Annnnnnnnd I'm back! Pardon the long absence, I was caught up trying to edit it a bunch of stuff. That and I've been in a drawing mood lately. :3

I've edited up to chapter 6 in "Animal Instinct: Infected Humanity" (I added quite a bit more details - check those out if you want. I'll be editing this book next - because I see many, many mistakes now and they are bugging me. I actually got the whole first chapter edited and polished to perfection...until my laptop froze...and I accidentally clicked on something else...and all my work was lost...I'm still crying over it. (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Anyway, I'm tired of keeping you guys waiting so here I am.

Enjoy!

The straitjacket was gone.

Peter almost couldn't believe it when he had woken up in his cot with his arms weak and unbound by his side. In fact, he had sat there for several minutes just gaping as he flexed his fingers back and forth experimentally. But then the reality of the situation hit him and he grinned. Immediately, he jumped up and onto the ceiling where he placed the palms up his hands flat against the surface and just hung there, the feel of his fingers sticking tight to it was a welcome one. He then pulled himself up to a crouch on the ceiling and crawled little ways forward, before jumping down and springing off the wall to propel himself across the room to stick to the opposite end.

His arms were weak and strained from lack of use, and shook when he put his weight on them, but that didn't stop him from grinning like a child on Christmas morning. This was better. This was good. This - this was great. The bland whiteness of the room suddenly seemed a whole lot more bearable.

But...why? Not that he was complaining. But...why did they take it off? Were they planning something? Peter was sure it wasn't because they were being nice or anything. What trick did Hydra have up its ?

Before he could think on it, he spotted something on his bed that had his heart skipping a beat. Something he hadn't noticed when he first woke up. He swung his body lightly and let go of the ceiling so that he landed on his cot, weary of the package placed carefully on the blanket.

Softly, with the utmost love, he picked up the red web-shooter and rolled it gently in his hand. Oh yeah, the other one had gotten destroyed by Ock when he first got caught, didn't it? Remnants of that fight marked up his last web-shooter too, he traced a long cut along the paint of the device. But one web-shooters was still a web-shooter. Forgetting about his earlier suspicions, Peter clipped it back onto his wrist. Wow, he didn't realize how wrong it felt without it till it was back. He might've had only one shooter, but it did wonders to soothe this anxiety. Flexing his wrist up and down, he smiled widely at the familiar weight. He opened the tab containing his web-capsules where it was empty sans one last cartridge. Peter distinctly remembered having more in there, so they must've emptied the rest out, meaning he had one currently placed inside as well - which meant he had two cartridges at his disposal. He growled unhappily at the thought of someone messing with his webs.

Messing with his head was one thing, but messing with his webs was where the line was drawn.

Despite his displeasure, he aimed his wrist and shot a web. The thwip sound was music to his ears. Tugging experimentally, Peter pulled himself up onto the ceiling again. Once there, he adjusted the pressure of the webs and spun himself a thick and lazy web to lay in.

Is. For once, in what felt like an eternity, he felt at ease in his prison.

He relaxed in his newly spun bed, feeling the safest he had in awhile. Looking across the room toward the hidden camera, a sudden spark of rebellion ignited within him. He grit his teeth as hatred for the eyes behind the lens washed over him. They did this. They were making him miserable. They were hurting him. Sitting up, he shot a web - his aim true - that covered the probably wasn't smart of him to antagonize his captors, but he couldn't help himself. The torture, the isolation, the white was all their fault!

He waited a beat for something to happen.

Nothing

5 minutes passed.

Still Nothing.

Peter scowled in confusion. He thought for certain something would've happened by now, in fact, he was almost disappointed that they were so unresponsive. Were they even watching him? It seemed odd that they wouldn't. He couldn't be that easy to guard after all. Peter slowly lowered himself into his web, still skeptical and unsure.

Not 5 seconds afterward, there was a high hissing sound and he jerked back up in anticipation. Instead of the guards or sentry robots he expected, a white gas began to fill the chamber from dozens of holes sliding open in the walls. Peter hardly had time to react before he was overwhelmed in a cloud of white (freaking white). He managed to hold breath for a while, but it didn't last forever. As soon as he breathed in the gas he felt woozy, his head spun and his limbs went numb and he felt himself tip forward.

Regretting his rebellious choice, he fell out of the web and onto the floor, knocking the breath out of him which only causing him to take in a deeper breath. His vision swam and blurred. He faintly heard a whoosh sound before he was lost in unconsciousness.

Peter woke up somewhere different. Instead of a stiff cot and white walls, he was laying on a cold, steel gray floor.

His head was still dizzy; his eyes were blurred and unfocused. With a groan, he shook his head lightly to shake the remnants of the drug away. His limbs felt ladened with steel and his legs felt numb and weak, but he managed to lift himself up to his knees where he could properly look around.

Blinking past his blurred vision, all Peter could see was a long, faintly lighted hall that turned sharply several yards ahead. Groggily, he looked over his shoulder where a wall loomed heavily behind him. Dropping his head back, Peter moaned softly and tried to think past his muddled state. But - ugh - his head felt stuffed with styrofoam. He could hardly see much less think.

Whatever that drug was, it was a gnarly one - especially if it could affect him in such a heavy way.

Above him, from a hidden speaker, a voice crackled: Welcome back Subject S, I take it you didn't sleep well.

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to his ears, despite the fact that the voice's tone was a moderately deep one. Gritting his teeth against the uncomfortable feel, Peter glanced around to try and pinpoint its location. There was something familiar about that voice.

"Experiencing sensitivity to sound? Probably feel weak and dizzy too - all too be expected." the voice continued. "There's just nothing more annoying than a loud noise buzzing in your ear."

Peter snorted without humor. "Oh, I get it," he muttered. "Sarcasm."

"Still got your quips, I see. No matter, it won't be long before you know when to hold your tongue to your superiors."

"Not likely." Peter snapped. His head pounded and he groaned softly again. Man, what was that drug?

The voice didn't seem impressed. "You've got 10 minutes to try and find your way out of this maze. Failure to complete the challenge will result in severe punishment to the patient. Afterward, the challenge will be restarted where it was left off until completed. Your time starts now, Subject S, I suggest you start running."

Peter was tempted to sit there just to spite them. But he probably pushed his luck today with the whole webbing-the-camera act and didn't want to further anger them - for now. He stumbled to his feet, pausing to lean against the wall to gain his bearing. Staggering, he started forward.

He noticed that he was still wearing his white uniform (white, white, white, white - stupid white), only with cold metal rings attached tightly to his ankles, wrists (which no longer had his web-shooter - dang it!), and neck. Scowling, he reached to experimentally touch one. Before his finger could even get close, a thrill of electricity shot through the ring. Peter shouted and stumbled back, holding his electrocuted arm.

"Oh, and I wouldn't suggest touching your Bands. It won't end up." the voice piped up innocently.

"Thanks for the tip." Peter ground through his teeth. Shaking off the burn, he purged on again. Rounding the bend, he stuttered to a halt. He was faced with 4 different routes, each one displayed an array of tight bends and turns that left his head spinning. He could hardly finish a maze on a kids meal; how did they expect him to solve this?

Each entrance was a different color. There was gray, white, black, and lighter gray (all in that row) that faced him ominously.

Peter automatically turned from the white - the very look of it sent worms of anxiety squirming in the pit of his stomach. The light gray seemed too closer to white, and the black was too dark. He headed for the gray.

Feeling strength slowly return to his limbs, he morphed his walk into a jog and set to finding his way past bends and twists. He came across more than 1 fork on the road, at each one he chose a path randomly.

His head felt lighter out here, not so cramped or easily distraught. It was kind of nice. He came to another fork, without halting his jog he turned left and kept going. He had no idea where he was headed or if he was supposed to be looking for something. Everything seemed the same.

Not to long afterward, though, the voice came over the speaker again, "Time's up." Peter's spider-sense tingled and the Bands clasped to his body suddenly burst to life with tendrils of electricity. He screamed and collapsed on the floor, his body convulsing with pain. The Band's continued for another torturous minute before they turned back off. Slumping down, his body still twitched from the sudden onslaught of energy, he groaned throatily and got to his hands and knees.

"Up and continue. Failure to complete the maze a second time will result in a longer punishment, same with a third attempt, fourth, fifth and so on. Your time starts now, Spider." the voice was gone again.

Breathing deeply, Peter got back to his feet. He's taken harder hits from Electro - he could handle this. He started jogging down the path again.

But it didn't seem like very long before his time was up and he was being electrocuted again. This time it lasted for 3 and ½ minutes.

The voice told him to continue.

Peter got up and started running.

Each time was the same. He never found the way out - he took every path, back-tracked, and scaled the walls in hopes of finding anything - all within the time space being "punished" 4 more times.

All he managed to do was find his way back to the place he started. Right in front of the black, white, and light gray paths. The Bands burst to life again, with much more intensity. He remained in agony for 6 minutes before he finally blacked out, all the while he could hear the voice tsking overheard in disappointment.

Never had he wanted to be in the white room more than that moment.

I know it's another short(ish) chapter but work with me here. The next one will be of the Academy students, Aunt May, and the Avengers. Adios!