Secrets ↠ Peter Parker

27

(Y/N POV)

The way you're looking at me.

Something wasn't right.

New York was silent.

Deadly silent.

I stood in the middle of the street, staring up at the buildings in front of me. Nothing was moving: cars stood still and there was no wind blowing through the trees.

I was not in New York.

"Hello?" I cried out into the lifeless city, "where am I?"

I began to panic, my breathing getting heavier with each step I took. I was lost, completely lost. I had tried to go back to my world, but each jump I took through the quantum realm, I ended up somewhere further off than I was supposed to be.

My throat was dry, the result of not eating or drinking for hours, but I didn't know where to turn for resources. The doors to all the buildings were locked, and I was trapped.

I kept moving, clutching the control for my suit in my hand. I had to keep this safe, no matter what. It was my only means of escape, and my only way to return back home.

"What the heck is wrong with it?" I muttered to myself, tapping on the side of the case, "why aren't you working?"

I slumped down on the sidewalk, and popped open the cartridge lid. A puff of smoke blew out into my face, sending me off in a fit of coughing.

Of course. The circuits were fried.

I waved off the grey air with my hand, and poked at the withering wires inside the container. I could fix it, but I needed my tools. But my tools were in the tower, and those doors were most likely locked too.

Go to the hall of armor.

Another voice? You've got to be kidding me. I've been in this world for a couple minutes and yet I'm already losing my mind.

Go to the hall of armor.

Fine, okay, I will. Maybe I should listen to the voice in my head for once, I've got nothing else to do for the time being. I started to walk down the street, the tower coming closer into view. Once I got there, I stared at the door before tugging on the handle. It was locked, as I predicted.

Break the glass.

No, I'm not going to break the glass.

Break it.

Fine. I bent down and picked up a big rock lying on the front lawn of the tower. I'd never broken a window like this before, and I didn't expect it to be the window of my own place. Strange how life works like that. I gathered up all of my brute strength and threw the stone at the window, creating a deafening crash as it tumbled into the tower. Kicking more glass shards out of my way, I slipped into the building and made my way towards the elevator.

Surprisingly it was on, and I pressed the button. The doors started to close, but suddenly they jolted back open and I stepped back. What? I pressed the button again, and the doors finally shut.

Once I reached the floor of the hall of armor, I stepped out into the hallway.

"Maybe the old songs," I heard a voice echo out from down the hall, "Will bring back the old times."

I froze. I didn't recognize that voice in the slightest. Who was it? I thought there weren't people in the city, but I could hear this voice loud and clear. They were singing some song from the 80s, occasionally switching to hum the tune.

"Maybe the old lines will sound new," they continued.

I took a step towards the hall doors, my head spinning with fear. I didn't like being afraid, but what other emotion could I be feeling? I took another step towards the door, a couple inches away from the window.

The voice stopped singing.

"Oh," they said, "you're here."

I wanted to turn and run the other way. I probably should have, that's the kind of stuff you see in horror films, but something told me to stay. The voice in my head.

"Don't just stand there," they said again, "come in."

I took a deep breath before stepping out into the light from the room. I didn't see anybody, which made me confused. Slowly pushing open the doors, I crept inside and started to look around.

"I've been watching you for a while now," the voice spoke, "you are very interesting."

'Where are you?" I called out, "Who are you?"

I grabbed a wrench lying about on the table, and clutched it in my hand for protection. The voice was coming from the suit closet a couple steps away.

"I don't expect you to know who I am, or why I'm helping you," they explained.

I held out the wrench, ready to throw it at whoever was playing games with me. Turning the corner, I finally caught sight of the person the voice belong to.

A Janitor was brushing the window case of Mark 42, tapping his foot against the ground. A janitor? We don't have janitors at the tower. How did he get in?

"I'm going to ask you one more time," I threatened, gripping the tool in my hand tighter, "Who are you?"

The man set down the duster, and turned to face me.

"Stan lee," he said, "I'm a watcher."