Spyder and The Changes [ON HOLD]

Chapter 2 - The Idea Implementation

The basic concept consisted of the changing of my entire life.

That's right; you heard me.

New personality, new suit, new situations.

New me.

To get into a little more detail, this is how it all went down:

I woke up especially early one August morning and gathered the essentials (my newly-tracker-free S.H.I.E.L.D. phone, two changes of clothes, a pair of pajamas, toiletries, a pair of earbuds, a copy of my college acceptance letter, my direly-in-need-of-an-alteration Spyder suit, and a wad of cash from the safe under the bed), stuffing them in a backpack.

Hefting it on, I snuck to the control room and began to disable all security cameras. Then, for good measure, erased all files on me. Sure, there'd be backups and reboots and all other manner of technological goodies, but there wasn't enough time.

The first sequence of the plan and its timing was essential.

I slid out of HQ much like Peter slid out of my life - one second, alive and exhilarated; the next, a grotesque black void.

Seriously.

This part of the city in the morning had a sense of quiet, like the calm before the calamity. A few cars were ambling to work. A handful of civilians were out on their presumably daily morning jogs. The sun was poking its nose over the horizon, causing streaks of color to flit across the sky.

There was no need to run, but I did.

It felt much better than practicing on a treadmill, training for a disaster that would never come.

Sure, building up stamina was important, but I had plenty. Who could webswing for up to an hour, no sweat? This gal. Who could take a building and billboard to the face, then swing some more? You're looking at her. Who's running all the way from Stark Tower to downtown Roosevelt College because she can? Take a guess.

I reached the building at last.

It was a hulking structure of cement and dull marble, reminding me of a prison. Or perhaps an asylum. Maybe one of the old-fashioned ones, where staff used to torture patients until they died.

Whatever. I could do this.

I stepped inside and navigated my way to an office, where I was ushered into a waiting room. Putting my backpack on the floor, I pulled out my phone and the earbuds. A moment later, music was blasting in an otherwise deathly silent yet practically packed place.

That was when I started to zone out.

It wasn't long before another presumably new alumni found his way in and wriggled into the seat next to mine. He, too, set his rather large backpack on the floor and slid it underneath the seat.

Then, to my mild surprise and slightly less mild annoyance, he repeatedly tapped me on the shoulder until I was forced to turn down the tunes and glare at him. "Can I help you?"
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<·<Pepper_B_Parker*Alias:_Spyder*Position:_S.H.I.E.L.D._agent>·>

Little did I know how much that person really would help me.

PS: For some reason, the above song popped into my head when I was writing. I like to think of it as a bittersweet partner to this chapter.