Chapter Text
The metal felt cold beneath Peter’s fingertips as he ran his hand across it, the smooth surface glinting faintly under the lobby lights. Stark Industries was quiet that evening — too quiet. Most of the staff had gone home, and the building’s hum felt deeper somehow, like it was breathing.
Peter adjusted his lanyard, swiping his card at the elevator scanner.
Peter Parker (Stark)
Clearance: 10
Access: Diamond
The doors slid open with a soft hiss.
He stepped in, rubbing at the back of his neck. The day had been long. He was just supposed to pick up a few parts Tony had left for him — nothing major.
“Friday,” he said, voice tired. “Floor fifty-eight, please.”
“Of course, Peter,” Friday replied, her voice calm and even.
The elevator hummed to life, rising smoothly through the building. Peter leaned against the mirrored wall, closing his eyes for a second. The soft vibration beneath his feet was almost comforting.
Ding.
“You have arrived on floor forty-eight. Upper intern levels.”
The doors opened to the familiar sight of half-empty desks and flickering monitors. The upper interns — what few were left that late — barely glanced up as Peter walked out.
He gave them a small, tired smile, crossing the room to one of the workstations. He grabbed a small box of very important items, and a custom spider-man screwdriver Tony had left for him, tucking them under his arm.
A faint twinge of his Spider-Sense buzzed under his skin. Subtle. Barely there.
He froze for a second, glancing toward the far wall — but everything looked normal. Just soft red emergency lights near the ceiling, blinking faintly like heartbeat monitors.
He exhaled through his nose. “You’re fine,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just tired, dude. Chill.”
He turned and made his way back toward the elevator, the sound of his sneakers echoing across the polished floor.
The moment he stepped inside, the doors shut with a quiet click.
“Friday,” he said, shifting the box in his arms, “floor ninety, please.”
There was a faint pause — longer than usual.
Then: “Of course, Peter.”
The elevator began to rise again.
He watched the floor numbers blink upward in a steady rhythm. 61… 62… 63…
The building’s hum felt louder now. Deeper. Like something was crawling through the walls.
Peter frowned, setting the box down at his feet. His Spider-Sense was buzzing again, just slightly — a whisper at the edge of his thoughts. He tried to ignore it, running his hand through his hair.
69… 70… 71…
The lights flickered once.
He looked up. “Friday?”
No response.
72… 73…
The hum shifted. It wasn’t steady anymore — it stuttered. Wavered.
74… 75…
The elevator jerked suddenly.
Peter grabbed the railing, heart skipping. “Friday?” he tried again. “System check, please—”
76… 77—
BANG.
The sound was deafening. The elevator lurched hard enough to throw him to the ground. Sparks exploded from the ceiling panel as the entire cabin shuddered violently.
His Spider-Sense screamed.
He scrambled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. The floor display flickered, glitching between numbers. Then—
78.
The elevator stopped.
A high-pitched ringing filled the air. The lights flickered twice, then went out completely.
Darkness.
Peter’s breathing quickened, loud in the confined space. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
“Friday?” he called. “Come on, talk to me!”
Nothing.
He slammed his fist against the wall. The elevator didn’t move. He could hear faint noises — distant clattering, metal scraping against metal somewhere far above him.
He crouched down, trying to pry open the emergency panel, but it was jammed tight. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, forcing his voice to stay even. “You’re fine, Pete. You’re fine. Just—power’s out. Happens all the time.”
It didn’t sound convincing, even to him.
The darkness pressed in. The air felt heavy, hot. Then the emergency lights kicked on — dim and red, casting the elevator in long shadows.
Peter took a shaky breath, staring at the faint glow leaking through the crack in the doors. “Floor seventy-eight,” he whispered, his mind racing. “That’s… HR. Right?”
He wedged his fingers between the doors and pushed. They didn’t budge. He tried again, using both hands this time. Metal groaned and screeched under the strain.
Clank.
Clank.
The doors slid open an inch, then another. A burst of stale air rushed in, smelling faintly of smoke and something… burnt.
He forced the doors apart enough to slip through and climbed out.
And froze.
The HR floor was unrecognizable.
Desks overturned. Chairs splintered. Papers littered the ground like snow, fluttering through the red light. A broken coffee mug lay in a dark puddle that might’ve once been water — or something else.
The silence was suffocating. No voices. No movement. Just the faint crackle of broken wires sparking in the corners.
Peter’s pulse thundered. “Friday?” he called softly. “Anyone here?”
No answer.
His eyes darted around. There were faint handprints on the walls — dark, smeared. The kind that made his stomach twist.
His Spider-Sense pulsed again. Hard.
Something moved in the corner of his eye.
He turned, but there was nothing there — only the slow swing of a hanging light fixture, creaking softly with each movement.
He took a few careful steps forward. The red light flickered, bathing everything in a heartbeat rhythm — on, off, on, off.
Each time the light went dark, the shadows seemed closer.
Peter’s breathing came faster now. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered. His voice cracked halfway through.
He crouched beside a fallen desk, brushing aside papers. The Stark Industries logo was stamped across them, smeared with dirt. A faint hum buzzed from the far end of the room — the only thing breaking the silence.
“Friday, override security lock,” he tried again, louder this time. “Come on, answer me!”
Still nothing.
He looked back toward the elevator. The doors were closed again. Seamless. Like they’d never been forced open.
A chill crawled down his spine.
He stepped backward, heart hammering. His Spider-Sense was screaming now — constant and unrelenting.
And then—
He felt it.
A hand. Cold and heavy. Resting gently on his shoulder.
Peter froze.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t breathe. The touch was too solid to be imagined. Too real.
Slowly, his head turned, eyes wide, muscles trembling.
The red light flickered once more—
—and went out.