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

Chaper Twenty-Two - The Sickening Realisation

"Parker? What's wrong?" Nick Fury asked him.

Peter pulled his eyes away from Clara as she began to sway on the spot. He looked at Fury with a puzzled frown – could he not see what was happening to Clara? Was he blind? No, he shook his head naively, he must've known this would happen, it must be a side effect from the drugs. He knew he was wrong though, because a second later a faint whirring sound drifted into his ears. "The drones – it's Beck, he's here."

"What?" Nick exclaimed, the sights around them already fading from the modern white walls to unpainted bricks as the room began to break from the illusion. "Hill?" He called out, watching the agent fade away.

Peter turned to Clara, even her eyes glowing now; the once brown irises now filled with solid violet. "Clara, what's happening?" He asked her, wishing and hoping she knew what was going on. "Mr Fury, it's just an ill-"

He was cut off, something blasting through the wall behind them, spinning Peter away and sending Fury flying into the wall behind him. Peter twisted to face the droned that had fired past him, but as he did, it let out another shot, launching Peter across the room and down two floors, slamming against steel wall supports as he fell.

Nausea and dizziness ripping through her, Clara stumbled forwards, her limbs shaking as she followed the direction the drone had sent Peter in. As the illusions dropped from the room, the colour drained from Clara - the drones were moving further away.

Clara dropped to her knees in front of the ledge, her hands braced on the floor and she tried to steady herself. Her mind was clouded, exhaustion taking over her body. She saw a haze of purple drifting round her, though she suspected, in the form of an idle thought, that the colour had been seared into her vision from looking through the light for so long - similar to looking up at the sun on a cloudless day to face the ground once again and still have the star in your sights.

She stared down at the drop in the building, searching for Peter, but the blur taking over her eyes made it too difficult to see her hands, let alone peer down to where he lay.

Clara growled, anger rising within her. Why didn't she trust her instincts when she had gotten in that car? It was clear now that Beck had planned everything to a tee and she had been a surprise – the script hadn't included her, she wasn't supposed to be there.

Fury had almost hit her with his car; if Peter hadn't been there to pull her out of the way, he probably would have. She remembered that she had then given a snarky remark about his driving - Fury would never have let what she had said slide.

Clara slumped as her arms finally gave out and she rolled onto her back, her head hanging limp over the ledge. Her breathing was getting heavy, almost laborious to fill her lungs with the air around her.

The man had handed her the two bottles, a last-minute change in the scene made evident by how out of place the action had seemed. Why did I take those damn tablets? She cursed herself, even the voice in her head slurred as if she had been drinking.

Would Fury even have cared if Peter had been wearing his seat belt?

Fury hadn't acknowledge her the entire time they were in the building: he hadn't waited for her to get out of the car, he hadn't looked at her when she stopped on the stairs, he hadn't even acknowledged the fact that she looked like she was an explosion waiting to happen as he continued his conversation with Peter.

Fury hadn't even been real - surely he was an illusion too. Her eyes becoming heavy, she grunted as shifted her head, turning to where the man had struck the wall. She crawled forward, near dragging herself along the floor, not wanting to risk lifting herself from the ground.

With great effort, Clara reached the unconscious form of the man she had believed was Nick Fury. She reached forward hesitantly. Eventually, Clara's fingertips reached the point where they should have come into contact with the body, but rather than feeling the pressure of an opposing force, they continued through.

She pulled back from the illusion, her face contorting into a look of hopelessness. All I had to do was touch him when we had seen him – I could have brushed my hand against his when I was taking the bottles or even just tapped him on the shoulder.

Clara slumped onto the hard floor, resting the back of her head against the cool concrete material. "Wow, Peter. Wow. Fury always had to die - But not you." She could hear the voice echoing around the building.

"Stop hiding, Beck!" Clara heard Peter yell. He's alive. The thought was calming as she closed her eyes, he's alive. Breathing was a conscious thought now, and she had to remind herself to take in breaths of air as her chest became heavy.

"I tried to help you walk away." Beck continued. "Now you're making me do this. You told me you were just a kid. You told me you wanted to run after that girl."

"Help me!" She heard her own voice cry out, but she hadn't spoken - at least, she couldn't remember saying anything... Had she said anything?

"Clara!" Peter called for her, though it wasn't the real her he was calling out for. Clara wanted to shout to him that she was fine, that whatever he was seeing wasn't real, but she couldn't bring herself to form the words, she couldn't even force her eyes back open.

"Peter?" Her voice sounded again, sounding strained and desperate. "He's here!"

A few floors down, Peter shook his head. It's not real, he thought. "I know this isn't real."

"Do you, though?" Beck asked, his words followed by a gut-wrenching scream. Hearing her own voice made her stomach churn, the cry for help carrying through the building.

He didn't know, that was the issue - he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. Without knowing, he lurched forwards, arms outstretched to catch the girl as Beck dropped her from the height of what would have been certain death. "Clara!" Peter yelled her name again.

Clara's her heart sank, knowing he had fallen for the dirty trick. She felt something run across the side of her face - something wet trailing down her skin to drop to the floor, soaking into the dust and dirt that lined it.

"I don't think you know what's real, Peter. You need to wake up!" After Becks words, and eerie silence fell over the building, Clara's breath stilling in the terrifying suspense. The soundless atmosphere was interrupted after what felt like a dozen lifetimes by the smashing of glass.

God, that was Peter, she thought hopelessly, assuming the worst, Beck's won. At that thought alone, Clara felt her body sinking into the rock-hard ground beneath her, her psyche telling her body that there was no point in fighting the drug flowing through her veins.

A sickening warmth spread through her. This warmth was artificial; the opiate in her system trying to force her into an unconsciousness. Just as finally felt herself drifting away, she felt hands against her body, lifting her. Along with the sensation, came a new spur of energy brought on from the feeling of being moved, she struggled against it, pulling her head up and opening her eyes to look at the man in front of her, only to find it was a stranger she had never seen before.

Clara hammered blows against his chest, but no matter how much energy she directed to her limbs, it wasn't enough. Her muscles were weak and the strikes did nothing but exhaust her again.

The man that was lifting her wore a smart, blue button-up shirt. A strange choice, she thought for a time and place such as this. His short beard was shaven on his cheeks, like a wide goatee, isn't that called an extended goatee? She thought to herself, her foggy mind drifting between questions as it struggled to find purchase on a single though. Or was it a circle beard? She was pretty sure she was making things up at this point.

With a grunt, the man slung Clara over a shoulder, his wide frame allowing him to carry her easily enough. Clara felt sick as she swayed upside down, an arm holding her in place behind her knees and her own arms hanging below her. She heard the man speak, his voice young but deep and powerful, she guessed he was in his late twenties. "I've got the girl, Sir. Returning to ground level now."

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