Chapter 2 What Have I Done!?

The merciless May sun beat down on Millbrook, its rays piercing through the haze of early summer like daggers. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the worn-out streets into a mirage of broken dreams and faded hopes. For Peter, the oppressive atmosphere mirrored the weight that had been crushing him for the past four years.

Just one more day. One more day of this hell they called high school.

As Peter trudged up the cracked steps of Millbrook High, he felt the eyes of his classmates boring into him. Their whispers followed him like persistent flies, but today, something was different. The usual fear that coiled in his gut was gone, replaced by a strange, electric anticipation.

It had been a week since he'd last stepped foot in these halls. A week since that night at the abandoned Vought factory on the edge of town. Since then, his body had felt...too strange.

The social hierarchy of Millbrook High played out around him as he navigated the crowded hallway. Cheerleaders in their pristine uniforms giggled and preened. Jocks swaggered past, their letterman jackets a stark reminder of the status quo. In years past, Peter would have shrunk away, trying to blend into the peeling lockers. But not today.

Today, he walked tall.

Then he saw him. Troy. Millbrook High's golden boy and Peter's personal tormentor for the past four years.

Troy lounged against his locker, surrounded by his usual crew of sycophants. His perfectly coiffed hair and designer clothes screamed of privilege, of a life handed to him on a silver platter. As Peter approached, Troy's trademark smirk faltered for a split second.

Their eyes locked, and for the first time in years, Peter didn't look away.

"Well, well," Troy drawled, his voice carrying over the sudden silence in the hallway. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence. Thought you'd gone and offed yourself."

Peter's fists clenched at his sides, and he felt a surge of... something... course through his veins. Power? Rage? He wasn't sure. But it felt good. Peter ignored him.

The tension in the air was palpable as Peter continued down the hall, leaving a stunned Troy in his wake. As he turned the corner, he caught snippets of hushed conversations:

"Did you see that?"

"Troy's gonna make him pay..."

Little did they know, things were about to change in ways none of them could imagine.

----

During lunch, he sat alone as usual, but today the isolation felt different. Empowering, almost. He watched as Troy held court at his table, surrounded by his loyal subjects. But even from across the cafeteria, Peter could see the cracks in Troy's facade. The way his laugh seemed a little too forced, his gestures a bit too exaggerated.

As the final bell of the day approached. Troy had something planned. A final humiliation disguised as an olive branch. A fake apology, followed by an invitation to his graduation party. The ultimate setup for one last, cruel joke.

The clock ticked down to the last class of the was finished. Peter sat at his desk. The barely suppressed yawns of his classmates, the steady drip of the leaky faucet in the back of the room could be heard.

Then, with a bang that made several students jump, the door flew open.

Troy swaggered in, flanked by his cronies. The triumvirate of terror that had made Peter's life a living hell for four long years.

Troy had his eyes locked on Peter. The class fell into an expectant hush as Troy approached, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.

"Hey, Peter," Troy's voice dripped with fake sincerity. "I wanted to talk to you about something important."

Peter rose slowly, his movements deliberate. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an almost electric tension. "What do you want, Troy?"

Troy's eyes darted around the room, making sure he had everyone's attention. This was his stage, and he was determined to put on a show.

"Look, man. I know things haven't always been great between us," Troy began, his voice carrying a tremor of what sounded like genuine emotion. "But it's our last day of high school. I wanted to... I wanted to apologize."

A collective gasp went through the room. Troy, apologizing? It was unprecedented.

Peter stood perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Troy's face. "You want to apologize," he repeated, his voice unnaturally calm.

Troy nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, man. For everything. All the shit I put you through. It wasn't cool."

He extended his hand, a gesture of peace. "So, what do you say? No hard feelings?"

The room held its breath, waiting for Peter's response. This was it. The moment Troy would pull the rug out from under him one last time. Peter could almost taste the anticipation in the air.

But Peter didn't move to shake Troy's hand. Instead, he let out a low, humorless chuckle that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.

"You don't need to apologize, Troy," he said, his voice ice-cold. "My life here has been hell. Thanks to you."

Troy's smile faltered, confusion clouding his features. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. "Cmon man cut me some slack, they just harmless pranks..."

Peter took a step closer, and to everyone's shock, Troy instinctively backed away. "A prank?? Stripping me naked and taking pictures? Beating me to a pulp? You think you can just waltz in here and apologize."

Troy's face twisted into an ugly sneer, his mask of civility slipping away. "You fucker, I try to be nice, and this is what I get? You're nothing but a pathetic loser, just like your deadbeat dad!"

The mention of his father hit Peter like a physical blow. Images flashed through his mind: his father's defeated eyes as he walked out the door for the last time, his mother's tears, the whispers and pitying looks from neighbors. Something snapped inside him.

Peter spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You know what people say about you Troy?? That you got jacked to hide the fact that you got a small weiner."

Troy's face contorted with fury. With a roar of rage, he lunged forward, his fist flying towards Peter's face with all the force of four years of unchallenged dominance behind it.

Time seemed to slow down. Peter saw the punch coming as if it were moving through molasses. He could have dodged it easily, but some part of him – the part that still doubted the reality of his transformation – wanted to feel the impact.

Troy's fist connected with Peter's jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the stunned classroom. But it wasn't Peter who cried out in pain.

As the dust settled, the scene before the class defied belief. Peter stood unmoved, unfazed, while Troy clutched his hand to his chest, his face pale with shock and agony. The sickening angle of his fingers left little doubt – his hand was shattered.

"What... what the fuck are you?" Troy gasped, stumbling backward.

Peter looked down at his own hands, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "I don't know," he murmured. Then, louder, "But I'm done being your punching bag."

Troy's eyes widened in fear, and for the first time, Peter saw him for what he truly was: a coward. A bully who had never faced real consequences for his actions. Until now.

"You want to try again?" Peter taunted, stepping closer. "Come on, tough guy. Show everyone how strong you are."

Something in Troy snapped. With a scream of incoherent rage, he charged at Peter, his good hand balled into a fist. But this time, Peter didn't wait for the impact.

He moved with inhuman speed, his own fist connecting with Troy's sternum. The sound of cracking ribs filled the room as Troy's body folded around Peter's fist. But Peter didn't stop. His arm kept moving, driven by a strength he couldn't control.

And then, to the horror of everyone present, Peter's arm went straight through Troy's chest.

Time stood still. The classroom was frozen in a tableau of disbelief and terror. Troy's eyes bulged, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as blood poured from his mouth. Peter stood motionless, his arm buried to the elbow in Troy's chest, warm blood dripping from his fingers.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then the spell broke, and the classroom exploded into chaos.

Screams filled the air as students scrambled from their desks, some running for the door, others frozen in place, their phones raised to capture the horrific scene.

Peter yanked his arm free with a sickening squelch, stumbling backward. His mind raced, unable to process what he'd just done. Blood – Troy's blood – covered his arm, dripping onto the linoleum floor with a steady pitter-patter.

"No, no, no," Peter mumbled, his eyes wide with horror. "This can't be happening. What have i done??"

Troy's body collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him at an alarming rate. His eyes, once full of malice and contempt, now stared blankly at the ceiling.

The gravity of the situation hit Peter like a freight train. He had just killed someone. In front of witnesses. Cameras were pointed at him from every direction, capturing every detail of his crime.

"I have to get out of here."