A New Hero - Peter Parker (BOOK 1) | Spider-Man: Far From Home

Chapter Twenty-Three - The Art of Bluffing (Part One)

The man carried Clara down the staircase as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Her stomach heaved with each step the man took, his shoulder jolted into her stomach to make it churn. Bile reached her mouth, burning her throat as the acidic liquid fought its way out of her body.

It spilt out from between her lips, splashing onto the man's calves and dripping down to leave a trail of sick along his trouser legs. Thankfully, it  somehow missed her hair in the process, but being upside-down, Clara felt the bile stinging back of her nose as she tried to swallow the remnants away.

She heard the sound of laughter drift towards her, and it took Clara a moment to realise she was the one laughing. Maybe she was about to die, but somewhere in her mind she had found humour in spilling what had been the contents of her stomach over the man's trousers - that was a good enough last hurrah as any, she supposed.

Clara felt a soft breeze pass her by as they stepped outside. With her head and arms still dangling limply below her, she watched as the solid cement of indoors morphed to a monotone gravel roadway. A voice reached her, though this time she easily identified it as Quentin Beck's. "All you had to do was step aside." He said. "And now? You have-"

A shot rang out, cutting off Beck's words. The man carrying her showed no reaction though, and he pressed forward. Even being half-conscious, Clara knew that meant Beck had planned another trick for Peter. Out of sight to Clara, another illusion of Fury had shot Beck, the man slumping to the floor mid-sentence.

"Fury!" She heard Peter's voice, but still she couldn't call out, her entire body limp and her thoughts becoming more and more disjointed.

"Beck's people are trying to find everyone who could expose him." It was Fury's voice she heard, but it wasn't him. Looking down to her hands that were swaying as the man walked, she saw the purple glow growing more prominent as they moved closer to Beck's drones. "Who'd you tell?" The man posing as Fury asked.

Peter didn't answer, his mind still recovering from the assault to his senses. "I, uh..." He finally stammered out.

Fury raised his voice, becoming more frustrated at the boy's lack of answer. "I know you told someone, so just tell me; who did you tell?"

"We found Clara Wilson, Sir!" A different voice called out from a collection of black cars at the other end of the construction site. He clearly wasn't supposed to call that out, as a series of other people around him sent hushed curses his way.

Peter immediately looked over, seeing Clara hanging over the shoulder of a tall man. Anger bubbled up inside him as he saw the way she was being handled, her body jolting with each step the man took. Something's not right, Peter told himself, Fury would never let them handle anyone like that, not unless it was an enemy, and even then he doubted they'd move them that way. "Who'd you tell, Parker?" As Fury repeated the question, Peter saw the soft violet glow of Clara's hands, even from so many metres away.

"You're not Fury." He said plainly. As Beck heard the boy's words, he dropped every illusion, the disguises morphing to blue pixels, and then changing back to reality - revealing the drones hovering around them.

Beck sighed. "You're smart, Peter, I'll give you that."

"Why are you doing this?" The masked boy asked.

"Bring her over." Beck called out, ignoring his question as he pinched the ridge of his nose, rethinking his plan once again. "Time for plan B."

Peter felt his heart thumping in his chest, his body urging him to do something. He refused to act on the feeling, knowing that if he did anything, it would more than likely put either him or Clara in even more danger than they were in already. "Beck, what are you-?"

He interrupted Peter. "All you had to do was give me names Peter, then I would've let you both live."

"Mr Beck..." Peter felt his breath catch in his throat, the man in the blue shirt carrying Clara over to them. "Let her go, please."

"I'll let her go when you answer my questions." Beck said, Peter looking between him and Clara with wide eyes hidden behind the mask. "Give her here." He ordered the tall man.

"Err... She can't stand, Sir. I think you gave her too much." The man said, trying to prop Clara up as if she were a puppet on strings, each of her limbs hanging uselessly, only moving with the puppeteer lifted them.

Quentin snapped his head to face the man. "Give her to me." He said each word slowly, speaking through grit teeth and glaring at his employee as he removed his gun from a holster on his side. "And don't you ever tell me I'm doing my job wrong, got it?"

"Sorry, Sir." He apologised quickly, practically tossing Clara to his boss before scurrying away to safety. Quentin grasped onto the back of Clara's t-shirt, the material now stained with dirt from days of fighting, and let her drop to her knees with a thud.

Clara didn't flinch as her knees connected with the rough surface and her head hung forwards and she fought to keep from falling into unconsciousness, her eyelids fluttering closed every few moments. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her, unable to lift her sights anywhere else. "What have you done to her?" Peter asked, taking a step forward.

Beck raised his other hand, holding the barrel aimed at the girl's head. "Tell me who you told." Peter grit his teeth, his vision misted over as he looked down at Clara's prone form. He could see her eyes fighting to stay open as Quentin Beck held her weight by the back of her t-shirt. "I will kill her, Peter." He warned.

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