Tentacles and spider webs

Death doesn't discriminate

"Why send two videos in such close succession?" Scott looked to the two spies - both unnerved by Friday's news.

"Could be for any number of reasons," Natasha's haunted gaze stayed trained on the floor, "most of which I don't want to think about."

Clint pulled his fellow spy beside him, one arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively. Her ominous statement settled over the group of heroes like a heavy blanket. Friday played the video.

Peter was still huddled in the corner, barely moving as his chest rose up and down with each small and unsteady breath. His eyes glazed over in pain. A large cut now adorned his right cheek, freshly scabbed over and tender. But the thick chains were no longer latched around his wrists but were discarded to the side.

"He's mocking him," Bucky growled. "The bastard took the chains off, knowing that Peter doesn't have the strength to fight back. Not after everything he- That mother fu-"

Natasha looked down at the computer and gasped, "It's live," upon realizing this wasn't pre-recorded and could lead back to Peter. With the help of Friday, she immediately began tracking the signal.

Peter's cell door swung open, and Otto stepped through. An eyepatch covered his left eye socket; the skin was still red and inflamed. "I've got company for you, runt." Grinning maliciously, he began dragging in bodies.

Four at a time - one for each arm - until there were a total of sixteen unconscious people laying, haphazardly on the floor. Their hands and feet were bound by rope; their bodies were littered with small cuts and bruises. It was a mix of men and women; some wore business uniforms, street clothes, two that appeared to be police officers, and four in bright orange jumpsuits.

The Avengers realized that some of the people were from the attack downtown and yesterday's prison collapse. On the other hand, Peter didn't know about the prison or what had happened during the bombing.

Peter's tired eyes widened at the number of semi-conscious people before him. He attempted to sit up, but his shaking arms couldn't hold his weight, and he collapsed. A small cry escaped him as his injuries were jostled. My fault was the only thought running through his mind.

It didn't matter if they were criminals or average citizens. They got kidnapped and hurt because Otto had a vendetta against him. He was right there but barely had the strength to keep his eyes open, let alone fight someone. That was his job! Protecting New York and it's citizens. But he'd been unable to protect them. He had failed them.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson." He paused at the small teen as if waiting for the usual snarky quip.

Peter's lips pressed into a thin line. As much as he wanted to snap back, he wouldn't dare make things worse for the other victims.

Otto smirked at his submissive behavior and continued. "You've realized these guests," he gestured to his other captives, now fully awake but too afraid to move or to speak, "are here because of you. Of this, I have no doubt. But what I want you to realize... is that they will now die because of you."

"What," Peter stuttered quietly, "what do you-"

"This!" Otto shrieked, ripping off his eyepatch to reveal the bloody and burnt socket. "You did this!" He shoved Peter back against the wall, one tentacle gripping his right shoulder in a vice-like grip, another locked around his neck, holding him three feet off the ground.

Peter pressed the bottoms of his sticky feet against the wall to remove some of the pressure from his injured shoulder. The claws around his neck, tightened as Otto's smile grew. An evil, malicious glint in his eyes. And for the first time since he'd been captured... Peter was scared. Not for himself, but for the innocent people taken in cold blood. They were all at Otto's mercy.