bulging armor from top to toe. All their skin was completely hidden by the dark armor and it was a strange view, considering the guards he was used to. 

The group of men began to charge toward Nineteen. Though fear instantly squeezed at his insides and his mind was yelling run run run, he stood still as if he was frozen in place, watching as they came. It was almost as if he had all the time in the world.

Incoming danger.

A strange sense buzzed at the back of his head and his hand shot up instinctively as the lead soldier tried to punch him, catching the fist. Both Nineteen and the guy exchanged shocked looks for a good three seconds before he punched him hard in the stomach, sending the soldier flying and harshly hitting the floor.

What is happening with me? Nineteen thought. Where did I learn this? 

Nineteen had no time to think. He dodged a hit from another soldier and launched himself into him, planting both feet firmly against his chest. He kicked away hard, then backflipped to slam his bare feet against another attacker just behind him. Both men fell to the ground, stunned, but recovered quickly. 

90 degrees left. Incoming. 

He instinctively threw a hand up to dodge the hit, and he was fairly certain he could feel something reminding of electricity rushing through his veins and into his fingertips. He ducked as a hand swung towards his head, instead stumping on the soldier’s foot so it twisted; the man shrieked as the sound of bones cracking filled the air.

By the time the deadweight hit the floor, he had punched two more men and put a knee to the back of another soldier. 

Behind you. 

“What…”

What was that voice? That feeling and buzzing at the back of his head? He ducked nevertheless, turning to elbow a soldier in the ribs, dodge another hit, then proceeding to kick him in the side. 

It seemed like Nineteen had the upper hand before the same feeling buzzed in his head.

Look up. 

What? Look where? 

Suddenly a fist slammed into his face and Nineteen was sent flying. He fell to the ground disoriented, tried to get up, only for the man to follow through with a hard kick to his stomach. He gasped as pain exploded in his belly, luckily rolling away just in time before the second strike.

The teen grunted as he knelt up, putting both hands on his burning stomach. It hurt. It hurt bad. The room started to spin; something about all of his senses being attacked gave him the sudden urge to faint. 

“Sir, should we stop here?”

“No… not yet.” 

Shit , Nineteen thought, as he realized he might pass out. He immediately clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain and nausea that was striking him all at once. Tried to keep it together. Had to keep it together. He couldn’t lose control again.

90 degrees right. Incoming. 

The sounds of fighting returned to him. He opened his eyes, watching as another masked man sprinted for him. 

He had to do something. Had to stop this.

He dodged, and it was then it snapped for the boy.

He stopped evaluating and started attacking. Attacking for real. He didn’t calculate precise points of impact that would bring people down with minimal effort. He swung his fists until blood splattered the floor.

The teen was furious; it flooded his veins like adrenaline. He shouted to ease some of the tension building in his bones, letting go of everything inside of him he had kept captive. Though he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, couldn’t get his muscles to relax, but he didn’t have to. There were more men, not hesitating as they took in his bloody and disheveled appearance. They simply marched forward, ready to attack, ready to fall.

“Remarkable. His vitals are a little weak, but his reflexes are impressive. His agility and strength is far greater than we originally believed it to be— even for his low glucose levels. We will have to give him bigger, more regular meals, but I can say unequivocally that subject Nineteen truly is one of a kind.”   

Nineteen gave the lab coats a sideway glance from where they were sitting behind the computers in the other room. They were chatting and taking notes, though the microphone was off… so how was he hearing them as if he was in that room himself?

“Hmm. It appears almost like he has… enhanced hearing, too.” 

He had what? 

He shook his head and continued the fight: pivoted a foot, spun and slammed fists into flesh. One of the guards brought out a taser. Electricity flared through his muscles and he couldn’t help but scream. He forced his hand not to twitch before he spun out of the guard’s grip and jabbed him in the side. The man stumbled back. Over the last couple of days, he had come to realize that tasers were always there, that it was nothing new, that he was becoming more and more used to the pain. 

Behind you. Duck. Danger danger danger-

Without even turning around to see what the danger was, Peter ducked, them spinning around and bringing a strong hit to the soldier that sent him propelling to the ground.

“Look at that. A sixth sense… it has to be.” 

“You’re right. It seems he can somehow feel and detect incoming dangers and threats before they actually happen. We will have to study that one too in the near future.” 

He didn’t flinch at the groans of the soldiers nor did he cringe at their screams. It just fueled Nineteen’s temper. This was his revenge for all the torture this place was bringing him. It was all bad… he could feel it. 

He brought a hand towards a man’s head and yanked him by the helmet before shoving him towards the far wall with more force than he wanted to apply. He realized that at the moment, he stopped caring about seriously hurting people. He wondered idly if it was because of his drug-induced trance. 

Soon enough, there was nearly a dozen unconscious men on the ground, a smell of sweat and something else, and dripping splashes of red on the floor. He realized more soldiers had come to fight him, but he had easily won the battle.

Nineteen paused for just a second after the fight cleared. He had that locked jaw, hunched figure, and fixed gaze as he stood panting heavily.

In that moment the truth dawned upon him, his vision cleared and he realized what he had done.

He looked down at his hands, his bloody knuckles he had used on many of the unconscious bodies around him. 

What did they do to me?

The floor buckled underneath him like he was on a boat and he fell to his knees with a thud.

No… this wasn’t him. He didn’t do this. He couldn’t have. Had the desire for revenge simply been too strong? 

“Incredible.” 

It was the same female voice from earlier, the voice echoing throughout the open area. He didn’t bother looking up. 

“That will be all for today,” the woman continued. “Thank you, Nineteen.” 

Chapter Text

  DAY 13 | 06.53 p.m.

"EVERYTHING SEEMS  to be working so far. The prisoner—“

“ Subject. ” The man corrected. 

The young woman hesitated before continuing. “The subject’s abilities are far more advanced than we originally thought, even after what we saw a week ago. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she stopped for a moment, then continued.

“I’m still running tests, but it appears he’s somehow both spider and human— one organism with no negative defects I can find. It seems his DNA has mutated somehow. It is truly fascinating.” The doctor inspected the monitoring computer before her in the dark room.

Dr. Graves continued to look at the screen that showed what the subject was doing live through the cameras. The boy was moving himself up on a wall using both arms and both legs. He had climbed to the ceiling before he suddenly fell back down to the bed with a loud thud. Though he was obviously in distress, Dr. Harrison seemed amused.

The boy was still dressed in issued clothing, stamped all over with ‘Property of HYDRA’. Good. Though... He didn’t appear to be affected by it. That’s a shame. 

Some of the other subjects had gone to great efforts to remove the letters in displays of defiance.

"You never fail to disappoint me, Dr. Harrison,” he praised and turned to her with a crocodile smile. It disappeared just as quickly as it came. “But I hope for your sake that you understand just how important the boy is to us. Though he may be a mutant, he is no… well, let’s say, animal.” 

She nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”

There was a short silence, the only sounds were the computers and monitors filling the air, as well as of the other scientists occupied with their work in the background.

“I know you’re a little uncertain about this,” Dr. Harrison confidently said, perhaps too confidently given the sideway glare her boss gave her. “But this will all be worth it.” 

“I know it will, Doctor.” Dr. Graves looked back at the screens. “After we have explored all of his enhancements, we will move on to stage two.”

“I’m not really here.”

The teen drew in a shaky breath. 

“This isn’t real.”

Nineteen lay on the bed, his dark gray blanket dragged up to his chin. His body was desperate to hold onto the little warmth he had left.

Hunger gnawed at his bones, but he knew better than to ask for the insane amounts of nutrition his high metabolism craved— he knew he had to cooperate. Anything, so they would be blind to his plan. Well... whatever that was. He hadn’t really given it much thought, any, at all. His situation truly sucked.  

“This can't be real. I don’t know, I… I’m alone.”

He rolled over with a shudder.

“I’m alone.” 

He couldn’t remember how he got here, where he was. It was a small, cold, dark and gray room, with a single bed in the center of the four walls. Where was he? He had been here before… 

Someone’s coming to save me, he had deluded himself into believing, but now he wasn’t so certain anymore. Nineteen was the only person Nineteen could depend on; he was convinced of that now.

“ Nineteen. ” The sound of his name stabbed his ears like a knife. He hadn’t even realized someone had come in. Had they come to take him again? Were they still here? 

“I have to sleep. I’m gonna sleep.” He half mumbled his words, world still buzzing around him as he was still deeply affected by the drugs in his system.

It had gone on like that for days; fighting, then being drugged. Over and over. The goddamn medical examinations, the torture, the blood. The vivid dreams made him unsure of whether this was even real or not.

For what seemed like the first time that day, Nineteen jolted to his senses by a harsh, unwelcoming light blinding his eyes. He squinted as pain throbbed in his head and he had to cover his gaze with a surprisingly heavy arm. 

“You can sleep later, kid.” 

It was when the man retrieved his penlight, Nineteen finally got a clear view of him. His definition of clear was enough for him to make out simple traits, but everything was fuzzy and wasn’t nearly as clear as it was before.

This man was probably in his late 30s, with fluffy blonde hair and olive skin. Standing over him, he looked tall. He looked at Nineteen with concerned blue eyes, as if he was kind, unlike most people Nineteen had encountered. Was he kind? He had never seen him before, not that he recalled. Remembering was a lost cause at this point.

“Look, we don't have a lot of time, so I’ll make this quick,” he said.

Nineteen was still uncertain of what it was he was talking about. He tried to sit up but was overwhelmed by dizziness.

"Whoa there, Nines. You might not want to sit up so fast." He reached over and applied a bit of pressure to the teen’s mid back in order to help him sit up. He ached all over, but he just wanted to sit up. 

He continued to look at the stranger in the room with falling, questioning eyes. Sure, he looked like a mess with his hair sticking up in all different directions, but he had started to give less and less attention to his appearance.

There was a suffocating heat everywhere making it difficult to think, hard to move in his vision at all. Not to mention the wheezing hissing sound with each inhale that couldn’t mean anything good. 

The man sighed. “They don’t treat you very well, do they?” 

Nineteen only shrugged. Right now he didn’t feel like joking about it, like he usually would have despite the dark times he found himself in. He was too exhausted, too tired. Too lost. 

“I don’t agree with what Graves is planning for you… He thinks it will change how we fight in wars forever, and maybe it will.” The man paused. “But it’s not right.” 

Nineteen swallowed. What was it that Dr. Graves was planning for him? 

“I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

No… it couldn’t be right. This still was just a dream. 

His brain was messing with him. 

There was no way in hell that any of this was actually happening.

No.

Way.

He felt like he was in a daze. His head, interspersed with headaches, was in a constant fog. Focusing on anything was difficult because all he wanted was to get away, or run away or hide, or do all three somehow.

This was a test. It was a sick test. Nineteen couldn’t believe it. 

He opened his mouth to speak again, though his words were more difficult to form than he anticipated it would be.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. He’d love a glass of water but, having been drugged once earlier today, Nineteen wasn’t eager to repeat the process.

The man tilted his head. “I want you to be free, kid.” 

“A man like you… working here , couldn’t possibly do that without wanting anything in return.” He spit his words at the man, then lied back down on the bed.

Screw this stupid test, he thought. Though escaping seemed impossible given the state he currently was in, he wasn’t giving up just yet. But how could he trust anyone? 

The man in the lab coat sighed before he dragged something out from the pocket of his coat. Nineteen watched with interest as an item was pulled out… 

… a sandwich?  

If the man truly wished for him to be free, he had hoped the item would be something that could help him get out of here. Nevertheless, something so simple as a sandwich was something he didn’t know he had longed for, for a long time now. And hell, it looked good. His stomach growled in agreement.

“Frankly, food isn’t this place’s top priority. I read your file— given your high metabolism you must be starving… I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you something nicer.” He gave Nineteen a pained smile before he handed him the beverage wrapped in plastic. Nineteen sat up in the bed and accepted it without much hesitation.

He inspected it carefully, eyeing the stranger every other second. Could the sandwich possibly be tampered with? It looked normal, with salad and chicken fillings. His stomach craved for the food but his head yelled for him to be smart about his choices. 

“Please. Don’t let this risk be for nothing.” 

With that, Nineteen slowly allowed himself to take a bite of the piece of food. It tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before, yet everything at the same time— he felt like he could actually feel the first bits of energy trickling through his veins. Enjoying the mouth-watering flavor of the sandwich, he let the panic in his throat sink back down. 

The man straightened himself and gave the boy a smile. He checked his watch before Nineteen heard him mutter something under his breath. 

“I have to go,” he suddenly said while Nineteen munched his way through the beverage. “I normally wouldn’t recommend eating fast, but it won’t be long until the glitch in the cameras passes.”

Nineteen watched as he headed toward the door, then stopped in his tracks to look back at the boy. 

“Just hang in there. I’ll get you out.” He gave him a reassuring nod and smile. 

Swallowing the food in his mouth, Nineteen spoke up just before the man left the room.

“Who are you?” 

Sadness was clear in the man’s eyes at Nineteen’s question, as if he somehow had expected him to already know.

“My name is Colin.” 

Although he was having a hard time remembering, Nineteen would certainly try his best to keep his name in mind.

Chapter Text

DAY 21 | 03.16 p.m. 

A BODY  fell limp to the floor with a thud. Though the victim may have received spider powers momentarily, it was nowhere near Nineteen’s range of abilities.

It reminded more of a virus; a disease tearing and eating away at her body. It didn’t take long before the woman’s body short-circuited and the flatline of a heart monitor filled the area. 

“Three hours and forty-nine minutes. We’re making progress,” Dr. Harrison said, writing on clipboard. 

Dr. Graves continued to look through the glass wall, eyes resting on their second dead body. “The blood of subject Nineteen could be our permanent solution to creating superhuman weapons, that’s what you said.” 

“Science takes time. There are dead ends and blind alleys on the path to every breakthrough, you know that.” 

The man in charge sighed and crossed his arms on his chest. "We are on a strict schedule, Doctor. Though we may have managed to keep ourselves hidden from the Avengers for so long, those clowns are still out there. What exactly is your plan?” 

“I need time—“ 

He cut her off. “Time we don’t have. If this doesn’t plan out, we have no choice but to go on with plan B.” 

“I know, sir.” Dr. Harrison sighed and put the clipboard on the table. “If only I could—“

She went silent for a moment, staring into thin air before her lips stretched into a small smile. It was obvious an idea had just lit like a lightbulb above her head. 

He looked at her. “What?” 

“Up until this moment, we’ve looked at things from the wrong perspective. If Nineteen’s blood combined with our serums only give Hydra’s soldiers temporary spider powers, how do we extend that forever?” 

The truth seemed to have dawned upon Dr. Graves too. “We go to the source of the blood.”

“Exactly. Bone marrow.” 

A mischievous smirk grew on the man’s face. “I suppose I could buy us more time by directing the Avengers elsewhere... When they find us, if at all, it will be too late for them to stop us.” 

“This might actually work, sir.”

Nineteen’s hands were shaking, bandages covering the skin on his arms. They had found out about his enhanced healing factor when they cut him to ‘test’ the levels of his regenerating capabilities. Though they had used anesthesia and surely he was still pumped full of pain medication and drugs, he could feel the pain returning to him, pounding in time with his wild heart. 

Nineteen didn’t see the big deal of it; he only healed faster than normal. Hours stretched into days of forcing his healing to overextend until bruises appeared and stayed, his quirk exhausted from overuse. 

The thing that was the most tiresome, was that he found his blood being drawn more and more frequently the last couple of days. He was taken to that room multiple times a day and it left him dizzy, his energy completely drained from his body.

He couldn’t understand why it was so necessary, nor why they viewed him as so special. What had made him this way? Though nothing could match the terror he had felt the first time he had gone through it, he was certain he was never going to get used to their procedures.

But did he have to get used to it? 

He wasn’t going to lie, he was starting to lose faith in his own plan of escaping. This place was impossible to map, and being drugged almost everyday on top of being shocked in that damn chair, certainly didn’t help for his thinking, either. 

Nineteen had been escorted into a surgical room and willingly strapped down to a bed. He hadn’t bothered to say anything to the guards on his way here, yet how much he missed his own witty remarks. They were vanishing… just as his own hope was starting to. On some days he had to jerk himself out of his depressing thoughts; no longer was he even certain of how much time he had spent here.

Colin. 

Despite their attempts to burn his memories out of his head, he had been unable to let go of a name. There had been a man, someone who was going to help him out of here… or had that been nothing but a dream, nothing but a creation of his rotting mind? 

He had no one… no one who was waiting for him in the outside world— if there even was such a thing. If he had, they would have showed up by now.

He watched as people in ridiculous turquoise suits began to swarm around him. Here we go again, he thought, mentally preparing himself for the procedure.

If it hadn't been for the shrieking alarm that went off, a needle would've gone straight into his arm and numbed him.

What was happening?

His eyes helplessly searched for the noise of the blaring sound. It rose to peak and then ebbed and rose to a peak again, while ringing his brain out like a sponge. 

" Bombs ?" He heard one of them say, - a woman, - before he was pulled out of the bed and out towards the end of a corridor. If there was a bomb threat, it surely meant they had to evacuate. That could possibly mean going outside, couldn't it? In fresh air and bright light?

A small smile spread across his face as his head began to stop swimming for once, and man, how he hoped it was day. He had heard the sun was beautiful.  

A hand landed on his shoulder, and as Nineteen looked up to see who it was, hope fluttered in his chest at the view of a man he thought had been nothing but a hallucination.

"I've got him. You go ahead," Colin said. The guard that walked by his side hesitantly nodded and jogged away. 

"You…" Nineteen began, but the man hushed him, looked around, then shoved him behind a corner. They continued to walk, but in the opposite direction of most people.

"I triggered the alarm so you can escape from here.” He urged Nineteen to move faster with a hand firmly pushing at his back.

“You’re real,” the teen managed to croak out. He couldn’t help but smile a little, couldn’t believe freedom was so near. 

“What- of course I-“ he shook his head. “Look, there’s no time. You’re not safe here, you never have been. And if you stay any longer now, we’re all screwed.” 

“Yeah… I kinda figured that.” 

Colin pushed him through another corridor, then another, the hallways a strange sight as empty as they were. Suddenly an African American male guard approached them, gaze held firmly ahead as he walked alongside them. Concern crossed Nineteen’s face and he looked at Collin for an explanation.

“Don’t worry— Mason’s with us.” 

The guard, - Mason, - offered him a small smile. Swallowing his worry, Nineteen focused on keeping up with them and urged himself to keep a clear mind. 

“We’re getting you out of here, kid. I can assure you, you’re never seeing this place ever again.” 

Though a buzzing sensation at the back of his head wasn’t so sure about that, Nineteen only nodded. 

Suddenly a guard came into the view, and he immediately lowered his head as if that would somehow hide his identity. Brown, messy hair, a damaged body and hopeless eyes, not to forget the clothes that indicated that he simply couldn’t pass as a scientist. His movement wasn’t much of a help, and instead of letting them simply pass, she held out a hand and gestured for them to stop. He had never felt fear that strong before, and his breaths hitched in his throat.

"Hey— where are you taking the subject?" She asked.

"We’re taking him to the others. It’s just a simple reroute, don’t worry. Come on, Nines.” Colin responded and urged him to keep walking.

Nineteen prayed to whatever gods were out there that the guard would buy it and walk way. But no, more and more people were beginning to notice, and the two next words that rung in the air was the start of something that would change his future forever.

"Stop them!”

Has this scenario happened before? He pondered as a strange feeling of déjà vu fell over him.

Mason cursed in a language Nineteen didn’t understand, before he turned to the others and said, “Run, I’ll keep them occupied!" They quickly swept from walking fast to straight-up running. At the sound of shots exploding in the air, the teen turned to see the guard shoot at his former colleagues, and succeeding big-time in that.

His heart was beating aggressively hard in his chest, it almost hurt. Hadn’t adrenaline been such a strong thing, he would have collapsed long ago.

"Hurry. We’re meeting some people on the outside," Colin said through gritted teeth as they made a rough turn around another corner, entering yet another corridor. This place was like a maze, each part of the facility so like the other, yet so different. Nevertheless, Colin seemed to know where they were going.

They stopped in front of a large door made of solid metal. He watched as Colin slid a keycard over a black little box with a scanner on the side. He heard a high-pitched beep, saw the light turning green. The door opened, leading to a much larger and brighter hallway.

They sprinted through it, through another long corridor, and soon stood in front of another giant door. Nineteen tried to ignore the sound of the guards' shoes hitting against the hard floor in the distance and gunshots. 

He watched through bleary eyes as Colin slid the keycard over the scanner, just like he had done only half a minute before. Only this time the door didn't open.

Colin did it again and again, and the scanner beeped and beeped, but instead of litting green, it lit red.

It wasn't working.

"Goddamnit." Colin cursed and dropped the keycard to the floor. "They must’ve deactivated my card.”

Mason came with heavy breaths and tried his keycard, only for the exact same thing to happen. “Mine too. We gotta take another way." 

Yes, except there was no other way out. He turned around to the other side of the corridor. A group of at least five heavily armed guards were slowly walking towards them, in the front was the Dr. Graves.

No, no, no. No. 

This couldn’t be real. 

“Stay close to me, kid,” Colin said, holding out a hand protectively although he both looked and sounded defeated. 

They were trapped. Nineteen's eyes were wide with terror. Argh— just when freedom was so close! They weren't getting through the door, and they were surrounded by guards. They were screwed, so screwed… 

"Aren’t there bombs for you to take care of?" Mason yelled and held his heavy gun threathengly toward them. Though in fear, Nineteen stood still and in place. 

Dr. Graves just smirked before the corners of his mouth slowly fell down. "We both know there really are no bombs out there. What are you trying to achieve with this? Well respected employees, and now you're trying to get out of here with something that doesn’t belong to you?" 

There was only a short moment of silence before the man in charge spoke again. 

" Nineteen .” Oh, how he hated hearing him say his name.

“Look at you. You’re sick. You need to stay here so we can make you better. Come on, come here.” 

Nineteen just shook his head, failing miserably at hiding the emotion that was tearing at his insides.

Dr. Graves sighed at his response, and his demaneor immediately shifted from something that had been so warm to something so ice cold. His previously lifted hands fell retreated his sides.

"You're not getting through that door."

Mason attempted to fire his gun at the group of people, only for it to be empty. He brought an extra weapon from his belt and pressed the trigger of the handgun, several shots ringing through the air, but they were all blocked by plastic shields. Long before the handgun fell empty to the ground, Nineteen knew this was a lost battle. 

Two of the guards opposite of them lifted their own heavy guns, sending bullets soaring through the air and hitting both Colin and Mason, sending them propelling backwards and colliding with the floor. The sound of the gunshots were so silent and so odd— like shooting an arrow with a bow.

Gaze darting between the twitching men as electricity still coursed through them, and the group of guards moving forward to drag them up, Nineteen was suddenly terrified. What would happen now, was he next to be shot?

“Put both of the rebels in custody,” The man said, voice harsher than he had ever heard before. There was a small smirk climbing up his face; was he smiling because they had failed in getting away from here?

Suddenly he turned to Nineteen. “As for you…” 

Nineteen took a small step backwards as the man approached him. He said one simple sentence before turning away from the boy, leaving him to be taken by two guards. 

“I expected better of you, Nineteen.” 

A feeling he never thought this man would cause him burned out the fire inside of Nineteen:  Guilt.  

Guilt for believing he was actually getting out of here.

One second passed. Two seconds passed. Three seconds passed. 

He couldn’t hear any other sound than his own sharp, uneven breathing and his echoing heartbeat. People were talking around him as if they were underwater and he could not hear a single word. He was being taken back again. That’s what he knew for sure. He was being taken back again, the future he thought he could have out of this organization’s grip nothing but a long lost dream. 

As sheer panic began to rise up his throat, he attempted to pull away from the guards' grips on him, but it was for no use. It was as if his muscles had been paralyzed. They weren’t responding. Nothing was.

This was really happening.

Again.

The thought that perhaps he was actually meant to be here continued to echo through his mind as he was strapped back down to the uncomfortable bed. This was the universe’s way of telling him. He was never getting out of here, he was never going to be free.   

A tear rolled down his cheek as a turquoise-dressed man moved up to his eyesight with an extra long needle that sent chills down his spine. He could've sworn the needle hadn't been this big the last time he saw it, it had grown like the Hulk grows when he is angry.

But it was fine, wasn’t it? It was fine. He was stuck here, so he might as well face it and get used to the needles. Another tear wetted his cheek before the sharp tool pierced through his skin. 

Everything went black.

Chapter Text

DAY 26 | 05.41 p.m.

HEAVY  EYELIDS fluttered open to a sharp white light blinding his eyes. It wasn't the sun, no, this was shining from a closer distance and was much colder. It hurt.

He clenched his eyes shut, only for sharp pain to launch through his leg and colorful spots flash in his gaze. Fiery bursts pulsated around his hip, and he was drenched in sweat, throat dry and sore.

He heard voices coming from at least three people, but he couldn't understand a word. They were too soft and he felt like he was listening from underwater while the room revolved around him.

He heard echoing small sounds. Metal hitting metal. A drill. The sounds weren’t particularly welcoming and he wanted to scream.

And he didn't know how he knew it, but something was wrong. And that wasn't just the pain that kept coming stronger back and forth every second, it was something different. 

Daring himself to open his eyes again despite how drowsy he felt, the teen’s heart dropped into a dark abyss at the sight of his surroundings. As he looked to his side, he saw his wrists and arms strapped to the hard bed he was laying on. He was restrained to it— he was trapped.

A sudden wave of terror came looming over him, and as he lifted his heavy head up as far as the restraints allowed, he saw his leg and stomach strapped down, too. 

But that wasn't what caught most of Nineteen's attention. These walls were familiar. The lights, the people in the ridiculous turquoise suits around him.

It was then it all suddenly fell back on him. He had been here before… Colin…  he had tried to escape… but he had failed.  

And now he was back here.

Perhaps it was time for him to realize he was never getting out of this place. What was it now, the second time he had tried to escape?

A shadow crossed the light, and Nineteen saw the face of black haired woman with a stone cold look on her face glare straight down at him. Nineteen knew that expression too well, those evil eyes, he could recognize them almost anywhere.

It was Dr. Harrison. Though he had only met her a couple of times now, there was no one he hated more. 

“How is he waking up?” A man’s voice.

“Amazing… His metabolism somehow burns right through the drugs. Increase his dosage with 200%.” She said. Then she was gone.

There was a short pause. 

“Dr. Harrison, we risk stopping his heart. We could kill him.” 

“I’m fully aware.”

No, no, no, no. He widened his eyes in raw fear. I don’t want this.

I don’t want to die.

Without hesitating, Nineteen began to pull desperately at the restraints on the bed. He groaned, trying to ignore how much his hip was blazing with pain and how he never had felt more like a rotting corpse before.

Because of the restraints, he couldn't move enough to see much of what was happening, but he still managed to see several people that had gathered around his side just by where the pain was coming from. What were they doing? He wanted them to stop.

As a man approached him with a new dosage ready to be injected into his veins, he heard the beeping of a monitor pick up and felt raw panic tug at his bones. 

“No, please, stop—“ he began, but Nineteen fell silent as a needle pierced through his neck. Immediately the world began to fade, his head falling back and muscles numb, his eyes open but lifeless. 

That was, of course, what he wanted to portray. 

Just as quickly as the needle had gone into his neck, Nineteen began to twitch uncontrollably. 

“Shit. He’s going into cardiac arrest.” 

Yes, exactly. That’s what I’m going into, he thought.

As a turquoise-dressed man leaned over him, Nineteen broke his left arm free from the restraints with all the strength he had left in him, and swung his fist into his face. The man fell back into a tray, the noise of metal clanking and tools hitting the ground erupting in the air.

Wide-eyed, the boy used the moment to break free from the other restraints and stand up from the bed table. Just when he felt his consciousness ebb, he was brought back by his sixth sense and looked up to see a woman arching for him with a syringe in her hand. He grabbed her hand and brought the needle around so it stabbed her in the hip; the woman fell unconscious to the ground with a thud.  

He didn’t think as he viciously brought the scientists to their knees. He didn’t hesitate as he slammed his foot into a man’s throat. All he could think of was to get the fuck out of here. It was as if it suddenly had snapped for him. If he was going to die, it wasn’t happening here.

Colin had given him hope. 

He was determined to give it one final try. After all, third time’s the charm, right? 

As soon as he had taken the scientists and a couple of guards out, he sighed. For a moment, his boiling blood cooled. He reached for the double-doors and pushed them open, pulled his gaze from the concrete floor to catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretched beyond to his left and right. It was dark. The cold lights flickered on and off. 

His head was pounding, but even so he knew something wasn’t entirely right. Not yet. The alarms were blaring– why weren’t there more guards? Sure, he’d taken out quite a bunch, but they were always dispersed, looking just as flustered as he felt.

Why weren’t there anyone at all here? There must be something he was missing.

There was no one here. No one at all. It was an unusual sight— almost as if it was abandoned. 

He leaned against the wall as he forced himself to move forward, to get away from here. His lungs were filling with water and eyes clouded, his arms desperately clinging for the walls to keep himself going. His system was obviously affected by whatever had just been injected into him.

As he rounded a corner, the sight of two guards in the halls sent shivers down his spine. Ah. There they were.

There’s only two… he told himself, then simply strode forward and dispatched them with as little exertion as was required.

A sort of dread hitched in his chest. He didn’t know how much strength he had left. He didn’t know what it would take before he crashed with all these drugs burning up in his system. He was almost out now. 

The teen forced himself to move forward no matter how much the ground was swaying. He could barely see, barely hear. Body was barely functioning. He knew the moment he closed his eyes for too long, he would give in to the drugs and let himself be captured once more. That he would die.

So he had to keep going. 

“You messed up.”

That voice. It couldn't be…

Nineteen came to a sudden stop, turned around, his weight sinking at the sight of his younger self standing before him with hate-filled eyes.

“Why’d you have to mess up?” 

The figure before him couldn’t possibly be real but Nineteen’s mind wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders with the amount of drugs in his veins.

His gaze fell on his own arms and body, and it was then he realized he was wearing some sort of red and blue spandex suit. It looked odd. 

“Mess up?” Nineteen repeated the words in a whisper as he looked up from himself and back to young Nineteen. Mess up what?

The boy in front of him in the dark hallway was crying now, glaring at him as he lifted his lip to bare his teeth, words deep and angry.

“I hate you.”

Nineteen moaned, chest squeezing tight. Why was it was getting so hard to breathe? He pressed his hands against the wall, hoping to regain some footing.

The boy crept forward. How his hood casted shadows across his face made his white teeth stand out animalistically as he bared them at his prey.

“You ruined everything, like you always do.”

Nineteen's heart pounded hard, aching as his younger self pressed his hands to Nineteen’s chest, pushing down and making it more difficult to breathe.

“You deserve to die. For what you did to me, to my family...and for what you’ll do to so many more.”

“What…” Nineteen whispered under his breath. There was so much anger in those eyes, so much pain. He sucked in a wheeze, hands scrabbling for the ones suffocating him.

“I would never… hurt… anyone.” He pushed his words out between desperate pulls of air.

His other self sneered at him, pressing down with all his weight until Nineteen was left with his mouth gaping open and closed with no air coming through to ease the burning in his lungs. Then he stepped back, and Nineteen was left coughing on the floor.

“Yes, you would. And you know it. You’ll hurt them like you hurt everyone. Your father, your mother. Your uncle and your aunt... Colin. Mason. Everyone you love ends up hurt at your hand. Or worse— they die. You weren’t strong enough to stop it from happening, like you won’t ever be.” 

Nineteen had no idea what his subconsciousness was talking about.

“No...you... ‘re wro.. ng,” he forced out through ragged breaths. He struggled to pull off the suffocating mask covering his head in hope for it to be easier to breathe.

“Admit it. You’re a plague. It wasn’t the bite that made you this way. You have always been a monster.”

Pain gripped his chest in a vice and his hands were growing weak where he tried to push himself up. 

He couldn’t drag in a single clean breath, couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was the monster all along. Maybe that was why his helpless attempts at escaping this place always ended up being nothing but a failure.

“You made me a monster!” Suddenly the boy arched for him, but Nineteen wasn’t quick enough to stop a fist from colliding with his face. He fell back as throbbing pain launched itself through his body.

“I hate you! You did this to me!” 

Nineteen tried to get up, but he was kicked harshly to the floor. Blood spluttered from his mouth and painted the floor. 

“You ruined everything!” Young Nineteen screamed at him, kicking at the body on the floor, before he all of the sudden came to a stop. Nineteen’s heart thumped hard against his rib cage, everything nothing but a distant blur. 

He watched as the young boy reached for the red mask on the floor. The boy’s eyes drilled into his own, tears in his eyes and lips trembling as he pointed at it. 

“This…” he began, breathing heavily. “It’s all because of this.” He shook his head with a scoff and dropped it back to the floor.

“It’s all because of YOU!” The teen could only watch as he arched for him again. One more hit and darkness threatened to take him, and he let it. 

When Nineteen came to, he found himself no longer in the dark hallway. He was in an apartment, a living room. It was dark and he couldn’t figure out why he was here, lost in a desert of his own making. 

What the hell had just happened? He struggled to put the puzzle together, it was all too chaotic. 

The ringing in his ears faded as he managed to stand just upright, standing on widespread legs so he wouldn’t risk falling again. Unlike the hallway, it was quiet in here. It felt strangely cozy and nice. Familiar, in a way. Had he been here before?

The ground under his feet wobbled as he swayed. He urged for it to stop shaking, for everything to calm down, but instead he came tumbling down to the floor again.

Upon impact, the teen couldn’t help but let out a yelp as pain jabbed at his body. Inhaling sharply, he drunkenly but determinedly clambered back to his feet, scanning the area through a blurry vision.

It dawned upon it that there was someone else in here. 

He wasn’t alone.

There was someone sitting on the couch, talking and watching television. A middle aged woman and man, only their backs.

Though he had yet to see their faces, something inside of him was pulling him to them. It was almost as if he knew them, yet he couldn’t recall ever seeing them before.

Desperately placing one foot in front of the other, Nineteen began to walk toward them. He wanted to go to them, to be with them. There was just something about this— he belonged here. 

Suddenly a voice cracked through the soft jazz music playing in the distance, and his surroundings began to shift before his very eyes. 

“You can’t run from what you are, Nineteen.” He instantly recognized his younger self’s voice.

No, he thought. Fright clawed at his chest and the two figures in the room disappeared. 

“In the end, true nature always win.” 

Nineteen whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked, searching for something to happen, but everything was simply pitch black. Somehow it felt like the darkness was closing in on him. He was going mad, he knew it. 

“You’re not crazy.” 

His jaw dropped at the voice. Foolishly, he scanned his surroundings again, but the owner of the soft, warm voice was nowhere to be found.

“It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine, just hang in there.” 

The words didn’t sink in on him, he could only stay crumbled on the floor as the room slowly began to shift back into what it was. She hushed him, though his eyes were shut he knew it was too late.

His head didn’t seem to make up its mind; hope was already starting to form in his chest again. Because deep down, he knew he longed for freedom, whatever he was doing to convince himself otherwise. The figure before him gave him a strange sense of purpose and he wanted to break down and sob, as it showed in his broken voice when he whispered.

“MJ?” 

It had come before he had even realized what he had said. 

Michelle Jones.

He knew it. He knew her name. But how? 

Using a steady arm to hold himself in a half-sitting position, he looked at her with sad eyes, taking in her appearance as she drew her hand through his hair. She looked kind with her smile, her curly hair and brown eyes.

It was then it struck him— he was remembering.

“That’s right,” she cooed him. “You’re okay.” 

A half wrenched sob tore through him. “I’m not.” He shook his head, because he knew it wasn’t true. “I’m a monster.” 

She tilted her head to one side and continued to look at him sadly, but said nothing.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” He bit his lip. “Tell me it’s on me.” 

MJ’s brows knitted together and she shook her head.

“Please,” he swallowed. “I don’t wanna die here, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna—“ He didn’t get the chance to continue before MJ embraced him for a hug. His body melted into the warmth of hers, and wow, it felt good. 

“You have to be strong. Be strong for me, okay?” 

He wanted to ask how she was here, how he could be remembering, if anything of it was real, but the words just don't come. Instead, he managed to nod despite his trembling self.

“Good,” she said. He could feel her stroking his back and comforting him, something he didn’t want to ever stop. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t give up... don’t give up.”

He blinked, and with that, everything around him disappeared.

The reality of it being nothing but a hallucination hit him as he awoke back on the cold, surgical bed. 

Chapter Text

Michelle Jones

OCTOBER 30th

MJ JERKED awake suddenly, thrown from the claws of a nightmare with a gasping shudder. A drowned girl resurfacing, she looked around with wild eyes, trying to orient herself in the darkness of the room. 

“ Peter? ”

The name was only a whisper of air past her lips. Reality fixed before her as awareness came to her sluggishly, chest continuing to heave with each frantic breath. 

“No...” she shook her head, grimaced, and brought a hand up to her face. “Fuck.”  

Peter wasn’t here anymore. 

Three weeks had passed, but still it was something she could never find herself to believe. Peter’s absence tore a hole in her chest that wouldn’t heal. It only grew for each time she thought about him, each time she was reminded that he was gone.

Nightmares weren’t unusual for her; they frequented her as a child, but that was years ago. However, these past weeks she has found herself being victim to them more often, and this particular dream had shaken her quite a bit. 

Because she had dreamt about him. 

Her heart clenched tighter and the knot in her throat surged up.

Exhaling a shaky sigh, she drew her hand through her damp hair. The black of her room made it difficult to clear her senses and gain her bearings. 

Before she could stop herself, even stop to wipe the sweat from her forehead, she had turned on her night lamp and was unlocking her phone, opening FaceTime, and calling Harry.

This is stupid, she thought with shaky hands. It's three in the morning. There’s no way he will pick up. 

But of course, Harry’s face appeared onscreen moments later in response. He looked exhausted, but the lazy grin adorning his face indicated he'd been up all night anyways.

“Morning, MJ,” he greeted. MJ blinked, startled when Harry’s expression suddenly changed to something so concerned. “Hey— Are you alright? What’s wrong?” 

That’s when she realized she had been crying. Embarrassed, she looked away and wiped the tears out of her eyes, lips quivering just so slightly. 

With a sharp inhale she looked back at him, partially ready, and forced a weak smile. “Yeah… all good.” 

Harry had sat himself upright now, clearly alarmed. His eyes were so wide with worry; there was no indication he believed her. 

“I have...” she began, reluctantly opening up. ”I had some trouble sleeping— Bad dream. But I’m okay now, I-I promise.” 

MJ waited terrifyingly long for him to answer. She held her breath, not daring to even look at him. Just waiting for Harry to laugh at her formed an unsettling feeling in her stomach, that he would tell her that she was only being dumb, and to go back to sleep.

But that never came. Instead his eyes softened at that, a gentle smile gracing his lips, one she couldn’t help but truly return. 

“You want me to come over?” He asked, and she thought that, despite it being in the middle of the night, he actually wanted to come and comfort her friend. She felt selfish for desiring it and quickly brushed him off.

“No no, it’s okay. Don’t— I’m okay.” 

Another pause came. She didn’t know what to say now, she hadn’t thought that far ahead before calling.

“Well… do you wanna talk about it?” 

She shook her head. It was humiliating enough already. 

“No… but—“ she stopped, looking at the dimly lit face of her friend. In the corner she was, looking just as awful as she felt.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think… maybe you could stay on call with me? Just… just talk to me till I fall asleep?” Her voice was quiet, unsure of itself. “You don’t have to, God, that was such a dumb thing to ask—“ But before she could continue, Harry had answered. 

“Of course.” The reassuring smile came again. 

Relief sank her shoulders. She allowed herself to lie back down in bed, fear finally seeming to fade from her bones. 

“You want me to do the talking?”

“Please.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to come out as a whisper, but Harry had heard her.

It went like that for the next hour, probably— MJ wasn't keeping track. At some point, Harry had climbed into his own bed as well, deeming his friend to be much more important than whatever he'd been busy with previously.

She remained quiet as he rambled from one topic to the next. Not once did he expect nor receive a reply. He could only tell MJ’s state of consciousness by the small 'mhm's she’d been responding with, a soft glint from the phone screen reflecting in her half-lidded eyes. He didn’t mind. She couldn’t put words into how grateful she was for him right now.

Soon enough, the nightmare became nothing but a foggy memory to her. All unease had been replaced with a sense of safety. The soothing voice of her friend was slowly putting her to sleep, and the next thing she knew, she had drifted off to sleep.

Monday morning, MJ made it to her locker and grabbed her English notebook, but then just remained there, even after the second bell rang. She stood still in the middle of the hallway while people rushed past her in both directions.

Until, that was, she had to snap herself out of it and fight to keep her head from swimming. Nothing had a purpose anymore, she felt like she was simply just floating.

An hour later, she found herself in the cafeteria, sitting at their usual lunch table with her friends. Her face blank, a sorrow behind her gaze, mind wandering. Ned, Gwen and Harry’s conversation was only a far echo as her eyes rested on Peter’s empty seat. It remained untouched; even Gwen insisted on using the same creaky chair instead of his every day. MJ wasn’t entirely sure as to why. 

“MJ?” Her name. She turned slowly, her eyes meeting Ned’s concerned brown pair. 

“Ned,” she said. 

“You didn’t hear what I asked, did you?” 

MJ didn’t answer, only pushed at her food, pretending that she had at least tried to eat it. She breathed in, then out, tried to sit straight, tried to at least make it seem like things were alright.

A silence fell over the table. She could feel Harry look at her with a wariness, while Gwen busied herself with her food.

Ned let out a defeated sigh. “He’s not coming back, you know.” 

The mention of Peter punched the breath out of her lungs. A sob caught in her throat, she looked down and miraculously managed to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from spilling over.

“We were at the funeral,” Gwen suddenly decided to pipe in. Not helping, Gwen. “His aunt and uncle too— it was an accident, MJ… We can hate it all we want, but they happen.” 

MJ couldn’t help but wonder how they seemed to move on so quickly. They had obviously been affected by it the first week, sure, but now it was almost as if nothing had happened at all. Her blood boiled with righteous fury, though her heart remained heavy with grief.

She inhaled a shaky breath. Her face felt warm. She hated this so much, she wanted to flee from the scene. Away from this. Anything was better than here. Anything. Even Harry looked at her differently now, like she was a bomb about to explode.

MJ suddenly came to think of how they had become friends. Peter and her. It had gone fast, then, after she realized she had taken a liking to him. They became good friends, closer than she ever would have interpreted. She was no longer the loser of the school, though she often found herself jokingly calling Peter one. He had saved her life. 

From their initial stiff interactions, they fell into an easy banter. In time, she had found a strange sense of ease slip over her when in Peter’s presence. 

At last, she decided being friends with Peter Parker didn’t sound too bad after all. Not that there was much she could do about it at that point— the boy had won. If she had to suffer through endless tales about scientific researches, for that strange sense of comfort that Peter brought out, she was more than willing to. 

But what had Peter seen in her that could possibly be likeable? She was a wreck, barely able to speak without breaking down. Fuck, she really was crying again, the tears just streaking down his face silently. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d started. 

Hell, she had even been with him the day before all this. 

This world didn’t deserve Peter Parker. His heart was so pure, so big; no way he could wish evil on anyone. No matter the circumstances he always tried to see the good within people. MJ always joked that he was too good for his own sake, and that someday his kindness would get him into trouble. But it hadn’t been trouble.

It had been death.

“Michelle.” Shaken out of her thoughts, MJ looked up to see Harry leaned across the table, squinting at her. A pair of her friends was taken aback by her state, but Harry only moved to latch his bigger hand over hers. A soothing squeeze. You can do this. You’ll be alright. 

Would she ever be?

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” 

Miraculously, she managed to keep her voice from trembling. Ashamed, she pulled her hands to herself, out of his grasp, to which Harry was obviously hurt no matter how much he tried to hide it.

“MJ...” Harry still tried desperately to make eye contact, but MJ refused. “C’mon. Is this about the nightmare? Talk to me.” 

“ Nightmare? ” Ned asked. Harry shot him a look.

“Please,” Gwen tried. 

She shook her head. Being a master at compartmentalization, she hated anyone, including them, for seeing her like this. She hastily wiped her tears away. 

“I dunno. I just… I don’t...” Her lip quivered, breaking the sentence off as she struggled to keep her emotions from sounding.

She swallowed the sob rising up her throat. ”He was just there.” MJ gestured toward the empty chair. “He was literally there, just days ago.” 

The three of them looked at her sympathetically, but said nothing. They were worried about her, she knew. 

Eventually, MJ figured she couldn’t be here. It had already gone too far. She rose from the lunch table and escaped out of the cafeteria, ignoring the calls of her friends. She couldn’t do this. She was lost, broken in pieces that were scattered everywhere. It all came pouring out, all the guilt, all the shame, all the sorrow, all the frustration. 

MJ ran into the girls’ bathroom, quickly into a stall and locking the door. Sliding down the wall and burying her face in her knees, she slowly allowed herself let it all out.

She cried.

She cried and she cried and she cried.

Chapter Text

DAY 64 | 9.08 p.m.

NINETEEN WISHED they would just let him sleep. Every day was a challenge in itself, and it took mere willpower for him to endure it all from morning until night. Most of the time he found himself drugged and unconscious. As tiring as it was, it was no surprise that he spent the other time fast asleep in his cell. 

He had never felt exhaust like this before in his life. But then again, he couldn’t seem to remember a life past this place, whatever it was. All he knew was this. Pain. He didn’t want to be awake. Wakefulness meant fear and hurt and confusion, it was easier to close his eyes, drifting.

His body weighed a thousand tons, always too heavy to carry, too heavy to think. Was it too much to ask for a break? Life had become a blur of scientists rotating over him, muttering to themselves and finding new spots to poke and prod. Needles suddenly weren’t so scary anymore, as often as they were being used.

If anyone ever asked what the hardest part of living here was, it wouldn’t be eating the same food everyday or the harsh punishments or even the experiments. It would be the isolation. 

Nineteen was so alone here. 

For over two months he had been stuck in this cell, though he’d begun to doubt his tracking of time— which was based purely on instinct. He counted the number of times he received food: morning, midday and evening. He tried his best to guess when night had fallen, but his irregular sleeping hours made that more difficult. He lied all curled up under a thin wool blanket, arms folded, trying to hug some warmth into his shivering, distraught self. 

He knew there were others here, but he was never allowed to see them. He had seen them with their pained looks, heard their screaming. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were, how they were, but at this point he didn’t care who he spoke to. He just wanted to see someone other than the same damn guards and scientists everyday.

He didn’t know why the complete isolation scared him the most. Perhaps that in itself was a sign that he’d lost it. He had plenty of food and water, but his mind was beginning to believe that the loneliness was eventually going to swallow him whole.

He’d already tried countless times to get the door open himself, but it remained shut no matter how hard he tried. The room was so quiet. Too quiet. Only the buzzing of the cameras filled the air; he couldn’t seem to hear anything past these walls. If he didn’t go crazy fist, his brain was definitely going to explode.

The dream of Michelle had become the only thing keeping him going. Yet here, lying completely covered by his blanket, he had never felt more at rock bottom. 

Michelle Jones.

He knew her. Somehow, he knew her name. In a sense, he could feel bits and pieces of images and memories flashing through his mind, but they were far too unclear for him to decipher. His head hurt but he had to finish the puzzle piece. He was desperate to.

Then there was the strange suit. Red and blue. A mask with two big, confronting white eyes. It looked vaguely familiar, but nowadays everything did.

The chime of the door unlocking filled the air. A harsh opening of the door made Nineteen quickly (but with little elegance) stand up, staring at the two guards that entered the room. 

“Subject Nineteen, stand back and face the wall.” 

It had become a routine at this point. With a sigh, he cooperated. 

Dr. Graves watched with great interest on the surgical scene, standing behind his scientists monitoring the screens before him. His gaze fell through the blue glass and onto the sleeping little girl laying on the surgical bed in the midst of it all. Doctors walked back and forth, preparing themselves for the process that was to come. Behind the glass, noises were all over: the slow beeping of the monitors, the humming of the computers and machinery, and occasionally the scientists and medical staff surrounding the girl. On this side, however, it was obvious the silence was well enjoyed.

This was the third time they were attempting the bone marrow transplant, and although the staff of course was cooperating, it was clear some were more hopeful than others. 

Suddenly the click-clack of Dr. Harrison’s heels approaching as well as her voice filled the room, though the well-dressed man didn’t move a muscle. “Sir,” she had said to get his attention, but Dr. Graves stood intact with his arms crossed in his chest, eyes set on the little girl. 

The raven-haired woman stopped next to the tall man, a tablet held firmly against the side of her lab coat. 

It was quiet for a moment before the woman spoke again. “Although neither the previous bone marrow transplants nor gene therapies were so successful, I can say I feel confident in this one, sir. No one has ever matched Nineteen so well as this subject. I-It’s perfect — it’s bound to work.” 

Dr. Graves sighed, finally speaking. “Baron Strucker is expecting results, Doctor. He’s getting impatient, and quite frankly, so am I.” 

Dr. Harrison noticed the way the man was looking at the little girl on the table. His eyes were soft, though she couldn’t understand why a man like him would feel for a test subject. Did she remind him of someone?

“Sir,” she began carefully. “All the lives we have already sacrificed will not be in vain. I promise you. We will make Hydra proud. This is gonna work.” 

He sighed again, seeming like he was thinking long and hard about what the woman was saying. “Well, we can all agree subject Nineteen is one of a kind.” 

A small smile drew on her lips. “I couldn't agree more, sir. Whether he was accidental or not, I do think the subject can do great things for this world. I couldn’t be happier being apart of such important work.”

“You were always one of my best, Dr. Harrison.” He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a firm squeeze, then retreated it. He couldn’t help looking at the girl; She couldn’t be older than eight, possibly ten. A sudden thought sparked in his head: was she even fit for these trials? Although he would lie if he didn’t say he was worried for her safety, he let his calm and cold demeanour hide it.

“The girl,” he said, voice barely more than a murmur. “What’s her name?” 

Dr. Harrison seemed taken aback by that. “Oh, this is just one of the new subjects that-“ 

“No,” the man interrupted, his icy yet soft eyes meeting hers for the first time then. “Her real name.” 

Dr. Harrison kept her gaze on the man. “Lily,” she said eventually. As Dr. Graves looked away from her, a frown crossed the woman’s face and she seemed visibly bothered. “Will there be complications, sir?” 

“No,” he answered coldly, not wasting any time. “Initiate the process.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Dr. Graves watched as the woman went back through the doors and into the surgical room. Soon, the young doctor he believed to be Dr. Martin stepped forward with a syringe in her hands, filled with the crimson liquid of subject Nineteen’s bone marrow. He stepped closer to the glass, watching with great interest as the blonde woman gently injected the bone marrow into Lily’s central line. 

The whole scene was nerve wracking and quiet as the woman stepped back, the beeping of the little girl’s heart monitor remaining steady as if nothing had happened. Was this finally working? She had already showed signs that no previous candidate had. Good signs. Was this the first step in the right direction? Dr. Graves’ lips parted in utter shock.

“The subject seems to be accepting the blood. She’s stabilizing,” one of the scientists sitting before him informed. 

Small relieved exhales went across the room, and soon enough Dr. Graves couldn’t hide his satisfaction either and his lips stretched into a slight smile. They watched as the little girl slowly sat up on the bed, nudging her sleep-deprived eyes before she curiously let them drift across the room. A doctor steadied her, while others kept looking in complete awe. Lily looked completely fine, im fact she looked better than she ever had. Healthy. Rosey cheeks, hopeful blue eyes and red lips, though her russet autumn hair still was messy. 

“Start running tests,” Dr. Graves said. It had only been minutes and he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but maybe Lily was special. “Test her abilities and limits right away.” 

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, Dr. Graves left the room. 

A pair of pained eyes slowly fluttered open in the dim light of a small recovery room.

What first came to him were the looming smells and sounds that only brought a disturbing feeling of wrongness. The dull ache in his shoulder came next, just as the hollow and stiff pain throughout his body. His brain felt sluggish and left behind, like his body insisted that he should keep going and get up from this bed, but his mind wasn’t listening. 

Just as he became more and more awake, he became more and more aware of the pulsing and throbbing pain that launched itself from head to toe. He couldn’t help but let out a pathetic groan, because everything hurt. Everything. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to swallow, it hurt to hold his eyes open, it hurt to lay completely still and do nothing. Down to his bones in a way he didn’t even think was possible.

The boy felt too hot, like there was molten lava under his skin that was melting his insides. Yet, somehow the surface of his skin was too cold at the same time and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering. His eyes wouldn’t open again because his mind was too sticky, too hard to think and too hard to stay awake. So he drifted off. In and out, back and forth. 

When Nineteen woke up a couple days later, his eyes were still closed, still in the cold darkness of the room. At least now his head was clearer and each inhale came easier. His chest wasn’t as tight as it had been and his lungs were not as heavy, but still every breath took a great amount of effort to get the air he needed. He felt like he was suffocating. He didn’t like it.

Nineteen grunted and finally his eyes were beginning to open; revealing a pair of bloodshot, sad, deep brown eyes gazing straight up at the ceiling above.

He blinked a couple of times, nudging his burning eyes to adjust to the light, though his senses were disoriented he was starting to feel more and more discomfort and pain.

So I’m still here,  he thought when he noticed the familiarity of the facility. He let out a pained breath of air, then started to wonder idly what the scientists had done to him this time.

For all he knew they could’ve tore out his back and broken every single bone in him there was, then ripped out his organs and set fire to them because that was exactly how it felt like. As if not to forget the headache that made him want to tear his skull to pieces. It wouldn’t surprise him if they had actually done all this, though he knew it had to be something along those lines. 

But did he really care? Nineteen had sunken so deep now, he was starting to think this was a life he was never going to get out of. He might as well get used to it. Nothing was going to change, nothing at all. He was forever destined to be their little lab rat, and never would they see him as anything more. 

He began to sit up slowly and carefully, his back screaming for him to stop but he was determined to keep going. He clasped his right hip protectively as it exploded upon exploded with fire. Too proud to admit that he was too hurt for it, that he could never be too injured to simply sit. It was a sit. He could manage that, right?

Even through a series of bit-back whimpers and tears welling in his eyes, Nineteen eventually managed the position, the back of the wall supporting him greatly in so. 

However; just as he sat, that was when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. 

By the door stood a young woman dressed in the same, awfully white lab coat that almost everyone here seemed to be wearing. She wore a cream bottomed shirt underneath, her blonde hair tied in a loose braid and piercing blue eyes staring right into his.

And what was it… concern? Worry? Fear? She must view him as some sort of monster. All scientists must, considering he and others like him were locked away and experimented on like guinea pigs.

Still, there was something about the way she looked at him. He couldn’t quite put words to it. 

“Oh, forgive me,” she suddenly said, scoffing and shaking her head. Her voice was soothing and surprisingly pleasant as she spoke again. “I’m not used to seeing someone so incredibly…  frail. But um… how are you feeling?”

Nineteen didn’t answer. 

“Right, sorry… Dumb question.” 

The blonde woman slowly began to walk towards Nineteen, but his Spidey Sense yelled DANGERDANGERDANGER- at the back of his head so quickly he pulled his feet up and away from her.

Though his right leg wouldn’t move and he was instead met by a terrible pain launching itself through the whole bone. He let out a pathetic groan, but still attempted to retreat back into his self-defensive huddle, backed up as far as the wall let him.

Suddenly it was like all the pain in his body had been completely replaced with fear, eyes wide and breaths hitching in his chest, legs trembling and pulse going a million miles an hour.

He may not be able to talk much, but he could still manage to make a statement– and this one was plain and simple.

Stay away. Don’t touch me.

Nineteen’s chest continued to heave, each inhale coming with a rattling in his chest that sounded thick and suffocating, his cheeks damp from slow, silent tears. He was terrified.

“Please,” he tried, but his throat hurt so badly, his vocal cords so injured from the shocks and tubes his voice only came out as a whisper. 

Nineteen was spent, drained and exhausted and probably nowhere near capable of standing or undergoing their cruel procedures again, unless they wanted him dead. He didn’t want to die… He just wanted to rest.

Please. 

“Nineteen, I’m not going to hurt you,” She held out her palm towards him, as if that would prove anything, speaking as if he was a wild tiger. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

The boy wasn’t so convinced. He kept staring at her like a petrified rabbit, too afraid to move even the slightest of muscle. 

"No more," Nineteen breathed out again, truly trying to speak louder but it wouldn’t come.

Brows furrowed, the doctor kept her gaze steady on him. She was an open book, he noted. Her face completely showed her curiosity, her worry for him. The concern and confusion. Still, despite his anger for her and this place, Nineteen was just as curious. 

She wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Most of the scientists were ruthless. Impatient. Bad. They would cut through his skin and watch him bleed without it affecting them in any way whatsoever. He would scream when they didn’t use anesthesia, yet they would continue as if they were deaf. He was just something that didn’t feel, something that wasn’t really alive, something that wasn’t human.

Just a little lab rat with a number. His screams just meant to cut deeper, to fill him with more drugs.

Not to stop. 

However, this woman… She seemed to actually care. It reminded him awfully of someone. 

“Shhh,” she cooed. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Try to calm down. No more experiments today, alright? Not for a while.” 

At those news, Nineteen leaned his head back and resigned himself to whatever fate that was in store for him now. He stopped struggling and blinked, feeling the tears shed from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. He forced his tense body to relax and the panic in his chest to subside, but kept his left knee up.

No more experiments today.  News like that shouldn't make him feel so happy and relieved. But he was, and he let out a shaky breath to it too. 

The woman slowly and carefully put her hand on Nineteen’s head, and though he flinched at the touch, he let her. 

She began to stroke his dark brown, curly strands, her hand gentle to the touch. It felt nice. Comforting. She brushed a lock of curls out of his eyes, and he closed them and tried to calm his still rapid heart. 

“Who are you?” he asked. Despite how low he spoke, the doctor had heard him. 

“I’m Dr. Martin, but you can call me Anne. I’m here to check up on you and change your bandages. You know, all the boring medical stuff you probably go through a dozen times.” She finished off her joke with a little nervous laugh. Nineteen returned the smile as much as he could, though he wasn’t sure if it was any visible at all.

With a huff, Anne withdrew her hand and walked up to Nineteen’s side with a plastic bag filled with a transparent fluid. He knew she could probably kill him right now if she wanted to. He would stand no chance fighting back. Was she actually planning something?

He frowned, keeping his gaze on the woman. However, she only switched it with the one that already hung on the hook above his bed, then proceeded to pull a swivel chair up to Nineteen’s side and sat down.

“There,” she sighed and looked at him with a smile. “You ready?” 

Nineteen said nothing. Instead he had his eyes dead set on her as she stuck her hand in the pocket of her lab coat, worried she was going to pull up something dangerous. She seemed to be noticing his unease as her moves grew slower, one palm towards him again as she revealed nothing but a… penlight. Nineteen looked away relieved.

Calm down. She’s not gonna hurt you.

“Now, I’m just going to shine this in your eyes,” Anne said, showing him the penlight. “It’s a flashlight. Nothing more, nothing less. Would that be alright with you?” 

Nineteen watched her for a moment. Why was she even asking him for permission? No one asked him for his permission on anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he got to decide for himself, so without much hesitance he gave her a little nod. It was going to happen anyway, so why fight it? 

He allowed her to flash it from one eye to the next, revealing just how red-rimmed his eyes were. The doctor was visibly bothered by it, to which Nineteen couldn’t quite understand. Wasn’t she used to seeing people like this? And was he really that bad? It hurt, yeah. It was awful, and his vision was noticeably worse. Though Anne had to be smart enough to see his eyes weren’t the biggest issue right now. 

When she gently touched the rims of his eyes, Nineteen could feel just how puffy they had become. He winched a little and she pulled back, concern drawn across every expression she made. 

“You have a bad eye infection,” Anne informed and leaned back. The boy didn’t even do as much as flinch; He only watched as the doctor pulled something up from the pocket of her lab coat again. It looked like a bottle of eye drops, and she brought it up for him to look properly. 

“These are eye drops. Nothing dangerous.” She gave him a soft smile. “It’s gonna help you feel better, alright? I promise.” 

The boy only nodded. 

Unscrewing the cap took only a second, but once Anne raised the bottle and tilted his chin up, that was where the problem began.

Nineteen struggled in her hold, frowning as he blinked up at the tip of the bottle over his face. “Sit still, dear,” she said calmly, managing to get one drop in before Nineteen hissed and tried to pull back. God, it stung!

“Buddy. Don’t blink so much, please,” Anne murmured, tightening her grip on his chin so Nineteen was effectively trapped.

Just get through this, he told himself through gritted teeth. Pull yourself together, for god’s sake. This is nothing— it’ll only last a second. He swallowed so hard it hurt, sitting carefully still so Anne was able to finish with the rest of the eyedrops. She screwed the cap back on the tiny bottle and slipped it back into her pocket, giving Nineteen a sweet beam. 

“There you go. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She said and clasped her hands together, eyes filled with such enthusiasm and care for a person in a way Nineteen had never seen before. It was confusing— he couldn't understand her, but returned the smile nonetheless. 

“Now, she continued. “Would it be alright if I moved your blanket down? To change your bandages.” Nineteen only nodded again. 

Both of her gloved hands reached for the top of his blanket that had previously rested just below his shoulders. Her cold hands carefully wrapped around it and gently pulled it down to his navel, revealing his bare chest. 

His bare chest, the same chest that was covered with perfectly incised scars and wounds, some more recent than the other. White bandages and gauzes were hastily wrapped around him so he wouldn’t bleed to death, pieces of cotton lazily taped here and there to cover the most recent cuts. Many of them were stained with blood, some with the crimson liquid still trying to seep through. It was obvious the doctor wasn’t enjoying the sight of it all. 

Something must’ve caught her attention, because she reached for the blanket again and pulled one side just far enough down to reveal parts of his hip. Nineteen’s gaze fell upon it, his stomach churning upon the view. His chest was nothing compared to it; this was truly horrifying. 

Both blood and bruises attempted to flee from the obviously infected wound on his hip, though the crimson bandages covered most of it. The doctor began to slowly remove the stained bandage, and as soon as it was off Nineteen could see it properly. To be honest, it was nasty. Scratch that, it was probably the most disgusting and horrifying thing he’d seen in his life. Even now, red liquid was slowly oozing out of the little wound, the hip being a mass of purple bruises that had turned into a sickly yellow, spread around all from the wound. It was almost alien compared to his chest. 

The memories came flooding back to him as he kept looking. Lying on the cold, metal table, the drill digging into his bones. The terrible pain he would never forget.

“God…” the woman trailed off. Nineteen only kept looking at her with tearful eyes. Yeah, he thought. I know. Then his eyes fell on the floor. 

“Hey,” Anne said, shaking off her own thoughts. “Look at me.” Nineteen hesitantly met her deep, sympathetic gaze. He reflected it, mixed with a little surprise. Though it quickly vanished, as he looked away, raising his other hand to shakily run it through his hair. 

“Nineteen. You’re gonna be alright. I promise you, okay?” She said. He looked back at her with red cheeks and his quivering lips under his teeth, as if he was about to break at any given moment. 

She lightly squeezed his shoulder and gave a pained smile. “I’m gonna look after you. We’re gonna fix this. You’ll be okay. You’ll be safe.” 

Nineteen looked away again. He didn’t want her or anyone to see him like this. He had to let the numbness take him again.

”I promise.” Anne continued so stubbornly, sounded more truthful than he had ever heard anyone before. She gave his shoulder a few strokes, her touch being ever so comforting.  “No one is gonna be seeing you for a while— well, except for me. That means you’ll have a bit of a break until you’re cleared to have recovered from the last procedures.” 

Sniffing, Nineteen looked down now to hide the tear that rolled down his eye. He chose not to respond.

The doctor gave his shoulder a little pat. “Buddy, look at me.” 

Why was she so determined about this?

Nineteen shook his head, so Anne bowed her head down so she could see him properly. He knew she was just trying to be sweet, but no one should have to see him like this. 

“Nineteen. You heard me, right?” 

He nodded as fast as his hurt head let him... which probably wasn’t that fast. 

”Good. It’s gonna be alright, buddy.” She ruffled a hand through his curls. “Now, let’s get you all sorted out, shall we?” 

Nineteen only nodded at that, though he wasn’t so sure he believed her. He lifted his head now, watching as she grabbed something from the drawers behind.

“You might want to hold my hand for this,” Anne said. Judging by her cocky smile, he took it as a joke and he returned the gesture.

“Do I look like a five year old to you?” 

Anne’s smile grew a little wider. “As you wish.” 

Slowly and tenderly, the woman pressed an antiseptic wipe against the damage of his leg, to which he immediately flinched and let out an involuntary cry as pain blazed through the wound. His hands were shaking and he had to bite back a groan. 

“I’m sorry, but I told you it would hurt.” Anne seemed visibly affected by the boy’s state. “I’ll be quick.” 

She placed it down again, quickly washing the wound while Nineteen tried his best to ignore the pain that stabbed him over and over. Anne’s efforts were rather futile as more blood kept pouring out the more she tried to clean it. He groaned, feeling a blood taste in his mouth from the amount of cries he’d held back. 

At least now he could see the wound properly. It was deep and raw, the edges jagged. And it was still bleeding. Despite that there was some fresh skin by the corners of the big wound, it was overrun by the dark, dark blood that was covering up the wound from revealing how deep it actually was. The stitches had been ripped so the wound had reopened, and there were some small pieces of bandage that clung to the injury for dear life.

“I was told your hip was fine,” he heard Anne mutter. He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or herself. “I’ll need to stitch it up again.” 

The process passed fairly quickly, or so it seemed for Nineteen who was brought back to reality by Anne calling his name. 

“Nineteen.”

“Huh?” His head jolted up, frantically looking around before it landed on his hip. Anne had removed the old thread and cleaned the wound as best as she could, which was more than good enough, new black thread looped evenly through his skin and neatly closed the wound. Where there had been nothing but blood and struggle, it now looked neat and clean as the woman worked on winding bandages around his burning hip. 

“You look awfully pale.” Anne brought the back up her hand up to Nineteen’s forehead, looking at him with those i’m-so-worried-about-you eyes that she had.

“And you have a fever,” she said, retreating her hand. “I need to finish this up, bud. But just stay with me, alright? Just relax.” 

Nineteen nodded, resting his head back against the wall again. “I’m staying…” he mumbled, his eyelids so heavy he had to close his eyes again. Darkness threatened to take him, and he was close to letting it.

The rest of the process became foggy, reality fading in and out. When Anne unraveled the bandages and cotton on his chest, she did it slowly, length by length. It didn’t matter how many layers there were, she went through them with the same patience and caution. It brought an odd sensation of safety to him, though he could barely feel or pay attention to it.

Bit by bit, as the doctor revealed the lines of Nineteen’s scars and wounds, hideous and sometimes red beneath the white, she’d brush her fingers against some of them, feather-light and fleeting. She tossed the filthy bandages in a dustbin, then proceeded to clean his wounds with another antiseptic wipe. She was just as careful when she wrapped him in new bandages, like the world hinged on making it perfect; not too tight and not too loose, neat and clean.

When she finished up with the bandages, Nineteen let out a big exhale. Already he felt better. Thank God she’s done, he thought. It had stung, and it had been bad. The amount of hisses and groans he had let out, and the blood on his lips said it all. Thankfully his tiredness had made it easier. It had almost been a painkiller in itself, and made it easier to only be half conscious. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked in quiet concern.

“S’ alright.”

Anne brought her hand to his forehead again. “Still warm,” she sighed. “Here.” She handed Nineteen a bottle of water. “I haven’t touched it. You should drink. Small sips.” 

The boy cocked his head to one side. “I can’t take that.” 

“It’s alright, dear,” she said with a smile, soft as ever. “It’s just water. Please.” 

“But it’s yours-“ 

“Nineteen .” Anne gave him a stern look. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and grabbed the bottle, letting his stubbornness slide for once. Never in his life had water tasted so good— but at the same time brought so much discomfort. His throat protested with every swallow, but fuck it, he was drinking. 

After swallowing what felt like gallons of water, Nineteen gave the woman the half empty bottle back, already feeling much better. Anne must have sensed this when she took the bottle and placed it on the table, giving him a smile. 

The doctor tried to make small talk as she next checked on the rest of Nineteen’s vitals. "So, I heard you took out a whole swarm of trained soldiers. Pretty impressive, if I may say." 

Nineteen let out a little hoarse chuckle to that. 

“Oh my,” Anne said. She leaned back and glanced at him with a frown on her face and her mouth forming an O. “Was that a laugh I just heard?” 

“Shut up,” he whispered, a small smile forming on his lips.

“It was impressive though! You really showed ‘em.” Now it sounded like the doctor was encouraging a five year old, but it somehow brought more comfort to the teenager. 

“I‘m glad I wasn’t one of them, to say the least.” Anne eyed him playfully, but Nineteen just scoffed. Honestly, he wasn’t in the mood for small talk as he just wanted to get this over with so he could sleep. 

"Hold still, dear, I'll just take a blood sample." Anne gave Nineteen time to brace himself and look away before the needle went in.

After the doctor had finished up, she turned back to the boy and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There you go! That’s it, Nines.” 

Wait, what? 

He didn’t care about anything she had mentioned earlier— what had she just called him?

“Nines? ” The boy repeated. The nickname felt odd on his tongue, but vaguely familiar. He hadn’t heard that since… 

“Colin used to call me that.” The words came without him even realizing what he had said. Barely more than a raspy, little whisper, but Anne had heard him. Her gaze was dead set on the floor and he knew he had hit a sensitive spot. Yet, he kept pushing. He wanted answers— he needed them. 

“Do you know him?”

Anne looked back at him. Her previous enthusiasm had completely vanished, replaced with a sort of dread. “Yeah,” she said reluctantly. 

He watched her with curious eyes, urging her to tell him more. Waiting patiently as she eyed the cameras in the corners of the room, there didn’t seem to be coming much more of a response. After some time she spoke again, but “Colin was a good man,” was all that came. 

Was? 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He dared himself to ask. She gave him a strict look, the type that made him want to disappear underneath his blanket, but the curiosity in him kept him going steady and strong. Brows raised, he spoke again. 

“Is he dead?”

“Colin doesn’t work here anymore,” her words came slowly, her tone that had been soft and soothing completely gone. Nineteen was visibly taken aback by her voice, and she let out a sigh and shakily tucked a loose straw of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, looking back at him with apologetic eyes. “But we just… we can’t talk about this.” 

“Is he dead?” He repeated. 

“No, he’s not.” Anne sighed and pulled her light blue gloves off her hands, throwing them in the bin. “He’s doing fine. We just… There’s been a-“ 

But Anne was cut off as the door suddenly and abruptedly opened, chiming every so loudly before. Someone moved into his field of vision, momentarily blocking out the bright overhead light. Someone who looked strangely familiar, even if he could only make out the outline of a shadow.

It dawned upon the teenager as the man took a step into the room, just who it was. With his expensive tailored suit - though without the jacket -  and determined eyes, Dr. Graves stood, live in the flesh with his three musketeers of guards behind him.

It had been a while now since the last time Nineteen had seen him. To be perfectly frank, he didn’t mind it at all. There was something about the man that brought him great unease. How he had come in so suddenly, just when he had started to uncover truths— it couldn’t just be pure coincidence. 

“Dr. Martin,” the cool voice said, his eyes landing on Nineteen. “Would you come with me? You’re needed elsewhere right now.” 

“Oh yeah, um, sure. I was just finishing up anyway.” She turned to the boy with a sad smile. “I’ll come by later tonight with medications for you. Until then just rest, alright?” A small, sweet smile crossed her lips. He nodded, though he couldn’t get his eyes off the man standing in the doorframe. She patted his leg and then she rose from the chair. 

“Just go ahead,” Dr. Graves commanded. “I want to talk to him alone.” 

Chapter Text

DAY 64 | 10:21 p.m.

AS SOON as Anne stepped out of the room and the door shut closed with a loud thud, it became completely still. Nineteen scanned the man’s face for a reaction; the silence hung in the air in the suspended moment, making the boy’s blood run cold. 

A smirk drew across Dr. Graves’ features as he sauntered further in. With his eyes set on him, Nineteen couldn’t help but feel his stomach continuing to churn. There was something awfully unsettling about this man— he seemed different now. Impatient. Tired. His usually styled hair hung in his face, as if it was a strange sight in itself seeing him without the jacket to his expensive suit. One thing was for sure: Nineteen didn’t like him. At all. 

Dr. Graves’ smirk grew as the boy eyed him cautiously. "Nineteen, Nineteen, Nineteen," His voice was saccharine sweet. "I hope you’ve been treated well since the last time we spoke." 

With his chin slightly tilted up, Nineteen stared right back at him, stone faced, unimpressed. Are you serious?

“Allow me to say, son,” Dr. Graves said as he took another step forward. “You really are a fascinating creature.” 

Nineteen only continued to glare.

“All your senses— smell, touch, taste, hearing, sight, sound, all enhanced to superhuman levels. Even a sixth one, warning you of incoming dangers. You dance around attackers without even giving a thought to what you’re doing. Your unique biology, the incredible healing and endurance. It’s truly... incredible.”

“You know, I’m flattered,” Nineteen said sarcastically, his voice croaked and strained from disuse. “But really, I’m just like everybody else.”

“Oh, you’re far from everybody else,” Dr. Graves replied. “All this… imagine how it would be to the military. Imagine soldiers being able to dodge bullets, or use the techniques that you used on our own men. I don’t think there’s anything quite like you, Nineteen-“ 

“Aw, all these compliments,” Nineteen interrupted.

Not even a flicker of the man’s expression changed before he continued on with his speech about how inhuman  the boy was. “Your blood could cut recovery times in half, save people. Save lives. Imagine that.” 

“Save you, you mean.” Nineteen cocked his head to the side, brows raised. 

“Save the world,” Dr. Graves corrected and began to slowly pace around in the room. “Before you came, the world was doomed. Crumpling to pieces, all at the hands of our pathetic world leaders. It was rotting— it is rotting. But now we can do something about it. You will do something about it, Nineteen.”

Nineteen coughed. The taste in his mouth was acidic and sour, burning his throat. Nausea danced in his body as well as his fever, and he groaned. 

“ Ugh ,” Nineteen said, grimacing. “You should stop talking— your voice is making me sick.” 

“You weren’t born like this, were you?” Dr. Graves stopped, turned to him and suddenly asked, ignoring the teen.

Anger panged in his chest at that, his eyes drilling into the older man’s gray pair. It made him shut up and it must’ve surely been the man’s intention. 

“Right.” A crocodile smile grew on Dr. Graves' lips. “You don’t remember.” 

Nineteen was giving him his best death-glare now. He had lost so much. Everything. Oh, how he wanted it all to end. He was seeing red, fury and frustration boiling in his blood. Dr. Graves’ smirk just grew bigger. 

"You want to know why you're here?" He finally asked, tone conversational.

The boy couldn’t help but make another sarcastic quirp. “To make buddies, I’m assuming.” 

Dr. Graves gave him a stare with blank eyes. “Arts and crafts?” Nineteen tried. 

"There’s a little girl here.” He noticed how quickly the man lost patience in him. “ Was ,” the doctor corrected himself.

Dr. Graves stood on the other side of the glass when the beeping of the monitors began to pick up, the smile on his face vanished. Lily’s monitors were racing, alarming the assistant director and the rest of the staff. Suddenly the young girl began to twitch uncontrollably on the bed. A group of doctors swarmed around her and attempted to hold her steady and calm, but it was for no use. Medications were injected into the child but nothing seemed to be working. She kept twitching hard and violently, obviously reacting to what had just been injected into her veins only a day earlier. The man could only watch what was happening before his very eyes, obviously disturbed by the horrifying scene. 

What next tore through the air made his blood run cold. The little girl had woken up and was now screaming, sending such high pitched screeches that pained and echoed through their ears. It was a surprise in itself that the glass still stood intact. Lily struggled in the grips of the doctors, the monitors beeping so quickly they seemed on the verge of exploding. It was chaos. absolute, downright chaos. It was when the screams suddenly died down and the flatline of the monitors filled the air, Dr. Graves realized what had happened. With Lily lying limp on the bed, he figured he had seen enough. 

“Her name was Lily,” he said. “You're here because of her. Because of other people like her. So their lives can finally mean something. I meant what I told you that first day. You are a part of something bigger than yourself, a scientific discovery that will change mankind forever— you should be proud.” 

“Oh, my!” An overly enthusiastic smile plastered onto his face. “That was such a beautiful speech. Aren’t I a lucky little sod,” he snapped back bitterly. 

Nineteen was honestly under zero impressions that he had not been defeated. Here he was, lying on a hospital bed in an underground facility in who knows where, bleeding through bandages, full of tubes and wires and feeling like crap from all the shit that had been done to him. It didn’t really get more defeatef than that. 

It wasn’t because despite being at day 64, his pride was too big to stop running his mouth off. He just couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth and saying things— it was sort of a nervous habit… 

Of course, Nineteen might die soon anyway. He was fully aware of that fact, though it didn’t make being here any less scary. If they got bored enough of torturing him, or found out that he actually wouldn’t prove useful to them anyway. Although perhaps dying quickly would be better than being trapped here as Hydra’s lab rat. It’s not like anyone was going to come rescue him.

Dr. Graves remained silent for several seconds before he responded. “You would think that over two months in here might humble a boy… but you seem just as arrogant as ever.” 

“Oh, forgive me— I don't exactly remember signing my name up for the human torture school club.” He smiled for effect. 

Dr. Graves frowned, studying Nineteen. His tone became less attached and more cold, just as his demaneor. 

“Do you think we enjoy all this? Watching you suffer? It’s all for a reason, and very soon you’ll understand that.” He sighed. “You have a gift, son. A quite remarkable one, actually. The thing is though… you don’t deserve it. You’re nothing but a lab rat. You never earned it— You shouldn’t have it.”

Ouch. Alright, that stung.

“Let me guess, you think you should.” 

“Hydra should!” Dr. Graves corrected. 

Nineteen couldn't help the derisive snort at that. “Right.” 

The man before him offered a little shrug. “Never think that what you are enduring is for fun," He emphasized, before pausing. "Well, not for me, anyway. I'm not sure about Dr. Harrison. Her bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired— that’s at least one thing we can agree on, hmm?"

Nineteen didn't answer. He wasn't even sure he was supposed to. Dr. Graves wasn't one for idle conversation. Mostly, he seemed utterly disinterested in Nineteen, and seemed to mostly exist to remind Dr. Harrison that yes, Nineteen was needed alive.

So he remained silent. The sudden spark of interest must’ve surely only been related to his chat with Anne earlier. Nineteen was no idiot; he knew when he was barking up the wrong tree. That didn’t mean he was going to stop, though; he wanted answers. 

“You’re not getting out of here, Nineteen,” Dr. Graves said, glancing at the boy in the bed. “This Colin is not coming to save you. He’s dead. You made sure of that.” 

No… he’s not dead. Why would Anne lie? 

Nineteen couldn’t even bear to look him in the eyes anymore. He let himself fall, allowed his courage to be washed away with a defeated chuckle as he shook his head. A tear threatened to spill from his eye but there was no way he was letting it. 

“He’s not dead,” he muttered under his breath. 

“The thing is, though, Nineteen…” Dr. Graves seemed awfully comfortable with his words as he leaned onto the bedframe with his hands, looking down at the boy with raised brows. “...No one is coming for you. Not even the mighty clowns that call themselves The Avengers.” 

“The what?” 

Dr. Graves ignored him. “For your own good, you should learn to get used to your new life already. Stop questioning our methods and start cooperating instead. No more escapes, because you know you will only fail at those, just as you have the last three times.”  

He paused, and Nineteen could see the grip he had on the edge of his bed tighten, the metal crumpling under his very fingers. 

“I’m going to drain you,” the man said suddenly and straightened himself. At this point it seemed like he was saying anything to add fuel to Nineteen’s raging fire, and he hated that it was working. “I'm going to drain you of every last drop of blood there is in your little, fragile body. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure the future of Hydra. You’ll understand what you’re a part of one day. That the end justifies the means.” 

Nineteen finally looked back at the man, his eyes telling just how much anger that was coursing through his veins. “Why don’t you just kill me?” 

“Kill you?” Dr. Graves shook his head. His mouth open to continue his justifiable psychopath monologue, “No… I don’t wanna do that. We’ll keep you alive so you can continue to give us the results we need. You’ll be taken… special… care of. And in return, I might just let you live to see it all come together.” 

A sickening smile formed on Dr. Graves' face, and Nineteen felt the sudden urge to throw up.

It took a week before the doctors cleared Nineteen to get out of bed by himself. He was immediately taken to a showerroom. Finally; a hot shower, a chance to scrub himself clean. He would lie if he didn’t say he was happy about this, and it was a strange feeling; but a good one. 

Hydra had an impressively shiny and high-tech bathroom— even for him. Nineteen littered the floor with his bloody bandages as he peeled them off of himself.

Most of his wounds were healed by this point. The skin has grown back on his chest and arms. Most of the cuts and slices had closed up. Even his hip had healed surprisingly well. Stitches still held the wound together, but the bruising had gone down a whole lot, just as the swelling and overall nasty look to it. 

With a good amount of trepidation, Nineteen pressed his fingers onto his hip, gently at first, then harder and harder until the bruises became stronger. It was strange though: he couldn’t feel anything. 

All he felt was numbness. 

Which, well, made sense. Nineteen couldn’t help but laugh a little at himself. God, what had he become?

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, winching at the sight of himself. Nineteen didn’t look the slightest amount of good; He probably stank from miles away, though thankfully he was going to get that fixed now, and his dark, curly hair had grown long and hung in his face. It didn’t bother him, because at least it hid how absolutely wrecked he looked. 

Dark rings under his bruised eyes that no longer held hope, pale skin and purple lips. He was fairly certain there wasn’t a single body part that wasn’t decorated with perfect scars of the horrible procedures he went through daily, and he was certain they weren’t going to ever truly disappear. Though thankfully, his clothes hid most of that. 

And then, that goddamn shock collar. It was fairly new; as the scientists believed it would be a far easier way to control him. Perhaps they were right, but he didn’t like it at all. 

He stared at the purple bruises that stretched out from it, spreading from the matte black collar like a disease. He was pretty sure what was hidden underneath it was far worse than anything he had seen on himself so far. 

When he thought about it… .in a certain way… he was actually lucky.

He was lucky to still be alive. 

Nineteen squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly hit with another wave of panic. In his mind, he kept being sent back to that lab. He couldn’t remember the last good night of sleep he had without entering that nightmare. And the nightmares bled into his waking thoughts. He could be perfectly fine one moment, and then the next he was vividly flashing back to the lab table. 

And the fact that he was still here and was going to be sent back there before he even knew it…  

Nineteen shivered and looked away from the mirror. He couldn’t escape. He just wanted to be the person that never lived through all this, so he didn’t have to remember it. His body would heal. But he would never be someone other than this. This was permanent.

But he was fine, right? He’s okay. He’s just… amazing.

He’s alive. That’s a win… at least. 

Two months later, Nineteen snapped to consciousness, jerking upright on the cold floor. The room wobbled around him; walls melting and he could barely even see, but he recognized his surroundings.

He was back in his cell. 

Grunting, he rolled to his side and tried to stand up, but his body roughly fell to the floor and he couldn’t help but bite back a cry of pain. God, everything hurt. He gasped, lying on the floor all crumpled up for a moment, on the verge of blacking out. Every muscle hurt- literally from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet - and a full year of sleep would do his pounding migraine a real solid. 

He forced himself up again through the protests of his own body. Though he barely managed to stand for long, as his legs gave out underneath him and he fell again with a loud thud. 

Suddenly pain was all Nineteen could feel.

Real, burning, all-too familiar pain. 

Each inhale sent raging fire through his body, his mouth filled with a bloody taste from holding back thr cries of agony, and the vomit that threathened to bubble up his throat. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tightly to keep himself from making any sound. With a groan, he slowly tried to steady himself as he wondered if the sickos watching him through their bullshit cameras were entertained. 

He crawled towards the bed and leaned heavily against it. Pathetic whimpers escaped his lips as he willed himself to calm down.

With the last of his strength, he managed to pull himself onto his bed, collapsing heavily onto it. He was sure to curl on one side just in case he vomited in his sleep. They had pumped him so full of drugs he could open a damn pharmacy. Weakly, he coughed. 

“You need to think.” 

Nineteen twirled around, gasping and blinking at empty air. His gaze landed on the figure that stood by the entrance of his cell. He would lie if he said he was surprised; the hallucination had toyed with the last strings of hope wrapped around his heart, for several days now. He was going mad, he knew it. 

Fucking hallucinations.

Curly brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, worried eyes drilling right into his own. A denim jacket and an outstretched hand.

It was MJ. 

“Oh, fuck. Not again.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over, burying his head in the pillow. 

“You reach for answers but you fail to touch them, Nines.” 

At that, the boy plopped back onto his back and sat up straight on the bed with a pained grunt, giving the girl a look. 

“What? Isn’t that what they call you? Nines?” 

Nineteen said nothing. Instead, he slowly rose up from the bed, ignoring how his knees buckled underneath him and almost sent him to the floor as he moved towards the sink. Leaning heavily onto it, he took a few mouthfuls of water. The cold liquid was like nothing he’d ever tasted before, instantly curing his desert throat and stood in great contrast to how warm he felt. Right now, it seemed to be the biggest luxury in the world, and the biggest he would ever receive. It was amazing.  

“Time is running out.” 

MJ’s echoing voice brought him out of his thoughts. The high-tech automatic sink stopped the water as he turned around to face her, wiping an arm at his mouth. “What?” 

“It’s all there to be encrypted in the scrolls.”

Was the hallucination trying to tell him something? Fuck, he was actually losing it. 

Nineteen gave her a forced smile, his voice overly soft through the raspiness as he spoke. “I’m sorry, could you be more clear?” 

“I’m trying, but you’re the one in charge.”

The smile disappeared just as soon as it came, his tone too. “You just like fucking with me.” He turned around and went back to the bed, feeling the relief in his bones as he sat down. 

“Maybe. But honestly, it’s time to get out of here.” 

Nineteen couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m gonna sleep.” 

“All you do is sleep.” 

He ignored the shorter figure before him and forced his eyes shut. “I need to stop talking to myself.” 

“Great idea. It’s time to wake up, Nines.” She stepped further into the room and sat down on the side of his bed. “What, you think you’re fucking miserable now?” 

Nineteen looked at her and swallowed, but he said nothing. 

“Four months moping in this hole like a coward. It’s no surprise you haven’t gotten out of here yet.”

That was finally decided to speak. “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get out?” He spat back at her. “It’s all just in vain! It’s… it’s not worth it.” 

“You’re a quitter,” MJ continued on as if he had said nothing, standing up from the bed. “Colin would be disappointed.” 

Nineteen swallowed hard. Okay, that one hurt. He stood up too, a sneer on his face, clenching his fists in fury. “I’m not a quitter— for all I know he‘s dead!”  The frustration was evident in his voice.

“Oh, for crying out loud. How is that your fault? Look at yourself!” 

His eyes suddenly grew hot and he had to look away. 

“You just wanted a reason to give up. To give up on me.”

“Shut up!” He yelled the words, taking a step daringly towards her. 

“Surely I must mean something to you since I’m the only one you remember,” she continued as if his words didn’t touch her. “The pity party is over. It’s time to start acting, to stop being such a sore loser.” 

Loser.

The simple word flicked a lever in his mind. His next breath sawed a roughness that robbed him of speech, so he said nothing. Only stared at her, stared as memories were unlocking in his mind. Though instead of digging deeper, he shut himself away.

“You aren’t real,” he growled, his temper cooling off just as he calmed down. 

“I don’t have to be.” 

Oh great. Riddles. 

“Fuck off,” he said, his voice barely more than a tired whisper. To his surprise, the hallucination disappeared. 

With a sigh, Nineteen sat back down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Shit,” he muttered, hands pulling at his hair. What had MJ meant? The puzzle piece was starting to make more sense, but the pieces still wouldn’t fit together and it was too unclear for him to decipher. Bits and pieces of memories flashed before his eyes, some of two teenage boys Nineteen couldn’t recognize. Another girl with blonde hair, a logo and a name. Stark. An older woman with the same brown eyes he had, and then of course that red and blue suit.

What did it mean? 

Nineteen shook his head, laying down on the bed and snuggling deep underneath his blanket. He lied and tossed around for hours, caught up in overthinking and plagued by guilt until exhaustion took control of him, and he passed out. 

It went like any other night, really. Suddenly minutes stuck in this place, undergoing cruel experiments upon experiments, stretched into hours, which again morphed into days. It was the same old every single day. The drugs they pumped into his system in hope that his heart wouldn’t one day give out, and the ridiculous tests they made him do. The fighting. The stupid white lab coats, turquoise clothing, or that goddamn expensive suit. 

The anger. The frustration. The guilt and hopelessness. 

Days stretched into weeks, weeks stretched into months. He knew one thing was for sure: he was never ever getting out of here. 

That was, until an all too familiar face entered his cell. 

Chapter Text

Meet me on the battlefield

Even on the darkest night

I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage

And you will be mine

PART II

DAY 334 | 6.43 p.m.

334 DAYS. 

Eleven months. 

He had spent almost a full year in here when the same, emotionless guards invited themselves into his little home of a cell. They forced him to his feet, handcuffed him and then he was pushed out into his real world.

Before he knew it, Nineteen sat trembling with exhaustion in one of the chairs in a testing room. Dr. Graves sat across from him, watching him carefully. He did not know what the look on his face meant, whether he had failed in the latest physical tests or not. Complete failure was not common for him, but it happened. Those were the worst days.

The Assistant Director gave a small nod to the guards, and Nineteen tensed automatically. But instead of advancing towards him, they left the room without question, leaving him and the other man alone together. He was not sure that was any better.

Across from him, Dr. Graves smiled, leaning closer to him over the table. Why, Nineteen wondered, does he still sometimes try and appear friendly when anyone who had known him knew he was not? When I know he’s not?

“I have some news for you, Nineteen,” he broke the silence and said, only for another one to come. “These past months, my colleagues and I have taken a particular interest in you. Do you know why?”

A tiny, broken smile appeared on the boy’s lips. “I believe you’ve told me once or twice, yes.” His voice could barely be heard but it was too demanding to raise it any higher. A year may have passed but his sarcastic quirps seemed almost unbeatable at this point.   

“It is because you are … stronger than some of the other individuals we have been testing.” Dr. Graves answered the question himself. “You are an incredible creature, Nineteen. Truly remarkable. Special. You manage so much more than any of the other subjects, even with your abilities.” 

Yadda, yadda, yadda. Come on, Graves, Nineteen thought amusedly. Confess your love for me already. 

Nineteen had heard vague mentions before of these ‘other individuals,’ and had come to gather that he was not the only one in the facility. There were others here, others like him. But whatever else they were he had no idea. He had never seen them. And it was better not to question, because he would recieve no answer anyway. Nineteen locked gazes with the table. 

Dr. Graves grew more serious then. “Everything we did for you, to you… it might not have made much sense. Perhaps it strictly wasn’t neccesary at all, because… well, we failed.” 

That was when Nineteen looked up to meet the man’s eyes. What had he just said? 

“You are a very dangerous boy, Nineteen. But you could certainly be useful. It’s a shame that’s never going to be in a way we originally planned to, because quite frankly, you are one of a kind. You’re so goddamn special we failed to create copies of you.” The man took another pause. 

“Perhaps we would have succeeded, have we been granted more time. But the time has run out, and it’s a change of plans.” 

For the first time in so long, Nineteen was hopeful. Excitement suddenly replaced so much exhaustion in his body, his eyes shining with the thoughts that wouldn’t stop circling around his mind. Was he getting out? Could freedom really be so close? 

“Now, here’s the good news for you,” Dr. Graves said and grit his teeth. Although Nineteen couldn’t hide any of his feelings of hope, it was clear that Dr. Graves wasn’t so pleased with saying his next words.

“You’re never going to see this place again.” 

Nineteen absorbed the words, jaws dropping so slightly because could this be real? Did this mean they were putting an end to the experiments? The corners of Peter's lips lifted and formed a small smile, something he hadn't shown in forever; it even felt foreign. He was sure he had not ever felt relief like this before. Was he actually getting out of here?

Freedom. That was exactly what he had longed for in those dark, lost hours inside his cell. Freedom. The ability to choose his own path—something that had been stolen from him over and over again.

“Wipe off that smile, son,” Dr. Graves said, annoyance visibly tearing at him. “You’re still a part of Hydra. We aren’t done with you quite yet— you’ll be moved to another base of ours so your abilities can be tamed. You’ll be trained properly, and eventually when you’re older, you’ll be in full control of them. And that’s when you’ll be needed. Because, like I said, you are a very dangerous boy. And dangerous has its quirps.” 

A frown replaced the smile on his face. “You need me to be dangerous?” What did that mean? However, at the thought of training… if he could use what they teach him, could he finally have a chance to get out of here, once and for all? 

Dr. Graves smirked. “We need you to be powerful. But being dangerous has its benefits too. One day, you see, you and all the others like you will be able to help us fight against some very bad people. You will be a weapon for us.”

“A weapon?” Nineteen repeated. There was no way he was going to murder people for someone as evil as Hydra. 

“Yes.”

“And who are these ‘bad people’?” 

Dr. Graves smiled again, this time making no effort to try and fake any warmth. “That is not for you to know. But I thought we owed it to you, to tell you at least something after all this time…” Dr. Graves trailed off. Nineteen looked at him expectantly. 

Suddenly the man’s tone changed. It was confusing; Nineteen wasn’t sure if he was being genuinely sincere this time or not. “Perhaps what we did to you will help shape you into a better soldier. Believe it or not, it was always for your benefit too. Either way, I’m sorry it came to how it was.” 

Sorry? Was he, really? Had Nineteen heard that right?

He rose, watching Nineteen as he did so. He went to the door where a masked guard stood waiting for him. In the doorway he paused, turning back to the boy at the table. “Just remember that the outside world is crueler than here. Hydra will always be your home, even when you think our actions might be unjustifiable at times. One day you’ll understand that we did what we had to do. That’s all you can.” 

And with that he closed the heavy metal door, leaving Nineteen with a hundred more questions. 

They came again for Nineteen a little before dawn. 

Two guards. One called his name and demanded that he stood and faced the wall. He had gone through this exact thing for about a million times now, so without much reluctance he did what he was told. Eyeing the dim figure of MJ standing in the corner of his cell, he let himself be escorted away from the room he would never see again. 

A moment later, about six heavily armed guards had circled around him, all walking in coerographed tempo through the hallways. Nineteen’s gaze grew sad as they passed Anne and a young raven-haired boy. Their gazes locked, and a sort of dread hitched in his chest at the look of the little guy. It was the first time he had ever caught a glimpse of anyone like him here.

He wondered idly what was going to happen to the him, but knew he was in no position to help. One day, he thought. Perhaps it was an useless thought, but he wanted to believe it. With a sigh, he looked away, not bearing to give any of them any further looks, though he wished he could at least thank Anne for everything. 

They stopped when they reached a heavily fortified door. A big guard pressed his keycard to a little black box, it chimed and lit green, and the door opened to reveal an enormous warehouse. He walked through, and a guard behind Nineteen gave him a little nudge to go through too. 

Nineteen looked around him at the massive Loading Bay in wonder and awe; it looked just as modern as the rest of the facility, but with much darker tones. Bright, yet dim lights lit everything up. Massive equipment and smaller concrete rooms were scattered throughout. The movements and the noises filled his head, just as the strong scents of motor oil, gunpowder, gasoline and old sweat, although the people were clean and their clothes were in good repair; they seemed happy . It made him wonder if they even knew what was going on in the same building, what he had gone through.

They came to a stop, but Nineteen was far too busy looking around to realize someone was calling his name. 

“Subject Nineteen.” 

At the second call, the boy turned his head around to see who was speaking. A short, gray-haired woman with fancy clothing. Beside her stood Dr. Graves, but he seemed of no interest to talk, only to keep his icy gaze set on the boy. 

“You have been approved of the KD-program of Hydra,” the woman continued. She seemed awfully cold and emotionless. “You’ll be transported to a compound a helicopter ride away from here— I’m sure you’ve been informed about the details already.” 

Uh, I haven’t, actually. But who cares?

Nineteen wasn’t good at hiding the unease that welled in his guts. There was something awfully unsettling about her, he felt almost as if he had seen her before, but couldn’t quite pinpoint to exactly where. 

“You’ve been a great asset to our studies here, Nineteen.” He looked at the ground as she talked. “Now, you’ll be an even greater asset to the KD-program. Just remember… Hail Hydra. ” 

And with that sickening ending, the guards pushed him from his back as a sign for him to walk on. However, he couldn’t get his eyes off Dr. Graves; his curiousity was far too large for his thoughts to not wander. Would he never see the man again now? As in, ever? The thought of that made him smile a little. It was a shame for the man, but Nineteen felt relieved to be free. 

The guards and he arrived at a gigantic entrance, the largest door Nineteen had ever seen in his life. It didn’t match any of the other doors at the compound at all. A male guard strode forward and moved a metal bar around, and with a loud hiss the large wall of a door began to slowly pull apart.

The first thing that hit him was the strong wind. It howled; sending his hair that had previously been plastered onto his forehead, flying everywhere. It felt like a freshness over his skin and knocked the air out of his lungs, but Nineteen was mesmerized. He stood and looked around in complete wonder, despite the gale raging in the darkness of the night. His eyes were wide with curiosity as he scanned the outside world, not bothered by the harsh rain at all. Even the low temperature sent puffs of frozen air from each exhale he took, but he kept looking around at the darkness of the forest around like this was the first time he had ever seen anything like it— which in fact, it was. 

Was this even real? 

Nineteen wanted to pull away from the guards as they began to push him towards a large, black helicopter just by. He wanted to take in the view of the world, what he never knew had been right outside of his little underground-reality. Even though he could barely see anything at all through the unforgiving storm, this was truly beautiful. It was everything he had dreamt of and more— it was amazing. 

One thing was for sure: Nineteen could live with this outside world. He liked it. A lot.

Before he knew it, Nineteen was pushed into the helicopter and handcuffed to the wall. The smile of a toddler that had taken over his features was now completely gone, replaced with the anxiety he felt for what was going on around him. The flying vehicle roared to life, slowly but quickly rising to the clouds. He felt his stomach wrench at the fact that he quickly was hundreds of meters above the ground. 

It was a bumpy ride- wherever the hell they were shipping Nineteen off to. Though he of course couldn’t see past the walls, he could hear the rain hammering against the vehicle, and the lightning cracking through the air. It didn’t bother him— not the rain, anyway. His hands were still cuffed together and chained to the wall of the large helicopter. The guard sitting across from him held his weapons in his hands tightly. On his side sat MJ, and it didn’t surprise Nineteen the least that she was coming along for the ride. There were two more guards in the front of the helicopter, Nineteen could hear them talking through the thin metal divider. 

He let out a loud sigh and leaned his head back against the wall of the vehicle. He was tired, there was no doubt about it, but he had to stay awake. He had to know how long this ride was going to take, how long he was going to be locked up. If anything was going to happen to him, he had to stay awake to know exactly what. It was ironic, in a way, considering his past. But there was no way he was sleeping, that was for sure. 

When Nineteen awoke two and a half hours later to a guard shouting his name, he knew he had broken the promise he had given himself. The boy was shaken out of his slumber and roughly shoved out of the vehicle. As if the helicopter wasn’t loud enough in itself, the storm made it a hundred times worse and Nineteen could barely hear the men urging him to walk faster on the asphalt. 

“C’mon, boy!” A man yelled into his ear after he had caught him from crashing to the ground. 

Nineteen gasped and nodded and kept on running. As fast as he could, anyway. His body was close to broken as exhausted as he was, and each step brought a wave of nausea dancing through his body. The wind ripped through his clothes and simply moving forward had never been so difficult before.

Suddenly the storm came to a complete stop, and Nineteen realized they had arrived inside the compound. The lights were bright and thankfully more welcoming and warm than at his previous home. He didn’t have much time to take in the scenery before he was interrupted.

“You must be Asset Nineteen,” a voice suddenly said. 

“Welcome to your new life.” 

Chapter Text

Hello! ❤️ It’s been a while. I don’t know if any of you are still out there, because I kind of left this story on a cliffhanger and didn’t update it for months. I know, I know. I’m a jerk. I don’t have much of an excuse, I just had so much school and it frankly didn’t feel right to start writing on Peter’s journey in this story. But that was then. 

I can’t put into words how much I’ve appreciated each and one of you for reading this story. For commenting and giving kudos on this silly thing— it means the world to me. I LOVE YOU ALL❤️❤️

Anyway, I hope you’ve all been well. Covid-19 came so suddenly and I’ve been lucky enough here in Norway to live a life not too restricted, still able to see my friends. Many of us didn’t have that privilege. Many of us lost more than others. And I’m truly sorry about that. We’ve all felt alone and incredibly uncertain. But one thing I do know, is that things will always be alright in the end. Perhaps there is some comfort in us sitting in each of our houses across the globe, alone. But because we’re all doing it, we’re alone together. So we’re not really alone, in a way. Does that make sense? 

Anyway, I’m rambling. I’m realizing it omg. I shod stop. So let’s just get to the point. 

I’ve been thinking of continuing this story, now that it’s summer and I’ll have plenty of time. What do you say? Do you wanna see Peter in this story again, and what he’s up to now?

Feel free to comment, it can be anything. It doesn’t even need to answer my question, I’m just curious to how ya’ll have been❤️

Chapter Text

DAY 334 | 9.32 p.m.

“I’M JAVIER,” the man said next. His accent was strong as he spoke. “I will be your instructor.” 

If Nineteen had to guess, he would say Javier was in his mid-forties. He was surprisingly muscular, a little taller than himself, and dressed in coal-black military clothes from top to toe with his dark hair styled neatly. There was a smile in his cold, beady eyes that suggested he enjoyed the exhausted appearance on Nineteen. 

“Well, now.” A pair of hands clasped together loudly and caused the teenage boy to visibly flinch. “We’ve got no time to lose! Come on, araña— we’ll talk as we go.” Javier turned quickly on his heels and began to walk with big, purposeful steps further into the Loading Bay that reminded him awfully of the one earlier he had seen. Without much choice, Nineteen followed; his steps were not nearly as elegant. 

“We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I will oversee most of your training,” Javier said while they walked. “If you have anything to say, you come to me— only me.”

The beatdown teenager nodded although the man could not see him, as he was walking behind.

“Look, I don’t know much about what Dr. Graves did to you before you came here. But frankly, I don’t care. When you fight in the name of Hydra, you have to fully understand what we stand for— what you will stand for as well…” Javier began to talk about Hydra as if he was damn inspired, but all Nineteen could hear was blah blah blah as his mind began to wander away from reality.

So, this was where he was going to spend the rest of his life. Who would have guessed it to be another facility? Nineteen could say he was less than thrilled to find out whatever he was going to fight, how he was going to fight. In his condition, it seemed nearly impossible. Never for as long as he could remember, had he felt so low. So… empty.

If he was honest, some part of him had hoped this would be the end of his journey. 

“Some ground rules.” Nineteen was snapped back to reality by Javier’s thundering voice. “You have to be in the training room by eight o’clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation.”

The phrase “do whatever you like” stuck in his mind. His entire life, people had always chosen for him and he never got to say anything in the matter. He had to follow the rules of Dr. Graves and the rest of the white-coated devils— there was no questioning about it. What did it even mean to “do whatever you like”? What would he even do? Nineteen had to ask. 

“Whatever I’d like?” He repeated, surprised by his hoarse voice.

“Yes, precisely.” Javier was quick to answer. “Well, for the time you will be in your room, that is. For now, you are only permitted to leave it when accompanied by a guard or me,” he added. 

Nineteen nodded slightly, though it was only visible by the Hydra guards, - who had accompanied him from the laboratories, - walking behind him. 

“Your room will be locked during nights and otherly hours. For safety, of course.”

Safety? Nineteen pondered to himself, obviously amused. Sure seems like ‘safety’ is the reason. 

They came to a stop in front of a metal door. Javier turned around to face the beatdown teenager and blew out sharply through his nose.

“Behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the nights you’ll be spending here. Hopefully, it’s a little more interesting than where you came from,” he said. 

“But first, let’s do something ‘bout that stench and those clothes. Come along, Asset. The showers are not far from here.”   

Nineteen gasped in horror as the freezing water hit his back like a million needles. He sharply breathed as he scrambled to fix the temperature, but immediately failed as he had absolutely no idea how the old shower in the dim light worked. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before the shower gradually became warmer and he sighed in relief.

It felt strange to stand here, completely undressed under dropping liquid for the first time in what felt like forever. His eyes drifted across his bare chest, his arms and legs that were surprisingly still toned despite everything. But then there were the scars, the bruises, and bandages wrapped around his still healing holes in his body. However, the biggest one was the one in his mind, one that unlike those on his body only seemed to be getting bigger. 

There was a certain comfort knowing that his body would get together and heal as best as it could despite everything. He couldn’t say the same for his mind. A bad memory threatened to fill his mind and he shook his head, not letting it take over, eyes instead fixated on the blood dripping down to the drain and mixing with the water on the stone tiles. 

T-shirt and black jeans. Soft socks and running shoes. It felt peculiar on his body like it wasn’t supposed to be there. But after washing himself from top to toe at least ten times, Nineteen felt like a new version of himself, ready to conquer whatever the world had in store for him now. As long as he wasn’t going back to the mad scientists, he was good. More than good. Perhaps from here on, things would improve. The numbness inside him had been replaced by something the teenager couldn’t quite grasp. 

He stood outside of the door to the showers, arms folded and leaning his weight on the wall, waiting for Javier. Suddenly he heard footsteps and he lifted his sunken head to see the man approaching him with a grin way too big for his head. He was alone, this time. 

“Well, don’t you look dashing,” Javier said and frowned. “Remind me that you need a haircut.” 

Nineteen flinched as the man touched a straw of his hair that had gotten so long it was stabbing him in the eyes, then spun around and proceeded to walk away in the same direction he’d come from. 

“Come with me, araña. You’re not resting yet.” 

Nineteen followed with a sigh, figuring he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. The foggy figure of MJ stood beside him, following him, but frankly, he was too tired to bother about it right now.

Through the wide halls, Nineteen stayed quiet. He let the man lead him to a spacious area that smelled sterile, looking equally as expensive and futuristic as where he had come from. There were other people here dressed in the same colors as Javier as if it was some kind of uniform. There were computer screens against the walls, and curtains dividing small rooms from this main one. The teen couldn’t even try to hide his anxiety. 

“Your medical reports have already been sent over so there’s no need to fiddle with that. You’re in... well, the best shape you can be given the circumstances,” Javier spoke mostly to himself with his gaze planted in the small screen in his hands. He looked like he was going over something digitally written with a picture of a boy in the corner. Was that him? 

A confident woman walked up to Javier’s side, her sharp features enhanced by a pair of glasses. She wore dark military clothes just as Javier, accompanied by a white lab coat. Nineteen swallowed hard and looked away so he wouldn’t be reminded any longer. 

“We’ll give you some time to heal fully. Then we start training in a few days.” 

Javier looked up from the screen and met Nineteen’s gaze hard. Then he turned quickly to his left and pulled the curtains to one side, revealing a small room with a little medical bed that reminded him much of Dr. Graves and that facility’s procedures. A lump formed in the back of his throat and he had to take a step back so he wouldn’t see black.

Javier pointed to it. “Sit.” 

The instruction came out abruptly, which should not have surprised him as it did. Nineteen parted his lips slightly, every limb in his body protesting as he walked towards it and climbed onto it. For a moment he thought he forgot how to breathe, eyes wide with terror and heart beating out of his chest because oh fuck there was no way he was back here again when he just got out— 

“Wake up,” Javier’s deep voice snapped. 

The boy’s breaths hitched in his chest as he kept his eyes fixated on the man. There was a heavy hand on his shoulder but he could barely concentrate on anything else than to keep himself under control. Well, as much as his body let him.

“Asset, nothing here is going to harm you,” he said, his voice clear and stern. “You’re one of us now. You have my word.” 

Nineteen swallowed hard and rebalanced his position on the bedside. With everything that had happened, he wasn’t sure if he believed the man. For all he knew, this could be another stupid test. But there was something about him that gave him an odd sense of comfort, something he hadn’t felt in a really long time. 

“Thank you,” Javier said as the teenager seemed to have calmed down. “Now, let’s get that nasty collar off you. It doesn’t really scream fashionable.” He must have tried to joke to make the atmosphere lighter, but Nineteen remained unfazed. 

The woman brought a screwdriver up to his neck. Within only seconds, the black metal piece that had made the teen’s fingers bleed from desperate attempts to pull it off, clicked in half and landed on the floor. Suddenly he felt about a million weights lighter, and he swore if he had wings he would fly into the sky right now. As he moved his hands up to his throat, his fingers weren’t stopped by it like they used to. They just kept trailing up to his chin. Although the area the collar had been strapped around for months was sensitive and had to look like a crime scene of purple and red, Nineteen couldn’t put into words how grateful he was that it was gone. He hadn’t even realized his mouth had dropped in awe. 

“I bet that must feel great,” the woman spoke. 

Nineteen looked up at her through the brown straws of hair hanging over his eyes like curtains, a small smile creeping up to his features. His gaze darted to Javier, who despite seeming to want to keep up the strong and brawny-act, could not hide his little smile either. 

The woman gently took Nineteen’s arm and turned it to expose his forearm, dabbing antiseptic wipe on his skin. “Hold your tongue,” she said before bringing a scalpel to it and making a small, precise cut. The boy frowned at the strange, prickling sensation it gave, shocked that it did not hurt for the first time since he could remember.

A small metal chip was implanted into his body and Nineteen winced a little, eyeing the woman warily as she began to stitch the hole in his body shut. 

“What’s that?” His curiosity spoke before he could think. 

“A tracking device,” Javier answered quickly. “You should know that the world is a dangerous place, Asset.” 

Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. 

As the woman walked away, Javier pulled up a pair of scissors and began to harshly pull at Nineteen’s hair, slicing one and one strand of his dark, newly washed strands. Each piece of hair fell like it was snow in December and Nineteen could only watch as his head was being firmly held in Javier’s hand. The silence was hard and Javier was rough, but he didn’t mind it. It was all he knew. 

Soon there was steady slicing and Nineteen didn’t know how much time had passed. But before he knew it, Javier pulled away with a “Done!” and the boy could finally straighten himself, feeling like he was looking out on the world through a new set of eyes with hair no longer blocking his vision. He could even feel the cool breeze on his neck where there should have been hair. 

Nineteen looked up to see Javier staring at him with a frown. What? was written all over the boy’s features, but the man said nothing. Did he look so different? Suddenly, Nineteen began to actually wonder what he looked like. 

“Come,” he finally said. “Let’s get you to your room.” 

That night, Nineteen lied in such a comfortable bed, he felt like he might just mistake it for quicksand and sink through. He had his clean bed cover up to his chin, gripping at it with both hands as if it was a teddy bear. He never wanted to let go; for as long as he could remember, he had only slept with a thin blanket in a freezing cell. 

For the first time in his life, he felt a glowing sensation of warmth flowing through every vein in his body. 

Now, he would lie if he told himself that he felt safe here, because he most certainly didn’t. Given his past, Nineteen wasn’t sure if he would ever let his guard down. He was always on the edge, constantly watching out for new dangers, wondering if today might be the day his body lets him down. It had almost come to a point where he slept with one eye open.

Was he paranoid? Maybe a little. But was that so surprising?

With a huff, the teenager sat up in bed and slid down from the bedside, letting his toes gently touch the floor, still not quite used to the fact that the tiles weren’t giving him frostbite. He stood up and walked to the mirror in the bathroom. 

There he was. The teenager suddenly looked like a young boy because of the new haircut. Once shoulder-length hair had been removed by a messy medium-length haircut. It was obvious that Javier had tried to make the job as quick as possible, but still it somehow seemed to work on the teen. He could barely even recognize himself. It almost looked a bit funny, but Nineteen had to admit that he liked it. 

The only thing that gave him away were the bruises that still had yet to heal and the dark circles underneath his eyes. But there was a sparkle in his eyes that he had never seen on himself before; a glimmer of hope that things would get better from now on.

And maybe they would.

All he knew now was that in a few days he would begin training.

And he was more than ready. 

Chapter Text

DAY 336 | 8.02 a.m. 

"ASSET NINETEEN, age of sixteen… mutant…  abilities include enhanced strength, healing, agility, reflexes, metabolism, wall-sticking and senses..." A bearded man Nineteen had never seen before listed off. He stood in the middle of a gigantic training area with heavily armed guards posted on the entrance. Behind the man were several punching bags hanging from the ceiling, as well as a punching doll by the man's side.

He frowned; Hydra had obviously done their research. They had a lot of information on him, more than he knew himself. He didn’t even know his own age until now. 

“An IQ of 178 and a sixth ‘danger’ sense.” There was a pause and the man looked up from the clipboard and directly at him. Nineteen looked away. 

“This should be interesting.” 

He and Javier looked at each other and chuckled, to which Nineteen reacted with nothing. His gaze remained glued to the floor as if he was a statue.

“Javier, show me what he’s got.” 

The way the man spoke initiated that he held some sort of authority at this place. Chills danced down his spike because oh, how he hated people with authority. 

Javier nodded and raised his voice, making the teen unable to hide a flinch. “There are two stages of combat. The first one is physical, and the second one is mental. If you want to succeed in bringing your enemy down, you must be able to face your nightmares.”

There was a short pause. “Today we’re gonna start on the physical part. The first thing you will learn today is how to fight. The second thing is how to shoot a gun. The third is to combine the two.” 

It was when Javier walked up to him, Nineteen finally raised his head and met his hard gaze. 

“I know you have already practiced fighting at the facility where you came from,” he said as he paced back and forth. For dramatic effect, he supposed. “And you have some skill. But you have barely even grazed the surface of what you’re capable of.” 

Nineteen swallowed so hard his throat stung. 

“Pay attention, Asset. You’re gonna regret it if you don’t.” 

Javier named a couple of punches, demonstrating them on the punching bag as he did. First in the air, then against the punching bag. Twice.

As it was his turn, Nineteen moved sluggishly towards the punching bag and placed himself where Javier had stood, wide-eyed and shaky when he carefully scanned the bag with his eyes. It was big and rough. Hard. It probably hurt more for him than for the bag. He looked back at Javier and waited for him to say he didn’t have to, after all.

But instead, he said “Go ahead.” 

Taking a small step toward the bag, Nineteen hit it. It was a good and hard punch, and the boy could feel the adrenaline soaring through him from top to toe.

But to his big surprise, Javier didn't look so satisfied with the punch. He sighed. “Again.” 

Nineteen let out a puff of air. Suddenly, memories of the damn chair Dr. Graves had put him into flooded his mind. 

He let out a strangled yell as the hurt returned. Blood welled into his throat from the tongue he had just bitten through in vain attempt to keep quiet.

Nineteen. MJ. Queens. Harry. 15. Spider-Man. Ned. Gwen. He had to remember. He had to keep going.

“Where do you study?” 

“M-Midtown…” He leaned over to spit crimson on the floor. “Midtown School of s-science and technology…” 

“Again.” 

Nineteen opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Graves hadn’t been speaking to him. The pain came back, ten times worse, ten times faster.

Standing before him, Javier hadn’t been the one to say “Again.” It had been Dr. Graves. 

Nineteen shook his head and began to breathe almost too heavily, anger coursing through every part of his body. No, he thought. Stop. Stop thinking about this. He brought his hands to his temples in obvious distress, but the memory fueled his temper that burned like a raging fire inside of him. 

He couldn’t hold back. Hate was all he saw, flimmering red before his eyes. Without being able to hold himself back anymore, he swung a fist so fast into the punching bag with so much power that it unleashed itself from the frame and was sent flying across the area, landing with a loud thud. He screamed, allowing everything he had held back to come out; for a second, he thought his voice had broken. 

He sighed. For a moment, his boiling blood cooled. 

Clap.

Clap. 

Clap. 

Nineteen frowned, lifting his head just a little to see the bearded man slow-clapping at him with a rather disturbing grin. Feeling uncomfortable, he took a step back and looked at Javier expectantly. 

“Good start,” was all he said. 

Confused, Nineteen looked back at the floor. Never in his life had he gotten praise. Whatever it was supposed to mean, he liked it.

For the next hour, Nineteen fought hard against training dummies. Apparently he had been too rough, because he had managed to break two of them accidentally. Javier didn’t seem to mind. He simply stared at him, his eyes following his body from his head to his feet, not lingering anywhere—a practical, scientific gaze. He gave him advice and Nineteen listened and adjusted as best as he could, and was praised with being told he was a quick learner. 

By the end of the first session, his knuckles were already red and bloody. However, that didn’t bother him and he remained that way when a woman in white scurried up to him to tie bandages around them. 

Next was the gun training. As he had never even touched one of those things before in his life, or at least he didn’t think so, Nineteen had to admit he was nervous. Javier had brought him into the shooting range, with guns and knives lined on a table, as well as targets and silhouettes of humans lined on the walls. 

“Shooting a gun takes precision. Keep yourself calm and centered to focus on the target. Only with a clear mind will you be able to defend yourself,” Javier said and pressed a pistol into Nineteen’s palm. He stared at the foreign, deadly object in his hand with uncertainty, as if he could kill someone by just holding it. 

“Watch me.” 

Javier faced the wall with the targets on it—one square of plywood with three red circles on it lining the wall. He stood with his feet apart, held the gun in both hands, and fired. The bang was so loud it hurt his ears. He squinted to see the result. The bullet went through the middle circle.

That was impressive, he thought, but there was no way Javier expected him to pull up his gun and do the same. Nineteen held onto the back of the gun with his dominant hand, proceeding to use his other hand to support the other toward the front of the handle. It was just like Javier had done. 

The man raised his brows at the boy, and he took it as a que to start shooting.

Nineteen squeezed the trigger, hesitantly at first and then harder, cringing away from the gun. The sound hurt his ears and the recoil sent his hands back. He stumbled a bit, knowing well this wasn’t going so great. He didn’t know where the bullets went, but he knew it was nowhere near the target. 

One, two, three more times he fired, but neither of these bullets came even close. 

“Again,” Javier spoke. 

Except, it wasn’t him, and Nineteen looked at him for a brief moment before he quickly lifted his gun up towards the targets that stood ten meters away, his grip on the weapon far more determined this time. 

He readjusted the position of his legs, then shut one eye and stared at the target for only a couple of seconds before he fired. One, two, three, four. 

None of them hit the red middle circle, but it was surprisingly close.

He turned to look at his instructor, awaiting a response as his serious face told him nothing. “Keep shooting, Asset,” was all he said.

So he did. Nineteen didn’t know how much time had passed when he was ordered to stop. During that time, Javier taught him different techniques with various weapons, how to throw knives at a target and how to even hold one, ways to better his aim, and the combination of moving and shooting. 

So when the man left without warning, it felt almost natural to hold a gun or a knife in his hands. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that fact, though. 

Moments later, Javier came back with a group of heavily armored men with large guns in their hands. Instantly, Nineteen knew what was going to happen. Although the memory was nothing but a distant glimpse in his mind, he knew he had done this before back at the old facility.

Javier led him to a small fighting ring, even though it wasn’t a ring because it was a square… Focus, Nineteen, he scolded himself. 

“Now, Asset, you’re gonna combine everything you have learned here so far. You already have excellent mobility so don’t worry about that. Trust yourself and impress me.” Javier stepped out of the ring.

“You can pick any weapon,” he continued. “The weapons aren’t loaded with real bullets. They are pain repulsors to stimulate the exact pain of a real bullet.” He pulled out the magazine of a bulky armored guy’s gun to show. They almost looked like darts.

Nineteen raised his brows. That didn’t exactly sound cozy either way. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” 

For a moment, the teenager just stood there. Instact on the floor, as if his legs were the roots of a tree. He eyed the people around him warily before he stepped back towards a tray of weapons, picking whatever stood out to him. 

Suddenly his gaze lingered on something seemingly hidden underneath the weapons. It looked like some sort of wrist gadget, black in color— something he instinctively thought he had seen before.

“What’s that?” His voice was merely more than a whisper.

A smirk grew on Javier’s lips. “Try them on.” 

He reached out for them and gently put one on each of his wrists. There was a small button on it, and without thinking he pressed it; shocked at the outcome he almost jumped. Out came a spider web as large as a dog, glued to the ground. Nineteen tried to fire another one straight towards the wall, and it created a fine, white spider web line. 

What the hell?

He looked back up at Javier, who only smiled ever so slightly. Without giving the gadget a second thought, he grabbed a handgun and stepped back into the fighting area.

Looking for confirmation from Javier, the man only had to meet his gaze for Nineteen to know that he could begin. 

As the group of men began to charge towards him, a sense in his mind went haywire and he dodged well on time; drawing the gun and aiming directly at the closest man, pointer finger squeezing. He pulled the trigger and the man fell to the ground with a groan, but was up on his feet within seconds. 

That fucking armor. 

He had to figure out a way to make them stay on the floor.

A strange sense buzzed at the back of his head and he dodged fast as another soldier tried to shoot him, firing a web at the weapon and yanking it out of his hand. Grabbing the weapon midair, Nineteen shot him twice, flew towards the man and proceeded to use him as a shield to shoot three more. All fell, stunned, and he used his gadgets to web them up on the floor. Kicking the man he had used as a shield to the floor, he did the same to him. 

And this time, thanks to the webs, they remained there.

There was no time to think. He dodged a hit from another soldier and fired his gun at him twice, but suddenly it was empty of bullets. No time to reload, he thought, letting the weapon drop to the floor. He was on his own.

Making eye contact with an incoming man, he launched himself into him, planting both feet firmly against his chest. He kicked away hard, then backflipped to slam his bare feet against another attacker just behind him. Both men fell to the ground, hard. Webbed up on the floor. 

90 degrees right. Incoming. 

He instinctively threw a hand up to dodge the hit, but suddenly he was hit on his other side and he had to let out a scream as he felt raw pain explode in his leg and rush through his veins. He ducked as a hand swung towards his head, pulling out the dart from his leg and shooting a web at a man’s face, slamming him hard against the floor. He stumped on the soldier’s foot so it twisted; the man shrieked as the sound of bones cracking filled the air.

The way he moved was almost inhumanely fast. His kicks and flips were almost a blink-and-you-miss-em deal. By the time the deadweight of the soldier on the other side of him hit the floor, he had punched two more men and put a knee to the back of another soldier. 

Behind. 

He ducked, turning to elbow a soldier in the ribs, dodging another hit, then proceeding to kick him in the side. 

This was almost too easy. He didn’t calculate precise points of impact that would bring people down with minimal effort. He swung his fists until blood splattered the floor. He webbed and it felt so familiar, as if it was pure muscle memory. 

The teen was furious; it flooded his veins like adrenaline. He shouted to ease some of the tension building in his bones, letting go of everything inside of him he had kept captive. 

He blinked, watching as another armored man sprinted for him. He pivoted a foot, spun and slammed fists into flesh. One of the guards brought out a taser. He must have realized there was no point in trying to shoot the teen: he mostly dodged all their bullets. Electricity flared through his muscles and he couldn’t help but scream, although the pain was something he was used to and quickly became barely-existent. He sneered, spun out of the guard’s grip and jabbed him in the side. The man stumbled back. 

Behind you. Duck. Danger danger danger.

Without even turning around to see what the danger was, Peter ducked, then spinning around and handcuffing the soldier with webs, then webbed him in the face and smashing his head hard against the concrete floor. 

He didn’t flinch at the groans of the soldiers nor did he cringe at their screams. It just fueled Nineteen’s temper. This was his revenge for all the torture that had been inflicted on him. 

He brought a hand towards a man’s head and yanked him by the helmet before shoving him towards another man with more force than he wanted to apply. 

He had stopped caring about seriously hurting these people the moment he started fighting. Whenever he was going to get a chance like this, he would take it.

Soon enough, there were nearly a dozen unconscious men on the ground, a smell of sweat and something else, and dripping splashes of red on the floor. 

Nineteen paused for just a second after the fight cleared. He looked all around himself, not even the slightest hint of regret in his chest. As he stood with a hunched figure, gaze fixated on what almost looked like a massacre around him, all he felt was relief. 

It felt good. 

Suddenly the teen realized how quiet it was. Only the groans of the soldiers filled the room, and Nineteen could hear his own, heavy breaths. 

“Again,” Javier had spoken up.

So, he did.

He fought. He trained. Every day, every night. Hard. Suddenly it had become the only thing that brought him comfort anymore. He didn’t care that Javier was preparing him for the “unimaginable”, whatever that was. He didn’t care that people were actually starting to notice him here. He only wanted to let go of everything that had been trapped inside him for so long. 

Hour after hour. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. 

Until the day he received his first mission. 

Chapter Text

YEAR 5 | 8:05 p.m. 

“ASSET NINETEEN, we believe you have finally reached the point in your training to complete the final step. You see, I have come to debrief you on your first mission without my aid.” 

Nineteen sat in a dim lighted room, gaze set on his mission leader and instructor, Javier, who stood and eagerly talked in front of a whiteboard. Around were four heavily armed guards, as well as other men of authority Nineteen had seen too much in his time spent here. 

His eyes widened at the mention of the allusive final step he had been preparing for for five years, jaws slightly dropped. “I am ready?”

“Never doubt yourself, Asset. Doubt is for the weak. Doubt… is a distraction.” Javier’s face suddenly became awfully serious. It had to be because of the setting they found themselves in, with authority screaming from every man around them, because normally Javier wouldn’t be afraid to show a little humanity. 

He nodded slightly. No emotions showed on his face as his eyes were locked on thin air far ahead, the gesture little but enough. Emotions were a weakness. Just as he had been taught; small body language gestures were always better than words. 

Over the span of five years, Nineteen had been taught far more things than he would ever find useful. Mathematics, French, Italian, Japanese, German, Russian, how to shoot precisely while literally soaring through air, and not to forget: the best way to kill a man with a spoon. At this point, he could literally throw five knives at a target with his eyes closed, all hitting the bull's eye. 

He could even read people very easily. After a few minutes of talking or even observing, he could read a person like a book. He could figure out their secrets and flaws in a snap, figure out if they are hiding weapons. He didn’t know why Hydra taught him so many things like that, but suddenly he just noticed things no one else seemed to. They congratulated him on that and praised him for being their favorite. Told him he was lucky compared to the other assets. But in reality, no matter what Javier said, he didn’t feel so lucky. 

However, he had to comply. 

Hydra had trained him to become one of the deadliest men alive. And he had to be, because they did not accept failure. 

He had failed once so he knew the torture that came with it. He had accompanied Javier on a smaller mission and refused to eliminate the target; a young woman with tears in her eyes. Now, he simply strode forward with purpose and “dispersed the evidence”, as Hydra often would say. And not once was there a second thought in his mind, telling him to not get any more blood on his hands than there already was. 

“You are familiar with the Avengers, correct?”

Javier’s words brought him out of his thoughts and he nodded again. He had done copious amounts of research on each avenger, just as Hydra had ordered him to. He knew infinitely more about them than he did about himself. But it was for the best. They had assured him of that.

Javier took out a manilla folder, something quite common in his mission statements. He handed it to Nineteen. “You will be infiltrating the Avengers.” 

The teenager’s eyes widened. The enemy? The Avengers who were the main enemy of Hydra? He looked through the folder, his mind making permanent mental notes of all of the information. Suddenly his gaze landed on a picture of an older man with kind eyes and brown hair. Underneath it stood First Target: Tony Stark in bold letters.

“The Avengers are our prime obstacle to initiate world dominance. They are a plague to this world.” There was a short pause. “With them in the way, there is no possibility for us to succeed in our most important mission of them all. So we must get rid of them, and Tony Stark is the key.” 

Nineteen swallowed. Never had he thought that his first mission with only his own aid would be something as hugely important as this.

Javier crossed his arms on his chest and began to pace back and forth. “The Avengers are incredibly difficult to eliminate. We have studied each of the members for decades and it seems that the only way to break them down, is perhaps from the inside. So, tell me, what is Tony Stark’s weakness?” 

Nineteen thought for a moment. “Pepper Potts,” he answered.

“Wrong. Tony Stark is a man of many things. The world knows him as a famed genius, a billionaire, an Avenger… a husband, even. But he is also a father.” 

Suddenly it clicked for him. “Morgan Stark,” he said, his words coming as he was still realizing it. 

Nineteen looked up from the folder to meet Javier’s gaze. He looked proud, as if he was sure the boy would succeed in the task put out for him. But Nineteen had a bad feeling about it going down to his core. 

“There is nothing Tony Stark wouldn’t do for his daughter; his own kin. When you kidnap her, he will grow uneasy and restless. Reckless, even. His desperation to get her back will make him unable to think clearly and he will turn against his fellow Avengers.” Javier put a hand on his shoulder. “And that is when you will once again strike with the rest of our team, and disperse them one after the other like animals to slaughter.” 

Nineteen’s gaze plastered onto the wood table in front of him. Lost in his own mind, a shadow casting ominously over him in the dim light of the room, he couldn’t help but wonder idly: Could this mission be bigger than himself? 

No, he shook his head. I can do this. He straightened himself, determination in his eyes as he stared right into Javier’s icy orbs. 

The corners of Javier’s lips formed a slight smirk. “First step: bring Stark’s daughter here. You go out tomorrow night.” 

"Maguna! Where are you?" 

Tony called to the toddler hiding from him. It was late in the evening on a normal Thursday, and the man was only trying to give his daughter a bath and then put her to bed. Turns out that wasn’t as easy as he had thought. 

He stopped for a moment. “Miss Stark?" He listened.

A giggle came from the tiny cupboard under the stairs in their new house. Tony had yet to figure out all the hiding spaces, but it was obvious Morgan had done her exploring. 

A smile grew on Tony’s lips as he crept towards the place the eight-year old was hiding. 

With a big gesture, he flung the door open and scooped the giggling girl into his arms. “Got you!” he laughed. 

“Nooo, daddy! Again!” She shrieked with her arms around her father’s neck. 

“Nuh-uh. Mommy says it’s bath time.” Tony looked at her with an awfully bad attempt of seeming serious, to which his wife standing in the doorframe watching couldn’t help but laugh. Morgan pouted dramatically and Tony grinned, walking over to Pepper.

“Hey-“ She was cut off when the girl landed in her arms and she looked up at her husband expectantly.

“Please,” Tony pleaded with puppy eyes. “I’ll bathe her next time.” 

“It’s your turn, Tony.” 

“Nuh-uh. I specifically remember you saying you’d take her this time as well.” 

Pepper grinned. “I wonder where Morgan gets her stubbornness from.” She took in her husband’s appearance with friendly eyes. An expensive tailored black suit with a charming red tie, a rare sight of the man unless he was headed for an important meeting. He looked exhausted and sleep-deprived, dark bruises circling under warm chocolate eyes. His dark hair was a mess, like he had just woken up and rushed off to the Avengers tower without bothering to comb it. Well, because he had. The man had literally only come home to their New York apartment an hour ago just in time for dinner. His chiseled jaw lifted with a proud smile.

On the other hand, she wore a comfortable white shirt and jeans with elegance, and had bothered enough to curl her ginger hair that rested nicely on her shoulders. 

Pepper sighed. “Doesn’t seem like I have much choice in the matter, does it?” 

Tony’s smile grew and he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her lips. 

“Ew!” Morgan exclaimed and covered her eyes with her palms. 

Laugher erupted between the two as they leaned back. “But you’re putting her to bed,” Pepper said with raised brows, vanishing into the bathroom with the young girl. 

“And I’ll do it tomorrow!” Tony called after them. 

Under the sound of the water flowing into the bathtub and Morgan’s giggling, Tony could make out three words from Pepper. “Sure you will!” 

And soon enough, nighttime for all youngsters came, a moment where Tony found himself sitting next to little Morgan Stark tucked well into her covers. He was stroking her hair as she breathed softly, eyes closing only for a split second before they opened wide and large. 

“Daddy,” she whispered.

“Mhm?” 

“Can you sing me a goodnight song?” 

Tony’s eyes lit up and he swallowed, mind wandering as he tried to come up with a good song for children he could sing to her. But who was he kidding, Pepper was usually the one who Morgan asked— and with good reason. 

“Aren’t you getting a little too old for that, hm, Maguna?” 

“Nuh-uh.” Morgan shook her head with a frown. 

Tony sighed. There was a pause as he considered it, his daughter’s eyes shining with expectancy, so eager and happy to hear him sing. So, he started humming. 

“Livin' easy…. lovin' free. Season ticket on a one way ride…” Tony couldn’t help but let out a laugh as Morgan covered her beaming smile with her covers. 

“Askin' nothin', Oh, leave me be! Takin’ everythin' in my stride… Don't need reason, don't need rhyme. Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do…” His voice gradually became louder and louder. 

“Goin' down. Party time. My friends are gonna be there too.” Tony rose from Morgan’s bedside, his movements exploding into large gestures of nothing but a guitar solo as he sang with all his voice’s power. 

“I'm on the highway to hell!” He yelled rather than sung. “Ooh, on the highway to hell… Highway to hell! I'm on the highway to hell, Morgan!” 

He slid to his knees, ending the most dramatic guitar solo the world had ever seen before he fell to his back with an exaggerated sigh. And in the bed was Morgan, giggling even more than she did to Nickelodeon. 

Clapping enthusiastically as she watched her father rise from the floor, Morgan’s eyes were lit up like supernovas. 

Tony ruffled a hand through her hair. “Is judge Morgan impressed?” 

The girl suddenly turned very serious. “Hmmm.” She looked around the room. “No golden buzzer this time, but it’s a yes from me.” 

“Yess!” Tony chuckled. He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Go to sleep now, okay? Or I’ll never make you any mac n cheese ever again.” 

“Daddy!” 

Tony was halfway through the door as he spoke again. “Love you tons, Morgan.” 

As he closed the door, he could hear her reply that melted his heart every time his little girl said it, and he would once again rub it in his wife’s face. 

“I love you 3000.” 

Meanwhile, on the edge of the rooftop sat a Hydra agent in a red and black suit, scouting out into the midnight city. The wind was bitterly cold and biting, especially for winter to be, whisking away all heat he had and leaving him shivering and pale, despite that his blood was still running warm. 

“Asset Nineteen, you may move in.” 

The words came suddenly, despite that he had been waiting for the order for several minutes now. 

Closing his eyes, Nineteen released all of his weight and let himself freefall down the building. 

Adrenaline coursed through his body until in the last possible second, he shot out a web and swung upwards. A smile formed underneath his mask, because oh how he loved this feeling.

Time to go to work.