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The Iron-Spider

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“Is he ready?”

The agent at the door shook his head. “He still bounces back. He won’t forget, saying ‘Wade, Dad, Pops’ over and over again.”

He shook his head. “We’ll just give him a push in the right direction.” He lifted up a red book with a black spider on the cover. The agent nodded and opened the steel door.

He walked into the room. A boy was in a chair, held down by metal by his arms and legs. His hair was greasy from not showering for... how long had it been? Weeks?

“Morning, Soldier.” He walked up to the boy, a smirk on his face. “I’m not a soldier,” the boy said, thrashing against the restraints. “Let me go. I’m not going to join your evil army.”

“Oh, but you are.” He smiled. He waved the book that the boy knew too well by now, opening it up.

“страстное желание.”

“Shut up.”

“Жжение.”

“I said shut up!”

“рассвет.”

He tried to raise his hands up to his ears, but didn’t get very far before his hands were stopped by the metal.

“возвращение домой.

доброкачественный.

количество осадков.

боль в сердце.”

He kept on naming off and repeating words until the screaming died down and there was an eerie silence. The boys gaze lay on the floor.

“Good morning, Iron Spider.”

Peter Rogers-Stark looked up at the man, all expression on his face gone.

“Готовы соблюдать.”