We're almost to the climax of the first arc! Woohoo!

Peter was tired. Tired of running, tired of thinking, tired of feeling, tired of playing this game of cat and mouse. He was tired of the hunt, of being the one hunted. It itched at his skin, the unfamiliar feeling of being the target, when he was so used to being on the other side of the loaded gun, the one holding the sharp blade. It was now going on two weeks since he had left the Compound, and Peter could count down to the second how much longer his body could keep working under the current conditions. Since both his former handlers and the heroes could track him by the vibranium prosthetics he very well couldn't get rid of lest he wished to immobilize himself, he couldn't stay in one place for very long. He'd only caught fits and bursts of sleep, and hadn't been able to procure enough food or water to satisfy his metabolism. The numbers dwindled in his mind as he kept track of when he'd last eaten, when he'd last had a drink, when he'd last slept, and how much he'd gotten of all of them.

He drew in a ragged breath as he stood straight in the pouring rain, letting the cold liquid wash the crimson from his flesh and wash away the puddle of metallic copper from the three limp corpses in front of him. He tilted his head towards the sky, eyes closed and arms slack, taking the momentary reprieve to collect himself. Lethargy clung to his lithe form like a weighted blanket, numbing his overworked limbs and dulling his senses. After a few minutes, he huffed out a breath and opened his eyes once more, not bothering to check the dead HYDRA lackeys for supplies as he stalked off into the night to find shelter from the storm. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and resisted the urge to rub his flesh arm for warmth since the metal that made up his right arm was chilled to the touch from the spring shower.

He found an awning that he clambered under, tucking with practiced ease into the corner and huddling in a tight ball to use his body heat as effectively as the mutant could. His night vision offered some semblance of relief from whatever lurked in the darkness, but the exhaustion that had been suffocating him strangled his conscious thoughts once more. Peter found himself nodding off and kept snapping his head back up in an effort to fight the intoxicating lull of sleep. It was a losing battle, for as the minutes dragged on, his head was drooping more frequently and rising less. Eventually his head propped against his knees and his eyes closed, and the only sense that stayed a vigil was his hearing.

The murmuring of voices clicked into his head as he clawed back to consciousness an hour and a half later. The rain still poured, muting the drenched city's usually exuberant noises. His instincts finally kicked in and he swiftly traversed the wall to a more safely hidden location. A quick cursory check showed the former asset that there was only one entrance normal people could use, but multiple exits for a certain wall-crawler. As he tucked into the veiled area, he reigned in his breathing and heartbeat to steady and slow them to an almost indistinguishable decibel level. Now more alert, he focused in on his hearing and paid heed to the conversation.

"Bloody tracker! Get a read on 'im!" He heard the smacking of flesh on metal, then a frustrated huff. "This bloody weather is messin' with the read."

"I told the boss we shouldn't be using sonar spectrometers," another man muttered. "Does us no good if there ain't no light or heat on the stupid metal to track."

Peter stilled at that, mind whirling. So they'd been capable of finding him because of how much light and heat the vibranium absorbed and refracted by bouncing sound off of the unique metal? With it raining and the prosthetic icy cold, and the rain acting as sound-wave interference, there would be no emitted signal. The mutant had to wonder if the Avengers were using similar technology, before shaking his head at such a thought. The King of Wakanda was intimately familiar with the metal, and Tony Stark was not called a genius for show. Chances were they had a device that more closely targeted the atomical make-up and composition of the vibranium and could follow it on a larger scale without having to worry about interference. He... didn't know what to think of that thought.

The first man let out a withering sigh. "It's cold as hell out here. Do we need to keep searchin'? As far as our scans can indicate, he might not even be in this part of the city."

"Don't say that around the asset!" the second man hissed urgently. "These Winter Soldiers are extremely loyal and if it hears your disobedience you're as good as dead!"

The first man immediately fell quiet, and the mutant could hear his racing heartbeat. "Fine, fine," he said, before his voice fell into a more reluctant whisper, "But this is bloody stupid. Did ya hear how many of us he's taken out in two weeks? We're thinnin' like sheep at a slaughter! And those bloody Avengers ain't helpin', either, with their stupid technology and their assaults on our bases."

The second man let out a mirthless laugh at that. "The big boss isn't worried about them, he just wants his precious pet Spider back, and it's made Ace crack down harder than before. 'Ignore the heroes, get Weaver'. Like we ain't even trying!"

The mutate held his breath as the threesome walked beneath him, and he finally got a good look at them. The first man was stockier and heavier-set, with a thick accent and a scruffy five-o'clock shadow. The second man was shorter but smaller, his dark skin making him harder to spot. Then Peter's eyes landed on their group's last member and he felt an uncomfortable shiver race down his spine as he spotted the Winter Soldier there. He was silent, longer hair masking his eyes that the mutant knew were roaming, looking for him. He noted quietly that the man had a newly installed prosthetic forearm, and his mind unpleasantly chose that moment to pinpoint the man's face to two weeks prior, when he'd been fleeing the Compound. He had mangled the arm the Soldier had thrust in his direction in his rush to escape and hadn't given it a second thought. Admittedly, while a part of him felt the tiniest sliver of guilt for causing the removal of the man's forearm, more of his thoughts were dedicated to wondering what enhancements the new attachment brought with it.

The group eventually passed by, and Peter felt an immense amount of thankfulness for the bitterly cold pouring rain that had masked his presence, even if only momentarily. As he slipped out of the hiding spot and got moving through the city once again, he mulled the conversation over in his brain before analyzing it. It seemed that groups were now being sent out with the Winter Soldiers in a last-minute and more desperate attempt to get him back. That thought didn't sit well with Peter, especially if the big boss, the epitomal head of HYDRA for all extents and purposes, wanted him back. He'd only heard of the mystery man in conversations between his handlers; he was the man that Ace directly worked under, and the only man that the otherwise impenetrable man seemed fearful of. During his programming, he knew that part of the imprinting had been dedicated to this man on top, but for the life of him he could not recall ever having seen the man. Things were stilled fogged and blurred in his mind from the training portion of his time with HYDRA, and the mutant knew there were certain things he would likely never consciously remember from those three dreadful early years.

Moving carefully between alleys, he then moved on to the next piece of new information; the Avengers were attacking HYDRA bases now. He supposed that was an adequate reason why he hadn't really seen them all week, since the last time he'd faceplanted into a brick wall and Iron Man had watched. His eyes narrowed as he ducked down into the subways and began a lonesome crawl of the underground tunnels. Were they doing this in an attempt to win over his trust? He found himself not wanting to entertain any other thought of why they would be engaging HYDRA at their own bases. He furrowed his brow as he made his way through the dimly lit maze. Did they know where all of the HYDRA bases were? If Faulers was still alive, then Peter would wager that the embedded agent had spilled the secret locations readily. The thought made Peter's chest warm with something he hadn't felt in a long while; the tiniest inkling of hope, something that the young spider had thought was all but snuffed out by the torment he willingly repressed to the back of his mind.

He emerged on the outskirts of downtown Manhattan, before once more repeating a methodical serpentine walk of snaking between the buildings and alleys. The rain coursed down the scarred skin and the mutate paused as his eyes caught sight of a large sign that displayed the superheros in all their glory. His fingers twitched and he found himself subconsciously holding the prosthetic arm as he stared at the heroes that had waltz into his life and brought the careful Hell that HYDRA had crafted crumbling to the ground in just over two weeks. They glowed vibrantly in the dark New York skyline, immortalized by the flashing neon against the twilight, acting as a beacon in the darkness for the souls who wandered the muted streets at such a late hour.

He frowned, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully as he was interrupted from his harried movements. Did he trust them? No, not really. Could he trust them? Peter should've been more alarmed when his mind supplied an immediate yes to the suggestion, but instead, a mixed knot of emotions hung in his chest at the notion. Fear at how swiftly he found that old him clinging to their outstretched hand, hope that there was finally, finally an escape from HYDRA's clinging threads, uncertainty on what they would do with him if he were freed from his prison's grasp, and... a quiet, dark voice that whispered mutely at the back of his mind that he was undeserving of rescue, that he was a weapon, an asset, a monster, too broken and destroyed and remolded to ever bring back to any semblance of normalcy.

The former asset dismissed those thoughts and emotions he had no idea how to handle and brushed them back into the deep, dark depths of his mind with the rest of his issues. Tipping his head, he let his eyes once more focus on the bright image of the heroes hanging in the air, contemplative, an idea stirring into fruition. While he would rather keep going it alone, he knew he was running out of time, and he was exhausted of being constantly on the defense. He was out of supplies and low on energy, but he would rather die than fall back into HYDRA's clutches. Besides, attacking HYDRA directly sounded like the kind of morale boost he needed. With a new resolve and plan, he let his body automatically take him in the direction of the nearest HYDRA-controlled establishment he knew. His eyes were narrowed and cold as his body instinctively adapted the ingrained killer instincts the predator had instilled in him. He refused to be the prey any longer. Weaver was going on the hunt once more, even if it killed him, even if it destroyed the last shreds of his humanity.

Peter would do whatever it took to win, whether that victory came in HYDRA burning to the ground or whether it was etched in his own blood. One thing was for sure, though; only one of them would come out of it relatively unscathed, and that was the Avengers. Whatever happened, when the dust settled, HYDRA would be gone. It was only a matter of time to find out if Peter was going down with them.

The HYDRA headquarters was a stir of activity as defenses were prepared for the likely assault of the superheroes. It was only a matter of time before they ended up at this final base, whether by the traitor's or the spider's merits. Regardless of which source the location of the large building would come from, preparations needed to be made to accommodate the unwelcome guests. Tanks and weapons were being stationed every which way, soldiers were perusing the grounds, and four of the six Winter Soldiers were supervising the lackeys down below.

Up above, four figures watched over the commodious space with a relaxed attentiveness. The men down below looked like ants in comparison to the larger tanks and weapon caches that littered the large concrete floor, small in comparison to the hulking devices of destruction that surrounded them. Three of the men were stood by the reinforced glass overlooking the operations, while the last was sitting comfortably in a padded chair, dredged in shadows from the half-lit room. One of the men let out an irritable breath. "This won't be 'nough to do shit to their fancy shmancy gear," Scrappy declared, gesturing to their assembly of firearms. "'Specially if they rope what's left a those SHIELD shitheads into our affairs."

Hornet had been idly sharpening a knife against a pocket sharpening stone, the sound of the blade scraping against the grit providing ambiance to the hushed and tense aura of the room. "Would this not just be a distraction for us to flee with?" he asked flippantly, lifting the knife to inspect how honed the edge was. Seemingly dissatisfied with the current state of the knife, he brought it back down and continued whittling it. "As long as one of us gets away, it shouldn't be hard to continue HYDRA. It's what we've done for years. We always come back as long as one head stands."

Ace hadn't turned his gaze from the operations below. The tall, well-dressed man looked a bit more rumpled than usual, as the head-handler had been pushing hard for the incompetent buffoons below to get back their most prized asset. It was an oversight on their part, he knew; if they couldn't get him back, as his head-handler and the one that was in charge of how the asset was programmed, he knew it would be his head on a platter. When he'd heard that Weaver still retained consciousness from who he formerly used to be, Ace knew immediately that it needed to be amended, and had wondered ever since how well of an actor his asset was to have hidden such an important detail for eight and a half years of complete and total compliance. Such a mistake was deadly, that they hadn't noticed whatsoever that the beast known as Weaver was not fully tamed. Even if they managed to secure the asset once more, Ace knew he would be lucky to not be killed for such an idiotic error. Returning his attention to the conversation at hand, he remarked dismissively, "It won't matter what they do to us. As long as we can keep making assets to carry out our desires, HYDRA stands strong."

"Ah, but that does us little good if our assets defect, Mitchell," the hidden figure murmured. Instantly, all three handlers turned to their boss, a chill running down their spines. Ace felt his breath leave his body at the mention of his real name. The figure folded his hands together. "Mitchell, Harrison, Curt, you failed me," all three of the handlers flinched in turn to their names being mentioned so casually. "Tell me, how is HYDRA supposed to return to its former glory days," he raised a hand. "If a kid we brainwashed and trained from scratch, that we took and raised from the perfect impressionable age of four, was able to break away enough from our programming to actively run away and take down our men for two weeks strong, now?"

Scrappy nervously scratched at his skin. "B-boss, how was we s'posed ta know the kid could fool us?"

The hidden figure narrowed his eyes. "Curt, when we were working with him, you let me know the interesting discovery that the subject contained a near-perfect eidetic memory, did you not? Why would it be hard to presume extra work would need to be input to flush all remnants of former memories from his supple young mind?"

"I-"

"And you, Harrison," the man turned his attention to Hornet, who had dropped both the knife and the sharpening stone, both of which lay on the ground. "You were the one handling his programming. It's curious that for all of your prowess with the body and brain that your tools and instruments could miss such a note. Did you not tell me that you had to switch input methods when the subject grew too accustomed to losing body parts, and that ones that played to his senses had to be used to finish the training?" He placed his chin on his folded hands. "With all of your experience and available tools, it seems rather silly that you could have overlooked the act, no?"

Sputtering quietly, Hornet went to defend himself. "Sir, I-"

"Lastly, Mitchell," he said, eyes coldly fixed on his right-hand man. "You were the one in charge of procuring the asset. You scouted him out, deemed him worthy of our time and resources. I helped get rid of the pesky parents, but that wasn't good enough, so I had to get rid of the uncle and aunt, too. I provided you the vibranium to replace whatever body parts needed to be removed, I kept your actions hidden, I provided a space to keep the asset and hid it right beneath the heroes and government's noses. I've been running interference so you and your team could get the asset up and running," his eyes narrowed. "You knew my temper's been less merciful since the Accords I strove so hard to put out flopped. I asked you to get the asset you assured me was perfect to get rid of my biggest opponents. Despite his nearly spotless record, despite his notorious kill-count, I don't see the Avengers dead and now I have to stop my operations once more because of their unwelcome interference. I'm disappointed, Mitchell."

Ace swallowed thickly. "I... I'm sorry Weaver wasn't fully optimized. I take full responsibility."

Their boss stood. "The kid is one hell of an actor to have fooled all of your experience and profession," the man admitted, before letting out a sigh. "Unfortunately, the curtains aren't falling on him... but rather on you." With that, he cocked the gun he had on the table and fired the bullets at the former handlers. Their bodies hit the ground. He kept unloading the biting bullets into their flesh until he ran out, frustrated that he couldn't take his anger out on them any longer. "Useless, all of them," smoothing his hair, he pressed a button on his desk. "Send one of the Winter Soldiers up here to dispose of the bodies and clean up my office, would you?"

"Yes, Ross, sir," the man on the other line, one of his most trusted allies that had survived the SHIELD purge, affirmed.

Leaning back from the button, Thaddeus Ross leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath as he turned on the television. His eyes narrowed in cold anger as it focused in on a news channel covering the topic of the Avengers and how wonderful the newly amended Accords were. He threw the handgun at the device, breaking the screen and pausing the device immediately on a fractured image of the dreaded superheroes. A cold laugh bubbled out of the man's chest. "You heroes think you're so clever..." he muttered, fists clenched. "But unlike my useless helpers, I had more insight to install precautionary measures," a dark grin blossomed on his face then, eyes glinting in the darkness. "Come with your friends, come with the asset for all I care. Walk right into my spider web. We'll see who gets the last laugh when I play my last cards." His gaze drifted to a small red button that he had on his desk, before he picked it up and attached it to his phone. "Your desire to end HYDRA and save my precious toy is admirable, but how high can you stand when your sure footing crumbles beneath you?" With a laugh, he pocketed the phone, mindful of the button, then got up and stalked out of the blood-scented office. "Let's find out, shall we?"

To be earnest, I'm not sure how the specifics of a sonar-scanning spectrometer would work considering what a sonar and a spectrometer do, but I don't honestly think HYDRA would have advanced-enough technology to trace vibranium through everything, and this seemed like the most logical way for them to be doing so. Besides, it's a world of superheroes; considering that Vulture and his men were able to combine alien technology with ours to create powerful weapons, this seems like virtually nothing compared to that.

How did you like the ending? I've been itching to get this reveal done and it's finally come time since this first arc is ending in seven chapters! Now before you go harping at me in the comments saying that Ross wasn't HYDRA in the MCU, I know and am aware of that fact, but he's always come off to me as someone who could be HYDRA if he wanted to. He's incredibly shady and has shown distaste towards enhanced and the way the government was generally dismissive of their destructive actions. Beyond that, I've also seen plenty of other fanfictions sharing my sentiment that he comes off as HYDRA, and decided to do it here in nod to it (but also because, to me, for this idea to work, HYDRA staying alive would need support from yet another uncaptured government official, and Ross seemed like the best candidate). I'm sorry if you actually like Ross and didn't want him being HYDRA, though.

I.D.'s Fantasy- (I only honestly respond to these out of courtesy since you're on the Discord and we talk actively :P) We'll see how that works out, eh? Yes, there was in fact a time-skip between the chapters of one week, and now it's been two.

Krakengirl- I've honestly had to keep myself back from using a lot of alliterative or metaphorical words because I keep having to remind myself of what Peter would and wouldn't know and then write accordingly, haha. They wouldn't want him knowing anything but what is absolutely necessary. Honestly, sometimes I find myself slightly disappointed with how unintelligent other people convey the Avengers at times. While they're not all geniuses like Tony, that doesn't make them ignorant or unknowing of the situation. I figured it would only be natural that they would realize the easiest way to gain his trust is by removing the obstacle plaguing him. :P

Wisdom and Sea- Haha, I don't mind. It makes my heart warm that people care so much for this mess I keep putting out.

merendinoemiliano- I'm not quite sure what you mean by working on Peter's fighting style. Considering that he's an assassin and an asset trained by HYDRA, I've been using Natasha and Bucky, as well as his own given skills and abilities, as a point of reference for how Peter would fight. The answer to that is that both Natasha and Bucky were trained to be able to combat any fighting style and as such have adapted their own distinct fighting style that is rather unpredictable. With Peter's given abilities, I figured his fighting style would not only be incredibly adaptable, but also able to turn on a dime depending on what he's fighting and what he has on him to use. If you kept one strict fighting style you wouldn't really get far as a fighter, plain and simply. The best fighters swap strategies multiple times within the same battle and won't stay on one style for too long so their enemy can't get a hold on what they're doing and counter it. I feel it would detract from the story if I reflected any less in the attacks that Peter has participated in.

Next time on OWOW: As Peter and the Avengers unknowingly tag-team, it becomes apparent to both teams that their cooperation might yield better results than not. But what neither team could prepare for is the enemy wanting the two parties to arrive together.

Discord: /7jYYC36