The press conference went fine. At least it went better than Tony expected.

Of course, as soon as Peter was revealed as Tony's son: the paparazzi went crazy, but when they also found out about him being the masked vigilante - Peter couldn't escape the cameras for almost three hours.

He had answered all their questions, but his Spidey senses had been ringing for the last ten minutes of it. It was probably just warning him about an oncoming sensory overload headache, he lied to himself. He knew that this was a different kind of feeling.

"I'm just gonna take a breather outside, Dad," Peter promised, ready to escape the flashing lights, and pestering questions.

Tony nodded, knowing exactly what his son was going through. He guided Peter to a fire exit, telling him to be back in fifteen - or to call him, instead. Peter told him he would, and gave a sigh of relief, as he stepped out into the cold.

Peter had only been outside for a few minutes, pacing up and down the alleyway, when he heard one of the nearby trash cans fall over.

It was probably just the wind, he tried to convince himself.

But there was only a light breeze in the air. The nearby streetlight was flickering - it's yellow hue reflecting off of the surrounding buildings. He could sense something coming... probably just a stray cat or dog, he told himself. But he was struggling to believe it: someone was coming. Someone or something bad.

Peter heard a door slam open. He panicked. He turned around. It was only Tony.

"Dad? I thought something bad was happening, my senses they're-"

He was interrupted by the gunshot, and then by his Dad's figure falling to the ground. Peter could feel the hard, rigid end of the gun held to his back; he could hear his heartbeat thundering in head. The taste of salty tears filled his mouth - and there was nothing he could do.

Bang.

* * *

Tony felt helpless, as he watched Peter stir: from the other side of the one-way glass. He knew it was one-way, because one of their captor's had told him.

He could see his son's limp body trembling in fear, as he opened his eyes... those scared, wide eyes. Tony couldn't bear to watch: but he was forced to by the restraints holding him to the chair. He wouldn't close his eyes, however , he couldn't, what if they did something to his son?

"Morning, Sleepy, thank you for joining us," taunted the captor with charcoal coloured hair. A lady, who seemed oddly familiar to Tony.

Peter blinked, trying to move, before realising he was tied to the chair, at both his legs, arms and waist, "Where am I? Where's my Dad?"

The words shattered Tony's heart. As soon as became round to his senses, the first person he worried about was his Dad, him.

"Your father is here, however the two of you will not be reuniting, for a while."

Those words stung Peter - and Tony too - he wanted to see his Dad, he wanted to hug him, and feel that warm fuzzy feeling he always got.

But instead he was there, in a windowless room: where the only source of light, and heat was an old gas-burner.

"Why do you want me... him?" Peter forced the words out of his dry throat. He hadn't had anything to drink at the conference - there had only been alcohol, and he had been out a good few hours.

The lady laughed, "He did something to me, many years ago, something that left me bankrupt. His company left me without a cent. And now I get what I deserve, now I get revenge."

Tony instantly knew where he recognised her from. Back at an Expo in 1999, he had released a new missile. Cutting edge tech, for the time. Her company had been working on a similar design, but they beat her to it. They had won that gap in the market.

Sylvia Brookeman

Peter watched as another man walked into the room, his skin adorned with tattoos - and his face covered by a curly beard. However, it wasn't the man's appearance that frightened him: it was the machine next to Peter, which the man had started fiddling with.

Tony wanted to yell, to shout that he was here, to slightly calm Peter's nerves. But he couldn't risk it. What if they did something worse to his son?

Peter glanced at the metal rope, which was holding him tightly down on the chair, then back at the machine. He knew that the type of metal, copper, which had been used was a conductor of electricity. And he didn't really like where his thoughts were dwelling.

Tony also knew that was happening, he had realised it from the moment he first lay his eyes on the machinery.

"Turn it on," Sylvia demanded, and the bearded man slowly turned the dial, doing it till it was just over half way.

Peter felt like he was about die. Actually he would have rather been dead. His whole body was burning; his arms and legs had gone numb.

"Please," he whispered, trying to speak through the pain, "Don't. Do. Anything. To. My. Dad."

It took him over thirty seconds to finish his sentence, but it made no difference: nobody was listening to him.

Tony watched in silence, as his son was tortured in front of his eyes. The part that made it worse was that they were only doing this to Peter to hurt Tony.

"Come on, we have somebody else to talk to," Sylvia ordered, her high heels flattering against the concrete floor, as they left Peter alone in the room.

* * *