Even for Peter, this was new. Looking at the black and silver iron suit, he felt a hard twinge of discomfort. His spidey senses raked down his spine.
He shifted his weight on the wall, ready to spring.
"So, you're clearly not Mr. Stark's. He'd know not to steal Black Panther's color scheme. He's very touchy about it."
It was unnerving, just hovering there.
"So, Mr. Stark will probably want to know that someone got their hands on his design. I'm just gonna go - woah!"
In a blink, it had raised an arm and sent a blast at him, giving Peter barely having enough time to move out of the way. It left the wall smoking.
Peter flung webbing at it, temporarily pinning its arms. He took advantage of the moment to jump up and over the suit, kicking off of it like a springboard. Metal crunched under him, and he grinned as he swung away. He could hear it give chase. He whooped as he dodged erratic blasts.
"Yeah, definitely not Stark's. He'd never make such a piece of - oof!"
All the air was forced out of his lungs as the suit rammed into him at full speed. He barely registered the fact that he was flying through the air as stars overtook his vision. He was brought to an ungentle halt by a brick outer wall (he must have cracked the plaster on the other side) and he could swear he felt something in his chest give way. He started plummeting to earth, and scrambled at the wall for purchase. After a few seconds, his powers brought him sliding to a stop.
His body felt trampled. He struggled to regain his breath.
He spotted a shadow on the wall, his spidey senses shrieked, and he turned around just in time to catch of glimpse of the suit, lopsided and still trailing webbing, before he was torn from the wall by his neck.
He hung, suspended in the air by cold metal fingers wrapped around his throat. And then they squeezed.
Peter's eyes widened as his air was cut off. His hands flew to those strangling him, trying to pry them apart. He pulled so hard the metal creaked, winning a brief trickle of air before the force increased. It was all Peter could do to keep the suit from crushing his windpipe.
He mouth gaped, fishlike, in a futile bid for air. His legs kicked wildly, clanging against metal which dented under the force. His face felt hot and swollen. His eyes watered. He was hyper aware of the blood pushing to move through fragile veins compressed under robotic hands. His chest burned and spasmed; he saw stars for the second time in minutes. He fought desperately, but he could feel himself weakening. His vision was dissolving; his legs stilled.
I'm actually going to die here, he thought. Fear laced through him. He tried to redouble his efforts, but found his arms heavy and clumsy. Darkness lapped at him.
Then, an explosion of light of noise, and Peter was painfully jerked to the side. The grip on his neck was gone; he gasped in a breath and color began to return. He also discovered that he was free falling, but he was too busy coughing and sucking in as much air as he could to do much of anything about it. Luckily, he was jerked back to a halt.
He struggled, until he realized the metal arms wrapped around him were red and gold, recognized the frantic voice.
"Pete, you okay? Peter? F.R.I.D.A.Y., what's wrong with him?"
"I'm okay, Mr. Stark," Peter croaked.
"Like hell you are," Tony responded, relief in his voice. "Jesus Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Karen calls me, saying you've been injured, and I fly over to find some demon suit throttling you over empty space! I was afraid you…" he trailed off.
"Yeah, me too." Peter wrapped his arms around him, so different from the suit that held him just minutes before. "Thanks, Tony. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well," Tony clung tighter. "It's alright, kid."