There were no words for the sight before him. All Scott could think was, "What the Hell?"
The door slammed shut with a *bang*.
Scott barely even noticed it, as the screens before him drew his whole attention. It was horrible. It was ugly. It was invasive. But maybe that's why he couldn't look away.
They had entered a wide room, which sort-of resembled an underground bunker. To one side, there was a hallway, and before that, half in shadow, there sat a desk. On the far wall, there was a group of over a dozen screens, all showing the ghastly display.
It was, at first glance, nothing but an incomprehensible bloody mess. But the longer Scott looked, (And he couldn't stop looking) the more he recognized.
The skinny yet lean form he usually saw in blue and red spandex, exposed on an examination table. Fluffy brown hair that sometimes poked through holes in his mask after hard battles, now greasy, matted, and crusted with semi-dried blood. Finally, a face he had just recently seen for the first time, now contorted in expressions that should never plague a face so young. Or one any age, for that matter.
"Is that-" Wasp's voice faltered. It didn't matter. She already knew the answer to that question.
As for Scott, he wanted to puke. This was disgusting. He had thought Darren Cross's experiments on lambs had been cruel, but this was a whole new level.
"Who-" Scott swallowed thickly, trying to find his voice, "Who would do something like this?"
"I think… Is that Doc Ock?" Hope pointed at one of the center screens, one where a man was dragging a serrated knife across Peter's mid riff, making a deep incision among the other lines of blood that seemed to lead up to it. Scott forced his eyes away from what was being done to the boy and let them raise to the one doing it. Now that she mentioned it, Wasp was right, it was indeed Otto Octavius.
Scott finally turned away and directed his attention somewhere- anywhere but the images across the room. They burned behind his eyelids in an after-image every time he blinked.
"Sick bastard."
"Do you think this is it? This is what all of the security was for, a couple of pictures of… Spiderman?" It wasn't just a couple of pictures and she knew it, but Scott got what she meant.
"I don't know. As bad as this is, I don't think it warrants all of the codes and secret doors and stuff." Scott shrugged.
"So… should we head back or-" Hope started, then let the sentence hang in the air as she went still.
"Uh, Hope?" Scott wasn't really sure what to say.
"Do you hear that?"
Scott stilled as well, and, just as he was about to make a joke about Hope hearing things, he heard the faint, distant echo of a voice.
"Get your hands off of her!"
"What if I don't want to? What are you gonna do about it?"
"I swear to God, I'm gonna-"
"Calm yourself, Stark, it's not her turn, yet."
Stark? Scott turned to Hope, who nodded in answer to his unasked question. They started toward the hallway, Wasp lifting from the ground and shooting forward, being very rude to Scott, who was left to run behind her, trying desperately to catch up. Stupid Wasp with her stupid wings…
In a matter of minutes, they had crossed the expanse of about ten feet. The hallway was blessedly plain, with no doors branching off to the side. It was a straight shot to the end where, as they drew nearer, the voices grew louder.
Scott turned a corner, sticking close to the wall to stay somewhat hidden. Woah.
There they were. The Avengers. Or, well, kinda. Closest to Scott, there was an open space, about the size of Oscorp's lobby, with what looked like a dentist's chair set in the middle. Within this open space, there were three cells. In the first, there was a man with curly dark-brown hair sleeping heavily. Though the walls were thick glass, the air within obscured him a bit, distorting him behind a green haze.
In the cell directly next to that one, another Avenger sat in isolation, though he was conscious. Steve Rogers was straightened in attention, despite the hindrance of the cuffs behind his back and similar shackles around his ankles. He might have broken out of them by now if not for the strange red glow the devices cast.
In the third and final cell, Hawkeye and Black Widow were tied back-to-back, with gags in their mouths. Hawkeye seemed to just be waking up, while Widow was out cold. Or maybe she was just pretending. Tony Stark was struggling against his bonds and biting against the newly-applied gag while a bulging man in a green-and-white striped shirt tied a red-headed woman at Tony's back, just as Widow and Hawkeye had been tied.
Scott wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Sure, the obvious thing to do would be, 'Kick ass, break out the Avengers, take down the bad guys.' But the whole situation was so unpredictable, with too many people Scott didn't recognise. Were the gassed out guy and the red-head superheroes too? Maybe they were civilians? And how the Hell had Goblin managed to overpower them all, anyway? And why would anyone wear such a hideous shirt? Everyone knows that horizontal stripes are fattening!
Scott opened his mouth to voice this to Hope, but before he could, he heard the sharp scuffing sounds of hurried footsteps behind them. He pressed once more to the wall, despite his size already hiding him from view. Better safe than sorry, after all.
The footsteps belonged to none other than Norman Osborn, who emerged from the shadowy hallway like he owned the place. Which, you know, he kinda did. But what was he doing here? This had to mean he really was connected with Green Goblin, didn't it?
Norman tutted. "Please, men, do you have to be so… I don't know, menacing? Honestly, just because we've been branded villains doesn't mean you have to act like it."
"Look, I'm just a muscle man." the guy in the striped shirt said in annoyance. "I do as I'm asked by my associates, take my cut, then I'm out. You know I don't enjoy it, but it's gotta be done. My point is, if any of us is being menacing or something, it's Doctor Evil over here, who hasn't shut up in hours-"
Otto Octavius stepped forward into Scott's view. At least, it was probably Otto; it was hard to tell with the surgical mask clinging to the lower half of his face. The extra arms made it pretty clear that it was him, though.
His voice sounded weird too, deep and garbled as he said, "Oh, please, Marko! You act as though you even understand a fraction of what I've said-"
"Oh, pLeAsE, maRKo!" Shirt, or Marko, apparently, repeated mockingly.
A new voice spoke up from, strangely enough, the ceiling. "Ooh, good comeback, Sandy! I now see how wrong he was to insult your intelligence!" Roosted in the rafters (heh, alliteration), there sat a man, well past his prime, in a getup much better than Marko's. He was clad in a dark green aviator jacket, with matching goggles resting atop his balding head. Actually, his whole outfit screamed fighter pilot, except for maybe the metal wings folded at his sides. Scott wasn't too experienced, yet, as he had only been doing this whole superhero thing for a short while, but even he knew who this guy was; Adrian Toomes, a.k.a. The Vulture.
"Dude!" Marko threw his hands out in a 'what the heck, man?' gesture. "You were just complaining about how much Otto monologues!"
"Yeah, but then you had to go and use an outdated meme."
"Children!" Norman sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Can you stop bickering and at least try to be professional? We have work to do."
"Sure thing, boss." Marko nodded, while Ock and Vulture rolled their eyes.
"Alright, then. Now, if you'd have been paying any attention at all, you'd be aware that Mr. Barton over there has been conscious for some time, now, and is nearly free from his bonds." As Norman said it, everyone turned and saw that Clint had indeed been working at escaping.
"Hey!" Marko made to stop him, but he was too late. Clint shot forward and rolled to his feet, falling into a defensive position. He ripped the gag from his mouth, then sneered, "Come at me, ass hats!"
All at once, the three villains struck, with Vulture swooping down from the rafters, Doc Ock surging forward with his arms ready to do some damage, and Marko straight-up becoming a mass of sand, crashing over Clint in a wave.
He was slammed backwards into a wall by the sand tsunami. Then he was struck by a metallic arm across his left cheek. Finally, Vulture lifted him a few feet from the ground and dropped him right back into the pile of sand. They were quick, efficient, and deadly.
The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds, once Clint no longer struggled Norman sighed, "Enough."
The archer spat out some sand (Which was gross, by the way? What part of Marko had been in his mouth?), and growled defiantly, "Ohh, good job, boys. You officially defeated an archer with no bow or arrows. Your parents would be proud."
Osborn strolled forward, his arms behind his back. Rather than respond to Clint, he directed his attention to Octavius. "Strap him down."
Otto nodded and grabbed the defeated man with two of his mechanical arms, then moved him toward the dentist-chair-looking-thing. Clint wriggled in his grasp, and struggled, and cussed, but in the end, he was helpless to stop what they were going to do to him.
But Ant-Man and Wasp weren't. Scott turned to Wasp, giving her a hand signal he hoped she would understand. She apparently did, because she nodded, and in the next moment, they were both growing to regular size.
Luckily for them, they had the element of surprise. Before anyone could process the sudden appearance of two new superheroes, Scott was jumping forward to attack Marko, while Wasp flew up to grapple with Vulture.
Scott let her battle fade into the background as he focused on his guy. He had seen him in action only on TV before this day, and once in person before he became Ant-Man. Scott recognised him now as Flint Marko, a.k.a. Sandman. To say he felt a little out of his league would be an understatement.
Scott did the only thing he could think of; he ran up and punched the dude in the jaw. Then he immediately regretted it. Just like in his last fight in prison, the blow didn't even affect the man. Unlike his last fight in prison, it was because he had hardened his jaw into a chin-shaped rock.
"Augh!" Scott couldn't hold back his gasp of pain when his knuckles collided with the stone. "Wow, okay, that's a strong jaw you've got there, dude."
"Thanks, that means a lot." Marko grinned, then slammed two fists into Scott's stomach, sending him flying into the wall on the other side of the room.
"Uuhh~gh" Scott groaned. Okay, there goes plan one. Time for plan two.
He pressed the button next to his thumb and shrunk back down to ant-sized. The action allowed him a moment to look around before he was found. He saw that Hope was dodging some kind of weird purple plasma balls that Vulture was blasting at her. Meanwhile, Clint had hopped back up from the chair, and was keeping Ock busy.
"You know what?" Clint sneered to his adversary, "I've been waiting to kill you for weeks."
"Oh, don't tell me you're still upset about all of that unpleasantness?"
Clint sidestepped a swing from one of Ock's upper-arms, and retaliated with a kick aimed for his knees, which was blocked by another arm. The arm twisted around Clint's calf and lifted him from the ground, leaving him dangling upside-down. Fortunately, his hands were still free, which is how he was able to grab a tray from one of the nearby tables and throw it at Otto's face like a frisbee.
"Come out and fight like a man, you tiny bastard!"
Scott's attention was wrenched away from the other fights as Sandman called out for him.
"Sorry, but I prefer to fight like an ant. You know, hence the name?" Scott called out. Marko swung his head around, searching for the source of the sound, but was unable to find him.
"Alright, I'll just have to fight like sand, then." Marko sneered. Before Scott even realized what he was about to do, a new wave of sand was slamming into him. He was immediately buried, millions of grains swirling around him and crushing him.
Sandman drew the wave back into himself and reformed into a solid man. With Scott still inside. Having finished off Ant-Man, Marko made to help Vulture with Wasp.
Meanwhile, Scott was panicking. He was completely squished, unable to move in any way. It was completely dark as no light was able to reach this far within the mutated man. Scott would be dead of suffocation if not for the helmet encasing his head. His oxygen wouldn't last long, though.
Okay, Scott, think. You gotta find a way out of this. Maybe if he dug his way out, he could… but no, he wasn't able to so much as twitch with the pressure of the sand pressing upon him.
This was bad. He couldn't move, couldn't see, and soon, wouldn't even be able to breathe. Worst of all, he was needed. Wasp was still fighting, Clint was still fighting. But Scott was, as usual, useless.
A feeling of hopelessness swept over him. It was something he'd become accustomed to over the years. When he went to prison. When he came home and couldn't find a job due to his record. When he couldn't even see his daughter. When he had fought Yellowjacket and shrunk down to sub-atomic, unable to ever regrow again.
Hopelessness was an old friend.
But… he still fought. He found a way, because he had to find a way. Scott didn't really care whether he lived; he had never thought he was anything too important. But the thought of never seeing his daughter again, of her growing up without a dad because he gave up… that made him want to live. He had to, for Cassie.
So goddamnit, Scott, find a way!
The thought stirred something within him, and he began thinking rapidly. Okay, can't move, can't see… but he still had the suit.
He tried moving his thumb to the button that would return him to his rightful size, but was unable to make even the miniscule movement. Scott groaned. Then, if he had been able to move, he would have face palmed at the obvious solution before him.
He didn't have to use his thumb to press the button. All he had to do was shift his hand further into the sand, and let it do the job. Wowee, Scott, took you long enough.
He rolled his eyes and jammed the button into the sand, and, just like that, began to grow once more. Marko yelled in surprise as he exploded from within, and Scott grew in the place he once stood. Sand flew everywhere, though that was better than the alternative, considering the fact that when most people exploded it was a lot more gory. Yes, Scott would take sand over blood and guts any day.
The sight that greeted him wasn't pretty. While he had been trapped, Sandman had helped Vulture pin down Wasp, and he now had her pressed against the opposite wall. She clawed wildly at the hand shoving against her throat, but it had no effect on the thick jacket and gloves.
As for Clint, Otto had managed to finally get him strapped into the chair, where he writhed and spat at the scientist. Osborn stepped forward, a strange spray can held in one hand. It was filled with an ominous green liquid.
Several things happened at the same time. It only took a moment for the other villains to realize their ally had been blown to bits, making them turn to Scott. While Vulture was distracted, Hope got in a well-placed kick to his buzzards, loosening his grip on her throat. Ock was rearing back an arm to strike at Scott, but was tackled from behind by the newly-freed Wasp. Scott jumped up to join her, but was stopped as the sand around him surged up and dragged him back to the ground.
It slithered around his ankles, tightening and loosening in a sickening tide. Worst of all, it kept him in place, even as he saw Norman come silently up behind Wasp, who had been too preoccupied with Octavius to notice...
"Hope, look out-!"
But he was too late.
She spluttered as he sprayed her in the face with a weird kind of aerosol spray. Norman chuckled, a wild, primitive type of triumph shone in his glinting green eyes. Hope fell to the floor, writhing in agony and screaming despite herself.
"NO!" Scott tried to rush forward, to help her, to do something but he was stuck fast. Oh, God, please not Hope.
She started to change before Scott's eyes. The skin on her face pulled tight, showing each muscle and tendon once hidden, and giving her a pinched, stretched out look. Some spots dried and flaked away, revealing glistening green scales pushing up from underneath. Her hair went dry and limp, and her ears shot upwards, elongating into sharp points.
She laid on the floor for a long while, simply heaving and panting with ragged, shuddering gulps. Norman eventually kneeled before her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Hello, dear." He spoke softly, like one might to a wounded animal, "How do you feel?"
She paused for a moment before raising her gaze to Norman's, then letting her mouth slide into a sickening smile, "Alive." Her voice was like a serpent's, as though she had been gargling with sandpaper for a month.
"That's great, sweetie." Norman grinned in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now, I need you to do something for me."
"Oh? And what's that?"
Norman gestured around the room, to Clint in the chair, Scott stuck in place by the sand, and the Avengers within the cells. "Help them come alive."
To Osborn's surprise, she scoffed. "Is that so? Tell me, who are you to tell me what to do? Why should I serve a mortal man?"
Norman chuckled and shook his head, "You are a smart one! And so pretty… alright, I suppose you're right, I have to show you. After all, you're above the command of common man, right?"
Scott's eyes widened in shock as Osborn's hand shot out and wrapped around Hope's throat, then threw her across the room as though she weighed nothing. His eyes flashed green once more, and Scott finally understood.
Hope's body slammed into the concrete with enough force to crack it. She fell with a wet *Thump* to the floor below. Norman walked over to her and cupped her chin in one hand, raising her face to look him in the eye."I am no ordinary man, Monster. I am the Green Goblin, and you will serve me."
Hope, despite the pain she must have been in, nodded her head, "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now get to work."
She clambered to her feet, her wings flailing clumsily behind her, then snatched up the aerosol can and started for Clint.
His eyes went wide and he started struggling against the straps with new passion. "Wait! Stop, come on, why would you listen to him? You- you're Wasp! The superhero, remember? Come on, no, wait STOP-!"
His pleas were cut short when she sprayed him in the face, just as she had been.
It was just as horrifying to watch the transformation a second time.
Then she turned to Scott.
"W-wait! Hope, it's me! We- we're friends." Scott yanked desperately at his feet, but the sand only pressed tighter around them. His eyes locked with hers, but they were… off. They weren't Hope's. Her's were warm, and intelligent, and pretty, and made Scott feel all weird inside, like he ate a moth. Now they were still intelligent, and, well, yeah they were still pretty, but the pupils were almost as big as a penny, nearly completely blotting out the white parts. And they were cold, reflecting the lights in the room like metal. They still gave him a weird feeling alright, but it was more like the moth was trying desperately to claw it's way out of his stomach to get away from her.
"Just a minute, dear." Osborn grinned wickedly from behind her, then stepped closer to Scott. "I'm afraid she's not the woman you knew anymore. You know, as useful as this serum has been to me, it does come with some… side effects. It's nothing too serious, of course. In fact, I'd say this is an improvement."
"What did you do to her!? Why would you-"
"The only thing I did was save her. From a life of inadequacy. From sinking to the bottom of the gene pool. Honestly, you should be thanking me."
"You're out of your mind."
"Perhaps. Or maybe I'm the only one thinking clearly."
"If I could spit in your face I would. Stupid helmet."
"Well, I can fix that, too." Osborn leered, reaching forward; Scott distinctly felt the moth die and settle heavily at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn't shrink without the helmet. Worse, Hope would have easy access to his face with that spray without it. Nevermind, the helmet was not stupid!
Osborn was about to yank it off, sealing Scott's fate, but at that moment, a voice came out of a speaker on the far wall.
"Toomes! Osborn! Somebody- get -ut here, th-ey did som-th-ng-"
The sand still spread across the ground hummed quietly, saying in a disconnected voice, "Electro?"
Osborn frowned. "Otto, go see what those idiots did now. I swear, they had the simplest task- And while he's doing that, we can finish up with the rest of these."
"Alright, I'm going." Octavius sighed.
As he was passing by on his way to the door, Scott spotted his chance. He faced Hope once more, searching her face for some shadow of recognition, some glimmer of goodness. But there was only the cold. He would be back. Just like with the animals upstairs, just like with Spiderman. He would be back. He would find a way to save them all. But he would need help.
Just as Ock was disappearing around the corner, Scott pulled the last wild card he had up his sleeve. Or, should I say, on his gloves? He jammed the button and shrank down once more (They really should see this coming by now), temporarily freeing himself from Marko's deadly grip.
He fell into the sand, but didn't stick around long enough to get trapped again. He ran off like a shot, never looking back, not slowing down. He didn't pause when Osborn cried out in surprise. He didn't change direction when Hope began spraying the ground carelessly, forgetting Scott's helmet. He kept running with all of his might, going strong even as he left Hope, the one who meant so much to him in more ways than he even understood.
He powered on, past the doubts, the chaos, and the overwhelming feeling of betrayal.
Scott made it through the hall, and looked around the previous room just in time to hear a *clank* from the top of the ladder affixed to the wall.
That must be the way Otto went. So he would follow suit.
He would be back. He would save them. He just couldn't on his own. This was to help them.
But no matter what Scott told himself, he was leaving her behind. No matter how hard he tried to be strong, and hold back the sobs in favor of finding a way to win this war, he had lost the battle. He had lost too much.
For the second time in one night, he lost Hope.
And he wasn't the only one.
I just wanna say how awesome you guys all are. I know I sound like a broken record, but your feedback means so much to me. Thank you so, so much for everything. Also, I know I said no more cliffhangers, but all of these chapters end up so much longer than I expect. Hell, when I first started this chapter, it was all in Peter's perspective. So, yeah, I guess I shouldn't make promises I can't keep, even if they are the best kind. Whatever, regardless, I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to tell me what you think. Thanks again, and, as always, Excelsior!
