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SPIDER-MAN WAS DEAD.
He lay there on the ground, coughing, a bullet hole in between his ribs, having penetrated his otherwise impenetrable suit. His mask was removed and a trail of blood stained his mouth as he looked up at the perpetrator. Robin #11 stood before him, a gun in his hand. His face was the most apathetic it's ever been, void of any emotion. It wasn't long until Peter Parker faded, his spider senses finally giving up on him.
Robin #11 lowered his hand, no longer needing the gun anymore because Peter Parker, Spider-Man, was finally dead. He let out a facetious sigh, and stood there before kneeling to be eye level with the corpse. Without really thinking, he reached out a hand and closed Peter's eyes before he was pulled back into the facility as the simulation ended. The goggles were yanked off his head and he made dreary eye contact with the instructor.
The instructor looked the Robin up and down, assessing him. He wasn't going to acknowledge the move the Robin had pulled at the end because the instructor was aware that he wasn't going to be able to shake that last bit of emotion out of him, no matter how deprived he already was. It clung to him like a second skin, the last bit that made him human and stopped him from being a cold-blooded assassin. That last bit of humanity that still made him warm.
"Congratulations, Theodore," the instructor mocked, "you're finally ready to begin your mission. Robin?"
