Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

thirty five: clashing

     After stumbling behind Wanda through multiple hallways, loud crashes began to signal that our destination was ahead. The narrow corridors that we had terraced through finally came to an end, and what we came to was a sight of wreckage. People fought on another, quickly throwing punches and lunging forward. It was a battle between the Avengers and every member of Isaac's villainous league. Sparks, flames, and weapons were violently tossed from one opponent to another. The whole area appeared as though a hurricane had wrecked it.

     Through the chaos, I was able to distinguish specific people. Black Widow was one against three. Her bright red hair, the only distinguishable factor of her quickly moving body, tossed rapidly as the group she was fighting tried pitifully to beat her. Falcon soared, keeping close contact with the roof. He finally swooped down, taking down four people in the process. Bright yellow waves flew in between Vision and his opponent. Captain America was in combat with a skilled fighter. They both struggled to try to beat each other. It seemed as though he had finally found his match. I tried frantically to find Tony or Isaac, and I couldn't find either. I had to find them and save Tony before it was too late.

     I turned around to Wanda and forcefully said, "I'm going to find Tony. He can't be left alone, not with Isaac."

     "I'm sure he'll be fine, Rose. He's Tony Stark," she said skeptically, shaking her head. She continued, "That man can't die. Plus, we need everyone fighting the Scorpion's crew."

     She clearly didn't understand the damage that Isaac, the Scorpion, could do by himself. He wasn't the best fighter by any means, but his physiological manipulation gave him a drastic advantage. I pried my hand out of hers and began to run. For a couple of feet, she followed me, but she knew that there would be no way to stop me if I had my eye set on getting there. That was something I could realize at the time; a hero's determination is unwavering. So, Wanda let me go. Worried, she yelled at me, warning me to be cautious. It was nice to know for a moment that I had someone watching out for me.

     I also needed a weapon. I studied the floor beneath me to find something that could give me leverage in combat. I was sadly the only person in this whole group that wasn't boasting their superpowers. It sucks to be human sometimes, I thought. I finally found a dagger that was tossed to the ground. I picked it up and smiled. The weapon was perfect. The brown leather handle aligned perfectly with my long, slim fingers and the metal tip was cleanly polished, ready for use. I tucked it into the belt that I was wearing.

     I wasn't exactly sure where Isaac's office was, but time was running out and I had to find it. I decided to go back the prime holding cells in the building. I finally reached Peter's old cell and gazed down the hallway. A large oak door stood at the end. I sneaked closer; the name tag read "Mac Gargan". Mac was an abbreviation, but my gut knew that it was Isaac's real name. The foreign name served as a perpetual reminder of the fact that I didn't truly know him.

     "Of course, she's trying to run away," A familiar voice jeered and ended with a scoff. I whipped around to see Peter. He was speaking to Captain America, or Steve Rogers. After rolling my eyes and inching closer to them, it was evident that Peter had dragged Steve along to come and end me once and for all.

     Rogers stood uncomfortably in the center of the hallway. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and glanced cautiously over at Peter. He seemed as though he was acting as an adult supervision. Peter, on the other hand, leaned comfortably against the wall. His arms were crossed and his usually kind face wore a wicked smile. As I etched closer it was evident that the gleam in his eyes was a look of revenge.

      I considered their purpose there. I was annoyed and beyond angry. Why did they always have to let their emotions get the best of them? Behind me, a deranged maniac was about to kill Tony Stark. That meant nothing to them. All that mattered to Peter was striking a blow or two at a girl who had betrayed him. He didn't care about strategy. He wasn't thinking at all. He was just acting on impulse. And I was tired of having to waste my energy on fighting allies.