"Move! Move! Move!"

Peter jumped down the fire escape and hopped over to the next building. Below, people rushed down the street, away from a dangerous building that emitted some kind of smoke. Yet, no orange flames spiked out of the windows or crawled up the sides of the building.

"Parker! Are you done staring?" barked Luke's voice in Peter's comm. "Get those civilians out of the blast zone!"

Peter huffed as he let gravity take him down to street-level. He gestured to the people to keep running, ushering them all to get far away from the building. It was a pointless task. The people already screamed and sprinted down the street without his guidance. Luke tasked him with evacuation and securing the perimeter.

In other words, Luke sidelined him.

Despite being one of the strongest in the Compound, Peter never got anywhere near close to the action. Luke was hesitant to allow him to participate in the dangerous aspects of the mission. He was a child and in Luke's mind, a liability more so than an asset to the team's efforts. For a clear conscious and no distraction, Luke charged him guiding civilians out of the danger zone and keeping civilians away.

He could do more than direct foot traffic. Peter tried to persuade Luke to let him help, but Luke refused. "Do your job," Luke ordered. "Being a part of the action is not the only heroic thing to do. Your job is important as much as the rest of the team's."

So, he stood by a building, idling as he allowed civilians to run past him in full fright. He heard Luke, Jack, Powers, Silk Fever and Lady Deathstrike communicate with each other as they cleared out buildings and rescued people from trapped positions. They all got to play heroes and Peter got to play safety duty.

Peter stared at the building again. Mr. Reynolds already explained the mission. A terrorist strapped an alien bomb in a building. They only have fifteen minutes before it explodes and wipes out a ten block radius. The mission is to save as many civilians as possible before the explosion goes off.

Luke, their mission leader, strategized their plan. They wanted to beat the record. Then again, all teams tried to one-up each other. So far, Shadow Company held the record with only hundred and fifty causalities.

"Why don't we stop the bomb?" Peter questioned during their first briefing. "Wouldn't that save everyone?"

That earned him a round of mocked chuckles and eye-rolling. And one sympathy pat from Jack. Stopping the bomb was impossible. With its alien technology, defusing the bomb was impossible. His suggestion was dismissed as childish and was forgotten.

Except, Peter didn't forget. He stared at the building, mind buzzing with possibilities on how to defuse it. If they let him get a look at it…

There was a flash of light. Peter blinked and the building was gone. The smoke too. People disappeared as well. Only Peter and his teammates remained in the Danger Room. The fluorescent lights glared overhead right as Mr. Reynolds voice boomed in the vast room.

"Hundred and seventy-six causalities," he reported. "Luke—excellent work on mapping out the buildings for the quickest route. Ladies? Good teamwork at clearing out that government building. Powers? Need to stop antagonizing the civilians. It's not encouraging them to trust you. And, Jack? Impressive on that rescue with the group of kids."

Then, Mr. Reynolds' voice directed to him. "Mr. Parker—you need to stay focus on the task at hand," he said. "You were assigned to direct civilians away from the site. Please explain why you had difficulty in following that task?"

All eyes turned to Peter and he felt small underneath their hard gaze. "Um… I just thought—"

"I see," Mr. Reynolds' voice called overhead. "You thought you were above orders? I realize you think your high power level gives you leeway to do whatever you wish, but that is not the case. You need to learn to follow orders. If Luke or someone else orders you to do something, do it. Don't question it."

"But—"

"Parker…"

"I think I could—"

Something whacked him in the back of the head. His words tumbled out in a mess, but he fell silent.

Mr. Reynolds spoke again. "That was not necessary Powers," he said. "Nonetheless, Parker, you need to learn to think like a team. That'll be all for today. Our next simulation test is next week. I want us to beat the record in time for our monthly report!"

Mr. Reynolds turned off and everyone headed to the exit.

"Hey Itsy-Bitsy!" Powers shouted. "Next time, why don't you do everyone a favor and sit on a fucking waterspout. Do us more good than trying to keep you in line, am I right Jackie boy?"

Jack side-glared at Powers. "Fuck off, Powers," he grumbled. "He's a kid. Stop harassing him."

Powers moved onto Lady Deathstrike to join in on his daily Peter whumping. A favorite activity for him that he tried to get others to participate in. Peter was the last to leave and Simon was there by the door, disgruntling waiting on him.

"You have meeting with therapist in twenty-minutes," Simon reminded him as Peter undressed out of his simulation gear. "Hurry up. Get showered."

"I know," Peter said, annoyed by his constant nagging. He knew therapy was after training. He knew after therapy was dinner. And he knew after dinner was small time of recreation, which meant he and Simon went to the library. Where he always goes unless he decided to go to his room and stay there. "I'm going."

"Go faster."

Peter quickly rinsed off and dressed back into his uniformed clothes. He went off to therapy. Dr. Samson talked to him about needing to learn to ground himself. Or something. He hardly paid attention to her. Mostly tuned her out and nodded along when he thought it was appropriate. His thoughts were mostly occupied with the alien bomb.

He wished Luke let him get a closer look. Get an idea of the bomb because maybe he could create a way to defuse it without setting it off to explode. Then, it wouldn't be a race about saving as many as possible. They would save everyone.

Once therapy was over and he ate his entire dinner, Peter nearly sprinted off to the library for the next hour, hoping the vast collection of books may help him solve the problem at hand.

Simon groaned upon entering the quiet library. "What about watching a film?" he suggested. "Or something more fun than sitting in the library reading books"

Peter ignored his complaints and went row by row, snatching off books from shelves before carrying them to an empty table to read. Not that the library was crowded. He usually ended up being the only visitor. Him and Simon.

Simon grumbled at being locked in the library again, moving about to study the titles on the books' spines while Peter settled in for deep research. Something here may give him a clue or spark an idea on how to beat the unbeatable bomb. The Avengers have done miraculous saves otherwise thought impossible, why couldn't he do it as well?

Peter flipped through the pages thoroughly divulged into the words and diagrams that he hadn't even noticed Simon abandoned him. He didn't even notice someone hoovering merely a foot away from him.

"What are you reading?"

Peter jumped in his seat, almost toppling right off before gripping the sides to keep him balanced. He whipped his head up to find the alien-looking android peering down at him with an inquisitive interest.

Peter took a breath of recovery. "Um… a book."

"I can see that," Vision replied as he drew up a chair to sit at the end of the table. He picked up one of the discarded books, reading the cover. "You have an interest in physics, I see."

Peter's muscles tightened as Vision picked up another book.

Vision read the next title. "Quantum physics… are you studying bomb-making?"

Peter's fingernails scratched into his chair. "Um… no."

"It's just a bit of light reading before bed, then?" Vision questioned and Peter worried the android got the wrong idea. There was no need to go running off to Mr. Reynolds. Peter didn't want to be zapped into oblivion like last week. He hated waking up to feelings of delusion and lost.

"It's for homework," Peter lied, hoping it would cover his tracks. "Mr. Fitz is teaching me quantum physics and I want a better understanding of it."

Vision's face scrunched in contemplation. "Isn't that the point of school though?" he wondered aloud. "You learn all of this from a teacher. Not on your own."

"It's a team effort."

Peter continued reading, reviewing the Bohr atom model. He checked the equation to compute if the model upheld the theory with Chitauri power cell. He's read of incidents since the Battle of New York where the alien technology have been used for hybrid weapons, and he was certain the simulated bomb was created with Chitauri technology.

If the diagram and equation proved correct, Peter may be able to find a way to deactivate it. He scribbled his equations and formulas on a scrap piece of paper, trying to find the right way to stabilize the power source without it exploding. So far, he concluded radiation increased the power resulting in combustion.

He sighed, chin in his palm as he deliberated over the problem.

"Do you need your teacher?"

Peter forgotten Vision sat at the table with him. "No! I—I don't need help."

"Are you sure?" he questioned, peering over at his notes. "You seem to be stuck on finding a way to prevent the splitting of the nuclei in this… Chitauri energy core? Why are you interested in Chitauri power?"

Peter yanked his notes away from Vision and stacked his collected books into a tower to block Vision's prying eyes. "It's for school and it's not a big deal," he said, looking around for Simon. "Where's Simon?"

"He asked for a break," Vision answered. "Something about dying from boredom."

Typical Simon, Peter thought. He always complained about sitting in the library, but Peter never asked him to join. He would rather no one followed or hoovered over him. Although, he preferred Simon rather than Vision. Simon never interrupted his studies.

"And you volunteered?"

"I enjoyed our last meeting," Vision said with a soft smile.

He didn't. Peter remembered how he almost got away when he jumped through the window only for Vision to catch him and throw him back to captivity.

Peter turned away and leaned over his book, choosing to ignore Vision. Yet, the android's presence unnerved him. He sensed the artificial eyes watching him like a hawk, waiting for some flaw or weakness to flare up.

"Please stop staring at me like that," Peter exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Vision apologized and went quiet for a few seconds. "May I make an observation?"

Peter let out a breath of annoyance, but silently shrugged. He wondered what observation Vision could make that he wasn't already aware about after being in captivity for… Peter didn't know how long he been at the Compound. He stopped counting a long time ago.

Vision pulled up to the table. "You spend most of your free time in the library, studying or working on assignments," he began, "but I never see you doing anything fun. Things children are often seen doing."

"Like what?"

"I suppose watching films, playing games or play in the pool," Vision listed off. "You know the Compound has a built-in cinema complex, and a large lap pool for use. I believe there's a super-bot film you may enjoy."

"Are you talking about Transformers?"

Vision thought. "I believe so," he said. "Are you interested?"

"No."

His direct refusal surprised Vision. "Really? Based off our last talk, you seemed fascinated with robotics and AIs."

"I am," Peter agreed with his assessment. "But, it's not fun going to a film alone."

"I'll be happy to go with you to the film," Vision offered. "It will be interesting to see what passes as scientifically entertainment."

Peter's eyes narrowed on the android. He didn't believe him. "Thanks for the offer, but it's not the same as going with a friend. No offense," he said, turning back to his books. "I'll stick with my books."

"There's a bowling lane," Vision added to entice him, not giving up in his pursuit of… something. What was Vision after anyway? "I have never bowled. I was supposed to go with another, but those plans were put on hold indefinitely. I would enjoy the company. Learn how to properly throw a ball down a wooden lane."

Peter wrangled a brow at the android. Still doubtful on his motivation to get him out of the library. "Thanks, but with my strength, it's not safe for me to throw any heavy objects around," he said. "Um… if you don't mind, I only have another fifteen minutes before bedtime (which is ridiculous that I have a bedtime)."

Vision looked around the room for the clock. "I can extend it for another hour, if you like?" he proffered. "There's a lounge a few floors up that is stocked with—never mind. You cannot drink alcohol. It would hinder your development." He became stumped, pondering a few seconds. "There is a game room available. Video games, foosball, darts—"

"Thanks," Peter stopped Vision from listing off everything. "I'm not interested in any of that. I'm fine right here."

Vision stared, its grey eyes burrowing deep into Peter. There was something uncomfortable the way Vision observed him, like he saw through Peter and was dissecting his brain into pieces. As if fishing for something in his mind like he was a mysterious enigma no one could solve.

Peter slouched into a smaller position in his seat. "Stop staring at me like that."

The android blinked. "Sorry—I'm told my eyes can be a bit unsettling," he apologized, moving his gaze back to the books. "You are a peculiar child. Not many children spend their free time studying physics."

Peter frowned, thinking of all the other things he preferred to do. Staying up to watch a marathon of Doctor Who episodes with Ned or forcing himself to enjoy the dinner his aunt worked hard to make. He rather be at decathlon, sitting next to Michelle Jones and listening to her calling him weird or a loser. Hell, he would even preferred to be trapped with Flash Thompson in a small space.

Anything, but here.

"I like science," Peter opted to answer. "I find it interesting."

Another soft smile spread across the android's face, accepting the boy's answer. "Then perhaps I may be of help in your extracurricular activities?"

He took Peter's notes. Peter tried to snatch it out of the android's hand, but Vision kept it out of the boy's grasp. He hummed as he read it over. "Have you considered using tantalum carbide combined with hafnium carbide as a possible counter container for the power source?"

"Um… well, that's not exactly available to the general public," Peter said. "I was leaning more towards an alloy that could contain a combustion. Like… steel. Or nichrome even."

"Against Chitauri energy?" Vision shook his head. "You'll need something stronger, I'm afraid."

Peter raked his fingers through his hair. "Unless I get titanium and magnox together," he said, snatching the notes out of Vision's hand. "It may be enough to contain an explosion."

"Best to still use vibranium or tantalum/hanium carbide combination," Vision advised. "Chitarui energy may still blast through."

"Noted," Peter said, chewing the tip of the pencil as he studied his notes. "Unless… if I can't get ahold of titanium, maybe I can get duraliumin. That may work. Wrap it around the core to prevent—"

"Out of curiosity," Vision spoke up. "Why are you trying to find materials used to contain a Chitauri energy?"

"School project," Peter flatly answered and looked up at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes have passed and he better hit the bed before he got in trouble.

He packed up the books. "I have to get to my room or Mr. Reynolds will make me do additional two hundred push-ups," he said, getting up from his seat. "But, um, thanks."

For what, Peter wasn't sure. His aunt and uncle raised him to be polite, so he gave thanks. It may have been empty gratitude, but Peter still offered it as a polite gesture to the android.

Vision floated up from his seat. "It was a pleasure," he said, his words heartfelt. The fond smile on his mouth showed he was truly happy to be around Peter. For some odd reason. "I'll be happy to assist you in any of your future projects. Or if you want to see a movie or something else, I can accompany you."

Peter stopped, puzzled by the offer. "Why?"

The android stalled in his movement, forehead crinkled in bafflement. "I notice you are often alone," he said. "Thought you may need some company. Someone to be a friend."

Peter's brows furrowed at the random extension of friendship. "I'm fine," he said. "I prefer to be alone anyway."

"Do you?" Vision questioned with doubt. "Because since you arrived, I have yet to see you smile."

Peter flashed him fake smile. "There. Smiling."

He strode off, sliding the books away and saying good-night to the librarian. Vision was still by the door, assigned to escort him back to his room. Probably because Simon didn't return from wherever he ran off to. Not that Peter blamed him. He wanted to run off too.

Neither of them said a word, but Peter knew the android snuck glances down at him. Not that Vision was terrifying or threatening, but it unnerved how many people watched him without his knowledge. Especially when he didn't feel safe. And he hadn't felt safe since his first arrival.

Peter stared straight ahead, tuning out the small talk Vision attempted to start with him and desensitizing everything. He felt nothing. He saw nothing. He was nothing.

When he got to his door, Peter hurried to get inside and away from Vision. He didn't even realized he held his breath most of the way to the room. He quickly coded the door and it opened.

"Good-night," Peter said, wanting to escape, but Vision stopped him.

"Peter."

Peter turned to the android, silently begging to be released. He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't trust Vision. He didn't trust anyone in the building. They were all against him, despite their insistence they were all there to help him.

Vision's face softened upon seeing Peter's face. "You do not need to be alone," he said. "I know you believe that we are the bad guys, but I can assure you, we are not."

While Vision's words were meant for comfort, it only sent chills down Peter's spine. "Maybe you once were."

He closed the door, sealing himself shut in his room. Better to be alone than with dishonest people.

He hurried to his bed, not even bothering to get ready before he slipped underneath the blanket. Once the eyes close, he'll wake and do everything all over again. Morning workout, breakfast, school, lunch, therapy, afternoon workout, library, evening workout, dinner and repeat. Keep head down. Do not cause problems. Do not upset anyone. Keep to himself. Do not trust anyone. Stand on your own.

No one here was his friend. No one listened or cared about him the way his aunt did. No one shared his interests or understood his moods like Ned. No one.

He once saw the Avengers as heroes. The ultimate good guys, but that was a façade. There was no such thing as good or bad. Money and power only worked in the world. And Peter had none of that. He never would.

Peter pressed his face into the pillow, wishing it swallowed him whole. Tomorrow would be another day. Same things over and over and over again. Every day. All blended together. Nothing was worthwhile. His life moved, but he was at a standstill. As Peter Parker, he had family and friends. School, peers and a life to enjoy his treasured normalcy. As Spider-man, he saved lives and kept his neighborhood safe from scoundrels and improved the lives of ordinary individuals.

Here? He was nothing. Another enhanced person. Another to bully into things. To endure punches and stress. He wasn't Peter. He wasn't Spider-man. He wasn't anything. He didn't matter.

Peter inhaled the cotton fabric of his pillow as it stifled the cries of his lullaby.

The day came upon them.

After all the additional training and increased workout sessions, they were back into the greenroom of the Danger Room. They were prepping themselves for the simulation. Luke Cage was already decked out in the required outfit and waited on them. Mr. Reynolds stood next to him, discussing the perfect way to enact their plan of attack.

Peter had an idea. It took hours in the library and talks with Fitz-Simmons (who were weirdly thrilled that he asked them a question) about quantum mechanics and sustainable materials against high-powered combustions. If he was right, they could find a way to save all the simulated civilians and not just the record number the rest strove to achieve. All he needed was a few minutes to explain it. Get them to listen to him.

"Gather around team!" Mr. Reynolds shouted and everyone huddled.

Peter tried to join the circle, but Powers elbowed him in the chest and kept him out.

"Okay—this is our last chance before the monthly reports," Mr. Reynolds announced. "Right now, Shadow Company still has the record save. We can beat them. I know we can. I trained you all to be the best and I expect only the best."

They all nodded in agreement. Except Peter. He only cocked an eyebrow at Mr. Reynolds. Why did the man treat it like some kind of game? He doubted that was the point of the simulation, but Peter chose not to counter Mr. Reynolds. Unless he wanted a jolt of electricity to burn into his nerves.

"Make me proud," Mr. Reynolds said, before tapping Luke to jump in. "I'll see you all afterwards."

Mr. Reynolds left to the viewing window on the level above them, leaving Luke in charge of their rag-tag team.

Luke puffed out his muscled chest. "It's the same as we discussed last time," he said. "Remember—our main focus is to get the kids out first. That means, Jack, you need to speed up your time in evacuating that childcare, while Silk Fever and I handle the bad guys."

Jack nodded once. "Sure, boss."

"Powers? Stop dillydallying in the apartments," he said. "I know you are thinking of robbing those who leave. It's not real, so focus on the actual point of the mission and not your selfish desires."

Powers blew a raspberry at Luke, but then shrugged appropriately after Luke's taut glare. "Fine! I won't slide a Rolex watch into my pocket."

Luke rolled his eyes to the Min Li Ng, Silk Fever. "Hit the residential building first after our takedown of the bad guys," he ordered and then instructed Lady Deathstrike to start at the top of the residential building while Silk Fever took the bottom levels.

Then, Luke looked over their heads and down at Peter. "And, Parker, stay focus on your job," he said. "Direct people out of the blast radius. Tighten the perimeter so no one comes back in. Got it?"

Peter raised his hand. He received a few humored glances for his child-like behavior, but he ignored them and focused on Luke.

Luke sharply inhaled, but nodded his consent to Peter's request. "What?"

"I, um, I think I may have a better way to save everyone," Peter said, thinking back to his research he conducted over the week. "If I can get to the bomb—"

"Nope. Nope. Uh-uh," Luke shook his head aggressively. "We talked about this, Parker. Stay away from the bomb site. There's no point in wasting time on a bomb that will detonate. Focus on saving people's lives. Not the bomb."

"But, I have a plan that could—"

"Didn't you just hear him?" Powers sneered. "Shut up and let the grown men take care of everything."

Peter vexed at the dismissals. No one listened to a child. "It could save—"

A hand smothered against his mouth, muffling his argument. There was a painful squeeze and Peter jerked to free his face from the stronghold.

"Shut him up!" Powers gleefully announced to everyone.

Jack pulled Powers' arm down and Peter breathed deep, chest expanding full of air once free form Powers grip.

"What do you know about bombs?" Silk Fever questioned. "What are you? Mr. Stark? Didn't think so."

"Yeah, so shut up," Powers finished with that stupid, horrible grin. "You just practice your waving. Direct all the civilians north."

Peter's insides burned from the constant demoralizing. "If you listen to me, I can—"

"Enough Peter!" Luke interrupted him, exasperated by Peter's mild defiance. "Stick with the plan that we know will save a lot more lives. Okay?"

"But—"

Luke instructed everyone to head to the doors. They shoved and jostled Peter aside, leaving him in their wake. Powers kicked him as he passed.

Peter went to follow, but Luke stopped him. "Look, kid, I know you want to save everyone, but that's not possible in this world," he said with a pacifying tone. "I appreciate your optimism, but if you want to get the job done, you have to remember two things.

"One—death is inevitable," Luke said with a voice that asserted no debate. "People die. People live. All you can do is save as many as you can.

"Second—heroes do not exist," Luke meant it and for that second, Peter thought he was right. "A hero is a measurement in time. A moment in a man's life. Not the man."

Luke's words hit him hard. Peter suddenly felt hollow, as if Luke carved him empty. There was an awful truth to Luke's assertion, but Peter struggled to wrap his mind around it. Heroes do exist. How could Luke believe that? How many times has the world watched Iron Man or Captain America save countries, cities and civilians from complete annihilation?

Then again, Iron Man brought Peter here. Kept him trapped and leashed against his will. Perhaps Luke did have a point.

It was obvious Luke didn't realize that his speech impacted Peter in a horrible way. "So—in this next moment, you will save as many people as you can by directing them away from the building," he concluded. "You'll do far more good doing that."

He clapped Peter's shoulder and moved around him to join the others, leaving Peter to deal with the fallout of Luke's words. Peter stayed in the back, mind muddled by such cold revelations and hard truths. Luke gave some sort of speech, but Peter didn't hear.

A siren blared, warning everyone the simulation test was about to start. Peter sucked up his feelings, putting it far back in his mind as he went into position.

The doors opened and the Danger Room challenged their skills.

He fell into auto-pilot. He moved when Silk Fever sprinted out in the Danger Room. Already the scene was before Peter. The New York City landscape of adjacent buildings, speckled with high-rise skyscrapers dominated the area. Unbelievable traffic for a city nuzzled too close for comfort. Already, the morning commute of honks, tire screeches and pigeon hoots filled Peter's ears as did Luke's voice when communicating to the rest of the team.

"Good luck, everyone," Luke's voice boomed in Peter's ear. "Remember—we can beat Shadow's record if we pick it up."

Peter adjusted the Bluetooth in his canal and hopped up the fire escape to get a better view of the foot traffic below. Yet, he couldn't keep focus. His thoughts kept going back to Luke's comment about heroes, and that no one could save everyone. The bomb was going to explode. The bomb would kill many people. If they work together and efficiently, more can be saved from the fate.

Yet, he couldn't stop the guilt scratching his insides, shredding his heart. He knew none of the scene was real. All fake, but real enough to get Peter's spidey-sense tingling in anticipation of a dawning threat.

Threat. Danger. Deaths.

But, all these people weren't aware. Not yet. Soon enough, but they didn't deserve the fear. They didn't deserve that their lives were at the hands of criminals and well, them. Him and his teammates. What right did they decide who lives and who dies?

He looked back down at the crowd. They were picking up pace, the danger settling in. His teammates' calls and remarks played loud in his ear. All talking over one another about getting the most out, beating the record. Why was it always about the record? People's lives were at stake! They may not matter to them. Or to others. But someone out there cared if that one person died. Someone would be missed.

People die. People live. All you can do is save as many as you can.

Peter didn't want that though. He wanted to save them all. He could save them all.

An old memory floated back to him. A familiar, comforting voice strung on his heart.

"With great power, comes great responsibility."

Peter thought back to the Battle of New York, of Iron Man catching the nuclear bomb. He risked his life in that moment as he jetted to the hole in the sky to space, sending the nuclear bomb away from the citizens of New York and sparing their lives. Iron Man didn't have to do it. The government sanctioned the bomb. Yet, Iron Man stepped in and shipped it to outer space, nearly costing his life. He believed they could save everyone and he took that chance.

Same with Captain America. A devastating bomb. No chance to defuse it and no chance to redirect the plane for a soothe landing. He had to crash it. Crash it right in the middle of the ocean to save people from a painful death, while he forever laid frozen in the tundra only to awake to where all he knew was gone and the people he loved died anyway. Still, it was never a choice for Captain America. He was always going to make the same decision. Kill himself and save everyone else.

And then there was his Uncle Ben. The man who's kind soul never faltered a moment in his life. Not even when he was shot. Like Iron Man and Captain America, it was never a choice for him. He did the right thing. The courageous thing.

Iron Man. Captain America. Uncle Ben. They made the hard choice and showed no regret for it. They did the right thing at the right time.

Peter looked back to the building. It wasn't smoking yet, but it would soon.

He faced the same choice his old heroes lived through. Save only a handful or save everyone?

There was no choice.

Peter abandoned his post and scaled up the fire escape and headed to the roof. A cackle in his ear tickled his eardrum as Luke's voice came in.

"Parker? What are you doing?" he questioned.

"Saving people," Peter answered, looking down below, searching for the right materials he needed and spotting them below.

"That didn't include scaling up a building," Luke berated. "Get back down!"

Peter jumped. If he had his web-shooters, he would have swung down to the street level, but he didn't. He hopped from fire escape to fire escape until his feet touched concrete. The second they did, he bolted. He went to a disused daycare bus, ripping off the hood of the engine. He checked inside, staring at the engine before deciding it would be useless. But the hood—Peter kept that tucked in his arm as he ran around the back and ripped out the exhaust pipe. He examined the metal and smiled. Titanium. Perfect.

He next raced to the hardware store. He moved through the hustle and bustle of civilians running away from the now smoky building.

"PETER!"

Peter winced as his eardrum thrummed at the loud screech of Luke's blare.

"Peter," Luke said, sounding pissed. "What are you doing? Stop it! Get back to your position!"

Peter reached for the comm in his ear. "I'm sorry. I can't do that," he said before yanking it out of his ear and tossing it aside.

Free, Peter went back to his task. He burst through the hardware store, searching for all the tools he needed. Blow torch, solder iron, gloves, wire cutters and lead paint. Arms filled, Peter exited the hardware store to make the last dash to the building with the bomb.

Only problem was Luke Cage stood in his way.

"Peter!" he screamed. "You are jeopardizing the mission!"

Peter looked behind Luke, at the smoky building. "I'm trying to save it!"

"No—go back! Now! Or I will drag you there!"

And Luke meant it. He was never outwardly mean to Peter, but he didn't appreciate direct disobedience. Especially not by a kid. Not by Peter.

Peter clutched the items close to him before shaking his head. "I can't."

Luke's face broke into crevices of anger. He stormed onward, marching to Peter with determination to handle the situation before it got too far out of control.

Peter couldn't let that happen. He zipped away, feet barely even touching the ground. It was almost like he was flying. That was how fast he was going, avoiding Luke's attempts to grab him. He ignored Luke's roar and pleadings, sprinting to the entry of the building.

"Parker! Parker!" Luke yelled. "Come back! It's suicide! You'll—"

He slammed the door open and closed, cutting off whatever Luke was shouting. The building was silent itself. An eerie omen, he supposed. Peter's spidey-sense led him though the building.

Small flames sprouted from trashcans, which puzzled Peter. Perhaps it was to make the building appear more bleak and dangerous? Whoever designed the simulation clearly was going for a dark, creepy dystopia inside the building. Doors were busted off their hinges, paper littered the floor and almost every furnishing was tipped over. Bit of an overkill.

He tip-toed down the corridors, peeking his head into each room in search for the bomb. His spidey-sense went on high-alert that it drummed a migraine right into his skull. His nerves wired and whacked, almost like the hairs on his arms were trying to pull him away from the danger.

Peter persisted. He turned the corner into a large office space.

He came to a dead halt. Before him, in the middle of the cubicles and rolling chairs, was the bomb. It glowed, the purple hue getting brighter with every pulse. A smoky wisp emitting from the hooked wires of the machine the power sourced.

His head pulsed. Danger. Danger. Death.

Peter carefully approached the purple glowy thing. He studied it, looking at the construction of the bomb before making his decision on how to go about in containing it. It appeared he could at least open the lid, which granted him closer access to the power cell that energized the bomb. It was much smaller than he anticipated. It didn't even look threatening. It reminded Peter of a Himalayan crystal light than a bomb. Still, he knew not to underestimate the danger everyone was in.

He got to work. He started the molding of the bus's hood, shaping it into a dome-like structure that could cover the bomb entirely. Peter repeatedly punched, stomped and massaged the metal into the shape he wanted as the time ticked down. He didn't know how long he had left. Probably not enough. Or maybe, hopefully, just enough.

With the solder iron, he casted it around the wires. It was hard to tighten the sheet around the wires, but Peter pressed them hard into it. Secured, he moved onto his next step. The titanium. He smashed the circular exhaust into a flat strip of metal. Almost large enough to cover the small dose of the purple glowly rock.

With delicate handling that he learned in Midtown's workshops, he moved the former titanium exhaust pipe right over the purple rock. Peter breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Slow and steady, Parker, he reminded himself.

The titanium was over the cell and Peter gently pressed the metal to surround the power source to the best of his ability. The purple hue only grew brighter. A warning.

Peter hurried and grabbed the can of chrome paint. He punched it open, the yellow goop dousing his fist. He tipped it over into the dome, spreading the chrome yellow all over it. Hopefully, it would help contain the heat within the dome.

As that dried a bit, Peter grabbed the wire cutters, investigating the wires. No color-coded wiring. Of course. All green. No way to determine which led to what. A single cut could detonate it. He needed to trace the wires to—

Peter's spidey-sensed jerked him up.

The rock glowed brighter underneath the titanium. It lit up the whole bomb.

Oh no.

Peter tossed the wire cutters and scrambled for the dome. His senses screamed. His muscles suffered from spasms as he hurried to flip the dome over the bomb.

Hurry. Hurry. Danger. Danger.

Peter slammed the dome over the bomb and threw his whole body on top, hands sticking to the carpet floor.

Death!

A flash of white burned into Peter's irises. He squeezed his eyes shut as he was swallowed by blinding end.

Then his senses died. And his stomach flopped on title floor.

Peter cracked an eye open. He was sprawled in the center of the Danger Room. All the visual effects were gone. The sound effects too. All there was left was Peter in the center and his teammates near the edge, circling around him.

They all wore peeved expressions. Directed at him.

Peter gulped as he slowly rose to his feet, standing awkwardly in front of his teammates. He rolled in his lips as he took in each expression. Luke looked down-right furious. Jack—disappointed with a hint of frustration. Lady Deathstrike had her arms crossed and her long claws out, tapping menacingly. Silk Fever's black hair smoked, her skin looking redder than normal. And, Powers…

"Can I kill him now?" Powers snarled in Peter's direction.

Before anyone answered, the door to the Danger Room burst opened. Mr. Reynolds stormed in, fuming and his muscles twitching in attempt to restrain his need to react. Eyes were slits and glowered at Peter with an intensity of a brimstone heart.

He stopped. And then, his voice boomed so loud Peter thought the floor shook. "What the hell was that?"

No one got a word out, because Mr. Reynolds didn't stop shouting. At Peter.

"PARKER! You were assigned to direct civilians to safety. To keep them at a safe distance," Mr. Reynolds bellowed, his tall presence domineering over Peter. "You jeopardized the whole mission—to what exactly?"

Peter had never seen Mr. Reynolds furious enough for the vein in his forehead to bulge. The man's whole face constricted into severe lines of pure rage while gritting his teeth at Peter.

"I w-was—" Peter stumbled to explain.

"You disobeyed a direct order from your superior," Mr. Reynolds ranted on and Peter almost pictured smoke billowing from the man's hot ears. "You went against all protocols!"

"I tried to—"

"You abandoned your teammates!"

"They weren't listening—"

"You got hundreds of civilians killed!" Mr. Reynolds thundered. His silver eye sharpened like lightning bolts as he glared. "Hundreds!"

Peter's legs were shaking and his stomach twisted in distressed. He lowered his gaze from Mr. Reynolds' bulging red face to the floor. Don't cry. Don't cry. Not in front of these people.

Yet, he felt his throat close up and tears wetting his irises. He didn't want anyone to die. Real or imaginary.

Peter took a deep breath, hands wrangled together in some desperate attempt to anchor himself. "I-I was just trying to do the right thing," he blubbered a bit. "I thought there was a way to—"

"And it didn't work," Mr. Reynolds snapped at him. "You got civilians killed and distracted your teammates, which led to more dying… look at me!"

Peter blinked slowly as he lifted his head. He saw all their faces. Their pissed-off expressions, each disquieting as the next (more so with Powers, whose glacial blue eyes almost sent ice straight through Peter's heart).

Mr. Reynolds's brimstone madness and his furrowed brows made Peter's nerves bundled in a wrecked fit. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he rampaged. "You don't get to play the victim anymore, kid. You fucked up this whole mission!"

Peter gulped. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't bring back these people's lives," Mr. Reynolds waved the tablet wildly above Peter's head. "We lost—"

Mr. Reynolds swiped the screen, pulling up their results. Peter's teammates drew closer, siding along with Mr. Reynolds and staring down at Peter for his childish defiant. How many times have they whispered he was more a liability? A burden? A child who would fuck up everything?

Mr. Reynolds squinted at the tablet, his mouth pressed thin. "No… no this cannot be right," he muttered, tapping at the screen to refresh. "Damn… am I not getting it? This is all messed up. Must have cracked the hard drive."

He called up to the ceiling. "FRIDAY?" Mr. Reynolds requested attention. "Report, please?"

The ceiling boomed, the sound of a feminine Irish voice filling the void above them. "Conclusion of the recent simulation test: minor structural damage due to shockwave and zero causalities," the voice reported. "Congratulations, Mr. Reynolds. Your team set the new record."

And the voice ceased, but Peter heard it echo in his head long after.

As everyone's faces morphed from anger to bold shock, Peter's mouth tugged into a relieved smile.

Everyone survived. Every single civilian in the simulation lived.

Peter wore the biggest grin of his life.