The dull hum of Ryker's Island stirred to life as the first rays of sunlight seeped through the high windows. Tony Stark sat on the edge of his cot, watching the faint line of light creep across the cell's gray floor. The prison was alive with noise, shouts, footsteps, the metallic clang of doors opening. Today would be different. Today, Tony had a plan.
The door to his cell swung open, the guard on duty glaring at him. "Stark. Let's go. Breakfast."
Tony rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his jumpsuit. His demeanor was calm, almost casual, but his mind raced with calculations and contingencies. He stepped into the corridor, joining the line of inmates heading to the canteen.
....
The canteen buzzed with activity as inmates gathered around metal tables, their conversations blending into a low, chaotic hum. Tony moved with purpose, grabbing a tray and scanning the room for his target, a hulking figure with a shaven head and a scar running across his cheek.
The man was seated near the corner, laughing with a group of equally rough-looking inmates. Tony approached with deliberate steps, setting his tray down at the table without asking.
"Mind if I join?" he asked, his tone polite but laced with defiance.
The man narrowed his eyes, the room around them seeming to quiet slightly. "Got a death wish, Stark?"
Tony smirked, leaning forward. "No, just a knack for finding trouble."
Before the man could respond, Tony grabbed his tray and slammed it against the side of his head, the sound echoing through the room. Chaos erupted instantly.
Fists flew as inmates rushed toward Tony, some out of loyalty to the man he'd attacked, others simply eager for a fight. Tony ducked a punch, slamming his elbow into another attacker's ribs. His movements were quick, calculated, he didn't need to win, just cause enough of a scene.
The guards stormed in, batons crackling with electricity. Tony took a hit to the shoulder, the jolt knocking him to the ground. As the melee unfolded, he slipped his hand into the pocket of a fallen guard, fingers brushing against the cold surface of an ID card.
He pocketed it quickly, wincing as another blow landed on his side. The guards yelled orders, dragging inmates apart and restoring order with brute force.
"Lock him up!" one of them barked, pointing at Tony.
....
The cell door slammed shut behind him, the clang reverberating through the empty block. The other inmates had been sent to the yard for their scheduled break, leaving Tony alone in the silence. He paced the small space, waiting until the echo of footsteps faded completely.
Reaching under his cot, he pulled out the sack of tools he'd hidden. His fingers brushed against the rough edges of the bolt cutters, the smooth roll of duct tape, and the improvised blade he'd fashioned from a piece of scrap metal. But it was the small motor he'd salvaged from a fan in the storage room that was his key to freedom.
Tony assembled the device with practiced efficiency, connecting the motor to a length of steel wire and securing it with duct tape. The makeshift tool hummed to life as he tested it, the wire spinning fast enough to slice through the tough cement of the cell wall.
He positioned the device at the back of his cell, where a faint crack ran along the concrete.
"Here goes nothing." he muttered.
The wire bit into the cement, dust and debris falling around him as he worked. The noise was faint, masked by the hum of the prison's ventilation system. Sweat dripped down Tony's brow, his muscles straining as he maneuvered the tool.
....
After what felt like an eternity, a hole large enough to crawl through appeared in the wall. Tony peered through it, his heart pounding. The narrow tunnel on the other side led to a maintenance corridor, dimly lit and deserted.
He slipped through the hole, crouching low as he moved down the corridor. Pipes lined the walls, their surfaces slick with condensation. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of rust and mildew.
Tony's path led him to the garage, where the prison's vehicles were stored. He pressed himself against the wall, peering around the corner. Two guards stood near the far end, their backs turned.
He moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. His eyes scanned the vehicles until he found what he needed, a plain white van with the keys still in the ignition.
....
Sliding into the driver's seat, Tony turned the key, the engine roaring to life. The sound drew the guards' attention, their shouts echoing through the garage.
"Hey! Stop!"
Tony slammed his foot on the gas, the van lurching forward. The guards scrambled, one firing a shot that ricocheted off the metal frame. The exit gate loomed ahead, secured by a heavy steel door.
Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulled out the stolen ID card. He swiped it across the scanner, the light turning green with a soft beep.
The doors began to open, grinding slowly as the van sped toward freedom.
....
The crisp night air hit Tony's face as the van burst through the gates, the roar of the engine drowning out the alarms blaring behind him. He didn't look back, his focus on the open road ahead.
'Made it.' he thought, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips.
The lights of the city glimmered in the distance, a reminder that his work was far from over. But for now, Tony Stark was free.
....
Peter Parker stretched as he woke, the sunlight filtering through the blinds of his small bedroom. The familiar clutter of his room greeted him: books stacked precariously on shelves, a corkboard filled with equations and notes, and his pull-up bar hanging in the doorway.
He swung out of bed, his movements practiced and fluid. Dropping down, he started his morning routine with a set of push-ups, his muscles tensing with each controlled motion.
'Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…' he counted silently, stopping at twenty before moving to the pull-up bar. He hoisted himself up effortlessly, his breathing steady.
After a quick shower, Peter dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans, brushing his unruly brown hair into submission before heading downstairs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and toast greeted him as he entered the kitchen.
Uncle Ben was already at the table, reading the morning paper. Aunt May stood by the stove, humming softly as she prepared breakfast.
"Morning, kiddo." Ben greeted with a smile, setting the paper aside.
"Morning." Peter replied, sliding into his seat.
May placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, her expression warm. "Big day, isn't it?"
Peter nodded, taking a bite of his toast. "Yep. Oscorp trip."
Ben leaned back in his chair, smiling knowingly. "Remember what I said about learning, Peter. It's not just about the facts, it's about how you use them."
Peter smirked lightly. "I know, Uncle Ben. I got it."
May chimed in, her voice gentle. "Just enjoy yourself. It's not every day you get to visit a place like Oscorp."
Peter nodded again, finishing his breakfast quickly. "Thanks, Aunt May. See you later."
Ben gave him a parting wave as Peter grabbed his backpack and headed out the door.
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