When I opened my eyes, I was resting in a hospital bed. A doctor in the room noticed my signs of awakening and came to inform me that I had no serious injuries, except a slight stroke on my temple. Since I was still cold and weak because of what I'd experienced the day before, the medical staff felt it was necessary for me to stay at the facility until the illness started to go away.
Bleak days began to flow slowly, one after the other. I spent hours lying on the bed, watching the ceiling, my eyes empty and my mind totally disconnected from the sanitized environment around me. Even though I shed tears, I remained motionless and haggard. Between a few bitter medicines and portions of food that I was struggling to swallow, a psychotherapist and a social worker visited me regularly to take care of my file. Our conversations lasted about one hour or two, and both of them became aware of my precociousness when I loquaciously talked about the tragedy that had fallen on that night : my hiding in the closet, the red blood on the floor, the monstrous faces of the four strangers who took the lives of those who were dear to me, the gun close to my face, Iron Man, the fire... They listened in silence, without judgment or condescension, but I could read pity in their eyes, which made me feel even more miserable than I already was. I quickly end up avoiding eye contact with anyone.
It was only the day before I left the hospital that police officers came to meet me and tell me the results of their investigation : A half destroyed explosive device was dug up from the debris of my old house gone in smoke. It was a time bomb loaded with nitroglycerin, the detonation which caused the fire and panic in the heart of Queens. It took several hours to the firefighters to take down the flames. Following this, eight burnt bodies emerged from the rubbles. Richard, Mary, Benjamin and May Parker could be detected by rare intact DNA traces and the many shots that riddled them. For the rest, the identity and motive of the assassins remained a mystery.
The agents asked me a few questions about what had happened before the incident. My answer was nothing but the truth : the criminals who annihilated my family almost killed me, and I owe my life to Iron Man. Given the accuracy of my testimony and the firefighters who actually saw the hero by my side during the fire, the peacekeepers took my story seriously and assured me that the press will not be aware of my identity, since I was a minor. I simply nodded to thanks them.
The day after the interview, I finally left the hospital. The social worker was waiting for me. He solemnly announced me the verdict of my file: since all the members of my family were dead and no one had the means to take care of me, it was decided that I join an orphanage. I looked at him indifferently, then followed him to his car without saying a word. What could I have done, anyway ?
We rolled under a cloudy and rainy sky. A slow, melodic piece of jazz sounded through the radio. My eyes were lost beyond the window, looking tiredly at the houses, while I pressed between my fingers the only memory I had of my past childhood : my crystal pendant. Despite the warmth of my palms, the touch of the gemstone was cold. After long minutes of traffic, the car ends up parking in a parking lot. The social worker led me to a large four-storey building surrounded by several red brick houses. Their identical architectures and their shimmering color contrasted with the gray and harsh tones of the rest of New York. I quickly recognized the neighborhood of Brooklyn Heights, located on the other side of Queens.
We entered the building, where a young woman around forty years old received us warmly. She introduced herself as the director of the Forescent Orphanage by the name of Susan Sandfield, and told me that I was welcome here. Then, the two adults discuss on several things, especially about paperwork. I just kept my head down, paying no attention to the conversation.
After signing some documents, the social worker who accompanied me since my hospitalization went away in silence, leaving me now in charge of the orphanage. Once he left, I glared at Mrs. Sandfield, somewhat apprehensive... It was not uncommon to hear circulating terrible stories of kidnappings or mistreatment in institution for abandoned children. The hypothesis of having fallen into a sort of prison run by twisted persons who gave themselves the appearance of saints in the eyes of the public gave me cold sweats... The young woman seemed to notice my fears, and gave me a kind smile . She made me visit the entire establishment, which consisted of three areas : the dormitories of boys and girls separated into two parallel opposite buildings, the central building where was the entrance, a cafeteria, a library, a psychologist's office and several small activity rooms such as sports and music, and finally a courtyard where children could play and get some fresh air.
The anxiety that haunted my mind gradually faded as we wandered down the halls. The director was sincerely kind and considerate of the orphans, and there was no suspicion of any abusive or harsh behavior.
After half an hour, Mrs. Sandfield finally took me to my new room, at the end of the second floor of the boy's dormitory. I was surprised to see that it was an individual room, and that it was the same for all the other rooms in the orphanage. It was spacious and clean, with a dominant beige color, with toilet and shower, and a large window littered in the alcove of a wall where a small rectangular elevation was built to sit. The director informed me of the rules to follow in the institution in a calm and understandable way, then she went back to her office by closing the door. I was suddenly exhausted by the car ride, so I sat close to the window to rest and let time pass until dinner time.
That's how my life at the Forescent Orphanage began.
I quickly became acclimated to this new environment and way of life that was both free and ordered, thanks to my wise and obedient nature. I also discovered that many orphans of the institution were precocious children like me. However, I remained completely silent for more than a month, too apathetic to even try to approach my comrades of misfortunes. Apart from the polite expressions and answers to questions I was asked, I spent most of the time confined in my room, contemplating the courtyard or reading books in the library. As a result, I was unable to form true bonds with the other children.
Around November, during discussions with the management of the orphanage, I officially obtained a new identity : Thomas Flanders. Mrs. Sandfield had offered to preserve the name "Peter Parker" if I wanted, but I refused. Thanks to this new name, I was able to go out of the orphanage and join a reputable school in our neighborhood with fifteen other kids : Leon East, Noah Faraday, Evan North, Sebastian Marsh, Allen Cooper, Caleb Graham, Jonathan Harrisson, Phoebe Rosenbach, Amber Stewart, Rebecca Hall, Ellen Wright, Kenna Hunter, Lauren Mason, Meghan Reyes and Jessie Opal. We studied History, science, physics, chemistry, sport, foreign languages, art and culture, all adapted to our global developed intellectual level.
Since we were always together, both during and after school, I gradually learned to memorize the face and the distinct personality of each of my companions. Leon, my roommate who was one year older than me, immediately noticed my lonely behavior, closely followed by Phoebe. Then, both of them stuck with me in all circumstances, be it at Forescent or outside, even breaking the curfew and going into my room at night to tell stories or pass on information about our activities of the next day. It didn't take long for the rest of the band to do the same and sympathize with the shy little boy I was. At first I was confused by my comrades's attention to me, but their presence appeared familiar and reassuring to me in a few weeks.
When people looked at us, there was nothing to differentiate us from the other children : we were all normaly dressed, each one having his own style. Our school supplies and backpacks were just as ordinary as our clothes. There was a good alchemy in our class, we laughed together and we liked to discuss about things that interested us like movies, series or books. Well, if there is an almost perfect harmony between us, it's because we all share a common point... Being an orphan. Since we didn't have families to look after us and lived in an environment that promotes humility and respect for others, we were more independent than the "normal" students in the school. There was no hierarchy or judgment between us... More than orphanage boarders, we were siblings. United by the silent suffering of becoming alone in the world all of a sudden, victim of a sad trick of fate.
And so, time passed like sands falling in an hourglass. I grew up surrounded by my friends, and my life at Forescent went wonderfully well. Some bullies's words and mockery weren't always easy to bear, but it didn't affect our daily lives. I even found myself smiling on rare occasions, especially when I heard the crazy ideas of my partner in crime Leon. Then, in the dim light of my room, a small flame of hope began to light in my heart.
Maybe everything will be fine now, I thought, squeezing the glittering pendant in my hands, staring at the night sky.
What a fool...
I was 11 years old. It had been three years since the orphanage gathered me. The visits of foster families was common at Forescent, but few of them resulted in adoptions. The reasons for this were essentially administrative : the background investigations of the parents were strict and took time to conclude. Other reasons, more personal, aimed at the demands of the families... Many of them specified what kind of children they want to adopt. Mrs. Sandfield immediately rejected these kind of requests. It was out of the question for her to let an orphan leave with strangers she wasn't sure they wouldn't cause any trouble to the child.
Even though our daily life was something of a routine, something attracted our attention... A group of volunteers worked part-time at Forescent. One of them, a middle-aged man, was distinguished by his lack of expression and his strange eyes. He watched us at length, from near and far, without saying a word. It was impossible to know if he was doing this by nature or if it was a tick. Still, everyone was uncomfortable to feel his hollow eyes staring at us when we wandered in the corridors...
One day, however, this atypical man has stopped coming. No more piercing eyes at the corners of the walls, no ghostly comings and goings... Nothing. All the children were relieved at the announcement of this news, including myself. But I couldn't help thinking that there was something fishy behind this disappearance... What reasons did this man have to leave ? Why did he keep looking at the children as if he was looking for something out of them ? Deep in me, I wasn't really calm. Nevertheless, I let these questions evaporate from my head, and everything came back to normal.
Two weeks passed after the departure of the strange man. A torrential rain fell on New York for several days. As a result, all orphans were forbidden to go out of the orphanage because of the risk of flooding.
I watched the drops of rain slowly run down the window of my room, wrapped in warm blankets like a protective cocoon. My pendant knotted at my neck warmed gently on my skin (I always hide my gemstone under my clothes). With the big gray clouds that covered the sky all the time, it was hard to know if it was day or night. However, a simple look at the little clock stuck on the wall opposite of my bed was enough to find my landmarks. The clockwise indicated 23 hours.
The sound of the elements soothed my ears, and my eyes were marveled by the droplets of water beading the glass. Suddenly, a burning sensation took hold of my nostrils. It was odorless and incredibly strong. Even putting a hand on my face didn't diminish the pain I felt. My nose began to hurt, and my head grew heavier. I wanted to get up to find the source of this horrible sensation, but the pain became even more acute with my feet on the ground. My sight was troubled, and my legs no longer had the strength to support me. I fell on the ground, half conscious. It was only when I saw a microscopic device no bigger than a pill close to me that a flash of lucidity struck me : I knew what made me amorphous in a few seconds...
The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness for good was a heavy footstep and a dismal whisper :
"Hail HYDRA."
