Chapter Text
The mist hung heavy in the air, humid and damp, causing the thin fabric to cling uncomfortably to the figure’s lithe form. The sun, whose rays were just barely peeking between the tall buildings, would eventually burn up the remaining fog, ultimately increasing visibility.
The building he was on wasn’t all that tall, but the location was essential, and had been meticulously scouted out amongst the several hundred structures of varying shapes and sizes.
Listening to the gentle buzz of the city, the boy on the roof stretched his limbs and took in his surroundings. It was kind of nice, observing. Interacting wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d prefer that to the silence of isolation. Even the thought of solitary made his sixth sense hum anxiously. Which brought him back to his main objective; the mission.
Eyes darting to and fro, he scanned his settings twice before forcing a breath and willing himself to calm down. He had the experience, he had the knowledge, he had motive… whether or not he wanted to complete the mission was irrelevant.
“Spider,” came the voice from his comm. “I have eyes on the target. Looks like he’s heading to the 23rd floor. We have fifteen minutes until the meeting starts, so make this quick.”
Peter, who had stiffened at the use of his field name, eased minutely as he recognized the voice. However, the newly indicated time limit made his heartrate increase anew.
“We’ll meet at the designated rendezvous point, as specified beforehand,” came the expected sendoff. “Hail Hydra.”
Peter entered the bakery, the strong scent of coffee and pastries nearly making him gag. He always felt nauseous after completing a mission, senses dialed up due to the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He glanced at the variety of desserts on display, stomach flipping at the sight of food. Thankfully, eating wasn’t high on his priority list.
Walking towards the back of the shop, he schooled his face into an expression of calm indifference and slid into a booth.
“Code,” The teen across from him supplied, sipping his coffee.
Peter tried his best to smirk. “What, you don’t recognize me in my civilian clothes?” He received only silence and an expectant look for his attempt at humor. “D-22746,” he rattled off, memory supplying the cypher.
As if a switch had been flipped, the agent smiled, gesturing to his steaming mug. “want a sip?”
The boy shook his head vigorously, “I’m already wired.” He looked around, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the sticky table. Picking up on his restlessness, the other agent grinned reassuringly.
“Hey, it’s fine.” The teen leaned closer to Peter. “They haven’t even found the body yet, and our ride is three minutes out. Relax.”
Peter smiled weakly back at Vector, who for the past two years had been accompanying him on missions. He was fond, though somewhat envious of his partner, whose only job was to sit behind a computer while Peter put his life on the line. Surveillance and hacking were his two specialties, which helped the Spider decrease incidents and witnesses. It was essential company.
His accomplice, or rather his superior, had been born into Hydra. Vector’s father, one of the more trusted agents in the organization, had a lot of sway over what assignments the underlings finalized. And while his partner treated Peter as an equal on most missions, it was an unspoken rule that he’d be respected inside and outside of the compound.
Just as Vector finished the last dregs of his coffee, his computer beeped twice, signaling their ride was there. Unanimously, they rose, Peter grabbing his backpack and leading the other out of the café. Squinting at the bright sunlight, the younger boy watched as a nondescript looking van with tinted windows rolled to a stop in front of them. Walking with a purpose now, the two teens swung open the back doors and entered into the musty smelling interior.
The Hydra base hadn’t changed at all, despite the surplus of years he’d spent within these walls. The same unfurnished look, as if their 30+ year residency wasn’t cause enough to update it. The debrief had been uneventful; target terminated, no witnesses, clean getaway. And of course, nothing for his efforts. This had been one of the more minor assassinations, anyway. Many missions could take days, or even weeks.
Peter was never told why he needed to kill someone, or occasionally, several someone’s. He had been taught long ago that curiosity was an attribute sneered upon. That questions were irrelevant. As long as he followed the rules, listened to his higher ups, and completed tasks efficiently, he would face no consequences. Talking back, messing up, or disobeying in any way was a just cause for punishment.
Solitary confinement was both the most tolerable and the most detested. Isolation meant no yelling, beatings, or killing. Though being left alone with nothing but his thoughts could be a scary endeavor. Not knowing if the next time they’d need him would be in a few hours, days, or weeks. If he’s there long enough, the lack of stimuli gets to him.
Although Hydra had a strict regimen, it was, technically the only place he’d ever call home.
It was a pretty minimalist living space. The cot, needless to say, smelled of mildew and dust. A mirror above a leaky sink that spat metallic tasting water. Walking towards the reflective surface, bare feet striding evenly across the cement floor, Peter came to a stop before his primary adversary… Himself.
The image staring back at him was a stranger. Face gaunt and framed by unruly brown curls, thankfully clean of filth due to a quick and frigid shower. The eyes were the worst; bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles prominent enough to be concerning. There was a perceptive though weary quality to his eyes, like he’d never had a chance to let his guard down. A closer study of the hardened features illustrates an underlying layer of grief and regret.
Peter shook his head, tearing his gaze from the mirror. Despite everything, Hydra had given him a purpose. Every accomplishment served as a chance to assist Hydra. This organization had saved him, made him into a better version of himself, turned him into a-
“A monster…” Peter whispered into his hands, then immediately rejected the thought. Regardless of what he believed, he had to stay loyal to Hydra.
Suddenly, and much to his surprise, a surge of anger bubbled to the surface. Without thinking, he whipped his arm back, slamming his fist into the mirror. Hundreds of gleaming shards flew towards him, while bigger pieces fell and crashed at his feet. Frustrated tears prickled his eyes, as Peter watched himself lose it from several perspectives in the glinting glass.
Red began to seep from his knuckles, though he barely noticed the pain. The emotions he had repressed since he was brought to Hydra came pouring out of him too fast to name. Remorse, Embarrassment, and insecurity; feelings he’d had to keep at bay to protect himself from the cold and emotionless henchmen of Hydra. Squinting at a fist-sized splinter, he retreated to his bed, stepping all too hastily over the mirror’s fragmented carcass.
Consumed by a restless half-slumber, Peter jolted awake at the uneven thumping of boots approaching his “soundproof” chamber. Standing at attention, the teen waited patiently for his keepers to arrive.
All thoughts of deviance had been expunged during the night, and written off as sleep deprivation. They had to be, to maintain some semblance of sanity. Peter, he consoled himself, was present, able minded, and in peak condition.
As the guards entered his room, escorting him out, Peter followed with no resistance. There were only a few places he could be going at this hour, and none of the options were very reassuring. As they ascended several flights of stairs, the boy brushed his hand across his knuckles. Only then did he realize, with slight annoyance, that his fist had healed with numerous small shards halfway embedded in his flesh. Seeking the pieces out with his non-dominate digits, he pulled each fragment out and let them tinker to the floor.
As they approached their destination, for which he had identified the route, the guards began to slow their pace, motioning for him to continue. The teen advanced with a purpose, knowing that the executive of this late-night call was expecting punctuality.
The bright lights signaled the journey’s end, as contrasted by the dim and flickering bulbs of the hallways. He winced internally at the harsh glare, though his expression remained stoic. At the sight of the turned figure, Peter let the inaudible padding of his feet increase in volume, signaling the man of his presence.
The teen stiffened as his handler spun in his direction, scowling down at him. “Spider,” he spoke with the authority he knew he possessed. “I hope you appreciate the respite I’ve permitted, because it’s unlikely you’ll be resting during this mission.”
Peter, knowing sufficiently to keep his mouth shut, simply waited for him to continue, gaze directed at the floor.
“A former member of Hydra, someone who has a significant amount of information about the inner workings of our organization, has fled our ranks. Typically, for the few instances this happens, we send a team to retrieve the deserter and punish them appropriately.” Peter shifted on his feet, taking in the information and inferring accordingly.
“Unfortunately, for both this traitor and Hydra, they have gone to our rival, SHIELD, to convey critical information on where our international corporations are located. You and a team are being tasked with taking out this turncoat before condemning evidence is released.”
Peter, or Spider, now that his mission had been specified, was handed a hefty folder. The man, readying himself to depart, turned back to the teen halfway out the door. “Review the specifics, you’ll be heading out by car in less than two hours.” Gesturing to a table with the essential supplies, he clarified, “Your usual materials.”
Tone unpitying, he continued, “My son, as per usual, will be accompanying you, as well as four agents. I expect good outcomes.”
The journey into the city took a little more than three hours, time that Peter spent inspecting his web-shooters and fiddling with the mask in his lap. Vector sat still beside him, waiting patiently to come into range so he could infiltrate the building’s security feed.
Coming to a stop behind a dingy looking mechanic repair shop, Peter hopped gracefully out of the still moving vehicle, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he landed. Not far behind, the older boy cradled the laptop under his arm, holding it protectively. Three of the agents clambered out of the van, dressed a little too warmly for the nice spring weather. Then again, Peter thought, they needed to conceal their firearms somehow.
Splitting up, as they always did to maintain anonymity, they each headed toward the building via alternate routes. Going over the blueprints in his mind, Peter pulled idly at the sleeves of his button up shirt, which covered the suit hidden underneath.
As the teen walked the predetermined path through the city, he lost himself to the hum of early morning traffic and footfalls on the sidewalks. Though as he drew closer to the designated structure, the ease that usually accompanied time spent outside drained away. Checking his watch habitually, he hastened his pace as a sense of foreboding consumed him.
Not letting this sense of dread compromise his composure, Peter’s stride remained steady even as he entered the building. Looking around, he wasn’t surprised to see Vector already seated at a table in the cafeteria, gnawing on a chocolate croissant and gazing at his device.
Heading towards the elevator, he was stopped by a female security guard, who gestured him over to a metal detector. Having had assumed this would happen, when asked for identification, he pulled a badge out of his pocket.
“It’s my first day,” he specified chipperly, showing her the ID. “I’m an intern in the Engineering Sector. 34th floor, I think.” Grinning sheepishly at the woman, who smiled back softly, he was directed to put his things in a tub. Following the instructions, he watched as it was scanned and verified as not hazardous.
Stepping through the detector himself, he was given the green light and allowed to step onto the elevator.
Peter departed the lift as soon as he stopped at the confirmed floor, despite it being several levels below the target’s holding cell. The amount of security personnel surrounding the former Hydra agent was bound to be numerous, even at this early hour, and would require precision to infiltrate.
Seeking out the sign indicating the public restroom, he made his way over, disregarding the confused and curious glances from the employees. Once inside, the teen ditched his civilian clothes, and disassembled the watch, piecing together the comm. Placing the device in his ear, he spoke the authenticating phrase, and waited for a reply.
“I hear you Spider, loud and clear.” Vector’s voice, too carefree considering they were here to kill someone. “I have a visual on the target… He’s being prepared for transfer as we speak.”
Peter, nodding to himself, made an affirmative noise before pulling on his mask. In many ways, he felt like a reaper of death in this costume. Perhaps he was, considering the façade he donned was often times the last thing his targets saw before they were terminated.
Shaking free of the distracting thoughts, the Spider distanced himself emotionally. After all, Hydra needed a stone-cold killer, not an angsty teen with a guilt complex.
Gently prying open the vent, Peter clambered into the metal tunnel, closing the cover behind him. Being cast into darkness was merely an inconvenience, as sight was unnecessary when the blueprints of the building had been meticulously memorized. Making his way through the maze-like tunnels, the young assassin began the vertical ascent. Continuing his climb almost silently, he came to a stop several floors above his target’s holding cell.
A faint crackling sounded in his right ear, subtle enough not to be startling. “Target entering the elevator with three armed guards. They’re heading up to the launch pad on the roof.” Vector’s voice had taken on a more serious tone. “The other agents are awaiting my command to cut the power and disable the backup generators.”
Tense, as he always was in the moments leading up to the strike, Peter tried unsuccessfully to calm both his body and his mind. Opening the grate before him, Spider peered down into the elevator shaft. Multiple floors below, he could see the vessel begin to rise. Then, as quickly as it had become mobile, it stuttered to a stop in between floors. He imagined the rest of the building’s occupants had been plunged into a sickly darkness.
Spider moved quickly, unhindered by the free fall. Landing lightly on the metal box, he wasted no time ripping open the emergency exit.
Along with the squeal of ripping metal came the sound of guns firing. Shooting a web quickly, the assassin pulled the weapon from a guard, smashing it against the concrete.
Wasting no time, the masked menace disarmed and neutralized the three threats. Years of demanding training had created a fearsome warrior, in lieu of a childhood.
Crouched in the corner like the coward he was, Spider eyed the traitor briefly. After confirming internally that this was his target, he approached, ignoring the man’s pitiful struggling.
The weak protests escalated to violent thrashing as the assassin grabbed his cuffed wrists. Finding his resistance to be futile, the man suddenly went eerily still. “I know who you are, and why you’re here,” the target’s voice was hoarse. “My family-” he paused, let out a sob, “Just make it quick.”
Spider blinked, vaguely surprised by the acceptance of his fate. Many fought him until their dying breath, assuring him desperately that they were good people. Spider only knew what Hydra told him about his targets, and rarely was there a reason why.
The assassin knew this man was a traitor to his organization; the worst act you could commit, according to Hydra. Peter had been tasked with killing this turncoat cruelly and without hesitation. So… why was he hesitating?
Shifting on his feet, Peter felt the beginnings of something forbidden; Guilt. Could it be the mention of the word “family”, Something Peter never had?
Reaching into the hidden pocket in his suit, Peter retrieved something all Hydra agents possessed on missions. Small, but quite lethal, the cyanide pill rested unobtrusively on Peter’s palm. Giving himself no time to question his decision, Spider handed the capsule to the shivering man.
The target looked at him with something close to grim acceptance, and swallowed the pill in one gulp.