He woke slowly. He wondered what day it was, and if he was late for school. Usually his alarm woke him, and if that didn't work – which it often didn't – then Aunt May would come in, knocking a few short times before opening the door, telling him to get his butt out of bed and go to school. If he got up at that point, he would get hot oatmeal and a heaping of brown sugar and juice. If he slept for another twenty minutes, he got a piece of toast and a shove out the door – but not without a kiss on the cheek, of course.
He wondered what it would be today. If this was just the first wake up call, or –
It was the tingling of his skin, followed by the distinct hum of multiple computers, that alerted him something was off.
Peter blinked a few times before he finally managed to open his eyes. It took him a moment, but eventually he realised that he was looking at the ground. And that the ground was white. Frowning, he lifted his head, his eyes taking in the pane of glass a few feet away from him. Looking round, Peter realised that the glass was surrounding him, from top to bottom. He was encased within it. The pieces started clicking into place.
Peter made to move his arms, only to be stopped. He looked down and saw that he was being held up by metal cuffs, which were locked to each of his wrists and legs. He could feel a wall behind him, icy cold against his back.
He didn't have much time to question what was happening, as the thoughts he did have were interrupted by low, melodic voice:
"Hello Peter. It's so nice to finally have the pleasure of your company."
Peter blinked, frowning, willing his eyes to focus through the glass onto the blurry figure beyond. He blinked a few more times, before the person finally came into focus.
He had never seen the man before, of that he was certain. The lines across his face marked his age, though his brown hair only had a few streaks of grey. He looked quickly put together, as though he had just gotten out of bed, threw on a lab coat, and licked his hair back with his hand. Nonetheless, his eye were dark and his smile was wide.
A small, stout man stood beside him in a lab coat of his own, a slightly cowering, sniveling expression on his face. Staring at him, Peter couldn't help but think – as cliché as it was – that he looked vaguely like a rat. He kept glancing between Peter and the man, a clipboard held tightly in one hand and a pen in the other. Peter's stomach turned, a spark of worry suddenly shooting through his body.
Licking his lips, Peter looked back to the man, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. "Who – who are you? Wh… where am I?"
The man gave a tight-lipped smile, as though the questions were beneath him but he still had to respond. "My name is not important. And I think it would be obvious where you are, Mister Parker."
The voice crawled its way through Peter's ears to the back of his mind and he blinked, then frowned, recognition slowly taking hold as faint laughter echoed in his ears. He stared at the man, his brows slowly narrowing into a frown. "You… you're that guy. That green suit, the… the goblin."
The man's tight-lipped smiled pulled up into a grin. He started walking over to the desk filled with computers. "You're a smart man, Mister Parker. Just like I thought you'd be." He began clicking the mouse and Peter tried to lean forward, but the screen was turned and he couldn't see what he was doing.
"What do you want with me?" Peter asked. He pulled at the chains around his wrists, and though they strained and creaked against his strength, they didn't pull free. The man – the goblin – didn't answer.
As Peter watched him, a suddenly more important question whispered in his mind. Flashes of memory of the man cackling the name Spider-Man went through his mind, and he suddenly realised that he had now been calling him by his real name – by Peter Parker.
He licked his lips again, staring at the man wide eyes, his tongue suddenly voicing his question before he could stop it: "How… how do you know who I am?"
The man finally finished what he was doing and looked up, a small smile on his face, but he said nothing.
Peter could feel his muscles tensing and he pulled against the restraints, the question suddenly needing an answer now. "How do you know me?!" he shouted. "Tell me! How do you know who I am?!"
The smaller, rat-like man scurried over to the computers and took a seat, moving his hands until they were just hovering above the keyboard. He kept them just above the keys and looked up, waiting.
Peter's spidey-senses began tingling once more in the back of his neck, making its way down his back. Something was happening, he could feel it; but he didn't know what.
The goblin started walking forward until he was just on the other side of the glass. He looked up at Peter with a smile. Peter stared back at him, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
The goblin continued to smile, though it never reached his eyes. "You're a very important man, Peter Parker. Someone like you isn't easy to forget." The man's eyes darkened as his smile slightly broadened. "Well, maybe that's not so true…."
The man turned around and began walking back to the desk, cutting Peter off before he could speak. "You have something I want, Mister Parker. And I plan to take it now."
Peter frowned, his brows furrowing together as he tried to think of what the hell the man could possibly be talking about. He watched as the goblin leaned over the smaller man's shoulder, staring intently into the computer.
"Wh-what?" Peter asked. "You want… you want my powers?" It was the only thing he could think of, the only possible thing the goblin-man could want. "You want Spider-Man?"
At this the man looked up, his brows raised curiously. "Your powers as Spider-Man?" he repeated. He paused for a moment, before continuing. "Well yes, I suppose that is something to consider. Super-strength, increased senses, the ability to climb walls. Those could be useful. It's not like we can replicate the spider that bit you; we never were able to find it. Perhaps we can set up a test trial in future…." The man trailed off, falling silent as he turned back at the computer.
Peter stared, confusion etched across his face. But that was the only thing he had; there was nothing else about him that they could possibly want. Aside from his powers as Spider-Man, he was only Peter Parker. He was just another human. He was no one.
After a few minutes of silence the goblin-man straightened and turned, looking up at Peter. "I'll leave you in Doctor Stromm's hands for now," he said. "He will get you ready for tonight. I'll see you then, Mister Parker."
With that the man left the room, leaving Peter alone with only the other "doctor" for company.
Silence fell over the room, the clicking of the keyboard the only sound to be heard.
Peter didn't know what to think. He felt as though he'd been hit by a tidal wave, thrown a million miles away and spun around faster and faster and faster, not knowing where he was or where he was going, only to be suddenly thrust back into the air and onto land he didn't recognise at all.
These men knew who he was. They wouldn't tell him how, or what they wanted with him, but they knew who he was.
They knew who he was.
Not just as Peter Parker, whose records of existence were still buried somewhere within wires and clouds, but also as Spider-Man – whose records of existence shouldn't exist at all. Peter had already tried looking for videos of him once on YouTube; all he got was a myriad of videos, from men chasing after and running from spiders, to people dressed up for Halloween as tarantulas and black widows. But not even a hint of a red and blue, web-slinging vigilante.
But these people – whoever they were – knew who Spider-Man was. They knew who he was. And they knew he was Spider-Man.
The knowledge made his stomach twist and his heart stop, in a way that sent a wave of nausea swirling through him and made him want to throw up.
For nearly two years he had thought he was alone; he had thought he'd been forgotten, he had thought everything and everyone from his old life was gone forever. But here, right in front of him, were two people who defied that logic, people who knew both his name and his alias. So that could only mean that everyone's memories hadn't all been taken, like he'd thought. There could be more people that remembered him… right?
If only the people who did know him weren't trying to kill him.
After a long while Peter licked his lips and leaned forward. If he could talk to this wiry, rat-looking man, if he could get on his good side, then maybe – just maybe – he'd give something up, he'd tell Peter what he wanted so badly to know.
Peter opened his mouth, then stopped. He blinked.
What was he thinking? He'd been attacked – he'd been kidnapped, for God's sake. He should be trying to think of a way to escape, not trying to get someone to ponder on each of their favourite memories of him.
Peter bit his tongue and stayed still, wondering what on earth he should do next.
He had to escape, that much was obvious. They were clearly planning something for him, and being in this glass cage made him feel suspiciously like a lab rat.
Thanos aside, he'd never quite been in this situation before. Entirely alone, at the hands of lab-coated men who refused to let him go. Peter wracked his mind, but no matter how much he tried to think of a way to escape, he just couldn't find one.
Peter tried to ignore the rising beat of his heart, the rush of adrenaline that was settling within him as panic began to rise. He looked down at his wrist and pulled, trying again to see just how much strength would be needed to break it. He strained his muscles, trying discreetly to pull as hard as he could. But the steel clasp held firm, and refused to do anything other than give a slight groan. Peter then tried his other wrist, then his legs, all to no avail.
"I wouldn't waste my energy, if I were you."
Peter's head snapped up and he looked at the man – Doctor Stromm, the goblin had called him – who was still sitting in his seat. He wasn't looking at Peter, continuing instead to stare at his computer with disinterested focus.
Peter licked his lips again, focusing on slowing the fast beat of his heart. He was trapped. He was well and truly trapped, and there wasn't a single person in the entire world who knew he was here, who was wondering where he was, who was missing him.
Peter swallowed, clenching his fists. Damn it all, then. If he couldn't get out, then he might as well try. He had nothing else to lose.
"How do you know who I am?" he finally asked. "You shouldn't know who I am. No one else knows who I am. So… so how?"
Stromm's eyes flickered up, settling on Peter for a moment before looking back down at the computer. "I would think it's obvious, young man – my boss told me about you."
Peter frowned, the excitement in him fading. Okay, so this guy didn't actually know who he was from Before. But if he didn't actually know who Peter Parker or Spider-Man were, then that meant the only one who did, was….
"To be honest, I was wondering why my boss wanted so badly to find you. As far as I'm aware, you're just another kid who fell off the radar after he ran away from home." The man sighed. "But after that meeting, my boss became obsessed with trying to find you. It took us awhile, but eventually we were able to track you down.
"It's rather annoying, actually. We were working on a project that I was very interested in, and had put a lot of my effort into, I'm not ashamed to say. But I had to drop everything just like that, so that we could focus all our attention on you."
Stromm looked up at Peter again, this time with a glare. "So if you're wondering why you're here, I'd save my breath. My boss never told me why he wanted you, but he pays me well so I've never asked. But I can certainly say that upon seeing you now, you don't look the least bit special to me."
Peter fought to keep the frown off his face, fought to keep himself emotionless, when the truth was… he knew he wasn't special, either. So what on earth did the goblin-man want with him?
They fell into another long silence after that, only the hum of the computers and clacking of the keyboard the only things Peter could hear.
Perhaps they'd been mistaken. Perhaps they'd gotten the wrong guy. Perhaps….
But no. The man had said his name – he had said the name Spider-Man, and in the minds of the people now, Spider-Man shouldn't exist. He didn't exist. All records of Peter ended before the spider bite. So how…?
It was a question that bothered him for the rest of the night. A question that, no matter how hard he tried, Peter couldn't find an answer to. The only answer he could think of was that somehow, some way, not everyone's memories had been taken away. That somewhere, somehow, there were people that remembered him. That knew he had once existed.
But that contradicted everything he had come to know over the past near-two years. He had spent so many months searching for anything, for anyone, that might somehow know him, and he'd found nothing – no one.
He'd been so desperate at one point that he'd drop the name "Spider-Man" into conversations with others on the street, remarking that it was a good thing he wasn't around anymore, or wondering where he might've gone. Everyone had only given him weird looks, some bluntly stating they thought he was insane, others hinting that they thought he was high. After a while it became painfully clear that no one, at least no one on the streets, had any knowledge of who Spider-Man was.
The muscles in Peter's arms and legs ached, begging for release after having stood for so long. It had to have been hours by this point, though he couldn't say how many. The shackles dug into his skin as Peter relaxed, but he couldn't help it; exhaustion was taking hold.
"Don't worry," Stromm said lightly, obviously having noticed Peter's discomfort. "Boss will be down shortly."
"Then what?" Peter asked, annoyance laced in his voice. He was getting sick of this. "We're gonna sing together? We're gonna sit around the campfire and make smores?"
Stromm looked up, a brow slightly raised. "Hardly. Boss has more important things to do than that."
"And what important things are that?"
"Why my dear Mister Parker, they are far more important than you could possibly know."
Peter's head snapped up and he watched as the goblin-man walked into the room, a smile on his face.
Peter instinctively moved forward, anger now bubbling beneath his veins. "Why do you want me?!" he yelled. "Why am I here?! Just let me go! Just let me fucking go –."
"Ah ah ah," the man interrupted. "We'll have none of that now. Did your parents teach you to use such language?"
"My parents are dead," Peter spat.
"Yes, they are," the man shot back, his smile suddenly gone. "Which is a good thing, really. I don't think they would want to see what's become of their one and only child. They would be so ashamed to see you sleeping in sewer drains and diving through dumpsters."
Peter balked back, staring at the man with wide, angry eyes. How could they – had they been –
"Yes that's right. We've been watching you for a while, now, Mister Parker. It took us a long time to track you down, but in the end it was a success. But you needn't worry; you'll soon be back on the streets again with the rest of the useless degenerates. We just need to get one thing from you, and then we'll send you on your way."
"You want my powers," Peter stated. Part of him screamed and fought against the idea of his powers being taken away from him, of losing what had become such an instinctual and intrinsic part of his life. But then, really, what did it matter? It wasn't like he was using them anymore anyway; and if meant getting out of here, if it meant being freed, then….
"Didn't we already talk about this?" the goblin-man huffed. "I don't care about your little spider abilities. Besides, they are so greatly ingrained within you now as to be no more different than the rest of your DNA. Trying to remove them would damage you beyond repair to the point that it may as well kill you. And we're not after that today, I'm afraid."
Peter couldn't be more confused than he was now. If the man was telling the truth, if he really wasn't after his powers, then what was it he could possibly want? What was it that he thought Peter had? He was an underage kid living on the streets – he had nothing.
As though reading his mind, the man smiled. It was starting to grate on Peter's nerves. "You're special, Mister Parker. You're very special indeed. You have something that many people will want; which is why I'm taking it first."
Peter could only stare in utter, angry bewilderment. There was only one possible answer to any of this.
"You're insane," Peter said, shaking his head. "You're completely insane."
"Some people have called me that, I will admit," the man said. "But those people who called me that are now dead. It's a shame I can't say the same will be for you, as you are starting to prove an annoying little bug, but as I've said, you're just far too important right now for that."
The man turned and walked over to another desk, where a glass box sat on top. He opened it up and took out a small, stoppered jar, which was filled with red liquid. Peter watched guardedly as he walked towards him, where another container sat hooked against the cage. He opened it up, pulling out the stopper with a small "pop" and slotted the jar inside, closing the door afterwards.
Peter's neck tingled, and he knew that his spidey-senses – as haywire as they had been these last five and some hours – was warning him, telling him to be on guard, to prepare; that something was going to happen, and it wouldn't be good.
The chamber began to groan, the sounds of bangs and moving gears echoing like an ominous shadow moving in the dark. Without warning the metal plank that Peter had been held upright against jerked, and Peter began to move until he was laying fully on his back and staring at the top of the glass above him.
He tried to lift his head and chest, but the moment he did, four iron straps appeared out of the board, moving towards each other until they met and became one. Two met across his chest, while the others met just above his forehead. He tried to move, to raise his head again and look at the two men through the glass, but every attempt was stopped by the metal binds.
His heart suddenly began to beat painfully in this chest. A wave of claustrophobia that Peter didn't know he had suddenly washed over him, panicked adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins.
Whereas he had been angry and defiant before, Peter was now terrifyingly afraid.
His ears twitched as he listened to the sound of footsteps getting louder and louder, before a door – the door to the chamber – was opened, its hinges screeching painfully in Peter's ears. The footsteps drew closer until at last the man's – the goblin's – face appeared over him, his eyes crinkled in a smile above the medical mask that now covered his mouth.
"Now don't worry, my young man – there is nothing to truly be afraid of. I'm just going to be making a rather, shall we say, small incision just a little ways below your clavicle. After I get what I need, Doctor Stromm will stitch you right back up and send you on your merry little way. Does that sound good?"
The sound of his blood was now rushing in his ears, as true-panic dug its claws into his muscles and mind, leaving him completely frozen in place. It wasn't until the shimmer of light off a scalpel flashed in his eyes did the ice break, and Peter was suddenly thrashing against the binds, trying anything he could to get out, get out, get out.
"N-no, please! Please, don't – please I'll do – I'll do whatever you want, just stop! STOP!"
The blade stopped right above the skin of Peter's chest, hovering like a snake moments before it it was about to strike.
"Torture isn't exactly in my repertoire," the man said with a sigh. "I have a son about your age, and it gives me no good feeling to do this. But from my estimations, the success of the extraction will be higher if you are conscious. So this is the way it must be. From what I've been told, you're a man of science yourself; so surely you can appreciate the need for these parameters, don't you agree?"
With crinkled eyes, the man brought the blade down.
Peter screamed.
He was under water.
At least, that was what it felt like. A pressure pushed against him on all sides, rippling against his skin, brushing across his face. It surrounded him, but not in a horrid way like being in the chamber. No. Rather, it felt as though it were keeping him still; as though it were holding him in a warm grasp. Light enough so that he didn't feel trapped; but tight enough that he couldn't escape, either.
He opened his eyes.
Everything was dark; it were as though he was standing in nothing. But he had been in space before; he knew what it was like to stand in its darkness, far from the light of the sun. Yet somehow, this didn't feel like that. This was different. This darkness was something; it wasn't nothing. It had a form; the darkness was something physical in and of itself. It moved all around him, watching him, following him. It was alive, it was sentient, it was thinking.
And yet for all this Being was, there was something it was not:
Frightening.
For some reason which Peter couldn't figure out, he wasn't afraid. The senses that had always whispered in the back of his mind, that had always ran a cold finger down his neck whenever something was wrong, whenever there was danger – it instead did the opposite now. Now when his mind was frightened and didn't have a clue what was happening, his spidey-senses whispered that everything was okay, that somehow, someway, this.. this Being – whatever it was – wasn't here to hurt him. That if anything, it was protecting him.
But how could that be?
A light suddenly appeared far off in front of him, piercing through the darkness like molten steel through ice.
Peter flinched, surprised, and made to move his arms in front of his face, when a voice suddenly echoed through the air. It said only three, simple words, that echoed around and reverberated through him like a drum:
"You will understand."
Peter stared at the light, his eyes wide as he struggled to find words, any words, to say anything to the Being, to ask what it was, to ask where he was, to ask –
The sound of a rushing water suddenly filled his ears and a roaring wind slammed into him, forcing him to shut his eyes and try to keep himself from falling over, to keep from being buried completely underneath its weight, and –
A pain unlike any other he'd ever felt erupted in the middle of his chest, and Peter instinctively looked down as his hands began clawing at it, trying to get rid of the pain, to stop whatever was happening, to –
A ragged line began to appear, jaggedly making its way between his breast and down towards his sternum. Light shone out from under it, as though the sun were beneath and trying to get out. Peter watched with terror-filled eyes as the light shone brighter and brighter, almost blinding him.
Something within him started to cry out, and Peter suddenly knew that whatever was happening, needed to stop; that whatever was in there couldn't be let out.
Not knowing what else to do, Peter wrapped his arms across his naked shoulders, and squeezed as hard as he could.
He began to shake, harder and harder until he felt as though his entire body was going to explode. Pain began searing through his chest again, before reaching through the rest of his body, leaving him feeling as though he were burning from the inside out.
Noise began to reach his ears, the sounds of computers screeching and people shouting. He caught pieces of words, each barely strung together, each barely comprehensible: "...un! ...et to th… achine! … off! OFF! ...ive… th… serum… ive th ...erum!"
Peter blinked rapidly, the images of glass and the sound of computers going haywire suddenly hitting his senses, crashing over them with the force of a tidal wave. When Peter finally managed to quit blinking and focus, all he could see was red.
He could see the man above him, that damned goblin that had dragged and put him here in the first place. He was shouting, yelling at someone – his assistant, Stromm, who must've been in the other room – and looking far more frantic than Peter had yet to see him.
"Gas him!" the goblin yelled. He abandoned his post by Peter's side, running through the glass chamber until he was on the other side, slamming the door shut behind him.
A red, noxious gas began pouring into the chamber, filling it up entirely until Peter could see nothing else.
It entered his nose and his mouth, filling his lungs until he was suffocating. He bucked, his body smashing against the iron bonds that held him down.
Only one single thought ran through his mind: he had to get out of here. He had to get out of here, he had to get out of here, he had to get out get out get out.
He coughed, gasping as he tried to take back his breath.
Then suddenly, as though someone had hit the mute button, everything went silent.
Strength poured through him like kerosene, roaring through his veins like fire. Energy started filling him, feeding his senses, more and more until he could hear the clicking of buttons three floors above him and could smell each and every scent of every man and object in the room.
The incessant screeching of the computers as they sounded in alert began to grate in Peter's ears, and finally he'd had enough. He wanted out, and he wanted out now.
Pushing against the steel restraints across his wrist, the metal snapped off, flying forward and embedding itself with the chamber's glass. He did the same with his other wrist, then with his legs, and lastly with the binds around his chest and forehead, until every one of them was either laying across the floor or in the now-shattered glass.
Relief suddenly poured through his as he stepped forward. Free, he was finally free.
Now he needed to get out.
Just as Peter started moving towards the door, the door suddenly slammed open, the goblin-man standing on the other side. His eye were wide and manic with anger, his chest heaving as he stared at Peter.
"How – how are you –," the man spluttered, his face red. The mania in his eyes abated a small bit, as a silent fury took over. "No. No, I won't let you go. You're mine, now – I found you. It may not have worked the first time but we can try again, we can try again, and –."
Peter had had enough. He was no one's prisoner, and he was certainly no one's science experiment.
As though sensing what he was about to do, the goblin moved first and lunged at him, grabbing Peter's wrist with a sickening crunch. He threw Peter down with an inhuman strength, sending them crashing into the side of the glass, but he didn't let go. They struggled for a few moments, each trying to gain the upper hand.
Peter had thought the suit was what had given the goblin his strength, but he was wrong. Whatever this man was, he was not completely human. Whether he was like Peter or was some other creature entirely, he didn't know – and Peter didn't care to find out.
As they continued to struggle, the goblin's hand managed to slip its way out of Peter's grasp and took hold of his neck, squeezing as hard as he could.
A sudden and terrifying anger swelled up within him, and Peter saw red.
Letting go of the goblin's shoulders, Peter grabbed hold of the man's hands and ripped them off his neck. Lifting his knees, Peter shoved his legs beneath the goblin and kicked.
The goblin went flying across the chamber, the force sending him straight through the glass with a loud crash. But the momentum didn't end, not until he had landed on the floor, sliding on his back until he crashed into the computer desk. He started to get back up, to regain his footing, but Peter wouldn't give him that chance.
Peter stayed crouched against the broken glass for only a moment before he leaped forward, nearly flying through the air as he ran and collided with the goblin, sending them both careening across the floor. They struggled until Peter was finally sitting on top of him, his hands wrapped around the man's neck.
Everything he saw was coloured with red. The man began to gasp, clawing at Peter's chest, his arms, his face. Even though he was clearly losing, the man was still angry, he was still defiant. The look on his face made Peter want to punch him straight across it.
He hated that face. He hated that face so damned much; his manic eyes, the lines on his cheeks, the stupid, smug grin across his lips. He hated it. He hated it so much, he just wanted to bury it. He wanted to cover it, to smother it, to make it so he would never have to see that face again.
Without thinking, Peter let his right hand go off the man's neck and instead spread it over his face. He pushed and he pushed hard, his fingers clenching into the man's skin as he thought nothing more than of ending this stupid, murderous, horrible man's life.
His wrist grew hot, the muscles twisting painfully, and a second later a webbed string began shooting from it. It danced and wove beneath his hand and fingers and onto the man's face, spreading and building faster and faster, until his face was completely covered beneath it.
Just a little more. Just a little more and it would be too much for him to get off, too much for him to rip open and breathe. He would suffocate and die, and New York would no longer have to deal with a green, grenade-throwing maniac. Just a little bit more, and –
A shot rang out, the sound of the bang clashing like thunder through his ears, startling him. In the next half-second he felt a hot, searing pain tear through his shoulder. He was knocked off his feet, landing on his side beside the now-struggling goblin, who was grasping weakly at the webs around his face.
A fresh wave of anger crashed over him and Peter stood to his feet, his narrowed eyes glaring at Stromm, who was standing on the other side of the room, a gun held in his hand and pointed towards Peter.
Without waiting another moment, Peter held his hand forward towards Stromm. A web shot out and flew towards him; it hit the gun in his hand and Peter immediately grabbed hold of the web, whipping it to the side. The gun ripped out of Stromm's hands and flew across the room, crashing into the side of the wall and breaking into pieces. Stromm, now completely defenseless, looked up at Peter with wide, terrified eyes, his hands held up in the weakest attempt of surrender.
Peter wanted to go after him. The anger that was still coursing through his veins urged him to run forward, to shoot him wrap him up until he was completely covered, until the webbing around his face and body completely suffocated him to death –
The searing hot pain in his shoulder began making itself known once more and Peter flinched, his arm faltering in front of him. The strength and energy that he'd had moments before was beginning to wane, and all Peter could now focus on was the burning fire in his shoulder.
He needed to get out of here. He needed to stop this pain, to get the burning iron out. If he waited any longer, he would no longer have the upper hand.
Turning round, Peter's eyes shot rapidly around the room until they landed on the door. Ignoring everything else, Peter ran to the door and pulled, wrenching it completely off its hinges. He threw it to the side and continued on. He ran through the hallways, his feet leading his mind as instinct took over. In a few moments he saw a door with an exit sign above it. He ran towards it, slamming it open and stumbling out onto a dark and empty street. He had no clue where he was, but that didn't matter – he only knew what he had to do:
Run.