Peter slowly pulls himself up off the ground, forcing himself to stand up. He knows he needs to be strong, for Rabbit, and Michael, and everyone else, he has no choice. He straightens up, blinking the tears from his eyes. It had never been a choice, but Rabbit would always hate him for it, he was sure of it. "I'm sorry Spine... I'm never thought it would be this way..." He whispers to the empty room. He goes out into the hall, and walks to one of the libraries, one he used to visit often many years ago, that now felt abandoned as the dust was unsettled with his wary movements. The large armchair he had used nearly daily sits neglected near the fireplace, and as he looks around his eyes fall on a large bookshelf. On one shelf sits a collection of leather bound books, the Walter journals. They had been passed down to him years ago, and had been the source of many sleepless nights. He picks up one of his father's journals, staring at the cover for a few moments before turning and pitching it into the open fireplace, anger seething from his every pore. He grabs the journals, paying no heed to who they belonged to and throwing every last one, even his own, into the opening as well as they piled onto the ancient ashes. He stalks to the fireplace, snatching the box of matches from the mantle. He strikes a match watching as the flames licked at the wood for a moment before throwing it on top of the stack of journals. The flames devour the aged leather and decrepit pages quickly, reducing them to a fine layer of ash within minutes. He watches the fire tear the pages apart, once his greatest inspiration, now no more than charred remnants. He reaches up, removing his mask, holding it out in front of him, glaring at it with disdain. The object that haunted him for so many years now seeming to stare back at him with contempt, accusing him of being weak. He throws it hard into the fireplace, the force causing it to crack the wood. Peter watches as the flames peer through the cracks, nipping and biting at the edges before swallowing it hole. As the fire rages on it leaves only the warped silver edging of the mask behind amidst the bed of the ashes.He watches the fire die, fists clenched in fury, at the legacy he had been given, at the mask he had forced himself to wear for so many years, at Spine for killing QWERTY and hurting Michael, and most of all, at himself for everything that had happened, everything he had let happen. Peter leaves the warped silver edging in the ashes as he turns on his heel and walks towards the lab.