[one-shot]
The thing people tend to forget about me here is that I don't always make the best choices. That sometimes -- more than sometimes -- I act rashly. I've managed to cultivate a sense of trust with the few folks who'll still have me. Painted myself to be something that I don't necessarily think I am most days.
The responsible one. The good one. The one who somehow managed to get his deal together here after a lifetime of failures and second chances, third chances, fourth chances. But that illusion shattered months ago, much as I've tried to piece it back together, shard by broken shard. It's held in place by the emotional equivalent of tape, the fractures clearly visible if you happen to take more than a passing glance... But I don't let anyone look too closely. I can't afford it. Because if someone took the time to really analyze me, they'd probably lock me up in a padded cell.
And if I was locked up in a padded cell, well, then I couldn't exactly be trying to tear holes through reality, now, could I? And if there's one thing I am very -- very -- intent on doing, it's getting the hell out of this dimension. Tonight.
It's only been a few hours since the failed test with the Aperture tech, only a few hours since I saw my first glimpse of Mary Jane after her disappearance back in May, and already it feels too long. What if she's not the only person stuck over there? What if there are others?
(What if it's a trick? The screen was small. You only saw her for a second. You're chasing a ghost, Parker.
But what if I'm not?)
There's not a lot of traffic in the scrapyard after dark to begin with, but the part that Tony's got cordoned off for his own projects is as abandoned as I expected it to be. He's at the mansion, still, probably in the workshop trying to sort through the data that I'm too impatient to wait for. We lost Dope today to the same tech we lost Duo to at the beginning of the year, and for all of Tony's bluster, I know him well enough by now to realize that he's not going to be in any rush to risk a third loss. It's taken him the better part of a year to make a second attempt, and I don't know that we that we can afford that type of timeline anymore.
Or, at least, I know I can't.
Now, I'm by no means a spy, but I still know a thing or two about sneaking into a place. Like wardrobe, for example.
I'm dressed up to the nines in my best Spidey suit, and while the tech-sense I've developed over the months can't hold a candle to my old spider-sense in terms of its breadth, it's still better than going in blind.
I've got the access to come in here, sure, but I'm not so dumb as to think Tony doesn't have a few protocols in place to keep even me out. He's a smart guy -- one of the smartest I've ever known -- and if there's one thing we smart guys have in common, it's that we like our secrets. There's a limit to how much we'll share in the name of progress, and Tony's cagier than most...
Not as cagey as yours truly, though.
The tech-sense alerts me to Terrible the second before I touch down on the ground, the web of data stretched across my HUD flashing red in warning. The more dangerous of Shellhead's robots, it's is an impressive feat of engineering, to say the least, is standing proof to the continued genius of Tony Stark--
But it has one fatal flaw when it comes to a fight against me. 'Cause you see, I helped test the damn thing, and you better believe that I paid attention to its weaknesses -- just in case. You don't dance with Ultron more than once and come away without a certain wariness for killer robots -- particularly ones built by founding Avengers, no matter what universe they're from.
I've been at this game a while. Someone who didn't know the ins-and-outs of Terrible's system would run into trouble -- and quick -- but I know exactly where to strike and when to dodge and how to incur the most damage in the least amount of time. I barely register the fight as it's happening, body on autopilot as it runs through the motions, leaving my mind free to run through the calculations I'll need in short order. The robot's trashed by the time I'm done, keeled over on its side, but I don't pay it a second's thought as I leave it behind.
I've got bigger things to worry about.
Booting up the system up again takes longer than I'd like, gives me the chance to think things over, but I don't let myself. I've just broken into my best friend's equipment and tore apart one of his prized toys; it's too late for second thoughts. I passed the point of no return a long time ago, and I'm seeing this one through.
Hopefully it won't be the last thing I see.
The portal rips a wide hole through the otherwise unassuming wall, bathing the scrapyard in a flickering, bright light, flares of tempestuous energy shooting outwards until the process stabilizes. I check the math to make sure the situation's contained, my one brief nod to responsibility before I bodily throw myself through the wormhole like I wanted to so badly before.
(Yeah, on the list of dumb things I've done... I'm not sure this ranks, actually. Only if I'm limited to the last couple of years. Then it might be up there, but still not the top spot.)
A dizzying rush of color and sound and wind rushes me by, and I'm disoriented when I land, my foot catching on something as I try to correct my balance so that I end up getting a face full of dirt as I tumble forward without a modicum of grace.
"Good thing no one saw that," I groan as I pick myself up from the ground, shaking off the blades of grass that cling to the material of my suit as I take a look around. It's now that I notice a couple of things. One, that I'm still alive, because that wasn't, strictly speaking, a guarantee. Two, that I'm in a forest, the kind that calls to mind Grimm's fairy tales and those storybooks with all the creepy woodcut drawings. It's a far cry away from the sunny shores of Tabula Rasa, a place you wouldn't want to run into a dark alley, but I find that I don't care. In spite of the circumstances, I grin behind my mask, a laugh bubbling up from my chest, and I breathe in temperate, dry air that doesn't taste a thing like salt.
It's completely out of place, but I can't help myself. I can't help myself that I can't help myself. Elated, I pump my arms up above my head, and crow: "YES!"
A bird squawks in the distance in protest, cutting my celebration short. Right. Better pull it together. I'm here for a reason, and celebrating an achievement years in the making isn't one of them.
No, I'm here to save a girl.
My chest aches at the thought, and unseen, the smile fades from my face. Down to business, then.
I pull up the HUD, a pale blue spider-web of data stretching across my vision, but I can't make sense of any of it. The readings are all over the map, which doesn't bode well, but I can't dwell on it. This was always going to call for some exploration; as long as I leave myself a trail to follow back to the portal, I should be fine. I can use the spider-tracers as breadcrumbs. Given the setting, it seems... Fitting.
I set forward, singing that Teddy Bear Picnic song under my breath to keep from getting creeped out by the increasingly oppressive silence, leaving tracers behind every time I hit a fork in the path. What's visible of the sky above suggests an almost perpetual twilight, making it hard for me to gauge how long I've been walking without any other sign of life, though if I had to take a guess, I'd say--
(A rush of wind. A brush of leaves. The fluttering ends of a red cloak turning the next corner ahead.)
"Mary Jane."
I'm running before I realize I'm running. She's just around the corner, I'm sure of it, and now's not the time to dawdle, only-- Only when I get there, I'm alone. The path opens out into a clearing, there's nowhere to hide, and yet--
(Movement behind me.)
I whip around, and suddenly... There she is. My memories don't do her justice. The cloak's a brighter red than her hair, its hood falling forward just enough to cast a shadow over her eyes. She's taller than I remember, though it could just be the ground. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, mysterious and coy in turn, but she doesn't say a word, simply standing there, so close I could reach out and touch her.
My throat goes tight. My eyes burn. I want to say something. Want to tell her how much I've missed her, crack a joke about how she shouldn't go so far away from home, but my tongue's a leaden weight in my mouth. After a second that stretches into an eternity, I step closer and lift a hand instead to cup her cheek, hoping to say in actions what I can't say in words, only the second my fingers reach her skin--
It all goes wrong. My hand passes through her like a sick joke, the soft curls of her hair turning into angry tendrils of smoke -- a smoke that soon encompasses the whole of her body, and grows, shifts, morphs. There's no chance to react. Tech-sense flares red too late, and then--
Cut to black.
--
I return to consciousness, slowly, drawn out of darkness by the smell of something good. Head's pounding, like I've been put through the ringer. Appropriate. It takes me a minute to open my eyes, and another to realize that I shouldn't be seeing bars when I do. With an alarmed yelp, I sit up straight and scramble to my feet, back running into a wall that could be made of gingerbread, were it actually edible. I'm in a cage, but it's not the only one in the room. Across from me, there's another one where the occupant must've decided to let themselves out, if the big ol' hole is of any indication.
(And it is an indication, lemme tell ya. Though it's funny, the way the wall's bubbled around the edges; it looks almost like it was melted.)
"Anybody home?" I ask, even if it's clear that there isn't. I take a walk around my cell, which takes about two seconds, and note, somewhat happily, that it isn't padded. It's in my exploration, though, that I find what's cooking -- a stew boiling in what can best be described as a witch's cauldron. Propped up against a brown sac of flour is a dog-eared book titled, Cooking with Spiders: Terrifying Treats and Eight-Legged Eats. My stomach lurches.
"...well, crap."
The responsible one. The good one. The one who somehow managed to get his deal together here after a lifetime of failures and second chances, third chances, fourth chances. But that illusion shattered months ago, much as I've tried to piece it back together, shard by broken shard. It's held in place by the emotional equivalent of tape, the fractures clearly visible if you happen to take more than a passing glance... But I don't let anyone look too closely. I can't afford it. Because if someone took the time to really analyze me, they'd probably lock me up in a padded cell.
And if I was locked up in a padded cell, well, then I couldn't exactly be trying to tear holes through reality, now, could I? And if there's one thing I am very -- very -- intent on doing, it's getting the hell out of this dimension. Tonight.
It's only been a few hours since the failed test with the Aperture tech, only a few hours since I saw my first glimpse of Mary Jane after her disappearance back in May, and already it feels too long. What if she's not the only person stuck over there? What if there are others?
(What if it's a trick? The screen was small. You only saw her for a second. You're chasing a ghost, Parker.
But what if I'm not?)
There's not a lot of traffic in the scrapyard after dark to begin with, but the part that Tony's got cordoned off for his own projects is as abandoned as I expected it to be. He's at the mansion, still, probably in the workshop trying to sort through the data that I'm too impatient to wait for. We lost Dope today to the same tech we lost Duo to at the beginning of the year, and for all of Tony's bluster, I know him well enough by now to realize that he's not going to be in any rush to risk a third loss. It's taken him the better part of a year to make a second attempt, and I don't know that we that we can afford that type of timeline anymore.
Or, at least, I know I can't.
Now, I'm by no means a spy, but I still know a thing or two about sneaking into a place. Like wardrobe, for example.
I'm dressed up to the nines in my best Spidey suit, and while the tech-sense I've developed over the months can't hold a candle to my old spider-sense in terms of its breadth, it's still better than going in blind.
I've got the access to come in here, sure, but I'm not so dumb as to think Tony doesn't have a few protocols in place to keep even me out. He's a smart guy -- one of the smartest I've ever known -- and if there's one thing we smart guys have in common, it's that we like our secrets. There's a limit to how much we'll share in the name of progress, and Tony's cagier than most...
Not as cagey as yours truly, though.
The tech-sense alerts me to Terrible the second before I touch down on the ground, the web of data stretched across my HUD flashing red in warning. The more dangerous of Shellhead's robots, it's is an impressive feat of engineering, to say the least, is standing proof to the continued genius of Tony Stark--
But it has one fatal flaw when it comes to a fight against me. 'Cause you see, I helped test the damn thing, and you better believe that I paid attention to its weaknesses -- just in case. You don't dance with Ultron more than once and come away without a certain wariness for killer robots -- particularly ones built by founding Avengers, no matter what universe they're from.
I've been at this game a while. Someone who didn't know the ins-and-outs of Terrible's system would run into trouble -- and quick -- but I know exactly where to strike and when to dodge and how to incur the most damage in the least amount of time. I barely register the fight as it's happening, body on autopilot as it runs through the motions, leaving my mind free to run through the calculations I'll need in short order. The robot's trashed by the time I'm done, keeled over on its side, but I don't pay it a second's thought as I leave it behind.
I've got bigger things to worry about.
Booting up the system up again takes longer than I'd like, gives me the chance to think things over, but I don't let myself. I've just broken into my best friend's equipment and tore apart one of his prized toys; it's too late for second thoughts. I passed the point of no return a long time ago, and I'm seeing this one through.
Hopefully it won't be the last thing I see.
The portal rips a wide hole through the otherwise unassuming wall, bathing the scrapyard in a flickering, bright light, flares of tempestuous energy shooting outwards until the process stabilizes. I check the math to make sure the situation's contained, my one brief nod to responsibility before I bodily throw myself through the wormhole like I wanted to so badly before.
(Yeah, on the list of dumb things I've done... I'm not sure this ranks, actually. Only if I'm limited to the last couple of years. Then it might be up there, but still not the top spot.)
A dizzying rush of color and sound and wind rushes me by, and I'm disoriented when I land, my foot catching on something as I try to correct my balance so that I end up getting a face full of dirt as I tumble forward without a modicum of grace.
"Good thing no one saw that," I groan as I pick myself up from the ground, shaking off the blades of grass that cling to the material of my suit as I take a look around. It's now that I notice a couple of things. One, that I'm still alive, because that wasn't, strictly speaking, a guarantee. Two, that I'm in a forest, the kind that calls to mind Grimm's fairy tales and those storybooks with all the creepy woodcut drawings. It's a far cry away from the sunny shores of Tabula Rasa, a place you wouldn't want to run into a dark alley, but I find that I don't care. In spite of the circumstances, I grin behind my mask, a laugh bubbling up from my chest, and I breathe in temperate, dry air that doesn't taste a thing like salt.
It's completely out of place, but I can't help myself. I can't help myself that I can't help myself. Elated, I pump my arms up above my head, and crow: "YES!"
A bird squawks in the distance in protest, cutting my celebration short. Right. Better pull it together. I'm here for a reason, and celebrating an achievement years in the making isn't one of them.
No, I'm here to save a girl.
My chest aches at the thought, and unseen, the smile fades from my face. Down to business, then.
I pull up the HUD, a pale blue spider-web of data stretching across my vision, but I can't make sense of any of it. The readings are all over the map, which doesn't bode well, but I can't dwell on it. This was always going to call for some exploration; as long as I leave myself a trail to follow back to the portal, I should be fine. I can use the spider-tracers as breadcrumbs. Given the setting, it seems... Fitting.
I set forward, singing that Teddy Bear Picnic song under my breath to keep from getting creeped out by the increasingly oppressive silence, leaving tracers behind every time I hit a fork in the path. What's visible of the sky above suggests an almost perpetual twilight, making it hard for me to gauge how long I've been walking without any other sign of life, though if I had to take a guess, I'd say--
(A rush of wind. A brush of leaves. The fluttering ends of a red cloak turning the next corner ahead.)
"Mary Jane."
I'm running before I realize I'm running. She's just around the corner, I'm sure of it, and now's not the time to dawdle, only-- Only when I get there, I'm alone. The path opens out into a clearing, there's nowhere to hide, and yet--
(Movement behind me.)
I whip around, and suddenly... There she is. My memories don't do her justice. The cloak's a brighter red than her hair, its hood falling forward just enough to cast a shadow over her eyes. She's taller than I remember, though it could just be the ground. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, mysterious and coy in turn, but she doesn't say a word, simply standing there, so close I could reach out and touch her.
My throat goes tight. My eyes burn. I want to say something. Want to tell her how much I've missed her, crack a joke about how she shouldn't go so far away from home, but my tongue's a leaden weight in my mouth. After a second that stretches into an eternity, I step closer and lift a hand instead to cup her cheek, hoping to say in actions what I can't say in words, only the second my fingers reach her skin--
It all goes wrong. My hand passes through her like a sick joke, the soft curls of her hair turning into angry tendrils of smoke -- a smoke that soon encompasses the whole of her body, and grows, shifts, morphs. There's no chance to react. Tech-sense flares red too late, and then--
Cut to black.
--
I return to consciousness, slowly, drawn out of darkness by the smell of something good. Head's pounding, like I've been put through the ringer. Appropriate. It takes me a minute to open my eyes, and another to realize that I shouldn't be seeing bars when I do. With an alarmed yelp, I sit up straight and scramble to my feet, back running into a wall that could be made of gingerbread, were it actually edible. I'm in a cage, but it's not the only one in the room. Across from me, there's another one where the occupant must've decided to let themselves out, if the big ol' hole is of any indication.
(And it is an indication, lemme tell ya. Though it's funny, the way the wall's bubbled around the edges; it looks almost like it was melted.)
"Anybody home?" I ask, even if it's clear that there isn't. I take a walk around my cell, which takes about two seconds, and note, somewhat happily, that it isn't padded. It's in my exploration, though, that I find what's cooking -- a stew boiling in what can best be described as a witch's cauldron. Propped up against a brown sac of flour is a dog-eared book titled, Cooking with Spiders: Terrifying Treats and Eight-Legged Eats. My stomach lurches.
"...well, crap."