To Peter's immense surprise, he didn't get in much trouble for his escape attempt. Reynolds only sent him to his boring room for the rest of the night. They provided dinner for him in his room, but Peter didn't eat it. In fact, he used the bread roll to smash out his frustrations.

Peter didn't go to bed either. His irritation left him restless, sleep out of reach. He paced around his room, going over his failures in his head. When walking in circles wasn't good enough, Peter dangled himself from the ceiling. Sometimes, hanging upside-down gave him the concentration he needed. He thought back to what occurred with Vision. The android claimed to have no specific instructions regarding him, yet it was adamant about keeping Peter under lock and key here on this forsaken compound. Something about the future needed saving and other utter nonsense. The future always needed saving.

His awareness and lack of sleep must have caught the upper management's attention because Peter's spidey-sense triggered an alert right before a prick on his wrist alerted him that he was about to lose all strength. Everything loosen and Peter dropped to the floor. Without any control of his body, he laid in his crumbled form on the floor, wondering if someone was about to come into his room and take him somewhere.

After a half-hour passed, Peter came to the conclusion no one was coming. The bracelet must only alert them that he was awake, believing that drugging him would put him to sleep. It didn't. Peter stayed wide awake, his thoughts circling around the bracelet that was the scorn of his life. He remembered Dr. Cho's warning about removing the bracelet. Any attempts resulted in pain or helplessness.

While waiting to regain control of his body, he brainstormed possibilities of removing the wretched object. He noted his disobedience resulted in being drugged. Not tortured with a million electric currents like what Reynolds did to Powers. Maybe Mr. Stark banned physical torture for him? Or, maybe, they believed drugging was a far easier way to manage him. Whatever the reason was, Peter knew his first task was to find a way to counter the drug.

Easier thought than done.

His muscles tingled and Peter slowly moved his limbs. With great effort, he picked himself up from the floor and collapsed onto the bed. Again, he didn't fall asleep. His mind buzzed alert with theories and plots for hours until he heard a clank at his door. Peter turned his head to find Simon, dressed and clean-shaven, entering the room.

"Time to get up," he ordered.

Peter rolled off the bed and grabbed a change of clothes. Simon led him to a shared bathroom to get ready for the day. He wasn't the only one up on his floor. Not many, but a few roamed about the bathroom, jabbering and grooming themselves for the day. When he walked in with Simon, they all stopped and gawked at him. Almost bewildered by his mere appearance. Peter swallowed and croaked out a squeaky hello. Some snickered and the others were perplexed, but they all carried on with their own lives.

Simon shoved Peter to the sink and ordered he clean himself up. Peter did as told. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and tried to fix his hair. He quickly changed, ready to start another round of intense physical training. Simon dragged him out, although Peter found it unnecessary. He wasn't going to run blindly. He already tried it and it proved to be ineffective.

Taking the elevator up a few floors, Peter was dropped off in a room with a few rectangle tables and swivel chairs. No one else was with him. He stood alone among empty tables with empty chairs. Peter wrapped his arms around him as he entered the room further. He hated being alone.

Time ticked by and no one showed. Peter thought of going back to the door, but the shine of the bracelet reminded him of a worse predicament. With not else to do, he sat in one of the swivel chairs and waited. He guessed the others were running late.

It only took another minute upon sitting that the door opened and a lanky man, with loose, gold-colored ringlets that were styled by a bed than products. He dropped his messenger bag on one of the tables with a loud thud as he ran his hand underneath a runny nose. The man breathed heavily and dug through his bag, pulling out books, notebooks and loose paper that fell out without his permission. The man grunted, shoving the documents back into his bag before sealing it up.

His fingers carded through his hair, turning around to face the rest of the room. Or in the situation, only Peter. "Oh—hello," he said, his accent different from a typical American. Maybe British? "Didn't see you there. Sorry."

Peter only shrugged his acceptance as the man leaned against his own table. "So, um... is this it?" the man questioned. "Do you know if more people are coming?"

Peter shook his head. He had no clue about any of it.

The man sighed and reached his hand back into the bag, pulling out a tablet. A few minutes of tracking down some information, the man muttered under his breath shut it down.

"Right," he said, putting the tablet aside. "Guess it's only you."

Peter's brows inquisitively raised. No one else was joining him?

The man drew his own swivel chair and pulled it right across from Peter. "Guess I should introduce myself," he said with a sniffle. "I'm Leo Fitz. I'm your... instructor?"

Peter stared, brows remaining arched in quizzical form. Instructor in what?

Leo Fitz paused. "Professor?" he tried again. "Teacher? What do you kids call them these days?"

"Err... teachers," Peter answered. "It's never really changed—"

"Teacher it is then," Leo declared and he took a seat. "Look—I'll be honest, I'm not a teacher. Never was. But, apparently, because I know math and understand science that makes me qualified to be a teacher."

Peter wasn't convinced by the man's reasoning. If that be the case, anyone working with Mr. Stark would be qualified. Why him? Who was Leo Fitz? Everyone else happily told Peter what their task was. Mr. Reynolds was his commander. Dr. Cho his doctor. Nellie his nurse. Simon his… handler? Prison guard? They all had certain talents that made them capable in handling him and his abilities. Leo Fitz, acting as an ordinary guy, didn't make any sense.

It made Peter wary of the man. He leaned away as Leo drew closer to the table, bringing over the books and notebooks.

"So, um... where's your stuff?" Leo questioned.

"I don't have anything," Peter said. "They didn't give me anything or tell me anything."

Leo rubbed a hand over his face. "Of course," he muttered and he passed a notebook and a pen to Peter. "Take these. And..." He started flipping through one of the textbooks he brought along to the table. "What grade are you? Seventh?"

Peter fumed at insult. "I'm fifteen!"

Leo's eyes widened slightly. "Sorry! Sorry... fifteen, okay, okay, um… what's that? Eighth?"

"I'm a sophomore."

Leo flipped directly toward the end of the book. "All right, Year 11. Got it. I mean... a high schooler? Is that the American term? Can't remember," he said as an off-handed comment. "What's the last thing you remember learning?"

And that was how Peter spent the first five hours of his day. He sat in a room, listening to Leo try to teach him mathematical physics. Peter didn't have the heart to tell him that he already learned number theory two years ago. The man stumbled over trying to explain it in terms more appropriate to an elementary student. In fact, it made the theory far more confusing than necessary.

Peter guessed no one informed Leo that he's a student of Midtown, Queens most exclusive STEM school. Everything Leo went over Peter already knew. The maths, sciences, history and grammar were all topics he was quite familiar with and knew how to use.

While Leo droned on, Peter opted to spend the time to think. Most of his thoughts were about escaping and the others were of his Aunt May. Vision mentioned Mr. Stark went to New York. Did the trip have to do with his aunt? What did he tell her? Do to her? Peter wanted to know, but he already knew no one would indulge his questions. If anything, they would reply that it was "handled". Whatever that meant. Peter's gut told him it wasn't good though and it kept Peter on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

His schooling ended in time for lunch. The cafeteria was big and, to Peter's immense surprise, it had windows! Like a moth to a light, Peter skipped the food line and went directly to the windows. His eyes recognized the blue sky, clouds and trees huddled around the buildings. He eyed the people walking around the grounds, some meandering and others nearly running. The compound looked different with the sun at the highest peak. It looked more... normal.

Peter grabbed his lunch, but ate little. His stomach too upset to keep anything down. He needed to eat if he wanted the little cuts on his hands and arms to heal, but it made him feel sick. Was it normal to be sick of food?

Lunch ended and training began. Peter rejoined the team, doing his best to ignore the quick glances thrown at him by Luke, Jack and Powers. Especially, Powers. He had a nasty sneer as he watched Peter do push-ups, pull-ups and burpees. It sent chills down Peter's spine.

Mr. Reynolds partnered them off. Peter was thankful to not be Power's partner. Instead, Mr. Reynolds teamed him up with Luke Cage, the silent, brooding individual. Luke didn't say much and his muscular form was a bit intimidating to Peter, but ever since he defended him in the locker room, Peter felt more comfortable with him than anyone else in the group.

Unfortunately, Peter's content was diminished severely upon finding out that he and Luke had to complete an obstacle course while avoiding being blasted off by a floating robot that circled the course.

Lady Deathstrike and Silk Fever went first and finished. No problems. Course completed like it was a walk in the park.

Next, him and Luke.

Luke turned to him. "Stick with me, kid. Don't try to be brave."

Peter frowned at the remark. He didn't appreciate the underlying doubt Luke had. He may be a kid, but he packed a punch. He zipped through New York City on webs he created! He fought bad guys with guns and knives… and stopped a vicious dog from attacking a child. He's brave. He wasn't afraid.

On Mr. Reynolds' mark, they took off. The first part was easy, jumping over the hurdles came naturally to Peter. He beat Luke to the end of it, but waited, not wishing to leave Luke behind as he threw his big body over the bars. Once Luke caught up, they got onto the monkey bars and swung from rung to rung over a pit of laser beams that would immediately disqualified them if touched. The flying bot tried to shoot them, get them to lose their grip, but Peter didn't let go. Although, he almost got hit, which surprised him. Why was his reaction speed slow?

As the continued on, Peter felt weaker. He noticed his speed slowed and his breathing got heavier. Even his vision blurred on occasion, but when he blinked, it corrected itself. It worried Peter that his strengths were faltering on him. Since the bite, he'd never been this exhausted that even his bones were barely holding together.

Just get through the course, Peter reminded himself as he kept up with Luke. Once they finished, he would have time to recuperate.

They neared the finish line of the course, much to Peter's relief and joy. All that was left was a wall climb and a rope traverse. Normally such obstacles wouldn't trouble him, but with his panting louder and knees shaking, he hesitated on the idea of climbing it. Not only that, his head felt funny and his eyes kept drooping. Probably from the lack of sleep. He should have slept.

"Come on," Luke jerked Peter to the wall, hoisting him up. "Climb!"

Peter did as ordered. Using his spider abilities, he climbed up. The further up the wall he went, the heavier his head became. He paused, dropping his forehead against the cool steel. It felt good, but it didn't soothe the pain away.

"What are you doing?"

Peter looked to the voice, staring at Luke Cage, who suddenly was right next to him. No—Luke was now ahead of him. How?

"Don't stop!" Luke growled as a bot came swirling over to them. "Move!"

Luke snatched Peter's arm and pulled him as the bot shot right at the exact spot Peter was resting. Peter gaped, wondering how his spidey-sense missed that oncoming danger.

Luke let go of his arm. "Climb!"

Peter took a step, but his vision pixelated. Things became fuzzy and darkness crept near the edges. He pushed passed the vision issues, gluing his hand to the wall to pull himself up, but he felt wobbly. Like his body was being shaken and his vision zapped out.

He tried not to panic. Stick to the wall, he told himself. He blinked to restore his vision.

It was still dark.

"Well, Mr. Parker, can't say I'm surprised you fainted."

Peter was in the medical wing again, listening to Nellie give him his diagnosis. Apparently, he didn't simply blink like he thought. He passed out. Nellie told him he was lucky Luke had quick reflexes to catch him before he plummeted head-first into the floor.

Nellie pulled up his chart on the hologram, displaying the results to Peter. "Your glucose level is extremely low," she told him. "Practically diminished."

She pushed her rolling stool to the medical cot. "You suffered from metabolic failure," she explained to him. "It's where you—"

"I'm not eating enough," Peter stated, understanding the diagnosis without explanation.

He looked to his arm, where there were at least five IVs penetrating his skin. Each IV was filled with TPN, a nutrient fluid to help him recover and stabilize his glucose. When he first woke up, he had about fifteen TPNs hooked into his arm. Nellie said he had more, but they were emptied and tossed out.

Nellie nodded to Peter's correct analysis. "No, you're not. I've been told by staff that you aren't actually eating the food provided to you. Is there a reason? Do you have a specific dietary lifestyle?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I just… I can't eat. I get sick," he said, rolling in his lips in contemplation. "Maybe it's the drug? The one you guys keep using on me?"

"It won't be that, I'm afraid," Nellie dismissively waved. "That won't affect your digestive system."

Peter frowned at Nellie's blatant deflect of the his worries. "Something does as I can't eat without feeling sick."

She tapped her pen against the side of her face. Her eyes narrowed and focused on Peter's face as if trying read his own thoughts through his eyes. Peter blinked and remained passive in his expression to not show his hands.

After a long moment, Nellie's eyes brightened in understand. "I see," she said, morphing into a concerned expression. She powered down the medical chart. "I understand this is a difficult time for you and it's a lot to process this sudden change of environment. I can ask Dr. Cho to set up a weekly meeting with a therapist—"

Peter stopped listening to her. Seeing a therapist wasn't going to do him any good. He already knew what his issues were and he knew how to fix them too. The only problem was they denied him the ability to do so.

"We can call in a child specialist," Nellie rambled on. "I'm sure Mr. Stark will be willing to provide—"

"No!"

Nellie jumped at the sudden outburst, her brows shot up her forehead. "O-kay," she drew out, turning in her seat. "I think I understand the problem." She folded her arms on her lap and leaned in, eyes locked on Peter. "It's understandable that you feel some resentment towards Mr. Stark. What he did may be confusing to someone of your age—"

"Sorry, but I'm not interested in hearing how Mr. Stark is really saving me from some worse fate," Peter interrupted in a hurry. "What I want is to talk to him."

Nellie stared, dumbfounded. "You want to… you want to talk to him?"

He nodded. "I need to talk to him," he implored. "Please! It's important. Tell him or tell someone that I need to speak to him."

Nellie looked hesitant. "Um, Mr. Parker, I'm afraid that cannot be possible."

"Why not?" Peter demanded. "He talked to me before."

"He's not here at the moment."

"When he gets back then."

Nellie brushed her hair away from her face. "He's a busy man," she countered. "He doesn't have much time to chat. If you need to talk to someone, I can—"

"I don't want to talk to anyone else," Peter said as he was quite aware no one would do anything for him unless Mr. Stark directed them. "I need to talk to Mr. Stark."

Nellie sighed. Her whole body deflating into the seat. "Why don't you talk to Mr. Reynolds first?" she suggested. "Then, if you're not satisfied, then Mr. Reynolds can talk to Mr. Stark about whatever is bothering you. How about that?"

Peter resigned from his efforts. Nellie and presumably others, wouldn't help him get into contact with Mr. Stark. Too obedient to stray from the party-line.

He sunk back into his cot, tugging the blanket over him. "Thanks for the TPNs, but I think I'm going to try to sleep again."

Nellie went to speak, but changed her mind. She wheeled away from the bed. "Okay," she said, packing up her belongings. When she got to the door, she paused. "If you need to talk, Mr. Parker, my door is always open."

She turned the lights off and closed the door. Peter swore he heard the door lock. Smart call considering his recent track record on being alone.

As he adjusted his arm for better comfort, he overheard whispers that spoke loudly in his ear from the other side of the wall. Two people were speaking. Nellie and Simon.

"Report?" Simon demanded.

"He needs to eat more," Nellie replied. "Best you double-check he eats next time."

"What am I? His babysitter?"

"Do you want to report to the superiors that the boy died from starvation under your watch?"

There was a long pause. Peter waited, breath held so as to avoid missing anything.

A heavy sigh followed the long pause. "I'll make sure he eats," Simon grumbled. "What's next? Do I have to sing him a goddamn lullaby?"

"No—but… I think he needs to speak to someone. He's not psychologically handling the transition."

"Not my division," Simon said. "Besides, the kid wouldn't talk to me anyway."

"Not asking you."

"Then who?"

"Well… he wants to speak with Mr. Stark."

Peter jolted upon hearing an uproarious laughter.

"Yeah… that's not happening," Simon softened to a chuckle. "Mr. Stark is a busy man."

"I said that to him," Nellie said. "But, maybe, because he's a kid—"

"Nope. Mr. Stark is hands-off. It's why he assigned the kid to Reynolds. If the kid has problems, he's to talk to Reynolds. Not Mr. Stark."

"I see," Nellie said, defeated. "Well, I guess I'll go talk to Mr. Reynolds. Tell him what's happening. Can you stand and watch? Make sure he doesn't—"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Peter heard the sound of footsteps breaking away, striding into the silence. Nellie was gone and Simon stood right outside his door.

He turned in his cot, thinking over what he heard. Simon's explanation didn't make sense to Peter. If Mr. Stark didn't care and wanted nothing to do with him, then why all the extreme precautions to ensure he never left the vicinity? Why did he have guards at his doors? Why did he have a tracking bracelet? Why did everyone remotely care about his well-being if he didn't matter at all to the big guy?

Peter stewed. Something wasn't adding up. Something was amiss or certain people were being lied to. Whatever the answer, Peter knew he had to get out.

He stared at his bracelet. His current nemesis. The only thing between him and freedom. As long as it remained attached to his body, Peter stayed as a prisoner.

He turned his wrist, examining the bracelet over. It rubbed his skin irritably with each twist he made to check for any weaknesses. Breaking it would be impossible because the metal itself was unbreakable, and any damage to it would trigger the bracelet to drug him.

There was a possibility to counter the drug they inject him with, but without knowing exactly what, Peter didn't want to risk ruining his health. It frustrated him deeply that he simply couldn't take it off like any old bracelet.

Unless…

Peter recalled a scene of John Wick. It was years ago when he sat with Ned, watching the film on Ned's laptop. Peter remembered enjoying the movie greatly, but more importantly, was a particular scene that made Ned squirm uncomfortably.

"'That's insane!' Ned screamed. 'I can never break my own thumb like that.'"

Peter didn't think he ever would need to, but, as he lingered on the bracelet that chained him to the compound, perhaps it was time for a bit of insanity.