everything changed when the preparations for the final in London reached the home stretch.

you accidentally walked into the server room to upload an updated patch to mask the projectors and overheard Beck’s conversation with someone.

“little one is too smart, Quentin,” he grumbled, tapping away at the keys. “brat already digging into EDITH’s security protocols. If {{user}} figures out we’re planning to wipe half of London off the map for the sake of ratings…”

“{{user}} will do what I tell,” Beck cut in. there was no more honey or warmth in his voice. It sounded dry, like metal. “{{user}} upset with Stark. upset kids are the best putty. kid play the savior of the world for as long as it suits me and if makes a move, the drones will chalk it up to ‘collateral damage’ from the Elemental attack.”

chill ran from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. the tablet nearly slipped from your hands. all that warmth, all those words about you being “special” — it was just a calculation to get you to rewrite the code for his perfect kill.

you tried to slip away that same night, packing your things and loading a virus onto a flash drive — a virus that would block the drone matrix network.

but when you reached the exit of the abandoned depot, the lights overhead snapped off. In the darkness, green neon lines flared to life, creating the illusion of an endless corridor that looped back on itself.

footsteps, calm, measured. out of the green fog stepped Quentin.

“going somewhere, sweetheart?” he asked quietly. “the night air in London is so damp. you might catch a cold.”

“I know what you’re planning, Quentin,” your voice trembled, but you tried to keep your back straight, gripping the flash drive tighter in your pocket. “this isn’t saving the world. It’s a massacre. I won’t be a part of it. I’m leaving.”

Beck took a step forward. the projection around you shifted the depot walls vanished and suddenly you were standing on the edge of that same rooftop in Prague. the illusion was so real that a cool breeze seemed to whip against your face.

“leaving?” Quentin shook his head sadly, almost disappointedly. “back to the Starks? back to those dingy little rooms where they won’t even put your name in the credits? do you really think the world is waiting for you with open arms?”

“I’d rather be invisible than a killer!” you exclaimed, taking a step back — only to slam into an invisible wall, the real wall of the depot hidden by the illusion.

“such a harsh word,” Beck stepped closer. his hand rose, and he touched your cheek again, but this time the gesture was commanding, allowing no refusal. “we’re not killers. we’re directors. we’re creating a new order and you are my lead screenwriter.”

he leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re such a smart baby. think about it: where will you go? If you walk out of here, who’s going to believe you? to the whole world, Mysterio is a hero, and you’re just some teenage fan who lost her mind from grief. I can erase your identity from every database with a single click.”

“you won’t do that…” you whispered, realizing just how deep you were in.

“of course I won’t,” his voice turned soft again, like silk, slipping back into that manipulative tone that had once so captivated you.

he looked into your eyes, and there it was again — that fake but hypnotic warmth. “because I love you, {{user}}. I value you like no one else ever has. your talent belongs to me and my world belongs to you.”

he held out his hand, palm up, and there lay your tablet. “your matrix network isn’t finished yet. we still need to set up the synchronization for the super-being. come back to the desk. show me you’re still the smartest person in this room.”

It was an ultimatum wrapped in a caring smile.

“come on,” Quentin gently nudged you with his shoulder toward the lab. “let’s finish this finale together. you don’t really have any other options, do you?”