Peter fell into a routine.

On Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, Peter attended morning class with Leo Fitz for about five hours (Wednesdays and Fridays school hours were split into two-hour periods and were taught by Jemma Simmons, a biochemist), followed by lunch then a light round of training. Nights were reserved to more extraneous training and dinner. Anything in between was recreation time.

While his teammates spent their free time enjoying themselves with movies, relaxation and playing racquet ball (something Jack enjoyed and often begged Luke to join him), Peter spent his free time in the library. The compound's library was as modern as the rest of the compound. Rows upon rows filled with a variety of books that entertained anyone who walked through the doors. Except, only a few people visited the library. Peter often found himself alone in the library, sitting at a table and reading through his stack of books he collected on different subjects. He didn't read all of them. Most were for show to throw off anyone who may be spying on him. However, some of the books were for schoolwork, writing his essays and adding the correct number of citations as required.

Once he completed his homework, he moved onto the real reason he visited the library.

Peter checked around him before he pulled the chosen textbook from the stack. His secret research involved poring over medical texts and diagrams. He reviewed sections on broken bones and the equipment needed to correct it. Most of what he found was gruesome and painful. Good thing the spider-bite gifted him healing abilities or else he may backed out of the plan. It did worry him that if he didn't set the bone back properly, his healing abilities may incorrectly heal his thumb.

Flipping through the books, he studied different techniques to break a bone. Peter winced at the diagram of broken bones and shivered at seeing a bone stick right out of the skin. His aim was to dislocate as to avoid breaking his bone or to have the bone pierce through his skin. He hoped his super strength didn't break it that hard.

Peter reviewed the maneuver several times until he finally felt confident that he could do it. Once he learned of the proper technique, Peter next plotted when to enact his escape. With Vision roaming around and the entire compound controlled by an AI of some sort, Peter decided best to not make the escape indoors. That meant he needed to be outside.

And that was the problem. Peter never got the chance to be outside. During one recreation time, he headed over to one of the doors that lead to a patio, but got stopped by Mr. Reynolds. He drew Peter away with false claims of being needed in the medical ward for a check-up.

When Peter tried again, his recreation time was cut short as him and his team switched training time with another team. Peter began to think he wasn't allowed outside. After all, he was an "at-run" risk.

Patience, he reminded himself. Keep his head down. Follow rules. Don't act out. If he kept to those rules, they'll believe they subdued him. His plan would take more time than he willing to wait, but if necessary, he'll do it. He'll do it for Aunt May.

Weeks passed and Peter stayed the good, little soldier to Mr. Reynolds' unit. He did everything requested, but with little effort. He reigned in his abilities, never displaying the full extent of his capabilities. He needed to ensure their ignorance on the matter as he needed surprise on his side.

So, one morning, Peter received a welcoming surprise when Mr. Reynolds announced the team was going to go on a timed campus run. Everyone groaned while Peter scrunched his face in bewilderment. He looked around the gym, thinking they had to run around the gym. He was wrong.

When Mr. Reynolds handed Peter a knitted hat and a thicker sweater, Peter's heart raced with excitement. Minutes later, he found himself gaping at the sun, sky and trees around him. He didn't even care that the chilled nip in the air bit at his exposed neck. He was outside. Outside!

Peter laughed, his face bursting a huge smile.

Mr. Reynolds patted Peter's shoulder with a jocular grin. "I think you're the only person happy about doing a timed run."

Peter squatted down to touch the grass. The green blades brushed against his fingers, his skin tickled by the gentle touch. "It feels and smells like nature."

Mr. Reynolds laughed. "It's not a stimulation, my boy!" he said. "Now—focus up. You need to know the course."

Peter listened as Mr. Reynolds mapped the course to him. He nodded along, remembering all the necessary turns and passes he needed to make to complete the four mile course. Although, he was still ordered to stay close to Luke or Jack.

"Follow their lead," Mr. Reynolds instructed.

Peter assured he would do his best to keep up with the two men. More importantly, he would do his best to stay away from Powers or Lady Deathstrike. Those two kept antagonizing him. Powers more so than Lady Deathstrike as he always went out of his way to physically bully him when no one else was watching. Meanwhile, Lady Deathstrike often use her intimidating persona to threaten him. While she hadn't physically done anything to him yet, Peter still remembered the terrifying fall when she cut his rope.

As for Silk Fever—she didn't give a damn about him.

Jack and Luke were the only two that tried to keep him on his feet. Protect him when necessary or give him support during his training. Though, even they didn't like being around him very often. After all, he was a kid. No one wanted to be his babysitter as Powers teased him.

Jack gave him a wide smirk. "Stick close, kid," he advised. "Don't want to get lost out there."

"Or have bullets fly at you," Powers added as he pinched Peter's arm, hard.

"Ow!" Peter yanked his arm away. Already, his skin inflamed from the single mark Powers made on him. "Get off!"

Peter went to shove Powers, but Luke swooped in between the two. "Piss off, Powers," he warned. "Or you will get hit with guns."

Powers glared at Luke's subtle threat, but Mr. Reynolds snapped his fingers for attention. "Leave the kid alone, Powers," he ordered. "You do that again and I'll have to report your behavior to upper management."

Powers rolled his eyes, but he was subdued enough for Mr. Reynolds to rally everyone to the starting line.

Mr. Reynolds started the time and everyone took off. Peter jogged directly behind Luke and Jack, but he wasn't concentrating on his pace as much as he should. Trailing behind them, Peter observed the perimeter.

At first glance, Peter noted a fence enclosing the entire perimeter. A few watchtowers speckled along the fence line, likely armed to keep intruders out. Or to keep prisoners in. Nothing was observable on the other side of the fence. All Peter saw were thickets of trees and shrubs that continued forever into the horizon. Except for the vast lake that stretched far beyond him and the building that blocked his access to the lake's shores.

The only roads he saw directed straight to the heavily guarded, gated entrance. Taking that route would not end well. The only option he had was to jump over the fence that was not close to a watchtower. Those opportunities were few and far between from what Peter noticed.

It would be hard. The loop Mr. Reynolds sent them on only got close to the fence once and it didn't last long. It also had a watchtower several yards away. Anyone in the tower could be spying on them, watching and waiting for them to show any signs of rebellion.

This was going to be complicated.

Peter finished his timed five-mile loop. He slowed to a jog before coming to a stop. Breathing, he turned back around to join the rest of the group as Powers was coming up to the finish line.

Mr. Reynolds wrote down all the times on his clipboard. "All right," he said to gather everyone's attention. The team joined around him, some upright and others still hunched over, breaths haggard. "Let's go over the times."

It appeared the only person who improved their time was Jack. Everyone else needed more work.

"And you, Parker," Mr. Reynolds turned to Peter, surprising by the clipped tone in the man's voice. "You're hardly huffing! You're not even sweating!"

Peter uttered a curse. Too busy taking note of his surroundings and possible escape points, he forgotten that he needed to keep his cover. It was too late to act sore and out of breath now that Mr. Reynolds noticed.

Mr. Reynolds whipped out his stopwatch. "Run again," he said. "And this time… try."

"Hey!" A pair of fingers snapped in Peter's face. "Am I losing you there?"

Peter blinked and refocused, finding Leo Fitz in front of him. "I'm sorry… what?"

Leo took a deep breath. His shoulders rose and fell with great emphasis of a tired man. "Here—why don't we take a quick break, shall we?" he offered. "You wanna grab a snack of something? I know for certain lunch today is some kind of fish fillet. Not appealing."

Peter didn't argue with the man as he followed Leo out of the classroom. Of all the time spent throughout the days, Peter enjoyed school the most. He liked Fitz-Simmons, as his two teachers are called around the compound. They were friendly, intelligent and fun to be around. At one point, Peter got in to a heated debate on Star Trek's best captains. No one in the building would tolerate such "silliness" and it made Peter feel far more comfortable around them than anyone else.

Didn't mean he entirely trusted them. They worked for Tony Stark and knew of his predicament; and yet, they chose to not help him. They followed their orders and ignored Peter's well-being.

Leo found one of the mini-lounges, gesturing Peter to enter. "Help yourself!" he offered to Peter, pointing at the kitchenette counter. "There's some fruit, protein bars and umm…" He opened the cabinets and found a small bags of chips. "And there's chips!"

Peter helped himself to an orange and a bag of Doritos. "Thanks," he said, plopping on the couch. He started to peel the skin off the orange. "So, um, sorry for not paying attention earlier. Had a hard work-out yesterday."

"I heard," Leo said, munching on a bag of pretzels. "How many times did you have to run the loop?"

"Three times."

Mr. Reynolds was happy with the improvement in the second round, but he ordered everyone on the team to do the loop again. So, Peter ended up running fifteen miles. He was tired and sore, which made Mr. Reynolds happy. Little did he know that it also gave Peter an idea.

Leo winced. "Oy! That's brutal," he remarked. "No wonder you're out of it. Well, I remember my first training. It was tough. I was a scientist, you know? Not a field agent, but I had to go through training as well."

"You had to run fifteen miles?"

"Nah. Only six miles," Leo answered, moving to join Peter on the couch. "I did complain. A lot, apparently. But, in the end, I'm glad I got the basic training. Helped me when I did go into the field.

"What I'm trying to say is that training sucks," Leo said, popping a pretzel right into his mouth. "But… it'll save your life when put in a dangerous situation. Which is basically our lives. Our world is dangerous."

"No kidding," Peter said, biting into an orange slice. He recalled all the times Powers tried to physically hurt him. "Yet, no one here seems to mind putting a kid right in the middle of it."

Leo scrunched his gaze at Peter. "There are far worse things out there than here," he said, sounding distant and disheartened. "Trust me. I know a thing or two."

As did Peter. "What was your job before being my private tutor?" he asked. It was obvious by the man's tone that Leo was more than a simple genius for Stark.

"A secret agent."

Peter sat straight up. "Wait… what?"

Leo nodded. "Not the James Bond type of agent… well, yeah. Like him," he said. "Well, more like Agent Q."

"Agent Q is far cooler than Bond."

Leo chuckled. A smile blossoming on the young man's face. "I like you, Peter," he said. "You got a good head on your shoulders."

Peter shrugged away the compliment as he finished off his orange. "I don't know for how long though," he muttered. "Mr. Reynolds certainly wants me to become some kind of trained assassin."

"Nah—not an assassin," Leo said, finishing off his snack. "Just a better super-hero or something like that."

Peter raked his fingers through his hair. "Guess I'll find out," he said after a long moment. "Um… so, uh… you said you're an agent, right?"

Leo nodded.

"What's the point of all… this?" Peter circled around him. "I mean, besides running a super-hero camp?"

Leo sat, stumped upon the question. Peter waited for an answer as Leo contemplated. "Oh, um, well… you know about the Accords, right?"

Oh, Peter knew of the Accords. Knew them too well.

He nodded and Leo continued. "Well, the Accords requires enhanced individuals to be registered. Any who are not, are considered breaking the law—"

"Like the Nazis did to the Jews."

Leo hesitated. "Well, I wouldn't say that," he tried to counter, but his silence afterwards did not help him at all. "Okay—it's complicated. The world, as you know, has gotten a bit crazy. Really crazy if you've seen what I've seen. People are afraid with all these super-powered people coming out and acting without any reservations. So, Mr. Stark believed that oversight was needed. He believed that enhanced people need training to avoid catastrophes and limit causalities. So… he started all this." Leo mimicked Peter's circled motion. "Mr. Stark and the others hope that by creating a program to track and train enhanced people will be beneficial for everyone. Keep the world at peace and give Earth a better chance if outside forces come for them again. Like in New York."

Peter thought it over his head. There was some logic to the argument, but not enough to make Peter agree to it. He looked down at the bracelet that kept him in line. Their implementation was barbaric and cruel.

"What about Captain America?" Peter uttered. He wanted to know what happened to the great American hero.

Leo now sighed heavily, sinking into the seat's cushion. "Cap didn't agree with the government," he said. "He believed they should be above direct government control. Something about politicians shouldn't be trusted to control the heroes. Something like that. Doesn't make any real sense to be honest. Because politicians control the US army, you know? What's difference?"

"What did Captain America say to that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Leo mumbled. "Something about politicians deciding who are the villains and who are the heroes and that was not fair."

"It's not."

Leo stopped. The corner of his right eye twitched as his fingers curled a bit tighter on bag. "Careful, Peter," he warned. "If anyone else heard you say that, you'll go to the hole."

Peter cocked his head. "The hole?" he queried. "What's that?"

"Don't worry about it."

"But—"

Leo shot off the couch, his hands crunching the bag into a smaller ball of trash. "We better get back to classroom," he interrupted. "Need to finish your analysis historical significance of mercantilism."

And like that, the break was over and Peter had to save his chips for a later time.

Leo divulged back into the studies, but Peter did not. He couldn't. He pondered what 'the hole' meant. Leo's reaction clued into Peter that it was a bad thing. Not a place to go.

Leo stayed frazzled throughout the rest of the school hours. He kept bumbling his words and apologizing for it. Peter assured him it was okay, if only to get Leo busy again so that he could focus on what he needed to do next.

Because, if he failed, Peter was sure he would learn what 'the hole' is.

"You must learn to disarm, Mr. Parker," Mr. Reynolds said, positioning Peter right in front of a volunteer.

Peter was alone in the gym. The others had the time off. Peter didn't. Mr. Reynolds made him stay behind, ushering him into a private room with gym matts as the floor.

It got him worried, being surrounded by white walls with no windows and blue cushions underneath his feet. When the volunteer agent arrived, Mr. Reynolds explained the next level in Peter's training.

Mr. Reynolds continued talking. "Gun, knife, arrow or some sort of alien weapon," he said, "you need to know how to disarm."

He circled behind Peter. "You need to learn this by heart," he said, "to the point it's all muscle memory. Like riding a bike."

Peter wrangled his eyebrows into a deep crevice. "I never touched a gun before."

"You will now," Mr. Reynolds said, taking the weapon from the volunteer. "Hold this."

He shoved the gun into Peter's hands. Peter cradled it his hand, tense as if waiting for it to fire out a shot. He didn't want to hold it. His aunt and uncle always told him to never play with guns. To not even hold them.

Peter tried to return it to the agent. "Here," he begged. "Take it, please..."

Mr. Reynolds pulled his hands away from Peter. "Hold it a little longer, Pete," he ordered. "You need to know the feel of the gun. The weight. Look where the trigger is. See where the barrel is."

Peter flickered a glance at it. "I'm good."

Mr. Reynolds sighed, loudly. "Peter—you're not going to leave here until you learn. We'll stay here all night and into the morning if necessary."

Peter didn't want that, but he certainly didn't want to hold this weapon any longer. Realizing how little choice he had in the matter, Peter humored Mr. Reynolds and acted like he checked the weapon. Yet, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his uncle.

An image of Uncle Ben started to burn into the forefront of his mind. Tears stung his eyes and Peter shoved the gun back to the agent. "Okay. I got it."

Mr. Reynolds cocked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing of the hurried reaction. "Okay," he said as the volunteer fixed his hand on the weapon. "Now that you know what the guns feels like, it's time to learn to take one from an opponent. You will face many people who may try to hurt you with such a weapon."

Peter was well aware. He faced down people with guns before and seen what they could do. What they could take.

"Everyone else already knows how to disarm," Mr. Reynolds continued on. "It is best we start training you so you may participate in team missions."

Peter was taken aback. "Missions?" he repeated. "We're going on missions?"

"Not now," Mr. Reynolds clarified in an easy tone. "One day, yes, and your teammates need to know they can count on you to not get caught off-guard. Understand?"

He did. Understood, but disagreed.

Mr. Reynolds handed him off to the agent, who introduced himself as Davis. Peter didn't know if that was his first name or not.

Agent Davis talked about the main factors in a situation when faced with a gunman. He did a minor demonstration on his own hand, pointing at his wrists and the gun to show where Peter needed to hit.

"Spin the gun away from you," Agent Davis said as Mr. Reynolds stayed in the back of the room to observe. "The goal is to point the gun away from you. The hitman will pull the trigger once you make contact, so you need to be quick."

He went on, telling Peter he needed to continue the energy upon spinning the gun away by twisting the gunman's arm to the right.

"Once in that position, you can flip him over easily," Agent Davis said. "While the hitman is on his back, take the gun." He ended his demonstration and got into a firing position. "Let's try it. Slow first."

Peter hesitantly approached the gun. His eyes directed on the barrel. He suddenly recalled the spark and the smoky aroma that made him cringe away.

Agent Davis huffed. "You can't be afraid, kid. If you're not quick, you will be shot," he said. "Now—try again."

Peter did his best to push away the memories trying resurface. He came up to Agent Davis and as instructed, followed through the motions of grabbing the man's wrist, pushing right and then twisting until he faced away from the agent, ready to flip him onto the floor.

Agent Davis tapped his shoulder to let go. "Good. Now, do it again."

Peter did it again. And again. And again. Each time, he had to speed up. Move faster. Be quicker. No hesitation. Once he finally received Agent Davis's approval, he was to fully complete the maneuver.

Peter moved with lightning speed, taking the man's wrists and directing the gun away from him just in time to avoid being shot.

Wait... shot!?

The gun went off and Peter instinctively went into fighting mode. He forgone his training and went on instinct. Which, wasn't good considering he didn't have his web-shooters to help him. So, he flipped around the agent and with his legs, flipped the agent right onto his back before wrenching the gun out of the man's grip.

"Stop!"

Peter froze and Agent Davis jumped back to his feet. He looked angry. "What the hell was that?"

His accusation unnerved Peter too. "I would like to know the same," he fired back. "You shot at me!"

"Of course I did!" Agent Davis returned. "This is a life and death scenario. You have to take it seriously."

"You still didn't have to shoot me!"

"Then it wouldn't be realistic," Agent Davis argued. "I need to know how you will react if it was a real situation. Now, I know you toss away everything you learn."

"Well, I would have—"

"You didn't," Agent Davis sharply interrupted. "So, now we have to do it all over again. Get back and try. This time, do what you were trained to do."

"I'm not a circus monkey."

"You are for now, " countered the agent. "All right. Try again."

Knowing Agent Davis was going to try to shoot him, Peter was better prepared. He snatched the man's wrist and twisted the gun away. It was all quick, his anger fueling his actions that he was quicker than normal and stronger than he let on.

Peter finished Agent Davis with a hard flip, knocking the air out of the man's lungs. Peter took the gun from the agent and flung it aside, away from them.

He towered over the agent, who was trying to catch breath. "Is that better?"

Agent Davis hacked a bit as he slowly sat up, wincing from the pain along his spine. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You could have killed a guy if the floor wasn't padded."

"You could have killed me with your bullet."

Agent Davis choked up a cough. "Well, my gun isn't loaded with bullets. Only bean bags."

What? Peter looked back to the weapon and then back to Agent Davis.

Agent Davis must have noticed his confusion. "What? You think I would use bullets on you, kid?" he said, through haggard breaths. "I'm not stupid to do that."

Peter blinked and feeling some guilt for his harshness on the agent, he assisted the agent back to his feet. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Agent Davis shrugged. "Whatever," he said, his breathing almost normal. "Didn't know you had that strength in you." He took a moment, arms resting on his hips as he took several breaths. "Okay, let's go onto the next one."

Peter was next trained on disarming a gunman from behind him. Peter hated feeling the cold metal against his scalp. It sent shivers down his spine and a sharp jab in his heart. It reminded him of the blood, the loss of vision and…

Peter slammed his eyes shut. No, don't think about it. Don't think about it at all.

"This one is simple, but again, you'll need to be quick," said Agent Davis. "You want to turn around, and step in and under the gunman's arm. So, do that."

Peter followed the instructed movements and found his nose nearly touching Agent Davis' own nose.

"Good," Agent Davis said, acting like the closeness didn't bother him at all. "Now, like I taught you earlier, you need to rip the gun out of gunman's hand. Sometimes, this may require breaking a few of the gunman's bones."

Peter and Agent Davis practiced and practiced. Peter never broke the man's fingers. Agent Davis kept the gun light in his hand as to avoid such injury. Peter performed well, acting like he was surrendering as Agent Davis advised before going into action.

He moved his left hand to the side of the agent's gun, taking a right counter-clockwise circular step between the agent's feet. He twisted the gun away from his head to Agent Davis' head, repositioning it and ready to fire.

Agent Davis raised his hands in surrender. "Great kid," he said, satisfied with the last practice round of Peter disarming. "Now, is the next step. It's the hardest one of them all."

Peter wondered what the next disarming technique would be. He imagined it involved both a gun and knife. Or disarming two people at once. Maybe that was why Mr. Reynolds stayed. Not to observe, but to be the second assailant in the lesson.

Agent Davis went into position again. "Disarm me."

Peter followed through the maneuvers and easily thwarted Agent Davis from his gun. Gun in his hand, Peter thought that was all he had to do, although he didn't understand why Agent Davis called it the hard part. His spidey-sense wasn't giving him any warning of upcoming danger. So, what was the hard part of this assignment?

Agent Davis looked right into Peter. "Now… shoot."

Peter stiffened.

Did the agent say shoot? That couldn't be right. Peter looked from the agent back to Mr. Reynolds, hoping he would clarify what the agent said.

Mr. Reynolds nodded encouraging. "Shoot him."

"What?"

"It's life or death, Peter," Agent Davis said, drawing Peter's attention back to him. "You need to learn to defend yourself."

"I did!" Peter said. "I-I disarmed you!"

"And now you have to pull the trigger," Agent Davis said before he softened his voice to add, "It's okay. Remember? Bean bags. It won't kill me."

Peter scrunched his eyebrows in incredulous bafflement. Were they insane? He wasn't going to shoot him. He never… he's not that person. He's not a murderer.

Peter dropped the gun and let it slip from his fingers to the floor. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Agent Davis as well as did Mr. Reynolds. Agent Davis snatched the gun from the floor and pressed it back into Peter's hands. "I know it's hard. Shooting a person is never easy, but if you want to save lives, then it is necessary."

"I can save lives without it," Peter countered, handing the gun back to Agent Davis to take, but the agent grabbed Peter's hand and forced his fingers to close around the grip.

"You'll be dead without it," Agent Davis argued. "You want to be dead? How many lives would save if dead, kid?"

"I'm not a killer!"

"No one is saying you are."

Peter felt his throat constrict, eyes stinging in remembrance. "You're making me into one!" he said. "I'm not an assassin or a solider. I'm Spider-man. I don't kill people."

Agent Davis huffed in ridiculousness at his statement. "I forget how the young are so naïve of the world," he muttered. "You're going to die out there. You're going to let your teammates down if you get yourself killed."

"I would rather die than be a killer!"

Peter yanked his hand away from Agent Davis and chucked the gun far away to the other side of the room. He backed away, glancing between Agent Davis and Mr. Reynolds. "I won't kill for you," he said to them. "I won't be a murderer."

Not waiting for a response, he rushed out of the training room. He didn't hear Mr. Reynolds or Agent Davis shouting for him to come back. His spidey-sense didn't warn him of the bracelet preparing to subdue him. So, Peter ran.

Ran all the way back to his room.

He closed the door and lunged for his bed, gripping the pillow to his face as he screamed all the anger and pain into it. He swore he didn't give a damn if they punished him for his insubordination or his back-talk. Didn't care if they sent him to the mysterious 'hole' that Leo feared. He wasn't going to become he wasn't. Turn into someone he could never nor want to be. Ever.

Peter sniffled, as his strength to not think about his awful past weakened. Memories of his uncle tortured him. Images of the mugger played out, the man holding a gun as a spark lit the gun followed by the smell of smoke and the soft, punctured gasp of his uncle.

Tears slid from Peter's eyes and dropped to the pillow. He recalled the blood, soaking through his uncle's sweater and dripping off the man's fingers as he reached up to Peter's face.

Peter… P-Peter…

Peter blinked off another tear. He pulled the pillow to him, squeezing it hard as if it was his uncle. Squeezing him tight to keep the life from escaping him.

He started to shake as the last memory played out in his head. The mugger running. Curious people gathering. Uncle Ben gasping. Peter crying and crying.

He didn't go to dinner that night. Opted to stay in his room for the rest of the night. He was certain people were aware of what happened. Certain he would get in trouble for it tomorrow, but as he already declared, he didn't give a damn. He was not going to become a killer for them. For Mr. Stark.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Peter's eyes turned down to his wrist where the bracelet was chained to his wrist. The time was now. He could no longer wait. He had to get out.

Today was the day.

Peter held out another week after his failed training session with Agent Davis. It only took the next morning afterwards for Mr. Reynolds to apologize to Peter for the pressure of having him to "kill".

"You are young and maybe we were a bit hasty with it," Mr. Reynolds tried to apologize as he sat on Peter's bed, explaining their reasonings for trying to get him to fire a gun. "We discussed and thought it better to take that part of your training and hold off. Try other things first before we get there. Okay?"

Peter played along. He thanked Mr. Reynolds and apologized for his behavior. Mr. Reynolds accepted and left him to get ready for school.

Now, a week passed and Peter kept up the act. He acted dutiful, keeping to himself and tried to stay close to Mr. Reynolds as if he wanted the man's protection. He participated in the team's activities to show some sort of loyalty, despite Powers tripping him on every group activity or cutting him with some foreign object lying around them (at one point, Powers threw a weight at his head when benching, but Luke caught it before Peter had the time to protect himself).

The reason Peter picked today was because of the scheduled training regimen. He learned the training schedule after being housed in the compound for two months. Mr. Reynolds always scheduled Wednesdays to be their hardest day of the week. Every Wednesday, Peter's muscles felt sore and he was truly exhausted from the grueling workouts. Plus, they always did the time runs on Wednesdays.

Peter figured it was the perfect day to set his plain in motion.

He had his early school lessons with Leo, who excitedly spoke about differential equation use in mechanical engineering. Peter and he hashed out possible designs for a time-evolution of the system's wave function. They geeked out, coming up with ridiculous and far-fetched ideas that seemed more sci-fi than reality. But, then again, Peter had spider abilities. Anything could happen with the world changing so fast.

When Mr. Reynolds called to report to the gym, Peter kept up the charade and told Leo he wanted to try to build one of their designs. Leo laughed and responded, "We'll see."

They won't.

Peter joined his team, stretching his limbs and trying to keep his head cool. He was nervous. He couldn't fail. He spent all those days planning and plotting his escape, he hoped to succeed. He needed to succeed!

He wore his heaviest sweater, despite the temperature not being chilly at all. Better to be prepared though, Peter thought to himself. After all, he wasn't allowed any personal items. All he owned were the provided clothes and his school notebooks and pencils. Nothing else. He wished he had more things at his disposal, but he would have to do with what he had. Which was nothing.

Peter began his workout. Luke was his spotter as he lifted weights. Mr. Reynolds had him do three sets of twenty, which was certain to leave his arms feel like jelly. After weights, they went through some combat training. Martial arts. They partnered off, switching off after each person was defeated. Peter beat Jack, Powers, Silk Fever, but failed against Luke and Lady Deathstrike.

They were at it for a few hours before Mr. Reynolds decided it was time to head outside to do the timed run.

"We're going to do this a few times," he warned all of them. "So pace yourself! We are going for endurance. Not speed. Got it?"

Everyone nodded. Peter curled his toes into his shoes to stop himself from bouncing around in adrenaline nervousness. He had to act tired. He needed to be exhausted.

Mr. Reynolds timed them. Peter purposefully went faster than what he was certain Mr. Reynolds wanted. He came in first, much to Mr. Reynolds surprise, but also disappointment.

"Take it easy there, Pete," Mr. Reynolds said. "Remember—you got two more of these. Don't need yourself dying."

"Yes, sir."

Peter tucked his smile behind his frown. Little did Mr. Reynolds and the others know that was part of the point. He needed them to believe he was tired. That he was being a stupid, foolish boy.

They started their second round. Peter purposefully started off fast, but half-way, he slowed himself down and hunched a bit. He forced himself to breath heavier despite that it irritated his lungs. He finished his second round, coming near the bottom end, just a half-minute before Powers.

Mr. Reynolds tsked at Peter's downfall. "Warned you, kiddo," he said as Peter faked hacking up a lung. "You think you can do another round?"

Peter lifted his head, spying the others jealous gaze that he got an option to back out. But he couldn't. He didn't want to. Peter stood straight up, looking at Mr. Reynolds in the eye. "I can do it," he insisted. "I can do a third round."

Mr. Reynolds chuckled, but was pleased with Peter's determination. "Good—all right, but slow down if necessary. Don't need you kill yourself over it. It's not worth it."

Yes, it was worth it.

Mr. Reynolds got them back at the starting line. He yelled 'go' and they all took off. Peter pretended to try to be up front, but he slowed significantly as he continued on the final loop. He made sure he panted loudly, so that everyone around him thought he was dying of exhaustion. It got him a few curious glances in his direction, but no one bothered him.

Why would they? They thought he was going on a simple run.

Everyone passed him. Including Powers, who elbowed him. Peter knew it was coming, but he let him as to demonstrate that in his tiredness, he couldn't even prevent Powers' attack. It would fool Mr. Reynolds into believing Peter was truly out the brink.

Yet, he wasn't even close. He was charged up. Ready to fly the coop.

He turned and saw it. The fence line. His spot.

It was the only area of the whole premises that was secluded from people except for when they ran passed it on their loop. The closest watchtower was a good distance away and Mr. Reynolds was far at the end to be able to stop him. No one could stop him.

He already checked if the perimeter had any hidden security that he was unaware of. There were apparently shocks and lasers that would build up if their bracelet ever got to close to the fence line. Other than that, it was free of anything nasty. If Peter jumped high enough, he would clear it and avoid the sensors that would trigger the alarms.

Peter glanced to the group. Mr. Reynolds was with the first place finishers, talking to them and not paying much attention. After all, Peter was too exhausted to pull an incredible stunt like leaping over the fence. And if he did try, his bracelet would knock him out as the fence would trigger it.

Little did they all know that Peter was a step ahead again.

It was time. He was far away from everyone else. Including Powers, who staggered into the final stretch. No one was looking at him. Time to go.

Peter grabbed his thumb, remembering the diagrams and the charts that showed what he needed to do. Without a second thought, he pushed and snapped his CMC joint down until he heard the snap and a jolt of pain seized his whole hand.

Peter wanted to scream from the pain, but he had no time. Already, the bracelet documented the spike of his nerves and was going to dose him. He shimmied the bracelet down and watched it slip off his wrist and to the grass.

Free at last! The pain subdue over the relief of his chain broken.

The jubilation sparked him into a run. A full-out sprint really as he barreled toward the fence line. As everything blurred passed him, he heard the breakage of voices calling to him. Some of Mr. Reynolds. Some of Luke Cage and Jack. Other voices mingled in there too, but Peter didn't stop to pay attention.

He neared the fence, coming right up to it. The closest he's ever been to it. Now or never.

Peter flung himself up in the air. He skyrocketed up to the sky, his feet flying further away from the grass and up to the fence. Please don't hit it, Peter prayed. If he didn't make the leap, it wouldn't be good. Not at all.

He kept ascending to the point he was up in the treetops' views, seeing lands far away from him. Lands that were open to him. He looked down. The fence was below him, underneath his feet.

Peter wanted to weep. He did it! He jumped the fence.

He readied himself for the landing, knowing it was going to more like a crash. He descended down once he cleared the fence. It was a rushing plummet, and Peter tried to steady himself. His feet hit the ground, hard and forced him to roll.

The foliage and dirt scraped his face and hands, but eventually he stopped his tumbling upon hitting a tree trunk. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground on the opposite side of the fence.

He did it. He escaped!

"PETER!"

Peter saw Mr. Reynolds rushing over to him on the other side, while his teammates stared, dumbfounded.

No time to admire his accomplishment. Time to sprint into the oblivion black forest.

He turned away from the fence, the compound and his team and tore into the dark forest as fast as he could go.