บท 8: Chapter 8

The run had helped cool his head somewhat. The fresh air and the mental ease of knowing his destination allowed him to clear his mind.

When he arrived outside Nelson and Murdock's office, he understood why Aunt May had chosen them.

It was a modest, rundown place, without a sign on the door and with boxes stacked outside. Whoever these lawyers were, they were certainly budget-friendly, and Peter hoped they were at least licensed.

Peter knocked, and a tall, good-looking man with red-tinted glasses answered. He had some stubble and held a cane.

"Peter?"

Peter nodded, then quickly shook his head, realizing how silly it was to nod at a blind man. "Uh, yeah. Mr. Murdock?" The man extended his hand for Peter to shake.

"Just Matt, please." Holding the door open, he led Peter down a narrow hallway.

"We just moved in, so please excuse the mess."

As Peter navigated through stacks of files, he noticed another man at a desk, surrounded by multiple phones. The man gave Peter a quick smile and then turned back to his work.

"Don't mind Foggy. We don't have a secretary, so he's covering."

"My, uh, Aunt May could do that, you know, if you're hiring," Peter said, somewhat hopefully. He was sure Aunt May could handle filing and typing if she tried.

Matt chuckled. "Let's focus on your issues first, alright?" He tapped his cane and settled in behind his desk. "So, Eugene Thompson. Tell me everything."

Peter began recounting his experiences at Midtown High, starting with the smaller incidents. He described how a silly argument he could barely remember had set everything off.

Things escalated from insults and being ignored to worse issues. Once a childhood friend began dating Flash, things went downhill fast.

He explained the defaced locker, the stolen books, the veiled threats, and then the pushing, shoving, and tripping. The worst was when he'd ended up on the ground with a broken wrist.

That injury had led to the incident at Oscorp. Peter left out details about the bite and physical changes, since they were protected under attorney-client privilege, but he wasn't about to risk it. Eventually, he mentioned the deal he'd made with Norman and the check he'd received.

"While I can't comment much on the NDA, it might not have been the smartest choice to make."

Matt could tell Peter was being honest. What concerned him more was Peter's unnatural calmness; nothing seemed to faze or anger him.

His pulse and breathing were both steady, and a faint chemical scent emanated from him, one Matt was familiar with.

If Peter had been exposed to a similar substance at Oscorp, he hadn't brought it up. Either nothing had affected him, or he was keeping it secret.

Knowing the importance of certain secrets for safety, Matt decided not to press about Oscorp and moved on. "Now, about the two fights?" he asked. "Describe them for me. Try to remember every detail."

"The first one, he did his usual thing—trying to intimidate me at my locker. But when he went to shove me against it, he missed, got furious, and threw me across the hall. Everyone saw it, even a teacher."

Matt nodded. "Yes, we tried to reach Ms. Munroe, but the school insists she's not on their staff, so her testimony doesn't count."

Peter sighed. "But she is a teacher, right? That's got to mean something."

Matt smiled. "Let me handle that part, alright?"

Peter nodded.

"Now, the second fight—the one that got you suspended."

Peter explained and recounted his meeting with the school.

Matt was taking notes. "But you can't prove he hit you first, and the video was edited to show only you hitting him?"

Peter frowned. "Yeah. I mean, why else would I be on the ground? I wasn't doing anything."

Matt tapped his pencil against his notepad. "We can challenge the school on that, as well as for holding an official meeting without a guardian present. Even if you're eighteen, they're still obligated to allow a parent or guardian to be there."

Matt made another note.

"We also haven't been able to obtain the minutes from that meeting or any signed documentation from it."

Peter looked puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"It means that without those records, your suspension is just hearsay, so they can't legally enforce it."

Matt set his pencil down.

"Peter, to be honest, stay away from Flash, and start using recording apps on your phone or video whenever possible. If the school is backing him, make sure you have as much proof as you can."

Matt reached into his desk and handed Peter a small recorder.

"Otherwise," he leaned back, shaking his head, "Harrison Thompson donates a lot of money to the school. If it's between you or them, we both know who they'll choose."

Peter nodded, nervously turning the recorder over in his hands.

This had escalated from basic bullying to needing evidence of misconduct. "Yeah, I understand. Thanks, Mr. Murdock."

Matt chuckled. "Just Matt is fine."

Matt showed him out, and Peter left feeling a sense of newfound freedom.

He might not have legal leverage over Flash yet, but Matt seemed confident about their next steps and the strength of Peter's account. As long as he kept his distance from Flash and stayed under the radar, things should stay manageable.

With the meeting and the run back only taking a little over two hours, Peter returned to the warehouse.

Unlocking the door, he slipped inside and groaned at the mess he'd left.

He sat down in the clean office and turned on his phone. His top priority was creating a comfortable area to rest while he worked on cleaning up the rest of the warehouse. So he began looking at ideas for converting the space into an open-plan apartment.

There were endless options online, as lofts in old warehouses were becoming popular. If Matt agreed, Peter thought he could get the paperwork filed. It seemed straightforward, but he'd need legal documents to make it official with the city. He found out that labs needed safety certificates, and for a residential space, he'd need a license.

Mail and deliveries wouldn't be an issue, as he just needed to install a mailbox outside.

Sighing, he looked out the window and began jotting down more notes.

First on the list was cleaning supplies. The warehouse had been empty since the shootout, and collecting evidence hadn't left it any cleaner than it was as a drug lab.

He'd need a big broom for sweeping, bleach, and other strong cleaners. The bloodstains could be covered with resin-based paint, but he'd need special shoes to walk on it while it dried.

Carpeting was easy to find. Simple grey or dark blue office carpets were inexpensive, and he could buy them precut with rubber edges. It would be easy to lay down a path and then fit the carpet in sections.

Taking a notepad from his bag, he started sketching the warehouse layout. With two offices back-to-back, he could arrange six more around the walls, leaving ample storage space.

He'd need to add flooring to the walkways and secure the roof hatch.

Plumbing and electrical lines could be routed from the roof.

Getting everything certified was another hurdle to tackle.

As he finished his list, he hoped Aunt May wouldn't snoop. Just in case, he labeled both lists, "Assignment: Homeless Urban Renewal Project. Social Sciences," and tucked them into his bag.

Checking the time, he heard his stomach grumble, but he ignored it. Seeing it was after noon, he pulled out his lunch bag and began eating as he thought things over.

For now, his plans for the warehouse had to remain a secret.

He leaned back against the office wall and stretched out. He knew his last year of school would feel endless. Peter had finished all his coursework ahead of schedule. His exam prep was complete, and his college application forms were already on their way to the major schools he wanted to apply to. On top of all that, he was now a property owner.

Even with the suspension, there wasn't much the school could do about it. He had a legal right to sit his exams and a legal right to his education.

The deal on the warehouse was finalized and signed. Even if the security guard showed up again, Peter was there legitimately. All he needed was for his check to clear and the paperwork to be processed officially.

Once that was sorted, he could get started on properly cleaning up the place. It would be a long, tedious, and, as he realized, costly task, but in the end, he'd have a place to call his own.

Maybe, once it was clean enough, he could even give Gwen a tour. He bit his lip, hesitating.

He trusted she wouldn't say anything, but he was still reluctant to tell anyone. If Flash found out, it could quickly become something else for him to try to ruin.

But that was later. Right now, all he wanted was to finish school and move on. Once Flash was out of his life, he could begin his own.

The warehouse could wait a few more months—he'd have summer to work on it. The only remaining task was his internship at Hammer.

Gwen had completed hers early since she'd turned eighteen at the beginning of the year, giving her a head start. There was so much to handle, and it felt like he was spreading himself—and his finances—thinner and thinner.

That led to another issue. Hammer's internship was unpaid, and college was expensive. What he really needed was a job. Scanning the local job listings online, he found practically nothing suitable for a college-bound student.

Variable hours were a student's worst nightmare. They meant either early starts or late nights, and with his full schedule, Peter could manage neither.

He considered telling Aunt May a small lie—that he'd found a job and would be working in the evenings. Even three or four hours after school would bring in a little money.

He checked the area and found a junkyard and two scrapyards around Sunset Park. Any of these would be perfect, allowing him to reach the warehouse without arousing too much suspicion.

He disliked the idea of lying, but it felt necessary. If he could show some results, he was confident she would understand.

With a frustrated sigh, he returned to browsing prefabricated homes.

He bookmarked several websites, each with details and floor plans for container homes, which were often used in disaster zones since they were simple to set up.

After closing the browser, he stared at the remnants of his lunch.

So much to do, and so little time.

He laughed at that thought—it hit him that, with two weeks of suspension, he'd have nothing but time. But who could he ask for help?

He didn't know anyone who could help with the manual labor needed for moving and renovating. The only "muscle" he was familiar with was Flash.

Peter shook his head, thinking he'd rather learn to sing and teach raccoons to do chores than ask Flash for anything.

Even Harry wouldn't be much help. He'd probably just hire contractors, and Peter would end up spending hundreds of thousands just for them to assess the place.

No, he needed to carve out time for this, to get control over his life once and for all.

With his new powers, though, the work should be manageable alone. He'd have to be mindful not to attract too much attention.

A skinny kid hauling piles of lumber or bags of cement would certainly look strange.

He had incredible abilities, but he had to be discreet. Maybe some sort of disguise would be helpful.

Working in a dusty warehouse, he could tie a bandana over his face and wear a boiler suit. Those were bulky enough that nobody would be able to tell who was underneath.

But that could wait for later. Right now, school was his main problem.

Felicia had raised a good point. With midterms approaching and clubs gearing up for competition season, his position on the math club was at risk. Cindy would probably look to replace him, adding yet another mark against him.

He had two weeks, but he needed to be certain the school hadn't issued any information he'd need and didn't know.

It was just one more worry to add to his growing list.

Would Flash try something reckless? The school had pretty much given him free rein.

Would he have time to clean and fix up the warehouse on his own?

Would Matt be able to make this ridiculous fight disappear, or would it follow him into adulthood?

Peter sighed and leaned back, feeling discouraged by it all.

No! Screw them, he thought. I'm smart, I'm good-looking, and I have friends. Flash is an idiot who thinks his dad's money will protect him. He won't win; we won't let him.

He laughed, and as he turned on his phone, he began searching for more videos on proper fighting techniques. He grinned, pleased that his new data plan let him browse as much as he wanted.

If Flash wanted a fight, he'd get one.