I've stopped adding to this for now. I might come back later but for now this is all!
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Killing is all she knows. And she's good at it. Too good. She gets another target, same as usual. But she's not prepared for how personal the Avengers take...
I return to the back door of the safe house to find the stoop occupied by my unwanted companion. He jumps up upon my appearance and moves so I have access to the door. I unlock it and hold it open for him.
“You go first,” he says, seeming antsy.
I give him an assessing up-and-down look before walking inside. He closes the door behind him and stands aimlessly next to the door as I hang my coat up.
“Are you keeping that suit on?” I ask lightly, making my way to the dining table. I turn to find him still standing by the door, rocking slowly onto his heels as he looks around. My shoulders droop slightly and I roll my eyes, running a hand down my face.
“Who are you?” he asks, turning to face me, standing still.
“If I tell you my name will you tell me yours?” I ask, crossing my arms and shifting my weight to one side.
The overly wide, still unsettling, eyes on his suit narrow slightly. “I wasn’t really asking about your name… I was just wondering where you got the money for this place… it’s expensive.”
“Uh… My boss,” I say simply, trying to get to the reason we’re here. “Can you please stop standing by the door and come over here… with the metal sphere?” I ask, starting to get impatient.
“Right! Sorry,” he says, scurrying over. He places it in the middle of the table and seems unsure what to do with his hands now before deciding to cross his arms.
I stare at him for a moment, resisting the urge to roll my eyes again, before looking down at the sphere. “Why do you want to know what this is so desperately?” I ask, carefully picking it up.
“I’ve been noticing them more and more and I want to understand them. Also… I’m helping someone find more information on them,” he says, also staring at the sphere.
I move it over so it isn’t blocking my view and raise my eyebrows slightly. “So you’re just gonna waltz over to that person and tell them all the things I find?” I mutter tensely.
His eyes go comically wide, since they’re big to start with, and he holds his hands up. “No no no! I just wanted a better idea. I’m not gonna tell him everything you said. Maybe you could even tell him yourself,” he says quickly.
“Who is it?” I ask, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Would I know who it is?” I follow up before he can say anything.
He looks away and fiddles around with his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “You probably do know who he is…” he says slowly, looking back at me.
“Tony Stark?” I ask, following a haunch I have.
He freezes and blinks slowly. “Yes…” he drags out, sounding confused. “How do you know so much?” he asks, leaning over the table slightly.
I shrug nonchalantly and go back to studying the metal sphere. “The inside is titanium enforced.” I rotate it so that I can see the inside better and pry my glove off with my teeth. I bring my hand up and snap, creating a small shower of sparks. Instantly, a small flame ignites inside the sphere and starts to quickly spread.
“Oh my god!” Spiderman exclaims, jumping away.
I let out a quick breath through my nose and hold my hand over the opening, absorbing the fire. A shiver runs up my spine and I almost feel the urge to throw up. “I hate doing that,” I mutter, more to myself. “It would seem that whatever was inside left a trace on the metal.”
“Do you know what it is?”
I glance up to find Spiderman peeking cautiously at the sphere. I place it a bit aggressively back down onto the table. “No. I’m assuming it’s not a naturally occurring gas and that someone constructed it,” I respond, walking into the kitchen. I wash my hands off swiftly and walk back to the dining table.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Tell me yours and you can know mine,” I reply, watching him closely. “What am I gonna do with it? Tell your guardian who you are?” I say jokingly.
“Why do you say guardian and not parent?” he asks, his voice going a bit solemn.
I look down absently at my wrist where my wristlet used to be and let out a small breath. “Not everyone has parents,” I say slowly, looking back up. “Would you like me to say parents or parent instead?” I ask, a small frown creasing my brow.
“No. Guardian is fine. I was just curious,” he responds, looking away.
I wish he wasn’t wearing that mask. Makes it hard for me to figure out what he’s thinking. “My name is Reese,” I say, readjusting my gloves even though they’re sitting fine. “Reese Brantley.”
He glances at me swiftly and stares, those big, white, bug-like eyes on his suit making my skin crawl. “You promise you’re not gonna say who I am?” he asks, his tone serious. I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Peter Parker,” he says finally, letting out a breath.
We stand in silence for a moment before I pick up the TV remote and press the power button, putting it on the news. I get it right in the middle of a story about the fire.
“We’re still unsure what started the fire and who the mysterious savior is who managed to get almost every person out of the burning building,” the police chief says, standing outside of the blackened building, a buzz of activity still going on around him.
“Can I ask you something super random?” Parker asks.
I glance at him and then back at the TV. “Sure. I don’t promise an answer though,” I reply.
“Is your hair natural?”
I blink, having not expected that question. “Yes. It is.”
“What color is it?” he asks.
I glance at him to find him staring at me. “I’ve heard many people refer to it as cinnamon-brown hair,” I respond after a moment.
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(This color but with a little more waves)
“Cinnamon-brown,” he mutters to himself. “Could I have some water?” he asks slowly.
My eyebrows pull together slightly at the TV before I nod and walk into the kitchen, getting a glass and filling it with water. I walk back out and hand it to him, focusing back on the TV.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Are you looking for something?” he asks.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice his mask is off but don’t comment on it. “Sort of,” I say slowly. I pull my phone out and switch to my non-art account, scrolling quickly through the feed. “There’s already a lot of people believing you’re the person who helped everyone out of the building,” I murmur, continuing to scroll.
“What?”
I show him my phone screen briefly and the multitude of posts about people’s theories. “One of the people in the fire is confirming that it was not you, which people aren’t very happy about,” I continue. “Are you aware you have a bunch of fan accounts?” I ask suddenly, looking at him.
“Fan accounts?”
“Mhm.” I show him a few.
“Are there fan accounts for the Avengers?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with interest.
“Yes. There are many,” I say with an exasperated sigh. “It seems no one was able to identify me… That’s good,” I murmur.
“Why is that good?” Parker asks, sounding suspicious.
