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For my "Beloved" Tony

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It was absolutely soul crushing.

A stomach twirling kind of feeling. Like being on a never ending roller coaster as it repeats the same motion over and over again. Up and down, up and down until you puke out your guts, intestines spilling from your mouth kinda ride.

When he woke up in absolute darkness Peter knew that feeling wouldn’t disappear.

He could tell he had been asleep for a while, the aftermath of whatever drugs they’d used on him made his body sway when he stood. He needed to gather as much information about where he was as soon as he possibly could, but god damn his head wouldn't stop spinning.

Get it together Peter, you've been hit with a train for crying out loud.

Stumbling forward he runs through everything that's happened sense Beck's betrayal.

For starter, he has no clue where Beck has wandered off to, nor what's happened to MJ, Ned, or anyone at the London attack for that matter. He's been pretty much oblivious to anything that's happened in the outside world after his little chat with Beck; the extent to his knowledge being that Happy and Ned basically signed off their freedom of speech to a man in a holographic, red cape. 

Great so not much.

It's most likely a good start to try and figure out where the hell he is now in the meantime.

It was so unbelievably dark, a green mist swirling in the fog. Peter could barely see where he was going, the sound of his feet dulled when it hit the floor. He had outstretched his hands as he continued his approach, venturing deeper into the surrounding blackness that consumed him whole. One step at a time, he carefully tested the steadiness of the surface, his feet grounded to the floor walking quietly until his hand hit something hard. Smooth metal, almost like a glassy texture that sent goosebumps up his arms. It was cold and he could tell the material was tough; something that'd prove hard to break.

Feeling his way around he could tell he was in one of the corners of the room. Now, dragging his arm across the wall, he counted the steps it took until he reached the next corner of the enclosed space. 

one step forward, then two steps forward, and then three.

The wall doesn't seem to morph into any other materialistic surface or, thank god, another twisted illusion as he continues placing one foot in front of the other. His eyes focus on his own feet in attempt to give him a focal point. He almost half expects something to arise from the mist to freak him out, but by the looks of things he's completely alone.

Four steps, and then he takes a fifth one trying to reach his hand out further.

He hates not being able to see where he's going, nor being able to tell if it's a lack of his sixth sense or if he's really just far away from the next solid surface.

He takes another step and his breathing hitches. It feels like the room suddenly dropped down a hundred degrees and there are chills of emptiness flooding his shaking bone.

He's sensing something. He takes one more steps before the palm of his hand connects. It was just the wall, nothing out of a horror show yet. Then again, this whole setup seems like one.

But okay, now he knows the wall is about 7 steps apart and his senses are working even if it's like they've been amped up. It's still good to be somewhat familiar with his surroundings. 

He continues his venture but this time he actually does hit something. He can't tell exactly what it is at first, although, he can make it out as a solid iron slab that comes out of the wall for about 12 inches or so. It's a strange placing and when he feels where the structure connects to the wall he grazes his hand on the outline of a hatch. The hells is this for? 

He's never understood the idea of putting bizarre formats like open hatches to see into rooms, especially if Beck's got killer drones that are most likely watching over him. If they're projecting all this bitter bleakness they should easily be able to monitor him. Either way, the hatch just gives him another thing to be skeptical about. 

 He feels around the wall more thoroughly this time until he recognizing the small framing, approximately 5 inches to the left and right of the random slab. He traces it's design up and down with his fingertips on both sides till he notices the metal bolts spaced up every so often, and the structure similar to that of a door framing; which is then confirmed by the knob he runs into below the far left of the slab. 

He knows the trivialness in is actions but he still attempts to turn it. The knob shakes back and forth quietly but doesn't connect fully with either side. Peter was positive the thing wouldn't open. what good was a dark room without a locked door to keep him there? He still thinks it's better to check and be sure than to assume. From now on he doesn't want to predetermine anything. He'll start from the basic foundations in reasoning itself when such can be the difference between him escaping or withering away; maybe even the difference in him being slain and hunted like a rabbit at the hands of his now mortal enemy, Beck. If he's got no sight he'll have to rely on his senses too, even the basic ones.

At the very least, determine his surroundings in this cramped space can helps him prepare his own game plan a little better. Plus that in itself is much more preferable than being in the dark both physically and mentally.

He starts walking again. It takes a little while for him to do so, he's slowed his movements down now that he's aware it's possible for the smooth surface to change again. However, when he hits the wall this time, the floor drops down. Not even really a hint in the weird change of architecture,  just a sudden pit that doesn't seem to have a bottom close enough to connect with his foot. It's one big ass hole.

What's with all these weird frameworks in this room?

Then the realization hits him and he clenches one of his hands to his chest. No fucking way Beck expects him to use this. There can't be a single piece of sanity left in that man's mind if that's the case. Only an animal themselves would be perfectly fine leaving the hole of what must have intended to be one disturbingly sorry excuse for a porta potty in an open space for his use. Peter nearly trips on his feet as he instantly stumbles back in disgust. 

"Oh come on Beck the hell is this?"

The bitterness is clear and intended for Beck to pick up on, but he's really itching to see if the man will humor him enough to find himself engaging with Peter's question. He waits, letting his mind focus on the slightest notion of sound that would infer Beck's watching eyes hidden behind whatever happens to be overseeing him.

No answer

There's no answer at all. Of course Beck isn't going to respond or even hint at his presence. He's probably laughing his socks off by Peter's reaction; the man's wickedly sick in the head.

But then it kicks in. There's something, almost like a buzzing sound, quietly filling the room's cold air. 

click

click

click

It hasn't stopped sense he’d woken up. He didn’t really notice it because it had been there from the beginning and he just assumed it more natural than not, but the more he thinks about it the more noticeable and obvious the clicking becomes. It's strange to hear and Peter's pretty sure the sounds eventually gonna drive him insane, if Beck hasn't done that to him already. But it's there and that means he was right. It's the sound of the drones he had fought off in London, and the same type of drones that could see him as if they were the eyes of a hawk ready to swoop down on it's next meal. The same drone that took in everything he said from his breathing to the way his footsteps sounded when he walked around the edge of the room. The same type of drone that were responsible for the awful projections that Beck so skillfully wielded to smash Peter's phyc open like a watermelon being chucked at the ground, not having to so much as lift a muscle. It's the same type of drone that's projecting this world of darkness around him and adding in the green mist as if for the fun of it all. As if to mock his inability to prevent the consuming atmosphere of the environment.  

Whatever, Peter's convinced he won't be getting out of here soon if Beck proofed the room for super strength heroes like himself. He'll have plenty of time to sulk and worry about dealing with Beck later, but now he's gotta stand up and finish what he started.

It's another 7 steps from the wall where the hole starts and to the next far left corner in the room. It's unsurprisingly 8 more to the far right corner he had started out. A rectangular prism built for him and him alone. 

At least now he knows what he's working with.

Peter walks back to what he can vaguely call the middle of the room, laying down on the floor with a deep and exhausted intake. He's gotta figure out a way out of here but he doesn't have much to go off of. 

There's a door, yes, but it's locked. There's a hatch above an iron slab, yes, but it wouldn't budge. There's a hole, yes, but he doesn't know how far down it goes and it's purpose definitely can't be used for his escape. And there's still the fact that Beck's dangling his friend's like puppets on strings, scissors in hand and ready to snap them apart when Peter breaks his "promise". He really is lacking on the information part, but hey at least he knows as much as he has the availability to. 

Besides he's tired and there's nothing more he can do. He deserves to take a break. To breathe and close his eyes if not for just an hour to two. Once he gets enough rest and obtains a bit more information, just maybe he can figure something out.

He needs sleep he tells himself 

Closing his eyes and feeling the pressure of his eyelids increase, almost as if they’ve gotten heavier in the short amount of time sense he closed them, he gives himself up willingly to the vanish his mind escapes to in a state of exhaustion.

 

 

 

It's the hatch that does it for him. One moment his consciousness is gone from the world and the next he springs up to his knees, waking up the moment he hears the sound of it screeching open. Sweating as he turns his head frantically, he see the bare stream of light fall out of view. The sound of metal sliding across metal fades.

It's closed. The hatch is closed and the light is gone. 

There's nothing but the clicking of the drone and Peter can barely make out what's in front of him. Whatever they just put in the room isn't covered by the black fog, and instead it looks as though it's floating in mid air. He slowly stands up, keeping one hand low to the ground as he rises. When he stands he can clearly make out the contents of what he's been giving.

It's a tray. Just a plain gray tray with food and water placed upon it. He's tempted by the items on the plate. It makes him realize the fact that he probably hasn't eaten anything in a day, maybe even longer than so. His fatigued body reminds him of this fact, but he has to control himself.

No not yet.

There’s an endless amount of possibilities as to what could be in that. For starters it may just be regular old food, nothing special done to it at all. Yeah, that also makes the most sense; no reason behind why Beck would try to drug him right after his big act. But that’s just a possibility with the probability in his favor and highest of odds. It didn’t determine anything.

As far as Peter knew, that food could be doused in poison or toxic chemicals and he’d practically be letting himself be taken by the drugs if he just dug into it.

Reason, he’s gotta rely on reason and his own senses. His sixth sense, finally the one thing benefiting him, has seemingly returned. Of course it’d be his luck that it’s back up and running after his vacation, but at least it’s working.

he takes a deep breath and slowly moves the tray. Nothing happens. That’s a good start and a relief, although, it doesn’t show if the foods favorable to eat or not.

So he starts off by poking the contents on the plate one by one; a crusted piece of bread, a glass of water, and a bowl of soup. The bread feels old and stale while, to his surprise, he can tell by the touch to the bowl the soup is still somewhat warm; the glass of water is completely neutral temperature wise. 

Well it seems safe enough to pick up.

He grabs the tray trying to hold it as steady as possible while backing up as far away from the door as possible. Once he feels he’s gained a decent enough distance he crouches down and sits, placing the tray on the floor. 

Biting his lips as he looks over the plate where the bowl of soup and bread rest, Peter picks each thing up individually once more. He takes around 2 minutes observing every item left for him until he decides, and for the better of his starving stomach, that it’s okay to consume it. 

He takes a bite of the bread first, probably the safest of his two food options. He can tell by the way it crumbles it’s not the freshest of things, but he doesn’t care. It’s food. It’s real food and that alone is enough to make Peter be content with the small feeling of happiness that takes hold of him.

Slowly, the various cautiousness demonstrated within all his actions more than notable, he eats a little less than half of what he’s been giving. He’s wary about every bite, every piece of food and sip of water, he lets into his system because from this point forward he can’t trust anything giving to him; not if it’s by Beck. Besides, he has to ration some of it when there’s no telling if he’ll be fed like this again. Whether the food he gets later will be as safe to eat as what it is now.

It’s a bit overwhelming thinking about what Beck’s goal is. More often than not, isolation is used as a way to break down one’s mind. Beck doesn’t want to starve Peter to death, for the very least not with food. Human connection though, well that’s an entirely different story if he really will remain in here. He’s sure the lack of any light at all is just another factor to push him to that edge. 

It’s not a definite answer to why Beck is keeping him here, but it’s something that comes to his mind the more he thinks about the “why?” to it all. 

That’s all it is. All that remains circling in his head. Just like the roller coaster going up and down. The word floating to the surface of his brain and asking him before he needs to avert his attention to whatever’s shown itself to be lurking nearby. 

Why is Beck doing this? Why won’t he shoot Peter? 

He knows it’s harder this way; it’s gotta be for the both of them. Beck has a solid plan in place, and though Peter slightly messed with the footing he had, it wasn’t completely irreversible. This though, there’s no reason to go back on that plan when he had the chance to kill Peter. He’s got that chance now, but instead he’s wasting his precious resources and honestly his time to isolate him. To trap him here, and as thoroughly as it seems he can manage, means there has to be one big role Beck’s expecting Peter to fill. 

And it won't be anything he’ll like.

It’s all the more reason to keep his determination though and through. To keep his eyes open because there’s gotta be a way out of here. Some fault Beck hasn’t picked up on. He hadn’t noticed one of the missing pieces to his drones, and they were supposedly the most important thing in his plan. The man’s made his share fair or mistakes. So until he finds the one that’ll free him from this mess, he’ll make Beck regret his choice every step of the way.

He’ll make sure Beck is doing nothing but wasting away his stupid breath.