PTR Arachnid 24601

Ch 1 - My name is PTR Arachnid 24601

 WARNINGS: non-explicit rape, abuse of all kinds, neglect, torture, heavy trauma, getting drugged, experimentation of a child

Peter's POV

My name is PTR Arachnid 24601. 

The Men used to just call me 'Arachnid' for short, but now they call me 'Winter Spider'. I hate those names. I know real names exist, but I don't have one. And I don't even know what a real name could be. The Men say that real names are a privilege––I'm too much of a freak to get one. I know they have real names, but I don't know what they are. I think if I knew and tried to call them it, they'd beat me. I'm––under no circumstance––allowed to talk to them unless they talk to me first or ask a question. If I do, I get punished, or I punish myself.

I'm 15 years old. 

I grew up in this HYDRA base, as far as I know. The Men gloat that I've been here since I was two years old. These dim white-washed walls and cold tile floors have been my entire life. Oh, and, who could forget the horribly dirty floor of my cell? It's dirty and musty and much too solid for an ounce of comfort, but I don't have anywhere else to stay, so I deal.

The Men say my parents hated me and sold me to HYDRA. I believe them––to an extent. If my parents loved me then they wouldn't have sold me, right? However, a part of me, deep down inside beyond layers of recurring agony and strict rules, tells me that's not true. I've learned to know better than to listen to that part. Last time I told one of the Men that my parents must've loved me, I got punished very badly. I couldn't walk for a long time.

"Sir, Please!" I cried desperately, knowing the whip lashes on my legs must be forming into welts by now, but knowing better than to look down. "Stop!"

"No," they hissed, nearing with the whip still in hand, "you will learn to listen to what we say, Arachnid. Your parents never loved you. Who could love someone like you?" A short bark of a laugh. A whip cracking at my feet. Then, a baby-ish voice. "Pitiful, little Arachnid, all alone. Abandoned by his parents because they–" their voice hardened once more, "–couldn't give less of a shit. You're nothing PTR Arachnid 24601. Just a number amongst billions. Do you understand?"

"But–"

I was cut off, yanked to my feet and dragged away before another word could escape my mouth.

At this point, I don't mind being in HYDRA. Growing up here is hell but it's all I've known. If I were in the real world, I bet I wouldn't know how to act or what to say. The Men say the real world is different from this base. I'm sort of happy to be here. Sure it's hell, but it's my hell. I don't know what normal people do. I don't know how to be a kid or a teenager. I don't know what a normal childhood is. The only normal thing to me is this. The killing, torture, schooling, fighting. I feel bad for what I do here and I can't deny how much haunts me––mostly in my sleep. A large part of me doesn't want to do the things I do, but I don't know what I would do if I escaped. I'd be lost. So I stay.

I know my place in the world and I take it. No matter how awful I feel about it.

On the topic of the real world; I've never really been there. I've been outside on missions many times and stuff. But I've never been in a city. Or civilization. One time, I saw a city and it was pretty, but I was too far to really see it. A good chunk of my missions are spent far away from anything remotely human, but I do have vague blurs of missions that were spent in bright lights and tall towers and fancy people. Those ones are hard to remember––my memory was wiped for them, I'm sure. The Men like to wipe my more 'societal' missions from my mind. They keep the fighting in there though.