1
It was supposed to be a happy day.
August 10, 2011. Peter’s tenth birthday. It was a big deal, reaching the double digits, especially as the only child of Tony and Pepper Stark. It was mentioned in the news, all over social media, everywhere.
The Stark’s didn’t care, though. They got Peter his favorite breakfast, then met at the park with his two best friends, Ned and Michelle. The three of them had met in kindergarten, when Peter was using his false last name, Parker, to avoid any media attention. They were the only two kids in Peter’s entire school who Peter knew truly liked him just for him.
They’d been at the park for half an hour when Ned came wandering up to them.
“Where’s Peter?” Tony asked, as Ned took a water bottle from his mother.
“I dunno,” Ned shrugged. “Said he was going to the bathroom.”
“Can you tell him to hurry?” Pepper asked. “We were planning on doing presents soon.”
Ned took off towards the bathroom as Michelle sat down on a blanket besides her own father. Five minutes later, Ned came back.
“Peter’s not in the bathroom,” he informed them. “I can’t find him on the playground, either.”
Tony’s heart dropped.
-{}-{}-{}-
August 10, 2011. Peter’s tenth birthday. It was a big deal, disappearing without a trace, especially as the only child of Tony and Pepper Stark. It was breaking news, all over social media, everywhere.
Flyers were put up all over the city, then all over the state, then the country. Tony did nothing besides search for his son, with the help of Pepper and Happy. The three of them spent the next months searching security footage, flying over the city as Iron Man, working with police and private detectives.
Then the Avengers showed up. They all knew Tony had a son, and they all knew he’d disappeared, though Tony never spoke of him. Steve asked about him once.
Nobody asked about him again.
-{}-{}-{}-
August 10, 2016. Peter’s fifteenth birthday. The day Spider-Man, the biggest pain in the ass Tony had ever had to deal with, showed up in New York. Spider-Man wasn’t an Avenger’s level threat, at first. He was a petty criminal, almost a vigilante.
And then he shot the mayor in the middle of a City Hall meeting. And suddenly, the Avengers were called in.
No matter what Tony did, he couldn’t find the guy. He left no clues. Just a streak of black flying past your window, and maybe a remnant of synthetic web. Tony had tried following him, tracking him, tracing any patterns, and setting traps. Nothing he did tripped the guy up. He always escaped, never saying a word, never leaving any sign he was there at all, except for the occasional blood smear or corpse.
–
-{}-{}-{}-
–
Sunday’s were Seven’s favorite days. They were the days he didn’t have to wear his uniform, he didn’t have to gel his brown curls into a helmet, and he didn’t have to go to training. They were the days he could read, or draw, or dance, or play games with the others.
The Red Room was an odd place. Mostly, it was filled with young women. The Widow’s, they were called. Lately, however, there have been younger and younger people.
There were nine of them. They were named as such; One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine. They were searching for Ten.
One was a girl, seventeen years old. The Red Room let you know when it was your birthday; you got the day off training, so you always knew how old you were. She’d been there the longest; she came when she was five, seven years before Seven arrived.
Two was a boy, sixteen years old. He’d arrived two months after One, when he was only four years old.
Three was another girl, the oldest, at eighteen. She arrived two years after Two, when she was nine. Four, a boy, arrived barely a week after Three, when he was eight, and now he was seventeen.
Five was a girl. She arrived three years after Four, when she was seven, though now she was 14. Six, also a girl, nine years old now, arrived another two years after that, when she was four. Seven arrived four years ago, when he was ten. He was told he arrived on his birthday. He was fifteen now.
Eight and Nine arrived on the same day, two years ago, when they were seven and nine. Now they were nine and eleven.
They were told the Red Room was still searching for Ten. They didn’t know who it would be, or when they would arrive, but everyone waited. They didn’t have much longer to wait.
Seven was in the dance studio, practicing his ballet. He’d made a mistake during class last week, a mistake he still bore the marks from, and he had no desire to repeat the punishment this week. As he practiced, there was a hesitant knock on the door, and Six entered the room.
“Hey,” Seven smiled at her, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Nobody’s smiles reached their eyes.
“Hi,” Six said softly. “They sent me to get you. Apparently they found Ten a few weeks ago, and she’s just finished programming.”
“She?” Seven asked. “What’s their deal with girls? Two, Four and I are the only boys in this entire place.”
Six giggled gently. “I dunno. We’d better hurry, though, I think they want you to show her around.”
Seven sighed. If Ten had just finished programming, then showing her around would not be fun. She’d be slow, and sore, probably dazed and confused. It didn’t matter what Seven showed her - she probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow, and have to be shown all over again. Nevertheless, Seven took his pointe shoes off and stacked them gently in his cubby, before following Six out of the room.
The Red Room put an odd emphasis on ballet. There were many classes the Widows and Experiments alike took - martial arts, archery, gun shooting, some form of gymnastics. But you got in the most trouble if you messed up in ballet. Then, you got Programmed again. Nobody remembered much after they’d been Programmed, but they dreaded it all the same.
Ten turned out to be seven years old. She was small, even for someone so young. Her eyes were dazed, unfocused. One of the Widow’s, who Seven knew to be named Yelena, was in the room, as well.
“There you are,” Yelena said brusquely. “This is Ten. You’re to show her around, teach her the schedule, and take her to her room for light’s out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Seven said quietly, not meeting her eyes. The Widow’s may be soldiers for the Red Room, just like the Experiments, but they were ranked above the Experiments.
There was one notable difference between Widows and Experiments, besides the age. While the Widows were skilled assassins, and never failed a mission, the Experiments were just that. Experimental. They’d all been given some sort of “power”, their higher-ups called it. Seven wasn’t sure he’d go that far. Mutation, more like. These powers were used for missions. None of the other experiments really knew what the others’ powers were. Seven’s turned him almost spider-like. He could climb walls and ceilings. He was unexpectedly strong and flexible, and his senses were enhanced, as was his intelligence. His higher-ups had developed a sort of web that he used for transportation on missions - he swung around like a spider, using mechanical web-shooters that attached to his wrists. He also thought he might be able to see the future, but he wasn’t sure - sometimes, he’d have specific dreams that would then come true, but he wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence or not, because it hadn’t happened very often.
Six had mentioned that her power had something to do with water, but a higher-up had heard, and both of them had been Programmed. Nobody else ever mentioned theirs.
Nobody talked much in the Red Room. At least, you weren’t supposed to. Sometimes you could get away with an odd conversation, and on days such as birthdays or Sundays, you were allowed to do pretty much whatever you liked. But disobey a direct order?
You’d be wishing you were dead long before they were finished with you.