Twisted Past

"Uncle Ben!" Peter yelled out frantically when he saw it was his dear uncle lying on the pavement of the street surrounded by people.

Peter looked around and yelled desperately at the pedestrians,"Somebody call an ambulance!"

No one answered.

Choking on his sobs, Peter whispered, "Uncle Ben."

There was so much blood on the pavement. It was warm on his hands. It seeped through his fingers. It flowed out of the small hole in his uncle's chest. The pressure he was putting on the wound seemed to be doing nothing. Peter’s mind was filled with fear. Panic was slowly creeping on him and he had no idea how it hadn't taken over him yet. His heart was racing and he thought it might just suddenly stop out of exhaustion. Unable to focus on anything except the ever so slow and weak breaths escaping his uncle's chest and the paleness of his cheeks. He saw his own tears fall onto his Uncle's coat. He couldn’t understand this. And then, he saw it, life dimming in his uncle’s eyes.

"No. No, no, no! Don’t, please, you can't die!"

He knew that his words didn't have any power over the way his uncle's eyes stared emptily into the stars, but he couldn't help but plead. He couldn't understand it, why did this happen? His uncle has never done anything wrongbusinessman didn't deserve to die.

Everything became distant, the sirens in the background, the cop touching his shoulder, the honking of nearby cars. All he could focus on was his uncle lying lifelessly on the concrete sidewalk. Soon the paramedics pried his uncle's lifeless body from his fingers while Peter was choking out unrecognizable words of protest. The cop put a blanket around his shoulders and gently navigated him into the front a cop car.

Sometime later at home, another cop showed him a record of his uncle's murder caught on a nearby shop security camera. He felt his blood run cold. He knew the man on the record, it was the man he let go and his uncle's death was his fault. That moment, he promised himself that he would stop the man, his uncle's murderer, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Peter's head shot straight up as he slammed his fist down on the new alarm clock's snooze button. Surprisingly, it didn't break. Today he would be leaving the city and flying to Brazil for his current jobs. He had enough of New York, too many memories and resurfacing emotions. He couldn't let that happen, emotions were a weakness he didn't have the luxury to afford.

He looked around the room and sighed. Personal belongings were littered across the floor, guns and ammunition were scattered on the desk, and pieces of the old alarm clock were laying on the floor beside the bedside table. Tidying up the room, conserving and packing his weapons, finding a place to store them and sending them in a sealed bag there took him almost two hours. He had to do that because he could neither leave the weapons without any care nor take them with him as he wouldn't be able to take such package on a plane.

After that, Peter took a quick shower and put on his clothes for travel. Before leaving the bathroom, he briefly stopped in front of a mirror hanging on the wall over the sink. When looking at himself he wished he had some shapeshifting powers, the ability to mimic the appearance and voice of any person would definitely be convenient. He would have so much less trouble with traveling if he could alter his look even just a bit. The security at airports are always very extensive and he couldn't exactly go on board in a mask. Concealing his appearance was hard and couldn't simply let it be as he still looked so much like his old self. If somebody from his old life was still looking for him, they would have no problem with recognizing him wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and there was Hydra which most definitely is still looking for him.

He kept his stubble, put on sunglasses, and changed into an expensive grey suit that fit slightly snug against his muscles. Looking a little too similar to Tony Stark but still pleased with his appearance Peter cleared all the evidence of his residence and then put his belongings in the taxi he called earlier.

Upon arriving at the airport, Peter gave the driver a generous tip, took his luggage, and then entered the airport.

It was the busiest hour of the day. A crowd of people were either heading to their platforms or leaving the airport, sharing their goodbyes or greeting with loved ones. This gave Peter the perfect conditions for camouflage, he could easily blend In amongst the people. With his luggage trailing a step behind him, Peter advanced to the counter to purchase a ticket. He pulled out his fake passport and handed it to the woman. Few seconds and one polite word exchange with the cashier later, Ben Stacy received his ticket and headed for his terminal. Ben Stacy was the name he typically went by in the United States, a tribute to the two people who plagued his dreams.

Peter looked down at his phone and scrolled through available jobs in Brazil, all of them were gang/cartel related. Those types of jobs were always the least organized. Not paying attention to his surroundings Peter bumped into someone knocking them over and his sunglasses straight off his face. He tried to offer a hand to the young woman on the floor but it was immediately swatted away. Once she managed to get up by herself Peter felt a vibe of deja vu from the whole situation, she seemed very familiar. In her high heels, she was a few inches taller than him, had beautiful curly hair, caramel skin, skillfully applied tender and natural makeup, and wore a navy blue suit which matched her stylish heels. She held her head up and stood straight with an air of confidence and stared Peter down in a surprisingly intimidating manner, had he been his younger self he's sure he'd be cowering.

"Why is it that men always assume woman need help? I am a strong independent woman, I can do just fine on my own," Spoke the woman, irritation evident in her voice.

Peter raised an eyebrow at her comment. "I don't know. I personally think it's polite to help up the person you knock down," Peter responded looking her directly in the eyes.

The woman rolled her eyes, "Well next time ask before you put your hands on someone.” She looked at her phone and sighed, “Great, I'm going to be late because of you."

"Well ma'am that's not my problem," Peter remarked flippantly as he leaned over to finally pick up his sunglasses from the floor. He then grabbed his luggage and began walking away.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Peter sighed, "What do you want?"

"What's your name? Judging by your attire I'm guessing you're a businessman and if the price of your suit is anything to go by, I'm assuming a wealthy one at that," the woman informed.

"And you are saying that because?" Peter asked with an irritated tone, growing annoyed with the lady.

"I'm a respected and well-known reporter who could uncover any dirt you have, no matter how small, and ruin your career if I wanted to," she answered while staring him down with a hand resting on her hip.

“Then why would I share my name with you?” Peter asked in a clipped tone, his eyes shifting to his watch.

“I'm guessing you are in hurry just like me, and I know I would find out who you are anyway but I'm wondering, what would happen if you were stopped by airport security?” She questioned smugly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Just great, he always had to land himself in such situations, didn't he?

Parker Luck.

Peter flashed a fake smile before extending his hand and saying, "I can't say I like people as nosy as you, but if you have to know, my name is Ben Stacy."

The woman returned the handshake before introducing herself. "Michelle Jones, and being nosy is my job, Mr. Stacy."

"Better not be too nosy," Peter warned with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"And truly hope we don't see each other ever again, Ms. Jones," Peter added before leaving as quickly as possible not wanting to miss his flight.

Michelle stood there watching the man walk away. He seemed to be very familiar, it was as if she had met him somewhere before, but she couldn't pinpoint where or when. There was also something very offputting about Ben. His expressions lacked sincerity, to anyone one else they would seem normal, but to her trained eye, she could tell something was off. It was those hazel eyes and the smile which lacked emotion that irked her. His disguise was very charming, but to her, it looked rehearsed and completely fake. After interviewing and reporting news on a daily basis, Michelle has become a pro at reading people, but Ben wasn't like others. What would cause someone to be so insincere? He surely was rich, but how has he been earning his money? She swiftly typed Ben Stacy into the notes on her phone. Once she reached her hotel room in Florida that would be the first thing she researched. After all, Michelle hates unsolved mysteries.

When Peter arrived at his hotel, it was already night. The room he reserved was perfect for him, large and luxurious, and most importantly it had a window directly facing the mansion of the drug cartel's leader whose assassination he had taken as his latest job.

Before doing anything Peter had to purchase new arsenal and for that, he needed some other disguise. He changed into cheaper and a bit worn clothes, cheap black sunglasses and a red bandana with a complicated pattern on it. Now looking like another shady guy who's itching for trouble, he jumped out the window and made his way over to the closest gun shop with military grade weaponry. Once he purchased what he needed he returned to his room and changed into his spider suit. Then he strapped on himself guns and grenades to his belt and got ready for the mission.

The mission was quick. Peter was in and out in minutes. Once the guards were all knocked out, he was able to easily assassinate the leader and make it out in time before anyone noticed him.

Back at the hotel room, Peter opened up his laptop and sent the pictures of his target's body to his employer and waited for his payment.

Five hundred thousand dollars were deposited into one of his many bank accounts. Peter stared at the screen, face void of emotion. The money meant nothing to him, it was just piling up after every job. Expensive cars are too flashy, homes are too permanent, and jewelry is pointless. Instead, Peter spends his money on weapons, armored suits, clothing, webbing, hotel rooms, weapon storages and hideouts wherever he visited a lot. Something deep inside him felt guilty. As far as he remembered his family wasn't exactly financially secure, so he knew how much his money could have benefited his life in the past. Peter ignored the thought, what use would it to be to think about them, they're dead.

Right as Peter was about to close his laptop, he remembered the encounter at the airport. His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself typing 'Michelle Jones' into the google search engine.

So far, everything she said was true. Jones was a journalist for the Daily Bugle then became a reporter due to the diminishing power of the newspaper industry. As a reporter, she spent her days targeting corrupt politicians, reporting government scandals, and uncovering dirty celebrity secrets. Although, based on her Twitter it seemed she enjoyed participating in political protests, advocating women's rights, and addressing the problems with modern society. She seemed like a ray of sunshine.

Peter scanned her page on Wikipedia but didn't find any other information, but right as he was about to exit the site something caught his eye. A photo of her year from Midtown School of Science and Technology she attended to, the same one high school he went to, a photo of which he could recognize himself too.

Deciding to dig a little deeper Peter pulled up her Instagram and took his time to scroll all the way to the bottom and just like he expected she still had pictures from her high school left on her account. It was one of the last pictures on the account which left him stunned. It was a selfie of Peter and Michelle together, her arm over his shoulder and they both smiling. It was captioned: 'hanging out with my favorite nerd'.

Michelle stumbled into her hotel room at an ungodly hour of 1 am in the middle of the night and plopped onto the bed immediately. She wanted to sleep but she couldn't, the unanswered question has kept her irritated and sleepless whole flight. Who was Ben Stacey? Grabbing her Mac Book from her suitcase, Michelle began her search, but Ben Stacey had no information other than a driver's license and passport. Michelle knew something was up if a businessman did not have any business connections to his name. It was too late to continue the investigation, she had to get some sleep but she was going to find out the secrets behind the name of Ben Stacey.