Sorry for the long delay! I'm not even going to begin to tell you why it took so long. That'll be longer than the chapter itself. Suffice it to say life is rather hectic.

Here's the next chapter...only two or three more to go before it's over!

Thanks for bearing with me.

Fire burned through Peter's veins, through his senses, through his head. Screaming, shouting, dashing to every extremity.

One word.

Power.

Another word.

Revenge.

He threw back his head, his neck cracking with the violence of it, and sounded his battle cry, so tremendously that it almost took his vocal cords and throat with it.

A victory cry.

Revenge.

The hatred spurred him on.

His fingers tingled as they renewed their grasp on a greasy fistful of Larry's ginger mop.

From below the mop, hurt puppy sounds made their way up to Peter's ears.

They made him feel funny. Like retching and screaming in joy at the same time. Good and bad. Loveable and despicable.

This city was his. It would cower under his feet, and everyone...the man who'd shot his Uncle, the people who'd made his parents disappear from his life, everyone. Everyone would fall at his feet, wailing in grief.

Groveling.

Peter snaked his way through the parking lot, willfully letting Larry's head and shoulders collide with every single bumper in the lot.

The rhythm of it all drove Peter on, his breath hissing, whistling through his teeth. It was finally about to be over...or was it beginning?

He screamed again, demanding the attention of the skies. Of the stars, and maybe the occasional helicopter.

"I'm here!" he announced to the heavens.

Larry sobbed.

"Who did you think you were, huh?" Peter asked his captive.

Clunk, said Larry's head.

"What in the world…"

thud,

"Made you think…"

thunk,

"That you could ever hurt me?"

"I'm sorry...please, you have no idea how sorry I am. Just, stop. Please. You're…" his words slurred thickly. "...you're killing me."

"Well, begging your pardon." Peter bowed dramatically, swinging his arm as hard as he could.

The momentum carried Larry's body into the air, bringing it full force into the side of a little blue Toyota.

The car blared its alarm in offense and surprise.

Peter kicked it for good measure as he moved on. "Shut up."

The orange, flickering lights surrounding the parking lot licked at the pavement as Peter continued to slither across it, his barely conscious captive in tow.

Finally, the parking lot ended, introducing the beginning of a long alleyway.

"Where now?" Peter asked.

Larry moaned faintly, but gave up no comprehensible verbal response.

The weak worm.

He bent and shook Larry, slapping him across the cheeks.

"Left!" his victim cried reactively. "Go left."

"See? Was that so hard?" Peter smiled.

"Then, inside that door…" Larry pointed, his finger trembling.

"Good."

Peter let Larry's limp form slug wetly across the floor of the garage-like washroom, then dumped him in a puddle in the middle of the room.

"You know what?" he looked around, up at the ceiling and back down again. "I think we need a little break. Here, have a seat."

He left Larry in the puddle and went to the corner, pulling out a small plastic stool.

After some shuffling, some puffing from Peter, and some more crying from Larry, the red headed villain was finally sitting on the stool. Almost sitting.

"That's the best you can do?" Peter chuckled, staring at the man's horrible, slumped posture. "Sit up, Larry!" he kicked at Larry's lower back, which didn't improve his posture, much to Peter's frustration.

"Do you need some water?" he asked.

The man looked hesitantly at Peter before nodding. "Yes. Oh, yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"Great. Let me get you some."

Peter looked around, knowing what he wanted but not sure he would find it.

There it was. It was perfect.

Power washer.

A shudder ran down Peter's spine at the power this hose gave him. More power against the man who had worked so hard to ruin his life.

He squeezed the nozzle, drilling the back of Larry's head and shoulders with the harsh water stream.

"I told you you should really wash your hair." he shouted over the man's screams. "Thought I'd do you a favor and do it for you."

The spray of water roared from his very fingertips, penetrating and scrubbing the split skin in the back of Larry's head. Wash out all the blood. Make room for more. Make it clean.

With a squeeze of his fingers, Peter commanded the water to stop. The water hushed itself, holding itself back inside the hose. Peter's head cocked to the side. Yes, there it was. The pathetic Larry sound.

He washed out the sound with more of his play thing's blood.

Boredom set in quickly. It would be better to see the Electrician's defeated, pained expressions than the back of his head.

What expression would he wear when the water hit his eyes? His mouth?

The water shoved Larry's head back, and the screams were muffled by the roar of the water, and the smack of it hitting skin.

After his thirst for this angle was quenched, Peter threw the hose aside, approaching his masterpiece to see the end result.

The force of the water had caught the split in Larry's lip and ripped the whole thing wide open. Blood dribbled down his chin, splashing like water color paints on his soaked blue shirt. Blue, like his face. Maybe it was like drowning.

And Larry was silent. It was such a relief that the mouse of a man did not make the sickening, pathetic sounds that Peter had almost grown used to. It was beautiful.

But then again, something in Peter wanted Larry to scream again.

His foot met firmly with Larry's ribs.

"Scream, you worthless rat!" he roared.

The worthless rat fell off the stool, but didn't scream.

So Peter kicked again.

Not even a twitch.

It was such a pathetic sight. The hair clumped around the face, glued there by blood and water. Nose submerged in a modest puddle that was tinted with oil.

"You can't be dead." Peter huffed. "You have to take me to my aunt. Get up."

But Larry did not get up.

Dun, dun, dunnnn!