Peter woke up at 6am precisely, like every day since he had moved in with his uncle and aunt, two years ago. They lived in a small flat within a research base, which consisted of multiple tunnels criss-crossing the subsurface, with occasional small windows on the outside world. The base was hidden in a dense temperature forest, which he knew went for miles and miles in all directions. Peter hadn't gone to school in two years, as his relatives insisted on homeschooling him. They sometimes taught him themselves, but often delegated his education to other operatives.

Yes, operatives. The term sounded foreign to him when he had first heard it from the mouth his aunt, but he had rapidly grown used to it. The operatives would call him 'project', or 'asset'; only his relatives and his teachers called him Peter. At first, he found that a bit strange too, but then he heard about another 'asset' after a few days of living in the base. Maybe that was just the name they gave to children here?

He really thought that his relatives could have taken him to meet that other asset, because he hadn't interacted with another kid in years. But he kept the thought to himself, because he knew how his uncle would react if he voiced it. His uncle had a very short temper, and he had learnt this the hard way when he had asked him where his stuff from the orphanage was. He really missed his tiger plushie, but he would never admit it.

A sharp knock at his door brought him back to the present.

He stood up, pulled on the grey clothes provided to him by the base, and walked out of his small windowless room with a small smile. Today was going to be an okay day, because grey clothes meant that he wasn't going to be going into the medical lab - he knew that because the doctors always insisted on him wearing pale green clothes.

Ever since May had realised that he healed much faster than expected, he had gone through countless medical examinations. He hated them so much, but he was never given a choice. The doctors usually would take some tissue and blood samples, or use MRI to look at his brain. Sometimes, they put him to sleep – he had learnt not to struggle against anaesthetics, and they had learnt that he needed a much stronger dose than most people when he awoke mid-operation, thrashing, and broke one of the surgeon's nose. After the medical sessions, he always woke up in his room, groggy and confused, with faint scars on his limbs, that faded within a few days. However, such tests were becoming rare, and he hoped that the scientists had found whatever they had been looking for, and would not be asking more of him.

Honestly, he probably would have found whatever they were looking for much earlier if he had looked into it himself. Peter was certain that the doctors in the medical ward dragged the investigations on just to get to hurt him some more. But he knew better than to say that to his relatives or to any of the operatives. He remembered his first few months at the base, which had been the worst; any sign of reluctance to follow orders was systematically beaten out of him by his uncle.

Said uncle's sharp voice rang through the small flat, and he shuddered, jumping to his feet.

"Peter, please report to the kitchen now. Today is a big day."

The kid quickly left his room and walked into the kitchen, greeting his uncle and aunt with a nod. He knew that any of his small morning talk would get ignored, although he really wished that he could talk to them freely.

His aunt gestured to a small bowl of porridge, and he sat down while she spoke.

"Today, you will begin phase 2 of your training," she said, looking at him with a frown, "The Asset is waiting for you in the gym, and he will not tolerate tardiness. After that, report to your usual classes. We will be seeing you tonight."

He nodded, and couldn't prevent himself from asking, "Does this mean that I will not have more medical tests?"

They exchanged a look, and he held his breath.

"If you comply, we will keep them to the strict necessary." His uncle gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Now run along."

He nodded and quickly shovelled the rest of the porridge into his mouth – the portions provided in the base were never quite enough for him, but he didn't complain. He stood up, turned, and smiled to himself, taking a few seconds to celebrate.

He then entered a code into the wall interface, and the flat's door slid open. Walking out, he smoothed his clothes and tried to force himself to walk normally and not bounce everywhere with relief and anticipation. Who was this Asset?

After a few sharp turns along various corridors, and a brief glimpse of the early morning sky – it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day outside - Peter walked into a darkly lit gym.

He knew from experience what new instructors liked to do. Breathing in sharply, he rolled down a split second before a fist hit the air where his face had just been. He only had a moment to stand up before punches and kicks fell on him, but he evaded them most of them, twisting and jumping away from the attacks. He tried to force his adversary away with a quick, strong push, but a metallic hand – oh, I wonder how it works!- grabbed his wrist firmly and twisted Peter's arm behind him. The young boy forced his opponent over his back and to the ground, and both struggled and rolled around the gym. The fight ended with Peter pushed down on the ground in a Russian arm lock.

The main lights were turned on. Peter was roughly pulled to his feet. He blinked a few times, brushed his sweaty palms against his trousers, and turned around to properly look at his attacker. A man in his mid-twenties, with stormy eyes and a left arm made of metal. 'I guess "Asset" doesn't actually refer to kids', he thought to himself. He straightened, and greeted him.

"Hail Hydra."

Hehehe, love Bucky. Sorry to anyone who doesn't like Evil!Ben and May Parker.