Disclaimer: Potato

So you thought I was evil in the last chapter, huh? Oh-ho-ho just wait. You're going to just ADORE this one. Thanks for all the nice feedback btw! Love ya'll. Now cry :)

Chapter 13

"Is everything secure?"

"Yessiree, Cap. Whole building's been cleared. Wounded have been rounded up, and all Hydra agents have been captured, including that super fast freak. Clint got him in an ensnarrow and knocked him out with gas. He's being kept in a special transport copter. We'll have to deal with him more later. But right now, we're solid."

Steve Rogers slumped against the wall with a weighty sigh. He pulled off his mask and ran the back of his hand along his forehead, watching S.H.I.E.L.D. agents scurry across the wide landscape before him. Smoke trailed out of the Pym Tech facility and the air tasted of gun powder.

"Well that's a relief, considering how hectic everything was when I arrived. How are the others?"

Black Widow glanced over her shoulder with her hand on her hip. "We're all a little black and blue, but we'll live. Looks to me like you took the worst of it."

Cap chuckled exhaustedly. "I've always had a habit of getting myself beat up. I'm just glad we stopped Hydra from stealing whatever they were after—this Pym formula thing."

Natasha offered him a hand and Steve accepted it gratefully, rising to his feet. "I've never even heard of the stuff, but it must be dangerous if Hydra was after it. I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. is already looking into it as we speak."

In that moment, Iron Man descended from overhead and landed on the walkway. Close behind him from around the corner was Banner in some tattered shorts and Hawkeye with his bow, walking with a bit of a limp. Thor strolled casually from the wreckage with his hammer, and they all gathered together in a circle. Clint grinned smoothly.

"Well, looks like Hydra mess numero dos has been officially mopped. Those guys won't be coming back from that ass-kicking anytime soon."

"It is good that we struck them so quickly this time around. Those pitiful men were no match for our power."

"Yep. Go team. Has anyone seen my shirt?"

With a mechanical whir, Iron Man's mask flipped up to reveal his sweaty face. "Whew, yeah. Great work here, ladies. Smiles all around. Now who's up for some milkshakes? I'm buying."

Captain America smiled amusedly. "I suppose it wouldn't bite, since everything seems to be all wrapped up here. I've been told there's this great little old-style parlor right around the—" he started to say. Then he blinked, his face suddenly growing somber. "Oh, wait. I just remembered. There's something I really need to discuss with you guys. It's, uh...it's about Spider-Man."

Tony Stark bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at the ground, as if he knew what he was talking about. The rest of the Avengers stared at him in surprise, and Bruce scratched at his curly hair with his brow narrowed.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with Spidey?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, when a sharp voice in his ear made him flinch. Exhaling impatiently, he twisted at the small device as the static cleared up.

"What is it, Fury? We're all finished here, and we're just about to head out. We've got something important we need to take care of."

Whatever it is can wait, the newly reinstated Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. snapped briskly. I was just informed a minute ago that something bad is happening in New York. Really bad. You all need to head back there as soon as possible.

"What?" Steve breathed, laying his hand over his ear. "But...I was just..." Then he shook his head sternly. "What's happening over there? What's going on?"

I don't know. Some kind of attack on the city by a bunch of heavily armed men. This all happened right after you and all of my agents left to take care of the mess in California. Nick Fury suddenly went quiet for a moment, his voice growing uncharacteristically low and uneasy. And Cap, you've gotta know. Something else has happened, something that has made this a lot more serious than I initially anticipated.

Steve Rogers listened to the old man's words intently, beads of sweat dripping down his face. Then his eyes went wide, and his heart twisted with fear.

"Oh no."

Tony's jaw tightened nervously. "What's wrong, Spangles? What is it?"

Letting his hands fall to his side, Steve's hollow gaze lifted to meet all of his teammates' eyes.

"Guys," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat, "Peter's in trouble."

The world was numb and silent. Black emptiness spiraled all around him. It was lonely, vacant, and isolated, but also strangely peaceful. Everything was quiet and calm. And for the first time in what felt like ages, there was nothing—no torment, no nightmares, and no pain.

The dream couldn't last forever, though. Eventually, the blissful spell would have to be broken. Eventually, he had to wake up.

Peter's eyes barely slitted open behind his mask. The sound of water dripping inside pipes echoed repeatedly from somewhere close by. It took him a moment to realize he was actually alive, awake. He inhaled sharply, then broke into a terrible coughing fit, one that racked his entire body and made his throat burn and ache. All at once, the battle's terrible agony returned to him, and he sucked in rapid, panicky gulps of air. It hurts...dammit, it hurts. Everything hurts...

Then he heaved a shaky gasp into his lungs and slowly released it. The attack took a moment to subside. His glazed eyes stared desolately at the wooden floor, which was marred with cracks and a thick layer of dust. It appeared to be partially slanted, as a small river of blood was snaking through the grime towards the opposite end of the room. Peter's delirious gaze slowly followed the glistening trail. Then he blinked, and he sluggishly scanned the wide expanse that encompassed his dungeon chamber.

He was in what appeared to be an old abandoned warehouse. The room was dimly lit by four small lamps on the ground, which buzzed and flickered frequently. Ancient-looking boxes were stacked along the walls and all the windows were boarded up. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

Peter was settled near the back of the warehouse. He was sitting on his knees with his legs fettered to the floor. His arms were stretched out at his sides, and two metal capsules were enclosed around his hands. The capsules were attached to thick chains that were fastened to pegs drilled deep into the ground. Breathing strenuously, Peter gave his restraints a few experimental tugs, but every movement sent agony rushing through him. They were far too strong for even he with all his power to break free from. It occurred to him that if he was able to activate the stingers in his wrists, he could possibly escape. But all attempts to unsheathe them proved in vain, and he found himself fiercely regretting not taking Dr. Maes' advice when he'd met with him earlier. After a few more moments of painful, fruitless struggling, Peter cursed viciously and squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head low.

"You sure woke up fast, Spider-Man."

Peter's breath caught in his throat. Fear throbbed in his heart, and bloody sweat slithered down his spine. The voice had come from behind him. Gentle footsteps treaded along the wood.

"I had expected as such, knowing you and all your gifts. Lucky for me, my employer has fast and efficient men on his hands that constructed your restraints in less than an hour." The speaker stepped in front of him, hands behind his back. "And if I'm not mistaken, it doesn't appear as though you're going anywhere anytime soon. Remind me to give all of them a bonus before the end of the summer."

Peter slowly lifted his eyes to stare at the man standing before him. He was a strange sight to absorb; then again, he'd gotten kind of used to expecting the unexpected from his enemies over the last week. This one was at least dressed like a human being. He had a black suit on with a dark blue undershirt and a silver tie. He was very tall—at least a foot taller than himself—and had eyes like a vampire. His skin added to the effect: sickly white, like all the color had been drained from his flesh from the top of his head to the tips of the fingers poking out of his sleeves. Even his hair was white. When he grinned, Peter was repulsed to see that his teeth were filed to razor-sharp points, like the glistening fangs of a piranha. He vaguely wondered if the man had ever accidentally bitten his tongue before.

"Hello? Anybody home?" he asked, bending down to look him directly in the eye. "Does the great Spider-Man have nothing to say? No witty comment, no smartass quip? I never expected you keen to shyness."

Peter didn't raise his head. "Who...who are you?" he finally croaked out, his brow creased beneath his mask.

The man smiled cooly. "Who do you think I am?"

Spider-Man licked at his blood-caked lips, his dry tongue bathed in saltiness. "Edward...Cullen?"

The towering man let out a small chuckle. "There it is. I knew you'd come around." Then he stood upright, erecting his spine. "I am known by many names. My favorite is Tombstone. Because people know that if they cross me, that's all that will be left of them."

"You...come up with that...all by yourself?" Peter coughed hoarsely. Every breath sent agony rippling through his muscles. Ignoring him, Tombstone tilted Spider-Man's head up so the pair were glaring face-to-face.

"But I have a feeling you know me by my other alias," he said, his fingers curled threateningly around his chin. "The one you've been asking about all around town. The Big Man."

Peter's hazy eyes combed across his adversary's face discernibly. This was the man he had been searching for? This was the man who had caused all the suffering and the death in his beloved city? This was the man who had made Wanda nearly drive him insane, who had hired the Sinister Six to murder him, who had explicitly channeled all his money and effort into making his life a living hell? He expected himself to blow a fuse just from the sight of his horrendous face.

But instead, Peter laughed out loud. "Y-yeah right," he breathed, yanking his head away from his grip. "You're not him. The...the Big Man. You're not the one I'm after."

Tombstone's suave grin melted away. "What?" he spat, curling his hands into fists. "What do you mean I'm not—?"

"Kingpin," Spider-Man interjected. He leered at the albino man intensely. "That's who...I need. That's who the Sinister Six answer to. You're not him. Different...voice." Peter clenched his teeth in his mouth. "Where is he?"

Tombstone's fist suddenly slammed into his stomach. Peter gagged in shock, feeling as though he was about to puke up his organs. He slumped against the wood, gasping and doubling over as far as his restraints would allow him to fall. A pair of hands seized him by fabric along his collar.

"You think me below your concern?" he yelled furiously. He swung a punch across Peter's face, shattering one of his eye lenses and sending bloody shards pinging against the floor. "You ignorant bastard! Who do you think created the Sinister Six?" He slugged him right in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. "Who do you think wanted you dead more than anyone else on the planet?" A knee drove deep into his gut. "Who do you think wanted revenge after you destroyed my plans?" Two thick hands locked around his throat, suffocating the life out of him. Peter choked and sputtered helplessly beneath the crushing grip. Tombstone scowled menacingly. "Who do you think convinced S.H.I.E.L.D. and Oscorp to build an army of diseased chimeras to spread infection and chaos across the entire world!?"

"Enough, Lincoln."

The fingers around his throat bit into his flesh like teeth. Spider-Man couldn't utter a sound as he flailed desperately above the ground. Then, cursing lividly, Tombstone released him, and he dropped limply to the floor. A fractured gasp tore through his body as air reentered his lungs, and he sat there wheezing like a fish out of water. Heavy footsteps padded against the wood in front of him.

"I...sir, I was only trying to—"

"You talk far too much. I will not let your personal vendetta against the boy allow you to bring him to an early demise. Your failures in the past will not tarnish my plans for today."

There was a moment of tense silence, punctured only by Peter's frantic gasping. Tombstone watched the young hero suffering before him with deadly focus, hands balled at his sides. Then, glowering furiously, he spun around to face the man behind him. Something inside of him had finally snapped.

"My failures?" he retorted. His pure white cheeks were hinting red. "You do realize, sir, that you're only in control because of my failures?"

Peter panted coarsely with his eyes barely open. He wasn't sure what was going on. Did he say...what I thought he said? he pondered dazedly. He's the one who planned the Project Chimera thing from months ago? He's the one who turned all those people into monsters? If—if that's the case, then doesn't that mean...?

All he could see were two pairs of feet standing apart against the dusty wood. The stream of blood was flowing faster and thicker towards the man idling farther away. His enormous hands were interlaced in front of his body.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Lincoln?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, there is." He took a threatening step towards the large man across the room. "Ever since Project Chimera failed and you replaced me as top dog, absolutely nothing has been accomplished. The only thing you've worked towards so far has been to kill this stupid red and blue idiot. No—not even kill him. To make stuff to almost kill him and then never actually follow through in killing him. I'm the one who's got a grudge against him, yet you're the one who wants to keep dragging out his death sentence. You don't make any damn sense! If I was still in charge, the little bastard would already be in the ground, and we would be moving on to more important matters."

"You're the one who wanted to watch him crash and burn, Lincoln. I have simply expanded your wishes to a wider, more interesting scale. Clearly you're too dense to see the benefits behind my methods."

Tombstone gritted his teeth menacingly. "You know what? You're right. I have been too dense. Too dense to realize that you're just some fat freak obsessed with torturing this moron for your own demented amusement. Your rep and your title are absolute BS and you know it. It's time someone put you in your place."

"You really want to do this now, Lincoln? You disappoint me."

The ghostly white man marched straight towards him. "Don't. Call. Me. Lincoln! I am the Big Man! I am Tombstone!" He seized him by the collar and cocked back his fist. Blood boiled in his eyes. "And I will no longer cower before you, Wilson Fis—"

CRACK.

It all happened in one split second. The giant man had grabbed Tombstone's temple, wrapped his arm around his throat, and wrenched his head violently to the side. A sickening pop rang through the air. After he released him, Lincoln wobbled back and forth a little, dropped to his knees, then face-planted into the floor. His neck was bent at a terribly unnatural angle. His eyes were wide and empty. Peter blinked in disbelief.

"Such a shame," the enormous man sighed, dusting his hands against his suit. "He seemed like a good man. Loyal, honest." He took the cigar from his lips and pressed it into Lincoln's forehead, leaving a black circle burned into his skin. Then he stepped casually over his body. "Too bad he let his impatience get the best of him."

Peter's muscles coiled against his restraints. "He's...y-you're..."

"I apologize for my discourteous entrance, Spider-Man," the gigantic man said, strolling up to stand in front of him. He adjusted his sleeves so they sat more comfortably around his thick arms. "This was not how I'd hoped our first official meeting would go."

Spider-Man stared up at him with terror in his eyes. "You're...The Kingpin."

A smile broke along his lips. "Yes. That is what most men call me, if they are even aware of my existence. But as my friend there was so kind to announce, those I am close to know me by my real name: Wilson Fisk."

Fisk. Wilson Fisk. So that's where all of this leads to. Wilson Fisk.

Peter's breathing was shaky. "So...if I say it...you're going to snap my neck, too?"

The Kingpin chuckled amusedly. "No, no. You are far too important to me."

He stared up at him with his eyes narrowed fiercely. Then he shook his head, dropping his gaze. "I...don't understand," he hissed at the ground. "I don't...I don't understand any of this."

"Then allow me to explain," Fisk grinned. The enormous man took a step backwards, allowing Peter to see him in all of his glory. And boy, was there a lot to take in. The Kingpin was like a bald, fat, white version of the Hulk. His hands were bigger than Peter's entire head, his body was as wide as a barn, and his hairless scalp glistened like a freshly peeled egg. If the man wasn't so damn intimidating and Peter wasn't so broken, he probably would've burst out laughing. Peter watched him draw a small remote from his suit jacket as he slowly walked behind him. His spidey sense began to buzz sharply in the back of his head, and a shudder rippled across his body.

"What kind of man do you think I am, Spider-Man?"

Rigidly, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. Don't say it, don't say it. "Didn't think you were a man. Thought you were a whale...wearing a suit." Dammit, mouth.

Immediately, Peter was rewarded with an electric shock so powerful he almost blacked out. The horrible sensation reawakened all the pain gone stagnant inside his body, making him cry in agony and slump limply against the wood. Strangled gasps tore from his throat, and his muscles spasmed beneath his skin.

"Very amusing, I admit. But your sense of humor has no place in here. There's no one here to even laugh at your jokes. So why don't we make this simple and converse like the mature, respectable gentlemen we are?"

Spider-Man coughed raggedly with his eyes shut tight. "F-fine. Not...a whale. Professional...d-diagnosis..." He lifted his head up weakly. "You're a dickhead."

This time, Peter was positive he really did black out. He guessed for only a moment or two, because once he'd blinked the spotty darkness from his eyes, The Kingpin was standing back in front of him, a frown abounding his fat, bleary face.

"I suppose I'll just have to tell you, since you clearly don't treasure what remain of your brain cells." He slipped the device into his pocket and held out his meaty palms. "I am a man of opportunity. When I see potential in something, I go after it. I don't let it escape me. That's the reason why I grew in power so quickly in this town, and why so many people have grown to fear me." Fisk reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small pin. He held it up for Peter to see. "That's also why I showed up on the radar of a dying organization desperate for someone like me, and why they were so quick to make me their leader."

Spider-Man eyed the shimmering pendant confusedly. Then his stomach turned to stone. Oh no. You're kidding me. You've got to be freaking kidding me. The Kingpin—Wilson Fisk—he's...he's the headman of—

"Hydra."

The devilish red skull with the six curly tentacles leered at him sinisterly. "That's correct. After S.H.I.E.L.D. nearly dissolved Hydra once Lincoln's plan miserably failed, I was quickly contacted and placed as their monarch in attempt to save the organization from total destruction. And, as I'm sure you know by this point, I have followed through; we're more than surviving now. Hydra is thriving."

Well crap. So that's how all of this was woven together. The Big Man, The Kingpin, the policemen, the Sinister Six, the Hydra attacks—everything. It was all connected. How had he not realized it sooner? He seriously hoped he could somehow escape this hell alive so he could slap Tony in the face and tell him what a stupid, moron, asshat he was.

Then Peter glared at the floor. "But that...that doesn't explain why you're after me. Or why you wanna kill me...but also don't...at the same damn time."

"I didn't care for you initially. I was aware that you, the Avengers, and S.H.I.E.L.D. were a constant thorn in Hydra's side, as well in my crime operation. But after assuming power, I thought it best we remained in the shadows slowly rebuilding ourselves beneath the detection of higher enterprises until Hydra was fortified once again. At least, that's how it was, until something interesting stumbled upon me: opportunity number one." Fisk raised a pager up to his lips and held down the button with his thumb. "Bring her in."

The doors to the left suddenly creaked open. Two men with strange helmets on their heads came staggering into the room with a person held between them. Her hands were bound behind her back and her feet were tied together. Her face was lacerated with dark bruises and bloody cuts. She had a gag over her mouth. They dragged her down the walkway and threw her to the floor, causing her to scrunch her eyes in agony and curl her body against the wood. Peter's blinked in astonishment when he realized who it was.

"Wanda...?" he breathed, trying to move closer to her fragile form and making his chains rattle about.

"Ah, yes. I assumed correct that you two had met."

Wanda slowly opened her eyes to stare up at him, whimpering meekly from the ground.

"Wha—what did you do to her?"

"What you made me do, Spider-Man," he stated simply, strolling towards her as she fought to lift upright. "This woman is one of my pawns. She and her brother were given to me from Sokovia to help further my operations in New York. They agreed to heed my every command, and in exchange I would give them the opportunity to pay vengeance to Stark. She's been a very useful asset thus far. Knowing well what she was capable of, I sent her to torment you and to gather intel concerning your secret identity. But to my surprise, she refused to share the information she'd obtained. She disobeyed her master. And, as you can tell, her disobedience has forced me to take...drastic measures."

The Kingpin bent down and ripped the tape off of her lips, causing her to gasp in pain. Wanda panted breathlessly, tears dripping down her face.

"She's tougher than I imagined, however. The pair of you must've really hit it off if she's this determined to protect you."

"Wanda?" Peter breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why did you...how did you...?"

"But now is your chance for redemption, my darling," Fisk said smoothly, tilting her chin up to face him. "Tell me: who is Spider-Man? Who is the man behind the mask?"

Peter watched the droplets trace down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails along her skin. And yet, despite the blood, the bruises, the tears, her face remained a steely mask. Red energy flickered in her ashy eyes, and she leered at him with gritted teeth.

"Go to hell, you fat bastard."

The Kingpin's face skewed into a monstrous scowl. Instantaneously, he seized her by the hair and slammed her face against the ground, making her scream in anguish.

"S-stop it!" Peter cried, listing forward with all his might. "Leave her alone!"

"Only she can end this," Fisk growled, yanking her upright so she was facing Peter. Blood was trickling from her nose and lips, forming a pool on the floor and mixing with the stream already flowing across the wood. "No one violates The Kingpin's orders. Now tell me who he is!"

"W-why does she have to tell you?" he yelled weakly. "Why can't you just...take off my mask?"

Wilson Fisk lifted his piercing gaze to meet Peter's. "Don't patronize me, boy. You know that's impossible. My men already tried. Your mask is somehow glued to your flesh—your entire suit is, rather. Unless we skinned you alive, that thing is not coming off."

Peter blinked in disbelief. "What?" he exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth. "What the hell are you t-talking about?"

"Francis," Fisk hissed, motioning with his head. One of the men in the funny green helmets marched straight up to Spider-Man, causing him to flinch. He watched him curl his fingers around the front of his mask and begin to pull upwards. Peter closed his eyes, expecting to feel the fabric slip off his face and to find himself standing before his enemies unmasked and utterly screwed, when something strange happened. All of a sudden, a tingling sensation stirred in the back of his skull, and the sticky hairs beneath his skin shot out from their follicles and snagged on to the red material, keeping the mask from lifting off his head. The Hydra goon yanked and tugged fiercely, trying with all his might to peel the mask from his flesh, but other than stretching his skin rather painfully, it wouldn't budge. Peter was at a loss for words.

What the hell? he thought as the man finally gave up with a huff. The spider hairs? They're being activated on their own! I'm not even trying to make them do that! Could it be...my spidey sense? Is it somehow trying to protect my identity? When the hell did it start doing that? How the hell would it even know to do that?

Perhaps he hadn't been giving his arachnid-early-warning-system enough credit. Maybe it was more tapped into his thoughts than he had realized. He wondered if this was a new development in his ongoing 'Spidey puberty' thing that he had that he hated to think about. This had never happened before, as far as he knew.

Well, whatever had caused it, he was unimaginably relieved. It must've stopped them from discovering his secret while he was knocked out, and was continuing to do so now. That was both disgusting and cool as hell. At the same time, he realized the position it placed he and Wanda in.

"Now then, back to business," Fisk grumbled, his thick fingers gripping her firmly by the hair. "Tell me what I want to know, Scarlet Witch."

Wanda swallowed slowly, her chin sticking high into the air. "I will not be your slave anymore. I will die rather than submit to your will again."

"Wait!" Peter hollered desperately. "Wanda, don't do this. I'm...I'm not going to let you kill yourself for me. If you won't tell him, then...I'll—"

Do not, Peter, a voice suddenly spoke in his head, causing his words to catch in his throat. It took him a moment to realize it was Wanda talking to him telepathically. Her eyes glowed a gentle shade of red as she stared up at him beneath The Kingpin's grasp. Do not give yourself up. That will only make all my efforts to keep you and your family safe meaningless. All of my sacrifice to break free of his slavery will have been in vain. If you speak now, Fisk wins. I do not want that. I cannot let that happen.

You think I'm just going to sit here and let him kill you? Peter thought back. Forming the words in his mind was more difficult than he imagined. Not that he'd ever considered telepathy something he'd have to deal with over the course of his heroic career. You're going to throw your life away for a guy you just barely met? To try to prove a point to your diabetic boss who doesn't lose a second of sleep over all the people he murders? That's just stupid. I'm not going to let that happen.

You do not get to make my choices for me, Peter Parker, she retorted, yet her voice was level and calm. From now on, everything I do is my decision. Not his, not yours, not anybody's. Only mine.

So your first and last decision with this new enlightening mindset is going to be you having your neck snapped? he replied harshly. Wanda, please. I won't be able to live with myself if you do this. It's not what me or my aunt want.

Do not fret, she assured him. Somehow her voice in his head spoke with tangible certainty and sincerity. Fisk will not kill me.

"Tell me what, Spider-Man?" The Kingpin snapped, interrupting their ESP conversation. Peter jumped a little, fearing for a second he might've heard them talking. Then he shook the thought aside.

"T-tell you that...you're so damn fat, the doctor says your blood type is Nutella."

Fisk threw Wanda to the ground and stepped towards him threateningly. "You think that's funny, little hero?" he spat, stomping up to Spider-Man with his face mere inches from his own. "You're testing the limits of my patience."

"I think you're t-testing the limits of Earth's tectonic plates. There's...only so much raw, bulging fat they can handle teetering on top of them before they crack. Have you been playing hopscotch...around San Andreas recently?"

The Kingpin knelt down in front of him, his drilling gaze stony and unbroken. Then, slowly, a grin most unsettling peeled along his lips. "Yes, that's right," he murmured. Peter watched him reach behind his tie and draw a small knife. His spidey sense began to scream inside his head. "Keep cracking your jokes, Spider-Man. Keep trying to hide your true fear." He slowly lowered the blade against his shoulder. A chill shivered down his spine. "Let's see how long your charisma lasts when you're faced with absolute powerlessness, with unstoppable suffering."

Fisk drove the knife deep into his already wounded shoulder. Peter gasped in horror and went stiff as stone. His enemy's glare did not waver in the slightest.

"Go on. Throw out a quip or two. I'm sure it'll make it all better."

Spider-Man had barely opened his mouth when The Kingpin suddenly twisted the knife inside his flesh. He could feel the serrated blade carving up his muscles and scraping against the bone. This time, he couldn't suppress the wail of agony that sprung from his throat. He whipped his head away from the pain as warm liquid began to saturate his skin.

"Stop hurting him!" Wanda cried, squirming helplessly against the wood. Concentrating all her energy, she tried to afflict The Kingpin's head with horrendous images. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her mind was dazed with pain, but she somehow managed to focus her powers long enough. The large man suddenly went rigid as terrible memories from his past flashed before his eyes. His face grew pale, and his hands went still. It only lasted for a second, however, for moments later he shook his head and whirled around to face her, pupils dilated with rage.

"You vile serpent!" he screeched, swinging his foot at her face. "You dare try to use your powers against me?" He kicked her square in the temple, and her head dropped limply against the floor. She laid unmoving.

"Get this traitor out of my sight," he spat over his shoulder. "She's lucky she's such a valuable resource, or I'd have crushed her skull long ago."

The two ugly men gathered her up and dragged her towards the exit. Bloody knife still stuck inside his shoulder, Peter watched her slide away with choppy breaths. "W-wait..." he moaned exhaustedly. "Don't...don't hurt..."

"And as for you, Spider-Man," Fisk huffed, drying his bloodstained hands on a pure white handkerchief. The doors creaked shut, and the pair were left alone in the warehouse once again. "I commend you on your ability to make me lose my temper. I always knew you were eloquent in irritation, but I admit I was ill prepared to deal with it sensibly. I will not let myself slip again."

As Peter gulped in fractured breaths, Fisk curled his fingers around the blade and ripped it from his shoulder. Spider-Man cried feebly and let his head drop in front of his chest, tears beginning to gather in his eyes.

"I realize now that all of this excess drama has been unnecessary. Lincoln, the twins, even the Sinister Six. Why, knowing your secret identity isn't even a requirement anymore. I should have known right when the gift fell into my grasp what I needed to concentrate my efforts towards. My true endgame."

The crimson blade dropped to the floor, bouncing and shimmering in the gentle light. The Kingpin slid his hand beneath his overcoat as Peter dangled hopelessly from his restraints.

"You asked why I targeted you, did you not? Why, out of all the heroes in this world, I went after the insignificant little Spider-Man? Why even when I had every opportunity to kill you, I chose to let you live, and in exchange I tried to twist and torment your mind until you were utterly broken from the inside out?"

From underneath the dark fabric, Fisk revealed a small glass box. It sat comfortably between two of his thick fingers. Peter was staring deliriously at the floor, and The Kingpin held the box in front of his heavily glazed eyes.

"This, Spider-Man. This is your answer to everything."

Blinking hollowly, Peter managed to focus his vision on the small container in front of his face. Answer...to everything...? he thought, trying to ignore the stabbing pain still pulsing from his shoulder. From his everywhere.

"This is the second opportunity I happened upon, thanks to my now deceased underling. The one that has helped me fashion my glorious plan for Hydra's revenge against you and your pathetic team. This is how you're going to help me destroy all that oppose us before ultimately destroying yourself, and everything and everyone you care about."

It took Spider-Man a moment to realize there was something inside the box. It looked like a thick puddle of oil swishing lazily along the bottom. He watched it glide across the glass with a puzzled frown on his sweaty face. What...? Destroy my team? What the hell is this fat lard talking about...?

Then it started to move. The black oil began to move on its own. It crawled up the wall of the box then rolled back on to itself, twitching and writhing sluggishly. It looked like living tar. After watching the blob squirm about for a while longer, Peter's heart suddenly froze inside his chest.

W...wait a minute. No, it couldn't be. It was just a vision. It isn't...there's no way it could...

"Lincoln found this strange creature on a random walk on the town. He managed to capture it and bring it to me. It's truly remarkable to look upon, isn't it?"

Peter stared at the goop with his mouth slightly agape. To his disbelief, it somehow seemed to stare back at him, and the slimy black tendrils began to beat against the glass excitedly.

"Wha...w-what the hell is that thing?"

Fisk lifted it in front of his face curiously. "Well, I'm not exactly sure, Spider-Man. From what I've learned after running a few tests, it is some sort of highly intelligent organism that fuses itself to other creatures in order to stay alive, and in turn it grants its host with uncontrollable power. That, or consumes their bodies whole." He grinned inquisitively, turning it in his hand. "I like to think of it as a...a symbiote. A beautiful, venomous symbiote."

As the seconds ticked by, the black sludge grew more and more active, and Peter grew more and more terrified. His heart pounded against his broken ribs; all of the color had drained from his face. His breathing was quick and shaky.

"I'm surprised you don't know what it is, Spider-Man. After all, you and this creature share the same blood."

Peter lifted his gaze to stare fearfully at The Kingpin. "What do you mean? How...how could you possibly know that—?"

"Hydra still had some of your DNA left over from when they were studying chimeras," he explained cooly. "I compared that to the DNA of this little fella, and what do you know—it was almost exactly the same. Somehow, you and the symbiote are related. Somehow, one of you was created from the other."

Spider-Man's blood ran cold. He felt like he was having a panic attack. No...gosh, don't let it be true. Please just let this be another vision. Please don't let this be real.

But this nightmare wasn't ending. The black ooze still sat in front of him, slithering about fervently. The words of the creature from the night-terror so long ago replayed sinisterly in his head. The nightmare he'd had after he'd nearly killed himself while trying to save the city from the plague of cross-species. The words that the same black monster that'd been haunting his dreams over the last few days had told him during the horrible, terrifying episode. When the cross-species poison tore your DNA apart, I was created. After The Other managed to piece you back together, I remained inside of you, as the byproduct of the temporary genetic separation you experienced. Your blood mixed with the poison and the venom made me, which means that you and I have the same DNA. We are the same.

The horrifying creature from the internal battle. The black scourge plaguing his visions. Were those beasts actually one and the same, and somehow not just figments of his imagination? Was the monster real—created from his being in the aftermath of his near-suicide mission? And was that what was squirming right before his eyes inside the small glass box in his enemy's hand?

If all this was true—if all that he was fearing was correct—then he had every reason in the world to be scared out of his mind.

Eyes red with terror, Peter dropped his gaze to the floor. "I...I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, actually," Fisk grinned. "I think you somehow recognize the symbiote. And, if I'm not mistaken—" He held the box up close to Peter's face. "—I think the symbiote recognizes you."

The black monster began to throw itself against the glass with maddening ferocity. The demonic face with the jagged teeth and empty eyes that Peter had grown to fear began to form inside the mass of ooze. Spider-Man drew back as far from the box as he possibly could, chest heaving with every breath. The Kingpin let it jump at him a few more times just for his own amusement, then pulled the symbiote away and grabbed the top of the container in his hand.

"W-what are you...?"

"You seem a little on edge, Spidey. I suppose Wanda's short-lived torture session with you worked after all. I wanted you as close to the deep end as possible so once I reached this point, all it would take was one little push to set you off entirely."

"What do you mean? What're...what are you talking about?"

The Kingpin began to slowly screw the lid off the small glass box. Peter's eyes went wide.

"Hey! Wha—what are you doing?"

"I'm curious, Spider-Man," Fisk pondered out loud, twisting the top with agonizing leisure. "In every trial thus far, the symbiote has either completely devoured its host subject, or transformed them into a mindless monster of violence and destruction. But with someone like you, whom it shares its very own blood with, which do you think it will choose? Will the beast consume you, transform you into the Trojan Horse I pray you'll become, or do something new, something entirely different? Wouldn't you like to know as well?"

In that moment, with a small popping noise, the lid separated from the glass container. The inky creature writhed excitedly at the bottom of the box, and The Kingpin held it up to Peter's frightened face.

"Well, why don't we stop beating around the bush and simply put it to the test?"

Just as it did in all of his nightmares, the symbiote began crawling towards him. Off the bottom, up the walls of the glass. Spider-Man reeled back fearfully.

"No...wait a minute..."

The black monster began to creep out of the opening.

"P-please. Don't do this. You—you can't..."

Its slimy form began to stretch towards his body. The fluid mass of living darkness squirmed with eager excitement. Peter wrenched his face away in unrivaled horror.

"Stop it! Get away from me!"

His spidey sense suddenly went nuts. He realized that this entire time, it hadn't been going off at all. Then, from every direction, the building began to explode. One by one, the crates along the walls erupted into balls of fire. Shards of flaming wood, glass, concrete, and everything in between flew at the pair in the center of the room, and The Kingpin bellowed in surprise. The shiny box dropped from his grasp and shattered against the floor. Screaming, the enormous man went sprinting for the exit and disappeared behind a pillar of fire. Spider-Man was left in the blazing building all alone.

It all had happened so fast Peter had barely any time to process the chaos around him. "Hey! W-wait! Help me!" he cried desperately. Planks of burning wood dropped from above as he began pulling at his restraints with all his might. His exhausted muscles strained; sweat poured down his broken body. And yet, despite all his effort, the chains would not release him. He was too weak to fight anymore. Terrible, sickening heat beat against him from every direction. His raw wounds screamed in the roaring blaze. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, the ceiling suddenly gave out overhead and collapsed on top of him in an avalanche of smoldering debris. And in that very instant, all hope was lost.

"H-help...please...some...body..."

He didn't know what had caused this, or why this had happened, but one thing he was sure of—it was over. He couldn't see or feel anything. He was numb. He had entered a world of despair—a world on fire. Bleeding, beaten, broken, and burning, the young hero laid beneath the fallen remains of the abandoned warehouse, heartbeat slow, breaths shallow, and vision fading. Death was imminent.

Then, among the raging sea of blurry colors, the outline of a figure materialized before him. It was tall, athletic, and dark. Vaguely he felt a weight relieve from his back, the chains break from his wrists and feet, and smoky, dry air surged into his lungs. Peter coughed weakly, everything dull and swirly around him, when a pair of hands slid underneath his body and lifted him out of the seething ruins. Am I...being saved? he realized dimly. As the person rolled him into his arms and held him close against his chest, Peter caught a glimpse of his rescuer's face. It...looks like...like a man. A man in a...black...mask...?

The thoughts ran through his mind deliriously—right before his eyes rolled back into his head. But just as Spider-Man slipped out of consciousness, he heard a gentle voice speak into his ear. It was calm, collected, but at the same time uneasy. It was a voice he had never heard before.

"Don't worry, kid," it spoke hastily. "I've got you."

EEEE! I'm sorry, I had to do it. I couldn't help myself. I love him so much. Okay but anyway so yeah I know this is probably super confusing if you haven't read my first story in a while, so sorry. You can jump back if you need a refresher cuz I don't really feel like explaining it all right here :P. BUT OMG I'm so excited to write this next chapter though because it has THEM in it! Yaaay! I love them! I hope you guys love them too! Sorry for all the ambiguity! Until next time! Review maybe? ;D