Just as Peter had thought, it was Ross that came for him.

He'd taken Peter out of his cell. He had bathed in the feeling of having a different view other than the high, grey ceiling. A part of him had been excited, exhilarated; he could escape!

'Cept he couldn't. He'd tried, for sure. But that ended up with a pretty sharp shock. Yep, right around his neck, emitting from his vibranium collar that they had put on 'just in case' before letting him out.

The guards had to drag him the rest of the way, Ross watching on with sick pleasure. They'd taken him to a room. It was dark inside at first, but they'd flicked on the lights within seconds.

And, just like the light filtering into his eyes, a chill shivered down his spine.

The room was full of all sorts of equipment. A circle of desks, two layers of them, all with either computers or mountain-loads of paperwork. The room itself was huge and square, but the furniture and machines were all designed and laid-out in a way to point to the centre-most part of the room.

And there, in the middle of the circle of tables, was a chair.

A bulky one, devices, pads and all sorts of arms sticking out from it. Not your regular dining-room table chair. It had a neck rest, with shock-pads connected to the sides of it, presumedly to be taped to the sides of one's head. A killing-machine chair was a more accurate description.

Peter had seen this 'chair' before. He'd wished he hadn't, but then again, at least he knew what was in store for him.

It was a blessing in disguise, maybe. Just, the disguise was very, very good. Like, covered in pain and death and not-blessing stuff. Knowing what was in store for him was terrifying, but it definitely made him want to get away and fast.

"Hook him up, now!" Ross demanded of the crowded room. Yes, two circles of desks, and every one was full. Mostly women, all dressed in the same black uniform as the guards. It was like looking at the same person, cloned about thirty times, if it weren't for the diversity of the women. Still, Peter was sure he was going insane. But every workplace had a uniform, right?

Which made him think – who would sign up to work for a place like Hydra? Were these people hoodwinked into it, or were each and every one of them crazy? Blood-thirsty? Alright with torturing and probably killing a child?

(He was a child, just a child—)

His thoughts were cut short when two of the woman gripped Peter by his upper-arms. They didn't even look at him as they pulled him through the small gap in the tables.

Peter waited. He waited patiently, for the perfect opportunity. He wasn't even sure if there was gonna be one, but he hoped with all the hope he had left that there would be.

Knowing that if he didn't fight, he would die and probably take everyone he loves with him, was enough to make him determined. It was enough to make him determined enough to take a stand and fight. No matter how much pain they could cause him, he was going to get out of here before he lost everything.

His own pain didn't matter in the bigger scheme of things.

"Hey, uh...so, what does this chair-thingy do?" He asked innocently, as he was taken to the middle of the room. No one answered, as expected.

"Ooh, does it give you, like, a massage? I once tried one of those massage-chairs at the mall when I was about seven – they were doing tests for free, so I was like; 'why no—'"

A fist hit him across the face, sending him spiralling to the floor. Pain shot through his cheekbone, but he grinned.

Perfect.

From his spot on the floor, he looked up at the woman who had hit him. She had cold annoyance in her eyes. The other one was already bending down to wrench him back to his feet.

She never got around to it, however, because Peter kicked her in the face on her way down. She flipped through the air with a short of pain, landing just in front of the chair.

There was a moment of silence – the calm before the storm, as May would've said. Then chaos reigned.

Almost immediately, he was being rushed from all sides. Blood rushed to his ears as he leapt to his feet. Over all the footsteps and shouts of 'get him!', Peter could hear Ross' animalistic shrieks.

"Parker! Get Parker!" Ross screamed, pointing frantically at the teen.

The first woman – who he presumed was a soldier, like the rest of them probably were – who reached him was hit flat to the floor without so much as a blink. His fist stung with pain, but the adrenaline drowned most of it. The second came up behind him, gripping his arm.

He spun around, landing a kick to her knees, at the same moment someone hit him square in the back. The hit knocked the breath from his lungs but not the fight from his heart.

He swung out an arm, blind and risky, behind him. Thankfully, it hit it's mark and another woman slumped to the floor.

Then, his left leg was tugged out from underneath him, and his chin cracked against the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain that he would've been able to shrug off during any normal time but being in prison for however long with barely any food or exercise...he was pretty weak. But with super-human strength, no one stood a chance against him. One being the key word in the sentence.

Because, there wasn't just one. There were at least twenty-five, maybe thirty. He was damn scared.

He rolled over on the floor, finding himself looking right into the eyes of a dark-skinned woman that reminded him horribly of Michelle. He rolled up onto his shoulders, thrusting his knees to his chest and kicking out with both feet. They crashed into her chest, and she was sent sprawling to the floor.

Three, four down? Twenty-something to go, he was feeling tired...not good odds.

He tried getting up, but a foot was on his chest, shoving him back down. He gripped at it, trying to push it away, but only more weight was added to it. He wheezed slightly, as Elvis pressed his boot down harder, cutting off his air.

But two ear-splitting shots echoed through the room, cracking everyone into silence.

Elvis' boot was gone from his chest, as his body crashed to the floor, two bloody holes right through him. One on his leg – the one that had been on Peter – and the other right through his heart. He was dead.

And if someone killed the bad-guy, they must be on Peter's side. And, despite his protests, his mind jumped to his da—to Tony. Whoops. His heart leapt, causing his body to do the same. He was on his feet in seconds.

It wasn't Tony, and the bubble of hope popped very quickly, like it had never been there. His heart felt like it had sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

In fact, it was one of the women. Dressed the same, that utterly black uniform, but holding a firearm in her hand. She had it pointed directly to where Elvis' chest had been moments before. Peter faltered in his eagerness to get to safety.

She was on his side, but she was a killer.

"And who are you?" Ross' voice echoed out from across the room. It was strange – his voice sounded polite, courteous, but look on his face was nothing but hostile.

"Miller." Was the swift reply. Her voice was cold with fury but clipped and almost professional.

"And what business do you have here?" He asked, same voice.

"The boy." She replied. Peter found his head turning almost comically to each person as they shot remarks across the room.

"And how did you get into our forces?" Ross said, but it sounded more like his usual snarl that time.

She paused, letting out a breath of laughter, "You need to watch your back, Thaddeus. You never know who might stab it." She enunciated the stab with a jolt of her gun.

Peter spun to look at Ross – the remaining soldiers doing the same – and his face had blanched. Despite his pallid expression, he kept his stance and grinned – though, there wasn't much mockery in it.

"Maria," he uttered, opening his arms wide as if in welcome, "it's been a long time, no?"

"Not long enough," The Maria Miller lady replied. Then she turned to Peter for the first time, letting her outstretched arm and gun fall to her side. There was something about her eyes; they weren't harsh or mean like most of the people here's were, but they were haunted and old. Like, wise almost, but reckless at the same time. She'd definitely been through some tough things.

Peter was sure his eyes looked pretty similar.

"You, with me. Anyone who tries to stop us, will be shot between the eyes. Is that clear?" She demanded of the shocked-silent room. Peter nodded stiffly, willing to have any help he could get, but found his feet glued to the floor. Could he really trust this lady? He didn't even know her! But...if she really was here to help and passed up on that...they would both be killed.

He could see the way out, shining like a beacon, and it was her. Suddenly, his feet could move again.

"Wait." Ross said simply. And Peter's legs waited, even though he urged them not to.

"Parker, come to me. Do not go with the woman." He demanded.

Peter nearly laughed. Why would he go to Ross, when he could go to freedom? But he only nearly laughed. Because as soon as his brain had processed the words, his body was walking him toward the very man he had never wanted so dearly to get away from.

And he couldn't stop it. It was torture in itself. He didn't understand.

It was like his brain wasn't in control of his body anymore. But Ross was? No. He can't be. That's impossible. No. No, no, no.

Nup. Nope.

"No." The word fell from Peter's mouth uncontrollably, but it worked. It worked! He spun his legs around and began pacing back to Miller.

Like he should've been able to this whole time. But...

"No?" Ross asked, and Peter could hear the smirk in his voice. "What do you mean, no? Come back."

And he began walking back.

Like some sick sort of game. Each step getting closer to the one he hated the most.

Every particle in his brain willed himself to just freaking stop walking, but it didn't work. Only his heart jumped erratically in his chest at will. He was so, so scared. He wanted to cry, he was so goddamn scared. He didn't understand. Anything!

Why this was happening to him, why it had to be him. Why he wasn't in control of his own body, why Ross had to choose him of all mutants to be the centrepiece of his little project. Why, why, why? Why?

The same word, repeated over and over in his confused mind.

He wanted to collapse. He was done, spent, over it. He wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep for a decade. He wanted to see Tony again. He wanted to hug his goddamn father again, have the man look at him and tell him it'll be okay, even if it wasn't.

He wanted MJ and Ned. He wanted to be able to laugh with them.

But he couldn't. Because this sick, evil, twisted man was too selfish to think about the life and the love and the laughter he was bringing a sixteen-year-old kid away from. Ross got to live at least the first thirty years of his life without pain! Peter couldn't even live the first six! And now it was this rich, privileged, "I-can-do-what-I-want-because-my-son-died" man's smart idea to make his life even more miserable and turn him into a soldier so he himself can kill the few people in his life that he loves! Who has that sort of entitlement? Why?

Because your son died? Well, guess what? My parents are dead. And my uncle. And I live with my Aunt because I have no other living relatives. And I was sexually abused when I was younger by my only friend. And I get bullied at school. Badly. And I've died once. And I've nearly died so many more times. And I'm a teenager and still been in countless wars. And my own mentor was going to kill me—

No.

No, he wasn't.

He was trying to save you.

Save you from the same pain that your gonna have to experience anyway, if you don't get your goddamn butt moving!

He broke free from Ross' command, and sprinted toward Miller this time. And as he broke free, so did everyone else, it seemed.

Because, he never got to the Maria woman. He was swarmed by HYRDA agents, pressing in on him, grabbing at him. Then there were more shots fired, and a few soldiers fell without a sound. Peter dropped to the floor, kicking his legs madly in hope to knock over some of the agents. They hit something at least six times. He hoped it was what he was aiming for.

More gunshots, more dead people. More kills to add to the list and bodies to add to the grave.

Just like his "body". In a grave somewhere. A vivid imagery of Michelle laying flowers at his tombstone popped into his head, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to be sick, because this scenario, like a scene from a sad movie, could be all-too real.

That was life, now. One sad movie.

Someone gripped his shoulder and spun him around. He blinked up at a particularly nasty looking agent-woman, before she sent a punch to his jaw. His head jerked back, but he squirmed out of her grip with ease. Scrambling along the floor, he ran head-long into another woman, practically bull-dozing her over and landing with knees in her stomach. Another one down.

And as he jumped to his feet, he froze.

Ross was there, his own pistol trained on him. Right between the eyes.

Immediately, his hands shot up. He frantically searched the room from the Miller lady, but he couldn't see her at all. His eyebrows knitted together.

Now, here's the thing. Peter wasn't suicidal; thoughts of ending his own life wasn't something he was mentally capable of. He always fought to protect himself, so why would he want to be the one to end it all? But, right here, right at this moment...Peter had never wanted so badly to see Ross pull that trigger and be lost to whatever hell awaited him.

Not because he wanted to die, per say. But, more because he didn't want to endure the unfathomably that was sure to come. And not of the physical pain. The sheer mental impact of losing your memories and killing everyone like a Winter Soldier Jr? No, thank you. He didn't know how Bucky could deal with it.

But Bucky was older than him – much older. He'd lived longer, seen more, experienced worse (maybe?) and was probably much wiser than Peter ever will be. He would know that it wasn't his fault.

But, Peter? If he ever hurt a hair on Michelle's, Tony's, May's or Ned's head's? He wouldn't know...what to do? He wouldn't know if he could emotionally deal with it. He'd have a mental breakdown and end up in an asylum or some other hell.

"That was a bad thing to do, my boy," Ross said, shaking his head disappointedly like a father would to his son when he did something wrong. Peter growled.

"Do it. End it." He bit out from between his teeth.

"Oh, okay!" Ross said cheerily, and pulled the trigger.

Just like that? No dramatic exit?

Peter Parker was going to die, telling Ross to kill him?

Huh?

Yeah, he'd asked him to, but really? But, like, he hadn't really been expecting his wish to be granted.

And now he wasn't scared.

He was relaxed.

Ready. Unwilling, but ready.

Read, until—

"Duck." A voice whispered in his mind, and he felt his own back bend as his face was turned to stare at the floor.

And the bullet whizzed over his head.

Right over, not even touching him nearly.

And for a moment, Peter wondered why—

But then, he realised.

The bullet was planted right into Maria Miller's chest, who had been standing directly behind him, ready to save him.

She was dead before she hit the floor. And so was Peter's last hope.

She was gone, and he was too tired to feel remorse. Because this was it. The end of the Amazing Spider-Man. The "mighty" fall. Everyone'll think it was a gas explosion.

And he didn't struggle as he was dragged mercilessly to The Chair, strapped on. He didn't even struggle when he heard the whir of the machines coming to life.

He didn't even struggle when the electrocution started,

Why? Because it was over.

--

PLEASE READ, VERY IMPORTANT: (!!!)

Hello, all! So, here is where I explain what the heck you just read.

Basically, this isn't Peter's first encounter with 'The Chair'. He's been there before, he just doesn't remember, because he's already begun the process of losing his memory ;) Now, that also explains why Peter's already subconsciously doing what Ross asks him to – he's already begun the transformation. Sorry if that may be confusing for you, I just wanted to show this process in a unique way, that no one's done before. I've read lots of fanfics where Peter's been turned into a Winter-Soldier thing, but they all described the transformation the same.

I hope this isn't terribly confusing, but I fear it might be.

Anyway, enjoy, please!

Ily all, have a great day/night! Will probs be back soon w/ another chapter.

Byeeeee :)

LuvForStydia xx