"Welcome, Agent Parker," Fury said as he opened the doors to his office, letting the teen agent walk in. Peter looked around, eyebrows raised, clearly unimpressed by the lack of character and style of the plainly decorated office. Fury shut the door behind them before taking a seat in his chair, Peter standing beside his own.

"Do you know why I called you here?" Fury asked, folding his hands together. Peter nodded once, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"Yes, director. You want me to go undercover at Midtown Tech to gain information on Eugene Thompson," he droned, clicking his tongue once finishing his speech.

"That is correct, Agent Parker. You're mission starts tomorrow."

-

Peter woke up to darkness drowning his current room at a woman by the name of Georgia Hamil's house. He could faintly hear the birds beginning to chirp outside the window looking out onto the front lawn, and the teenage agent sat up with a yawn, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Glancing over at the clock, it read 4:56 a.m. This was perfect for him. He had a good amount of time to get ready for his, "new school." Heaving himself to his feet, he yawned and walked over to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, flicking on the light and stepping onto the cold tile. He shut the door as quietly as he could before going over to the shower, turning the water to hot and closing the curtain.

Peter undressed himself before stepping into the shower, the hot water immediately soaking his curly brown hair. He washed it throughly with shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it all out, turning the water off. He reached out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before opening the curtain and stepping out of the shower.

"Fucking hell..." Peter muttered as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the sink. He was a top-ranking agent extravenair and yet he still got hurt on tiny, incessant and idiotic things.

Shaking his head, Peter left the bathroom and went to his dresser, pulling out clothes. He glared at the colored fabric, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Color... it was a recipe for unwanted attention. Sucking it up, Peter slipped the forest green sweater over his head, fixating it over his toned chest. He pulled on some black boxers (at least they gave him that decency) and the brown skinny jeans.

Peter stared at himself in the mirror and sighed. He was here for a mission, not to complain about the clothes he was wearing.

-

"Class, welcome the new exchange student, Peter Parker. Please be on your best behavior, as he comes from a very important family."

Peter internally scoffed. A dead family, he chuckled to himself as he sat down in his desk, his backpack slipping off his arm and onto the floor next to his Vans. Twenty minutes into the lesson, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, turning to see who it was. Peter nearly jumped out of his seat after instantly recognizing the person as Michelle Jones, otherwise known as his partner for certain missions.

"What's up, loser?" she asked, smirking. Peter rolled his eyes, fumbling with his fingers.

"Didn't know you'd be here. When did your mission start?" he relied quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the teacher, who happened to be teaching them about Slovakia. Michelle was silent for a moment before speaking.

"About three weeks ago. 'M here to get info on the principle. He plays a massive part in smuggling drugs and other illegal substances across the U.S and Mexico border," she explained while jotting down notes. Peter nodded, drilling his fingers on the desk.

"Well, good luck. Hopefully we get out of here relatively soon."

-

Three weeks and two days later, Peter was sitting on his temporary bed, sheets kicked towards the end and papers spread across the black silk. His eyes were bloodshot red and his hair stuck up in every direction. This case was extremely difficult, and that's saying something if even the Agent Parker, the renowned and extraordinary teenager that could solve a murder in two minutes, couldn't even figure it out.

This Eugene Thompson kid, he was either very secretive and careful, or very innocent. There were no traces back to him, there was no evidence, there was nothing at all to prove his crimes.

Peter had done every step in a normal undercover procedure. You follow the suspect, gain information, trace phone calls, examine grades and medical history, and so, so much more. He was exhausted and frustrated, and Peter could barely keep calm enough to have a normal conversation with a teacher.

"Fucking hell..." Peter muttered under his breath as he shifted through documents. He was this close to freaking out and chucking everything out the damned window. There had to be something he was missing. There HAD to be.

"He's just a bloody normal sixteen year old," Peter said to himself, standing up and beginning to pace. He pulled at his chestnut curls, his grayish-brown eyes sparkling with pain, annoyance, and anger. He sniffed, immediately slapping himself in the face.

Agents don't cry. Fix yourself, Parker.

Before Peter knew it, he was on the floor sobbing, rocking back and forth on his knees. He may be the best agent in the world, but he was just a kid. He was just a sixteen year old kid who was dying under the weighed pressure loaded on his shoulders. Tears ran down his face, slowly dripping off his chin and onto the carpet. He was slowly going insane as each minute ticked by, dragging out the case.

-

"Hey Flash," Pete greeted in his faux British accent, waving to the rich kid. Flash smiled and waved back.

"What's up, Parker?" he replied, commencing their handshake. Peter nodded.

"Nothing much, I just wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead," Flash said, crossing his arms and leaning against his locker. Peter chewed his bottom lip, ripping the soft skin.

"Do you happen to do anything illegal?" he blurted. This was supposed to be professional- not this piece of shit conversation.

Flash cast his eyes to the floor, swallowing harshly. "Well... I'm not, but my dad is a part of the Chitauri gang. They smuggle drugs and alien tech across U.S borders. He doesn't know that I know about it, though," he finally said. Peter nodded, his
memory storing every bit of detail.

"Thanks, Flash. I appreciate your compliance."

-

"Richard Thompson, you are under arrest."

Peter stood in front of Richard Thompson, face covered with a mask and he was dressed in all black, gun loaded and raised. Richard glared, getting in a fighting stance.

"You aren't taking me-"

Peter shot the man two times, once in each shoulder. Richard yelled out in pain, collapsing to his knees. Peter immediately dropped the gun and got Richard in restraints, kicking his body into the ground. The teen scoffed as he starting to pat the man down, finding multiple bags of cocaine and marijuana, as well as a few straws and a couple pocket knives. He clicked his tongue, sealing the evidence in a plastic bag.

"You're son must be so disappointed in you, Mr. Thompson. He told me about you, he knows about everything you do. I hope you're proud."

well then.

tHis iS lAte