Where could I go?

It’s been a week or two since he’s grown his new fangs and nifty web shooters. He's having a harder and harder time knowing how long he’s been here. His best guess is a month and half, based on how many fights he’s done. It’s all starting to blend together, he’s started forgetting fights he’s done, only remembering that he’s fighting when he’s being brought back to his room. 

He’s starting to get more ruthless, too. Mostly because he just wants to be done with the fights. Even when he zones out, in the ‘safety’ of his room, Peter remembers a moment all too well that keeps him up at night.

All he had to do was knock him out, he just wanted to go back to his room. He just wanted to sleep peacefully tonight. 

His opponent was frail, Peter honestly didn’t even understand why he was fighting him. 

All he had to do was knock him out. 

Maybe he was distracted.

Maybe that’s why he accidentally hit him so hard.

When Peter wakes up some mornings, he can only see those eyes wide open, unblinking. He can only hear the noticeable lack of a heartbeat.

That night he had told himself that they would be fine, that it was probably nothing. 

He doesn’t want to think about what he’s done.

Aaron even congratulated him, told him he really got a reaction out of the crowd that night.

It had earned him a better room.

Even though that night had to have been a couple weeks ago, it’s the only thing he can think about. He tells himself that he had one rule. That he was a good person before all of this. Now Peter gets better food and a softer bed, he knows what to do to be better off in this place. But every time he thinks about how to do better that face with unblinking eyes stares into his soul. 

Peter decides that for now he’ll just work on finding a way out, as futile as it seems.

—

On the night Peter’s life is changed yet again, the crowd is eerily quiet. People speak in hushed voices rather than their drunken shouts.

Peter doesn’t like it. 

When he fights that night, he keeps it quick. The energy filling the room is confusing, he feels like something could go wrong too easily.

So he tries to fight as quickly as possible.

In his first fight, the man opposite him was clearly made of muscle. A well timed kick to the head was able to put him out. In the second fight, a snake hybrid woman was intent on clawing him to death. Peter was able to web her up relatively quickly and send her on her way.

The third fight though, Peter felt the energy in the room shift. There are eyes prying into him as he fights. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on finishing his fight as quickly as possible. He ended up striking his opponent in the temple and they were knocked out immediately. Their head cracking against the concrete.  

As Peter was led back to his room, a cackle broke through the near silent building.

—

When he wakes up, it’s to Aaron opening the door again. His usual expression of ‘can I just get the fuck out of here and stop dealing with this guy’ is replaced with something more sad.

In the dim light of his slightly-better-but-not-really room he saw Aaron’s face contorted in pity. 

“...You’re gonna be leaving today to fight for someone new. Be ready in ten minutes,”

As quickly as he was there, Aaron left. Leaving Peter in his room again, wondering what could possibly be next for him in his clearly cursed life story. If Aaron’s reaction was anything to go off of, it seemed like his life was going to get a lot shittier.

Through the short time Peter has known him, Aaron has only really focused on himself. To him, Peter was a tool for success. For someone who seriously couldn’t give less of a shit about him, Aaron seemed pretty concerned when he woke him up this morning.

Whatever was coming his way, Peter wasn’t too sure about it. If it was anything like what's happening now, he could probably last until he found a way out.

It’ll be fine, probably just more fighting. Maybe even an easier way to escape.

When Peter was collected for the last time by Aaron, he decided to actually make conversation with him as he led him down seemingly endless hallways. 

“Y’know…the guy you’re working with is kind of…hotheaded,” Aaron pauses, seemingly looking for a way to phrase whatever he was trying to tell Peter in delicate terms. “When you’re with him, it’s best to just go with whatever he says or you’ll probably get a bullet between the eyes,”

Well, that's soothing.

Whatever worries Peter had definitely weren’t assuaged by that little piece of advice. At this point, what choice did he have? The guy walking him towards this apparent hothead held a device that could put him in inconceivable pain for as long as he wanted. Right now, it seems like following him is the only choice he has.

It was starting to feel like he doesn’t really have a choice in anything anymore.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when they take a turn Peter knows leads away from the main room. Wherever they were meeting this guy, it wasn’t familiar to Peter. They continued walking through dreary hallways, the sounds of fighting in the main room slowly becoming more and more muffled until they came upon a large door. The soft echoes of whatever city he was in batter against the door, calling him outside. Peter tries to suppress a shiver as memories of drifting off in his bedroom back in queens scratch at the back of his mind. Those sounds used to lull him to sleep, now it feels like they’re taunting him. Telling him he can’t get out.

Before he opened the door Aaron paused, turning to look at Peter. “It’s-” He sighed looking down and shaking his head. “It’s going to be ok. Whatever happens, it’ll turn out fine,”

He seemed like he was saying more to himself than to Peter.

Aaron took a second to look over Peter. The younger one shrinking under his gaze. Whatever was happening wasn’t normal. Aaron was usually indifferent at best and horribly belittling at worst, this confusingly softer side made him uncomfortable. 

As he opened the door, a cool gust of wind hit Peter's face, the city sounds growing exponentially louder. Seated outside the door was a nondescript looking van. Two men in (frankly gaudy) clown makeup nod to Aaron before opening the back of the van. The man that steps out is already chuckling as he steps out of the van into the light of a nearby lamppost. 

The man was wearing a surprisingly well kept purple suit compared to the rest of him. Greasy green hair clung to the man's forehead, his pale skin shone under the lamppost unnaturally. Beady dark eyes bore into Peter's soul, startling him into taking a small step back.

“Now now, don’t be shy. First impressions are everything y’know. Come over here, I want to see how my new friend looks,”

Peter takes small steps forward, his spider sense screaming at him that this man wasn’t ok, that he needed to get out of here now. The heavy thrumming at the back of his skull was distracting. He needs to get away from whatever is causing this, but something in the back of his mind tells him the punishment for trying to leave would be ten times worse than whatever will happen if he goes with them.

When Peter gets close enough a clammy pale hand shoots out to grab his face, pulling him into the lamplight. As he’s brought closer to the man the smell of something toxic hit’s his nostrils. The sweaty hand clenches his face harder as his face is turned back and forth.

“Awwwwe, you’ve got such a baby face for a cold blooded killer! Gotta keep them on their toes right? It’s like I always say: play nice then stab em’ in the back!” The man cackles after his sentence. The men around him chuckle lightly, whatever this man says goes apparently.

All Peter can do is focus on this man's face. It was unnatural, something about him was off.  His smile was too wide, scrawled on lipstick making it look even larger, the corners of his mouth reach far past where they should. But all Peter could do was stare as he took in the image of the man he was going to fight for. 

“Anyways…like I said, first impressions matter,” The man lets go of Peter's face and straightens himself up, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders and adjusting his lapel. He holds a hand out to Aaron, who gives him one last look of pity before handing him his remote and heading back inside. He can practically hear the ‘sorry kid’ radiating off him as he closes the door, shutting Peter off from the only place he’s known in this strange city. 

What the fuck am I getting into?

“I’m the Joker, and you are?” The man (now deemed Joker) leans into Peter’s space, forcing the other to lean back.

Peter pauses for a moment, since he’s gotten here he hasn’t told anyone his name. In the fight house he was only called what the crowd called him, which was Spider. He definitely feels like shouldn’t tell this guy anything about himself, but then again this guy is-

His internal rambles are cut short as white hot pain burns through his body and he stumbles, catching himself on the lamppost. He can hear chuckles from the men around the van.

“Oh, sorry…just wanted to see what this button would do. Go on, answer my question,” Jokers eyes stare into his own as Peter shakily brings himself back up.

“M-my name is Peter. They called me Spider, sir,” Peter avoids eye contact when he finishes telling him, feeling like he just gave up something precious.

“Hmm, well neither of those names really fit the aesthetic I've so carefully curated around here. So we'll have to change that name asap,” He puts a finger on his chin thoughtfully, humming to himself. Whatever this man does, it’s always for show it seems.

“Oh! I know!” The Joker motions for his men and Peter to hop in the van. Peter's spider sense protests as he climbs into the van. A heavy thrum is practically vibrating through his whole body when he steps into the van. He can’t deny it now, wherever he’s going is going to be much worse than where he’s coming from. 

He can feel it.

“How about Prank?” Joker leers at Peter, eyes boring into his nervous form.

Peter just resigns himself to staring at the floor of the van as he’s taken somewhere new.