#also i am down on hands and knees here can somebody watch the iron claw buff crying zac efron is bouncing around my head like a pinball

[tenderlady]

thank you to @oedipuscomplexes for tagging me to post 5 songs i'm currently into!! i've been listening to a ton of new (to me, anyway) music recently, but not a whole lot of it has stuck with me, so this is what we're rocking with:

i am tagging @deadtypewriter @whitealbum @bipbops @crepesuzette2023 @goldslick and anybody else who wants to use me as an excuse to share what they've been listening to <3

[planetary-runaway]

Son

“W-will?” came a quiet, disbelieving voice, echoing from behind the newly revived ex-president, making him spin on his heel, already pasting a bright smile onto his face, as had become his custom interacting with anyone since he gained the white streak belying how truly old he was. “Oh! Fundy!” he positively beamed, though his eyes were too sharp, his teeth too white to have given anyone a sense of ease, especially as he held his arms out in front of him as if presenting the fox hybrid to his companion. “Look, Tommy! It’s Fundy.” He certainly wasn’t being genuine, all three of those present could hear the mocking remnants of a much friendlier ghost lingering in the higher pitches, and, judging by the snide curl of his lip as he continued, Will knew exactly what he was doing. “What can I do for you? Just a house call?”

Hackles raising as Wilbur stepped forward, Fundy stumbled back a little, and shoved a piece of paper into his pocket, eyeing Tommy warily, seeing as though he was hunched, staring at the grass of his lawn, with his hands in his pockets, just letting this happen. “N-No, it’s fine, I just... I was just going to ask Tommy something, but- but I'll come back later. Yeah, I'm sure it can wait.” he stammered out an excuse, trying to back off, back onto the prime path, where he could turn tail, but Wilbur merely waved it aside dismissively. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure Toms would be happy to help.” he smiled, pinning the hybrid with a strangely, unfamiliar clear gaze, as he comfortably threw an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. He didn’t seem to notice as the teen stumbled numbly, not once looking up from the small purple flower blooming from his lawn, letting Will move him about as if he was naught but a ragdoll, though Fundy bristled at the comfortable, familial gesture, grinding his teeth.

“Yeah... sure.” Tommy spoke hollowly, the movement having made a militarily cropped piece of his hair catch the light, white as bone, standing out starkly against the spun gold of the rest of his rumpled hair. Even from the other end of the lawn, Fundy could see how weary he was, how the dark circles had multiplied as if branding themselves onto his skin permanently, like they were weighing his shoulders down. He looked so small next to the still-beaming Wilbur, so different from the larger-than-life character Fundy had known from his childhood. It was disconcerting, but still, he forced his feet to move forward, toward the duo, feeling as his too-big boots slid on the cropped grass, and set his jaw. Completely blanking the taller, Fundy quickly addressed Tommy, not wanting to spend any longer in Will’s presence than he had to, let alone within arm’s reach. “I- Do you have any spare iron? Niki needs to rebuild her beacon.”

It wasn’t the politest or most successful of conversations, but, as Tommy raised a cracked, bruised hand, and pointed back into the house, Fundy could have sworn he saw a flicker of surprise come over Wilbur’s face. A gentle head bow, and murmured thanks later, Fundy was passing through into the small dirt house- if it could even be called that- and rummaging through the assorted junk in Tommy’s chests, not organised in the slightest sense. They look like they had been ransacked recently, not a single piece of stone seeming to have lodged in a corner somewhere, forgotten. But, before he could think to question it, sure Tommy would have had at least some, Fundy’s hands brushed the smooth coolness of a few blocks of iron, sandwiched between two completely unrelated things, and his mind was sent on a completely different line of thought.

Yanking it out, he was surprised to see there was more than he thought, even if he did send a few dented buckets and an old, ragged leash flying in the movement. Still, he did have some level of decency, sure that if Tommy had this much iron, he must have had a need for it. So, as much as he wanted to take the whole stack, Fundy had some decency, slipping half into his pack for later, and carefully stowing the rest back into the chest in a much less dangerous pile, for... whatever the teen would need it for. It was a joke around the area that, often, very little in these chests was Tommy’s so, while he was sure somebody would currently be hunting, very confused, for their materials, there was also an unspoken knowledge between everyone that Tommy never took anything that would leave people really wanting, and, maybe...7 times out of 10, he would give it back after a while anyway.

Chuckling to himself as he latched the chest closed again, and prepared to stand back up from the cool, dirt floor, Fundy almost missed the tell-tale rumble of Wilbur starting to raise his voice from outside, where he had stayed with Tommy, basking in the sun as if it seemed to spotlight him alone. Gasping in a breath to hold, a faded memory coming back to him of long nights spent sleeplessly in the tall grass of a walled community, of hearing raised voices and incensed footsteps from inside his father’s office, Fundy forced himself to his feet, ignoring how his knees protested and wobbled, padding as silently as he was able over to the door to peek outside.

It wasn’t a fun sight to behold, either, Wilbur having taken Tommy by the shoulder as he spoke, a manic look in his eyes as he gestured wildly with his free arm, to the neighbourhood around them, to the sky, and the ground, and even to the house, though neither saw Fundy, him having ducked out of sight just in time. He wasn’t sure why he had done it, both of them knowing he was there, but, in the split second he had to react, it had felt like the right thing to do. He didn’t want to look back out there, so, instead, he leant his heaving back against the soft dirt wall, feeling the chill soak through his jacket and thin shirt, a small relief to his skin, and listened instead.

“Listen Tommy! This? This will be our legacy! If we can do this...” he broke off into laughter, so hauntingly familiar that it made Fundy’s heart ache to hear, almost being able to imagine a million different Wilburs, arms spread wide, face tilted to the sky. “When we do this, we’ll be saints! Nobody will be able to touch us again! We'll be gods, Tommy!” he spoke quickly, as if he was afraid that, if he didn’t get all his words out right that second, he would never get a chance to say them again, but like he didn’t care what it was that he said. “We will be... Tommy, we’ll be unstoppable!” It sounded more like a monologue to Fundy, who, straining his ears, only just heard Tommy’s mumbled reply, apathetic and weary as he sighed. “Yeah... gods.” He echoed, sounding decades older to the young fox, so used to the blonde spitfire throwing curses and rebuttals about like water, or at least swallowing back the more offensive things when warned. But right now, he just sounded defeated, like he had nothing left. And really, he didn’t, he didn’t even get to die in peace, so why should he be enthusiastic, knowing he would just be kept going indefinitely. It was a common source of outrage about the entire nation, that whatever had happened after Doomsday had broken their dear Tommy, though nobody knew much more than that he had lost a life, the news not having become popular, understandably.

“And you, Toms!” Will continued, as if he hadn’t heard anything, followed by a loud rustling and stumbling steps. “You will be my right-hand man, all over again! This time we will win, my boy and I!” The iron suddenly felt ten times heavier, in Fundy’s pack, and in his stomach, a sick, sinking feeling washing over him. He couldn’t have just said that, right? He didn’t mean it, surely. But still, no amount of lying to himself could stop as he spun, flinging the door open angrily. “And what am I, Wilbur?” he snapped, teeth bared as he stood, haloed with darkness from the dim house, in the doorway, regarding the pair with poorly veiled disdain. “What role do I play? Gunna leave me alone again? Leave me behind?” Jealousy was rising, hot and thick, in his throat as he spoke, raging like a monster and driving him to step forward, stalking toward Will, who had the audacity to still hold an arrogant smirk on his face. “Ah, Fundy. So nice to see you’re still here.” he spoke smoothly, clasping his hands before himself like a housewife as he saw the sharp claws starting to peek out from around the fingerless gloves the hybrid always wore.

“Answer the question. What am I to you, Wilbur.” he spoke lowly, almost a growl, slowly shifting into a fighting stance at the infuriatingly serene position Will held, faintly noticing he had shed his heavy coat at some point in his ravings, leaving him in just his achingly familiar linen shirt and pants. “Well... you’re Fundy.” One hand went out in a mockery of a placating gesture, nestling in Fundy’s hair and ruffling it up, before being quickly snatched back as Fundy snapped angrily at it, missing by less than a centimetre. “Well done, you know my name.” he snarled back, eyes lightening, blink by blink, from their usual dormant brown to a much angrier, more feral gold as he hunched fully into a fighting stance, the rage reaching a peak. “How about family? I’m your son.” the words lashed out like a whip, ripping his throat up as they spilled out, and stupidly making his voice crack. “I’m your son” he repeated, quieter this time, slashing out blindly as Wilbur’s hand came close again. “Don’t you dare touch me. You haven’t earnt the right.”

This time, he broke skin, he felt as the minor resistance buckled, and blood tickled the tips of his fingers, looking up to see a clear slash mark on the sleeve of the shirt, now being quickly dyed with the type of morbid crimson that only blood could be. Wilbur looked surprised, quickly pulling the entire sleeve off to bandage it, before holding his arm to himself, an action performed in entire, three-way silence. Fundy had watched, tight lipped, at the familiar sight of blood, not able to find it in himself to feel any kind of remorse for his actions, simply waiting for it to be over with.

“I see you found your spine. Your mother was always feisty too.” Wilbur commented slyly, seeing as Fundy’s heaving breath caught in his chest for a moment, not even flinching as a loud growl reverberated about the street afterward. “You have no right to talk about her like that. You made us soldiers, you made us fight your bloody wars in your name, and where were you when we needed you by our sides?” Fundy snarled, gesturing to the hunched figure of Tommy, right where he had been left when Will had stepped away, staring unseeingly at the floor, arms wrapped tight about his midsection. “You were off on your chaise longue, eating grapes and seducing Dream so you could blow us all up again, conveniently looking the other way when we called for you to be there.” he spat the words like they were acid, trying desperately to find at least one thing that scratched the perfect veneer Wilbur was putting up, even with his arm clamped to his chest like it was shattered. “But we were children. Will, I was a child.”

He couldn’t help the memories coming back, of chainmail that dragged on the floor when he walked, of the elusive smells of pastries being eclipsed by gunpowder, of babbling brooks turned into deathly still lakes by the craters left over, of playful laughter echoing through the air from around the foreboding office Fundy had barely seen the inside of, before they were all shushed and sheparded off to train for a war they shouldn’t have had to fight. “I was a kid that just wanted a dad. You were supposed to be there for me.” Tears started pricking at his eyes at this, and, determined not to give Wilbur the satisfaction of seeing it, he roughly shouldered past, clutching his pack and his jacket close. “You were supposed to be a father.” he couldn’t help but mumble as they diverged, Wilbur not bothering to put out an arm to stop him as he stepped from the cropped lawn back onto the smooth, familiar wood of the path.

“And you know what?” Fundy barked, turning back one last time, hating how the sun made a halo about Wilbur’s form, painting him as an angelic being, especially how it dappled through the folded wings just poking out from over his shoulders now he wasn’t wearing his heavy coat anymore. “I wish you stayed dead.” It didn’t even cause a quirked brow, Wilbur watching with some detached sort of amusement, as if it was naught but a show he was the sole audience for. Upending his pack, Fundy turned to Tommy, unsure if he was even able to hear him, but spoke again, quieter, softer. “Keep the iron, I'll find it somewhere else.” and, in time with the heavy clang of iron upon the path, a door, left open for far too long, finally locked in Fundy’s mind.

[pbandparker-archive]

mentis imperium

WHO: Peter Parker, Jihl Nabel, NOVA medical staff and agents WHEN: New Year’s weekend WHERE: NOVA base, New York City TRIGGERS: assault, drowning, electrocution, suffocation, mind control, death, torture SUMMARY: After the new year, Peter goes to NY to give Aunt May a long overdue visit. NOVA uses the trip as an opportune moment to catch themselves a spider.

NOTE: If there are any forgotten triggers to be added, please feel free to let us know and the proper edits will be made.

Jihl: A woman's scream broke the air around New York, she ran as fast as possible, shoving open the door to the roof of a skyscraper as a man, crowbar in hand, followed menacingly, corralling the young woman to the corner of the roof where she was forced to balance on the edge, "Help! Heeeeeeeeelp me! Somebody please!" she sobbed between screams as the man grew ever closer, the driving cards and people walking below utterly oblivious to her peril.

Peter: There really was no government agency, especially one so backwards as NOVA, that would keep Peter from wearing his suit and going out to help people in need. No amount of revealed identity would do that, either, but it did make superheroing a little more difficult. That being said, he couldn't ignore a cry for help, especially when he was able and willing. The woman could be heard from quite the distance and it took him no time at all to reach the building in question; the assailant had a crowbar. Good, he would be easily disarmed. This didn't look as if it would take too long, which was a relief, he thought, as he swung onto the scene (Aunt May would be relieved to see him on time for dinner, for once). His focus squared itself on the woman in peril and the man ready to bash her senseless.

Jihl: The woman continued to scream as she teetered on the edge of the building as the man swung his crowbar at her midriff and she jumped to the side, barely keeping her balance as she clawed at the ground, the man was about to finish her when Spider-Man appeared and he instead turned his attention to the hero, "Fucking freak!" he bellowed, charging and aiming a strike at his head.

Peter: People were predictable. They also tended to get angry if their plans fell through, which was exactly the emotion portrayed on the assaulter's face — the rage was palpable, but Peter paid it no mind as he quickly shot out a stream of webbing from his right shooter. It stuck to the crowbar, he pulled, and it flew out of the man's hand into his own. He ducked and swung the bar to trip the guy; before he fell to the floor of the concrete rooftop, Peter struck him with barely a bonk to the back of the head, knocking him out in one swift motion. Easy. It was easy. The crowbar left forgotten by the assailant's feet when he turned to the woman, "Are you alright, miss?"

Jihl: The man went down easily, completely outmatched by Peter's superior skills and lay unconscious on the roof while the woman heaved herself off the edge of the roof, "P-please, he's m-my husband." she begged, "I-I didn't, I d-didn't think I- ... I-Is he?" she asked, tears in her eyes as she gestured him to check on the still man unwilling to move any closer.

Peter: Husband. Peter looked from her to the man and sighed. "He's your husband?" He asked, unable to stop the repeated question from finding his vocal chords. "He's okay, still breathing. I just knocked him out... He might have a knot the size of a baseball, but he'll be okay. Do you have anywhere safe to stay right now?" Peter asked as he triple checked the guy's pulse, just to be sure and to put the woman at ease that her husband was indeed okay. This lady needed marriage counseling — or a divorce lawyer.

Jihl: While Peter spoke platitudes in regards to her 'marriage' the woman wasted no time and stepped forward, her heart still racing, adrenaline and fear pumping through her, she grabbed the crowbar from the floor and brought it down with a sharp crack across the top of Spider-Man's head. Dropping it immediately after and reaching to grab something from her pocket.

Peter: Okay, most people were predictable. This woman, however, was not. Peter couldn't tell what her motives were — he could only feel fear. No doubt due to his own tiredness and paranoia, his spider sense had failed him. He realized that the moment he felt the crowbar connect with the back of his head. The pain was immediate and he stumbled away from the body, just to its left and dropped to his palms and knees. One of his hands reached up to rub the now sore spot as he turned to look at the woman behind him; the clang from the crowbar hitting the ground rung out again. Questions sprung up, his mouth moving to open, hidden behind the mask; he wanted to question her, but he didn't get the chance.

Jihl: It wasn't enough, down but far from out she needed to act quickly. The woman succeeded in pulling a can of what looked like a kind of spray from her pocket and stepped forward, aiming it directly at the mask of Spider-Man's costume and pressed down. A small hissing noise filled the air as a transparent gas spewed from the nozzle aiming directly for the wounded hero's face.

Peter: The spray was something reminiscent of the Joker's laughing gas despite its colorless appearance, though it felt different than the stuff that clogged the airways of that horrid fun house. Peter coughed as he squeezed his eyes shut; he had made a move to distance himself between him and the woman, but he had already inhaled too much of whatever was in that can. His spider sense was on high alert now, so much so that he had a blinding headache — or maybe that was just the blow to the head. "Wh-why?" He asked when he was able, when he felt his coughing subside, and shot the can out of her hand in a feeble attempt to save himself. "What's in the can?" He urged, but he could already feel himself growing a little... funny.

Jihl: It was a simply spray, synthesized from the venom of a Venezuelan spider, ironically, to induce a paralysis that left the victim unable to move but utterly aware of what was going on around them, so while breathing and other internal functions would continue, outwardly Spider-Man would be a threat no longer. "To protect the world." the woman answered, still somewhat shaky from her ordeal but it was necessary, the threat had to be real or this one would've known, his freakish senses worked that way. "A gas." she told him, moving to her unconscious cohort and looking him over, he'd be fine. She grabbed a phone from his pocket and pressed and held the one key, the signal was now sent. "One to keep you still." she finally added, looking back at him.

Peter: "Protect-," he had to laugh; the sound came out wryly as he tried to stand. The tips of his toes tingled. Peter already knew what exactly was in that can, before she even had the nerve to tell him it was meant to keep him still. "You have a backwards way of doing that, lady," he offered as he stumbled and dropped back to his hands and knees. "You can't protect the world... Not like this. If you..." Once more he tried, and once more he fell — his legs gave out from under him. He would have run, would have swung off the side of the building if the gas hadn't worked so quickly to incapacitate him. "What do you want with me?"

Jihl: Seeing as he was already struggling to stand she saw little fear in taking a few steps closer to him, "You may think that way right now, but don't worry, all will be clear soon." She stopped before him and smiled, "You see, you have been chosen for a glorious purpose, you will help protect humanity moving forward and lead the way for others. Be grateful." She told him simply, crossing her arms as the sounds of footsteps could be heard coming from the still open door from the roof back down to the building.

Peter: What the heck was this lady going on about? "News flash, lady, I kind of already do that," Peter retorted, now unable to feel the remainder of his legs; he held himself up with his forearms, though he could feel the numbness start to creep up his back. Every inch of him was falling asleep. "D'you think I run around in tights for fun?" He was grasping now, trying to reach for an out even if his spider sense was glaring a 'dead end' kind of sign. "C'mon, can we work something out..." Peter offered when he heard the telltale sound of footsteps fast approaching. "If you let me go, I'll... I'll make sure you and Casanova over there get the help you need, just. Just rethink this... Please..."

Jihl: She smirked, "You do it when it suits you, all you heroes do that. I had a brother who believed in you and he died when New York was hit in an alien attack. So much for heroes then." she watched him struggle with no sympathy, "Please. You think I care? He's an ass and frankly he deserved this. NOVA have made me a good deal here, and all I had to do was endure one more beating." As she finished speaking the armed NOVA soldiers broke through the door, led by one man, though it was difficult to tell since they all wore helmets. "Richards, take Mrs Karson and her husband downstairs." One broke from the pack and hefted the unconscious man over his shoulder then jerked for the woman to follow, which she did. The leader stopped before Spiderman and tilted his head, "Normally we'd let the paralysis take its course but in case this goes sideways we can't have you knowing where you'll be taken. So we're gonna have to knock ya out Scum." he said, his slightly muffled voice still able to convey indifference, even hatred towards Peter.

Peter: "Not that it's going to make any difference to you," he didn't much have hope that his words could sway her mind, "but that's not who I am. I'm sorry about your brother... But I know the Avengers did their best... If it wasn't for them, maybe we'd all be dead, or worse." This sucked. This sucked the big one. While the soldiers invaded the rooftop, Peter tried his best to crawl away using only his hands; his arms had given out not too long before. When the woman left with her weirdo husband, Peter frowned at the man and his extended bravado. "You guys have to be, like, the nicest baddies ever. Never had anyone give me a play by play before. Seriously, so nice. I'll be sure to give you guys five stars on Yelp."

Jihl: Though it couldn’t be seen, the figure rose an eyebrow under the helmet with the others incessant rambling. Honestly, why the Colonel had selected him as one of their targets he’d never know; it can’t have been for his personality. Rather than say anything first, he simply took a step closer to the all but paralyzed would-be hero, swung his leg back and kicked him hard right in the gut. “You talk too much.” Followed after, “I’m telling you this since you’ll be doing the same when you help us achieve our goals.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a small bottle and a cloth. “Now, let’s finish this.” Using his foot again, he kicked Peter over so he was lying on his back and stood over him, taking his time with unscrewing the bottle and wetting the cloth with its contents.

Peter: Despite being paralyzed, Peter could still feel everything, including that good morning kick to the gut. It stung and he definitely heard something crack - either that or just wishful thinking. "New recruits?" He parroted when he was turned over onto his back so he could look up at the man. "What do you people want with me...?" Peter asked as a million and one thoughts raced through his mind; there didn't really seem like an out right now. He had on his classic suit - there were no toys or gadgets hidden inside. It was just spandex. "Wait, are you using chloroform? How cliche."

Jihl: They'd been very selective about which poison they were going to use to capture these individuals; it needed to incapacitate them but leave them completely lucid at the same time, luckily, as their leader so often said, for every task there's a perfect tool. "You'll find out soon enough. But it won't matter. In the end you'll want to help us." he shrugged with the cloth in hand and bent at the knees to loom over Peter, "If it works. Now don't try anything stupid like holding your breath to fake it, you'll just waste all of our time." the muffled voice deadpanned and the soldier reached down and yanked Peter's mask off before pressing the cloth against his face.

Peter: Despite the warning, Peter couldn't help but retract when the cloth was brought to his face. He even tried to shake him off, but without the use of his body, it was hopeless. There was a last glance to the sky, hoping that there was someone, anyone, flying overhead. No such luck. A final instance of fear in his eyes passed over before they closed slowly as he drifted off. There really was no way out of this right now. He didn't have a tracker on him, he didn't have a hidden mic or secret weapon. He didn't have backup. He was alone.

Jihl: Honestly, it had all gone much better than expected. The Karson's were dealt with, a murder-suicide, tragic really, but no witnesses could go unchecked. Peter was brought to a secret NOVA facility on the outskirts of New York, he was stripped and clothed only in black boxers while unconscious before he was strapped into what appeared to be a large, tank-like structure surrounded by dozen's of beeping monitors. The lights were low, the computer screens providing most of it and before he was sealed into the tank Peter was once again injected with a milder version of the same paralytic drug, he'd be able to move, barely, nowhere near his full strength. Once all was set up, Jihl Nabel walked into the room and sat at the head of the control panel, waiting for the other to come too, it shouldn't be long now; then the true work could begin.

Peter: Peter felt like crap - and unfortunately, his body was still groggy, sluggish, incapacitated. He could breathe fine, which was a miracle considering the thick, tight straps holding him upright. His eyes were slow to open and his vision blurry; he groaned when he came to and tensed his muscles. He could feel the binds holding him down. Nope, didn't like this one bit.

Jihl: Jihl waited until she saw signs of life from the man, only then did she rise to her feet and walk towards him. “Mr Parker.” She greeted, “My name is Jihl Nabel. I’ll dispense with pleasantries and get right to the point. Your powers are too great to be left to you to handle. NOVA exists to keep the world safe and will do that with your help. Simply put this process you’re about to undergo will see equipped with the ability to perform necessary tasks on NOVA's behalf when the time comes.” She was blunt and to the point while she pressed several control buttons on the panel next to him.

Peter: Peter dipped his head back and watched her through barely open eyes. His hands clenched and he strained against the binds again, but to no avail. "Process?" He had to chuckle at the thought of it, "what are you gonna do, brain wash me?" It was a joke, but Peter really had no idea what they were planning. It did sound like brainwashing, though, and that only made him feel all the more nervous.

Jihl: “Yes.” She nodded after a short pause, “To a degree. It’s more akin to installing a sort of code in your brain that will be triggered by a specific set of code words which then overwrites your conscious desires in favour of the task you'll need to fulfill. Dr. Covington helped us perfect the serum behind it. Though, you see, it requires a deep erosion of the subjects strength of will do fully take effect; hence why you’re here.” She finished pressing buttons and looked up at him, “You’re going to be put through dozens of scenarios even your body won’t be able to cope with until eventually you’ll give in and the serum will have full access to your mind. Then you’ll be ours when we need you.”

Peter: When she confirmed just a silly, fleeting thought, Peter's smile fell and he pulled again, getting nowhere. There was an urgency now to get free, to get out and away from this woman. "No, no. You can't do this. This isn't... this isn't right. There's going to be a lot of people looking for me... when they find out what you're doing here..." He didn't know what to say, really. What was someone supposed to say to finding out they were about to be brainwashed? To be turned into a pawn? It's not like there any kind of stage directions. He wanted out. He didn't want to become a part of this. "You can't do this."

Jihl: “You see I’m afraid I can. Several powers and authorities higher than myself have given me permission. Even NOVA answers to the government Mr. Parker. The people who’re looking for you won’t worry, you’re already away visiting your dear aunt, yes? And you won't even be with us a full day. By the end of this you'll simply think you took a nap somewhere then go back about your business.” She pressed a final button and water began to bubble up into the tank, rushing past Peter’s shins, “This is but the first step of many but, it works very well. For all your strength you, like so many others, require air to function. We’ll kill you a few times this way and bring you back: the trauma will work well to erode your will.” She finished methodically, her face expressionless as the water rose to his waist.

Peter: His heartbeat thrummed steadily within his chest; he could hear it in his ears. They were going to brain wash him and use them as they saw fit. He strained again, hoping to break free, but his muscles still felt fatigued, loose, weak. He couldn't get out, even as the water continued to rise past his hips and around his belly. The water was cold and he gasped at every new inch of untouched skin it met. Kill him a few times? Kill him? Peter shook his head quickly, urgently, desperately, "You won't get away with this... you can't. How can you not see how wrong this is?"

Jihl: She sighed, “As I have already explained Mr. Parker I shall and already have. The government controls every aspect of its populace’s lives even if they do not think it so.” Jihl paused and added, “However that doesn’t mean we’re not in agreement. Frankly I’d rather this not be the case, humanity should defend itself not require freakish golems do it for them but, alas,” she spread her arms as the water reached Peter’s shoulders, “The decision is out of my hands.”

Peter: "Freakish golems?" Peter scoffed and shook his head again, "All we're doing is trying to help everyone. At least, I know I am. We're not monsters to be controlled... we want the same things," he urged, though he had a good feeling his words fell on deaf ears. Maybe it was stoic expression on her face, void of all emotion as the water continued to rise. It reached Peter's neck and tickled the underside of his chin.

Jihl: Jihl was quiet for several moments before she spoke, "That may well be true, Mr. Parker. But alas, it's not my place to question and frankly an uncontrollable animal can turn at any moment. There's no guarantee you may not turn on society when it suits you, as countless others have done." she told him as the water reached just up to cover his lips, "And much like a golem, I'd rather you lack the capacity to disobey when you must be used."

Peter: Unfortunately for her, the water kept Peter from giving her his two cents. But that also meant that panic would soon ensue the moment his body couldn't stand the lack of oxygen. It likely wouldn't be for a while; as easy as it would be just to drown and not have to deal with this, that was probably what she wanted. She had said 'a few times', which meant she wanted him broken. She wanted him weak so they could use him. He couldn't let that happen - Peter had to fight. His will had to be strong, otherwise, he was theirs and his power set was too strong to fall into the wrong hands. That was easier said done, as he could feel the first tickling of urgency after a good chunk of time. His body had been relatively still up until that point. Now, he started to squirm - toes and fingers clenched as dark brows furrowed down.

Jihl: It was something of a reprieve from his incessant self-proclamations as the water shut him up. From here it was just a matter of time. His body, bring so unnaturally strong, would likely take some time to succumb to the effects of oxygen starvation but, with repetition his overall strength would weaken; the body was easier to break than the mind, but when the former went the latter became all the more malleable. When she saw him begin to move, unable to help himself she finally spoke, "Two minutes already, Mr. Parker, your stamina really is quite remarkable."

Peter: Her words coaxed his eyes open; two minutes, was that all? Despite the start of a burn in his lungs, her compliment only steeled himself. He frowned and stilled his squirming, determined now to at least frustrate her.

Jihl: Well, she had to hand it to the man, Johnny Storm had been long gone by this point, but then stamina wasn't quite his forte. She checked her watch again after a period and raised her brow, "Four minutes." Then flicked her gaze back up to him.

Peter: This wasn't a competition, though Peter could hold his breath for much longer than that. Unfortunately, with a blow to the back of the head, a kick to the gut, and a weird, paralysis drug, he wasn't going to be able to showcase that. Not like that was his goal or anything. Peter had his head bowed down and hands clenched tight. His toes splayed out and his jaw tensed. All he wanted was to breathe, but he couldn't, not even as his lungs screamed desperately. They burned; a few air bubbles escaped from his mouth.

Jihl: She had to admit, her curiosity as to his stamina was peaked; if NOVA were forced to use the very thing they stood against in order to achieve their goals it couldn't be denied there was potential in spades. He was clearly struggling though it seemed was determined to stand against her to the end; a strong will, impressive. But like the sea eroded a little more of the shore each year so too could Mr. Parker's urge to resist them be beaten down to nothing with little more than water. "Six minutes." she said, shaking her head slightly, "I don't know if you've this kind of power usually or are just attempting to outlast my patience." Regardless, he wouldn't win.

Peter: At her words, Peter thrust his head back quickly. The distraction in movement was a nice reprieve from the ache in his chest, thought it only lasted a blip of time before he was aware of how painful this really was. His vision started to go; it went dark and black spots danced around the outside of his sight, threatening to blind him completely. The urge for opening his mouth and inhaling kept coming in shorter and shorter bursts until he couldn't take it anymore. Peter breathed, but the only thing that came was water. It was like a zap, like a jolt - it burned and the pain was excruciating and his mind rebelled against every inhale of water. It didn't take long for everything to go dark. Peter didn't feel anything anymore and, honestly? It was kind of nice. He'd fought for so long, through everything, and to simply rest felt good. As if it were something he'd wanted for a long time.

Jihl: She watched as, finally, the man gave into his body's needs and his mouth opened, body jerking as it received only water and no air. It wasn't until his jerking stilled that she looked at her watch, "Seven minutes two seconds." And hit a button to drain the tank, the water all but vanishing instantly. With a few more button pressed the glass slid down and three NOVA staff ran in; the slab Peter was attached to moved forward and tilted so he was horizontal and they immediately performed CPR, given his natural stamina she no doubt he'd be saved and less than a minute later he was spluttering and the slab was moved back into the place, the glass panel sliding up as though nothing had happened. "And again Mr. Parker." she signed, pressing buttons so water once more was pumped into the tank.

Peter: It felt like an eternity before he saw the light again - no, that wasn't right. Did he not die? He hadn't exactly expected them to be able to bring him back to the land of the living so easily; how long had he been out for, even? That discouraged Peter as the slab was situated back into a standing position and the tank was returned around him. Her words only served to upset him further even as he continued to choke up water. "D.. Don't I get, uh..." Peter coughed and pressed his head back; his next inhale earned himself another sputter. "Bathroom break?"

Jihl: She raised an eyebrow, "Still making jokes? Seems we've got a long way to go. Though if you are serious by all means go in the tank, it'll only get drained out after you die again." she crossed her arms and waited for the water to make it's way up, recalling his previous time and doubting he'd hit the same again. This alone had been enough to make Mr. Storm susceptible to their drug (even if it hadn't been perfected) but she wondered if it would be enough for Mr. Parker.

Peter: Peter had to chuckle at that; he supposed now he could understand why Wade and Bobby made jokes all the time. It made everything easier. It felt like it took half the time for the water to reach his chin this time, or maybe he was just too fatigued to have a solid grasp on time. Peter inhaled deeply just before the water passed his nose and eyes and forehead, but he hurt. His lungs hurt, his head hurt, his body hurt. He ached everywhere and there was no grace point in between. No second to catch his breath or take a nap and try again. That was the point.

Jihl: It was true, they did make it quicker the second go around, and it would be even faster the third, they didn't have time to waste eeking out what he knew was coming, that could be saved for their later attempts. "I wonder, Mr. Parker, if this time you'll bother to resist at all? There's little point considering the end is inevitable. Why not simply give in?" His body was being pushed to its limits, his mind would soon follow and in that came NOVA's victory.

Peter: Regardless of the muscle aches, he strained against his binds as he shook his head; he always had been defiant, especially towards authoritative figures; it was just his nature. This woman was no different. His head hung, chin to his chest as he tried to hold onto it. He didn't want to give in. He wanted to be better than that. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of breaking him.

Jihl: She sighed, honestly she'd not expected any different, "Very well, then we'll wait. And you will die again, for a time, and again, and again, as long as it takes." And when he was performing the task required of him this would all be work well done. "Three minutes." she told him idly.

Peter: Die again. He was just going to die again and again and again until he succumbed. He felt nothing short of hopeless, but that didn't mean he was going to just give up. Peter didn't do that. He couldn't. He couldn't let NOVA win so easily - he had to give them some kind of fight. Peter lifted his head and shook it, trying desperately to ignore the white hot pain in his lungs. Once more, he found himself giving in to the water.

Jihl: Second verse same as the first, though not even five minutes this time; his physical stamina was surely being worn down yet he remained defiant. Once she had him back in place, alive and the water rising past his waist again she spoke, "Do you understand yet? Mr. Parker? This will continue until I decide on a different method of pain or you submit your will to NOVA. We are here to protect the world for humans. Just accept this as a new stage in your life." It was the best a freak like him deserved.

Peter: Peter was tired. No, he was exhausted. His hair hung down, wet and sopping, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His vision was blurry and his shoulders slumped as he gasped for breath; the water moved faster now. He nearly whined when the water reached his chin again, but he inhaled once more. He was so tired, so very tired, but just laying down and taking this wasn't an option. He was sure his fingers were bruised from how tightly he clenched his fists and his feet stuck themselves in a cramp due to the clenching of his toes. Peter went again; his body convulsed as it took in water, spasming in its restraints. He died again and that likely wouldn't be the last.

Jihl: Not even two minutes this time. It was progress, and it would do. Now things could move onto the next step and she would see how they did. Of course her medical team easily revived the now exhausted Mr. Parker but this time rather than being put back into the tank she figured that his sopping wet form prepared him for their next stage. Keeping the slab horizontal she detached several small nodes that ended in suction cups and while the man struggled back to consciousness she attached them to his forehead, two on his chest, two on his abs, two on his thighs and two on his shins. "Mr. Parker, I believe this should serve to chase away the cobwebs." And with that she twisted a dial and sent a strong electrical current coursing through the nodes into Peter's body.

Peter: There were only bits and pieces from what he could remember during his removal from the tank. He became familiar with the slab, but the nodes that were attached to his wet skin felt foreign. He didn't have much time to think about it, however, until he felt a familiar jolt of electricity course through his body. Electro, Max, was still stronger by a long shot, but in his exhausted state, it seared. The scream that escaped him roused him back to consciousness, but he very much wished he was drowning instead. This pain was worse. It was so much worse.

Jihl: Jihl winced slightly at the noise of his scream, "Suffice to say you're awake. Though I don't think I care for that noise. Try to keep the screaming to a minimum would you." she gestured and her medical team entered, attaching a plastic drop of sorts into Peter's arm, the clear liquid from the bag entering his blood stream, "This is the drug that will overwrite your free will and make you useful to NOVA, Mr. Parker. In your current state it has a stronger chance to take full effect but as more of you is worn away its hold will only increase." she explained, giving him a few moments so that the truth could sink in before cranking up the electricity once more, this time at a stronger level.

Peter: Peter's mouth hung open as she continued to assault him with shocks, shocks that seemed eager to split him in two. He didn't feel the industrial strength needle break through his skin. His entire body tensed when she cranked it up; his back arched up off the slab as much as it was able as a string of pained sounds escaped him. They hadn't given him anything to bite down on, so his teeth and jaw hurt from the clenching, but she was relentless.

Jihl: "This will all stop soon, Mr. Parker. The drug will only take longer if you go against it every step of the way. Simply give way to it and this will end." She closed her eyes again for a moment and sighed, "Would you prefer if I just gagged you to muffle the noise? I've a press conference this evening and I'd rather not attend with a headache caused from your stubbornness."

Peter: A tear slipped of its own volition from the corner of his eye and roll down the side of his face and into his ear. His eyes rolled shut from the pain and constant stream of electricity.

Jihl: She rolled her eyes at the tear, "Really, Mr. Parker? Reduced to tears? I at least had respect for you despite my hatred before this began but now? Have some dignity." Honestly, this was who her superiors wanted as a living golem for NOVA? They could clearly defend themselves against him, she could kill him right now and save the world the trouble. Her anger at the situation was enough to have her cranking up the voltage even higher for the next round of electrocution.

Peter: The tears hadn't been a part of the plan, but he didn't have much of a say in how his body reacted to the raised voltage. It seemed to be too much, then, as his body gave up from having fought to keep himself awake for so long. He hadn't realized he'd truly passed out until he woke up still in the middle of being electrocuted. His nose felt wet - so did his ears. Blood. His throat felt raw from the screaming, but the pain continued even through the hoarseness of his voice until the sounds ceased to come out of him.

Jihl: Well, honestly that may have been enough. He was a crying mess and the drug was all but fully pumping through his bloodstream. Now it was likely a matter of waiting and he'd soon be theirs. "Well, Mr. Parker, you wouldn't be my choice of soldier, pathetic as you are, but my superior wants you so here we are. Can you feel it yet? Under all that pain the power of NOVA? Give in to it, and this will end; that's all you need to do. You want to obey me now, don't you?"

Peter: Peter's brows knitted together in response. Good, he wasn't the soldier she wanted, so he found whatever voice that remained and screamed again - he knew the sound annoyed her, he knew it grated on her nerves. It was the least he could do. But, on another note, he could feel what she was talking about. Under all the pain he could feel... it wasn't necessarily power like she spoke of, but more of an obedience. Yes, he did want to obey her, but god, he couldn't.  He wouldn't.

Jihl: She huffed a sigh and walked a few paces away, returning moments later with simple duct tape because like hell if she was going to get a headache from this one's yelling. Without pause she ripped a large piece of and slammed his head against the slab before pressing the tape over his mouth, "If you're going to act like a fool I'll treat you like one." she murmured, giving him another shock simply because she could, "Give it time Mr. Parker, not too much longer I shouldn't think. You'll break, and the first thing you'll do is thank me for how much I've helped you."

Peter: Peter grunted when she smashed his head down against the metal slab and slapped a stretch of duct tape over his mouth. He screamed behind the tape as another tear slipped down his cheek - he hated how easy it was to make him cry. Once the shock was over, Peter lolled his head to the side, eyes heavy and lips bloodied and dry. Sure, giving in would be so easy, and for a split second, he felt himself going. He felt himself give in to the drug; a blanket of ease seemed to pass over him before his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't  - he almost fell over. He almost succumbed to it. God, he had to be stronger than that.

Jihl: She watched him appear calm, too calm all things considered following his intense shock but sadly it didn't last and he continued to resist. But, it wouldn't be much longer now, the serum would win out, Dr. Covington and NOVA's science wouldn't fail. "It felt good, Mr. Parker, you know it did, you can feel that calmness for the rest of your life if you simply give in." Honestly, the shocks probably weren't needed anymore but with him gagged the yelling was manageable, so she cranked it up again.

Peter: Peter's eyes shut tight again when she raised it even more. He passed out, though when he finally came to, his screams dropped down to muffled groans; that calmness eased itself over him despite the pain and hurried breathing. His hands released their clenched fists, though one of his index fingers scratched at the slab beneath. The blanket smothered him, pressing itself into him, into every nook and cranny that was available despite his mental urges for it not to.

Jihl: Though her expression remained impassive Jihl felt some sense of triumph when the other's pain filtered down and he seemed to relax to a larger degree. She stepped closer and with not preamble yanked the gag from his mouth in one movement, "There. You feel it now correct? You're slipping away, soon it will be over, no need to resist, Mr. Parker."

Peter: The removal of the tape was abrupt and painful, but it felt good to have his mouth free again. He did feel it, and yeah, it felt good. But it felt too easy, too good. Peter sighed; he had mulled over whether he should just give in to it or not a few times before he settled on chuckling softly to himself. His heavy lidded eyes turned to look up at Jihl and he smiled, the expression weak and barely there. Blood caked the inside of his nose and ears and it stuck between his teeth. "Screw you, lady..." he whispered.

Jihl: She narrowed her gaze at him but otherwise didn't seem to react until she methodically pulled off another piece of tape and slapped it over his mouth, then cut off another piece, pinched his nose and sealed it shut to suffocate him, honestly it seemed the serum made more progress when he was barely conscious anyway, "Hold that nasty thought." she told him quietly. And once he was in her thrall the little bastard would be apologizing immediately for his disrespect.

Peter: The tape wasn't much of a surprise, but when she placed a piece of tape over his nose, he just let it happen. There wasn't much to panic over - suffocation had been done before. He felt the familiar burn when his body realized he couldn't breathe, couldn't take in oxygen. As his consciousness slipped away, he could feel more and more of the drug hit him. He felt light, angry, yet calm, and as much as he internally screamed at himself to not give in, to fight, he didn't want to. Peter gave in to it just as he passed out.

Jihl: Honestly she was beginning to suspect this was the simplest method of attaining their goals; too many of these freaks were just ridiculously impervious to traditional methods but they still needed oxygen to function. When his struggles gave in she ripped the tape off and once more the medical team worked to revive him. "I suppose by this point I'd have broken a few of your bones but you're simply too strong for that; this method works best. Each time you come back you're more overcome, it won't be long now."

Peter: Jihl's words came in a little muffled when he came to. Blood stuck itself to the inside of his ears; he supposed that could be the culprit. Swallowing proved to be difficult - between the drowning and excessive electrocution, his throat was raw. Dry mouth was a pain and so was the rest of his body. Honestly, he was a little surprised he hadn't peed his underwear yet. Peter was too proud to admit this, but the first few times he had ever been electrocuted, he peed himself. Not this time, however, perhaps his focus on will helped him out a little. Not like that mattered; Peter felt himself slip away, anyway. He was tired, so very tired. Too tired to keep up the fight. He felt a disappointment in himself, but she had put him through the ringer. He had died more times than he likely would in his life - and he had initially hoped that would only be once. It was natural that he was too exhausted, he tried to rationalize with himself. He was worked too hard, and now he needed a rest. Peter felt another tear slip down the side of his face as an ease smoothed over the pain and worry in his eyes. "... I obey," came his breath. The light in his gaze seemed to dim, as if it too was too tired to keep going.

Jihl: She was prepared to go over this as many times as needed, frankly the work was degrading and she believed humanity could damn well look after itself, but no. Instead they were supposed to use these people to do it for them. It went against the principles she believed in but what could be done? Her Superior knew better than she and Jihl had followed him almost all her life, there was nothing else to be done. She let out a slow breath when the other's spoke, it seemed they were finally getting to the end oh this drawn out irritation. "Good." she pressed a few more buttons and the medic team returned, removing the needle from his arm and readying another. Out of curiosity to see how progress she spoke, "Un-cuff him." And without hesitation Peter was released of his bindings, "Offer your arm to the medics Mr. Parker, we're giving you a second dose to ensure your complete cooperation."

Peter: It was nice to be uncuffed, but his body hurt terribly. Right now, all he wanted was to rest, to sleep this off until his accelerated healing kicked in and did its job. Peter licked his cracked lips and tasted the blood there - her command had his eyes drawn to her and then to the medic to his other side, the one that was going to stick him with a new bag of... drug. A brain washing drug. Peter felt the need to comply, to obey, but he couldn't bring himself to put his arm out. All he could do was look at the needle - despite the drug taking over, he could still feel himself fight. It made him pause. "I...." He looked from the needle to his arm and then back to the needle, "I... can't." He wanted to, and his arm flinched forward, just slightly. Just enough to be noticed. "No... n... no. I can't," he urged and tried to sit up quickly, which only elicited a sting that spread through his whole body. He winced and cried out in pain, but damn it, he tried.

Jihl: The medic's made to back off as he began to resist but Jihl merely narrowed her eyes and raised a hand, "Hold." he told them, and they remained. "You're only hurting yourself Mr. Parker. Once you accept the next dose you'll be able to rest and from there likely heal these wounds in a few hours." Yet one more way his freakishness manifest. "Hold. Your. Arm. Out." she told him clearly and slowly, eyes looking him over lazily.

Peter: Peter dropped the back of his head to the slab and sighed. His eyes felt heavy and his head pounded; his chest burned and everything hurt. Part of him wished he were dead. Without his say so, at least consciously, he shakily held his arm out for the new needle - and the new bag. He looked on with fear, yet his mouth set in a firm line and jaw clenched.

Jihl: She nodded when he complied, "That's better." Though fight was still there, it could be seen in his eyes and any show of free will couldn't be allowed to remain, not if the safety of humanity was to endure. With a gesture her medic injected the next needle and hooked up the bag, this serum would piggyback of the first and course through him all the more quickly. "You tried, Mr. Parker, but as expected, it wasn't enough. NOVA thanks you for your soon to come cooperation."

Peter: The prick of the needle felt like nothing - he was too weak and too numb. Everything hurt too much. Now, all he wanted to do was pull the needle out and run, but once the drug entered his blood stream again, the will of his arm died. He couldn't bring himself to lift it. Nor could he bring himself to say anything witty - all he could do was close his eyes. This wasn't how he wanted to spend a Saturday.

Jihl: Jihl left the medics to do their work. It would be easy now, he wouldn't resist any further. "Give him a third infusion, just for added safety," she instructed them, "I'll check on him in a few hours when he's more healed." she had other subjects to continue this work with, frankly it was one of the few things she'd rather not leave her underlings to do alone, just in case. She planned for them to redress and move the drugged up Spider-Man to a NOVA training room to finish this exercise. With his suit on he'd be placed inside with half a dozen of her better soldiers and this would be a final test to ensure their drug and its affects had taken. Jihl moved to a room just beyond the training area, a large reinforced window with a sound system in front of her to enable communication it the other space. "Gentlemen, do you hear me?" she spoke into the microphone, her men all confirming with nods.

Peter: This was a bad time, indeed. He’d been beaten to a pulp, so black and blue and swollen that his face was unrecognizable. He’d been drowned, electrocuted, stabbed, shot, blackmailed, tortured, and just plain broken. He’d never been brainwashed, though; he didn’t know what it would be like. He was under the impression that he wouldn’t feel anything, or he wouldn’t notice. Right now he still felt like himself, even as they pumped him with another dose of whatever psychosomatic drug they’d cooked up. That likely would change. He was moved, then, from the torture chamber they had him in to a different room, one where there were already people inside. From the looks of their gear, they looked like agents, grunt men. Peter could only catch snippets of his surroundings as his body continued to heal, though he could feel his resolve slip as their drug coursed through his veins. He could hear her voice, could feel the heartbeats of everyone else in the room and the way they each nodded in affirmation.

Jihl: There wasn’t much left to be done. All being well the programming should have taken effect and at the use of the trigger words he would fall into the state they required of him and have no memory of what he’d done or even of the facility and his experiences here. With her soldiers giving her the go ahead and Mr. Parker still unresponsive Jihl stepped closer to the microphone, eyes on the freakish man and waited a few moments. She opened her mouth and spoke, calmly and clearly into the microphone once again. “Emeritus acquisition.” It was a string of words he’d be very unlikely to hear as he went back about his life but some she could easily work into a NOVA speech for him to overhear down the line. They should take effect immediately so she lent back and observed, waiting to see if their efforts had born fruit.

Peter: There wasn’t much to Peter’s thoughts as he lay limply on — well, he wasn’t really too sure what they had put him on. Judging from the look of the lab they tortured him in, it likely would be a cold slab. People like them tended not to focus on pleasantries or comfort, so he wouldn’t put it past them to just stick him on some frigid hunk of metal without a second thought. They did drown him, after all. When her words filtered out into the room and snaked its way around the other agents in the room, Peter felt them start to fade into the distance. The people, the words, everything. There was nothing but darkness, an emptiness that struck him, that washed away any coherent thoughts that threatened to break whatever facade NOVA had created for him. He couldn’t fight it. It was as if a switch had been toggled somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, prompting him forward and off of the poor excuse for a bed. He could feel his body move onto his feet, but after that? He waned out, drifting slowly into a sea of inky blackness, falling backwards until he was swathed in nothing but a cold warmth. It cradled him, nearly affectionately. Peter moved, but without his say so, and quickly incapacitated the agents situated around him. They each fell to the ground heavily during their turn, his punches hitting hard enough to splinter bone. The sound of his knuckles connecting with their bodies had been palpable. Still locked in, Peter stood in the center of the fallen group and slowed his breathing back to a respectable pace, eyes staring and unwavering, though hollow as he waited for more.

Jihl: Jihl had been told this would work, properly this time around. They’d worked this process on Johnny Storm some time ago and while they’d had some initial success they agent they’d send to speak his trigger word close enough for the man to hear had returned with no success. The programming had faded. Though the failure had provided their scientists with the information they needed to ensure the programming would last now. She watched as his body tensed, seeming to become perfectly still, before the sprung (quite literally) into battle. Her agents were skilled, not her best (she wouldn’t risk them to this freaks mindless assault… yet) but they should have been able to hold their own. As it was, Mr. Parker was like a man possessed and flipped around, downing her men with brutal efficiency until they were lying motionless on the floor. Not dead (yet anyway, though none of those wounds looked lift threatening) and he moved back to the centre of the room, breathing heavily from his exertion. Jihl looked over to her chief scientist who, despite attempting to look calm had eyes shining with her success. “Good work.” She told the other. “Can we move him like this?“ ‘So long as he doesn’t see anyone in NOVA agent armour he won’t attack. I’ve had all agents evacuate the halls. Set him free from the programming and he won’t remember any of this.’ she informed Jihl. “Good. Then lets set our little weapon free.” Jihl took off her jacket and pass, leaving her in pants and a blouse, no marking to identify her as NOVA from sight alone, and stepped into the room. “Mr. Parker, follow me.” she ordered, beckoning with her hand and walking from the room, expecting him to follow.

Peter: Again, there was nothing but blackness. Nothing but a void of emptiness in the vastness of space. Peter didn't even know who he was anymore. He could only stare, straight ahead, and rolled his shoulders. He tensed when the door opened, ready to attack again, but there was no indication that she hailed with NOVA, so he eased down. He hesitated at her gesture, but he had no reason to doubt her, to question, so he followed her silently out the door. Her face was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure if it meant she was a friend or a foe.

Jihl: This part was easy. Honestly Jihl preferred the little irritant like this. Having been prepared all corridors they moved through were free of any agents in NOVA dress so nothing would set off the now functioning programming in Peter's mind. She gave him some civilian clothes, told him to dress to hide his suit, walked him out of the building (disguised in the city of course) and handed him off to another agent in civilian dress. "You know what to do." The agent nodded, 'this way Mr. Parker' They said voice soft and kind, deliberately none threatening as they led him several blocks away, into an office building and up to the roof. They walked him out onto the open space and asked him to remove the civilian clothes then hand them back. Lastly, they put his mask on for him and made their way back towards the door. Just before walking through they clearly spoke "Emeritus acquisition." Knowing it would take a few moments for him to 'reset' and give them time to close the door and walk back into the office. Spider-Man would awaken as though nothing had happened.

Peter: The journey to the drop off location had been forgotten. The climb to the roof had been forgotten. Changing out of the clothing they had provided for him had been forgotten. Once those trigger words were uttered, everything that Peter had just experienced - the kidnapping, the torture, the conditioning - would be forgotten until they needed him again. When the words were spoken Peter blacked out and dropped to the floor of the rooftop, clad once more in his suit. By the time he'd wake up the sun would have already set. He'd be on the way to Aunt May, and apologize for the absence. She'd chalk it up to superheroing and give him a lecture on being careful. And about returning her calls. He'd chalk it up to nothing - he had no answer, no guess, not even a fragment of an idea as to how he lost a whole day. He just couldn't remember.