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This base wasn’t going down easy. These Hammerhead goons were creative and efficient with their stolen Sable tech, and it seemed like their numbers were infinite. Either that or Peter accidentally stumbled upon the largest underground Hammerhead base in existence—and those two were not mutually exclusive.
He’d been hit by those weird, red, capture bolas that always shorted out his gadgets and tech, his HUD shorting out with it, which meant no clock, no phone, and no kill-count—of course, he didn’t kill people, but he still kept count of how many goons he wrapped up.
Peter dropped to his knees, twitching slightly. The electricity in the ropes was nothing to him, just a low-level dose that he barely felt, didn’t even hurt, but it temporarily knocked him out of the fight so his enemies could get a few hits in.
Exactly as this goon was doing, closing in with his pistol, uncomfortably close so he couldn’t possibly miss his target—and his target was Spider-Man.
These guys were about to off him, and he was tangled up in fancy rope! What kind of superhero got himself into these kinds of messes?
“No!” Another man yelled, jumping into the line of fire and knocking the gun out of the guy’s hands before he could pull the trigger, “Boss wants him alive, remember, you dolt!”
That was a surprise: Why did Hammerhead want him alive? Shouldn’t he want him dead? Didn’t all his enemies want him dead?
This didn’t bode well, not at all. He really didn’t like the idea of becoming a torture slave, and his capture was becoming all the more likely the longer he stayed here. Peter needed to take these guys out pronto!
He had already called Yuri as he always did when he discovered a new base, so the police were on their way and they would be no match for these Sable-equipped henchmen. It’d be a bloodbath. Normally he’d have cleared the base by now, but, you know, their numbers were infinite.
The ropes’ shocks always took a minute to die down enough for Peter to shrug them off, and he made ready to do so, flexing his biceps and pushing his arms away from his torso, but the goon that saved him twirled around and slapped him across the face—really? In a world where Spider-Man’s your enemy and you go with a slap?
Peter’s face only slightly moved—and he did that subconsciously, not wanting to hurt the stupid man’s hand—come on, though, a slap? Really?—but what caught his attention was—and yeah, okay, maybe he jumped the gun on that insult and the slap was intentional—what caught his attention was the beetle left behind on his cheek.
Did… did that guy just smack a beetle onto his face?
Why?
Didn’t he know that spiders ate beetles?
But then the beetle started moving, started to crawl behind his ear and down his neck, and he was slightly worried that it would find the band to his mask, but it was a beetle, a silly little bug. What could it do? (Wasn’t that exactly what he thought of spiders, right before he was bitten by a radioactive one?)
What it could do was chew through his suit. It stopped scuttling in the junction between his neck and shoulder and was doing something that was driving his spider-sense up the wall, and he was pretty sure it was a robot and he was pretty sure robots didn’t actually chew through things.
He couldn’t see it, so he just glanced back at the men in front of him. Sure, the eye sockets on his mask reflected his expression, but it didn’t truly capture his whole face. These men couldn’t really understand the extent of his confusion.
The ropes were losing their charge, so he switched his attention and shrugged them off, standing to his full height and preparing to restart the fight—until the beetle bit him.
At first, he simply swatted at it as he punched the man on his right into the air to begin combat, but then the beetle didn’t stop bitting him, and in a second, it was burrowing into his neck, biting through nerves and down into his back, stabbing him like an icicle and sending chills through his limbs.
Ouch, okay, that really hurts.
He was opposed to the whole robot-bug-biting-him thing, but now he was especially opposed to the robot-bug-burrowing-under-his-skin thing, recreating that ghastly scene from The Mummy.
Nobody liked that scene.
The idea of anything at all, whether alive or artificially alive, beneath his skin was horrifying in and of itself anyway, adding onto it the fact that it dug its way there? Ummm, no thank you.
Hammerhead’s henchmen weren’t moving, just standing and watching and waiting to see what happened, so he had space to just stop and freak out for a sec.
He screamed a little frightened scream, a little high pitched because he was seriously freaking out, “Gah, what is that thing?”
He tried clawing at his neck, at his back, wherever it was going, but it wasn’t harmed at all.
It finally stopped on the spinal bone above his shoulder blades and Peter was a second away from swatting it good and hard—he had to kill it, and since it wasn’t a real bug, he had to crush it to pieces, and Peter himself could heal if he accidentally hurt himself. The bug wouldn’t—Peter was a second away from smashing it when the bug flared up with heat and with the heat came electric shocks.
It was as unexpected as the bug, and it dropped him to the ground, hitting his head as he spasmed from the force of it. His jaw was clenched tight and he must have accidentally bitten his tongue on the way down because he could taste blood.
As soon as the shocks let up, Peter immediately pounced on the guy with the shield in front of him—it wasn’t like he hadn’t been shocked before, he knew how to handle it—webbing him down in less than four seconds.
He didn’t have time to even think of jumping at another guy—they were all just standing there and watching as Spider-Man took down one of their own—before the electric shocks came back.
His muscles spasmed some more, and he collapsed again, catching himself on his hands and knees. This bug was most likely designed specifically for him considering the intensity of the electricity and the fact that it had burrowed beneath his skin and crawled around.
It stopped after several seconds and Peter lifted his head to scan the crowd, searching for a remote or something that triggered the bug. Alas, nothing.
Nobody had moved, nobody had twitched, and nobody had pressed any sort of button, but it happened again. Peter hadn’t even picked himself up off the ground.
His eyes were clenched tightly, fists balled tight, riding the pain until it stopped again. That was number three, and he hadn’t so much as moved toward anyone to threaten them into pushing a button, so was there even a remote at all? Was this a—
It started up again, wracking his frame with electricity, forcing out a bitten-off scream as he writhed around.
It must be automatic, then. The period of time between shocks was shorter than the duration itself. An even and calculated ratio, definitely designed.
The shocks let up, and he immediately jumped up and toward the man—but they’d all moved, headed somewhere down that tunnel over there—funny, didn’t they just say their boss wanted him alive? Emphasis on wanting him—so why were they—but it started again, and again he collapsed into a puddle of Spider-Man goo, the electricity melting his insides.
When he opened his eyes, they were all gone, left him there to die from electrocution, so he probed the bug again, trying to determine how far beneath his skin it lied. At least a third of an inch under—and wasn’t that just great? It probably hard-wired itself into his spinal column and was straight up attacking his nerves—
Yep, that’s exactly what it had been doing, because every single nerve in his body was on fire, and good God was this ever going to stop? Was the only way to stop it to remove the bug itself? No on/off switch, no remote control?
In that moment of pain, he wanted to chase after his fleeing torturers and beg them to remove their tech, but like, why were they leaving anyway? Let’s get back to that question?
But it stopped, and he could breathe, and he could probe the bug again, maybe make it move—he shivered at the thought, grossed out—make it disengage itself from his central nervous system, something to make the pain stop.
It felt like forever, lasting for eternity, like maybe this time the bug short-circuited and wasn’t going to stop until he died, and maybe not even then. His muscles were already tired, his bones were already creaking. His eyes were already starting to dampen.
But it stopped, and he wanted just a minute to collect himself, wanted to curl up in a ball and take a nap for just a minute before he needed to figure out a plan.
When it started again, he wanted to slam his head back into the concrete until he passed out, or even died, he didn’t care, cause oh, God, he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop—
The police were here!
That thought broke through his haze of pain.
The police were here, the flashing lights danced on the ceiling as his limbs danced in their sockets and he clenched his jaw hard enough to break it so as to not let any sounds of his pain escape.
He felt guilty for not stopping these guys, for not finishing the job he came here to do, but then he remembered that he was writhing on the ground in a state of constant agony while the boys in blue only had six henchmen to take down because he’d taken out the rest, so it wasn’t that bad.
The shocks relaxed and so did he.
He heard his name being called, and was that Yuri’s voice? She came herself? He never stuck around long enough to know that she personally came to all his clean-up crime scenes, that was cool to know.
His name was repeated, in an alarmed tone this time. He heard rushed footsteps so he raised a hand for ease of location—but the next wave of shocks hit and his arm just flopped down.
He had air in his lungs, and it was harder to control the more this went on, so he ended up releasing it in a low growl that escalated into a scream because, damn, it really hurts. The muscles were straining against bone, threatening to break them, and he knew he was more than strong enough to snap his own bones by accident.
When it stopped and he opened his eyes, Yuri was there, brows creased in confusion.
“Spider-Man, what’s happening?”
He only had the time to grunt out “Get it out” before erupting into another fit.
Every time it comes back, it feels as if it's getting worse, the burning growing more and more throughout his whole body. He subconsciously knew he’d already wet himself, but he really hoped Yuri wouldn’t notice. God, that would be so embarrassing.
Yuri couldn’t figure out what was wrong, though, her face was panicked the next time he opened his eyes, her hands were hovering in the air above him, and he didn’t waste any of the precious time without pain, “Bug—neck—shocking me—get—“ and then it started again.
He couldn’t scream this time, no air in his lungs, and they burned from the lack thereof. Everything burned, he wanted to just cry from it, but it was over soon enough.
He gasped, fresh air tasting minty from Yuri’s gum, scratching at his neck at the soonest available opportunity, needing it gone, needing it out, and if he had to break his own skin with his own fingernails to make the pain stop, then so be it.
But Yuri was here and could help faster!
“Please, get the bug out of my neck,” and it was almost pleading, on the verge of desperation, and he hadn’t meant to show that much emotion, but it was just so hard to hold it all back with electricity coursing through your very soul like this.
He knew she was talking, but he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the electricity pumping through his veins, and he figured then that only he could hear it, cause Yuri tried to grab him, tried to turn him over, but got shocked herself—normally that wouldn’t happen in a situation like this, but the amps and voltage were significantly greater than most stun guns.
He was Spider-Man, and Hammerhead knew it would take more than normal weapons to bring him down.
She caught on after that, waited till this latest batch was over to rush out, “There’s a bug electrocuting you?”
He only had time to nod before losing it—God, why was she stalling like this, why wasn’t she getting it? Get it out, please, just get it out—
“It’s in me!” He screamed as soon as he inhaled, needing Yuri to finally figure out what was wrong. He desperately needed her to remove it, he couldn’t take much more of this. Soon, not even his healing would be able to stop him from burning alive or melting from the inside out. People weren’t designed to take this much electricity without dying, and sure, he wasn’t normal, but he still had his limits!
The time was up, the shocks came back, and he reached for her, twitching and jerking. She was smart enough to not touch him, but it seemed like she caught on to what he wanted—he was trying to tell her something. He didn’t have the energy to keep it up, so he dropped his arm to spasm at his side as he waited with forcibly bated breath.
The wave stopped, and he gasped as his still twitching arm scraped his fingers against his neck, pleading with his voice, “Get it out! It’s in me! It’s in me!”
And then the next wave hit.
It was unbearable ten minutes ago, and it was unbearable now. He realized the rapid starting and stopping of the shocks were designed to disrupt the electrical impulses of the brain so that he wouldn’t fall unconscious, but he desperately wanted to.
God, it felt like his entire body was on fire. His muscles hurt, and his bones ached and his eyes were so, so tired. His irregular breathing was making everything difficult, and if he were normal, he’d have passed out a long time ago due to the tachypnea, but since he was unfortunately not normal, his brain and lungs were forced to try their hardest to keep up with it.
The pain ended again, but he couldn’t think of anything else. In these blessed few seconds he had between shockwaves, he had to remove the bug. Otherwise, and he hated to even think about this, but otherwise, he’d be in pain until he died.
He gasped some more and resumed clawing at his neck, muttering repeatedly, “Get it out! Please, make it stop—get it out,” and scrabbling at the edge of his mask, trying to pull it up, but his hands and fingers were shaking too badly to grasp it.
Unseen tears welled in his eyes, and he sobbed only once before the shocks returned, and once that wave subsided, he resumed his repetitive task—only for a policeman to grab his hands and hold them away from his neck, saying, “Spider-Man, we’re going to help! Hold still!”
Peter nodded once before dissolving into shaking and spasming again. These waves were going to kill him. They were just taking their time, and he wanted to beg the electricity god to just make it stop, please, but there was no such thing as an electricity god, which meant Peter was doomed to die in agony.
When it stopped, he just laid there trying as hard as he could to control his breathing, control the sounds he was making—low, terrified, desperate sounds of which he’d be greatly ashamed in any other circumstance. He simply watched the movement around him.
Yuri grabbed rubber gloves from an electrician now on the scene, pulling them on as quickly as she could over her own shaking hands—but the next wave started up, just as suddenly as the rest, and Peter couldn’t help but scream as the burning resumed. The tears spilled over, but the electricity just seared them right off his face, and the part of him that could still form thoughts half-heartedly wished they would leave wicked scars while the rest of his thoughts were taken up by begging and pleading and screaming.
Every muscle in his body spasmed and twitched out of his control. His skin felt like it was melting, burning up from the lava that coursed through his veins, searing every tear that fell and every drop of blood that dripped from his mouth.
That wave died down, giving Peter a chance to breathe, a chance to open his eyes and talk, or in this case, gasp out, “Get it out, get it out, get it out—“ but there were only five seconds between waves, and the next struck all too soon. It’d got him on an exhale, his lungs empty, so his jaw dropped in a silent scream. His lungs were frozen and he couldn’t breathe.
When the wave ended and he was able to suck in a desperate breath of air, he just laid there, resting, letting his muscles take a break—God, they were so tired. They ached and hurt and even though the electricity temporarily stopped assaulting him, his muscles still burned from residual shocks.
He whined in desperation, needing this to stop, pleading for it to stop, but he wasn’t paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth. He was on the verge of completely and utterly breaking down, and Yuri tried to pull him back.
“I’m going to cut it out, don’t—“ but the next wave hit, and Peter wanted to die.
When it finally stopped, he just curled into as much of a ball as he could and sobbed his pain away, tears dripping off his nose and—it started again, and he screamed for mercy.
Yuri must have ripped it clean out, because as soon as the electricity stopped, there as sweet relief for a wonderful seven seconds before he lost consciousness and passed out.