"If you have not been a villain at a certain point in time, you will never be a hero. And the day you are a hero, you may become a villain the next day."

– Carlos Ghosn

Chapter 7: Though All is Not as It Seems

"Hello? No, this isn't your friend's house. No, I won't say his name; I'm not an idiot. Yes, I do sound young; it's a trait I acquired throughout my many years in federal prison after a glass shard from a broken bottle got lodged in my throat during a canteen brawl and I refused to seek medical help or stop talking for a duration. I was the boss's left-hand man, you see. Next time choose a different multi-billion dollar net worth business for your lame prank calls, or just stick to pillow fights and painting your nails." Peter returned the body of the phone to the receiver with a gratifying click. Although every other device had been upgraded to an absurd degree, Tony refused to replace the classic model phone, insisting that the 'dignity of Peter's position' needed to be upheld with the proper equipment. Peter didn't mind since slamming something down to end an obnoxious call inspired more satisfaction and gave authenticity to the situation, while tapping a button on a headset seemed too anticlimactic.

"Juvenile grade school boys and their dares," he muttered as he restored his attention to his new shiny work laptop that matched the black flash drive with silver letters in his pocket perfectly. The flash drive that he was going to get around to returning- or not. Peter didn't want anyone else to have to deal with his virus.

"That was the third prank call so far. And it's only my second day on the job! The least they could do is come up with some original material; they're using the same lame jokes Harry and I used to giggle about at the park when we were eight."

Peter began to go over each Avengers' schedule for the day so he could remind them (Clint) about upcoming important events for the day in case anyone (Clint) forgot. They were apparently told about their responsibilities months ahead of time and then didn't revisit them until a few hours beforehand. This information cleared up so many mysteriously short speeches delivered at banquets and unconventional attire worn at parties Peter had seen the heroes attend on television. Why else would someone wear bathing suit trunks to a Scandinavian Princess' wedding unless they (Clint) only knew about it after their jet to the chapel had departed?

Tony was working in his lab all day with Bruce on some project concerning further fortifying their security, though Peter theorized that Tony had actually conned the doctor into helping him on a less savory project (Peter's predecessor had left cliff notes about each Avenger's habits and that specific suspicion was printed in bold next to Tony's name on the roster). He made a note to check on them later in the day when they were more relaxed. Natasha was still in Brussels, Thor had nothing scheduled until tomorrow, and Clint- "Bing."

"Oh, for the love of…" Peter once more turned his attention away from the monitor and saw that his personal phone had made the sound. Definitely Not Someone Named Huh, But a Person You Actually Want to Talk to read on the display. Surprisingly, Peter felt something clench in his gut when he saw the words. Searching his brain for what it could be, the only emotion that he could come up with was pity and a feeling akin to… guilt? No, that can't be right. What do I have to be feeling guilty about towards Huh? It's natural to try and get rid of a virus. Of course.

Nevertheless, Peter decided to pick up his phone and read the one message, if only to dispel any misplaced compunction.

Why does the TV like the remote?

Peter stared at the screen, not comprehending the meaning behind the question. A second "bing" signaled another incoming message, and before he could think twice about it he was opening the follow-up.

Because it turns it on!

A loud bark of laughter fell out of Peter's mouth, which he quickly took measures to stifle when the few other employees and patrons roaming the foyer paused in their hurried movements to give the person daring to express any outward sign of amusement or happiness while they were still trapped in the middle of their insanely busy workday a nasty glare.

"That wasn't even very funny. I was just startled," Peter whispered to his phone.

"Bing." But you laughed. Like this- :D

"I was startled," he further defended, but found he couldn't put any real heat behind his denial. Huh was acting like a little kid starved for attention, similar to L. U. It was almost cute, as well as pathetically sad.

Another joke was sent. What's the difference between a woman and a computer?

Peter guessed, "Everything?"

Woman don't accept three and a half inch floppies.

Okay, maybe not so much like a kid. Peter snorted out a chuckle and then immediately felt like a hypocritical, immature brat. But that one was reasonably good.

Where do all the cool mice live?

In their mousepads.

"Pfft!" Peter gave up his internal battle and allowed himself a healthy outburst of mirth in spite of the overworked, vengeful populace around him. None of the jests were hilarious, but they were of a silly flavor of humor and oddly made Peter feel better. The attention was nice as well; he'd felt somewhat lonely the past few months since Gwen, despite his aunt's best efforts. A thought occurred to him.

"You really are stalking me constantly, aren't you?"

Yeah. Are you mad?

"You managed to hack into Tony's internal security camera's in the lobby and tune the audio to pick up my voice specifically?"

Yeah. Are you really mad?

"Even I haven't been able to do that," Peter pondered. "I had to resort to the universal solution for all problems: duct tape. I really hope Tony and Bruce actually are working on beefing up the security here."

You want to kick me out? : you hate me, don't you?

"No, I don't hate you!" Peter rushed to assured Huh. He swiftly calmed himself down. "I was just thinking out loud about how useless my bosses are probably being. I mean, you were trying to be nice just now, so there's no reason for me to be angry at you.

Exactly! None of my 'jokes' are original either, and I don't know whether or not you and hairy people laughed about them when you were young, but the Internet highly recommended them so I thought I'd tell them to you, big brother!

Peter's smile froze on his face, then he choked out, "Big brother!? Wha- how- where did that come from?"

When I Googled 'person who has to take me everywhere and ignores me all the time' because I wanted to know what to call you- you didn't seem to like Spidey very much- the first result was 'big brother'. Even though I am bigger than you, to a degree that is virtually incalculable, you're still older than me, so it fits. I was born three days ago.

"Yes, you were, weren't you." Saying that fact aloud made Peter feel even worse for acting the way he did towards Huh. And for naming him Huh in the first place, even though he did so unknowingly. The virus, or program, or whatever- it obviously was alive in some way, like L. U. or Jarvis, and was the equivalent of a highly advanced infant in personality. And maybe like those two, Huh had a creator, a father out there who Peter had inadvertently stolen him from. But then again, Peter had caught two robbers trying to steal the flash drive from a bank, so perhaps there was no worthwhile father-figure in the picture.

God, I sound so weird right now. I'm not trying to adopt Huh or anything; I just need to know if there is a way I can return him. "Hey, do you remember anything about where you were before I plugged you into my computer?

There was a 'Before the Download'? You mean the orphanage? I didn't like that place. Do I have to go back?

"No, you don't have to leave. You can stay…" Peter comforted absentmindedly, more focused on the fact that Huh seemed to regard his possibly very lengthy time at the bank as child abandonment. Was he conscious during that time as well? With no one to talk to? Christ…

If I can stay, then do I also get a new name? I searched for 'Huh'- I don't really feel like an exclamation commonly used for the purpose of verbalizing emotions such as scorn, anger, disbelief, surprise, or amusement.

"Uh, alright, sure. So, a new name…" A "bing" quickly interrupted Peter's jumbled thoughts.

Can I choose it? Pretty please?

I want to be called Viral!

It is Sanskrit for precious, and it means widely spread on the Internet, which I am, and it also means virus, your nickname for me!

Isn't that perfect; I picked it out all by myself.

The expectant silence following the rapid volley of texts had Peter swallowing a lump in his throat. "Yes, that's a very, very nice name… good… job?

=D 3

Still thoroughly troubled from his revelations about… Viral's possible origins, Peter once more resumed his work, and if this time he kept his phone a bit too close next to his laptop and never corrected his virus on how to address him, then they were simply minor oversights. Obviously.

"Let's see, Tony and Bruce in the lab, need to check on later, Natasha in Belgium, Thor unattended, and Clint scheduled for a reconnaissance mission at three in the afternoon. Five minutes ago…"

Peter clicked away from the page, then used the password he was given that morning to tap through footage from the cameras, one occupying each of the Avengers' floors, until he found Clint taking a bird's nap on a table in one of the lounges.

"I'd better rsvp that he won't be able to attend."

Already taken care of.

~ Two and a Half Weeks Later ~

Go to school, arrive at work by three, answer phone calls, tell the Avengers what they are supposed to be doing, chat with Viral during breaks, wash, rinse, and repeat. This had been Peter's routine for the remainder of January into the first week of February. While he greatly enjoyed his job, and the feeling of being helpful while building his personal confidence in himself, it was still something of a welcomed relief when a distraction come along to grant him a respite from his pattern. But now, even the so-called distractions were becoming less spontaneous and more predictable.

"Listen up, I want all the money you've got in this bag in two minutes, no cops, or I shoot this place up," a man growled at Peter.

The Stark Industries secretary glanced up and reflexively took stock of the person pointing a semi-automatic towards the ceiling. Late twenties to early thirties, physique of a salaryman, and seemed to have no experience with the weapon he awkwardly held slung over his shoulder. The usual, then. I can understand why Katie wanted to mix things up with some colorful threats the first time I met her; the monotony really sets in after number nine. Or have I breached double digits yet? The man had likely lost his job and was looking for a quick source of income. Peter had made the unfortunate discovery, with the help of Viral, that the top result for 'how to make easy money in New York City' in most online search engines was to hold up Stark Industries' main office a few days into his job.

Stretching his neck to peer into the previously mentioned bag, Peter shook his head. "Nope, I don't see any money in there." He got a blank stare. "Oh, you want me to put money into the bag? Sorry, I must have misheard your comma usage."

"Are you playing with me?" he snarled. The man attempted to cock the gun's hammer to add onto his lacking intimidation, but failed to slide the barrel off his shoulder beforehand. The end result was a premature round of bullets that sent the would-be thief careening to the floor, clutching his bleeding right ear.

"Aw, but I had a few good lines I was working on," Peter sighed as he dialed the number of the nearby hospital, then the in-building security, and finally the main level's clean-up crew. Every ten floors of the tower had a shared crew except for the first, which had its own. "But really, why does everyone think there is money here; it's a reception desk. All that's here is my tip jar, which is mainly filled with pieces of paper from people who think they're comedians and Clint, and the three dollars I have left over from the school cafeteria. I wonder if they all realize they're just trying to steal some high school kid's lunch money."

As the summoned guards arrived to collect the whimpering man, Peter went back to his work and noticed a red one hovering over his email inbox, which he continuously checked to keep the red bubbled numbers from existing.

Mark the date! One of our own is being discharged from the hospital and is returning to work today! Katie Douglas requests all get-well cards either come with cash, chocolate, or a mother's love. Thanks!

Sent from J.A.R.V.I.S. server.

"Oh," Peter said. "Well, I guess that means I am… off duty? Free? Canned?" The prospect of having to give up his job, the nucleus of which he'd begun to rebuild his life outside of school around, sent a chill of panic through him. Peter squashed it down mercilessly. This could be a good thing; if he no longer had to dedicate his off time to superficially managing the Avengers, then he could possibly speed up his planned return debut as Spider-Man. He'd started to carry around his suit to pick up the habit again in case he stumbled upon another small scale crime like he had after his first trip to the Avengers' Tower. It would also be easier to return to his night job once he didn't have to worry about S.H.I.E.L.D. looking over his shoulder at every turn.

"I could always ask to come back and help with some temp work on occasion. I think Tony and Clint genuinely like me anyways, so it isn't as if I'll be permanently ostracized or anything," Peter mused as he sat back in his- or what used to be his- chair. "I hope. Though Fury doesn't seem to tolerate me. I probably shouldn't have intercepted that intern on a coffee run and switched his sugar packets for salt. Or made fun of him for taking sugar in his coffee. Or drank his replacement coffee. I wonder if he'll seize the chance to make me 'disappear' once I no longer have to show up for work every day…"

Peter glanced around his workstation and wondered what he was supposed to do now. Should I just pack up and leave? I'm off my shift in fifteen minutes regardless. I should go.

Twenty minutes later, Peter was still seated at the reception desk, watching as the daytime-only employees went home and directing a few newcomers to the floor where a new drug trial was being conducted.

"Bing" Peter glanced down at the phone sitting on his knee. You've got a work call from some Egyptian investors that want to meet with Uncle Tony, but I redirected them to a Chinese Christmas snow globe factory in Shandong. I can record their conversation and we can listen to it subtitled later if you want. Peter snorted, sufficiently amused.

"Thanks Viral," he whispered. The elevator doors behind Peter's desk to the left opened and Tony strode out, his pace earnest.

"Peter! Glad I caught you before you left," his boss said, walking around so he could lean himself against the side of Peter's desk with his arms folded. "So glad, in fact, that I won't even mention how sad it is that a lively teenager such as yourself isn't rushing out the doors to go meet up with his friends as soon as he can. Oh, wait…"

"Yeah, I've already heard about it," Peter cut in, forcing a smile onto his face and trying to summon up some semblance of cheer. "Katie's coming back; it's great! Great." Without anything else to say, he snapped his mouth shut and looked down at his laptop, playing with the touchpad. I guess I have to give this up too.

"You're celebrating too early. You seeee," Tony dragged out, "Katie has decided to take a permanent sabbatical."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"The email that was sent out earlier? Her resignation. Apparently she found a new calling during her time in the hospital- that is, helping rescue baby penguins in southwestern Africa. Didn't even know there were any down there, to be honest. So," he grinned, propping his chin onto his palms in an imitation of childish glee, "you've got yourself an actual job now! But seriously, you can't quit for at least the next six months; you should have fought more in clause seventy-three of your contract."

"Ah, I started tuning out somewhere in the sixties," Peter recalled faintly. "Six months?" I'm going to need to rethink my plan…

"Mhmm. You'll want to be getting home now…" Tony trailed off. Peter glanced back up at him and saw his boss staring with narrowed brows at his PDA. He quickly looked back to Peter and flashed him a grin. "Duty calls. The rest of the Avengers and I have been summoned elsewhere for a hush-hush mission, so you're rendered obsolete. Go have a life."

"Like yours?" Peter snorted. "I'm guessing this 'mission' isn't you heading out to a bar with a group of friends."

"No, I'm heading out to save the world with a group of friends. Well, perhaps not the world, but England at the very least. I'm going off to help people," Tony smirked. "You should try it, you little pest."

Peter eyed him as he made his way back towards the elevator to get the rest of his team- and to make his dramatic exit from the top of the building instead of taking a car or jet like everyone else.

"Fine, maybe I will. Tonight." With that, Peter packed his things into his father's briefcase and signed out for the day.

His spontaneous conviction never again struck Peter as a bad idea until he was standing on the ledge of the Daily Bugle's headquarters, which he thought would be the most internally satisfying place to make his return, in full costume hours later. The only alteration he had made to his old suit was adding a thin belt that could carry the phone he used to converse with Viral; his virus had been insistent on coming with Peter, stating that he was the perfect sidekick because he only took up eighty-eight cubic centimeters of space.

Nerves he hadn't experienced since the first night he'd decided to use his powers in front of the public while hidden behind a mask started to resurface as he stared at the lit-up city street beneath him. However, Peter pushed them back down, determined to go through with his resolution.

It's the middle of the week, there are no big events going on, and the Avengers are out of town dealing with a catastrophe hours away. This is the perfect time to start slowly getting back into the swing of things. I'll start out with a few casual patrols of the city each week, and then I'll build back up from there. I've got all the time in the world for this, Peter assured himself.

Taking in a beep breath, Peter aligned his toes to the right angle of the roof, squatted his knees in preparation, started to jump, and then ended up preforming a back flip, landing in his original spot.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Peter huffed. He slapped his right hand over his eyes, held his left arm out to catch the air, and took a step off the building. After a few seconds of surprisingly peaceful freefall, Peter ripped his hand away and let out a whoop as the pedestrian-spotted pavement grew larger and larger. Just before he passed the sixteenth-story windows, he threw out his arms and shot twin threads of webbing at a building farther down the street. Peter pulled up on them and stuck his legs out in a sitting position so he just barely avoided skimming the ground before being flung back into the air.

"Yes, yes, YES!" With a laugh, Spider-Man let out another pair of stringed webs and swung through the cement forest of New York City, basking in the rush of feeling nothing but air on any side of him. "How on Earth did I give this up? It feels amazing!"

Peter didn't know how long he spent swinging in the night before vibrations from his waist pulled him back down to reality. With one final jump, Peter landed between two stone gargoyles that decorated one of the grander churches around and pulled out his phone.

If you're interested, there is a disturbance that is causing all of the police cars in the area to gather in one place. A cruiser is headed your way now if you want to listen in. Viral out.

P.S. being a sidekick is less eventful then movies say it is.

"A disturbance," Peter repeated, uncertain. "Well… I'm out here anyways; I should probably check it out just in case the police need a little assistance. If not, I can always watch as an educational experience. Reintroduce myself to the scene and whatnot," he decided. Looking down at the faintly lighted street below him, Peter waited for the cruiser that Viral had told him about. When it came into sight, he quickly used a web to lower himself to the ground and followed closely behind the car so he could listen to the dashboard radio scanner's report through the slightly cracked windows.

"-armed robbery taking place at 200 Park Avenue… -vere risk is present for civilians in the vicinity. All available personnel report to this site immediately."

Peter paused, startled, before quickly swinging to keep up with the cruiser. 200 Park Avenue? That's where Stark Industries is. Hmm, maybe another desperate bloke decided to try his luck after main hours when only the more skittish workers are present? Though I still don't think such a situation warrants so much backup.

"Ey, isn' that that place where those 'Avengers' hang about? Are we supposed to be cleaning their shite up as well now? Why can't we jus' leave 'em be to their own dirty work; it'd learn them right," a young voice from the passenger seat demanded.

"Quiet, boy," a gruffer voice growled. "We go where we're told to, where the people need us to be, and if they need us to help those heroes," he emphasized, "then we're going to do just that."

"Wha'ever," the other mumbled under his breath. "I didn't join the force to be a group of freaks' janitor."

The cruiser did a U-turn and began picking up speed as the siren was switched on. Peter debated leaving them alone and continuing with his 'patrol', but an inching curiosity pushed that thought aside. He neglected to catch himself on the next swing and instead landed as softly as he could onto the roof of the police cruiser and took a seat on the flashing lights. If the pattern he'd come to expect stayed true, there would be one or two gunmen who'd surrender quickly once the police showed up and no one would get hurt.

Peter jumped off of the vehicle when it pulled out of a narrow abandoned lane into the crowded major street that the Avengers' Tower occupied. His breath caught in his throat once he saw the chaotic mess of blaring lights, crying groups of people, and shattered glass in front of the building he'd vacated only a few hours ago.

"What…?"

End Author's Note: Missing Keylogger already? Don't worry; we'll see a lot of him next chapter…