Redwood Wolf's Fanfics

[Redwoods Wolf]

Pretty straight-forward. I started this thread to put in my fanfics. First post is a table of contents. Items in bold are unfinished/being worked on. Feel free to comment, critique, etc.

Disarmed
Part One............................................... .................................................. ......1-3
Part Two............................................... .................................................. ......3-4
Part Three............................................. .................................................. ......4-5

[Redwoods Wolf]

DISARMED
A Spider-Man/Doc Ock story
By RW
http://img03.picoodle.com/img/img03/7/3/1/redwoods_wolf/f_Spideydispnm_9035c87.png


Chapter One

Doctor Otto Octavius walked down the long, narrow aisle, his shoes scraping the rough tilework. A guard on either side of him, armed with rather primitive firearms, kept in step as they escorted him to his cell. The yells and taunts of the rabble was a deafening, noxious clamor completely unsuitable to his nature. The world, he had mused, would be the better were it silent. The make of a scientist was one of concentration and keen attention to the points of relevancy, and this noise--was intolerable.
The guards stopped and one of them motioned to his left. Otto looked, then raised a contemptuous brow.
"I require a solitary cell," he demanded.
The guard snorted--animal!--then unlocked the cell and threw him roughly in.
"Nobody cares what you require, ya fat loser," the guard spat. Otto had time to catch his name tag--Larson--as he and his partner turned and walked down.
Otto adjusted his glasses, knocked askew by the brute's impudence, then eyed his cellmate. Life, Otto reasoned, was divided into various orders. The general controls the lieutenants and they control the privates. People were divided by temperament and intelligence and the combinations made up the hierarchy. Lesser gave way to greater. His cell mate was Caucasian, middle-aged, and though he had a fading scar over the left side of his mouth, Otto suspected he was a white-collar criminal. Possibly extortion or industrial espionage.
"Do you know who I am?" Otto asked--though it galled to lower himself thus.
The man nodded, his lips pressed firm. A good sign.
"Then you likely know something of my influence in the criminal community."
Another nod.
"Ergo, you know exactly what I can and cannot do, even inside these walls."
A third nod. Excellent.
"I have need of you. The guard, Larson. Tell me everything you can find out about him. You have four--no, three days."
The man's face went white. Otto turned to lay down.
"If you disturb me, the time limit will be halved," Otto informed him. "A second disturbance will result in termination."
"T-Termination?"
Otto looked at him with cold contempt. "Make that one and one half days."
The other man began shaking, and Otto calmed himself. Fear was necessary with the common man, like a kick to start up a recalcitrant machine. But it should not have been so. It would not have been, had it not been for that accursed Spider-Man.

It had been a simple extraction. Ten of Otto's men were to enter the exchange building, proceed to the tenth floor, room 114. They would meet the government agent and persuade or (more likely) force him to give up the package he had been assigned to deliver to Mr. Thorpe, an agent of a separate government branch. Mr. Thorpe had been quietly killed twenty minutes before as he was locking his car. Otto had disposed of the body, entered the car, and had begun to watch the interception through the small cameras installed into the glasses or buttons on his men's clothes. It had gone well--at first. The receptionist had let them by thanks to a fraudulent voice-print Otto had spent ten thousand dollars for. They went up to the office and waited for the gentleman. He had been walking towards the office, twenty feet away, when he had stiffened.
Otto had leaned in closer to the laptop screen, brow furrowing. The agent had faltered--noticeably--and then continued walking past the office.
"He's been tipped off," Otto told his men through the headset. "Detain him before he gets to the elevator."
The men had gotten up, and Otto watched as the agent turned into another office. He was heading for--
"Shoot him," Otto commanded.
He had been shot, but not before he had tripped the silent alarm. "Get out of the building now," Otto commanded. If the package were to be lost...or damaged...
The men went for the elevator--but the alarm had locked it down. "The stairs," Otto said, already exiting the car. They likely wouldn't make it, but perhaps if he met them halfway--
He removed his almost bulky overcoat and uncoiled the snakelike mechanical arms from his sides. These arms that his vulgar, idiot assistants had seen and branded him with a parody of a name: Doctor Octopus. The arms that put on his glasses and lit his cigars also crushed concrete, steel and bone. They were tool and weapon equally--undoubtedly his best innovation. The arms walked him towards the garage stairwell, and Otto listened through his headset as his men removed hidden machine guns from their vest holsters and inserted nose plugs. He had, at least prepared them for any police action.
He had reached the sixth floor when he heard a shatter of glass and startled cries from his men. He gritted his teeth in suppressed fury and accelerated. There were punches and gunfire and galling taunts that Otto recognized all too well. He smashed through the doorway to the tenth floor and sneered. There was his ultimate nemesis, the one figure that refused to fit into any equation and defied any plan with infuriating moral naivete.
"Spider-Man," Otto seethed.
"Ock!" The red-and-blue clad figure shouted almost cheerfully, his tone of mockery and derision, meant to distract and defeat. Otto quickly used his enemy's tactics against him and scanned the room. His men were all unconscious (an enigmatic oversight--the inability of Spider-Man to kill his prey sometimes confused Otto), and the package was--thankfully--intact, and out of the way. And the man nearest it was unrestrained by Spider-Man's webbing. He stirred, unnoticed by Spider-Man.
"I thought it was you in charge of this little get-together!" Spider-Man said--too-loud--and Otto moved in, his arms elevating him and stomping into the flooring. "Too bad I didn't get you anything expensive, but I figured a coupon good for twenty-five years in the slammer would be right up your alley."
"Don't overestimate your talents, wallcrawler," Otto snarled, and threw out one of his arms, swinging through glass panes. Spider-Man backflipped over it just before it would have hit him and retreated into the office Otto had casually remodeled. Otto advanced, and Spider-Man threw out strands of webbing just above him, connecting with the recessed lights in the ceiling. Otto threw up two of his arms in a block, and thrust one out, claws open. Spider-Man curled back, impossibly agile, and the claw arced over him and into the floor. Otto curled his fourth arm around the wallcrawler and threw him threw the building's exterior windows.
Spider-Man threw out two lines of webbing to the building's wall and steadied himself on the side. The quasimodo's freakish powers let him adhere to the side as easily as if he was on horizontal ground. Otto, incensed, scraped two quick thrusts down the face of the building, showering debris on the wallcrawler. Spider-Man thrust out another web, this time in a net, and Otto noted a distant thrumming sound, then a scrape much nearer. He looked back--three of his men were groggily standing.
"Get the package and get out through the stair," Otto grunted, and turned back--barely in time--to catch the boomeranged net of debris. He ripped it apart to see Spider-Man vaulting up the building's side. Otto grabbed the desk and threw it down, missing the wallcrawler, but forcing him to stop and catch it as it fell past him. Otto struck him solidly in the back with a closed claw, and the wallcrawler was dislodged, bits of concrete still attached to his feet. The thrumming was closer, Otto noted, and looked towards it.
It was a news helicopter--foolishly within range. Otto smiled, and icy victory worked through him. He grabbed the tail of the helicopter with one arm, destroyed its propellers with another, and grabbed the pilot and cameraman with the other two. He looked down. Spide-rMan had recovered and--curse him--safely lowered the desk to the street. He was coming back up the building.
"Spider-Man," he shouted, "use your petty abilities to uphold those flagging morals. You recall this scenario, I trust!"
"Ock, no!" the wallcrawler entreated, and Ock threw the cameraman and pilot in opposite directions--
--and dropped the helicopter.
Spider-Man lept and ran up the building, looked left and right, and jumped back, firing two lines of webbing in either direction. The left thread caught the pilot, and Spider-Man hastily made his end of the line into a ball, then released. The pilot fell fifteen more feet before the balled end of the webline spun around a jutting flagpole, held, and stretched him slowly to the ground. The right line caught the cameraman just as the helicopter hit Spider-Man dead on. The wallcrawler threw the cameraman high above him, then slung another two webs past the helicopter and hit the building. Spider-Man arced to a stop on the side, and, impossibly fast, grabbed the helicopter's tail a scant five feet from the sidewalk, let it down undamged. The cameraman finished his ascent and began to fall. Spider-Man spun web after web, making layers of netting that the cameraman fell safely into, his fall gently broken.
All this was told to Otto later, of course. He had turned immediately after dropping the helicopter and made his way to the stairs, his men already ahead of him with the package. Otto was at the third floor when he heard the thwip sound characteristic of Spider-Man's webs and turned. The fool had tried to form a rear assault, dropping straight down at him after apparently going back up to the tenth and entering the stairwell.
Otto clapped two arms together with Spider-Man--almost--in between. The wallcrawler had let go and was a mere five feet away. Otto tried to smash the spider before he could get close, but too late. The wallcrawler had jumped at him and--impertinence!--punched him in the face. Otto fell, hit his head against the wall, and blacked out.

He had awoke in police custody, too groggy--and his arms too far--to mentally summon his weapon tools, and was led slowly and laboriously to this holding cell. It had taken three days from the aborted theft to imprisonment.
All thanks to the interfering webslinger.
This would change, Otto promised himself. Oh, it would change most certainly. He would escape, arms or not. He would erase Spider-Man from the page of calculation...and he could use his newfound package. The police had him, but not his trophy. And that would make all the difference.
The time limit ended, and Otto discovered that Larson had a family and was having a rather covert affair with the warden's daughter. He also had considerable files on the warden and the other guards, apparently blackmail worthy.
Never mix business and pleasure, Otto smiled to himself, then rapped the bars of his cell. "Guard!"
Larson turned his stupid, cow gaze towards Otto. Otto smiled.
"I'd like to make my phone call," he said.
"No," Larson belched. Filth of a man. Otto grimaced with suppressed irritation as well as disgust.
"Because?" Otto asked. Being reasonable was a nuisance, but often a necessary one.
"I'm not in the mood," came the lethargic reply.
"Take stock in your position, Larson," Otto said, a hard edge coming into his tone. "Remember who I am."
"Yeah, you're a loser," Larson sneered. "Just a thug like everyone else here--caged up."
Otto gritted his teeth.
"Without those tentacles, you'd just be another fat geek," Larson continued. "Another hood Spider-Man beat into submission and tossed in here."
"I have the greatest scientific mind of any generation, you fool," Otto snarled.
"Yeah, and look where it got you--here."
"You take me to the phone," Otto warned, "or I'll sue you. For violation of my rights as a criminal."
Larson sighed, then got up, unlocked the cell, and led Otto to the phone. Otto made a call.
"Yes," Otto said. "I'll need you. About three weeks, I should say, but plan on two. Do not be late. Oh, one other thing, look over my case tonight. My guard Larson has harassed me, I'd like to see if I can bring charges against him."
He hung up, and Larson snorted. "You and your fat lawyer gonna sue me for callin' you fat?"
"That wasn't my lawyer," Otto smiled, "that was my assassin. Your daughter is going to be hit by a bus this evening at 5:03. There is no chance of cancellation."
"You son of a--!"
"I know you have files on the other guards and the warden," Otto seethed, delighted at this beast's shock and helpless squirming. "Give them to me after dinner is served. Two other points. I'll need unlimited phone calls from now on. And if you do anything foolish--which is to say, warn anyone or act suspiciously, your wife will meet her untimely end. If you continue to resist, evidence of your affair will be leaked to the warden and I'll issue orders to have you beaten just enough to keep you alive. There will not be another warning."
The guard trembled in hot rage, quite the contrast, Otto thought, to his clear, cold control. Otto turned to go, then stopped.
"Bring me a box of cigars, also, as well as something to light them with," he said, as an afterthought.
"I'll kill you," Larson spat.
"No, you won't," Otto replied. "And we both know it."
Otto went back into his cell. His roommate stared at him, white-faced in fear.
Otto smiled.

[Joker]

As I said in the Lair, it's awesome so far. I love how you write Octavius. Cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless.

Brilliant :up:

[Arcturus]

Awesome work, Redwoods Wolf!

Can't wait to read more.

:word: :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Two
"Larson!"
Otto was furious. He was not a man to be kept waiting. This was a scant two weeks after his incarceration, and the meandering simpletons had not learned to come at his beck and call. Intolerable.
"Larson!" he shouted.
No answer was forthcoming. Then, a rattle and jingle of keys. A few minutes later, Larson walked into view, sullen.
"Larson," Otto sneered. "So glad you decided to come. Never keep me waiting again."
"Yeah," Larson mumbled. Otto grinned. A beaten man, he was. His low-level anger chained rather nicely, Otto thought.
"Call the rest of the guards," Otto ordered. "And the head warden."
"When?"
"Now, you idiot!"
Larson shambled away. A tiger without teeth.

"Get where you can hear me," Otto commanded to the assembled guards and wardens. "I will not repeat myself. In four days, a small car is going to pull up to the visitor's gate. The driver will identify himself as a Mr. Belgardt, here to see me. You will let him in. He will pull up to the parking lot.
"Then you will escort me out to his vehicle and I will leave. Do not attempt interference. Do not call anyone. Do not warn the police. I will know, and I will act."
The head warden walked to within five feet of him.
"Doctor," the warden said--a slight note of approval from Otto on the use of his earned title--"It doesn't matter what you've got in those files you have on us. There's nothing there that's going to blackmail us into letting you go."
"Really."
The warden continued his glare which Otto supposed he thought firm and intimidating. It only made him look all the more absurd in light of the situation.
"Then, warden, I suggest you read the files for yourself. These are handwritten copies, but my cellmate can assure you on pain of death they are accurate down to the grammar. Drug trafficking, various illicit romantic encounters, extortion...swept under the rug and forgotten. Certainly not by me, but..."
"I would sooner lose my job than let a maniac like you loose," the warden bit out.
"You wouldn't lose your job, warden," Otto said. "You'd lose whatever semblance of family you still have, and then you'd lose your life. For example, I note that your father's sister still owns a shack on the outskirts of Manhattan. Late with her monthly payments. I could very easily kill her, seeing as how I clearly have her address and financial records...but it would be ever the more demonstrative to evict her into the streets. Perhaps I'd be gracious enough to allow her to starve to death."
The warden seethed. "No one is that powerful," he said. "Not inside."
"Do you think I tell you this so you may bounce back your doubts against me?" Otto growled. "I tell you my plans so that you may recognize your place in them--as cogs that can prove useful, or broken gears in need of destruction. Prepare for my departure for your own sake--your lives are nothing to me."
He looked around at them in satisfaction.
"No one need think of killing me in my sleep, either," he warned. "The strongest and brightest of your cellmates have already been bought off. Besides, I have your psychological profiles--not a man among you is capable of murdering me. Tempted, but unable to follow through. Utterly typical of the common man."
"I'll kill you right now!" Larson shouted, pulling out his pistol. The other guards, alarmed, tried to restrain you.
"Even your comrades in arms will not let you succeed, Larson," Otto smiled. "I have you all well in hand--as well as a magician with his doves. You all may go--except Larson."
Hesitantly, they filed away. Larson stayed behind.
"You have been condemned by your own words," Otto informed him. "You attempted to convince me of my powerlessness without my metal arms. 'Another thug...' you were certainly in error. No weapons, no tricks, just mind against mind, and you have come up short."
Otto signalled to one of the guards. "Let that man out and bring him to me," he commanded. The guard did so, until a tall, burly black man stood a head above Larson. Otto looked at the black man.
"Kill Larson," he said. To the guard: "If you attempt to stop him, your brother's cancer treatment is removed and he will be mercy-killed by the hospital."
The black man took Larson's head in his arms.
"Choke him out," Otto said. "I dislike loud noise."
He did.

Spider-Man estimated he had about sixteen and one half minutes to either evacuate everyone from the twenty-third floor or shut off the bomb.
He had been swinging through town on his way home when his spider-sense had warned him of this little crisis--bitter ex-employee, fired from Omni Consumer Something Something (typical business name), holding hostages with an alleged bomb and a handy little Heckler and Glock machine gun.
Complete with grenade launcher stock, Spidey sighed to himself, upside down on the side of the building, rain dripping "up" him. Boy, when I'm late, I sure do have a colorful reason...
The perp had been demanding the CEO be called from his Martha's Vineyard hideaway to the twenty-third right now. There were about twelve people inside the building, and the employee claimed if his demands weren't met by the time limit, the building would cease to have a twenty-third floor. He was moving too much for Spider-Man to snag him with a web, and even if he could, there was still the bomb.
I don't see a remote in his other hand, he thought. But he's awfully jittery and I'm not going to risk it.
What to do...
The guy pushed some cubicle drone up against the copy machine, put the gun under his chin. Spider-Man stiffened. The police were going to send men up in riot gear soon, and if this guy was already so unstable...
Spider-Man looked at the man's other hand. No remote.
I can't let that man get killed, he thought. But I need him to tell me where the bomb is...wait, no I don't.
Spider-Man crawled back up the building, slung out two lines of web, and leaned back. I hope this works.
He pushed off, the lines went taut, and he shattered the glass into so many pieces.
"And the award for 'worst employee of the month' goes to you!" Spider-Man shouted, kicking the gun out of his hand. In another swift motion, he put the man on the ground and webbed his hands and legs splayed out.
"All right, chuckles, where's your firecracker?" Spider-Man asked. He searched the man's belt.
No remote.
The man smiled groggily, then slumped, unconscious.
"Oh my," Spider-Man breathed. Then he jumped onto the ceiling, ripped off the cheap paneling, and crawled into the space between the floors.
Work fast. He said the twenty-third floor. Not the building, the twenty-third floor. Even wanted the boss to come up here.
He reached out with his spider-sense, like a blind man feeling an unfamiliar shelf. This generally worked--he could use his spider sense to find danger instead of just letting it warn him on its own. He preferred not doing it in a time crunch...but then, it wouldn't be a dangerous situation and therefore no need for spider-sense.
Support struts?
Nothing.
Ventilation?
Nothing.
Electrical?
A tingle.
Oh, boy. He crawled closer, feeling the tingle become more intense. The bomb was interlaced with the cabling. First the bomb would explode--then the power surge would take out all the computers hooked into the system. Records, accounts--people--gone.
You can't fire me, I quit, Spider-Man thought ruefully. He started working the bomb loose. It wasn't very secure--he obviously didn't think the police would have the time or thoughtfulness to look up here. Pretty easy circuitry hook-up...
He popped it loose and the LED went from 14:32 to 2:00.
Oh, you little--!
Spider-Man wrenched it and himself free of the pseudo-floor, dropped into the office, then jumped through the window.
It's only enough to take out a floor...it can't be that strong...
He started webswinging.
Mainly electrical...runs on a tim--got it.
He landed on a roof, knelt over the bomb, and started working with the wiring.
Take away the remote and timer and it can't detonate--it shouldn't, anyway.
He snapped the three timer wires. The timer still counted.
Must run on a battery. I hope. Twenty seconds, no time for a second try
He threw it up as hard as he could and held his breath.
It fell gently back into his hands, the counter reading zero. It had worked.
He exhaled in relief. He was definately taking a day off work tomorrow.

Otto watched as Mr. Belgardt pulled up to the curb.
"Gentlemen, I take my leave of you," he said to his guard escort. "Let's not make this unpleasant."
He got into the car slowly, his men training their guns on the guards. Then the doors shut and they drove away.
"The package is secure?" Otto asked.
"It is," Belgardt responded.
"At the safe house?"
"Yes, sir."
"The government has secreted my arms away, Belgardt. Find the location and we will strategize. In the meantime, we shall unwrap our current present and see what gifts it brings us.
"And there will be no one to stop us this time."

[Arcturus]

Wow, that was incredibly awesome! Keep up the good work.

:yay:

[Joker]

Great stuff :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Three
Peter Parker got up, kissed his sleeping wife, and found out Doctor Octopus was free from prison.
Specifically, he:
Rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, turned over, sniffled, turned back over, saw the time, sat up, moaned, looked at MJ, smiled, brushed a lock of scarlet hair away from her eyes, stood up out of bed, walked to the bathroom, winced as he saw himself, made a mental note to try and shift the webslinging schedule an hour earlier, brushed his teeth, showered, dried himself off, shaved without lotion by accident, rubbed cold water on his face because of the burning, put on his costume, put on his regular clothes, left the bedroom, shut the door, saw his breath, turned up the heat, got out some waffle batter, turned on the TV, and heard the news bulletin.
He actually plugged in the waffle iron right before he heard the bulletin, but....details.
"...just in," the anchorman was saying. "Doctor Otto Octavius has escaped from state prison just 10 hours ago."
Peter stopped stirring the batter. He swallowed, his throat dry rather suddenly.
"Police estimate that Doctor Octavius, also known as Doctor Octopus, to still be within the state vicinity. If you see this man, please contact authorities immediately and avoid him at all costs. He is considered--"
Peter shut the TV off. He didn't need to hear the rest.
He is considered armed and dangerous. Ha ha. They never get tired of that one.
Why is it so cold in here?
He went over to the couch and sat down, a man in a trance.
Yes, armed and dangerous, isn't that fun, Petey? He always has been that way, but then, so has everyone else. Every other nutjob that you knock six ways to Sunday comes back for more, three times worse. They trap, kidnap, maim and murder to get to you, and you pray that this time, surely this time is the last time, or at least a long time, but this time....this time it wasn't even a month. And Ock....Ock's not crazy, Peter. No MPD, no alien symbiote hangover, no my daddy was a goblin supervillain syndrome.
He's just crazy smart.
He couldn't stop his fingers from clenching up, and ran them through his hair.
Control yourself. If you beat him before, you can this time.
Oh, stop being naive. It's Russian Roulette to the Nth degree. Your whole life the chamber's clicked empty on your turn. Pull the hammer THIS time, see if it does again.
Stop it! I can stop him!
The way you can beat the cold? You get over the cold, yippee, never get that strain of cold again! Too bad there's millions of different strains.
Hey, we killed Polio, sucker.
Cute. Go vaccinate Octavius, see what happens.
He let out a shuddery sigh.
I wish I could.
He heard a step, and jumped.
Just MJ. Damn, this is bad.
"Peter...?"
She was in a bathrobe, eyes squinty from sleep. "You all right? I heard the TV..."
"Yeah, I'm....no. I'm pretty scared."
She sat down beside him, rubbed a hand across his back. "Bad way to start the day, huh?"
He blew out a chuckle. "Pretty bad."
"Coffee helps," she said, getting up. "Let me make some."
"The dark blend?"
"No, the Blue Mountain stuff."
"That'll do it," he sighed, and rubbed his hands in his eyes. He hated this. MJ finished the coffee prep, put on the pot, and sat down next to him. For a long time she didn't say anything, just held him.
"Slow breaths, tiger," she murmured.
"Sorry," he said. "But...do you know how terrible this feels? I mean, you punch a guy out, the police take him away, you feel like you've done something...and then there's this. Two weeks!
"Two weeks."
Mj sighed, didn't say anything. Then:
"I wish I had something to compare that to," she said. "I mean, sometimes you don't get a part, or a modeling shoot goes wrong, but...kind of far end of the spectrum, I'd say. So I guess...I should say I trust you."
He looked up at her. "What?"
"I trust that you're going to do what you've always done...take down the bad guy, make the world a safer place," she smiled. "The world doesn't stay fixed for long, and when the Fantastic Four aren't in town..."
"That happens a lot, now that you mention."
He looked at her, full in the face.
"MJ," he said. "This time he could kill me."
She met him ook for look. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Peter. Your life scares me a lot. You come home with ribs broken, I see people punch you through walls...I hate seeing you getting hurt. But being married to you means marrying all of you, and that means you fight, Peter. I hate to say it, but you have to fight. With great power..."
"Yeah. Great responsibility," he said. "I know. I'm just scared."
"Both of us," MJ said. She smiled. "But hey, we did promise for better or for worse..."
"I like the for better part..." he stalled.
"...Better?" she finished.
"That's the stuff," he chuckled, and kissed her.

The safe house was presentable, but not luxurious. A suitable laboratory, but not the ideal.
Otto's brow furrowed. It was almost never the ideal. Infuriating that he should settle for less.
I will not, he thought. But first, I must put Spider-Man out of my way...and regain all my appendages.
And this damnable thing is of no help at all.
The package was sitting bare on his workstation in front of him. Extremely disappointing. When he'd heard of this latest wartime development and its much-hyped abilities, his curiousity was piqued. But, stolen, opened, and exposed, it did not amount to much. An explosive device, possibly grenade or mine (too small for a mortar), meant to release a biochecmical signal that increased the seratonin in the brain, thus making the victim happier and less hostile. A piteous device that he could possible have constructed before the age of twelve.
He could see the drawbacks. Although it was no doubt intended for quick surrenders, increased mirth might lead to increased morale...and therefore a harder battle.
He pushed it away, frowning. A waste of his precious time. Better to focus on other problems.
A knock.
"What?" he asked, irritable.
"Your delivery, sir," Belgardt said through the door.
"Good," he said, opened the door. He took the box from Belgardt and closed the door.
A three-button white armani suit, with a black silk shirt and red tie. Also a red vest, added last minute on a whim. Far better than prison clothes. He began to change.
Spider-Man...now that was a worthy problem. A problem he had been trying to solve his entire life. The man was almost unbeatable. He remembered their last confrontation--the meddlesome arachnid had dodged everything that had been thrown at him.
Problem: The Spider refuses to be killed.
Answer: He is incredibly fast.
He waved it away. Redundant. Of course he was fast. But speed alone cannot save all. A mere left dodge when he should have gone right would have killed him countless times, no matter the speed.
He finished buttoning the cufflinks and sat down in his chair.
Problem: The Spider has neither the brainpower nor strength to match me and mine.
Question: Why, therefore, is he not dead?
He steepled his fingers.
Hypothesis: He has grown accustomed to my maneuvers.
Rejected. With Otto Octavius, thought was as deed, and his arms moved with liquid unpredictability.
Problem: If the unpredictable is accounted for and adjusted to, what does that say?
He remembered the fight...how he had thrust a murderous arm that should have impaled him. But Spider-Man had dodged....
He rewound the memory. He dodged...but, in fact, began to go into motion before the strike had commenced.
Answer: He knows it's coming.
He tested it. It seemed a likely explanation as any, and worth testing. He looked back at the small disected explosive.
"You may yet be of some use to me," he muttered, and went back to work.

Spider-Man sat crouched on a building cornice as lightning flashed.
He's coming. I know he's coming.
A raindrop fell on his head.
He's always been better than me. Point for point, he's superior.
This time he might kill me.
The rain did not stop after that.

[OctoHaz]

Woooooooh. You mentioned in the Lair that this one was a tough one to write, but it's just as strong as the others... really excellent overall, Wolf. Rock on. :up:

[Joker]

Wow, this is my favorite entry so far, I think. The exchange between Peter and MJ was excellent. If only the comics would write them that well as a couple.

Ock got his white armani suit. Wooooooo :up: His finest look, no doubt. Spider-Man's fear of facing Ock was really well written, too.

"Armed and dangerous" indeed :cwink:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Four

Michael Carmine waited. He was an agent of the government (he would not exactly say which division), he was sitting in an office, and starting to get restless. The chair was comfortable, the office was warm enough (though a trifle dark), but he had been sitting here for fifteen minutes with little conversation with his client.
"Sir," he finally broke, "when Congressman Kingsolver contacted you on our behalf five years ago, he and we expected a bit more progress than what you've been showing."
His client--standing facing the window, the shades casting sideways prison bars across his figure--nodded.
"Completely understandable, Mr. Carmine," he said. Almost deferred--as if this was an unimportant point, screwing around with Uncle Sam. "I must say, the Gopher has not quite been up to my expectations, either. The structure itself and all its specifications are complete, but it's not direct enough as I had hoped."
"Direct?" Carmine asked, actually surprised when he had heard Gopher was completed. Who had told him that? Nobody had. Industrial espionage would have been a pain in the butt, but at least he would have been informed. Red tape and the details of lawmaking could go hang with something this big.
"Yes," his client said. "Not as much of a thrust as I'd hoped. Perhaps I can turn it to my advantage..."
A sudden movement out the window caught his attention. Likely one of the myriad of vigilantes prowling New York.
"Sir," Carmine, "let's dispense with the bull. Explain to me why you have not turned in any papers announcing Gopher's completion or at least a report."
"I am," he said, turning. He was rather big for a businessman, Carmine thought. A little eery, too. "This is the complete file on Gopher, including its specifications, date of finished work, budget analysis, everything. It was just finished a mere two months ago, Mr. Carmine, and I wanted to be thorough."
"Next time give us more constant updates," Carmine said. He was not amused at all. This was a screwy game going on here, and he wasn't entirely sure of this desire to be thorough on his client's part.
"Well, you must understand this was something of a new venture for me," his client said, sitting opposite of him. "Working with the government was a rare privelage, but I was a little new to the game. Apologies, Mr. Carmine."
"Yes," Carmine said, and put on his sunglasses. "We'll proceed with final inspections a week from Thursday. If anything is not up to our requirements, you will be held responsible."
"I understand. I hope the experience next time is as pleasurable for you as it was for me."
"We'll see, Mr. Osborn."
"Yes," Norman Osborn said, and Carmine could swear there were fangs in that smile.

Spider-Man dropped down onto the ring of gunslingers outside the currency exchange. Shots blotted out the rain in a white fury, and Spder-Man was hard-pressed to avoid them.
"I didn't know you gents were from anywhere outside Manhattan!" Spider-Man quipped. "Well, I'll change your assault with a deadly weapon into jail time if you want. There's a 1-4 exchange rate, of course, so you'll probably get at least ten years. Optimistically."
One of the thugs--one wearing a blue cap--raised a H&K with a mounted grenade launcher and fired. Spider-Man lept aside and slung a web at the same time, and the grenade hit a mid-air net. Spider-Man proceed to round up the thugs while the one wearing the cap dropped the gun, put his hat in a post office box, and what happened after that Otto neither knew or cared.
The cap, of course, had hidden surveillance embedded in it, the video of which was currently playing on his laptop. He rewound it to the grenade launcher. Blue cap fired...and Spider-Man lept aside.
Rewind and slow motion: Blue cap fired...and Spider-Man almost imperceptibly jerked his head before the grenade left the barrel. He stopped the video. He had arranged ten other incidents of widely varying scenarios in the past three weeks. They had a simple pattern: paid crooks attack a target, Spider-Man arrives, and the one with a blue cap fires, or sets off an explosion, or attempts a trap. The result was always the same: Spider-Man escaped, his flesh and foresight intact.
Otto was almost certainly convinced. The freak had some sort of precognition. Luck and reflexes alone did not account for the subtle traps that had been set for him. Which meant the next time they encountered, Otto would be forewarned.
And forewarned is forearmed. Which reminds me...
"Belgardt!" he snapped on the intercom. "Bring the men into the den."
Scant moments later, Belgardt, Torrence, Shay, Williams, Murphy, Lee and Roland were all seated at the table. Otto sat at the head.
"Reports," he said.
"The men used for the traps have all been confirmed to have no knowledge of your involvement, sir," Belgardt said. "The dummy account worked."
Otto nodded.
"Four armored cars have been stolen from local military yards and have been relocated to our storage sheds," Torrence said. "One report was filed requesting a recall and double-checking of the inventory."
Otto waved dismissively. "Fine."
"Local violent-related crime in the five Burroughs has decreased four percent," Williams said."And--"
"Witless underling!" Otto shouted, banging a fist on the table. "General crime matters little to me! Give me the whereabouts of the Six!"
"Yes, sir," Williams said, flipping a page. "Flint Marko is rumored to be in New Hampshire, Max Dillon is in Vault custody, Quentin Beck unknown, Roderick Kingsley unknown, Adrian Toomes in local Sharon Towers apartment complex, 221 B."
Otto fumed. "Far too many to track down on short notice. Well. I will make do."
"Your lawyer has attempted to contact government agencies as to the location of your arms," Shay said, "but, though he was discreet, was unable to find out anything."
"I expected that," Otto said. "Very well. You men are dismissed, save for Roland. He is to go purchases more groceries."
"Yes, sir," Roland said, and left.
Otto sat alone in the small room. This could yet prove disastrous. For the first time in his life since his accident, he was becoming...apprehensive. He could not mentally "feel" his arms. At all.
Quite bad, he thought. He clenched his hand into a fist. This was intolerable. Intolerable.
He emptied himself of distractions, filing his plans and his errant notions away. He strained. His breathing slowed.
There was nothing.
A bead of sweat ran down in front of his ear. He registered it distantly.
There was a haze. A glimmer.
Several hundred miles. Vaguely west.
He gritted his teeth. Almost cracked them.
A radius.
He came back in a hurry, the strain almost too great. They were in the Adirondack mountains. A start.
He wiped his brow. He wondered if his sense of his arms was at all similar to the Spider's precognition...
No. The strain was surely great to cause him to ponder such nonsense.
He rested.

Carmine stepped off the helicopter. He had brought an overcoat, but it wasn't thick enough. Damned mountains...
A small cadre of soldiers and several government technicians stepped out behind him. They had landed on a helicopter platform adjacent to a radio tower and small two-room building. The helicopter platform was a little small for all of them, but it certainly beat the road--a winding snake that would certainly have set off his motion sickness even worse than that helicopter ride. One of Osborn's two guards stepped out from the gate and saluted. Carmine didn't bother to return it.
"First things first, solider," Carmine said. "Where's the door?"
"Right here, sir," the guard said, and went over to a terminal. A second later, the hologram of the radio tower and its building disappeared to revealed a huge hangar door. Carmine turned to his technicians. They nodded at him.
"Looks to be running within expected energy output," the tech said, reading from his small instrument.
"Great, we have a garage," Carmine said. "The car better be in it."
"It is, sir," the guard said, and nodded to the other guard. They turned their keys at the same time, and the doors opened. A cargo plane sat inside like a napping bear--big, blunt and still. Carmine looked around, noted that all the fuel and supplies were in order (that he could see, at least). The technicians seemed to be satisfied.
"Crew quarters are down there, generators on the third level--"
"Shut up," Carmine said. "I want to see what we've got here. The big prize beind door number three. These knuckleheads can confirm the technical specifications."
"Yes, sir," the guard said. They went to an elevator, rode down for a full minute, then stepped out.
"Nice metal double doors," Carmine said. The guard opened them, to reveal another. The set behind closed. They went through the doors and into the room behind.
It was a thick room, with thick glass and thick pipes thick guards and thick ceiling. Several scientist-types scurried around from computer to computer, and Carmine went right up to the glass. A harness and its accompanying tentacles gleamed in the dark below.
Got 'em. Take that, four-eyed freak--your toys are in here where you can't play with 'em.
"No sign of movement?" he asked one of the scientists.
"None, sir."
"Good. Keep watching," he said, and returned to the elevator. A few moments later, he was back with his group.
"Everything check out?" he asked his head technician.
"It will take another hour to make sure everything is up to our specifications sir, but it seems so."
"Good, great, wonderful," Carmine replied. He walked away.
The technician waited until he was gone, went out to the helicopter. The pilot was still in the seat.
"Take a walk," the technician said. The pilot nodded, and the technician got out his phone--a secure phone with a scrambler and untraceable signal. It could also receive anywhere in the world. Even here. He called.
"Yes?"
"They're here, at Gopher," the technician said. "I'll meet you with the exact layout and specifications in three days."
"Good, good," Belgardt said, and hung up the phone.
The Doctor would be pleased.

[GuesssWho]

Very cool.
Man, Otto is cool.
Was that too many 'cool's?

[Joker]

Very cool.
Man, Otto is cool.
Was that too many 'cool's?

Nah, it's cool :oldrazz: :cwink:

Great chapter. Norman Osborn and the Six have entered the proceedings. Can't wait to read more :up:

[Kevin Roegele]

I'll just add to the growing acclaim by saying this is very good indeed. :up:

[OctoHaz]

More brilliance. This is shaping up to be one of the best fanfics I've ever read. :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Thanks, everybody! Glad you enjoy it!
(Chapter Five up soon)

[GuesssWho]

How soon is soon?

[GuesssWho]

I like this!!!

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Five

Michael Carmine clicked off the computer, fumbled for his keys, got ready to go home. He turned around and there were two men standing in the doorway of his office. Tired, slightly disoriented, and trying not to respond to his fiending for a Mountain Dew, he asked, "Can I help you?"
"Yes," The left man said. "I'm Mr. Belgardt. You can help us a great deal."

Peter Parker sighed in frustration.
"I'm just trying to get some information, Jonah," he said. "Why can't I see the reports on Doc Ock? I work here!"
"Ha! As freelancer! And not a reporter, might I add," Jonah barked. "And I HAVE to pay the reporters--God, I wish it weren't so--and I've got Rick Kelley going through every possible lead. Wonderful reporter, very thorough."
Robbie Robertson poked his head into the office, nodded at Peter. "Hey, Peter. Jonah, Rick's trying to go for full page instead of half, but we've got--"
"Full page! Who hired this grifter?" Jonah shouted. "Fire him!"
"He's halfway into the Doc Ock story!"
"That chump? Couldn't find a lead if it was burning right in front of him. Wait, better idea--what's Urich on now?"
"The homeless fires, opening of Mercy central--" Jonah chopped a hand through the air in abrupt disagreement.
"Typical blah. Transfer Urich to Ock, Kelley to the Mercy fires."
"So he's not fired?"
"He's got work to do! Let him get fired on his own time!"
Robbie shook his head and left. Peter raised a brow at Jonah.
"I see nothing changes around here," Peter smiled.
"How's the marriage, Parker?" He puffed a smoke ring.
"Fine, wh--"
"Cheat on her?"
"No!" Peter said, a little too loud. Jonah raised his hands, all innocence.
"It's been a slow week!" he said. "Covering the bases. Parker, what do you need information on Doc Ock for? Joining the four-eyed supervillain set now?"
"I stopped wearing glasses years ago, Jonah."
"That would explain the poor photo quality."
Peter laughed. "Didn't the Bugle win a few prizes off my 'poor quality photos'?"
"So that's it! I should've known. Glory hound, that's what you are. No way I'm giving you those files now!"
The intercom paged. "What!"
"It's Robbie, Jonah," Robbie said. "Urich's laid up for a few days. Injured covering that Daredevil story."
Jonah stabbed the button again. "Parker, you're all I've got. Don't make my fatherly trust in you misplaced."
"Right..." Peter smiled sardonically, and left.
An hour and sixteen minutes later, he had gotten a little ahead.
There have been a few sightings of an associate of Otto's, he thought to himself, scrolling through the information. Terrible picture of him. Needed to increase the f-stops, maybe pull back on the zoom...No known criminal record, but he was seen in Otto's company shortly before Otto's recent arrest...wonder who he is...'Belgardt' could be a pseudonym, I suppose...

Carmine was sitting down again, and Belgardt and Torrence were also. Carmine could see a subtle lump of a concealed weapon under his jacket.
"My employer has needs," Belgardt said. "You're an excellent supplier."
"I don't respond to private parties," Carmine said. "If your boss has needs, tell him to go through the regular channels. God, even the black market."
"Your cargo plane," Carmine said. "We need its manifest and flight schedule into the next two months."
Carmine licked his lips. "This is a government office. You are looking at life in prison. I can get that knocked down to 25 years for--"
"Thank you, but don't bother," Belgardt smiled. "We've got a video loop fed into the surveillance and we've knocked out your phone."
"You're threatening me."
"Perceptive."
"I don't respond well to that."
"Nobody does. Nobody likes getting lead poisoning, either." He pulled back his jacket. "Life just sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

Wait...this is interesting... Peter frowned, and zoomed in. Cameras at the air force base catch this guy with Belgardt, hidden video feed catches said 'guy' knocking out technician and going with guy number two to a helicopter pad. They go on a ride, comes back, meets up with Belgardt. Peter rubbed his eyes. And just from my years at this game, I would bet money guy number one is a federal agent of some sort. Right build and demeanor...
He tried to zoom in, but couldn't make anything out. He looked back at the pile of borrowed security DVDs. Whatever Jonah said, Kelley was thorough. And very lucky (or friendly) to get all this. He had LOTS of DVDs...this could take awhile.
Let's see here, Peter thought, rewinding the tape. Agent that Technician spies on comes from...what...this office here. 1413.
He got up, started walking fast.
He'll know something. I can make it in fifteen minutes webslinging fast.

Carmine smiled. "How are you going to 'coerce' me, buddy?" he asked. "No, really, this amuses me. This is funny. Because I assume...if you and your boss are this thorough, then you know" and he began to tick off on his fingers "I've got no family."
"Correct," Belgardt said.
"I bought my house and the property on which it lies."
"Yes."
"And I have a clinical history of depression and suicide attempts." He looked up. "That about covers it. True, I do get pretty pissed when somebody tries to pull a gun on me, but then again, dying's just a win-win for me."
"Quite true," Belgardt agreed. "And you're cynical enough to be patriotic to your advantage."
"Go Unlce Sam," Carmine pumped a fist. "War is Peace. Good stuff."
"But you know that our client is more powerful than a government."
"Please. I don't care who you are, a couple of tanks and you're dead, supershmuck or not."
"There's always Tienanmen Square," Belgardt countered. "Besides, if you're savvy enough to stop those tanks from ever leaving their garages in the first place, force counts for naught. And anyone who has used and manipulated the legal system so as to escape so thoroughly and repeatably as he has has should be able to manage whatever other protocol and procedures lobbed at him. Red tape only binds those who hold it."
"That was nice. Emily Dickensen?"
"Smith & Wesson." Belgardt pulled the gun from his holster. "I certainly shouldn't be going through all this trouble--but we need to know if the plane's here or at Gopher. You know I can kill you, get away with it, and get what I want from your computer after I step over your bleeding body."
"Oh, be still my heart. You would've shot me already."
"Maybe. Or maybe I was just seeing if you would cave. There's always money."
"I think looking at Ben Franklin every day might re-awaken that dying sense of guilt. So: going to shoot me?"
"Of course."
And he did.

Spider-Man swung high and tight, using more webbing and trying to accelerate. This agent should be a block away...assuming he hadn't gone home. He saw the building and counted floors quickly in his mind.
Fourteen. Looked like a corner office from the amount of light, too...
There was a brief pop of light from the right-hand corner.
That was gunfire!
Spider-Man flipped three times through the air, then swung a last web and decelerated gently onto the side. He crawled up and looked in through the window. Nothing. Spider-Man opened the window and crawled through. There was a bleeding corpse lying in front of him. He sighed through his mask.
Definately the guy from the video...Nice to finally meet you, Agent Carmine. Too bad you're dead.
The computer monitor flickered. It was shutting down.
Wait a minute... He went over and stopped the shutdown. Whatever the killers were after is on here. Betcha Jonah's 'stache.
He got to the main screen and called up the download history.
Interesting, these files...Cargo manifest and takeoff schedule for an outbound military plane. Apparently somewhere in the Adirondacks...
A nasty gear clicked into place. He looked at Carmine's body. Back at the computer.
It's him. He got to Carmine before I could.
And the plane's here.

Two hours later, a security guard tried to wave back the armored cars.
"We've already got to load the plane for tomorrow's takeoff!" he shouted at the lead driver.
The front car stopped, the door opened.
The security guard, who watched the news, started shaking when he saw who it was. He was shot and then shook less.
"I do not persuade or negotiate concerning my arms," Doctor Octopus said. He turned to his men. "Prep this plane for takeoff. We're leaving before dawn."

[GuesssWho]

Security moron is dead, then?
Oh, well. (LOL)

[Joker]

Wow, great chapter. Loved the scene with Jonah :up:

[GuesssWho]

Continue!

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Six

Spider-Man, after reading the agent's files and determine the cargo plane was here, had come to the immediate conclusion that he needed to get there ASAP.
And was naturally almost too late. The plane was actually taxiing down the runway when he had actually gotten to the airport (two hours away!), and he was almost out of web fluid. Actually, he only had one cartridge left. Business as usual.
He lept onto the runway as the plane began to take off. He ran after it as fast as he could, which, all things considered, was extremely fast. But the plane was going to beat him.
All I have to do is get within range before it lifts off the tarmac, he thought. The problem is, I'm going to get within range, then it's going to outrun me, and then take off. I can't shoot a webline before it lifts off because I'll kill myself getting scraped along behind it. I'm going to have to jump, shoot and hope.
Where's my stunt double when I need him?
He started to lose ground.

Doctor Octopus checked the controls over Torrence's shoulder. Belgardt manned the co-pilot's seat.
"Accelerating to take-off speed, sir," Torrence said.
"Faster," Otto said.
"Yes, sir." He pushed the throttle back.
The plane began to shudder. Did a small jump off the ground, landed...then took off.
With the amazing Spider-Man as a stowaway.

This is just perfect, Spidey thought as he clambered up the landing gear. Barely got onto the jet, which is full of crazy guys, who are led by Doc Ock himself, on his way into the mountains. Maybe it's time for Aunt May's ever-lovin' nephew to call it quits. He chuckled. Ah, that one always cracks me up.
Let's see....This is the rear starboard wheel...so I should be near the cargo bay.
It took him almost a half hour to maneuver around to a good position(leaving him scant room to breathe) before pushing up through the floor. There were all sizes of boxes and cylinders...as well as five armored cars.
Curious. He crept cautiously forward, his feet making barely audible sounds on the grated floor.
No men that he could see. Are they all forward? Or is Doc Ock playing an icy cool bluff?
He came to the sealed door to the forward compartments. I should be able to break through here without compromising any hull integrity. But...to be on the safe side... He turned back and webbed up the section of floor he had come through originally. Sealed as sealed could be. And now he had less webbing.
He turned back and...well, why be subtle?...punched down the door.
At least twenty-five heads turned to see him that he could count immediately...no bluff for Otto.
Guns started to cock, ammo chambers put into place. Spider-Man shook his head.
"Come on, now..." he admonished.
Up in the cockpit, Doc Ock's head whirled. Spider-Man! Impudent wretch!
"Doc himself might not be the sharpest tool in the shed," Spider-Man continued, but he doesn't hire morons. At least, not because he wants to. We all know that this plane is at just the right altitude to cause some serious pressure loss if the hull gets too shot up. And considering I can stick to walls...and you guys can't...who do you think that's going to wind up killing?"
The men looked at each other. There were glares and grimaces.
"That's right, Spider-Man said, popping his knuckles. "We're just gonna have to play fair."
Two of the closest rushed him. Spider-Man threw them back on the others and webbed up the four before you could blink. Five of them advanced, one got a fire extinguisher, and those not near enough to physically attck him looked for blunt objects.
Otto grabbed his briefcase. He'd been fortunate indeed that he'd finished his little project--and thoughtof bringing it along. He almost hadn't. Without his arms and Spider-Man so close...he wouldn't have had a chance. He opened the briefcase.
"Sir," Torrence said. "We're within ten minutes of landing."
"It had better be five, Torrence," Otto snarled. "Anything longer and you lose your reward. And me mine." He took out the small steel "thermos" he kept it in, began to unscrew the cap.
Spider-Man toom out two in one punch and threw another onto the back on a chair. The one with the fire extinguisher pulled out the pin just as Spider-Man swung around. He kicked and the assailant's foamy spray drenched one of his compatriots. Spider-Man felled him with a backhanded punch.
Spider-sense!
He dropped into a crouch as a thug swung. Spider-Man swept-kicked him onto the ground and webbed him there. He jumped back hard as another one lunged at him and they both landed hard into the bulkhead. The difference was, Aunt May's ever-lovin' nephew was still conscious.
Doc Ock took out the small explosive, opened the cockpit doors. Spider-Man saw him.
"Ock!"he shouted. "How 'bout a hug? Oh, I forgot...prison didn't teach you the two-armed version, did it?"
"I'll be far more friendly once we touch down," Ock countered. "My affection will be positively crushing."
One of his men was sneaking up behind the wallcrawler. Last test. Spider-Man backhanded him without turning around or giving any sign he'd seen the man.
"Well, sorry to say so, but this flight's been re-routed to Riker's Island," Spider-Man said. And then he tensed.
Ock threw the explosive on the ground at his feet. Spider-Man jumped up to the ceiling, but the clear gas spread quickly.
Spider-Man, noticing Ock wasn't wearing a mask, inhaled cautiously...and felt fine.
"That's it?" Spider-Man said. "Not even knock-out gas?"
He dropped from the ceiling. Another two of Otto's men were coming up behind him.
"You're getting sloppy, Doc, that wasn't even--"
A tingle. Spider-Man started to move--but arms were around his throat. Spider-Man pushed them both back, trying to get leverage, and another thug got in front and landed a solid punch. Spider-Man jumped, kicked the man in front, used the momentum to grab the ceiling with his feet, and threw his rear attacker off. There were ten left--and the plane touched down.
Spider-Man saw the cockpit's door--closed.
"Oh, no you don't," Spider-Man said, then heard the gun cock. He dropped just as the bullets chewed up the ceiling. He snapped a web onto the muzzle and ripped it free. But the gunman happened to be behind the three rushing him. Spider-Man kicked the left, webbed the right in the face as he punched middle, then threw right back into the disorganized mass of henchmen.
He ripped off the cockpit door and saw the empty cockpit--and the open door to the hangar.
He ran through it. Ock was not getting away.

Otto walked down the hallway away from the hangar, Belgardt, Torrence, and five of men close behind. Even here, it was a strain to get through to his arms. Infuriating.
A guard tried to intercept. Belgardt shot him in the heart.
"Excellent aim," Otto remarked, almost an afterthought. "We're getting close."
Come to me! I command you!
He could feel them...but control was sluggish. He felt them strain.
Come to me NOW!
He and the men got into the elevator. Spider-Man turned the corner and saw the doors close. He shoved both doors open and landed on the elvator's roof loudly. The gunfire that followed was louder. He landed on the walls, sweating hard and feeling a pain in his side. He looked down.
Nicked me. They never get that close...
"Keep him occupied," Otto said as the doors opened. Belgardt and Torrence nodded and opened fire.
He walked through the airlock doors and watched. His arms were waving slowly, like kelp in water. Otto strained.
Break free at once!
An arm rammed into the thick glass, cracking it. The scientists within were scurrying madly, trying to stabilize the situation. His arms began to shatter the glass and then broke through, an almost living weapon.
Come here!
The arms peeled back the security doors. He touched the cold metal, and a triumphant feeling of equal temperature spread through him. He smiled tightly.
At last.
He slipped the harness around his waste and turned. Spider-Man punched out the last of his men.
Figures,Spider-Man thought. He's already got 'em on.
"Who do you think has the advantage now, meddling worm?" Otto snarled. His tentacle claws clacked and whirred. Spider-Man shook his head. Dizzy.
Not dizzy.
"I think...the arms make you look fat," he said. A bead of sweat ran into his eye and he blinked it away. "Oh, wait...you already were."
A tentacle swung and Spider-Man lept...and got clipped on the back of the leg. What just happened? His spider-sense had registered it...but not as a danger...just a presence...
Spider-Man jerked his head to the side as an open claw crunched into the ground.
I'm so tired...why...?
He felt something...something coming toward him...He saw a tentacle and ducked down. It side-swiped his temple, rolling him over.
Ah....ah, that...that hurt.
He sensed an approaching presence...something nice and warm...something good. He welcomed it, approached it--
--and the tentacle shot right into his head.
Blackness.

[Joker]

Yesssssssss, Otto has his tentacles back :up:

Great chapter, Wabbit.

[GuesssWho]

I love Otto, I really do . . .

[OctoHaz]

I love Otto, I really do . . .
Ditto. :up:

Keep up the great work, Wolfie. :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Seven

Director of Operations Stan Moore looked down at the bloodied, broken mess of Michael Carmine. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses.
This was such a mess.
His aide tapped his shoulder. "Sir, we might want to leave--the forensics team's coming up here, and we odn't want to disturb anything."
"You're right," he sighed. "Make one small shift of dust and we never catch the latest serial killer out there...have someone notify his family. God knows I won't."
"He has none, sir."
"Right, right...let's get out of here."
They walked down the hallway, Moore in silent thought. His aide kept nagging him, a fly near his face. "Sir, we've just received a report from the security room...turns out there was a video loop inserted into the feed."
"Nobody knows how it happened."
"No, sir."
He sighed again. "Well, it doesn't take a genius to see it's a genius behind this. A real menche to be willing to walk into a federal building and blow away Carmine, who was the head of...what was it, exactly? Business contracts? Development projects?"
"I believe both, sir."
He waved it away. "Fine." Suddenly a nasty thought occured to him. "The files on his computer...are they still sealed?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, find out!"
His aide went running off, and Moore pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Good Lord, this was a nightmare. Certainly the escaped Otto Octavius could be behind all this...the man started gang wars and attempted extrotions and threatened to blow New York away--stealing files? Not even a twitch to him.
One of the forensic crew came up to him with a plastic bag. Very clear and clean, she was.
"Sir, we found this just outside the window," she said. "I thought you'd want to know."
He looked at it. "Looks like some sort of adhesive..."
"I'll have to run some tests, but we believe it matches a prior specimen."
"Which?"
"Spider-Man's webbing."

Mary Jane tossed the keys on the counter and sat down at the answering machine. No new messages. Typical. She went into the bedroom--no Peter. But that wasn't unusual, either. She'd gotten home late, and he was usually on patrol at this hour.
She sighed. Sometimes home life with a hero was depressing. At times they were almost dorm mates--hardly ever seeing each other.
She turned to go back into the kitchen, stopped, and looked back.
Something was not right.
She looked around...then got it. There was no note. He almost always left a note if he left before she got home...
So he forgot. Calm down, you're both adults. Mistakes are not uncommon.
He's also a superhero. Mistakes are lethal in his profession.
She sat down on the bed.
Could he have been captured? It wouldn't be the first time.
Or...
She started to shiver.

Otto looked down at the bruised, broken mess of Spider-Man's body. His arms hovered and wavered delicately, as if (if one were given to absurd flights of fancy) they wished to finish him.
Otto certainly did.
It did not take all together much, did it? he thought. All these years...all these frustrations...and then the answer comes and the problem is solved. Defeat his sneses, defeat the man. So now...how should I kill him?
He considered. There were several options, ranging from scientific dissection to guilty pleasures...
He frowned. This was, to use a phrase, putting the cart ahead of the horse, was it not? Otto might have caught him off guard...attacked at an unsure moment. The Spider did, after all, dodge his blows, though feebly.
He blew out an exasperated breath. Ridiculous. The solution was here, at his very feet: an unconscious, vulnerable Spider-Man. Finish the problem by killing him. Pencils down, turn in your exams.
"Bah!" he muttered. He walked over to Belgardt, Torrence, and his other lackies--useful lot they were! He grabbed Belgardt's cheek with an actuator claw, shook him.
"Wake up," he intoned. Belgardt blinked and looked up at him. "I should, perhaps, apply a few more foot-pounds of pressure and snap your neck...but Spider-Man takes nearly all by surprise at first encounters. This lapse is forgiven. For now."
He released Belgardt, who went over to Torrence. Otto returned to Spider-Man's body.
What is to be done with it?
Warring elements within him debated. Otto deserved the death of Spider-Man. Toiling and laboring for his ends, only to be upset by a juvenile that blundered into the laboratory at the most inopportune time. After time. After time.
A claw snapped together, another rotated and clenched.
Spider-Man was the world as it opposed him. Everything represented there in garish primary colors and blank, bug-eyed lenses. An attack on the rational, the substituation of image to substance, the death of the mind and the resurrection of all the primal lusts man had supposedly "evolved" away from.
The four arms floated towards the Spider. Quick spins and snapping.
And therefore, since Spider-Man was the world, and the world opposed Octavius, the world must be made subject. Spider-Man must be made subject.
The claws grabbed the Spider's body.
But...he was not subject.
A hesitation.
No. He wasn't. He had not submitted in any way to Otto. Like a stubborn stain that refuses to wash off, he did not yield. And furthermore, there was no conclusive, undeniable proof that Otto had weakened him.
Otto growled low in his throat.
Curse the scientific method.
And (this was a point heretofore unconsidered) the little toxin had not yet run its course.
Otto raised a brow. Clarify.
It had been introduced into his system and made him weak...but suppose it could do much more? Make him attracted to that which he repelled? He had almost leaned in to the final blow, hadn't he...
Otto nodded. It would be interesting to watch, certainly. But worth keeping him alive...?
...yes. He would be stripped and gutted of all that which made him Spider-Man, he would surrender, and then he would die. If he was worthy of it, by Otto's very hands.
"Very well," he said. "Torrence!"
"Yes, sir."
"I understand this facility has its own power and heat to supply it with. Destroy it. And copy any and all information on this facilitiy's computers."
"Yes, sir."
He looked down at the arachnid. He would certainly leave him alive. Leave him alive in the middle of the mountains to freeze to death unless he was particularly ingenuous. He turned and left.
The bug would certainly have to prove interesting for this to be worth it.

He came out of the blackness slowly. Life is pain, your highness...he shook his head then regretted it. Random thoughts drifted in from nowhere and went nowhere. He sat up and almost laid back down. He'd gotten one heckuva beating, that's for sure...
He got up and didn't remember his name. A lightning fear struck him.
I'm....I'm....Spider-Man. Peter Parker. Married to MJ, May Parker is my aunt and I love them both dearly.
Spider-Man leaned back against the wall and sighed in relief. He still had his memory. Good.
Bad. Memory of Doc Ock slamming a tentacle into his head. Where were you on that play, Spider-Sense? Hitting the showers?
I hate sports metaphors...
Man, it was quiet in here. "Hello?" He got up, weakly. Looked around. Broken glass, crushed pipes, broken walls. Nobody.
What is going on?
Spider-Man went to the darkened elevator shaft and looked up. Errant sparks. He began to climb--Wow, that hurts even more than the breathing--and soon reached the top. He slumped out and rested. All this...
After a nice little nap, he raised his head. Blank eyes stared back at him. He jerked reflexively, then his focus drew back and he saw the scene. Crushed heads, twisted vertebrae, holed chests...he ripped off his mask and vomited. Five minutes of shuddering.
He got up and walked, trying not to touch or trip over the bodies. He got to the hangar bay. The plane was gone. And he was alone.
His head hurt badly, thrumming at his ears.
Not...that wasn't his head...it was a helicopter. Spider-Man went to a window. Not one helicopter, six.
Armed with guns and missile launchers.

[OctoHaz]

At the risk of sounding repetitive, great work, Wolfie. :up: :up: :up:

[Joker]

Let me hop on that bandwagon, and also say that this is terrific. Great cliffhanger.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Hehe...I put in the impaled/mangled bodies just for you, Doc. :D

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eight

Spider-Man lurched against the wall and felt dizzy...whatever was happening in him, seeing the choppers didn't help. He watched them--two landed on the pad, another went out of sight into the hangar bay. The remaining three hovered in place about a hundred feet up.
And they were armed. Why were they armed?
No markings on the side that I can see, Spider-Man thought. He shook his head and blinked at his eyes. He didn't need this! They're...they're two-prop helicopters. Bigger than ordinary, able to carry--
Soldiers exited the side of the plane and fanned out, guns raised at the entrance. Spider-Man fell away from the window and jerked to the hangar bay door. There were more--
He jumped to the ceiling and began to crawl away into hiding.

"We're ready to proceed, sir," Agent Timmins whispered into his mic.
"Go ahead."
"Fire in the hole," Timmins whispered. He raised his M-16 ever so lightly, and a small grenade tumbled to the hangar bay door. A muffled THWUMP and BANG and the door was open, exhaling a cloud of gas into the chambers. The small force got into the room and spread themselves out quickly and silently. The two groups from the landing pad kicked in the doors and came in the same manner.
"Thermals," Timmins whispered, and clicked down a pair of infared goggles. He scanned the room--didn't see much of anything, since all the power lines were down and the heating system was shut off.
"Sir," said one of his men, "I've got something faint near the elevator shaft. Might be him."
"Team two, move in on the signal."
Soft footfalls on hard tile.

Spider-Man heard them. He tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead and wound up smearing it inside his mask. He panted heavily.
They've come to put the rabid dog down... He leaned his head back against the elevator shaft. At this point, the way I'm feeling....I might begin to agree with them.
He put a hand on his chest. Arrythmetic heart rate. This was not good at all.
I need to buy some time. Pretty easy.

"Elevator not working, sir."
Timmins resisted the urge to sigh. "Proceed to the stairwell. Take one floor at a time."
"Yes, sir."

Spider-Man had snapped the elevator cables, of course. Which means I've still got my spider-strength. And I can still stick to walls. I think the next test is going to have to be speed. Better pass...
He started crawling up the shaft, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Spiders out in the open get crushed with a kleenex or flushed down the drain, Spider-Man thought. How do I hide...?
They won't be using night vision, too bright out.
Infared? But the power generators for this place would be--
--not working.
He nodded, shivered involuntarily.
Stop it! Okay...where's the power generator?
He took the third floor up from him as a good place to start. He pried open the doors--
--golden sunshine--
--and saw six heavily armed soldiers approaching. One jerked his head up and his head went to his mic.
Spider-Man pulled himself up and fired out two lines of webbing, hitting his nearest compatriots in the face. The leader raised his gun and Spider-Man tackled him onto the ground, knocking him out.
He whirled as a small grenade rolled near his feet. The other soldiers--too close--gas--
It exploded and pale smoke erupted all over him. Spider-Man held his breath and jumped onto the fourth man, ripped off his gas mask and put it over his. Still two soldiers, but they had retreated to the stairwell. Calling for reinforcements.
Spider-Man looked around. There was an open door behind and to the left of them. He ran for it. One of the soldiers rasied his pistol. Spider-Man pressed the webshooter's trigger and fired only compressed air. A bullet shot into his leg.
"GAAH!" he shouted, and stumbled. The two soldiers got close.
Spiders get squished. No time to hide.
He got kicked in the ribs and doubled up like a stabbed centipede.
"Sir, we've got him, third floor down," the soldier said. Spider-Man kicked out his legs from under him--the hurt!--and punched the other in the side of the knee, stumbling him. Spider-Man pulled himself onto the other soldier and put a hand over his mouth.
"Don't move and do exactly as I tell you," he whispered.

"We've got him down, sir, but he's knocked out the others," Timmins heard. "He was shot in the leg."
"Understood," Timmins said. "Get a medical team down there."
White-clothed men from the chopper came in with a stretcher and went down the stairwell. Two minutes later, they came back up, carefully carrying Spider-Man.
"Get him out to the chopper," Timmins said. "All teams return to posts."
Moments later, Timmins had returned to the helicopter with Spider-Man inside, and lifted off.
The helicopters turned and fired their missiles, obliterating the Gopher facility from the side of the mountain.
"Good work, men," Timmins said, and clicked to a different channel. "Doctor, we have him."
"Hmmm," Otto said. "A trifle disappointing. He stood up to my other hired mercenaries...and you got him without much of a struggle. I had expected better. Well. Bring him back here, and I'll--"
His headset was jerked away from his head. Spider-Man was upside-down over him and the crew unconscious behind him.
"Take this bullet out of my leg and land this helicopter inside the city," he said. "I'm tired, and I need my beauty rest."
Timmins went for a a knife and Spider-Man knocked it out of his hand.
"Thanks, but let's stick with scalpels this time."
"No chance."
"Sorry, not one of the choices. Actually--I don't remember giving you any choices."
Timmins grabbed his pistol and shot the pilot and co-pilot. The helicopter lurched.
"What are you doing?!" Spider-Man shouted.
"No choice now," Timmins said. "Surrender, or we crash."
Spider-Man landed and stumbled. Timmins got up and Spider-Man punched him under the ribs. He landed, out cold. The chopper was going down. Spider-Man stumbled into the cockpit--of course the controls were shot up and useless. He turned back and grabbed Timmins. "You're lucky I'm so soft and fuzzy, or I might leave you here," he muttered. He opened the door of the helicopter and jumped up onto the side of the other nearby. Gritting his teeth, he forced open the door and threw Timmins in. The soldiers inside saw and raised their guns as the helicopter exploded below. Spider-Man crawled onto the chopper's belly as the bullets plinked fresh clean holes out of the hole. The other helicopters were angling into a position below him.
Hey, we're in the city now, Spider-Man thought and a bullet exploded by his head. I can land on the roof below if the chopper's blades don't make hash out of me. I've got three seconds maybe before I'm shot fatally.
Time it right...
Blam! Blam!
Spider-Man shut his eyes and let go--
--and twisted right between the whirling blades unscathed. He landed ungracefully on the rooftop below and tumbled over the side. He grabbed frantically last-minute as the choppers circled around. They began to open fire with their gattling guns. Spider-Man let go of the roof and backflipped down the side of the building, brick-work exloding just behind him. He landed on a fire escape platform And almost shrieked, the pain was so bad.
No web-fluid, surrounded by helicopters. I need to get away from civilian targets before I get one of them killed. Or...
He jumped onto the neighboring building and crawled around to the back. The helicopters fell slowly, dragonflies in amber.
He jumped onto the back of the next one, the one after that.
Moments later, he was safe and away.

The helicopters continued to circle.
"No use, sir," one of the men said into his headset. "He's gone."
Otto clicked off the intercom. So...the invalid arachnid had provided some effort, after all. Clever, that little playing helpless bit...perhaps he had done so all along.
Otto clenched a fist in muted fury. He would not again! He would no longer play Otto for the fool! Not after this!
A curiosity caught his eye. Three of the tentacle claws were clanched...and one just hung in the air, immobile.
Bring me a cigar.
It whirred...and slowly obeyed.
Otto furrowed his brow. This was not right.
At all.

[OctoHaz]

Bring me a cigar.
It whirred...and slowly obeyed.
Otto furrowed his brow. This was not right.
At all.
And the plot thickens...

Oooh, Otto. What have you done. :D

[GuesssWho]

Are they thinking for themselves?

[Joker]

Agh, I've fallen behind with this story. Just caught up now!

Fabulous stuff, Wabbit. Ock is on fire in this. Too bad Spidey escaped. But there's always next time ;)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Nine

Spider-Man fell onto the window, pushed it open with his momentum, and fell onto the floor. He laid there, panting heavily, feelings of hot and cold rippling over him. His fingers began flexing uncontrollably.
He reached out with his good foot and kicked the window closed, pulled off his mask, and wiped the hair back off his forehead. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked around.
"Nggh......"
The lights were off. He crawled slowly, pulling himself forward and trying to keep his weight off the leg with the bullet in it.
"Muugh....Mary J--jane?"
No sounds at all. He pulled himself up onto the couch, looked unhappily at the smear of blood he had tracked in. It was on the hardwood part...
"MJ?"
He spotted the small post-it and reached out, his sweat now consistantly cold.
Hi, Peter! In case I'm not back by the time you read this, went out to dinner. Should be back by eight.--MJ
Peter jerked his head back. 6:02.
No....no, no, no...

Otto sat at the table, probe in hand. His actuators were splayed out like a dissected butterfly on the table--slightly too small, alas. He had not found any sort of electronic inihibitor, adulterated circuitry connections--
He pushed his glasses back up his nose, rubbed the small stubble under his jaw. An irritant.
The motoring and servos were all functioning properly--although one of the root motors in the third arm could use some maintenance...
Not now. Firstly the cancer, then the nosebleed.
He ran the small probe along the upper length of the second actuator, the one that had been slow. Foolish to think the problem would be confined to that area, but nevertheless. He ran the probe up to the claw. No abnormalities. He began to dissect the claw, removing the adamantium plating to operate on the servo skeletal structure and nervous system of wires; a tangle to the layman, but to the inventor, a misplacement would be immediately visible.
He sighed. Absolutely nothing.
He pushed the tools and arm back, put a hand to his chin.
The problem is undetectable at first inspection. The timetable requires working tools and weapons.
He balled his hand into a fist. Intolerable. He reached over, grunted, and turned on the intercom. "Belgardt!"
"Here, sir."
"Tired?"
"No, sir."
"Good. If you were, I wouldn't trust you with this assignment." Otto cleared his throat. "I want you to go to the Sakai Storage sheds outside the city. I'll give you a key and ID to shed 14. There's going to be a three-foot wide box--on the left wall, I think. And a longer, thinner box, also. Bring them back here posthaste."
"Guns?"
"I wouldn't keep guns in a storage shed, you idiot," Otto snapped, and turned off the intercom.
This idea was questionable, bordering on grievous error. But probably necessary.

Peter shoved his hand through the stuff under the kitchen sink, not finding anything.
I could've sworn we still had some morphine...
His legs seized up like it was in a vise. He grabbed it in both hands, almost broke his own femur.
"Gggnnnnhhh!" He gritted his teeth. The neighbors couldn't hear. If they suspected anything...heard anything...
Forget it....have to go with cruder tools...no pain-killer.
I could go into shock and die.
I've got a bullet in my leg and could bleed to death!
He pulled open a drawer, fumbling blindly. He jerked back his hand, then reached back in and grabbed the long, thin fish knife. Grabbed some meat-flipper tongs.
He shifted around, putting his back up against the cabinet. I need something to cut off the flow of blood.
Paper towels too flimsy, no clothes within reach except his tights...
Can't afford to make another one until I get another paycheck...
I'm bleeding to death! Time for cheapskate is over!
Hey, pal, I don't make the budget...
He looked around again and saw one of those cheap rubber excercise bands wrapped around the table leg. One of those things that probably didn't do any good and he had warned MJ not to buy. Thank God his wife didn't listen.
He untied it and put it around his leg. It fell out of his fingers.
Losing muscle control.
He bit on his tongue, took off his pants and wrapped it around his leg. The entry hole gaped at him--the thing was the size of the chunnel!--but not quite big enough for the fish knife. He began cutting, widening the hole, trying not to think about how much this HURT--

Belgardt was back within two hours, which was considerably good time. The traffic must have been cooperative. He put the box outside the door, and Otto pulled it into the workspace. He cracked it open and looked into the musty, dust-filled container.
His prototype. His faulty prototype set of arms.
They had been designed and built before he had mastered the control link-ups. Due to the nature of his budget (and before he had taken the liberties he did now) Otto could only have afforded one completed set of actuators--but they had to work perfectly. So, with some jury-rigged ciruitry, wires bought wholesale and mere tin to hold it together, he had made a prototype. "On the cheap," as the layman would say. They had worked adequately--but not well. He had stressed them to the point of destruction, found the errors, built the current model. The model that was currently unreliable.
In the second box was steel casing. He had almost used it over adamanitum.
He was going to have to be truly innovative to make a prototype never intended to make it past the drawing board work better than the ones that touched his thoughts.
He began to operate.

The hole was big enough--but the bullet was hiding. He wiped the sweat from his eyes for the hundreth time and plunged back into his leg.
He went for twenty seconds before his hand started shaking and he had to pull out.He threw the knife on the floor in frustration.
This isn't working!
Yes, it is! The working just isn't finished!
He looked down at his leg--and was pretty sure he saw something. He fumbled above and behind his head for a minute, then brought down a small pen-light. He lit it and looked down.
Probably the bullet.
Don't miss!
Stop distracting me!
He took the tongers and reached into the small hole--a bit snug.
"Gaaagggk!!"
The tongs rubbed against the exposed muscle and nerves--he might as well have been operating with a brick.
He leaned over, tongs still in his leg, ready to bite his tongue off, and turned on the oven. Put the knife in.
Back to surgery.
He reached farther and the tongs clicked against the bullet. He widened the tongs--
He bit down hard and his mouth started to bleed.
The bullet moved deeper, fleeing.
He reached farther and grabbed it. You're not getting away, sucker.
He pulled it out and let it fall onto the floor. Success. Almost.
He opened the oven, turned it off, and put the hot knife against his skin.
"NNGGH!"
He pulled the knife away and just sat there, alive.
The door started to open--
Spider-sense!

Otto looked at the finished product. Fortunately, the underlying skeletal structure hadn't required as much modification as he'd thought. It would be a tad jerkier than what he was used to, and not nearly as strong, but it could still crush Spider-Man's head.
He smiled. That moment would be worth all this chicanery and scientific method.
He slipped the harness around his waist. He had used manual controls before the explosion, and that would take some getting used to. The fluidity of thought as deed had spoiled him, perhaps. Still, he was Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, wasn't he? And he could construct a neural link-up if it was too bothersome...
He put his hands in the old rotary-phone controls and the actuators turned to the empty box.
The box is Spider-Man's head. Crush it.
He turned his hand--
The claw snapped open and crushed the box.
Again.
It retracted and its brother snapped down, a venomous cobra.
Again. Again. Again.
Otto smiled grimly.

Peter looked up at the open door, his mask off, his leg cauterized from a bullet wound...
"Hey, MJ...how was dinner?"
...and passed out.

[Joker]

Ooooh, papa's got himself a brand new bag :D

[OctoHaz]

Ooooh, papa's got himself a brand new bag :D
I know it's just a figure of speech, but the juxtaposition of Otto Octavius and the word "papa" just makes me all blinky. :D

[GuesssWho]

Ditto.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Ten

Peter was lying in bed, wide awake, listening to the rain. His better half wasn't, but she had been for the first hour or so after she'd stumbled into his make-shift surgery. It had taken several minutes of reassurance (and throwing away the bullet), before she'd calmed down.
It had been slightly annoying. It wasn't like he didn't deal with this sort of thing all the time--being shot at--
But not shot. Not for a long while past.
The thought was waved away. He had taken care of it. Taken care of himself. She should know how to respond better by now.
What are you saying?! She's your wife! She cares about you!
He groaned, a sharp pain fingering its way across his forehead. He hoped it wasn't an after-effect from the surgery. As if he wasn't in enough trouble...
Yes, trouble. Let's recap, shall we? Doc Ock is loose, he gassed you with something--
A sharper pain this time. He pushed back the sheets and walked to the kitchen. He needed tylenol or aspirin or something.
--something that's affected your spider-sense.
He found a small bottle of pain-killer, fumbled with the cap (Child-proof. Blasted pharmaceuticals.) and took three.
All right, so it affected my spider-sense. I managed to get my way out of that little fiasco. I always do.
Barely. And you haven't played like a rookie for a long time. That little helicopter stunt was pure first year nonsense. You could have been sliced in half.
Coulda, shoulda, woulda.
He put the pills back and leaned against the counter.
You're being irrational.
No, I'm not. The only irrational thing that happened today was Doc Ock getting away.
The only thing? You practically welcomed his tentacles with open arms!
Yeah....that is strange.
He shook his head. The pills would take full effect in half an hour, but that was little consolation. His head was splitting in half.
Strange enough to get checked out?
No. No time when Otto Octavius is on the loose.
You're too stubborn to do the responsible thing! If you had any sense you'd go to Reed Richards right now!
"I'm having a shouting match with myself," Peter groaned, and rubbed his eyes. "Beautiful."
He tried to relax, looked at the bedroom door.
What isthe most responsible thing to do?
The raindrops tinkled on his balcony railing.
The most responsible thing is to stop Doc Ock. He's too powerful to let someone else take care of this, whether I'm at full health or not.
No, the most responsible thing is to protect the ones you care about. Mary Jane, for starters.
My spider-sense went off when she came in. Why...?
He clenched his jaw suddenly as a new pain ripped through his brain.
...because my spider-sense responds to threats.
Don't think this, Peter. Do not dare.
He looked at the bedroom door...cracked open just a tad.
Threats.
Whatisthe most responsible thing to do...?

Adrian Toomes put down his grocery bags, and winced. He was getting old, and starting to feel it. And the worse thing about getting old when you're a criminal?
The only fixed income you have is when you steal it. And he was due. Two weeks due. He could move, of course--no shortage of apartments in NYC these days--but he despised moving. It took too long to feel at home--building a new nest wasn't worth the trouble. He looked down from his window.
And Vultures fed off the dead, not vice versa. If he was prodded by landladies and sniveling accountants, he would tear off strips of flesh until his gut was sated.
He sat down and winced again. He was a bird of prey....he would not be hurt.
He felt a slight shaking. An earthquake? Here?
The intercom buzzed. "A Mister Octavius here to see you."
He glared at the horizontal slits. "Request denied!" he squawked, and turned away. The last thing he needed was more treachery.
The shaking intensified--
His beady eyes widened to plates and Doc Ock exploded through the window, tentacles like loose fire hoses. He pulled up a lip in contempt as he brushed off the glass.
"You know I do not request, Toomes," Otto snarled. "I do not ask, I do not negotiate, I do not deal--save when it suits me or my purposes."
Adrain eyed the knife drawer. Otto smiled.
"Perhaps the hawk should be hooded for the time being," he said and snapped his arms around Adrian before he could blink.
"You miserable traitor!" Adrian shouted. "Leave me be!"
"I am no respecter of the elderly," Otto said. "Especially not one of your ilk. Even my lackies who paged you seemed to think you were not worth my while."
"Then return me my solitude!"
"Perhaps in death, Adrian, but I have plans for a reunion soon." Otto shoved Adrain into a chair and released him.
"A reunion?"
Otto merely stared him down. Adrian furrowed his brow in thought. Then he flashed with anger.
"The Six! You want to use us as little toys, as you did before!"
"I use everyone," Otto returned. "The extent of their involvement is always a variable. You could be a willing and necessary counterpart...or a stubborn machine in need of maintenance."
He grabbed Adrain's arm and twisted it.
"Apropos," Adrian conceded, and Otto released him.
"Quite. I do not apologize for your sense of ill feeling the moment you learned the truth. You functioned as I needed, which I appreciate. But it is always I who conducts. The six are my orchestra, playing my concertos of destruction."
Adrian waved him away. "I'm not interested. Spider-Man is a hassle I wish to avoid."
"Spider-Man is a porblem I intend to solve myself," Otto said, and removed his sunglasses. "I do not need the Six to defeat Spider-Man--he is already more than beaten."
"You overestimate your talents," Adrian said. "As usual."
Otto's face clouded. "You make the mistake of impudence, Toomes. In my presence..."
The arms rose up like vipers.
"Never insult me. Those that insult me die."
"Spider-Man--"
Otto slapped him in the face with a flesh and blood hand. The two sized each other up for a moment. Then:
"Spider-Man is being taken care of. I have need of the Six for a larger symphony. A grand operatic piece that requires all my instruments present."
Adrain said nothing. Otto moved in closer.
"Your rent is due," he said. "The landlady could be pressured. An investigation started."
"I have larger scores than what you're offering."
"Ah, yes. The scores that involve you flying away from some building and loan with a bag of money, only to be knocked to earth by Spider-Man fifty feet later."
Adrain sighed.
Otto waited.
"Fine," Adrian snarled. "When?"
"A car is waiting," Otto smiled.

Otto returned to the car, Adrian in tow. Belgardt and Torrence sat in the front.
"Well?" Otto asked. Belgardt looked into the rearview mirror slightly. "The tracker is finished, sir. The radioactive particle should be quite visible."
"It had better be," Otto warned. "I need to monitor Spider-Man's progress continually. What of the rest of the Six?"
"We're still working on that, sir."
Adrian snorted and Otto had a tentacle smack him. "We do have one new piece of news, sir."
"Yes?"
"The facility that held your arms was funded by Norman Osborn."
"The industrialist? Well....that is interesting. What of the police?"
"Their inquiries haven't led them anywhere...but I have word that the government suspects Spider-Man to be the murderer of Agent Carmine."
"What?" Otto jerked. "No...that's not good at all. He is mine to toy with, test, destroy."
He fumed for a moment, then brightened.
"How long will it take to build another tracker, Torrence?"
"A day or so, sir."
"Then do it. And drop it off on Uncle Sam's doormat...this will be the perfect testing environment. Spider-Man will be easy prey if he's assaulted on two fronts..."
He laughed softly.

[OctoHaz]

Nice work as usual, Wabbit. :)

[Joker]

Wow, things are heating up nicely :up:

Btw, I love when Peter contemplates the current crisis he does be facing. It's always nice to see the hero stop and think.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eleven

Belgardt stretched, trying to chase away the cramp that had worked its way into his back over the last two hours. Working for Otto Octavius, he had learned, meant leaning forward in constant, earnest work. The good news was that he and Torrence had not been paged by the Doctor all day. As such, they were able to finish a second radioactive tracer, jury-rigged with a continent-wide GPS reception that the particle showed up as a blinking blue dot.
"All right, run a double-check," Belgardt said to Torrence. "Make sure the calibration matches up with its brother."
Torrence took it, plugged a wire into the jack and turned on the first tracker. He nodded. "Checks out."
Belgardt leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He could use some honest sleep...but he had skipped dinner to finish this. He started towards the kitchen.
"I could use some dinner," he muttered. "You want anything, Torrence?"
"No, I'm going out to grab a Coke."
"Those things'll put you in a diabetic coma, man. You gotta watch that blood sugar..."
"I know, I know..."
Belgardt went down the hall and heard the click of the back door as Torrence left. He opened the fridge and grabbed his unfinished reuben sandwhich, grabbed a Coke, went--
Stopped.
There were two six packs of Coke in here. He remembered when Roland had brought in those little fridge-mates, and there they sat, one a mere three cans short.
What...?
He ran back to the room. Both trackers were gone. He swore, grabbed his Glock, and ran out the back door.

Spider-Man swung in lazy arcs above the streets. His leg wasn't conducive to his more acrobatic maneuvers, so he was taking it a little easy. MJ was against it, but--
He let go of the webline, dropped ten stories, then fired out another onto a flagpole. He took a deep breath as he swooped low, just above the awnings and neon signs below. He had been briefly able to fly some time ago, but compared to this constant daring of gravity to reach up and take him, flying was dull.
This--this was free. Untouched by the nagging slanders of Jonah, out of reach of mistakes, high above the harpings of--
He sighed. MJ. What was he going to do with all this?
He saw the street come up to hit him, and then retreat. The sky itself wanted a brief embrace, and it was briefly granted. He let out a breath as he fell back--
--almost to earth. He had a brief curiosity: did Daredevil get this much joy over something so simple?

Officer Chase was coming out of the dry cleaners, feeling blasted bitter. That wife! Swear to God, that wife! Uptight as a steel girder, swear! All these years, he was sure--was sure--she was having a little fling on the side, and he'd been hurt, yeah. Anybody'd be broke up over getting the leftovers. But--BUT the minute he puts his feet up on the coffee table--oh, excuse me, cocktail table (not that that witch even knew what a mertini was)--it's all the same: nag, nag nag!
So a few days ago, he'd been lookin' a little sideways at a couple of young people, not tryin' to start anything or nothing, but lookin'. They'd given him the finger! For lookin'! And then he'd decided a little manhood was required here, so he'd gotten out and--lo and behold!--a little deal was goin' on. Sure, sure, the friend needed some "baking soda" for a "recipe." Yeah, wasn't that the sad truth. No way was that cut even close to pure. Probably had baby powder laced all through. So he'd been smilin' his way through the Miranda rights when one of the punks breaks a nice thick bottle over his head before he's got a chance to cuff the little dealer. They get away, he's the only one with the evidence, no names, and not in great shape for a chase (yeah, very ironic. Har har). He's driving home and spots a cute little hooker, decides he needs a little pick-me-up (ice cold on the homefront for weeks). So he has his little fling, gets home, wife asks where he's been. Asks if he's been cheatin'. The gall! All he had was a little happy time to himself and the wife who's been behind his back (he's sure) asks if he's been cheatin'! She throws her coffee all over his uniform.
That was a week ago. Two days ago, she walked out.
Officer Chase was not in a good mood today.
He opened the door to the squad car and saw Spider-Man swing overhead. Now, Officer Chase is no slouch. He had friends in various branches who were having a little case put together on yor friendly neighborhood vigilante.
He grabbed the CB and called it in. He felt better. Civic duty does that.

Belgardt stopped his running when he heard a discussion some twenty yards up. He walked slowly to the corner--Torrence and somebody else were having a little chat.
"--everything I promised, and a little unexpected bonus," Torrence remarked. "Didn't think the doctor would be so kind to have us build two, but there it is. One for your boss, the other for Uncle Sam."
"And the actuators?" Belgardt tried hard, but didn't recognize this one. Torrence wasn't going through usual contacts.
"You mean the tentacles?" Torrence asked. "He put them on the backburner, built a new set."
A pregnant pause. Belgardt was just around the corner now. He was going to nail this sucker.
"We went to a lot of trouble with those," the new voice said. "We wanted no surprises."
"We'll, you've got one now," Belgardt said, and stepped around the corner, gun pointed at Torrence's head. There was another man and a gold Camry behind him. The other man was fairly nondescript, but Belgardt couldn't place him. Not Owl's man, not Hammerhead's. A little lowbrow for Fisk. He pulled a pistol before Belgardt could think further.
"Don't do anything," the other man said. Torrence smirked--that little sugar fiend!--and the other man started to get between them. Belgardt switched his aim to the gunslinger. He should have shot them both when he had surprise on his side.
"The doctor is not mugged," Belgardt said. "Give me what's his. Now."
"Back away," the gunslinger warned. "I'm not some thug with a gun."
"You're a corpse with a gun unless--"
That was when Torrence, who had been creeping to the side, slammed the other tracker into Belgardt's head. The gunslinger made a hasty retreat into his car as Belgardt struggled with Torrence. Belgardt finally kicked him back and shot him in the knee.
"Aaagh!"
"Yeah, that's right," Belgardt said. "Little backstabber like you gets shot wherever I want. Knees just for starters."
Something fell onto his gunbarrel--sab or something--and he reached to clean it off--
And it was yanked out of his hand. It was webbing.
Belgardt swore again as Spider-Man lowered himself upside down right in front of his face.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kiss you or anything," Spider-Man said. "Just put you in police custody." He nodded to Torrence. "Get back home, I'll handle this clown." Torrence smirked at Belgardt and ran.
"You are the stupidest moron I've ever met," Belgardt spat. Spider-Man grabbed him by his jacket lapels.
"Stupidest is fairly subjective," Spider-Man countered. "But a man with the name of 'Belgardt,' that's pretty much true/false."
Belgardt swallowed. This was bad. That idiot Torrence had amde a bigger mess of things than he thought.
"I know you know where Doc Ock is," Spider-Man said. "Tell me right now before someone without the advantage of superpowers gets hurt."
"I've talked to plenty of guys in the pen," Belgardt laughed. "You wouldn't hurt a fly asking questions."
"Which, considering I'm Spider-Man, is a bit of a contradiction in terms..." Spider-Man allowed. "But don't worry--a magnifying glass and a bright lamp and we can have some fun drawing pictures on your back. I'm pretty good with those. I charge at least a hundred a tat, though...dog."
Belgardt just laughed. "You won't get anything outta me."
Spider-Man paused. "You might be more right than you--"
He stopped. His hands slackened. He let Belgardt go, who ran away, taking a winding path to the safe house.
Spider-Man dropped to the ground. It was like the rain had stopped without stopping. What was this feeling...? It was so good...
Three police cars converged on all sides.
"Can I help you, officers?" he asked. They had their guns pointed. This was bad, but somehow, felt pretty nice.
"Hands over your head!"
Like he'd gotten a few hundred back from the IRS--
"You have the right to remain silent!"
Wait a minute...they were arresting him!
He lept over the back police car, a bullet splashing into the glass to the right of his arm, scuttled over a building, and got away easy.
He sat shaking on a cornice. His spider-sense should have warned him, given him a little advance notice. Instead he'd been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. His Spider-sense wasn't just on the fritz. It was gone, and replaced with something else.
He tried not to get scared.

Torrence took the winding path back to the safehouse, too, but got there before Belgardt. He'd have to leave now. His leak had been exposed, and he wasn't 100 percent confident he could make Belgardt's death accidental--
He stopped, his mouth opened.
Doctor Octopus stood just inside the back door, all four of his mechanical arms poised and ready.
"I've been curious about you for some time, Mr. Torrence," Ock said. "You've been taking some very questionable trips lately. Rather enigmatic...but once revealed, all too prosaic. Treachery."
He grabbed Torrence and pulled him inside. Torrence began shaking.
"The trackers...gone. Sold, perhaps? Pawned off to the black market for a small briefcase full of money? Such a terrible direction this economy is heading."
"I....I didn't--"
"You insult my intelligence to my face," Ock fumed. "I am Draconian when it comes to that, Mr. Torrence. Quite Draconian."
A tentacle claw opened slowly over Torrence's solar plexus. He wasn't going to reveal anything, Otto could see it in his eyes.
"What was your aim, Mr. Torrence? Intending a coup? Perhaps hoping to become managerial timbre?"
He plunged the claw out Torrence's back.
"You hadn't the belly for it," Otto snarled.
Belgardt returned at just that moment. He held up the other tracker.
"I see one of my minions is trustworthy," Otto said and slid the waste off his tentacles. "Got away from you?"
"Thanks to Spider-Man."
"Wallcrawling wretch. How did you escape him?"
"The police showed up."
"How timely...very good, Mr. Belgardt." Otto nodded in thought. "We'll find this traitor's ring soon--they're too impatient to conceal themselves. Clean up that mess."
Otto went back inside and Belgardt took off his coat to clean up the mess.
He never did spot the spider-tracer under the collar.

[Joker]

Torrence got owned Ock style :up: :D

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Twelve

Spider-Man breathed out slowly as Reed Richards examined him. The room was a little too cold for his liking...a little too much machinery. That's never bothered me before, though. It's the poison. The poison.
"I encourage you to get an appointment at Mercy General," Reed said, looking through a scope into an advanced MRI machine. "I'm not a medical doctor, you know."
"Reed, you know better than that," Spider-Man coughed. "I could be put under anaesthesia, unmasked..."
"I do know better," Reed admitted, and stretched over to read more gauges. "But all the same..."
There was quiet for a moment and Spider-Man shivered. This room was too cold.
"You said Doctor Octopus did this to you?" Reed asked.
"That's right," Spider-Man coughed. "Doctor Octopus. Professor Pudgy. The Ph.D. of the f-a-t."
Reed grinned. "Well, that makes sense. He's planted a traceable radioactive isotope in you."
"What?!"
"Relax...I've injected some nanobots that should devour the isotope within twenty-four hours."
"Reed...that's a long time!"
"You'll be fine, I assure you," Reed said. "Even the nanobots will dissipate. That will take a bit longer, of course."
"No, I mean, Reed--I'm wanted by the police."
Reed pushed back one of the scopes. "Isn't that fairly standard operating procedure with you?"
Spider-Man grinned wryly. "Ha ha. Listen, I don't know why, but I was almost cornered by the police last night. And I've been hounded pretty badly by Ock himself lately--if he finds me before this washes out of my system..."
If he finds me as I'm asleep with Mary Jane...
Reed furrowed his brow. "Well....I suppose if you want, you can stay here temporarily. It's a bit last-minute, but we could fit you in somewhere."
Spider-Man considered. "I don't know, Reed....I don't want to bring you into Ock's gunsights."
Although....they would be able to take care of themselves a lot better than MJ would...
"On second thought, I think I'll take you up on that," Spider-Man said. Reed nodded. There was a slight ding. "Ah, your neuro-scan results."
Reed went over and looked at it carefully. "Yes...I thought so."
"What's that?"
"The isotope isn't the cause of your sudden lack of spider-sense. It was a gas that went through the nervous system and backtracked into the brain--I think I can give you something, but it'll take a few hours."
His spider-sense tingled faintly.
Danger!
...but from what? Reed?
It must be. The 'cure' he's going to give you. He's in league with Ock!
That's just plain wrong. Reed's too much of a good guy.
But as he looked at Reed's face, it seemed to waver and betray a hard, cruel element he hadn't seen before. He began to sweat.
This isn't real. This is the poison.
This is your last chance! He's going to betray you!
"Spider-Man...?"
He shook his head slightly. "I'm fine," he said, too quickly.
"Well, I should have the serum ready soon. You should go get settled."
"I will," Spider-Man said, and got up. "Thanks for everything, Reed."
"Anytime," he smiled. "Consider it a bit of professional courtesy."
Spider-Man nodded and walked out. I'll take your cure, Reed...but first I'm going to see what you've put in it. I'm not going to have the wool pulled over my eyes. Not when Doc Ock's on the loose.

Otto glared at the S.W.A.T. team outside the safe house. "So," he muttered, "the rat was not content to steal my technology. He informed the authorities. A sad state of affairs traitors find themselves in."
"Mmm...pity you didn't," Adrian chuckled. Otto turned his burning stare upon the bird.
"We have a bit of a situation," Belgardt breathed as he slammed the bedroom door open.
"Yes, so we can see," Otto said, entirely dry. "The real situation isn't killing them. It is finding Torrence's circle of treachery--and how far it extends. Congratulations, Mr. Torrence, I underestimated you. But...seeing as I'm still alive and you are not, I consider it a small concession."
He turned to Belgardt. "The men are armed?"
Belgardt nodded.
"Then we are ready. Shoot to kill," Otto commanded. The stacatto thunder of the guns boomed outside as Otto went over to his chest and opened it.
"Stay here, Toomes," he ordered, slipping the harness around his waist. "I have no need for a vulture who's clipped his wings prematurely."
"Wouldn't dream of disappointing you," Adrian smiled. Otto shook his head, already annoyed.
The latches clicked softly together and he put his hands on the manual controls. Ah, the telepathic link was much simpler...
A smoke grenade came in through the window and Otto seized it and threw it back out. The guns blared on as he smashed through the window.
The killing was slightly jerky, and not as quick as he would have preferred--but he worked his way through the S.W.A.T. team--and their stomachs. The first few were almost frightening in their slothfulness--but the actuators had swung around and snapped the necks of the first few. After that, quick jerks and adjustments of his hands made the tentacles grab one of the armored cars and sweep it over the bodies of the hapless young men. His gunmen began to make progress on theirs, and he ripped what was left to shreds.
"Serve and protect," he huffed. He looked back at his men. "We have more armored cars for our convoy. Begin loading them. We'll have to find somewhere else, and quickly."
He went back up to the bedroom and looked at his adamantium arms...They were a considerable danger. Potentially.
This is my life's work.
They gleamed at him out of the dim lighting.
"See something you like?" Toomes. Otto turned, almost snarled.
"I have been much too gracious of late," he seethed. "And I can see where this road will lead, should I travel it further."
A tentacle snaked out and broke the Vulture's arm. He fell onto the floor, looking so old.
"One of the men will see to your arm," Otto said dismissively, took up the tentacles, and left.
He met Belgardt in the hallway. "We're halfway done."
"The helicopters?"
"They're still at the private airport. Should we leave them?"
Otto considered. Stealing the helicopters had taken some work--sneaking them off the military base (not what he would have preferred, but better in the long run), killing the owner and staff of the airport, checking the fuel caches...
"For the moment," he said finally. "I doubt the government will have traced them so far, and they may fulfill some needs at a later date."
Belgardt nodded, and Otto dismissed him.
It seems I must find another temporary home. Still, there is a solution to every problem.
His thoughts briefly frittered out of his control and he wondered if Spider-Man had a home to go to.
He shook it away angrily. No. Men had homes. He had a web, and like any other animal, returned to that.
He had a brief reminder and went into his workshop. The tracker sat there, still on.
He picked it up and looked at it--a blue dot blinked at him. Blinked but did not move; had not moved for three hours. Yes...Spider-Man was resting. Perhaps at his lair. Perhaps sleeping.
The perfect time to exterminate a pest.

[Joker]

"That's right," Spider-Man coughed. "Doctor Octopus. Professor Pudgy. The Ph.D. of the f-a-t."

LMAO! Oh man, they should use this quip in the comics some time :D Great chapter, Wabbit. Loving it all.

[Arcturus]

As usual Redwood Wolf, awesome work!

:up:

[OctoHaz]

LMAO! Oh man, they should use this quip in the comics some time :D Great chapter, Wabbit. Loving it all.
Heehee. Yeah, that line made me snicker as well. :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Thirteen

Last night.

Stan Moore pushed his chair back from his desk and sighed. The man on the other side of the telephone almost gulped.
"You failed," Moore said. Infuriating.
"Spider-Man was not apprehended at that time, sir, no," the police comissioner responded. "But there were only three units available..."
"May I impress upon you the severity of the situation here, comissioner?" Moore asked, a jaw in his muscle quivering with rage. "We have a murdered federal agent on our hands, and Spider-Man was at least at the scene of the crime, if not the perpetrator. Doctor Octavius is also on the lamb, nestled somewhere in that maze of concrete and steel. He's stolen several million dollar's worth of military equipment and certainly isn't sitting around at home waiting to get picked up. They're both too much of a risk factor to simply ease off the investigation. I want you and your men at our full disposal, and if you can't give me that, at least promise you'll stay out of the way."
He slammed the phone down, a twinge of despair mixed in with the anger. He needed to vent his frustration. He paged the intercom.
"Julie, get me Norman Osborn on the phone," he said, and waited. Then:
"Norman Osborn."
"This is Drector Stan Moore, Mr. Osborn...I trust you remember me--and our contract, as well."
There was a pause. "Yes..."
"You failed miserably!" Moore shouted. "As I recall, the Gopher project was designed to inhibit the neural link between Octavius and his tentacles! We gave you mill--no, we whistled to the tune of 2.4 trillion dollars for your installation and its stasis field. Trillion."
He breathed into the phone for a few seconds. Norman cleared his throat.
"I understand Otto Octavius got the tentacles anyway, Norman," Moore seethed. "And escaped, as did Spider-Man. Meanwhile, the staff and equipment of the base were destroyed completely."
There was a muffled giggle on the other end. Moore's eyes widened.
"Amusing, Mr. Osborn? A lawsuit would, too, right? As would a full investigation of your financial records...and you and your employees. Nobody's got a blank slate, Norman."
Norman chuckled a bit, then coughed it down.
"What do you think I do in my spare time, Mr. Moore?" Osborn asked.
"Don't be evasive, Nor--"
"Because I don't just sit around and twiddle my thumbs," he interrupted, and there was a harder tone in his voice. "It may be of interest to you that the moment I heard Octavius and Spider-Man escaped, I put out a little reward in the local paper. Yes, that little rag of yellow journalism--The Bugle. And while my answers did come from a more unsavory element--" and his voice collapsed into a higher pitch of giggle than was dignified for a man Norman's age "--I have them all the same!"
"What answers? Norman, what are you talking about?"
"Don't try to distract me!" Osborn shouted, and Moore held the phone away from his ear. Had he been there in person, he would have sworn Osborn's face was flecked with spittle--or foam. "My little thugs found Octavius' safe house, Moore. Yes...Doc Ock's lair. And--and this is almost too perfect--he brought me Spider-Man's location, as well. Somewhat."
"Don't try to tapdance around me, Norman...this is the United States Government," Moore warned softly.
"Henh....hehe....well....why don't you come over to my office in the morning and we'll chat. Eh?"
Moore gritted his teeth. "Fine. I'll be there."
He hung up, paged his deputy director.
"This is Sally Keller," she answered.
"Call Mr. Osborn's secretary and schedule me an appointment for tomorrow morning," he said. "If I call him one more time I'll strangle him through the phone."
"Yes, sir."

Next Morning.

"Welcome, Mr. Moore," Osborn smiled, a friendly yet slightly sharp grin on his face. Moore leaned over his desk and the two men stood eye to eye. His bodyguards stood there silent, full of deadly potential.
"Don't be friendly now, Osborn, you weren't last night," he growled.
"My apologies," Norman said. "Company party had some aftereffects."
"I'm sure."
Norman smiled and cleared his throat. "Since your investment in me seems to have had no return, I wanted to give you something--a little show of good faith."
He set the tracker gently on the desk, its weight surprising for the crudity of the materials. Moore picked it up. A soft blue light blinked at him from the GPS background.
"What is this signal here?" he asked.
"Spider-Man," Osborn smiled. "I've had some people follow him around for awhile, making sure this was genuine."
"Follow him around?" Moore asked. "What are you, the Mob?"
Osborn chuckled, and then, despite his best efforts, burst into a fit of cackling that Moore was quite unnerved by. He calmed himself, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Sorry--private joke," he giggled. He took a breath, resumed seriousness. "But yes, this is real. You can send some of your own men, if you want--in fact, I encourage it."
Moore growled in disgust. He wiped a hand across his forehead. Too warm in here. "We'll check this out," he said neutrally. "And Octavius?"
"Here's the address," Osborn said, and pushed a slip of paper across the desk. "I wouldn't worry, though. I already called the police."
"What?!"
"Yesss...." Osborn said, and walked around from behind his desk. "They say there's a SWAT team getting ready as we speak. The police can handle Octavius, but Spider-Man.....Spider-Man's mine."
"Yours?" Moore blinked the sweat out of his eyes. His bodyguards staggered.
Osborn. laughed. "Feeling ill, director? I wouldn't worry--the gas I've pumped into this office makes anyone without proper immunization extremely suggestable...you're not even going to remember what we're going to talk about....are you?"
"No....won't remember..."
Osborn smiled. "Gooood...."

Present

Spider-Man got up as Reed Richards walked into the room. "Your serum's finally ready," Reed said. He laid a small beaker and a syringe on the table. "Now please excuse me," Reed said. "I need to take care of a few errands, but I'll be back. And make yourself comfortable in the meantime."
"Oh, I will," Spider-Man said, full of false cheer. He waited until Reed left, then picked up the vial and syringe and went back into the exam room.
He's tricking me, Spider-Man thought and twitched. Conspiring with the Doctor of Octopus, perhaps. Trying to weaken me, methinks.
He put the sample under one of Reed's many sensors. He let the computer scan it, watched the results.
Aahhh.....proof's in the puddin' already. He's transposed these variables here...and here...
Some part of Spider-Man's mind sent up a red flag, but he ignored it.
And here....yes....this little cocktail would kill me, wouldn't it. You could shake but not stir me--what was left of me.
He began typing feverishly. All these doctors....prescribing me medication I never wanted in the first place. Little switcheroo here....and there...
The inner, untouched section of him recoiled as his fingers flitted across the board.
There we are! Re-arranged as I likes it. Now let the laser do some re-aligning...
A bright green beam shot out and concentrated on the vial, churning it, making it froth.
...fires burn and cauldrons bubble, baby. The laser shut off. Now we've got something worth drinking to. I don't dare ingest it orally, though. Not this potion...
He put the needle into the vial, squeezed it full, and popped it into his carotid artery.
Ahhh.....that's the stuff.... He threw the needle away and put a lid on the vial. Might need this later...we'll see how good a job I did. And thanks, Reed, but I'll crash at my place...away from all you doctor types.
He opened the window and web-swung out. Night was falling. Any luck and Mary Jane would be asleep. He didn't want to have to deal with her right now....or what he should do with her.
He landed crouched on the railing and nudged the window open. All was calm. Good. He slipped in, shut the window again, walked over to the bedroom. He opened the door. Still.
He slipped into bed...ever so quietly...
A flush from the bathroom made him blow air through gritted teeth. All for naught.
"Peter?" she said, and came into the room. "I want to talk to you."
"Well, sorry, I don't feel the same way," he said curtly, and she went right up to him.
"Don't try to stonewall me, Peter!" she said, almost stage-whispered. "I'm worried about you! You've been acting really bizarre the last few days, and I want to know what's going on."
"Why?" he shot back. "So you can worry? And then complain to me about how worried you are?"
She pursed her lips together. "I'm concerned about you. And I should be...ever since Doc Ock got out of prison you've been quite scared yourself."
"Well, I can handle myself," Spider-Man said. He hadn't even taken off his costume yet and she was giving him the third degree. He was feeling better, though...a little warmer, now that he was out of the rain.
"I know you can," MJ sighed. "That's not my point. But you won't even talk to anyone about what's going on! You're isolating, and--"
"And you want to help me?" Spider-Man scoffed. "Fine. You get in there and bloody Doc Ock up real good and then we'll talk. Then we'll see how much of a help you are."
MJ growled. "Why are you being like this?! I love you!"
Spider-Man got close. "Well, I'm starting to wonder."
He heard something.
"Uggh, I can't believe you!" MJ snarled, and threw herself on the bed.
"Wait, hold on a second," Spider-Man said. He heard it again--a rough sound. He walked slowly out of the bedroom.
"Hold on? Why bother?" she snorted. "You're the one who can stick to walls. Hold on yours--"
"Sssh! Please!" He went slowly to the window. It was like the moon was drawing him...a cool, pleasing invitation away from his hassles and cares...
His spider-sense nearly split his skull as the windows here torn from their hinges.
"Surprised to see me, Spider-Man?" Doc Ock sneered. "Don't worry....I'll make it a short visit, indeed!"

[Joker]

Wow :eek:

What a chapter. You da' man, Wabbit :up: Don't keep us waiting long for the next one, now ;)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Fourteen

No....not here. Not like this!
Ock lowered himself to the floor, two tentacles still poised in the air. He sneered. "Now that I've tracked you this far, you expect hiding behind a helpless, simpering female will save you? Or even delay me?"
Spider-Man spared a quick look at MJ--she was quietly furious.
MJ....I'm so sorry. I didn't--
A tentacle thrashed his head around ninety degrees. MJ gasped, went forward as Doc Ock swatted her back.
"This is between ourselves, my lady," he said brusquely. He squinted through his sunglasses. "You seem somewhat famil--"
Spider-Man lept at him, and Ock grabbed his hands in a tentacle claw and swung him to the side. "You cannot be under the impression I am so easily disposed of," he said, and Spider-Man countered by shooting two web-balls at his face. They knocked him askew just enough for Spider-Man to slip free and crouch.
"YEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!!" he bellowed and tackled Doc Ock right through the window and over the balcony. They fell for a whole second, the traffic and rain and blows the only sounds. Then Ock landed first on the top of a lamppost, bending it in a V with his back before he threw Spider-Man clear. Spider-Man rolled and landed on the building-side. Doc Ock lowered himself, adjusted his glasses and faced Spider-Man with a demeaning glare.
"The battle is already over, wall-crawler!" he shouted up at his foe. "Without your danger-sensing precognition, you will be all too easily defeated at my hands!"
Spider-Man breathed out. He could be right--Spider-Man was still fast, but a juke the wrong way--and in this rain--
"Well, Doc, if you don't know it by now, you ain't gonna," Spider-Man shouted back, "but I never make anything easy!"
"We shall see!" Ock snarled in retort, and thrust out two tentacles, crunching in the brickwork a good three inches. Spider-Man had lept high a scant second before, and remained poised on a hastily-spun web. He had almost been too slow. Ock smiled up at him, a precise grin that revealed little humor.
"Coward!" he smiled. "Already you hide from your imminent doom! You may chortle all you want, but even you know--"
Suddenly, a mailbox and a newspaper dispenser flew at him, each from opposite sides. He ripped them apart in their turn--and swatted the falling Spider-Man before he could reach him.
"Clever," Otto allowed, walking towards the webspinner. "Using the angle of the lighting to make an attack with your webbing...almost invisible in this gloom. I, on the other hand--" a tentacle claw snapped shut solidly "--have no need for such subtletly."
Spider-Man got to his feet and shot up a webline. He yanked himself up as a tentacle snaked the ground under him, but was helpless to stop its brother as it grabbed the webline and snapped it like string. Spider-Man fell into the remaining two waiting tentacles and was thrown hard to the opposite side of the street.
He got to his feet and received a heavy one-two punch from the tentacles. He hadn't felt anything that time--no golden warmth, no tingle...he was flying blind. He blocked one tentacle as it came at him but unconsciously leaned right into the other as it grabbed his head and savagely snapped him into the air. He fell on the windshield of a minivan, shattering it. The family inside screamed.
"You seem to be out-of-sorts, Spider-Man!" Ock shouted. "A bit under the weather?"
Spider-Man shook his head and dislodged his butt from the glass. He felt claws snare his hands and ankles too late.
"Not to worry," Ock said. "Just lay down on my operating table and we'll have a look!"
Ock picked Spider-Man up and slammed him bodily into the roof of the minivan, crunching it down. The side windows cracked. Ock lifted himself off the ground, using Spider-Man and the van as leverage, and pressed the wallcrawler down another inch.
"Nng."
"Hmmm," Ock grinned, rubbing his chin. "The trouble seems to be in your brain...I'll do a biopsy." The claws holdinghis hands whipped up, grabbed both sides of his head and began to squeeze.
"Gaah!" Spider-Man grunted, and grabbed both tentacle claws. His hands began shaking with the effort and slowly--so slowly--he pulled them off his temples. Then he slammed them together, made a quick hold out of webbing, ripped his feet free, and jumped backward, free of the van. Ock snapped the webbing, and tentacle-walked after him, growling in anger.
Without my Spider-sense I'm a sitting duck, Spidey thought. There's gotta be a way to immobilize him without getting myself killed.
Well, I haven't really found one yet, but hey! Worth a try.
He backflipped and began to webswing away from Ock. Ock smirked.
"You'll not escape death that easily!" he shouted, and followed pursuit. In fact, you won't escape at all.

Spider-Man landed in a crouch on a flagpole, breathing hard. He dared a look behind him. Ock was gone--or at least, hadn't caught up.
BANG!
Spider-Man jerked around and saw men with guns. Lots of them. Ock's men! If don't get out fast--
A bullet destroyed the window next to him with a cymbal-crash as Spider-Man scurried over onto the roof--
--and two of Ock's tentacles slammed into the underside of his jaws, knocking him back. He tottered at the edge of the roof, bullets thundering at him from below. He ducked as a tentacle snaked at his head, jumped up through the contracting loop, and somersaulted to his feet twenty feet away.
If I can keep him between me and the roof... Spider-Man thought.
"No use, you webspinning worm!" Ock shouted. "This is your swan song!"
"Watch those metaphors, Ock! Either I'm a webspinning worm or a singing swan, I can't be both!" Spider-Man called back. "Not that you would know anything about that, you four-eyed fatty..."
"Then you'll just have to be a corpse!" Ock snarled, and brought all four of the tentacles together with a resounding clang. Spider-Man looked around the roof for any weapons and found none. Besides the rather flimsy curved hood vent, the roof was bare.
Maybe I can use that to my advantage, though.
...nope. Can't.
That's when Ock used all four tentacles to jump right onto Spider-Man. Spider-Man rolled aside in time, but it was no good. He was caught, wrapped solidly, and swung right through the vent and over the roof. Ock dropped him right over the gunmen, and Spider-Man twisted in the air, hoping none of the bullets would find him. He shot out a webline to the side of the building, and rebounded right back towards the top. Ock came over the side and smashed right through Spider-Man, who managed to kick free in mid-air and shoot out a very shallow webline. He arced around the building's corner and onto a window. Bad move. Ock's tentacles powered diagonally right through the building and glass and hit Spider-Man into the side of a truck before he fell to the street. Ock's men rushed around the corner, loading their guns.
"Stay back!" Doc Ock shouted. "He's mine!" He lowered himself to the street just as Spider-Man got up.
"You're just jealous....cuz 'm pretty..." Spider-Man wheezed.
"Vanity is a luxury a cadaver is unable to afford!" Ock sneered, and came after him.
Spider-Man ripped off an apartment's stair railing and threw it at Ock, who effortlessly caught it and snapped it like a toothpick. Before Spider-Man had time to gather anything else, Ock waded in and bludgeoned the wallcrawler.
"Come now, Spider-Man," Ock smiled, relishing every blow, "where are your Olympiad acrobatics? You were always such an elusive adversary before!"
Spider-Man swatted away one tentacle and dodged sideways. Ock clotheslined him with one tentacle, then used another to rush underneath and hit him in the back of the head. Spider-Man dropped to his knees, and Ock clapped two tentacles together into the side of his head. Spider-Man fell to his face.
"Beaten so easily, wallcrawler..." Otto mused. "And it took a bit of ingenuity, that's all. No problem is insoluble, merely protracted. But now it is over, almost too soon. It...and you."
Ock slammed a tentacle into the ground through Spider-Man's head...almost. In truth, the webslinger had somersaulted right up to Otto, the tentacle claws too far to save him.
"My turn, chubs," Spider-Man breathed, grabbing his lapels. "Don't worry, I'll smack some pounds off of you in no time at all--"
A tentacle grabbed his legs and almost jerked him back, but Spider-Man had a death-grip on Ock's suit jacket.
"Let go, you fiend!" Ock shouted.
"Ah, wouldn't want to ruin the armani, would we?" Spider-Man asked. "Too bad you've already spoiled the look by wearing the harness on the outside..."
Spider-Man focused on Otto's midsection for the first time during the battle. Ock's hands were on the harness itself, turning and manipulating some sort of controls.
"So....I see we've forgotten how to drive stick!" Spider-Man shouted, and grabbed Otto's hands.
"No!" Ock shouted, and before Spider-Man could pry them off completely, he gave the control one last spin and a tentacle smacked Spider-Man's head, disorienting him for a moment, but it was enough. He used the time gained to wrap a tentacle around Spider-Man's neck and squuezed hard.
Spider-Man, losing air, moved fast. He grabbed Otto's harness with one hand and the tentacle around his neck with the other...and began to pull.
"It's no use, Spider-Man!" Ock shouted, his voice raising to a fever pitch. "Your strength is sapped! My tentacles are tireless--and they're killing YOU!"
"Tireless," Spider-Man gasped. "But not...indestructible..."
Spider-Man squeezed the tentacle around his neck, crushing it. The steel plating, though strong, began to give way under the pressure.
"What are you doing?" Ock shouted. "Die! You're helpless! Lay down and die!"
The two other tentacles began battering at his kidneys, and Spider-Man winced. He finished off the tentacle around his neck, crunching the steel plating together. It flopped and sparked as he put both hands around the harness. Spider-Man gasped in air, but the pain from his sides became more intense.
"No!" Ock shouted. "You dare not!"
The two tentacles ceased pummeling him and grabbed his hands. Spider-Man saw a potential seam, saw the place the harness could break.
"Stalemate, Doc," he said. "There's no way I'm letting go, and you can't pull me off without destroying your babies."
"But my men can fill you with bullets!" Ock snarled. Spidey heard the sound of many guns cocking and yanked hard, splitting the harness in half. The arms fell and clattered on the asphalt, limp and useless. Spider-Man fell too, spent and exhausted--and felt a familiar tingle on the back of his neck.
My spider-sense! It's back!
That's when the armored cars pulled up, full of government agents. "You are under arrest! Stay where you are and put your hands over your head!" Red lights flashed off the combatants' faces, doors opened, and men with guns emerged.
Spider-Man lept up and webswung away. Doc Ock retreated to his armored conveyances, his men laying covering fire. He got in and drove away, living to fight another day. Spider-Man would escape, as well, he mused bitterly. He would scurry back to his rat's nest or den and lick his wounds--wounds Otto Octavius had given him. But the wounds he had suffered were more grievous, and he was bitter for many a night after that.
He was right. Spider-Man did escape, and he did lick his wounds...and each man thought over the last battle, the great stalemate, as the rain fell.
And it did not stop until the dawn. But even then, it did not cease, it merely became snow.
And that change only ushered in more evil...

[Joker]

Wowzers, that was a great fight sequence :up:

I love the flow of conversation between Ock and Spidey. Great job as usual, Wabbit.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Fifteen

Spider-Man had escaped, and returned to his den, as Ock had surmised. But he did not go about licking his wounds right away. He had saved them. He was going to need them.
He had slipped back into the apartment a few hours later; he couldn't take the chance that Ock would find him again here. He was already thinking back on that first encounter. Ock had planted something traceable inside him--but what did he think when he had seen Spider-Man (thank goodness he had still been in costume) talking to an unknown woman in an apartment that could easily be traced back to Peter Parker? He had mentioned almost offhand that Mary Jane had looked familiar to him...but how familiar?
Or had he already put two and two together? Had he figured it out already?
Did he know?

Mary Jane had gone to sleep fitfully, and woke up even more so. She almost screamed when she saw what was at the foot of the bed.
Peter stood there, swelling already beginning in the face and his tights beginning to stain dark red.
"Peter...." she blew out a shudder. "You scared me."
"I hope so," he said. "This is getting deadly, Mary Jane. I don't want you under false impressions."
She sat up slowly, pulling the sheets tightly around her, a thin shield. He began to take off his costume top, and she gasped at the dark impressions over his kidneys. The numerous cuts dribbling their red spittle. The wounds.
He swallowed and stared at her. She let out a small moan, the kind someone makes when they find out a close relation has passed away.
"Oh my God...." she breathed. She tossed the sheets away, went for the slippers. "Peter, doesn't that hurt?"
He grabbed her arm, not very roughly. "Very much." He nodded back at the bed. "Sit down."
She did. Peter saw the fear in her face. It gave him a little more strength, and he hated that it did.
"MJ," he said softly, "I need you to leave for a while. Stay with your Aunt, or hole up with a friend, if it doesn't raise too many questions."
She looked up at him, disbelieving. He sat down on the bed, no longer having the strength to stand.
"Mary Jane? Do you understand me?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she said slowly. "I understand."
He nodded. "All right, th--"
"But I'm not leaving. I'm not going to abandon you."
He cursed mentally. This should have worked. "Mary Jane, do you see this? Do you see what he can do to me?" He took her arms, and she knocked them away and balled her hands into fists.
"I'm not leaving!" she said between gritted teeth. "It's not fair! It's like--it's like I married a firefighter!" She wiped away a sniffle. "A firefighter who comes home and tells me there's a big fire in some warehouse! And--and the fire hurt him so much, he doesn't want me to get burned! But life doesn't work that way!"
"MJ..."
"Let me finish! Peter, I can't play keep away because some big bad wolf roughs you up! I--I can't! I'm going to be your wife through whatever happens!"
"MJ, he can find me! He might find you!"
"Like Venom might find me? Or--or....I can't think of anyone else offhand," she finished lamely.
"MJ, if he finds you, I'll never forgive myself. I need you to be safe throughout this." He scrambled for an argument that would convince her. "I know--I know it doesn't seem--
"I know what I married into, Peter!" she cried. "I know what the rest of your life is going to be like! And I'm choosing to face that--with--you!"
He let the room fall silent. This wasn't going to work.
"Fine," he said softly. He pulled off the rest of his uniform, got as cleaned up as he could, and went to bed.
But not to sleep.

He got up after a few hours, and went over to the window. The glow of the moon was all the more apparent now that the snow had begun to stick--but he found no beauty in it. The white light that the snow reflected casted a pall of death over everything.
What is the responsible thing, in the end? Override your wife to protect her? Or face it together, letting the strength of the partnership test itself?
He didn't believe in destiny--otherwise he might have been comforted by the thought that he and Mary Jane had a rosy future awaiting after this crisis. But as far as he was concerned, fate didn't exist. Everything was a product of choice. And to choose something meant to unchoose its alternative.
What was he choosing? What was the future?
The moon glared dully at him. He shut the window to the cold and held his wife as long as he could.

The man stared at the body of Stan Moore and chuckled. His spine had been broken in several places, and his eyes had lost that spark of life. He was not particularly concerned over the potential ramifications of this--to kill a man was so easy, if you knew how.
Or a woman.
But Moore was director of operations, and he hadn't delivered the goods. He hadn't been asked too much, had he? Bring Spider-Man by any means possible--break his legs, paralyze him from the neck down, whatever works. But even with the tracker, he'd failed. Not that this was a surprise...after all, the man standing over Moore's body found it difficult to apprehend Spider-Man, and he knew who the silly idiot was.
Still. Expectations, and all that.
"Consider yourself summarily dismissed," he chuckled. "You have an hour to clear out your things!" He collapsed into a helpless giggle, which turned into screeching wails of laughter. It was some time before he moved the body into the closet. He'd get rid of it properly later...after he'd washed it clean of potential evidence.
He wiped his lip. Curse the drool! He slicked back his hair, and pressed the intercom. "Jessica?"
There was no answer. He was rather offended. But he did hear something....he leaned close to the intercom....a trembling.
His door shattered into toothpicks, and several men came in, shadowed by the dim lights behind them.
"It's snowing, Mister Osborn," the center man intoned solemnly. "And getting quite cold, though...not as cold as your secretary."
"A man unafraid to kill?" Osborn (for that was the face he was constantly confused with) asked, a brow raised. He steepled his fingers. "You are one after my own heart, Doctor."
"Yes," Doctor Octopus said, his voice frozen over. "That is indeed what I'm after."
Osborn smiled a feral grin. This would be interesting.

End of Part One

[Joker]

Awesome stuff :up:

Ock and Osborn. What a deadly duo!

[OctoHaz]

Awesome stuff :up:

Ock and Osborn. What a deadly duo!
Indeed, and a matchup/confrontation that's never been done properly outside of Ultimate Spider-Man (I don't count that one Marvel Knights arc).

[Redwoods Wolf]

http://img02.picoodle.com/img/img02/8/5/18/redwoods_wolf/f_disarmedm_7c7e658.png

PART TWO

Chapter One

Otto glared daggers at this...creature. The ultimate impunity of the man--to assume he could at once conceal his tentacles and then actually lay hands upon them and interfere with their function.
Norman Osborn, on the other hand, was all smiles. It was of the kind that, had Otto been a more fanciful sort, would have attributed to a leering witch creature of the night, or goblin.
"So pleased to have finally met you, Doctor," Osborn said. "Sit down, please."
"I will break your back," Otto replied. "Do not try to charm me, pull the wool over my eyes."
Osborn shrugged amiably, and walked around towards his desk. Otto's men raised their guns.
"Don't bother," Otto said. "Roland."
Roland stepped forward and held a small gas capsule in his hand. Norman (or rather, the Green Goblin) recognized this instantly. Otto registered his subtle flicker of recognition.
"Yes," Otto said. "Hallucinogenic gas. Of a variety that makes the victim rather....susceptible."
He leaned forward over the desk. "That's twice you've tried to control me, Osborn."
Norman's brow furrowed in confusion. "Osborn...?"
Otto's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Yes, Osborn. A bout of rather convenient amnesia is rather telling for a corporate executive. It shows the sort of innards I expect from the common class. Once again, the upper crust prefer to betray their refinement so as to avoid punishment."
Norman began to chuckle. Otto's mouth actually dropped open in astonishment that someone would dare laugh.
"Perhaps the gravity of the situation escapes you, Osborn!" Otto snarled, and nodded to two of his men. They came around and put their gun muzzles under his jaw. "You have taken my most fundamental tool and possibly most brilliant creation and tainted it! You dared to think you were immune to my revenge!"
"You idiot!" Norman laughed. "If I can kill agents of the United States Government and not fear, do you think I'd be afraid of a large man with a small mind?"
Otto took Belgardt's pistol, reversed it, and struck Osborn on the temple.
"It's a rather simple matter to kill government agents," Otto sneered. "Especially when the United States keeps lobbing them at you like cannon fodder." He removed his glasses, began cleaning them. "No more impertinence."
"Fine, fine," Osborn smiled, and Otto motioned for his men to back off. "A cognac, Doctor?"
"....fine."
Osborn took out a crystal bottle and poured a glass. "Yes, you must be quite thirsty indeed after that exhausting exchange with Spider-Man. Tore your arms apart, didn't he?"
"Are you under the impression you have long to live?" Otto asked, genuinely confused. "Allow me to clarify: I'm going to murder you. But not before we've uncovered the problem in my tentacles."
"We?"
"Yes," Otto replied. "Because even after so brief an encounter I can observe in you what callow idiots have presumed to be true of me: you are quite insane. Which leaves me with a problem. You are the only one who knows what you've done. But your mind is unhinged."
He put his glasses back on.
"Why would I help you?" Osborn mused. "You aren't the first man who's thought he could kill me. Henh. Too bad the nearest bridge is some distance away..."
"What?"
Osborn waved it away. "Never mind."
"Enough of this," Otto said. "Give me your files, your back-up discs, your schematics. We need a baseline to start from if this is going to work."
"Oh, too true," Osborn smiled. "We must start somewhere." He opened his desk drawer, brought out a small stack of discs. "Here you are. The original files are in the lab's computer. I can't access it from here."
"Very good," Otto said. "Come downstairs and we'll retrieve them together."
"Yes," Osborn chuckled.
"And cease your damnable laughter. It grates."
"Oh, I'll try."
Otto gave him a look, then they all went to the elevator. Otto took four of his men with and the others had to use the stairs. The doors closed softly and Osborn keyed in the sub-basement.
"What did you think would happen, Osborn?" Otto asked. "The government would shield you in the end?"
"Heh. Perhaps Spider-Man would swing through a window and stop the villainous madman before he could kill me," Osborn mocked.
"Childish @ss," Otto snarled. "When we are finished I will show you what 'villainous' means."
"A bit late for that," Norman replied. "I've cornered the market."
The elevator doors opened--
--to a large garage, full of rather unique weapons and a large computer terminal in the center. Gliders, small orange grenades, strange costumes and masks--Otto took it in, then came to a startling realization.
"You!" he started. "You're that insipid elf, the Green Goblin! So. You presumed to be Spider-Man's ultimate nemesis--ha! A middle-aged opportunist, with no heir and little to his exploits. You fancy yourself a threat--you don't rank above that oaf, the Sandman!"
"I, on the other hand, was never captured or imprisoned," Osborn said.. They stepped out of the elevator, and went towards the large computer station. "You never did learn the wallcrawler's secret identity, either."
"His secrets mean little to me," Otto retorted. "My aim as regards him is an untimely--but extremely satisfying--demise."
"Heh. Then we agree on something," Osborn replied. "I almost got him in our last encounter, too--nearly punched a hole in him with a glider. If it hadn't been for his blasted agility..."
"Ah, yes," Otto nodded. "That and his accursed precognition."
Osborn turned, a raised brow. "Ahhh....so you know that much, at least."
Otto's jaw clenched. "Certainly I know, cretin. I eradicated it in one of our recent fugues. He ran twelve blocks before I could corner him." He smiled a bit at that part of the memory. Then he turned grim again. "Bring up the schematics, Osborn."
"Anything for you," Osborn sneered, and tapped the controls.
Lightning flashed from panels in the walls and coruscated off of Otto's bodyguards. They collapsed instantly.
"Systems overload," Osborn chuckled. "They'll live. Now listen very closely, Otto. I'm going to be the businessman and make a deal with you."
Otto crossed his arms in silent defiance. In spite of his vastly skewed odds, he refused to be bullied. "I do not negotiate."
"You will over this," Osborn returned. "I guarantee it."

[Joker]

"And cease your damnable laughter. It grates."

LOL! Go Ock :up: :D

Great chapter, Wabbit.

[GuesssWho]

Yes, GG's laugh is annoying as hell.:woot:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Two

An hour later, when the people in New York who did sleep were doing just that, one of the men who did not dumped a body into the river. It wasn't a very dramatic statement, as far as these things went. He simply drove up in a common, middle-class car, dumped several black garbage bags into the Hudson, and drove home. No flying in on a glider and releasing the body with a high-pitched cackle--just a common, everyday pollution. Which was exactly what the man wanted it to look like.
But very rarely in life do things work out the way you want them to.

Occasionally things happen in government circles with lightning speed. Hard to believe, but true.
Sally Keller, newly appointed director (though she didn't know it), had been going over some final paperwork that she hoped would allow her to leave the office before the clock turned over to A.M. Brutal business, this, especially the never-ending piles of tree innards. One would think that with computers, laptops, bluetooths, personal assistants, Greyhound buses, fax machines and instant coffee (terrible taste, wonderful caffeine), the era of the paperless office would have dawned at last. But no.
Her cell phone--one of those traitorous machines that were supposed to help you--played her ringtone. "You can't always get what you want..." She opened the phone and put it to her ear.
"Sally Keller."
"Miss Keller, this is Special Agent Biehn. I have some very bad news."
She pinched the phone between her cheek and shoulder and got out a notepad. "Which is?"
"Director Moore's body has been found in the Hudson River."
It took her two full seconds to register the shock, a half second to hurriedly reply, five minutes to call the forensics team leader, six minutes to get to her car, a half second to start it, and twenty minutes to drive to the river.
One of those occasions.
She slammed the door shut on her car and walked towards the shore. There were a few other agents, at least twelve police officers, a homeless man and one other nondescript person clustered around the scene. Biehn came towards her out of the crowd, along with another agent, a woman. Biehn's face was written over in lines born of hard, sad resolutions, and the woman's in a tight iron mould.
"Deputy Director," Biehn said. "I'm Agent Biehn."
"Yes, we met on the phone," Keller said, and this sounded unbelievable crass and out of place after it had left her mouth; but it was something to say that was fairly normal. She shook his hand to cover the gaffe, then the woman's.
"Dr. Weaver," the woman said. "Directly under Dr. Cameron, head of the forensics department."
Keller nodded and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He's examing the remains?" It was surprisingly easy to say, which surprised her.
"Yes, ma'am," Biehn said. "Right over here."
They began walking. "How did it happen?"
"Homeless male, James Garett, age 44, was wandering near the shore, looking for half-empty bottles," Weaver said, reciting some notes. "Says he witnessed a gold Toyota Camry pull up to this space here"--and she pointed with her pen and an area about twenty feet away from the shore--"and a man, of uncertain age but somewhat large build, exit the vehicle. He brought some sealed black garbage bags to the water's edge, dropped them in, and drove away. The witness was unable to retrieve the license plate."
"Hmm." They had reached the crime scene. There were two other agents examining four plastic bags, carefully splayed open. Keller saw more than she liked.
"The witness retrieved the bags once the vehicle was out of sight," Weaver continued dispassionately, "and opened the first--this one, here."
Keller looked in and saw the head of a man she used to have lunch with. But that was a long time ago now. Yesterday, or something.
"He was startled--"
"I bet," Biehn put in, tired.
"--and ran right into second witness, Victor Hauptmann, age 55, apparently out for a walk."
"Who saw the bags, grabbed a phone, and called the police," Keller finished. "Who then called one of you."
"That's about right," Biehn nodded. Dr. Cameron got up and joined them.
"Deputy Director," he said, and shook her hand. "Or just Director now, I suppose."
"I suppose," she returned, not really sure how to accept a promotion.
"I think it's likely that we have a serial killer responsible," Cameron continued. "The perpetrator knew what he was doing--the body's been scrubbed clean."
"Scrubbed?"
"I believe he showered the corpse clean, washing down any telltale evidence that might incriminate him. It's not so uncommon, but generally first-timers don't think of it."
"Naturally," she responded, then wished she hadn't.
"The body's been sawn in eleven places--we believe this was done before the washing, no metal filings. And several of the bones have been broken, sometimes more than once."
"God," she exhaled. After a moment. "All right. Where was the Director last?"
"Oscorp," Biehn said.

"Oh my..." Norman breathed. Three federal agents giving the news that the man you saw a few hours ago was murdered tends to do that. "When did this happen?"
"A few hours ago," Keller said. She watched Osborn closely, looking for the telltale signs of a liar. He didn't seem to be sending up any.
"I....I can't believe this," Norman said, shaking his head. "I mean, it's just impossible. At least, to my mind. An agent of the United States government, killed like that..."
"Federal agents get killed more often than you'd think," Biehn said, and his tone was hard. He was sifting Osborn carefully, skirting the edge of provocation.
"But...a director!" Osborn said, and did one of those jerky sort of gestures--the kind a person does when they're shocked and have trouble understanding it. "I mean, that's just..."
"Mister Osborn," Biehn said, "as a representative of the United States and an investigator in this case, I feel it is necessary to inform you that you are one of our suspects."
"Me?" Osborn asked, placing his hands on his chest. He swallowed, then nodded a few times. "Of course, he was here last, that makes sense, of course."
"It does," Biehn said, seemingly conciliatory. "Mr. Moore had an appointment with you."
"That's correct. The second this week."
"I see." He cocked his head, as if an idea had dawned. "I don't see your secretary out there, though..."
"She's on extended vacation," Osborn said--and Keller didn't feel a lie hidden in that.
"No temp?"
"She's gone home," Osborn explained. "It is after midnight."
"And you wanted to catch up on paperwork."
"Look, I know how this looks," Osborn said, and got up, hands out, all innocence. "But honestly, why would I kill a federal agent? It makes no sense--I'd be picking a fight with Uncle Sam."
"You would," Biehn said. He paused. "Well. If I could get this temp's phone number--"
"Of course."
"And we'll need access to any surveillance equipment: security cameras, phone records, you understand."
"Yes, by all means. Here, I'll pull them from the front desk..."
"Wonderful."

Several hours after that, the security tapes and phone records had been watched and checked.
The videos had shown Osborn and Moore sitting down, having a formal and slightly strained conversation that seemed to work itself out in the end. Moore had gotten up, went downstairs to his car, and left--to who-knows-where before he was killed. The phone records hadn't indicated anything unusual, and despite how few witnesses were around, the temp backed up Norman's story, as did the manager of security, who had been at the front desk at the time, watching the feed carefully.
Both of whom could have easily been paid off by a corporate executive whose stock managed to put him just behind Michael Eisner in Forbes.
Norman had a point, though--why would he kill an agent, especially a director? He and a government representative had had some meetings lately, which Moore had known about. The reasons why were classified, but several meetings wasn't an audit or a warning over illegal animal testing. Something ongoing, and probably big. Had there been a falling out? Maybe. A falling out so severe as to push Osborn to an action where, once brought to light, he knew the odds would be enormously stacked against him?
Probably not.
But who had the power and ability to kidnap a well-guarded federal Director, eliminate his bodyguards and the vehicle? To say nothing to snapping him in pieces and thens awing him apart? She stewed on this awhile.
A person with superpowers certainly did. And there were plenty in New York--half of them endowed with "super-strength." If one had a political agenda, and the guts, he or she could easily be lost in the crowd of "heroes" and "villains."
But then...there had been another murder, hadn't there? Michael Carmine. An agent in charge of Special Projects. Spider-Man was at the scene of the crime, though it was unproven that he was the cause of it. And while he certainly had trouble from the local media, she had noticed that the wallcrawler was almost always proven innocent of the charges the papers brought against him...
And then there was Doctor Octopus, who had motive, the means, and was currently in hiding. An honest-to-goodness supervillain, if there was such a thing. There was no clear evidence of any involvement with Moore directly, but she didn't put a simple task of hiring an assassin past a world-reknowned threat as him.
Well. Spider-Man was connected at least peripherally with another murder. And she could find him, at least--he was always swinging around the five burroughs.
So he would be next.

[Arcturus]

Redwoods Wolf, as always, superb work!

:up:

[Joker]

Fantastic stuff, Wabbit. Keep it up.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Three

He would be next.
Spider-Man saw the bright flashes of lightning coming from the center of the street, arcing off cars, lampposts, and a window or two. Cracks of thunder didn't have time to echo before they reached the wallcrawler--too close. Spider-Man was webslinging towards the small storm fast, trying to get low so he could blend in for the two seconds Electro might look up at him.
After all this knotty tangle his life had become lately, socking Max Dillon one in the jaw would be a well-needed diversion. He was glad for it. He remembered the terribly silent breakfast this morning--scraping of silverware against plates, muffled coughs, polite yet empty conversation. MJ had announced one of her model friends was getting married in a few months. He'd nodded, politely, said something like, "Good, I was hoping she'd tie the knot."
MJ had looked up from her plate with disappointment. "Peter, you've never met her." The conversation, already stagnant, had decided to up and die right there; the breakfast itself had gracelessly ended when Peter had left a few minutes later.
He was still brooding on it, now five hours later. And lo and behold--a super-powered criminal he could lay into comes along and stirs up trouble. Yes, Electro happened to be in exactly the right place and time.
So he would be next.
Spider-Man let go of the trailing webline and fell fifteen stories in under a second. He had to get the angle on this just right...
The crowd was starting to thin (no surprise with all the bursts of electricity), but someone had the lack of sense to point right at him and shout something. Spider-Man had time for one sigh as Electro turned his head. Then things exploded.
Spider-Man plowed through a mailbox, and dozens of letters and packages flew right into Electro's face. Electro had time to swat away three envelopes from his face before Spider-Man (exactly three feet above Electro's head) shot a webline onto his shoulder. Electro was yanked into the air and thrown through a revolving door as Spider-Man landed above him on the building's small ledge. Spider-Man lowered himself upside-down on a webline as Electro staggered to his feet. The building's lobby looked empty--good.
"Well," Spider-Man sighed. "That's disappointing. I addressed you to prison, and you only wound up as far as this building. Insufficient postage, maybe?"
Spider-Man swung himself backwards as a lightning bolt snapped by where his head was.
"Electro, seriously," Spider-Man said. "How many times have we played this scenario out? You rob a bank. You get a block away before I swing in. We have a tiff, feelings get hurt, and you get sent to your room for 2 years with probation."
Spider-Man dropped to the ground--but not for long, because Electro threw electric bolts at him, loud and dangerous.
"Maybe that was the point, wallcrawler," Electro replied.
"What?" Spider-Man asked. Electro moved his arm in a circle and fired off bolt after bolt, making Spidey twist away hard and fast.
"Are you not gettin' me?" Electro smiled. "As clever as you can be, you're pretty slow on the uptake."
Oh, isn't this fun. Maybe I just should go back home and MJ and I can stare silently at each other's plates.
"Come on, Electro," Spider-Man sighed, and jumped over a flash of electricity. "Stop trying to pretend that you're witty. That's my shtick."
As he was still in the air, Electro threw electricity at the hanging lights and they all burst. Little slivers of glass hailed all over Spider-Man as he landed--
--which distracted him enough for Electro to blast him into a column.
"Owww...." Spider-Man groaned.
"Yeah, witty," Electro sneered. "That's you, all right."
Spider-Man shot out a web over Electro's face and got up, trying to bring the small muscle twitches under control. Electro struggled with the webbing and Spider-Man tackled him.
"What did you mean, Electro?" Spider-Man asked. "What was the point?"
Then he jerked. Dillon had electrified his own body, and Spider-Man loosened and fell back. Electro burned enough of the webbing off so he could see and kicked Spider-Man in the side.
"The point was I knew you'd come running," Electro said. "Gah--I hate this web gunk!"
"We aim to please," Spider-Man said, and sweep-kicked him. Electro stumbled to one knee and Spider-Man reared his fist back for a punch. He connected solidly just as Electro had self-electrified again. They were both knocked back, and Spider-Man steadied his shivering hand.
"What is it this time, Maxy?" Spider-Man asked. "Revenge? Again?"
"Naw," Electro smiled. "Money."
"That doesn't make sense," Spider-Man said. "You said you knew I'd come running. And you haven't been hitting me nearly hard enough." Unless my spider-sense is on the fritz again...but no. He's not hitting me hard--just using enough force to knock me back.
Electro just smiled. He wasn't even moving.
Spider-Man worked it over in his mind. "You're not talking about the bank, are you? Someone's paying you."
Spider-Man put a hand to his chin. "Which means..."
"That's right." The voice had come from behind him, and Spider-Man turned. Several men with guns had entered the looby. They looked official--FBI, maybe.
No, all the armored cars, helicopters, and the two tanks outside excluded the FBI.
"Nice," Spider-Man said. "Use a man who can create loud noises and flashes of light to distract me while you draw the net tight. I'm somewhat impressed. I would be more impressed if you actually had a reason for all this."
"Only way we could get a decent conversation with you," said the lead man.
"Cell phones do really well with that sort of thing," Spider-Man replied. This was interesting. His spider-sense was on low alert, when things could go wrong but hadn't yet. This wasn't a direct, overt threat. Quite yet.
"Let's step outside," the lead man said.
"Quite right," Spider-Man said. "Wouldn't want the hapless women catching sight of our violence. Sorry, Electro, but it's just common courtesy."
"Shut up, webs," Electro smiled. "Have fun chatting with Uncle Sam."
"Punk," Spider-Man said, and walked outside with the gunmen.
"Right over here," the lead man gestured to an armored car. Spider-Man stepped inside. The lead man stopped him with the gun in the small of his back. Peripherally, Spider-Man saw two automatic rifles at either temple.
There was a woman standing at the rear door. Undoubtedly the leader.
"So....interesting weather we've had lately," Spider-Man said. "Sorry, that's the only one I could think of. Unless you're a gun person? Because I know some guys right behind me that you'd get along with just swimmingly!"
"I didn't go to all this trouble to listen to you crack wise," the woman said. "You're a suspect in the murder of a federal agent."
"Who, me?" Spider-Man asked. "Well, that's a switch. Usually the government meets up with me like this so we can exchange anniversary presents."
"What is your connection to Stan Moore?" she asked, and showed him a picture of a man whose face revealed a hard life of hard decisions.
"I've never seen him before in my life," Spider-Man said. "Well, that I can remember. Certainly no one I know personally."
"And Norman Osborn?"
"He's a businessman, if I recall correctly," Spider-Man said slowly. He felt like he was sloshing through an icy flow just getting that out. "I pulled him out of a burning building once. That was a long time ago."
Before the bridge.
"I think you're lying," the woman said. "You know more than you're letting on."
"What's Osborn got to do with this, anyway?" Spider-Man asked. "I mean, he's dead, isn't he?"
"Nice deflection. Almost certainly lying."
"Ah, of course. Because I respond to a pointless statement with a question, I'm a liar and killer. It'd be too easy to assume I'm trying to figure out what you're getting at so I respond in full. That'd be too easy."
"People that wear masks always lie," she said without any visible emotion. "Part of their charm."
"See, you can be funny when you try."
"Spider-Man," she said. "If there was a substantial amount of evidence that you were the killer, you would be in a cell, not talking to me."
"Good point," he said. "But there's obviously some, or we wouldn't even be talking. You'd be...well, I don't know. Are you a daytime TV sort of person?"
"I'm the Director of Operations for one of the branches of government you don't need to know about."
"So...you are a daytime TV person."
"I'm Director Keller," she said, "and my boss was murdered the night before. There's no evidence you were involved."
"Oh, good."
"There is some evidence you were involved in the murder of agent Michael Carmine. And the probability of both of these murders being coincidence, considering the short span of time between them, is slim."
"I can give you the murderer of Carmine," Spider-Man replied. "His name's Belgardt. He works for Doc Ock."
"Which we have only your word for."
"Not true," Spider-Man replied. "I assume the security records were erased, or else I would be in a cell. All you know is that I was at the scene of the crime. Probably a bit of webbing or maybe a witness saw me leave. But nothing solid. And the fact that the records were erased, in a government building, suggests someone who has absolutely no fear of government reprisal. Who does that sound like?"
Keller looked at him a long time. Then: "Both of these men have ties to Norman Osborn, who you obviously have a negative history with. Perhaps you wanted to undercut Norman's business and decided these two financial ties needed to be snapped."
"You can't very well take revenge on a corpse," Spider-Man said. "Assuming I even wanted to do so," he added.
"You haven't been reading financial media, have you?" Keller asked. "Norman Osborn is alive."
Spider-Man froze up. She wasn't saying what he thought she was. No way.
"He died a few years ago," Spider-Man said, to re-assert reality. "How is he alive?"
"Apparently it was a premature time of death," Keller said. "It happens occasionally, usually if exposed to a unique strand of snake venom. The victim can appear to be dead when he is only paralyzed."
He's no victim, he almost said. "And why would he let that fact lie for years?"
"Billionaires tend to be eccentric," she replied. "Playing the market, maybe, who knows?"
"Yeah....who knows."
Keller watched him. "You didn't know Osborn was alive until I told you."
"No." And I wished you hadn't.
She sighed. "Then why were you at Carmine's office?"
"I was trailing Belgardt," he replied. "They needed information that Carmine posessed, and got there before I did."
"About what?"
"The location of Doc Ock's tentacles. Some installation in the mountains."
She considered this. It fit better than any of the other motives...and Octavius' tentacles could certainly break Moore apart, if--
"Then I think I'm going to let you go," she said. "I'll check on this and get back to you."
"You believe me?"
"I believe the evidence, and so far it's not pointed at you. Keep in touch."
"Sure. Just light up the spider-signal and I'll come running."
"Might work. Agent Biehn, escort Spider-Man out."
"Yes, ma'am," the lead man replied, and they left the armored car. Spider-Man turned to Biehn.
"You're awfully trusting for a federal agent," he said. "All the guns were pointed at my back, but I still had a chance of jumping Keller and using her as a hostage."
"Nope," Biehn replied. "You would have bounced off a force field. The guns were just to give the proper atmosphere."
"Nice."
"Listen," Biehn said. "For what it's worth, I think you're in the clear."
"...Thanks."
"But she was right: you know Osborn. And he's slippery. I don't trust him."
"Yeah," Spider-Man said darkly, "that makes two of us."

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Four

Otto watched through the tinted windows as the congealed mass of humanity walked up and down the sidewalks, in and out of stores. He couldn't much help the mental nausea, he wouldn't help his disgust. If he were a fanciful man, he would compare them to hundreds of flies on a carcass. But most insects did not disgust him as people did--flies were merely following their biological codes to survive as best they could. Lower in the order than himself, but otherwise acceptable.
Humans, unlike flies, acted against their best interests for the sake of "ideals." They had good and bad labels negating rationality, and were willing to die for an insubstantial, irrelevant cause or belief. And these, in turn, tried to stand in his way, and taught others to do so.
The flip side of the proverbial coin was the gorging of the impulses. The human race, attempting to stonewall inherited traits perfected through millenia, replaced their id upon its pillar once the lights were out. Then, seeing their inherent contradiction, attacked him for his congruity. Maddening.
Spider-Man himself, therefore, was the cornerstone of this paradox. A vigilante outside the law fighting for "goodness" and "truth." A homo sapiens whose genetics were ravaged by animalia. A grown man in a spider-themed costume.
The intersection light changed and the car pulled forward--then braked sharply as a young man ran across the crosswalk. "Miscreant," Otto muttered. "Pity you stopped, driver."
"Rules of the road, sir," the chauffeur replied. "And Mister Osborn would be very displeased."
"Of course he would," Otto said, a hidden skein of sarcasm behind his words. Osborn...
Osborn himself was obsessed with the wallcrawler over his past defeat, to which Otto was dismissive. True, Otto had suffered from this malaise a time or two himself, but his goals were larger now and his head was clearer. A man of unsound mind was, by definition, at the mercy of the man of sound mind. He had placated Norman after his petty show of strength, even affecting conciliation. He would help Osborn for now--perhaps even in this unholy alliance put Spider-Man out of his way. He had been disappointed the isotope had been discovered--but he could always implant another, if they came to blows. And then, once his tentacles were fully under his control, he would dissolve their confederacy and punish the Goblin for his interference.
In the meantime, however, work was to be done. Norman had lent Otto his facilities and schematics, almost everything that fell under his control...including this limo. It was a surprisingly handy tool, being able to move so openly while being perfectly concealed.
"Turn here," Otto said. "Then go straight into the parking garage."
He did, and once they were far enough inside, Otto signaled for the driver to stop and got out. "Go for a drive," he said, adjusting his trenchcoat. "But be back in fifteen minutes, if not sooner."
The driver nodded and drove off. Otto walked into the stairwell and found Maxwell Dillon sitting on the steps, a sardonic grin on his face. He was not in costume.
"Thought it was you," Dillon said. "Adrian doesn't pass along messages unless somebody's got a hand to his throat. Or four hands."
"Excellent deduction," Otto said dryly. "I trust you have also pieced together what this is about."
"Yes," Dillon said. "And unless you have the money here and now, I'm not interested. I just got my sentence commuted, after all--and Uncle Sam lined my pockets nicely enough for a ten-minute 'fight' with the webhead."
"I have no intention of paying you today," Otto said flatly.
"Yeah, that's what I figured," Dillon said, getting up. "Waste of my time..."
"In cash."
Dillon stopped. "What? In cash? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I do have several negotiable bonds in various companies you may be interested in," Otto said, and pulled out a rubber-banded scroll of papers from his coat. "Various reputable companies, and in the end worth much more than a mere briefcase full of hundred dollar bills."
Dillon took it. "Nice. Not like you to be after my well-interests."
"If I am to take on pupils, it befits me to teach them intelligently."
"Pupils." Dillon's jaw clenched a little. "More like pawns. I remember what happened before."
"I make no apologies for my behavior," Otto said. "And I am certainly not going to kowtow to you."
Dillon's eyes narrowed--he was savvy enough to realize Otto was in control of the situation, however alone and vulnerable he may appear. Especially if he was mouthin' off like that...
"I'm going to be rather blunt, Dillon," Otto said. "Do you want to assist ruling the world, or shall I find someone more worthy?"
"You're serious," Dillon said, his mouth half-open in amusement. Jackanape.
"When was I ever otherwise?"

Peter was running late. Of course.
Osborn had bothered him so much the night before he had scoured the city looking for any hint of the Goblin, or a pumpkin bomb, or...something. He had even swung by Oscorp and looked in from the outside--but nothing. He was hidden.
The result of all this was that he had been extremely low on webbing today and had fallen onto a billboard on the way to meet Mary Jane for lunch. And since he didn't have his motorcycle anymore, he was forced to run.
MJ had come home from a modeling segment and had collapsed onto the couch in sheer exhaustion. He had gotten home early once he his search for Osborn was frustrated, and had sat next to her.
"It was a bad day," she had said softly.
"Yeah?" he'd broached tentatively.
"Terrible," she'd sighed. There had been a few moments of silence, slightly awkward for Peter.
"Can I make some dinner?"
"I already ate."
Stymied. But:
"Well, how about I take you out for lunch tomorrow?" he'd asked. "We're both free--I've found this great Italian place, and it's a little pricy, but I've been saving."
"Okay," she'd sighed. "But right now I need some sleep. A lot of sleep."
"How much sleep?" he'd asked, a little hopefully.
She'd looked at him with a very thin trace of humor. "A lot. Good night."
He'd replayed the conversation. The air was a little clearer. Enough to venture into a real conversation, maybe. The next morning, he'd left her a note that he'd be at the restaurant by eleven-thirty. He'd gone out on an abbreviated patrol/photo-op, without much success, and left with enough time to make it to the restaurant if he was webslinging.
Which now, of course, he wasn't.
He raced down a sidewalk, shoving his way through people as politely as he could, and saw the intersection light change. He ran across the intersection anyway, and a rather pretentious limo honked at him.
"Jerk," Peter muttered. "Just because you're on time..."
He did make it, in the end. He was a little out-of-breath once he made it to the table, but there were no visible sweat-stains, which he was proud of. Wearing tights under your civvies helps with that.
"You made it," Mary Jane said, slightly impressed. "But not quite as early as I thought you would be--or late, frankly."
He decided to take that as not an insult. "Ran out," he said, gesturing at his wrists.
"Right," she said. She turned her eyes down to the menu, and despite how commonplace such a movement was, Peter felt a little warmer.
She continued to stare at the menu. Who knows, she might actually have been selecting something to eat. He decided to follow suit.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked, after a pregnant pause. She'd looked up at him, examined his face.
"I think so," she nodded. He put the menu down.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "That night that..." he stalled, wondering how to say "the night that Doc Ock broke into our apartment and I got mad at you" without saying it so...publicly. "Well, the night of the fight. The two fights."
"Right," she nodded.
"I just wanted to apologize," he said. "I was a jerk, and I don't have any excuse for it." Pause. "Well, I was going a little crazy from trying to flush all of the Doctor's medicine out of my system, but that's still--"
"Stop," she said. She blew out a breath. "Thank you for apologizing. I accept it. But that hurt me--I felt like you were ready to throw me out of your life."
Peter said nothing. Another sorry was not only redundant, it felt cheap.
"I know that in your job, things can happen to you," she said, and he gave her some points for skirting around the obvious much more effortlessly than he did. "But listen, Peter--I'm not someone who's going to be verbally whipped like that. You were abrasive and I was trying to comfort you. And then you came in later and scared me half to death--on purpose."
Peter's face worked helplessly. He hated this.
"I'm not helpless just because I don't run around in tights," she said. "And I won't be treated like that. We're partners till death do us part, and you need to realize what that means."
He held her gaze for a few seconds more, then looked down at the table.
"I love you," he said. "But I can be pretty terrible at showing it, and I'm sorry for that."
She took his hand. "I love you. Please...don't forget that."
"Never," he grinned. She smiled fully at him, and to Peter's eyes, there was no snow in that moment.
"Are you ready to order, sir?" the waiter said, who had come out of nowhere. Peter cleared his suddenly dry throat.
"Yes, we are," he said. They each ordered, and the pesky little man went away.
Peter watched his wife watch the snow fall for a minute or so before it hit him.
"Hey," he said. "You do too run around in tights."

[Joker]

Wow, I was behind on this. Great stuff as always, Wabbit. Nice to see more of the Ockster in the latest chapter.

[Arcturus]

Super nice, keep it up!

:word:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Five

One Week Later

"...and make sure we get those updates from the CIA," Sally Keller dictated. Her aide wrote quickly and dutifully. "And fax these contracts over to...uh..."
"Which numbers are they?" her aide asked.
"...13307 and 42506."
"Those get routed to SHIELD."
"Thanks." Sally rubbed her eyes. "This workload is insane. I don't know how Stan did it." She sighed, then shifted some papers around. "Let me see...these budget projections need to be delivered to the Vice President...yesterday. Joy. Because my tenure as Director isn't already riddled with problems..."
The fax machine whirred behind her. The aide got up and pulled the papers from the tray. "These just arrived from downstairs," he said. She grabbed the papers and shuffled through them. She frowned suddenly.
"What is this here?" she asked. " 'Project Gopher?' This date of completion is a few weeks ago. This is a misprint." She looked up at her aide. "Budget expendiatures over 3,000 dollars need a double signiature from the Director and Assistant Director. This is a misprint. Right?"
Her aide was silent. She looked back down at the paperwork--then inhaled suddenly between gritted teeth.
"Get me an escort," she said, getting up. "I need to see Norman Osborn right now."
"Yes, ma'am," the aide said, and got out his cell phone as she left the room. He called for a contingent of agents to escort her to Oscorp. Then he went into the bathroom, put the voice scrambler over the mouthpiece, and dialed a different number.
"This is Shay," he said. "Yes, Doctor, she's coming over right now. Yes, sir. No, she doesn't suspect anything..."

The gentle snowfall had become a near-howling storm, and what it had softly blanketed before had become buried. The roads were jammed with cars and trucks, a network of steel turtles--and not a one of them could drive.
Spider-Man was there, helping in what ways he could. He was near the freeways exiting the cities, along with several tow trucks, pulling cars up from the embankments. He gave one last tug and a trapped minivan came free and clear onto the road. Spider-Man gave it one last helpful turn in the right direction, then leaned against the side of a tow truck to get a quick break. The driver came around and started working the pull levers.
"Rough morning, eh?" the driver asked.
"You might say," Spider-Man said. "I guess nobody's heard of snow chains on this side of the city."
The driver laughed. "Or driving school," he agreed. "I'm from Chicago, myself, so this doesn't bother me so much. But these people--sheesh."
"Does Chicago get as bad as this?" Spider-Man asked, and rubbed his hands.
"Worse," the driver said. "Although not every day. And at least there the snow makes it look nice."
"Hey, New York's skyline isn't so bad around Christmas," Spidey said, in defense.
"That's only because it's got Christmas lights up," the driver smiled. "I'm just talking about looking naturally."
Spider-Man was about to get into debate when he saw an accident about to happen closer to the city. "Excuse me," he said, and quickly hopped and jumped fifty feet over the heads of unfazed pedestrians.
An SUV was inching its way around an intersection when its wheels gave up whatever traction they had and it spun out. Spider-Man lept down in front of it before it could skid over the sidewalk and pushed it to a stop. The pedestrians were still rather unfazed.
Spider-Man came up to the driver's-side window as it rolled down. "You all right?"
"Fine," the driver replied. "Thanks for the help!"
"Hey, no problem," Spider-Man said. "But get some chains for your tires and take it slow."
The driver nodded, rolled up the window, and continued driving. Spider-Man looked behind him as he heard a pickup crunch into a minivan. He sighed to himself.
This is going to get worse before it gets better.

Otto closed his cell phone and returned to the lab workstation. Osborn--or, to be more precise, the Goblin--was there, humming over the blueprints. He had yet to examine the tentacles, a fact which continually gnawed at Otto's patience.
"Who was that?" Osborn asked rather light-heartedly.
"An arms dealer," Otto replied. "I made arrangements with his competition--he tried to head off the deal without me knowing. I called to inform him of the consequences of that mistake."
"Nothing like catching up," Osborn chuckled, and sipped his iced tea. Otto sighed for the thousandth time.
"You are a scientist, not a comedian," Otto said. "Though you have yet to show it."
"It's a trifle difficult," Osborn said. "Most of this work was done by Norman, you see--and it's hard plumbing the wells of his memory without him knowing."
Otto raised an eyebrow at this. He had known about Osborn's schizophrenia since they had first met, but this was a first. To his way of understanding, most multiple personality disorder victims were not aware of the various psyches that they switched over to.
"You know about Norman?" Otto asked, his curiosity piqued.
"A bit," Osborn said. "Enough to know I don't like him." He grinned.
"How long have you known?"
"It's been this way since the bridge," Osborn snarled. Otto watched in detached fascination as various emotions rippled over Osborn's face. "The golbin formula managed to keep me alive after the glider punched into my chest--and it should have, of course, since I created it--but it threw me for a loop in the process. Before the accident it was either him or me at one time. Now it can be one or both. He's a poor, deluded idealist at heart...but he's weak. Soon it will only be me."
Otto let this pass. His fading spiral into madness was only a hindrance to his work. "Let's get back to business. I trust you studied the plans of the cybernetic link-ups, Osborn," he said.
Osborn waved this away. "Of course I have!" he snarled. "I did build my own arsenal--I'm no incompetent."
"I was not implying anything of the type," Otto placated. "And the route command paths--you've looked them over."
"Yes, yes," Osborn replied. "Nothing so far. Whatever that idiot did, it's subtle. Give the coward credit, he's good at his job."
"Perhaps I should talk to Norman, than," Otto said, carefully.
"I think not," Osborn replied. "We know you'd run my weaker half roughshod."
"Of course."
"Heh."
The intercom buzzed. "Yes?"
"Miss Sally Keller here to see you, sir," the temp replied. Osborn nodded and hit the switch.
"We'll finish our little chat later," Osborn said. "You may want to get a haircut in the meantime."
Otto growled as the elevator doors closed.

Osborn adjusted his tie as he stepped out of the elevator and walked into his office. "Director Keller," he said, trying to keep his tone civil. "And bodyguards. I hope this is a pleasant surprise."
"Not at all, Mr. Osborn," she said, icily. "You were not being entirely honest with me or my agents."
"Really," Osborn swallowed. He was itching to get rid of this suit and put his face back on. "How so?"
"You did not elaborate as to the extent of your involvement with Mr. Moore," she said, and pushed some files at him. "Project Gopher."
"Your agent kept his questions to my last meetings with Moore," he said. He could visualize his hands around her throat, cutting off this pipeline of inane questions. "He didn't delve very far into what they were about. And, as I recall, they were classified affairs. I would not have been able to tell him anything."
"Not to worry, he's cleared," she said. "As was I, a few hours ago."
"Congratulations,." Osborn smiled. He couldn't help it. "A big day for you, no doubt."
"Making light of interfering with a murder investigation," she shook her head. "You are bold."
"Not at all," he said, and wiped his brow. Hot in here. "I'm a bit frayed at the edges, I admit. But I dislike being badgered."
"Badgered is the least of your worries, Norman," Keller said.
Norman?
Osborn shoved the whisper back down into the darkness. "I hardly have to tell you of the ramifications should you be proved guilty," the little witch was saying.
"All the more reason this is an irrelevant conversation," Osborn said. "Not to be rude, but the fact that you were not thorough in your lines of questioning hardly points the finger at me."
Who called Norman? Where am I? Osborn kicked the little voice and it shut up.
"Don't try to jerk me around, Osborn," she snapped. "I'm the damn government--play straight or you land your billionaire behind into a life sentence."
Osborn loosened his tie. That temp was fired as soon as he left this office--snow or not, this was a sauna inside.
"Paperwork of this sort requires a signiature of the director and assistant director," she continued. "But I can see that once you have the signiature of the head of SHIELD, it makes mine a little unnecessary. Why didn't you tell me you were working with SHIELD, Norman?"
"As I said before," Osborn said, ready to rip the arms off the chairs and beat her to death with them, "you didn't ask. You have nothing to ask, so this entire conference is irrelevant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have several meetings I have to get through before the afternoon. If you have any more questions, I'm afraid they'll have to wait."
"You're not getting out of this that easily."
"Miss Keller. Unless you have some firm evidence that you can bolster this pathetic interrogation with, we are done."
"Fine. But we're not done here," she said, got up, and left. Osborn put his fists on the table. His innards were swirling like seasick passengers on the Orient Express. He sat down and breathed slowly, trying to calm himself.
The door opened behind him, and director or not, he was going to squeeze the life out of her.
It wasn't a her. It was a Doctor.
"And the last cackle, ironically, goes to me," Otto said. Osborn staggered towards him, trying to steady himself--but he slipped away into unconsciousness. Otto let his body drop to the floor.
"Roland?" he said into his headset.
"In position now, sir," came the reply.

Roland adjusted the sniper scope and kept an eye on the front entrance. He was lying down on top of a small law firm across the street from Oscorp. Sally Keller should be coming through in fifteen seconds, if he had this timed right.
Now ten. He hoped the sights wouldn't fog up...
The gun was yanked out of his hand. He looked up, started, as Spider-Man sprayed him with webbing.
"Next time, try the grassy knoll," he said. "Works every time, I hear."
He knelt down next to the would-be sniper and snapped his gun in half. "Cute toy," he said. "Custom job. I don't even know a whole lot about guns, and I know this is a special breed of firepower. The kind you get if you're a high-level terrorist."
The sniper glared at him. "You can't threaten me."
"Well, I can threaten you," Spider-Man said. "Whether I'll do anything is another matter entirely."
"Soft. Just like Belgardt said."
"So his name's Belgardt, huh?" Spider-Man said. He already knew this, but he might get some leverage with a little beinding of the truth. The sniper swallowed, realizing his mistake. "Nice. I'll be sure to ask around about him."
His spider-sense flared and he lept as a tentacle claw slammed down into the rooftop. He landed somewhat ungracefully on the snow and slid.
"Doc!" Spider-Man said. "What pried you away from Bill Nye reruns? Sunglasses sale down at the mall?"
"Do you honestly think you can interfere with my plans?" Ock asked and swiped a tentacle where his legs had been. "You were barely able to escape with your life before--and that only because of an untimely rescue!"
Spider-Man jumped aside again as two of Ock's tentacles clapped together. He was much faster than last time, and Spider-Man wasn't adjusting to the snow well at all. "Oh come on, chubs," Spidey said, "we both know you went home crying because I stepped on your new toy. Did Mommy buy you a new set? I notice she shops for everything else you wear..."
Otto snarled and grabbed both of Spider-Man's arms. With a savage jerk, he yanked him in close as the other two slammed into his chest and knocked him onto the ledge. Spider-Man caught onto the side and barely avoided sliding off.
"Stay out of my life, or I'll end yours," Otto said, and raised a claw--
And stopped. Spider-Man frowned, Ock looked like he was hearing something on that headset he didn't like. Then Spidey heard it, too--a low whine, like the kind a jet turbine might make--
The kind a small afterburner might make.
"Oh, no," he breathed.
"Impossible," Ock breathed.
And that was when the Green Goblin flew into sight above them, cackling above the noise of his glider.

[OctoHaz]

"We'll finish our little chat later," Osborn said. "You may want to get a haircut in the meantime."
http://pics.livejournal.com/marvel_otto/pic/000ec275

...Heh-eh. Great work as usual, Wabbit. Love the cliffhanger. :)

[Joker]

LOL! Loved Norman's haircut comment. Like he can talk with his washboard look :oldrazz:

Great cliffhanger, Wabbit. You never fail to deliver :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Six

Several things happened at once in that moment:
Sally Keller came out of the front entrance of Oscorp, Agents Biehn and Paxton flanking her. Doc Ock freed Roland with a spare tentacle claw. And the Green Goblin flew in low and clipped the ledge just after Spider-Man let go.
"Back in the building!" Paxton shouted, and pulled Keller away as Biehn pulled his gun and ran across the street, clogged with cars. Roland got up and looked around for his rifle.
The Goblin swung in front of Ock and hovered there, the blue flame of the glider melting the nearby snow. Ock met his masked gaze evenly.
"A good try, herr doktor," the Goblin laughed. "Just the right touch of Machiavelli, I admit!"
"I can't tell you how glad I am that we agree," Otto replied, his trenchcoat flapping like a flag. The tentacles rose slightly higher, tightening their curves. The Goblin chuckled.
"Failure is failure, though," he continued. "What were you trying to accomplish? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find planted files in my own accounts? That I would never spot 'Roland' cropping up on the employee roster?"
"Taking up the Osborn business now? You and your weaker half are more alike than you admit," Otto said, grating against the Goblin's knowledge of his plans. Though it galled him to admit it, he had underestimated the freak.
The Goblin's smile fell from his face. "How dare you imply that the Green Goblin and Norman Osborn could ever be one and the same!" he shouted. "I won't stand these insults from a four-eyed, six-armed would-be criminal!"
"Then I highly suggest you do something about it," Ock snarled, "you bifurcated buffoon." A tentacle claw snapped shut. The Goblin growled and hovered closer--
--only to be knocked fifteen feet by Spider-Man. The glider spun in the air and clanged off a tentacle, throwing Otto off-balance as Spider-Man landed.
"Osborn," he growled. The Goblin recovered his balance and grinned.
"In the flesh," he said. "On the other hand, maybe not. Perhaps I'm merely a phantom, called from the great beyond to plague you for the rest of your days, eh? The man who killed what you loved cannot be killed himself!"
Otto raised a brow as Spider-Man roared--never had he sounded more inhuman. The Goblin drew back for a moment--then seemed to laugh it off. "Here's for old time's sake!" he shouted, reached into his satchel and threw two pumpkins bombs at the roof. Spider-Man had already begun a backflip, but the explosion caught him and smacked him ungracefully onto an adjacent building. He rolled over just as he heard gunshots from below.

Roland had found his gun and went down the stairwell. He hadn't seen Keller duck into Oscorp, but with all the stalled traffic, it didn't take a genius to see her wings were effectively clipped. He opened the door to the fifth level just as one of her guards came up from below him. Roland fired twice and rushed to the other side of the door, kicking it shut with his foot.
Biehn ran up to the fifth level, fell to one knee and opened the door. Roland was standing there with gun raised, and made a small hole where Biehn's head would have been had he been standing. Biehn fired and hit Roland in the chest. Roland fell to the asphalt and his gun clattered beside him. His head slumped to one side, and his body relaxed.
Biehn got up and blew out a breath.
Roland's arm did not know it was dead, swung the gun up and shot Biehn in the leg. "Gah!" Biehn growled, and fell. He held onto his gun and tried to fix it on Roland, but he'd gotten behind a car.
"Bullet...proof vest," Roland shouted. He sounded out of breath. "You broke a...rib, pig."
Biehn walk/crawled behind a cement beam. "I'm not a cop," he said, "and I'll break more than your ribs if you don't drop that gun."
He spared a look at his leg as Roland laughed. His hand was soaked already; he'd been hit in an artery.

The explosion had thrown Otto backwards, but not terribly far--his two lower tentacles grabbed the roof and he steadied himself quickly. He looked up to see Osborn raising another grenade above his head, his face contorted into a mad leer. Otto threw the tentacle straight out and knocked the small bomb from Osborn's hand. It hit the roof unarmed and sat there. Osborn cradled his hand.
"You raise a hand to the Green Goblin!" he shouted, his tone of a puling, rich boy. "To think I bothered with you at all!"
"I have found," Otto said, "that talking in the third person becomes tiresome and dull. In short, a perfect fit for you." Two tentacles shot out and clipped the front underside of the glider, knocking Osborn up and back.
Spider-Man got to his feet and charged. The Goblin had flown just far back enough to get within range, and Spider-Man jumped up and clotheslined him, taking out the back of his knees. Osborn made a full loop off that and slammed a flash bomb in Spider-Man's face. Spider-Man yelped in shock and pain.
"Sorry," the Goblin said. "Thought that one had a charge in it." He pointed at Ock. "And now to you."
He threw two razorbats from his bag and they sliced right through Otto's coat. Otto was startled--his tentacles now seemed hulking and clumsy as the little irritants flew around him. He saw Osborn coming at him again and used the tentacles to go to the roof behind them. The Goblin flew in a circle above him and depth-charged him with pumpkin bombs. Ock caught two of them out of the air and crushed them in adamantium claws. He winced as a razorbat sliced across his cheek.
"I will make your autopsy last for hours," he seethed, and scuttled over, trying to keep distance between himself and Osborn's toys.

Biehn rolled over and the asphalt bit into his exposed leg. Roland was nowhere.
He crawled army-style past two parking spaces as Roland swung his gun up over a car's trunk across from him. Biehn fired and spider-webbed the windshield with cracks. Roland ducked and began to crawl around. He's got speed and I don't, Biehn thought. He needed to balance this little scenario.

Spider-Man blinked away the last of the flash-bomb and re-evaluated. Green Goblin and Doc Ock--but fighting each other, for now. Let's keep it that way, Spider-Man thought, and made a flying leap. He shot out a webline, yanked himself over it, and cannonballed right at the Goblin. Unfortunately, Osborn had seen him coming and flew above his strike. He fell right into Ock's tentacles and got whip-snapped into the edge of the parking garage's roof.
"Stay out of this affair!" Ock growled at him, and snapped one of the razorbats.
Spider-Man shook his head. "You couldn't drag me away!" His spider-sense went off, and he jumped as the tentacle snaked under him. Spider-Man heard the glider coming up behind him and turned in the air. That was all he had time for as the Goblin flew right into him. Quickly--too quickly, Spider-Man thought, Osborn's hand clamped around Spider-Man's neck and held him at arm's length.
"He's right, unfortunately," the Goblin cackled. "You're out of your league here, boy."
"Which, the minors?"
Spider-Man grabbed the Goblin's satchel and kicked himself free. The Goblin let out a whoof of breath as Spider-Man landed--and backflipped over a tentacle. Another one smacked solidly into his chest. Spider-Man reflexively released the bag (spilling its contents across the roof) and tumbled over the side. He thrust out a hand and got the building, but because it was covered in snow, he skidded twenty feet before he stopped. He started back up--but Ock leaned over the side and swung a tentacle down hard. Spider-Man hopped to the side as it hit the building and grabbed it as it came back up, hitching a ride. He released at the top of the arc and landed behind Ock--surrounded by pumpkin bombs. A tentacle reached out lazily and grabbed one.
"It takes one spark to start a forest fire," Ock smiled.

Roland saw Biehn lurch behind a car on his side and fired a salvo at him. He'd missed.
"No sense in drawing this out," Roland shouted. "You only have a pistol."
A pause. Nothing.
"You may as well surrender now," Roland smiled, realizing such an "offer" was a mere taunt. "I promise I won't hurt you."
"Wish I could say the same," Biehn growled. The tail light in front of him exploded and Roland realized Biehn had snuck up on him--was, in fact, right there. Biehn came up a foot away and fired.
The bullet hit Roland in the arm--the wrong arm. As Roland recoiled from the shot, his gun arm swung around and knocked Biehn's pistol away. Biehn lunged across the trunk and the two men fell against a minivan, grunting as they each tried to shake the other loose. Biehn rocked back and then slammed forward, cracking Roland's head against the glass.
Roland growled and pulled Biehn down to the ground between the two cars. Roland kneeled over him, the gun shaking in a deathgrip between the two of them.
"Drop the gun," Biehn demanded through gritted teeth. Roland didn't bother to reply--he put a knee down on Biehn's mangled leg. Biehn screamed as the bone ground against his exposed muscle--and let go of the rifle. Roland fell back a bit from his own released force and Biehn sat up. Roland swung the gun down and Biehn slapped it into the side of the van. The muzzle flash blinded and deafened him for a second, and he knew he was dead if he didn't act exactly right in that second.
He slammed his body into Roland's hand as hard as he could. Roland's fingers flexed open and the rifle fell just as Biehn's sight returned. He saw the rear passenger door was unlocked.
Roland punched him in the back of the head and Biehn rocked forward. His hand fell and found the door handle. He swung the door open hard and crunched Roland's fingers in between them as his other hand grabbed the dropped gun. Biehn fell onto his back and brought the gun up as Roland was closing the car door.
He fired twice.
Roland fell dead, and Biehn collapsed against the car, exhausted.

Ock dropped the pumpkin bomb. Spider-Man grabbed the small bomb with a web, swing it back like a sling, and let fly. Ock raised his arms in a block and it exploded harmlessly against the adamantium. Spider-Man was already moving--he jumped over the barrier Ock had thrown up, landed, and launched himself backward. The two of them tumbled into the minefield, an eight-armed free-for-all. But Ock gained the upper hand, grabbed Spider-Man around the waist and flung him away--just as the Green Goblin skimmed in low right at both of them.
Spider-Man would have been impaled on Osborn's glider if he hadn't shot a web right below him. The web caught and slammed him hard into the roof as the glider shot by three inches above his nose and right at Doc Ock. Ock raked a tentacle low and opened the glider's innards. The small jet sputtered and crashed, throwing the Goblin free as the ruined hunk of metal smacked into Otto. Osborn got to his feet just as Spider-Man did--and both of their eyes fell on the arsenal all around them.
They ran towards each other--Spider-Man scooped his hand low and came up with two razorbats. He threw them--just as the Goblin rolled a pumpkin bomb at him. He jumped over it and tackled Osborn, snow spraying as they landed. The razorbats managed to cut Norman across the arm as they fell back. Spider-Man pulled his elfin cowl up from the roof and punched it back down.
"This time you're going to jail, Norman," Spider-Man growled.
"Stone walls do not a prison make," the Goblin laughed, and gave Spider-Man a hard jab to the kidney that knocked him back. It off-balanced Spider-Man enough for Osborn to give a good roundhouse kick to the jaw. Spider-Man staggered, completely off-balance, and saw Norman scoop up two pumpkin bombs. He smiled.
"You know how this ends," he chuckled, and threw them over the side.
"No!" Spider-Man shouted, and jumped from the roof. He shot out two webs and pulled the bombs up and behind him. Then he twisted in the air and hastily spun a large webnet from building building--and landed with a crunch in the back of somebody's pickup. He watched the pumpkin bombs fall through the air, hit the webnet--and stick to it, safe and inert. He looked up at the roof--there was no one in sight.
He fell back and sighed, completely spent.
Osborn. Ock.
How am I supposed to beat that?

[Joker]

"I have found," Otto said, "that talking in the third person becomes tiresome and dull. In short, a perfect fit for you."

LMAO! :D

Man, that was an awesome battle. Why can't they do something like this in the comic books?? Everyone wants to see it.

My favorite chapter so far, Wabbit. Excellent stuff :up:

[OctoHaz]

Awesome, Wabbit. :D :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Seven

"Hey, freakshow, get outta my pickup!" Spider-Man lifted his head and extricated himself from the back. The driver glared at him from the window, and Spider-Man scowled beneath his mask.
"Terribly sorry about that," he said to the driver, coughing. "I wouldn't want to save your life just to make you late. That would be completely irresponsible." He gave the tail of a pick-up a frustrated smack and walked over to the parking garage. He winced as he discovered his new limp and shuffled into the lower level.
"Hello?" he shouted.
There was a meaty cough, but it was fairly muted. It sounded higher up in the building. He limped up the stairs, searched the levels one by one until he found Biehn, nearly unconscious.
"Hey, it's you," Spider-Man said. Then he saw the sniper's corpse and the steadily growing puddle of blood under Biehn's leg. "Oh, man."
"Yeah, that's what I said," Biehn coughed.
"Hold on, I'm--" Gonna call an ambulance? In this weather? Biehn coughed again, and this close it sounded like hanging racks of meat getting clobbered with a sledgehammer.
There was a radio crackle under Biehn's coat, and Spidey found a small walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder. "Agent Biehn, this is A.D. Keller. What's the situation up there? Over." Spider-Man picked it up and said, "Actually, this is Spider-Man. Agent Biehn's been shot in the leg and is losing blood rapidly. I'm going to take him to Mercy General. Over." Biehn groaned faintly.
"We'll meet you there, Spider-Man. Over."
"Right-o," Spider-Man said, and began to web over the bullet wound. "Well, we're takin' off, Biehn, so if you have to go potty, now's the time." He hoisted up the rapidly fading Agent on his back, webbed him there for added security, and swung his way over to the hospital.

Doc Ock slammed the Green Goblin into a wall. The claws tightened around Osborn's neck with a savagery that Otto took a guilty pleasure in. Which is not to say he was pleased by anything else.
"Bungler!" Otto shouted, lifted Osborn away from the wall, and slammed him back into it. "Imbecile! Meddling twit!"
The Goblin chuckled. Otto grabbed his face with another tentacle and began to squeeze.
"Yes, by all means, laugh," Otto spoke. "Push me farther that I may abandon reason altogether and simply mutilate you. Yes, laugh. Please."
But he wasn't laughing now. He was whimpering something. "What?" Otto asked, and pulled off the Goblin's mask. Osborn was a picture of terror, his eyes wide and body slightly shaking.
"You're Doctor Octopus," Osborn shuddered. "Please...don't kill me...I'll give you anything you want, I just want to get back to my son."
"I am sorely tempted to grant you your request," Otto glared. "Your son is long dead, and I'll not be toyed with."
"I'm not...I don't know what..."
"Enough," Otto said, and reared his tentacles back to strike.
"Please!" Norman shouted, his hands raised in defense. "I just want to see Harry..."
The tentacles paused....then lowered. "Your pleas have reached me," Otto said, after a time. "Don't look so surprised, Osborn; I am not without compassion."
"I feel ill..."
"You are indeed quite sick," Otto said. "Come, let us return to your home that I may cure you."
"What?"
"I am a Doctor, Mr. Osborn," Otto replied. "You're in good hands now."

Spider-Man was about five blocks away when he groaned. "Oh, man, you're kidding me." He abruptly stopped his webslinging and landed as gently as he could on a rooftop below him.
Electro and the Vulture were flying about four building-tops away, and the Vulture was carrying Mysterio in a harness below him. Three super-baddies could mean several things, and none of them good, but the most likely was what popped into his mind first.
"The Sinister Freakin' Six," he sighed. "That's all I need..."
Biehn slurred something, which jolted Spidey out of his malaise and back into webslinging. He started to sweat under his costume--if these three clowns made a move while he was piggybacking...
He began to lower his arcs, trying to do it fast without freefalling. Biehn moaned and Spider-Man gritted his teeth. His condition meant Spider-Man might lodge the bullet deeper even with normal maneuvers. Shoot shoot shoot...
He had just dropped below sightline...he was s--
"Hey!"
Shoot shoot SHOOT...
Spider-Man began pulling at the weblines faster and shooting them out later. He needed a dang good head start. If he could make it to the hospital, drop Biehn off, and get a twenty minute water break with some aspirin thrown in for good measure...
And then--quite suddenly--his spider-sense gave him a kick to the back of the head. And just as suddenly, he couldn't move. They've gotten me tied up somehow, he thought, but when he looked down, there was nothing. Oh, I'm just paralyzed. That's...that's great.
He fell towards an oncoming double-decker bus as a lightning bolt sizzled a window pane above and to the left of him. With a graceless thump, he landed on the upper deck of the bus and was able to move again. The tourists began snapping pictures and he lolled his head back to check on his passenger. Biehn was motionless.
"Shoot shoot shoot," Spider-Man said, and shook Biehn. "Come on, man, wake back up." To his relief, Biehn moaned--just as his spider-sense kicked him motionless again.
The Vulture clipped him in the back of the head and Spider-Man fell to his knees. Quickly, he shot out a webline and it fastened around Vulture's ankle. He grabbed the line and jumped off the bus just as his spider-sense went off again. This time, he was moving despite his paralysis, and was able to make some ground.
"Release me, callow youth!" Vulture shouted, and kicked at his ankle. This actually gave Spider-Man more momentum and propelled him a block and a half. He was getting closer...
He got in two quick web-swings and was about to release the second line when his spider-sense went off. He paused in mid-air as Electro's bolt crackled under him, then gently began to fall. Then he could move and began webslinging like crazy.
"Electro, stop!" he shouted. He could hear the crackling of the air behind him as Electro got closer.
"Why should I?" Electro shouted back. "I had to humiliate myself in front of everybody back at that bank!"
"Come now, Electro, let us depart," Vulture said down to him. "We're late as it is."
"Indeed!" Mysterio shouted. "I am no hanger-on, content to merely sit and observe!"
"Electro, I have a man dying from a gunshot wound that I need to get to the hospital," Spider-Man shouted. "Just let me get him there, and I promise you...we can settle up afterwards if you want."
There was a silence. Electro growled.
"Fine," he said. "If we weren't running so behind as it was, I'd fry you to a crisp right now!"
"Oh, enough of your babble," Mysterio boomed.
"Yes, let's go," Vulture sighed. "You young people..."
Spider-Man then heard a diminishing of the crackle and assumed they were gone. Not much choice, really.
He was at the hospital soon enough, with Keller and her agents waiting. The nurses took Biehn off Spider-Man's hands and wheeled him away. Spider-Man looked at Keller.
"Took you long enough," she said. "That's one of my men, wallcrawler. I don't--"
"Look, I just got chased by Electro, Vulture, and Mysterio, so let's save the guilt trips until later," he said. "I'm getting tired of being blamed for things by you."
She stiffened. Then: "Well, thank you, then."
"You realize that was the Green Goblin up there," Spider-Man said. "Him and Doctor Octopus."
"Interesting," Keller said. "Well...it seems our chances of success would improve if we worked together. I'm officially including you in this investigation. You are removed as a suspect."
"Nice of you," Spider-Man said.
"Thought you'd like that. I'm also assigning Agent Biehn to be your assistant once he's recovered. He will be with you at all times."
"No, that's not going to work."
"You'll have to make it work, Spider-Man. I'm not letting those two slip through my fingers because you want some alone time."
Spider-Man didn't say anything. He appreciated her sense of sacrificing to do the responsible thing--he just wished he wasn't the one doing the sacrificing.
"Fine," he said. She nodded and walked towards the ICU. Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head.
So now I've got a tagalong....yay.
...and what the heck was up with my spider-sense back there?

Electro, Vulture, and Mysterio were re-routed to Norman Osborn's penthouse shortly after their tiff, and they made good time.
"Nice digs," Electro said.
"Yes, quite the roost, I must say," Vulture agreed. They went in. Osborn was sitting in front of a fireplace looking positively green around the gills. Doctor Octopus was standing behind him.
"Good of you to come," Otto said. "This is Norman Osborn."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Mysterio said theatrically. "Really, doctor, you are more arrogant than even I realized. Do you have any serious hope of my allying myself with you? It is a poor thing already that you have persuaded two of the Six."
"I do not hope," Otto said. "I merely do. Dillon, Toomes, your rooms are upstairs. You may go."
Electro gave a sarcastic salute, Vulture shook his head, and they both left. Mysterio crossed his arms.
"Are you going to sell me your pitch now, Octavius? Swindle and cheat, but oh so persuasively?"
"No," Otto said. And with that, he wrapped his tentacles tight around Mysterio's body.
"I wonder," Otto said, "if I applied enough pressure, would that fishbowl pop off? Or would it merely be your eyes and ears?"
"You toy with powers you dare not!" Mysterio gasped. "You have no conception...no idea at the ways I could break your mind."
"Ironically, I am the one who could break your body," Otto said. "Are you enjoying this, Osborn? You look so dejected."
"I....I just..."
"Quiet," he said. "Now, Mysterio...I don't need you to trust me. Just do what I command, and I'll not only let you live, but even reward you."
"A reward from you is as good as poison," Mysterio gasped. "Nevertheless, I accept, if only to live a while longer."
"Your perspective is encouraging," Otto said, and released him. Mysterio sucked in air and straightened himself.
"You have my services, Doctor," Mysterio said. "Whatever that may entail."
"We'll discuss the specifics once we're all together," Otto said. "But suffice it to say that when we complete my plan, each of you will have more power than you thought possible. The world will tremble."
"Naturally," Mysterio said. "You sound like a film marketer."
Otto adjusted his glasses and smiled. "Theatricality is not limited to directors. Now go upstairs, you'll find your room clearly marked."
Mysterio left, and Otto returned to Norman. "My thanks for the housing, Norman. Would you like to sleep as well?"
"Y-yes. Please."
"Then get out." Norman practically ran from him. Otto sat in Osborn's chair and pondered.
He had not spared Norman merely for living quarters. When they were concluding their battle, and Osborn had pleaded not to be killed, Otto had acquiesced. He had been unable to command his arms to kill Osborn. Since he had had no trouble striking the Green Goblin, he could only conclude that Osborn had a degree of mental control of his tentacles as well, enough to stalemate him...though he did not know it.
"Intolerable," Otto said.
He watched the fire burn itself out, thinking.

[Joker]

OMG! Osborn begging to Ock for his life. Ock barking orders at Norman. I loooooooooves it :D

[OctoHaz]

Hey, how'd I miss this being posted? Silly me. :)

Perfect pre-work pick-me-up. :D

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eight

"So what's got you down? It sounds like a good thing." MJ looked up at Peter from the couch as he made coffee. He finished pouring the water, closed the lid, and turned to his wife.
"I'm just not comfortable with the idea of working 'as part of an investigation,' " he said. "What does that mean for me? I have to carry around little evidence bags, rubber gloves, hold my flashlight up by my ear? Besides, I'm not used to having a partner without superpowers."
MJ started ticking off her fingers. "Felicia Hardy didn't after your trip to Dr. Strange. The Punisher. Nick Fury. Me, once or twice. Even that Ollie Osnick kid."
"That was not a partnership," he rebutted. "He just had too much hero worship in him. Still, I see what you're getting at."
"Vunderbar," she said. "Personally, you have no idea how relieved this makes me."
"Really?"
"Well, sure, tiger. If the Sinister Six is going to be on the prowl again, it's good to know that you have allies that can legally kick some derriere."
"Technically, if I wanted that, I could go get She-Hulk," he smiled.
She sighed theatrically. "Come on, Peter..."
"Well, really, MJ, how's he even going to keep up with me? I don't need my 'partner' stuck in three lanes of traffic while I'm trying to play keep-away with Doc Ock's tentacles."
"Maybe he'll have a jetpack. Maybe he has a latent mutant flying ability," she said. Then she smiled wickedly. "Maybe you'll have to piggyback him everywhere."
Peter grimaced. "I don't think so."
"Well, you've already gotten some good practice in," she grinned.
"Yeah, anyway," he said, "I'm getting a little nervous about this. The Sinister Six coming around just as somethig goofy's happening to my spider-sense." He sighed. "Again."
"And in light of all this, you don't want help from 'Super Secret Agency X'?"
"I'm pretty good at taking care of myself," he said. "And you said it just now--they're a super secret agency. They have no defined duties, and their interactions with me have proven to be remarkably self-interested." He checked the coffee pot. "Besides, I think Charles Xavier has a trademark on the letter 'X.' "
"Be that as it may," she said dryly, "remember that they're investigating the deaths of their own men. I'd be a little rough around the edges, too."
"Yes," he said. "Maybe."
"Besides, they imprisoned Doc Ock's tentacles up in the mountains," she said. "Altruistic, yes?"
"Imprisoned in a base which Norman Osborn was partly responsible for," he said. "Maybe they're reverse-engineering his tentacles for military purposes."
"That's pretty thin, Peter."
"A lot of schemes I come across are pretty thin," he replied.
"You're pretty thin," she said, exasperated.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he smiled. "Coffee?"
"Only if I get to throw it on you." She started to chuckle in spite of herself. He poured her a mug and threw up his hands in mock defense. "Pansy," she grinned.
Peter took a sip. "I like it," he said. "Good blend."
She set down her mug and slipped her arms around his waist. "Needs sugar."
"Couple more packets?"
"Peter," she demurred, "I'm gonna need a lot more sugar than that..."

Forty minutes later, Spider-Man was sitting in the lobby of the Baxter Building. And he was fast regretting it.
"I'm sure he's busy," Spider-Man said. "But he'll see me."
"I'm afraid you misunderstand, sir," said H.E.R.B.I.E., the small floating robot secretary. "The problem is not availability, it is location. Mr. Richards and the others have left the state."
"Really? Why?"
"There was a terrorist incident in Washington D.C. that was suspected to be the work of Doctor Doom. The Fantastic Four were called in to consult."
"How so?"
"I am afraid that's all Mr. Richards chose to tell me," the floating droid replied. "I can extrapolate a possible return date and make a tentative appointment, if you like."
"That might work," Spider-Man said, stretching his back. "When do you think they'll be back?"
"Three weeks, two days, seven--"
"Maybe not," Spider-Man said. "Thanks anyway." He started to go, then: "H.E.R.B.I.E.? You wouldn't happen to know who called for a consult, do you?"
"Mr. Richards did not say."
"Mmm," Spider-Man said. "Well, see ya." He left the lobby and leaped onto the building-side. Yeah, has to be Secret Agency X, he thought. So what's going on now? Who's sticking their fingers into which pies? How the heck do I figure into this?

Flint Marko looked in the rearview mirror again, and growled. Three cop cars, making more noise than Spider-Man himself could. "If that's possible," he muttered to himself.
He had been in the middle of a job when a security guard looked the right way and tripped the silent alarm. Flint had decided he had enough time to get the painting for Mr. Kirkpatrick, rough the security guard up a little, and make a clean getaway. In hindsight....not quite. The cops had gotten there surprisingly fast, leaving him no choice but to grab a car and drive off. Ordinarily he could just revert to sand and move through a grate or somewhere humanly impenetrable, but the painting was at least three feet tall. And at the price Mr. Kirkpatrick was offering, he absolutely could not afford to leave it behind.
He swore to himself. He had told himself, hadn't he? He wasn't getting back into this game. Too many harassments and double-crosses to be worth it, with too little chance for success. How many times had he been thrown behind bars? How many times had Spider-Man humiliated him?
"With a vaccuum," Flint shook his head. "You don't see this happening to the big shots. Magneto doesn't get sucked into a dirt devil."
"Pull over, Marko!" one of the cops shouted through a megaphone, and Flint grimaced. They knew it was him. He was going to have to disappear again. How many months? Two or three wasn't enough time anymore. He had hoped that money was going to give him some room to breathe. Now it would just barely keep him above water.
Assuming he got it.
The two cars pulled up alongside him. He slammed on the brakes and took out the car behind him. One car shot ahead as its brother oversteered and went into a chain-link fence. He spun the wheel rapidly and gunned it even as the car ahead was turning around. He started to curse himself all the more. He had just assaulted an officer. Kind of. But it was only going to add to his sentence.
"With any luck, nobody got hurt," he said. "With my luck, the back seats were full of puppies and two year old girls."
Flint turned and got to the intersection just as the light turned red.
"Ah, come on!" he shouted. He glanced in the mirror again. The remaining car was right behind him. He had maybe two seconds before they boxed him in.
Heck with it, he thought. They knew who he was, he might as well make a run for it. He only hoped they didn't damage the painting, or he was royally screwed. He ran into an alley, his legs pumping. The siren mellowed and Flint heard car doors slam shut.
"Oh, man," he huffed.
"Hold it right there!" the officers behind him shouted. Flint jumped on top of a dumpster and over a fence. He heard the jingle and murmur of the cops' equipment getting louder.
"I said hold it! I'll shoot!"
Fat chance--
Two gunshots piffed through him and he grinned. They'd fired at him--a dumb move if ever there was one. Then he glanced down and saw the two holes in the canvas.
He swore loudly and turned around. The officers were separated by a fence, but in a second that wouldn't matter. He set the painting down--and stopped.
The cops were convulsing. It got worse in two seconds, with them flailing all over each other. Three seconds after that, they collapsed.
"Geez," he breathed. He heard a clank and looked up. "Ah, it's you."
Doctor Octopus was lowering himself down on his tentacles and had struck a fire escape ladder. Electro floated down shortly after Ock was settled, and grinned.
"I overloaded their electrolytes," Electro said, clearly proud of himself. "Electrocuted from the inside."
"Why are you here?" Flint demanded. Otto raised a brow.
"Collecting my painting," he said. "Weren't you aware? I am Mr. Kirkpatrick."
Flint turned in disgust. A lousy setup. "I can't believe this."
"Me either," Electro said. "You made him steal a painting? Why?"
"To see if he could escape without reverting to sand," Otto replied. "To see if he was worth my time. Or, put another way: to make it as difficult as possible."
"Worth your time?" Flint growled.
"Frankly, Marko, I was nonplussed with your change of heart when we were commandeering that satellite recently. It was necessary to put you back in your proper place."
"You--you turned me into glass!"
"And I could again," Ock said, gesturing to Electro. "These arms are not my only weapons."
"You're forming the Six again."
"That goes without saying, but for you it's an impressive deduction. You can come with me and be given power, or you can stay on the run and have power taken from you."
"I don't want power from you."
"Perhaps--though I doubt you want to be charged with two counts of murder. They would be your first, and to officers, no less."
Flint looked over Ock's shoulder. He thought he'd heard the other car.
"...Fine. Let's go," Sandman replied. Ock nodded and climbed back up the wall. Electro shook his head.
"Too bad," Electro told him. "I was achin' to fry you."
Electro crackled up to the roof as Flint glared after him.
But followed, nevertheless.

[Joker]

Sandman is Ock's biotch :D

Great entry, Wabbit.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Nine

Peter, alone in the apartment, pushed his chair in and looked at the little jar of Reed's serum. Whatever he had done to it had tripped him up on the road to recovery. And without the facilities of Four Freedoms Plaza...
Well, he had to find the leak before he could plug it, anyway. He pricked the end of his finger and put the blood under his microscope. At first he was surprised-- Reed's little nanobots were still in his bloodstream. But they appeared inert--had he "killed" them?
He removed the slide, took a drop of the unaffected serum, and put it under the scope. The nanobots mingled with each other.
"Hmmm..."
He took an eyedropper and sucked a trace bit of the affected formulae from the syringe he'd used. He remembered the fevered desperation running through his head, his paranoid, scattered thoughts beginning to question everyone around him. The unwillingness to trust anyone. It scared him to think about it now, how close he had come to the brink. And he had scared MJ, too--another thing he wasn't proud of.
He put both of the serums in a tupperware and began to change. He couldn't make any sure conclusions with his limited resources. With the FF still gone, he'd have to do a little trespassing, but they'd understand. He looked over at the counter as he slipped his mask on. He might not get back before MJ was home.
He opened the window. He didn't need to worry her further.

Dir. Keller looked at the human outline and brought her gun up.
She had stayed at the hospital for two hours after Biehn was admitted, and had watched the doctors and their endless supply of clear plastic equipment. Blood and sweat saturated the room. She knew Biehn very little. They were not lovers, close friends.
Keller started shooting.
She had seen his hand twitch as they cut his clothes off. It had clenched when they started to stabilize his heart rate. She had seen the surgeon's green smocks become stained, their fingers selecting the specific tools carefully. They splayed his leg open and reached down deep.
She clicked empty, and exhaled.
She had come back from the restroom to find a surgeon waiting for her.
"Yes?"
The surgeon had nodded. He was going to be fine, but it would take a few weeks for him to be back to normal, and even then he might have a slight limp. He had gotten lucky.
She pressed the button and the target hummed toward her. She took the paper outline and studied it. Of the nine shots she had fired, four had hit in the torso (two in the heart, the rest in a shoulder and arm), one in the head, and the rest had missed.
I am not very good at this job, she thought.
Agent Biehn had a bullet in his leg thanks to her almost reckless drive to punish the guilty...whoever that was. Would Norman Osborn be so stupid to try and assasinate her after he'd been interrogated? Crazy, maybe...the man was eccentric enough for three what with his disappearing act...but not stupid. She had been loudly running around town waving her authority everywhere, and someone had decided to wave back.
She felt that little-girl wave of vulnerability try to cram up her throat and choke her out; she resisted. She had to be harder, now. She had to let snap judgments fall away, replaced by cold reason.
She had a leak. Someone had told the shooter. Someone had had the resources to kill the director. Someone had killed Michael Carmine. Spider-Man had been removed. Osborn was questionable at best. And Doc Ock was responsible only by proxy. It was someone inside the organization. Two points may not make a definate shape, but three do.
And with that said, she had absolutely no idea who she could trust, or what action to take. The only thing she was sure of was that this was going to build to a head, and explode over everybody. When that happened, if she still couldn't trust anyone...
She re-loaded the gun, put up a new target, and made a mental note to visit Biehn later.

Electro, Mysterio, and the Vulture came in through the back doors of the Osborn mansion, with several crates behind them. Otto watched them from the balcony, expressionless.
"Don't you ever sleep?" Electro asked, sourly.
"With the three of you in my employ? Bring them upstairs."
Mysterio made a rather theatrical groan. "I must be the only one here who doesn't see the obvious. Why wasn't the Sandman brought along for this repossession?"
"Trust you to see behind the curtain," Otto replied, all sarcasm. "Put them in that room, there."
"You, with your tentacles, not helping an old man with a heavy load? For shame," Vulture growled.
Otto sighed. Children.
The boxes were put in one of the untaken bedrooms and the door was securely locked. Mysterio turned his domed head back to Otto. "You still haven't answered my question."
"It doesn't bear a response," Otto replied. "You remember his previous performance during our satellite run--he is not fully trustworthy."
"So he's locked in his room for a time-out?" Electro asked. "What a load."
Otto did not answer immediately. "Follow me downstairs."
Electro rolled his eyes, Vulture sighed, and Mysterio, though you couldn't tell, shook his head. But they followed Otto into Osborn's dining room. Otto turned to the chef--"Fix us something."--and sat down at the head of the table.
"Gentlemen, sit down," Otto said, and pulled out several chairs at once. They sat. Well, Vulture perched. "It seems you are already dissatisfied. Yet each of you has been given a share or bonds in several reputable companies, with only uncomplicated tasks asked for in return." He lit a cigar. "With this being something of a business and military force at the same time, it becomes necessary that everything works together correctly and smoothly. What is it that bothers you, exactly?"
Electro looked around, then answered. "Betrayal, for starters. We don't want to walk into your big plan--which you still haven't told to us--like lambs to the slaughter."
"Yes, that is most bothersome," Mysterio echoed. "Yet there are other factors, as well--the Sandman is a considerable risk; I would hesitate to go into battle alongside him."
"You haven't brought in the sixth member yet," Vulture crowed. "I don't like starting something when we're not all here."
"And one last thing," Electro said, looking Otto right in the eye. "Spider-Man."
"Yes," Mysterio growled. "Him, too."
"Quite," Vulture agreed. "I don't want to run afoul of that one."
"None of us do," Otto said. He blew a smoke ring. "With the right amount of planning, we won't. I have several options for a long-range distraction, which I am still considering. Regarding number six,"--he smiled--"he will be with us soon. It might take some time, but...the position will be filled."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Mysterio asked.
"It means you'll do as I tell you," Otto frowned. "I will not take precious time to explain minutia. I have already set things in motion, so be content with that."
Mysterio crossed his arms, huffy.
"And the Sandman?" Vulture asked.

Norman Osborn stood over his son's grave, his face red and trembling. Flint Marko stood off in the shadows by the car, out of place and uncomfortable.
"I hate him," Norman breathed. "I hate him."
Flint looked at him uneasily. The man had his hand to his mouth, trying to stem the tide of tears. Flint could feel the raw emotion baking off him.
"I swear I'll kill him with my two hands."
Flint swallowed.

Otto regarded the Vulture. "Mr. Marko is fulfilling a promise I made to Norman Osborn." He blew out more smoke, clipped off the end of the cigar, and put it in his breast pocket. The chef came out with steaming plates of duck and set them down in front of each villain.
"Osborn himself may be a sniveling commoner, but his tastes are refined," Otto remarked. He began to eat.
The three of them followed suit, with Mysterio taking off his cumbersome glass dome and the Vulture sitting properly. Electro turned to Otto, half-chewed food in his jaws, and asked, "So what is this big plan, anyway? Or are you going to wait until all six of us are here?"
Otto's lips thinned in pent-up disgust. "Close your mouth."
Electro did, and looked a bit embarassed.
Otto nodded. "We're going to rule the world."
Mysterio nodded in mock agreement. "Oh, how very detailed and 'uncomplicated,' as you put it. Perhaps it's too early to ask, but how do you intend to accomplish this?"
"By killing every so-called superhero on this planet."
Only Otto did not look astonished. Of course.

Spider-Man had figured out what he had done wrong with the serum. He had altered the nanobots to re-construct the genetic material of Otto's poison--as such, it had been inert temporarily, but was going to be something decidedly worse once it finished. Fortunately, he had caught it in time.
He injected himself with the corrected formulae and began to put everything away. He wrote a little thank-you note to Reed by way of apology and looked out the window. The snow was still falling, but a bit on sunlight seemed to poke through the clouds. He checked the time. He could make a quick patrol before MJ got home.
He stretched, took in a deep breath, and jumped out the window.

[Joker]

Amazing chapter, Wabbit. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Especially the conversation at the dinner table with Ock and the other rogues.

Agent Biehn, I wonder who he's named after :cwink:

[OctoHaz]

"By killing every so-called superhero on this planet."
Good old Ock. Always with the thinking big. :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Ten

"...and don't forget about the departmental meeting tomorrow--the state representative's going to be unveiling his new budget initiatives."
Keller collapsed back in her chair and sighed. A meeting. Another meeting. She dragged her fingers down the front of her face.
"Oh, and Dr. Weaver's going to want to examine you," her aide went on. "She's not entirely convinced you're well."
"The shooter never even pulled the trigger," Keller spat. Guilt began chewing at her. "At me."
"Oh, that reminds me! You have a block of time in your schedule to pay a visit to Agent Biehn."
Keller snapped her head up, brushed the hair away. "When?"
"Eight o'clock this evening?"
"Yes, do that," Keller said. "Yes."
The aide wrote it down, then transferred back to some other papers. "Now, about the representative--"
"Why do I need to be there? I'm wrapping up an investigation." She blew her bangs away. "Besides, I'm sure he's just going to anounce a new wing of Mercy General named after him, or something stupid like that."
"Rather defeatist attitude there, Sally," the aide said. Sally. How long ago had she been a Sally? "Besides, the agenda concerns this division exculsively."
Keller looked at her, confused. "Exclusively? No proposed highway construction? Tax reform?"
The aide looked it over. "Nope. Just us."
Keller rubbed her chin. "Just us. Well, I'll be there with bells on." She waved it away, and looked at her watch. "And hey, it's lunchtime. Want a ride to Chipotle's?"
"Sorry, I brown-bagged it."
"Well, see you in half an hour." She got up, grabbed her coat, and left. The aide got up, went to the break room, got her keys, and went to the elevator. Five minutes later, she was in the parking garage and twenty feet away from her car.
Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She started at the glass dome on his shoulders.
"Calm yourself," Mysterio said. "You have something for our little organization?"
The aide glowered. "If we're spotted by security..."
"Please," Mysterio sighed. "I didn't pull you close out of affection." He produced a remote, tapped a button. A glowing laser grid buzzed to life around them--the edge of a holographic dome. "Merely affectation."
"Yeah, you supervillains are all geniuses. Here." She gave Mysterio a few sheets of paper.
"Your employer's itinerary," Mysterio said. "And it's for this evening..."
"As per his instructions."
"He told me nothing of it," Mysterio replied. "If this is a petty attempt at a trap--or a doublecross--"
"The good doctor hired me before you," the aide smirked. "So of the two of us, you're the one with potential for trickery."
"Being a master of illusion colors a reputation quite thoroughly, doesn't it?" Mysterio asked. "Nevertheless--don't let your grasp exceed your reason, little aide."
And with a puff of smoke, he was gone.

Otto leaned back in Osborn's chair. They were in the man's den. "Got under your dome, did she?"
Mysterio folded his arms, and his aura of mist became a shade more red. "She was rather full of herself for being a mere cog in the machinery."
Otto rolled his eyes. "The words pot, kettle, and black spring to mind."
Mysterio looked heavenward. "Insult compounded upon insult. To think that I am under your employ--and for what?"
"For a stake in the world," Otto explained, his patience worn. "If that doesn't satisfy you, I hardly fathom what will."
"Oh, it will satisfy me, certainly," Mysterio said, and got closer. "But then, I recall it did before. How many times do you dare play us for fools?"
"Mysterio," Otto said, and pushed him back, "as I explained before--I make no apologies for my behavior. If you wish to leave at any point you may do so."
Mysterio neither moved nor spoke.
"Then that is enough," Otto remonstrated. "We will return to our business. Have the rest of the Six and my remaining associates meet me in the dining room in ten minutes."
"The rest of the five, you mean," Mysterio glowered, then floated upstairs. Otto went into the recessed living room. Norman was sitting back on a couch, his face bitter. He looked up as Otto's shoes padded softly down the carpeted stairs.
"If I could wring your neck, I would," Norman seethed. He put his head in his hands.
"I kept my promise, Norman," Otto said. "You have seen your boy."
"And for nothing! You usurp my house, commandeer my servants, and tell me I can at last hold my boy in my arms--only to throw his bony corpse at me."
"As I recall, I told you your son had passed during our first meeting. Do not put your crushed flights of fancy on my head."
"You're a murderous criminal."
"That is beside the point."
Norman got up, livid, and Otto pushed him back into his chair--with his human hand, naturally. Otto leaned in, his teeth gritted. "Would you like to know how your son died, Osborn?"
Norman's face was a question mark. Otto took a grim pleasure from it and continued.
"He was, firstly, a young man with a history of drug problems. Academically, he was unspectacular. He did find love, although that was troubled and was eventually extinguished. He was a mediocre human being--even as most humans rate themselves."
"Don't," Norman said, his face quivering.
"Actually, I must revise that statement. Harry Osborn was the epitome of the young and rich. Pampered, pretentious, too proud to have much intelligence. And he was addicted to drugs for some time. His first drugs were mediocre, as he was, but he did stumble upon the apex of his hallucinogenic expirience: an expirimental serum that added to his strength and speed. He became a criminal, your son."
"Harry wouldn't do that."
"He would and did," Otto went on. "In fact, he rose above in this one area of his life: he became what has become termed a 'supervillain.'
"Your son was the Green Goblin, Mister Osborn."
Norman glared at him, his face working.
"That doesn't explain how he died, does it? My account is incomplete--although the autopsy reports imply that it was the formula that did him in. A formula based on one previously developed at Oscorp." He looked Osborn in the eye, a perverse grin spreading across his face. "A formula previously developed by you, Osborn."
Norman held for a second longer, then collapsed onto the floor, broken and sobbing. "My son! Oh, my son--!"
Flint came into the room. "Doc? We're ready."
Otto waved him away and leaned up to Norman's ear. "Remember that when you next become angry towards me--you are responsible for the death of your son, Norman. It was all your fault."
He got up and walked to the dining room. Flint walked close behind. "Doc...do you think--"
"Shut. Up."
He did. Otto took his seat at the head of the table, and the other four sat accordingly. Otto steepled his fingers as the others filed in. Belgardt and the others took their seats even further.
His empire. It began here.
He circulated some papers around the table. "This is our first strike. Director Sally Keller. Memorize this face. She escaped me before, with the aide of Spider-Man and....another. She will not do so again."
He closed a fist, rested it on the table. "Underneath the picture you will find schematics of Mercy General Hospital. My source informs me she will be visiting an injured member of her agency there at 8:00. I want you--all of you--to converge upon the hospital, surround it, and take her."
"Take her?" Flint asked. Otto sighed.
"Alive."
"I thought you wanted to kill her," Vulture interjected.
"Stop interrupting!" Otto snapped. They did, and Otto straightened his tie. "Idiots. You will never comprehend the full breadth and complexity of my schemes. My sniper was an expert--he had enough experience where I could trust him to take out her kneecaps, her bodyguards, and leave her for the taking. I planted files in Osborn's computer to implicate him should something go awry--and, thanks to his own fool action and happy chance, it did.
"Keller is essential to my ultimate goal. If she is murdered in the ensuing operation, I will hold whoever responsible to my personal disciplinary standards. Do not allow her to be killed. Of course, if that means you have to annihilate the rest of the hospital to achieve such ends, feel free."
"Really?" Electro perked up.
"Juse use your judgment," Otto reminded. He looked at Sandman; pointed at Vulture. "In your case, use his." Sandman grimaced. "I will not be going with you. I trust you can all capture one woman and bring her back here without my help--otherwise, our business is concluded.
"Any questions of relevance?" There were none. "Belgardt, you and the men will find all the weapons you require in the upstairs bedroom. There are some grenade launchers there--again, use them as you see fit."
He stood up. "Good hunting, gentlemen. I look forward to your return."
He nodded, and they left to arm themselves.

Keller shut her car door and looked at Agent Paxton. "Really, you can go home," she said. "I'm just visiting Agent Biehn."
"The department aide assigned me as your personal guard, Mrs. Keller," Paxton. Keller sighed.
"That's miss. But fine, whatever you want," she said. "I can handle someone constantly assigned to me."
"What about two?"
Keller whirled, her gun raised. Spider-Man looked at the barrel, hanging upside down. "Nice. Reminds me of the chunnel, this close."
"Sorry," she said. "You've found something?"
"Nope," he said, and dropped onto his feet. "But I figured it might be a good idea to familiarize myself with my government-sponsored tagalong before he's up and walking. Who knows, I might even like the guy." He cracked his back. "What are you doing here?"
"Just visiting," she said. She put the gun away. "Sorry about that."
"Eh--you see it every day, it loses its edge after a while." He gestured to the door. She walked in, the two men following her. She flashed her visitor's pass, indicated they were with her, and got into a nearby elevator.
"Who do you work for, Miss Keller?" Spider-Man asked once the doors were closed. Keller looked at Paxton, then back at Spider-Man. "How did you know I wan't married?"
"My marriage sense tells me who's hitched and who's not. It works by sensing the amount of gold on your ring finger. Yours was 'Au' free."
"Cute."
"My lady thinks so." He paused. "Who do you work for?"
"That's classified."
"Yeah, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.' I know the routine. But you and Super Secret Agency X have become very pronounced all of a sudden. Imprisoning Doc Ock's tentacles....what was that all about?"
"I told you: it's classified. You want to know, get a secret agent badge."
Spider-Man pressed the stop button. "Enough," he said. "Normally, I'd crack wise and get your hackles up. But you people are getting into something deep, aren't you? Doc Ock's got a mad-on for every agent he comes across, it seems. Killed your former boss and took some potshots at you, even. I'll be honest with you, I've been dropping by a lot, but not just to see Biehn. I've been hoping you would swing by sooner or later. You've got a target plastered on your back, and it doesn't take a four-eyed, six-arm geek to make that connection."
"Thanks for your concern," she said. "That said: butt out of state secrets."
Spider-Man pointed a finger, and Agent Paxton got his gun out. "Hey, easy, pal," Spider-Man said. "I'm just asking--"
"Step away from the Director, sir--"
"Don't 'sir' me, you--"
And then the lights went out.

[OctoHaz]

And speaking of twisting the knife (back at the Lair) -- nice bit with Otto telling Norman about Harry. :hq:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eleven

Biehn had been dozing--and then he snapped fully awake when the lights went out. The first thing he did was look out the window. The street lights were out too--but only the ones on this block. Which meant it was not a power outage. It was an attack.
He groaned. "Nurse?" He tapped the call button, realized his error, and dropped it. "Nurse?"
Nothing. He sighed.
"You want something done right..." He swung his leg out of bed gently--it only had two more days before he was ready to walk, but the nerves were still tender. He opened the small cabinet and removed his clothes and pistol. He unloaded the clip: five more shots, counting the one in the chamber.
Well, I'm sure whoever planned this blitzkrieg brought enough for everyone.
He shuffled towards the door and winced at his leg. He'd need a wheelchair or at least a crutch, or he wouldn't be good for long.
He opened the door and recoiled.

"What just happened?" Keller asked. She got out her pistol again, and Paxton turned on a penlight. "It's possible the elevator just broke down," he said.
"Ha, ha--that's hilarious," Spider-Man said, and jumped to the ceiling. His spider-sense was at a low hum and building. "What'd I tell you, Keller? Somebody wants you 86'd." He removed the emergency exit panel and crawled into the shaft. He couldn't see a thing. "Hey, Agent Smith!"
"Paxton."
"Sure. Toss me that light?"
He did, and Spider-Man shined it around. "Okay, that's not so bad," he said. "We're about halfway up the shaft, and right below a floor." He shot out a rope-y strand of webbing. "Here, climb up and we'll get out of here."
Keller grabbed the webrope and climbed. "Do you create this naturally?"
"Sorry, Sally. I have to make this from scratch at home."
"Good," she said. "I feel much better, then." She brushed her hands clean as Paxton climbed up, and Spider-Man turned to the double doors. He gasped when he got them open.
The hospital corridors, desks, and doors were gone. Instead, he was looking at a nine-foot-tall hedge maze, complete with a dark, overcast sky. "Mysterio," he realized. "This is gonna be trouble." He climbed out onto the floor and helped the others to do likewise.
"How do we get out of here?" Keller asked, and cocked her gun. Spider-Man thought, then reached out a hand towards the hedge. It went through cleanly and touched the real wall on the other side.
"We get out the same way we get out of any building," he replied. "Mysterio didn't use any force fields, just holograms. And he can't change the building structure--so just keep a hand on the wall and we'll find the exit sooner or later."
"Better be sooner," Paxton said.
"Well, that seems simple," Keller said. "What about Biehn?"
"Biehn! I forgot!" Spider-Man smacked his head. "We have to find him right away and get him out, too. No way Doc Ock's going to pass up an opportunity to take out the guy who ruined his assassination attempt. What floor is he on?"
"The....sixth," she said. "What, we're halfway up? So, the fourth floor?"
"Sounds right," Spider-Man said. His spider-sense pulsed. "Get down!"
The two agents flattened, guns aimed. Spider-Man jumped onto the wall and watched the T-junction ahead of them. Slowly, jerkily, a hedge rabbit came around the corner. Its leaves russled as it turned its head to look at them.
"Is it a hologram?" Keller asked.
"No," Spider-Man said. "It's real, all right. But it's so slow--it doesn't seem--"
The rabbit began to qwiver, its hedge limbs shaking. Then it began to disintegrate into pieces. Those "pieces" were actually smaller hedge bunnies. They took a look at the three humans and began bounding down the hall, sending up little piles of dead leaves.
Keller and Paxton began firing. Two of the hedge hares exploded in sparks, and Spider-Man webbed a net over five more.

Mysterio looked up at his monitor in the downstairs security room. "They're on the fourth floor," he said. "Two of the robots have been destroyed."
"I'll take care of it," Electro said. "Sandman--and you five, with me."
Mysterio's dome swiveled. "Wait...there's been another robot destroyed. Sixth floor."
"That'll be the agent," Belgardt said. "I'll handle him."
"Vulture? Any manner of disturbance outside?" Mysterio asked.
"Not even a stray pidgeon."
"Inform us immediately if there is," Mysterio finished.
The groups split up and went for the stairs.

Spider-Man punched out the last of the hares and dropped to the floor. "Nice try, Mysterio, but even that won't swear me off petting zoos."
Keller and Paxton began exchanging clips. Spider-Man looked around at the small mess they'd made. That wasn't much of a threat... He bent down and held one. Its innards were exposed--it wasn't even armed with explosives.
Then why--?
Then he heard a growing whisper.
"Spider-Man...."
Keller snapped the clip into place and aimed at the sky. Spider-Man looked around as the dead leaves began to blow into a dirt devil. "Mysterio?"
"You might want to leave while you have the opportunity, Spider-Man...our business does not involve you. YET."
"Not a chance, fishbowl," he shouted. "I don't abandon anyone--unlike your boss."
"Have it your way." Thunder boomed. Paxton brought up his gun.
It was dead silence. Peter's spider-sense was still on high alert.
"Huh," Spider-Man muttered, and touched the wall. "Well, let's get--" The wall was gritty.
Sand exploded out, formed a solid block, and punched Spider-Man into the opposite wall. The opposite hedge began to bleed sand, and the wallcrawler was soon buried alive. Keller pointed her gun but didn't know what to shoot. The mound of sand congealed into a human shape. Flint eyed Keller grimly.
"Put down that gun and come with me," he said. His face exploded as Spider-Man punched through from the inside.
"Get out of here!" he shouted. "Right now!"
They ran.

It didn't take Biehn very long to see the rabbit, and it took less time to lodge a bullet right between its eyes. It sputtered and died before it could disintegrate, and Biehn grabbed a crutch. He limped his way towards the end of the hedge lane when he heard a noise; maybe another hedge creature. He grimly remembered that predators made quick work of limping prey in the wild.
He raised his gun. Eat this.
Another sound; Biehn flattened himself against the wall and his hand fell on a picture. He unhooked it and threw it into the open T-junction. It was perforated with gunfire.
"Idiots," growled a voice. "Take him."
Biehn dropped on his belly and got the first aggressor right in the knee. He fired again and missed the second, but he and his fellows retreated. Biehn grabbed the fallen attacker's machine gun, a spare clip, and stood against the wall. He heard a small click that he instantly recognized as the sound of a removed pin. In a split-second decision, he lunged forward and fired the machine gun. The grenade was thrown just as he came around the corner and exploded just far enough away to keep him alive. The salvo Biehn fired hit five men in the chest, and they fell, broken but alive thanks to their vests. This also saved his life, as the men fell against Belgardt, and knocked his aim high. Biehn rolled to a stop against hard wood.
Door!
He groped for the handle and swung the door back just as Belgardt adjusted and fired. The wood splintered and sawdust flew everywhere. Biehn reached around and sprayed blindly. Belgardt dropped to his stomach, Biehn swung around the door and closed it, Belgardts shots landing inches from his back. Biehn hooked his arm through the machine gun's strap, shoved the pistol into his waistband, jumped over the stair railing, and caught the one on the opposite side. He swung back, released, and landed (painfully) under the original stairs as Belgardt burst through the door.

Keller and Paxton were pinned down. They had made it around the T-intersection when five heavily armed men had come from the other way and started shooting. They'd ducked into a nearby room and gotten down behind a bed.
"Where the hell is everybody?" Keller snarled. "Isn't anyone calling the police?"
Her gaze fell on an unconscious nurse by the room's sink. Wonderful. They're all out cold.
There was a muffled explosion behind the door and tear gas began drifting under it. Paxton got up to open a window when the door was kicked in by Electro.
Keller fired, but her bullets were disintegrated by a protective wall of lightning between them. Electro snapped his fingers and Keller began to seize with a neurological overload. Paxton brought his gun up, but to no avail. Electro released a fury of lightning bolts and he fell down dead.
"Game over, man," he chuckled. He snapped his fingers again and Keller stopped. Electro smiled at her.

Biehn fired upwards, his bullets plinking off the underside of the stairs. He couldn't see anything, and the accoustics of the stairway left his ears ringing for another ten seconds. It was a poor move--Belgardt used those seconds to identify Biehn's position, climb onto the railing, swing down and kick Biehn in the face. Biehn grunted and smacked against the wall. Belgardt bashed his nose with the butt of his rifle and kicked him down the stairs.
"Night vision goggles are beautiful," Belgardt smirked, and jumped down the stairs. Biehn realized the rifle had slipped free of his arm and reached for it--Belgardt pinned it with his boot.
"Roland wasn't my closest friend, but we had some good times," Belgardt said, and exchanged clips. "Too bad--I don't see your friends anywhere."
Biehn grabbed the pistol from his waist and planted it right where Belgardt--and all men--are most vulnerable.
"I like to keep this handy--"
BANG! BANG!
"--for close encounters."
Belgardt fell with a tiny shriek. Biehn knocked him out, and fell against the wall. He passed out from exhaustion.

Spider-Man twisted in midair as a rock-hard fist shot past him. "What's this all about, Sandman? I thought you'd seen the light."
Flint didn't respond, but threw out a focused sandstorm from his right arm. Spider-Man crouched and rolled, the rushing granules following him. "Mum's the word, eh?" he asked, and jumped onto the wall. Sandman threw both fists into the wall--Spider-Man jumped over and onto his back. Flint growled and de-solidified his back, making Spider-Man fall through.
"Too bad Ock's just gonna stab you in the back like he did last time," Spider-Man continued, and sweep-kicked Sandman's legs; he fell like a house of cards. Spider-Man landed on his chest and punched him in the face. "Listen to me, Flint! He's going to throw you to the wolves the minute the cops close in!"
Flint's chest shot into a column and slammed the webslinger through the ceiling, knocking a neon light free and breaking the illusion of a sky.
"I don't have a choice," Flint said grimly. "He killed two cops; they would've pinned it on me."
Spider-Man dropped onto the floor. "You're just going to sink deeper, Marko."
"Maybe." He reared back a fist, transmuting it into a block of sand. Spider-Man threw up a webline and brought the exposed light--and its cables--onto Sandman as he swung. Flint cried out and collapsed, unconscious. Spider-Man exhaled and fell against the wall.
"You, me....we're all going to sink into this deeper," Spider-Man muttered, and took off down the hall.

Otto sipped his coffee and watched the fire. He checked his watch again--they should be back anytime now.
Click.
"Ah...." He set down the mug and got up. "You've done well, my--eh?"
There was no one. Puzzled, Otto walked towards the noise. It had been a door opening...He stopped. It had been the cellar door. That made no--
He whirled as another noise came from behind. An intruder. "You've nothing to pilfer here, thief," Otto smiled. There was something slightly ironic about a criminal trying to rob him. "Everything here belongs to me."
"To you?" Otto turned. It was Osborn. He was smiling evilly, and holding a dining room chair. "But I live here. Or...my other half does."
Otto snarled. The Goblin. He lunged--but his tentacles did not. Otto started in horror.
"No," he gasped.
"Gotcha," the Goblin smiled, and brought the chair down on Otto's head.

[OctoHaz]

Otto snarled. The Goblin. He lunged--but his tentacles did not. Otto started in horror.
"No," he gasped.
"Gotcha," the Goblin smiled, and brought the chair down on Otto's head.
D'oh! :wow:

Nice cliffhanger, as usual, Wabbit. :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Twelve

"You know what's the best way to get what you want?"
Otto groaned and lifted his head, which was throbbing like a schooner in a high gale. He was in a rough, deep cellar. Osborn was sitting in front of him.
"To make somebody else get it for you," Osborn finished.
Otto found he was tied to a chair. A further inspection revealed his arms were restrained and bolted to the cement wall, and his fleshly limbs were duck-taped with several rolls. Osborn chuckled. "I'm afraid you won't be getting out of those anytime soon," he said. "Unless your friends, the Sinister Six--or the Flabby Five, if you will--come back within the hour...you'll be dead."
"Perhaps," Otto conceded. His mental state was extremely groggy, and he had quite a bit of resistance to work through physically--those metal bonds appeared to be comprised of reinforced titanium. He could break free, but it would take time. And irony of ironies, he knew exactly how to get it.
"So tell me," Otto said, "how did you accomplish this monumental task?"
"The arms?" Osborn grinned. "Well...I suppose I have time to indulge you--and it's not as though I'm telling you my doomsday strategy before I implement it." He cracked his knuckles and sat back. "It started when I woke up in the morgue. Imagine my surprise--I wasn't finished after all! The Green Goblin lived to fight another day--and he had that miserable brat Spider-Man to thank for it.
"Unfortunately, I'd awoken after the funeral, and Fireheart Enterprises had bought out most of my company. I had to fly out to Europe to have a little talk with him--hard work convincing people you're not as dead as you think. It took months. And then--lo and behold!--I managed to catch on the news a confrontation between Spider-Man and his nemesis...the Green Goblin.
"I was naturally curious."
"Naturally." Otto began to subtly loosen the bonds.
"Alas, I was severely disappointed when I discovered that it was Norman's spawn behind the mask. I'll give you credit where it's due, Otto--you had that boy pegged. I was willing to be more generous initially--and besides, I had to return Oscorp to its rightful ownership. I swear...the paperwork almost finished what Spider-Man began. But he was a worthless little nobody.
"And then the little twerp died just I'd finished and solidified my hold on Osborn's legacy. Too bad....I wanted to give him a piece of my mind." He grinned. "Still, all's well that ends well. I returned to the States in full vigor--I needed to strike at Spider-Man. I would have grabbed the little milksop he's involved with, but I despise repeating myself--besides, I wanted it to be a surprise!"
Involved? With that woman, perhaps? She did seem familiar...
Norman's darkly gleeful disposition soured. "And then you came along with that little theft of yours. You...the guy in second place."
Otto raised a brow. "I beg to differ."
"Naturally," Osborn said. "Anyone who's plunked down an atom bomb in the heart of the city just to prove himself naturally thinks he's worth more than a bag of chips. You know, Otto, we never formally met before I died, but I was fond of your schemes. They entertained me, in a pathetic sort of way. The nullifier incident wasn't too bad, but really, Otto...the Master Planner? Let's move beyond our Lincoln Logs and abbacus, eh?"
"It would be you who didn't see the grand scope of my designs."
"Grand scope? You were making it up as you went along, admit it! And kept getting busted for it, I might add. Which brings us to the present: you'd set up shop as the number one guy in my absence, and your ridiculously ambitious nature made you a surefire draw for Spider-Man. A little government contract here, a little secret installation there, and I've got the bait no octopus can resist: his arms."
"You baited me?" Otto asked. "Your nerve continues to astound me."
"Yes, make threats while your spare tire's tied to that chair," Osborn smiled. "With you on the loose, the spider was sure to follow--right to me. But, you decided to improvise instead of read from the script I gave you! I knew you'd want a piece of him, but really--how could you put him first? I stole your tentacles! Show me a little respect!"
"It is difficult when you wave your bloated ego at me," Otto glared. He might be able to get a hand free--but his tentacles were still bound tight. Norman sighed.
"And then, you tried to kill that government agent," he said. "What were you thinking? And then trying to pin it on me? The nerve!"
"You murdered Stan Moore," Otto snarled. "You gave my plan significant delays and setbacks--I was never trying to kill that woman. You were too ignorant to spot what was right in front of you!"
Norman got up and hit him in the face. "Enough out of you!" he growled. "I haven't finished."
"And then came the ultimate conundrum--how to immobilize you? If Spider-Man made me break a sweat, I knew I couldn't face the both of you allied against me. So I set into motion a little contingency plan--I added some software into your tentacles to replace your mental commands with mine. Too bad it was Norman who was awake for the procedure."
"You were thrown off-balance."
"Quite. You came for a visit. I was really only buying time until I could steal the information from Norman without him looking. And then you drugged me. Forced into combat to keep you from killing that hapless girl, you--I'll admit it--you bested me. I was rusty, you had a fugitive's adrenaline; it was foolish of me to expect a victory."
"Magnanimous of you," Otto sneered.
"You had me up against a wall--and I realized I had the perfect opportunity. I switched out with Norman and watched him sweat like a stuck pig. With you as a constant stress, the poor sap never noticed me mining away at his brain. Playing possum was never so gratifying. And then after that last talk, he was so keyed up I finally reached in and grabbed his little secret. I learned how to override your arms."
He smiled, leaned in, and whispered:
"And it was all your fault."
Otto barely constrained his fury and revulsion. "You are a dead man."
"Unfortunately, since that's the end of the story, I'm going to have to reverse that claim." He went over to the cellar wall and tapped it. It swung around and revealed a small armory of Goblin weapons. "How should I do it, Otto? Lay a time-bomb in your lap, or carve you up wth a razorbat? You're certainly plump enough..."
The front door slammed upstairs. "Doc?"
"Oh, bloody hell, it's the moron brigade," Osborn growled. "Well, I'd better get changed, then."
Osborn removed his suit jacket, shirt, and trousers, revealing the trademark green-and-purple costume of the Goblin. He took his mask from his belt and put it over his face. "Much better," he said. "You have no idea, walking around with somebody else's looks...next time I think I'll swap with Nicholas Cage." He rolled up a rag and jammed it into Otto's mouth. Otto glared fire from behind his glasses.
"Doc?"
The Goblin took his satchel, put it over his shoulder, and walked upstairs. Electro and company were standing in the doorway with a bound, unconscious Sally Keller. "Doc we've got--" Electro started. "You're the Green Goblin!"
"You never cease to shock, Electro," Osborn smiled. "I'm afraid your boss isn't here right now--he had to talk to a man about a dog."
"If this is a set-up," Electro growled, "I'll flash-fry you."
"Oh, let's not put on airs," the Goblin demurred. "All of the Sinister Six couldn't get one over on me if I had a nasty cold."
"Enough pontification," Mysterio interrupted, and pushed his way to the front. "This is a business transaction--and if you are going to interfere with it, you'll pay most dearly."
"Ah, 'Mysterio's Wrath', coming to theaters this summer." The Goblin chuckled. "If this is a business transaction, who said I was going to interfere? I merely have a bad history with your employer."
"All of us do," the Vulture growled. "But we intend to get what we've been promised."
"Yes," Electro agreed, and his hands began to crackle. A mist began to form around Mysterio. The Green Goblin raised an eyebrow.
"Really," he said. "And just what has he promised you?"
"The world," Vulture replied. At that the Goblin threw back his head and laughed.
"The world, he says! Oh, my sides! The world!" He wiped a tear and tried to calm himself. "The world. And that's what he promised you last time, wasn't it? The world on a platter. You sweated, bled, and threw yourself into his service, but did he repay you so much as even a third of what you deserved?"
There was silence.
"He left you out in the cold while he went on and tried to--yawn--ransom the world. Well...maybe you should return the favor."
"Eh?" Vulture raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he's trussed up in my basement like a Christmas tree! The portly, gluttonous boob who kicked you on the way out is down there, absolutely helpless!"
"Well....he's got us set up with bearer bonds and stocks--" Electro started. The Goblin got close.
"Come on, my boy! Let's not look out through rosy glasses! He can cancel those bonds and revoke ownership any time he likes! And he will, if his history means anything!"
"You seem quite educated on business practices for a crazed killer," Mysterio noted, his arms crossed.
"Would you believe I'm a billionaire?" the Goblin grinned. Electro rolled his eyes. "No, think about it. How else could I afford all these customized gadgets, this personal transportation, and decorate myself in these outlandish clothes? I'd have to be a billionaire playboy to keep in the black!"
"He's got a point," Vulture said, rubbing his chin.
"A very good point," the Goblin smiled. "Too good to ignore, eh?" He paused. "We both have a list of grievances with the man downstairs...I say we settle it with him and then enter into a new business arrangement--one that doesn't involve the government."
He looked around at them. They looked at one another. Even the armed henchmen seemed to be taking his offer seriously.
"Yeah, I'll do it," Electro said.
"Nothing to lose," Vulture commented.
"It has an air of theatricality to it," Mysterio agreed. "The transgressed repays the transgressor and the curtain falls."
"Exactly," the Goblin smiled. "I couldn't have said it better. Now, put down the girl and let's have a talk with dear Doctor Octopus."

Spider-Man threw open the door to the stairwell. "Biehn? Biehn, are you in here?" He heard a groan below him and swung down. "Jeez...you don't do anything in half measures, do you?" he asked, noting the point-blank shot at Belgardt. He webbed Belgardt down.
Biehn smiled. "My leg..."
"I'll get you out, just hold on." He put Biehn on his back and ran down to the main floor.
"What happened to Dir. Keller?" Biehn asked.
"We got separated," Spider-Man said. "I haven't seen any of Ock's other stooges and the hologram's disappeared--she must have been taken."
He slowed as he reached the main entrance and set Biehn down in a wheelchair. Then he looked out the glass doors and saw the snow falling through the streetlight beams--they weren't going anywhere in a wheelchair tonight.
"Wonder where they...took her," Biehn groaned.
"Here, let me get you a jacket," Spider-Man said, and rummaged around at the main desk. He pulled out a heavy coat and absently noted it was the same color as Belgardt's shirt.
Belgardt... An idea struck Spider-Man and he reached out with his spider-sense. The tracer he had planted on Belgardt's jacket was north of here...but the location seemed famili--
He stiffened. "I know exactly where they are," Spider-Man said. He slipped the jacket around Biehn and gritted his teeth.
"They're with him."

[OctoHaz]

Another good one, Wabbit. :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Thirteen

Spider-Man stood in the snow, his breath fogging over his lenses. There were horns and sirens and lights, all in the distance, outside reality. The present was a harsh, dark blue lit only by harsh ice. Still and cruel.
"You killed the woman I loved! And for that you're going to die!"
He moaned and his head collapsed into his hand. He collapsed--a small puff. He did not cry often, these days. He was married. He had exchanged mourning for dancing. He had forgotten loss.
And he did not kill.
"And for that you're going to die!"
"He was supposed to," he said. "He deserved to."
Deserved was such dangerous talk. Deserved led to a moral labyrinth. But he deserved to. A die for a die.
He did not kill.
He had pulled her back to safety, confident of the rescue. But then, when he had taken her in his arms...
"He should have," he said. "I mean...how..?"
"Remember, Peter...with great power...comes great responsibility."
A platitude, Peter thought bitterly. A hollow slogan that shrivels and dies. Power and Responsibility....he didn't want to know any more. He wanted to shove it down and surrender himself to his urges.
He would not. He did not kill.
He deserved it.
Power and Responsibility.
"I didn't kill him," he said. "I'm so sorry."
The grave of Gwen Stacy received his tears.

Sally Keller woke up, the rope rubbing her wrists bare. She couldn't see very well; her hair was in front of her eyes--but she could see cellar stairs.--and four colorful bodies. She groaned.
"My sentiments exactly," said a voice to her right. Despite her having never met the man face to face, she knew who it was.
"Dr. Octavius--?"
A hand grabbed her chin roughly and pulled it up, brushed her hair away. A green, grotesque parody of a face filled her vision. "He's just the sideshow attraction," the Goblin told her. "I'm the one in control here."
He yanked her head back cruelly and pushed her firmly against the wall. She had a detached moment where she noticed Otto Octavius' tentacles above her; one of them had pulled away from the wall slightly.
"If you have the sense to keep your trap shut," the Goblin said, "you won't give me a headache, and we'll all be happier. I've already got a tiny one, and that would be your fault."
How? she thought, and he read her mind.
"You started to groan and moan just as we were going to go downstairs to kill him. So we had to drag you all the way downstairs so you wouldn't--well, partly so you could see this, but mostly so you wouldn't escape."
Where would I go? she thought. You led me right to him.
"You've become quite practiced with using defenseless women," Otto huffed.
"And killing defenseless men," the Goblin smiled. He bent down to Otto's eye-level. "Shall I start?"
"Start, leave, whatever pleases you," Otto replied. "Anything to end your self-indulgent nonsense."
The Goblin shrugged. "As you wish." He turned. "Gentlemen? I'll allow you the first blows." Vulture and Mysterio seemed taken aback; Electro cracked his knuckles. "I would love to."
It was at that point that Sandman came to the cellar door. "Doc! Doc! I--"
"Down here, Flint," the Goblin smiled. Sandman started down the stairs and froze. "You're not--"
"The situation has changed," the Goblin replied. "New management."
"I--what?"
"We're on top now, Sandy," Electro said shortly. "Get your head in the game. Payback."
"I don't know," Sandman said. "I mean--Spider-Man escaped. I don't think--"
"What?" Mysterio boomed. Keller gave a silent cheer. "You were supposed to nullify him!"
"It doesn't matter," the Goblin said, rubbing his hands together. "In fact, that just sweetens the deal."
"Sweetens?" Vulture crowed. "I have no desire to face him! That's risking prison time!"
The Goblin pushed him away. "It doesn't matter! Spider-Man's head on a pike is worth any risk!" The four exchanged glances; the Goblin noticed. "You honestly fear him?" he asked. "He's nothing! He's always been nothing! And I'm in charge here!" He pointed to Otto. "Kill him, and then once you remember that you're men, we'll kill the spider."
Electro took a breath, and nodded. The Goblin stared grimly back, and Otto raised a brow.
"Et tu, Dillon?" he asked. "And I had hoped you desired wealth above all else."
"Sorry, Otto," Electro smiled, "but my veins aren't filled with ice. Getting back at you is worth almost anything."
"An opportunist to the last," Otto nodded. "As you wish."
The tentacle ripped free from its shackle and slammed into Electro's temple. He fell cursing as the other tentacles pulled themselves free and faced the group. "My hands and feet may be bound--for now--but my next attacker may nevertheless consider himself dead," Otto pronounced. The Goblin smiled wryly and moved in close enough to almost touch noses.
"So you say." He pulled out a pumpkin bomb and tossed it from hand to hand. Sally stiffened. The Goblin's grin was lazy, cocky. "So you say."
Otto grinned coldly...and rammed his head into the Goblin's nose. Osborn fell and rolled away just as Electro was getting up.
The other two tentacles neatly removed Otto's remaining bonds and he stood, slowly and smoothly. "He may have poisoned my actuators so I couldn't attack him directly...but there is nothing hindering me concerning you vipers."
The Goblin snarled and got to his feet. "Fine, fight me," he said. "My arsenal can decimate an army." Keller groped with her hand for anything sharp to cut through the ropes.
Otto looked at the men. "If only for your own sake, I suggest you choose a side," he said.
"Remember what he's done to you!" the Goblin shouted. "He coldly betrayed you for money! I'm a billionaire!"
"His mind is broken," Otto replied. "It has been ever since his last encounter with Spider-Man. You can all see it."
"It doesn't matter! Spider-Man is the only thing that matters! All we have to do is kill him!"
"He will collapse on his own fragile psyche and you shall fall with him."
"Enough lies!" the Goblin shouted, and threw his bomb. Otto had just enough time to catch it before it exploded. Had he not been wearing the harness, the resultant shrapnel would have killed him; as it was, he was "only" thrown into the wall and suffered some minor cuts. The Goblin pulled another bomb from his satchel and walked quickly towards him.
"Wait," Mysterio said. The Goblin growled, feral. "The government has a king's ransom for the man who delivers Otto to them. Perhaps--"
The Goblin punched Mysterio into the stairs. "You're trying to hedge your bets!" he snarled. "You don't have the spine to finish him off! None of you do!"
The front door slammed closed. Heads turned as a powerful silhouette filled the cellar doorframe.
"At last!" the Goblin breathed. "My enemy! You have finally found me!"
Spider-Man walked slowly down the stairs.
"You don't know how long I've waited, boy," the Goblin replied. "We can finally end this."
Spider-Man stopped.
"...No. I didn't come here for you. I came to round up the Sinister Six and return Agent Keller to her home."
The Goblin chuckled and grabbed Keller. "Who, this girl?"
Spider-Man clenched his fists; the Goblin smiled.
"What's wrong, Spider-Man? Isn't this familiar?"
"Put her down. Our business was concluded...the night you died."
"I'm afraid I must disagree, webslinger," the Goblin smiled. "It's time to renew the contract." He switched the bomb to his other hand, pulled out a remote, and pressed its button. His glider fired up in the dark and he got onto it.
Peter's spider-sense went off and he jumped to the ceiling as the Goblin flew up the stairs, cackling. "Come, Spider-Man!" he shouted. "Let's do this until we get it right!"

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Fourteen

Otto brushed himself off and stood. The four villains looked at each other.
"Glad you're okay, boss," Sandman said. Otto nodded at him.
"Ironic," the doctor said. "Of all of you, Flint never betrayed me."
"Betrayed?" Mysterio said. He sounded hurt. "We were spinning a web of false security around him! Once you had recovered, I was planning to knock him unconscious and leave him for the authorities."
Otto stared at him.
"Of course, I can only speak for myself," he finished lamely.
"I had the same intentions," Vulture chimed in.
"Naturally," Otto said. "And you, Dillon? It was your altruism, not your pettiness, that prevented you from killing me, yes?"
Electro said nothing. Otto slapped him.
"If you behave as a child, you'll receive a child's punishment." He cleared his throat. "As it stands, none of you deserve the prize I've offered. Your confederacy is shaken by the first rattle of a lunatic's saber?" He sighed. "However...I still need all of you. So I will spare your lives."
He propelled himself up the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Sandman asked.
"Unfortunately, I also have need of that girl," Otto replied. "And I doubt Osborn will be so merciful."

"Menace!"
Spider-Man would have shaken his head on another day; he had only peripherally realized that they were outside the Daily Bugle. The image first and foremost on his mind was the Goblin and the girl.
Again.
Osborn was hovering thirty-three stories up, holding her close to him by the throat, a pumpkin bomb in his other hand. It hadn't taken long to get here from the mansion, and Spider-Man suspected it wouldn't take much longer for this to get a lot worse.
"Fear of failure, wallcrawler?" the Goblin shouted above the wind. The snow was falling fast now.
"No," Spider-Man said. "Not really."
"Of course not! You're only afraid of your wife!" The Goblin cackled, and Spider-Man felt disgust leak in.
"Just put her down," Spider-Man shouted. "Put her down on the roof."
"Get away from my building, you freaks!" Jameson continued.
"To think I used to be in a club with that man," the Goblin huffed, and smiled. "Here, this'll give you something to do." He tossed the bomb.
Spider-Man shot webbing at the small orange sphere and thickly coated it. It cracked the window, but nothing more. Jameson leaped under his desk. "Stay there," Spider-Man shouted, and then somersaulted up the building as his spider-sense went off. But he had jumped wrong. The Goblin zoomed up from underneath right into the wallcrawler and grabbed him by his spider-emblem. The Goblin quickly flew up to the roof and thrust Spider-Man into the neon lettering. The webslinger screamed, Osborn just laughed.
Spider-Man kicked the Goblin away and fell onto the ledge. He twitched and groaned.
He was shaking her, trying to revive her. She--
He shook his head, clearing the image--just as the Goblin flew into him and they broke through the giant "Y." Spider-Man rolled into Keller.
"Spider-Man?" she whispered. "Can--"
"Leave him be," the Goblin said. "He's mine for the disemboweling."
Spider-Man stood, and stared Osborn down. "I'm not going to give you the satisfaction," he said. "I told you before--we settled our score at the bridge. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life fighting you!"
"You don't have a choice, Spider-Man," the Goblin replied. "I'm going to systematically eliminate everyone associated with you, and you know it. Are you willing to kill me to end it, bug?"
Spider-Man breathed hard. "No."
"Your failing." He flew in and Spider-Man ducked.
He deserved it.
"You killed the woman I loved! And for that you're going to--"
The Goblin threw razorbats. Spider-Man back flipped between the "L" and "B" and shot a webnet as he fell. The bats landed squarely inside and became entangled. Spider-Man looked up. The Goblin had grabbed Keller again, made a loop, and now flew straight down at him. Spider-Man let go of the building-side in time for the Goblin to speed past him--but Osborn stopped five stories below him.
And he dropped Keller.
"No!" Spider-Man screamed, and jumped. He tried to jump away from the Goblin and catch up to her--but the madman ploughed up and into him, dragging him away. Spider-Man rolled and fell off. Panicking and praying it wasn't too late, he shot strand after strand below Keller, forming a huge net. She fell into the net hard--but alive.
Spider-Man shot a webline and landed on the Daily Bugle.
This has to stop, he thought. Never again. The only question is--
"How" was how he was going to finish, but at that moment the Goblin threw out a bolo, yanked Spider-Man off the Bugle and swung him into a building across the way. Spider-Man snapped the cable and dove off as Osborn reversed the glider and came in flame-first.
"Enough!" Spider-Man shouted. "This is over."
"Not by a long shot," the Goblin cackled, and the battle continued.

JJ got up from under his desk. He blew out a sigh of relief--and then gasped, his hand to his chest.
"Robbie! Robbie!" he shouted. "Get in here!"
Robbie walk/crouched into his office. "Jonah, let's get away from these windows--it's a war zone out there!"
"Oh, it's worse than a war, Robbie--those miscreants crushed my last Cuban!" His hand went to his breast pocket. "My last cigar, period! Miss Brant! Include this latest in the lawsuit!"
Robbie herded Jonah away into the central parts of the office. Ben Urich was crouched by the water cooler. "That looked like the Green Goblin out there," he said.
"Harry Osborn?" Betty asked. "But he died a few years ago--didn't he?"
"Pfah! Like that means anything in the longjohn game!" Jonah barked. Robbie snapped his fingers. "Ben, call the cemetery--make sure there hasn't been any grave robbing."
Ben went to the phone, and the building shook.
"Man," Robbie breathed. "They're really beating on each other, to make that happen."
"...yes, I'll hold," Ben said into the phone. There was a muffled explosion from the street.
"Those lunatics will destroy half the block!" Jonah shouted. "And with my luck, nobody's getting pictures. Where's Parker?"
"Freelance, sir," Betty reminded him.
"That's no excuse! Get him down here!"
Ben put the mouthpiece under his chin. "I called him earlier when the Goblin flew by, Jonah. Answering machine." Jonah threw up his hands.
"That freeloader's never around when we need him! Remind me later that he's fired, Ms. Brant."
"Freelance, Mister Jameson," she reminded. He waved her away.
"Get a staffer down there, then!" he barked. "If hundreds of innocent people get killed and we don't have it all over the front page, heads are gonna roll!"
Ben turned back to Jameson. "The caretaker said nobody's visited Osborn's site in months. Spider-Man showed up, but it was at a separate plot."
Robbie frowned. Something was there that he wasn't seeing.
Spider-Man and the Green Goblin flew up briefly past the window, and Urich shook his head. "Look at 'em go..."
"I wonder what makes them resort to that kind of violence," Betty said.
It clicked. "A woman," Robbie said.

Mary Jane watched the television with baited breath. She gasped as Peter (Spider-Man, she tried to remind herself, this is Spider-Man) was thrown through a wall. The news coverage was almost gluttonous at this duel, as if an infamous boxer had come out of retirement to wail on the newcomer.
She pulled a throw pillow to her chest and winced with each blow, regardless of who it came from.
Oh, Peter...

"Oh, Peter," Norman chuckled, and gave him a solid uppercut. Spider-Man staggered and fell onto a manhole cover.
Gwendy...I miss you...
He rolled as the Goblin threw down a flash bomb. Spider-Man pushed off the pavement with his hands and kicked the Goblin off his glider. The billionaire fell gracelessly onto the street. Spider-Man grabbed him with a webline, pulled him up, and socked him through the passenger window of a parked car.
He stood hunched over, his costume heavily ripped, the skin on his hands cracked and bleeding.
"License...and registration...please," he coughed.
"Oh, you're all smiles, aren't you?" the Goblin growled, and forced his rear out of the window. Spider-Man tapped the webshooter's trigger and heard an empty click. The Goblin jumped and sliced a long gash across Spidey's chest with a razorbat.
"Gaah!" Spider-Man grunted, brought up a knee to the Goblin's solar plexus. He followed through with a double-fisted punch and knocked some teeth loose.
Don't...kill...
His spider-sense went off in time to jump away from the pumpkin bomb but not in time to avoid the glider. It slammed into his head and knocked him to the street.
We had some...good times, didn't we, Gwen? Heh...remember Harry's dad? We kind of had a falling out...
The Goblin got onto his glider, shuddery and wounded. "Looks like I'm out of bombs," he smiled. "So I'll just have to squish you into the pavement like the bug you are."
"Spiders aren't bugs...you moron..."
He squinted as a flashbulb went off in front of him. It was a photographer from the Bugle, dangerously close to the action, as per Jonah's instructions. The Goblin fired up the engine.
And Spider-Man got it.
He stood up. "Happy...Father's Day, Gobby," he said. The Goblin frowned.
"What?"
"You've got a kid, don't you? Sure you do."
"I don't know...what you're talking about."
"Oh, you might not...but Norman Osborn does. Even if there's only a glimmer left, he knows his son's name. It's Harry Osborn."
"He can't...fight me, you worm...he doesn't know I exist."
"Harry...Osborn."
He spun the glider and tripped the wallcrawler hard. Spider-Man shook his head and looked up.
"Harry Osborn!"
"Enough! This was between us! Not him!"
"Harry Osborn!"
The Goblin convulsed and Spider-Man got to his feet.
"Harry Osborn! He was your son and you ruined him! Your formulas finished what your madness started!"
The Goblin shook but fought it; he had enough will to spit at the wallcrawler, "He was nothing! A measly pup that was barely old enough to sit at the table without a stool!"
"Harry Osborn!"
The Goblin shuddered and fell to his knees, and Spider-Man took his chance. He got behind the Goblin, pulled his face up so the cameras could see it, and ripped off his mask.
It was captured by at least twenty-three cameras, video or photographic.
"You....you!..." Norman shuddered. He got to his feet, oddly bizarre with his real face exposed.
"I told you," Spider-Man breathed, reared back, and punched him so him so hard it sounded like thunder. "It's over."
It made a beautiful front page.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Fifteen

Ten minutes after that, a squadron of armored cars arrived in the area, led by Agent Biehn. "Wish I'd been around for the fireworks," he smiled.
"I'm sure you'll catch it on the news," Spider-Man said. "Hey...where's Keller?"
Biehn shook his head. "She hasn't been found. They're searching the rubble now."
"Not that it matters," Spider-Man said. "Ock took her during the fighting."
"Of course," Biehn sighed.
"For whatever he's planning."
"Yeah, I got that when you said, 'Ock took her.' "
Spider-Man smiled. "Maybe I'll let you stick around after all, Biehn."
Biehn snorted. "You couldn't drag me away."
"You have a first name? It would make this a lot easier."
"Sure," Biehn smiled. "You first."
Spider-Man sighed. "Never mind."
"Hey," Biehn put out his hand, "it's Dwayne."
Spider-Man snorted a laugh but shook his hand. "Of course it is."
"Well, you asked."
Spider-Man sighed and watched them load Osborn into the back. He met Osborn's dull gaze until the doors closed.
"It makes sense," Biehn said. "I knew Osborn figured into this somehow, but...should've guessed. His kid was a Green Goblin too, wasn't he."
"Yes," Spider-Man said. "Briefly."
Neither one of them said anything for a moment. Spider-Man patted his sides. "You know...it's the darnedest thing...but I lost my bus pass."
"You need a ride?" Biehn asked. "I'm sure I can get one of my men to give you a lift...to a general area, of course."
"Of course," Spider-Man said.
"Keep it in mind we'll be doing this a lot from now on," Biehn said. "So don't scratch the leather."
"This heap doesn't have leather..."

MJ was sitting at the window, her hands on the railing. She hadn't really noticed how beautiful the snow was until just now. It gave everything a natural peace, a quiet not found in other seasons.
She wanted Peter to swing onto the railing, pick her up in his arms and laugh. She want to laugh with him, triumphant and together at last.
There was a knock at the door and MJ sighed. She walked over to the door.
"Rent," said the man on the other side. She found the checkbook and opened the door--
And Peter grabbed her and picked her up in his arms.
"Peter!" she squealed, and began laying kisses all over him. "I can't believe it! You--you're all right!"
"I'm a little banged up, but no broken bones, I think," he smiled. "I...I was thinking, Mary Jane."
She rested her head next to his. "About?"
"I was thinking that I'm a really lucky guy," he smiled. "I can't believe I ever take this for granted...ever."
"Loquacious of you."
"All this and brains too."
She chuckled, but gasped when she felt his cheek. "Peter, you must be freezing! Aren't you cold?"
He laughed. "Not for long."

Otto Octavius and the rest of the Sinister Six relocated that evening and were not heard of for some time, save for the re-theft of the military helicopters. During their flight from the Osborn mansion, it was estimated they stole almost 2 million dollar's worth of valuables. Shortly thereafter, Oscorp industries, having no heir and the board of directors wanting to dissociate as much as possible, was put up for auction. Most of the property was bought by Fireheart Enterprises.
It should be noted that Norman Osborn himself was tried, convicted of criminal actions and was fined several billion dollars in damages. With his assets either sold or frozen, this has resulted in his bankruptcy. Osborn was also found legally insane and moved to a nearby asylum. He remains there to this day.

End of Part Two

[OctoHaz]

*applause*

A fine ending to Part Two. Great climax with Spidey and Gobbie. :) Well done.

[Joker]

Wow, I had alot of catching up to do. Spent the last couple of evenings reading it, Wabbit.

A fantastic ending to a fantastic story. You haven't lost your touch :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Thanks, but it's not over yet, Doc. There's still one more part to go--the best part, I think.
(Hope that doesn't discourage anyone) :)

[Redwoods Wolf]

http://img26.picoodle.com/img/img26/9/8/29/redwoods_wolf/f_disarmed2m_a6f8e02.png

PART THREE

Chapter One

Peter looked Mary Jane over. She was wearing mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss, a red silk dress with a rather generous décolletage, and was strapped to a table with a buzz saw looming over her. She gave him a sly wink, and he nodded to her. He wanted to see how this played out.
"Action!"
The buzz saw began to spin, and MJ started to scream. A slightly pudgy man in a trenchcoat and welder's goggles walked over to the other side of the table, looked her over, and laughed to the sky maniacally.
What is this? Peter thought. This is Doc Ock?
"Doc Ock" looked down and said, "You may as well stop screaming, my sweet."
My sweet? Are you kidding me?
"You can't escape from these chains."
MJ looked up at him. "You could let me go!"
Doc Ock shook his head. "I can't do that, you'd bring the police. Not that anyone can stop me, now that Spider-Man's dead."
She glared defiantly. "I don't believe you."
"Believe it."
Peter rolled his eyes. The buzz saw was perilously near her chest--when it stopped. Doc Ock looked up and growled with rage. MJ looked up and her mouth dropped open in hope.
"Thank God! You!" Mary Jane breathed,
"You! I should've known the Goblin wouldn't have the spine to finish you!" Doc yelled. And that's when "Spider-Man" dropped into camera range.
"Let her go, Ock--you're gonna hurt a lot more people this time!" he shouted.
Peter rubbed his eyes.
"Well, that's a risk I'm willing to take!" Doc glared.
"Well, I'm not!" And with the assistance of some wires, he leaped.
"Cut!" the director said. "Print that. All right--that's it for tonight, everybody. See you tomorrow, everybody, bright and early." Spider-Man was slowly lowered down, and some assistants came over and untied MJ. She brushed herself off and walked over to Peter.
"Well, hey, you," she smiled.
"Well, hey yourself," he said. He gave her a hug and kiss on the forehead.
"Peter, I've still got to get to wardrobe and get this all off, then we can go."
He furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you have to give back the dress?"
"Well, I'll need it for tomorrow's shoot."
"Yes, that's what all the girls say..."
"Like you'd know." She walked towards the trailer, leaving Peter alone. He looked around the set with detached amusement. Is this how people see Spider-Man's lifestyle? Rescuing dolled-up damsels in distress? Penetrating sci-fi underground lairs? Stopping buzz saws? He stopped and frowned. I guess that's not too far from the truth.
"Spider-Man" came up to him. "Hey, you're Peter Parker, aren't you?"
"That's right, Spider-Man," Peter smiled. "How'd you know?"
"My sister has your book--really good photographs," the actor said.
"Oh right, Webs," Peter nodded. "So you're a fan, then."
"I have a subscription to the Bugle," the actor chuckled.
"Of course you do," Peter smiled. "But which parts do you read?"
Spider-Man laughed. "Hey, can I get your autograph?"
Peter looked at him. "Spider-Man wants my autograph? Never thought I'd see the day..." He patted his pockets. "Do you have a piece of paper or something?"
Spider-Man's hands went to where his pockets would have been. "Uhhh....let me go get something." He wandered off.
"Take your time," Peter smiled. "If MJ is running true to form...well..."
He came back with a napkin and pen. Peter took it, made some scratches. "You know what? This pen's no good," Peter said. "Oh, wait, there it goes. So, who do I make this out to?"
Spider-Man leaned in. "Uh, Alfred."
Peter stopped. "Alfred?"
"Yeah, that's the actor playing--"
"I know who he's playing. Why are you getting my autograph...for him?"
"We were playing poker...if I won, He'd have to babysit my daughter every Friday night for the next month."
"And if you won, you'd get him my autograph."
"Spider-Man's, actually. I had four of a kind, he had already lost seventy dollars...and, well, he agreed you're the next best thing."
Peter finished signing, shook his head, handed him the napkin. "In the future, stick to horse races." He walked over to the make-up trailer just as Mary Jane walked out.
"You ready to go?" she asked.
"Oh, quite," Peter said. They started walking towards the street.
"What, you didn't like it?"
"Well, you were the best part in it, truth be told."
"Naturally," she said. "Anything else and I'd hurt you."
"Naturally. So, what route are we going to take to get home?"
She gave him a querying look. "Route?" Peter made a subtle "thwip" gesture, and she nodded. "No, let's take a cab."
"Take a cab? You can't get a cab around here, this time of day. We'd have to walk."
"I'd rather walk than piggyback," she sighed. "I'm too worn out to go for a ride."
"Well, it is your first week back on the job," Peter said. "Congratulations, by the way."
MJ took a bow. "Thankew veddy mooch. It took quite a bit of skill to get that part."
"Yes, and the dress adds a considerable amount of that skill," Peter replied. MJ smacked his shoulder. "So how long does this go for? I mean, they're shooting a documentary about these last few weeks, right?"
"Right," she said. "It's kind of hard to say--I mean, I have a bit of an interview session in addition to that scene."
"An interview session?" he asked. They started to get into the crowd of people. "What about?"
"Well, when you're out working at your second job, so to speak, I am often called to meetings by your....business rivals, shall we say."
"So they want to talk to you because you manage to get captured and put under buzz saws...so to speak."
"Well, not in so many words."
"Of course not. If it was in so many words, this conversation would be considerably shorter."
"Oh, you enjoy our little chats," MJ said, and hugged up against his arm.
"Well, not in so many words, but yes."

A very enjoyable hour later, Peter stepped out of the shower and walked into the kitchen. There was a stack of mail on the counter, as well as an assortment of other paraphernalia. He began to look through them. Bills....bills...junk...bills...
"Tiger, you all finished?" MJ shouted from the bedroom.
"Yeah, shower's all yours," he said. MJ went into the shower and Peter sat down on the couch to think.
Man, we are getting pinched with all these bills. Maybe I should try to cash in on MJ's documentary....run a few preview photos. Not first-page stuff, certainly, but probably worth one or two photos in the entertainment section. I think it'll be enough to keep us afloat.
He sat back and sighed. Too bad Spider-Man hasn't been finding much trouble lately. That'd at least keep the landlady from making noise for awhile. Heh. Maybe I can ask Tony Stark for a loan.
He turned on the TV and flipped through the news channels. He got the newspaper, leafed through it. Nothing. All was quiet on the east coast front.
Doc, where are you?
He went into the bedroom and began to change. MJ came out of the bathroom, clad in two towels.
"So, how was the shower, tigress?" he asked. She stopped and screwed up her face.
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah....it's something I'm trying out. You know, I figured..."
She shook her head. "No. Never again."
"But--"
"Nope."
He put on his mask. "Okay. I'd better get going, I'm late for work."
"Oh, hold on a minute." She ran into the kitchen, and came back with some rolls of film. "I picked these up on the way to the set."
"Well, that was very nice, thank you."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Quite welcome. Have a nice night."
"I just might, if you're still awake."
She chuckled as he crawled out the window.

She opened her eyes, groggy and aching. She couldn't move or see.
Somebody snapped their fingers and a small flame poofed into existence.
"Hello?"
The flame moved closer and she realized it wasn't a flame...it was a sustained spark. Which meant--
"Dillon," she growled. The owner of those fingers smiled.
"Rise and shine, Keller," Electro said. "As much as I enjoy looking you over, I can't stand how quiet it gets around here."
"You were stupid, Dillon," Sally Keller coughed. "You had a presidential pardon! You were facing twenty-five to life and you got off scot-free!"
"Life sure is strange that way," Electro replied. "To be fair, I was going to take advantage of it for awhile, but...I got a better offer."
"Is she awake?"
Electro looked back. "Yeah, she is."
"Excellent."
Keller squinted in the dark as a whirring, clanking presence came towards her. Electro's spark faded into four-fold reflective existence, and a metal claw clamped around Keller's throat. Sally's eyes widened as the owner of that claw walked in front of Electro and smiled grimly at her.
"Hello, Miss Keller," Doctor Octopus smiled. "I've been looking forward to this conversation for some time."

[Joker]

Wow, great new chapter. Love the cliffhanger :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Two

"You may notice a change in temperature during our conversation," Otto said, and sat down in front of Keller. "That is actually vaporized truth serum being pumped in through the ventilation. Unless you have a mutant ability that negates the requirements of inhalation, this discussion should last only a few minutes."
"Well, I guess we'll find out," Keller said. "Do I have to be tied up like a pig in a slaughterhouse, though? I have no gun, and I doubt I could incapacitate either one of you before I was taken out."
"Quite true," Otto replied, "but I find accidents distasteful. Dillon, search her for any secondary weapons and untie her hands if none are found."
Electro patted her down, then untied her hands.
"Thank you," Keller said. Otto nodded.
"Now, Miss Keller. I had planned to have this discussion this with your one-time superior. Alas, Mister Osborn managed to complicate things for all of us when he foolishly murdered him."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Otto raised an eyebrow. "Miss Keller, the only reason you are here is so we can compare notes. I want this to be as painless as possible, but if you decide to be recalcitrant, I am not terribly certain you will walk away in one piece." He removed his glasses and began to clean them. "Now, with that said, let us discuss the pertinant facts. I know that Project Gopher was specifically designed for my unique mental bonds. I also know that you financed the recently returned Norman Osborn to construct the installation, despite rumors of his death and and questionable family history. And most importantly--" he returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose "--I know that Gopher is not, or is not intended to be, an isolated incident.
"The reason I regret the murder of your director is because he was entrenched in these secrets. A company man, he had a foot in every door, a finger in every pie, so to speak. You, on the other hand, are an ingenue, and have certainly had no time to unearth all of the proverbial skeletons. Very probably, of no use at all to myself or my associates.
"However, we must start somewhere."
Keller frowned. "I don't know what help I would be. Anything I caught wind of that was top secret was buried through mental conditioning. Anything I might know becomes subliminal. Besides, you seem to know everything already," she said.
"A common impression," he agreed. He nodded to Electro, and the veins in Keller's neck became exposed cables, her muscles all clenched. It lasted for a second.
"What the hell was that for?!" Keller shouted.
"That was a precautionary reminder," Otto said. "We are not here for my amusement."
"God, ow," she groaned, and put a hand to her chest.
Otto steepled his fingers. "Very well, let's begin. What is Gopher's purpose in the infrastructure of your organization?"
Keller sighed. "If I knew that, I'd probably be making use of it."
Otto checked his watch. The vapor would have filled her lungs by now.
"Who authorized Gopher?"
"Senator Elie," she said. "It was one of his private projects, put into motion when he was elected."
"Being that a senator has a two-year term, and given the potential implications of such a project...a private project...it was suggested by the president, correct?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think it is?"
"...Yes." Her face slackened as her will.
Otto nodded. "We'll set that aside. What about Norman Osborn?"
"I questioned him right before he tried to firebomb me," Keller said. "He wasn't cooperative."
"Naturally. But supposing that your previous assumption is correct--that Gopher was commissioned by the president. Being a private project, it would need private funding. Norman Osborn, of questionable background, becomes a veritable automated teller. He has his own agenda, naturally, but thanks to his fractured psyche it comes to naught, and the United States acquires all the resources it needs. Is that what you think?"
"Yes."
"I surmised as much." He got up, straightened his front, and let the actuators slowly surround her. "Miss Keller...what was my complete sentence after the words, 'compare notes'?"
"You said, 'I want this to be as painless as possible, but if you decide to be recalcitrant, I am not terribly certain you will walk away in one piece.' " She looked at him, confused.
"My words exactly. How many times did you use the word 'I' in our conversation, not counting your last sentence, or contractions such as 'I'm' or 'I'd'?"
"Nine," she said, without hesitation.
Electro slowly turned to look at Otto. Otto nodded. "Yes, exactly correct." Keller shook her head, trying to force some energy back into her.
"What's....happening?"
"I was not entirely truthful before, Miss Keller," Otto replied. "Though I did put a truth serum of sorts in the air ducts, the true weapon in this arsenal is the small nanobot I injected under your ear. It's function is to stimulate electrical impulses to the sections of the brain that contain memory. Combined with the vapor and any amount of electrical shocks from Dillon, the truth will surface shortly.
"The full truth."

Agent Biehn noticed three things about Senator Elie: his handshake was a touch soft, his cheeks were a tad sunken, and his eyes were a tad dead. "Welcome," Elie said. "Please, sit down. You can go, dear."
Biehn's aide nodded and left the room, Biehn sat with a wince. "How's the leg, Director?" Elie asked.
"Doctor Foreman tells me that I can walk as long as I stick to the medication," Biehn said, "and with respect, isn't it hasty to be promoting me, Senator?"
The Senator shook his head as he poured himself a drink. "Not really. Keller was never very competent, and besides, she was captured by Otto Octavius. If she's not dead yet, he's going to keep her locked up and out of the light. Her absence leaves a noticeable hole; you're the man to fill it."
Biehn kept his peace. Elie leaned forward and folded his hands.
"Otto Octavius. He's chief of my problems. The president hasn't brought it up yet, and I want this cleared up before he gets the chance. This is your department, Biehn--the whole reason your branch exists."
"I'm more than aware, sir," Biehn responded. "May I remind you that I'm a field agent--I'm used to working alone, not commanding."
"I can sympathize, Biehn, it's difficult. I'll see if I can come up with some more hands, spread out the responsibility." He took a draught, licked his lips. "Spider-Man?"
Biehn paused. "What about him?"
Then there was a very sudden, but very distinct shiftin Elie's tone. "Well, we have a lot of options, no need to worry."
Biehn leaned forward. "Worry about what?"
Elie smiled. "Drink?"
"No thank you...sir."
"Director, what I'm about to share with you does not leave this office, understood? Keep this tucked away in your mental file cabinet."
Biehn met Elie's gaze and listened.

Mysterio clenched his fists. "No! No, that's not it at all! Good God, your mental density is matched only by your physical impermanence! You powered through--again! You forget the finesse all too easily--as well as its centrality in this exercise!"
Sandman shifted into his human form and crossed his arms. The maze above him flickered out. "Beck, I'm not a Yale graduate--I can't use five-dollar words like some. But that doesn't make me an idiot, get it?"
"Oh, all too clearly! But the most vexing is this: it's your comprehension I require! I care little for your mace-hands, your blocky fists! I built these holographic constructs to refine your powers of manipulation. I lead you to water, and you have yet to drink!"
"How am I supposed to twist through those rings while you're hitting me with electric bolts? Those could make some serious pain!"
"No--they could make some serious pain if you deviate from the course--which you have. Had you wafted through the rings, while expanding and solidifying at the turrets, you could have destroyed them before they left a mark! But slamming straight through like a bull attracts more of their attention than you can handle...as you have seen." He threw up his hands. "The real trouble is your imagination. It's nonexistent! A dull mind creates dull things."
Flint moved closer, almost touching Mysterio's dome with his nose. "I'm not stupid."
"Well, pardon me if I beg to differ!"
Flint knocked him to the floor. Mysterio got up on his elbows and pointed a damning finger. "You've cracked the glass! Crusty oaf, I'll destroy you!" Before he could get to his feet, two tentacles snaked in and separated them.
"Children, please," Otto said. "I told you to train...not destroy. Flint, leave us." He did.
Mysterio got up. "It''s beneath a man of my stature! He's too mentally clumsy to perform the simplest of tasks! Too emotionally compromised! I must say, Doctor, a poorer ally you could not have made!"
"What a coincidence--I feel the same way around the rest of you."
"Amusing, certainly. Let us all fall on our backs, slapping our pot-bellies in gales of--"
"That's quite enough, illusionist," Otto said. "I can only tolerate so much of your stilted diction. How is he doing?"
"Not well," Mysterio said. "He's too much of a blunt instrument."
Otto nodded. "Sacrificing grace for power. Continue the training anyway--and build better constructs. A maze of rings, lined with turrets? Show some imagination, Quentin, in all seriousness."
"How did my little 'construct' work on the woman?"
"Well enough, indeed," Otto replied. "She's told me much of what I wished to know. A few things remain, but otherwise, Keller was most helpful."
"I suppose you have an operation already planned."
"You know me too well."
"An operation that will finally showcase our sixth member?"
Otto smiled. "Not just yet. The four of you need to become a working machine before I introduce a potential upset. Keep training Flint. And do not think more highly of yourself than you ought...Mysterio."
He left.

Biehn shook Elie's hand and moved for the door. "I'll have my secretary set up a follow-up appointment once we've made progress," he said.
"I look forward to it," Elie said. "I'm glad we're on the same page now."
"Oh, you have no idea, sir," Biehn said. "Until then, sir." He went through the doors and caught his aide rummaging through her purse. "Is the car ready?"
"The driver's getting it now sir. Would you mind if I used the bathroom momentarily?"
"Take your time."
She walked off down the hall, and Biehn glanced around. There were some nice paintings in this wing...His eyes happened to fall on the aide's purse. He frowned. There was something nudging out of the top. It looked like an earpiece, but it wasn't a design he'd seen for any cell phone...
He was startled out of his gaze as the door down the hallway closed. What the hell was he doing looking through her purse anyway? None of his business.
"Ready, sir?"
"Let's go," he said, and shook away his nagging thoughts.

[OctoHaz]

Woo! Somehow I missed the posting of part one -- great movie insert there, hehe. Great stuff, both 1 and 2. :up:

:otto:

(I never get tired of the Ock-smilie)

[Joker]

LOL! I love how Ock speaks to his fellow villains :D Another fabulous chapter, Wabbit. Keep 'em coming.

:otto:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Three

Doc Ock's grip tightened around Spider-Man's throat. If that wasn't bad enough, his doomsday device countdown was ringing in the back room.
Peter opened his eyes from sleep. That was the phone. He stumbled out of bed and ran down the hall to the receiver. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Peter," came Betty Brant's sweet voice. "Sorry to wake you."
"Ah, it's all right," Peter yawned. He caught sight of the time and his eyes widened.
"Jonah wants you down here as soon as you can," she said. "Urich got a tip about Senator Elie."
Peter looked at the clock, then the phone. "Does Jonah know I'm freelance?"
"He knows you'll come when he calls," Betty said, and hung up. Peter grimaced, and went to go change.

Jonah looked at his watch. "Parker, how you manage to find the fastest cab in New York never ceases to amaze me."
And yet, I'm still late, Peter thought. "Why did you call me, Jonah? You've got staff photographers." He yawned in spit of himself.
Jonah didn't answer right away. He went over to the window and blew out smoke. "Parker, as much as I hate to admit this to an employee, I've come to rely on you for getting respectable work in restricted environments. Few staffers have the tenacity to work their way into such situations--much less get anything printworthy." He sucked in, exhaled.
"Why is why you're going to send me into one such situation right now," Peter guessed.
Jonah turned. "And the fact that you're at the mercy of my prices. Maybe it's that desperation that helps you stumble into quality--in any case, you're my best option for an exclusive."
"Ah."
"Parker, you keep up on politics?"
"Yes, but--"
"So you've heard about this newcomer Elie?"
"Well...a little. I've been b--"
"Bah! Typical teenager mentality, head in the sand. But I can't blame you--nobody's heard of Elie, at least not behind his press releases and campaign promises. Barely into his first term and he's grooming himself for the White House."
"That's ambitious. But--"
"Ambitious? I prefer ambiguous. Parker, nobody's got anything on this guy. He barely has a history--governor of Illinois, some lawyer nonsense before that--but no details. Nothing showy, no scandals, no wife or kids."
"Absence of proof equals proof of suspicion?"
"In politics it does," Jonah barked. "Now, Parker, I don't support muckrakers. I'm not endorsing you try to dig up slander and ruin--unless you have just cause, of course."
"Of course. This newspaper would never run slanderous allegations on an individual based completely on opinion and personal bias--without cause."
"I'm glad we understand each other. Elie's got some sort of get-together on his private ocean liner tomorrow night. No press admitted, just for fellow senators and representatives. Both sides."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Now you're smelling the stink," Jonah said. "And word on the street has it he's unveiling some new private legislation."
"Word on the street?" Peter smiled. "As in Wall Street?"
Jonah ignored him. "He's beefed up security with some federal agents. Not secret service, mind you."
"What branch?"
"What branch? No branch! A list of names for an agency without one! Their budget's in the black, their funding's clean, but no public acknowledgement! Nothing from anyone to showcase who they are or what they do!"
Super Secret Agency X, Peter thought. "Can I see that list?"
"Sure, fine," Jonah said, and handed it to him. "Parker, I need you on that boat, with anything that records. You're young, you're up on the latest technology."
"You could say," Peter replied, then raised a brow. Agent Biehn--we meet again.
"You get on that ship, Parker," Jonah said. "You bring me back a quote and I'll put you in my will."
"Do I get the mustache?"
"Get out!" He pushed Peter out the door, and shut it. Then he opened it. "Tomorrow night. Quote-worthy."
"Fine, fine..."
"And Parker--if you get caught....the Bugle won't admit to sending you."
"Ah....another reason you got a freelancer. And why we met at this godforsaken hour, with no one around."
"That's what I like about you, Parker."
"I'm quick?"
"More like expendable."
"Hnh."
He shut the door again, and Peter sighed. This was going to be a long week.

Peter tumbled back into bed, jostling MJ. She inhaled suddenly, waking up. "Whuwuzzat?" she mumbled.
"Nothing," Peter replied. "I just had to talk to JJ."
"Mmkay." She sighed and nestled into her pillow. Peter looked up at the ceiling. His eyes were no longer heavy--he'd been awake too long to go back to bed. Shoot. He rubbed his eyes, blinked three times.
He looked over at MJ. She was already asleep. Shoot twicefold.
Well, there was always the other alternative.
He got out of bed--slowly--put his Spidey uniform back on, and went over to the balcony. The snow was lighter now, more flurry than slushy. It felt more free. He jumped up two stories and breathed in the cool early-morning air. Then he shot out a web and began making his way uptown.

"This is not gonna work," Electro said.
"Well, why didn't you say so before?" Vulture asked.
"I did say so before," Electro said.
"As long as neither one of you makes an undue maneuver, everything should work out perfectly," Otto said over the headset.
"You're flying us into a nuclear power plant, Otto," Electro replied.
Otto grimaced. It was akin to pulling teeth. "You knew it would be difficult."
"Hey, I'm not complaining about that, it just seems like the pros outweigh the cons."
"Get it done," Otto said, and switched channels. "Yes?"
"Beck here."
"What is it?"
"I've been monitoring that woman all morning, and I can't imagine why you're interested in the slightest," he replied. "I've got enough problems maintaining this cybernetic facade all day, much less for an airheaded fashion model. She has no connection to our overall plan, we're wasting valuable resources." There was a pause. "And she has no acting ability or any classical beauty. I can't imagine how anyone could find her attractive, much less--"
"Do not deviate from the plan," Otto said. "I have my reasons, and it is not for you to question them. As far as resources are concerned, I have Dillon and Toomes covering that."
"Fine, as you wish."

Mysterio--a.k.a. Quentin Beck--shut off the headset and walked back to the set. "All right, people, let's pick it back up at scene 113, take 8."
"Excuse me, Director Clarke?"
Beck raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"That's the bank robbery, correct?" Mary Jane asked.
"Yes, the escape from the bank robbery."
"Thanks," she smiled. Beck waited until she turned to sigh. He couldn't stand this woman.

"All right, drop me," Electro said. Vulture nodded and let him fall. Electro landed and rolled in front of the outer gate of the plant. One of the two guards raised his gun, the other his radio.
"Don't move!" the gunslinger said. Electro sneered and fried him with a lightning bolt. His smoking body fell with a loud thud, and the other guard moved aside in fear.
"Smart move," Electro said. "Vulture?"
"I'm flying into position."
"Pretty fast for an old guy." He walked through the gate and cracked his knuckles. Finally.

[Arcturus]

Redwoods Wolf, wonderful work as always!

:yay: :up:

[Joker]

As Electro said at the end, finally. Thought you'd never have the next chapter up :oldrazz:

Great chapter, Wabbit :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Four

Peter looked down at the recorder. He'd used about five minutes of tape, and it would have to be enough.
"Okay, let's break for some lunch," the director said. "We'll resume in an hour."
MJ got up from the coffee shop set and walked over to Peter. "Hey, you. Did you get anything with that?"
"We'll find out," he said, and pressed rewind. "Where do you want to go for lunch?"
"Chinese Buffet?"
"Sounds good," he said. They walked for a few blocks and went into the buffet. After they'd gotten their plates, filled them, and sat, MJ said, "I'm not very enthused about this director."
"Really? Why not?"
"He's eerie, Peter." She grimaced. "He's so removed from everything--I've never seen a director this dispassionate about his project. I feel like he's just being paid to babysit all the actors--who are very nice, by the way."
"Yeah, I talked to Spidey briefly. Apparently, he's a big fan."
MJ smiled. "How is our wall crawling friend doing?"
Peter chewed on some sweet and sour pork and considered. "Well," he started, "he hasn't gotten much progress with either our resident Doctor or the tagalong agent. Although he hasn't been doing any tagging along lately..." He shrugged and drank some iced tea.
"The Doctor's been laying pretty low for a man with his condition," MJ said. "Any ideas why?"
Peter licked his lips. "So far...no. He's been keeping himself pretty under the radar. Even at our last encounter...well, I was distracted with other things, and he and his cronies slipped away clean."
"Keeping them under the radar must be quite an obstacle."
"Hmm."
"Does your tagalong have any ideas about that?"
"He's been a little too busy lately to talk," Peter replied, "but hopefully, I'll be able to catch something tonight."
"He's going to be on the boat?"
"He's the head security coordinator. Which reminds me..." He pulled the mini recorder out of his jacket pocket, pressed play. A low hum quickly gave way to a fuzzed cacophony, and Peter had to turn it down. "Can you pick out any of your lines?"
MJ listened for a few seconds, and then shook her head. "I can't even pick out Alfred's lines."
Peter exhaled and shut off the recorder. "I was twenty feet away, Mary Jane," he said. "If I want a quote from Elie, I'm going to have get close enough to steal his granddaddy's watch."
"So you're going to have to wear a real suit, then."
Peter looked at her.

Keller started to life as someone grabbed her jaw, pulled her face up to the light. It was Mysterio. He turned her neck somewhat cruelly, leaned in close.
"W-what," Keller croaked. She licked her lips, swallowed, and tried again. "What are you doing?"
Mysterio didn't answer. If he didn't have the glass jar over his head, she would have considered giving him a head-bashing. A whirring and clicking behind him signaled the arrival of Doctor Octopus. "Is it feasible?" he asked.
"Anything is feasible if another man's paying," Mysterio said. "The real question is it going to be of any worth."
Otto walked into the light. "It is to me," he said. "And anything I deem worthy cascades over the rest of the six."
"Five," Mysterio corrected.
Otto smiled. "Not for long." He looked over at Keller and waved Mysterio away. He left silently.
"Why am I still alive?" Keller asked.
"You are still alive because you are a curiosity," Otto said. "And being a scientist, I am interested in curiosities."
"A curiosity?"
Mysterio came back into the room. "Electro and Vulture have just returned--successfully."
"Excellent," Otto replied. "Bring all of the members into the dining room." He went to the door and faced Keller. "When I interviewed you earlier, you told me everything I needed to know, as well as a few unrelated nuggets. They were rather intriguing."
Keller's spirit sank as Otto closed the door with a muffled boom.

Biehn tried to relax. He actually didn't mind social functions, but babysitting Elie and this entourage was akin to enraging the bull and then putting it in chains. It was the wrong choice.
His aide walked up on his right.
"Enjoying the party?" he asked.
"Yes, actually," she said. "The perimeter guards all report no disturbance. Do you need anything, sir?"
"No, just make sure they report in every quarter-hour," he said. She nodded and left.
A hostess came by with a tray of champagne, and he took a glass. The Marilyn was a full-fledged cruise ship, but most kept themselves to the poop deck. It had the advantage of the rear being open to the night air, and then the cabin in front containing a fully-stocked bar. It was simple enough--keep the sheep penned in, and learn to spot the wolves.
He looked over the crowd: helpless, middle-aged men with their well-bred wives trying to smile over their wrinkles. He could easily kill half a dozen of them before an alarm was raised, and probably finish them off by the time any of his men arrived to stop him. The only downside would be that the reporters would arrive in droves.
He rubbed a tired eye. None of that. This is your job, too, Dwayne--learn to take the thorns with the roses.
He checked his gun. Still there.
"Director Biehn? This is Pfister, by the dock."
"Go ahead, Pfister." He sipped his champagne.
"I think we've got a wolf down here, sir. He claims he's an intern with Senator Schlissel, but Schlissel's not onboard yet."
Biehn set down his glass. "I'll be right there."
Politicians. He'd be better off as a gunslinger in Dodge City.

Peter looked ahead of him with a worried glance. He was on the gangplank to get into the boat, and that "intern" up ahead was getting vetted pretty heavily. He should--Peter recognized him from his bi-line in the Globe. The "intern" was thirty-eight and started to gray. If he wasn't getting through...
That's when he saw Biehn step out and begin to examine said intern. Peter promptly turned around and left--any contact with Biehn outside of Spider-Man was too risky. He'd just have to wrap his tux in some water-proof webbing...
In minutes, Spider-Man had swam out to the opposite side of the Marilyn. He poked his head out from the water and looked up. There were guards spaced out pretty evenly--but this one at the bow was far enough away from his brethren. Spider-Man scurried up the side of the ship, crawled over the railing, and knocked the guard out.
"Sorry about that," he whispered. He shivered involuntarily--he was going to get hypothermia if he didn't get out of these clothes. He pressed himself against the wall, and felt around with his hand until he landed upon a knob. He gathered up the guard, closed the door behind him. He looked around the hall and spotted a bathroom.
Bingo.
He put the guard in one of the stalls, put his dress pants around his ankles in the other, and waited. Two senators came in, then a guard, then another senator. It was a full twelve minutes before one of the hosts came in and he had the bathroom to himself. Peter came out of the stall, knocked him out, and walked out of that bathroom with the perfect disguise.
Now all I need is a tray full of drinks, he thought. He walked down the hallway onto the poop deck and looked around. Elie was near the port railing, laughing it up with some other senators. His spider-sense was on a low hum, and he flicked his eyes over to the guards. They didn't notice him--naturally. His gaze drifted to the bar, where the bartender was waving him over impatiently. Peter made his way through the crowd.
"You know you're supposed to be coming right back here as soon as you've finished a tray," the barkeep told him. "I know you're rentals, but let's grow up a bit, eh? Take this martini over to Senator Struzan. He's been waiting for fifteen minutes."
Peter grabbed a tray and the drink. "Uh...which one is he again?"
"Beard, shipping magnate, you'll see him. Don't make me call you again," he pointed. "Here, might as well circle with some more champagne."
Right... Peter left the bar and tried to work his way through the crowd. It was harder than he thought. At least I don't have to worry about balancing the tray. He turned the mini recorder on and walked towards Elie. Struzan could wait another hour, for all he cared.
"Anything to drink?" Peter asked.
"I believe that martini's mine," the man next to Elie said. "Took you long enough."
"A hostess just came by five minutes ago," Elie frowned. "Give us some breathing room, please?"
Peter bowed. "Of course." He left Elie, but continued to weave his way back near him, trying to catch something. It was hard to tell, exactly--Elie seemed to be going on about some new plan he was going to unveil, but Peter wasn't able to pick up on the details. Maybe the minirecorder could sift through some of it...
His spider-sense pulsed, like the plucked string of a violin. He watched the guards put their hand to their ears--they had discovered something was wrong. Well, that was fine--he'd just hurry back to the bathroom and jump ship--
A woman bumped into him and his spider-sense almost screamed at him. He jerked his head around. He'd never seen her before in his life. What in the world...? He looked around at the guards--they were beginning to break formation. The woman was fading into the crowd.
I'm going to regret this. He hurried over to the bar and watched her walk through the back door. He set down his tray and followed. His spider-sense was getting on high alert as she walked to the end of the hall and through a door. He caught up and grabbed the handle just as he heard a gun being cocked behind him.
"Men's room is down the hall, son," came a familiar voice. "Turn around."
Peter grimaced and came face to face with Biehn, coupled with two more of his agents. "Search him." They patted him down and pulled out the mini recorder.
"Now what would a part-time rented waiter be doing with a mini recorder?" Biehn asked. He took the recorder from one of the guards and grabbed Peter's arm. "Let's go. You two, resume your positions."
She's going to get away! He was about to break free and make a run for it when Biehn said, "I know you."
"Personally?"
"You're a photographer for the Bugle," Biehn responded. "You published that book full of Spider-Man photos."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Yes..."
Biehn paused, looked him in the eye. "Can you get in contact with him?"
"I can try."
Biehn put a folded bit of paper into Peter's hand. "Now get off the boat so I don't have to arrest you for trespassing."
Peter looked down the hall. His spider-sense had faded. Wherever she was, he wasn't going to get to her. He nodded at Biehn and left.
Biehn watched him go and went through that door. Parker had been following his aide...why? He went down the hallway as quietly as he could, avoiding the white-washed pipes. He turned a corner and saw a hallway full of cabins. He crept down the corridor, and then stopped, feeling a little foolish. He didn't see anybody. She'd probably just gone to get some fresh air.
He frowned. Somebody was having a conversation two doors down...sounded like a woman. He pressed himself against the door and held his breath.
"...believe you didn't come an hour ago." Sounded like his aide, all right.
"My schedule is not constructed around you, my dear." That one wasn't familiar. Definitely a man's. Maybe he'd stumbled onto a little after-hours relationship...
"Enough excuses. Here's Elie's itinerary for the next week." Biehn stiffened. That was classified information.
"Nicely done. Does the director know?"
"No." Oh, he suspects now, you hussy. He flipped off the safety and kicked in the door.
"Don't move!" he shouted. His eyes widened--it was his aide, all right.
And she was standing right next to Mysterio.

[Joker]

Wow, that was well worth the wait. Friggin' awesome :wow: :up:

I'll say again, I love how you write Peter and MJ. They feel like a genuine couple.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Five


Spider-Man let go off the web-line, gently somersaulted, and landed on the roof in a crouch.
"And how is my little albatross?" Spider-Man asked. Biehn whirled and brought up his gun, which made Spider-Man reflexively bring up his hands into a "thwipp" position. He let out a breath and lowered the pistol. Spider-Man stood and crossed his arms.
"Parker relayed your message," Spidey told him. "What's making you so jumpy? And why are we meeting on the roof of a parking garage...especially this one?"
Spider-Man glanced across the street. Oscorp Industries' leader might be locked away in an asylum, but his monolith was still standing. He glared under his mask.
"We've got problems," Biehn said. "And I don't think either one of us knew just how big they were."
"Doc Ock becoming ringleader of the Sinister Six again isn't apocalyptic enough?"
"No," Biehn said. "My car's right over here."
"We're going for a drive? Where?"
"To the Burrows."

They drove for two hours away from the city. At one point, they left the highway and went to the back roads. At some point, they left the back roads and drove straight through the dirt and dry shrubs, towards the Adirondack mountains.
"Is this where we hook up with the tribe of lost children?" Spider-Man asked. Biehn glanced at him, then looked back at a small compass built into the dashboard. Geez, let me call a proctologist about that stick...
Eventually, they came to a chain-link fence with a flimsy, unattended gate. It looked rusted over. Biehn stopped the car and got out. Spider-Man watched as Biehn opened the gate and get back behind the wheel. He drove through the opening, stopped about thirteen feet past, got out, and shut it. He got back in the car and let the engine idle.
Spider-Man looked at him. He opened his mouth just as the earth opened and the car tilted down into a subterannean garage. Biehn drove it into an empty space and killed the engine. Spider-Man watched the platform tilt back up and seal them inside.
A runway of ceiling lights faded on in sequence, and ended at a heavy door--the kind that looked like it had been borrowed from a submarine. Spidey and Biehn got out of the car, Biehn locked it, and they went to the door. He opened it to reveal heavily armed men, guns aimed. Biehn pulled out his ID and they let him pass to a wide set of stairs, which led down to a well-lit room with a high ceiling. The walls were covered with paintings and tapestries, the floor with workbenches, and "Street Fighting Man" was booming from the speakers built into the walls. At least eight alcoves were also built into the walls, shielded by tempered glass. At least fifteen people scurrying around the room, and they were all wearing sweaters, flannel pants, and slippers.
"The Burrows," Spider-Man said. "Well, I guess it's better than Super Secret Agency X."
Biehn looked at him askance.
"Never you mind," Spidey replied. "What have we got down here?"
They descended the stairs and walked over to a young man, no older than Peter himself, going back and forth between three computers. Biehn tapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the speakers. The man nodded and killed the music.
"Spider-Man, Mike T. Gunderson," Biehn introduced. "Lead analyst and research guru."
"Don't see a lot of your kind down here," Mike said.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Spidey replied.
Biehn folded his arms and asked, "Do you follow politics?"
"A little."
"Senator Elie held a small party last night aboard his yacht, the S.S. Marilyn. There was--"
"Senator who?"
"He's a newcomer," Gunderson said. "His election was quiet, didn't make a lot of promises. Didn't seem to have a lot of ambition. Despite that, he's become amazingly popular within the House and Senate. Both sides seem to take to him--enough to fill up that boat he has."
"Enough to hide an intruder," Biehn continued.
I knew it! Spider-Man thought. "Who was it?"
"Mysterio," Biehn said. "As it turns out, he's been trading secrets with my aide for some time."
"Mysterio! Did he escape?"
"No," Biehn smiled. "I put a bullet in his knee before he could disappear."
"Yee-ouch."
"He's in a separate facility, being heavily questioned. But he's just the appetizer. The main course is what our friend Gunderson's been working on." He nodded, and the three of them went over to an alcove marked "3."
Spider-Man frowned. That's the woman I bumped into on the yacht! What's she doing here? "And who is this, exactly?"
"Exactly?" Gunderson asked. "Funny you should say that..."
He tapped some buttons by the alcove and the glass panel slid into the wall. The woman didn't so much as get up. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the three of them. Gunderson went around to the back of her neck, and opened it.
"She's a robot?" Spider-Man asked.
"Better," Gunderson said. He flipped a switch, went back to his computer, and punched in a command. The aide's face began to quiver. The cheekbones slid up the face, the lips became fuller, the complexion began to change. In ten seconds, it was the face and build of an entirely different person.
"It's a chameleon," Gunderson finished.
"Worse than that," Biehn said. "With different commands, it can change weight classes, skin color, shed hair to produce longer or shorter styles...even change gender."
"I think I know someone who would be rather jealous with this little toy," Spider-Man said.
"We've retraced its programming history and found it's changed form several times," Biehn went on. "This robot has been successfully steering us exactly where Octavius wants. Set up meetings, informed the Six, effectively arranged a few murders and re-united Otto with his tentacles."
Spider-Man looked at the girl. A lot of trouble, and all thanks to the Tin Woman.
"We did a recent memory pull and found a little command from Otto to Beck. He requested another be built."
"How long ago?"
"About two weeks."
"Well, what's the worry?" Spider-Man asked. "Even with a team of scientists and unlimited resources, it would take months to build something like this. You've got Mysterio in custody, anyway."
"Maybe so," Biehn said, "but with six arms, Otto could multi-task a team's worth. He's certainly got the brains."
"He still needs power and resources. Even Electro only goes so far."
"Funny you should say that," Gunderson smiled.
"Vulture and Electro tag-teamed on a nuclear plant and bled off enough converted energy to shut it down," Biehn explained. "Draw your own conclusions."
Spider-Man clenched his teeth. "What do you want me to do about this? I mean, besides what I've been doing?"
Biehn paused. "We want you to kidnap the Senator and bring him to this facility."
"What?"
"During the two weeks after that message, Otto has had the full operating capacity of Oscorp Industries--every tool and piece of equipment that madman owned was Otto's to borrow. It's a stretch given the timeframe, but Gunderson tells me it's possible Otto made a duplicate."
"Then Electro is unrelated."
"Maybe. Or he might have decided it's time to mass-produce."
"This sounds more like something Mysterio would come up with--and he's in jail."
"I don't care," Biehn said. "A supervillain is in jail for the time it takes to put on your shoes. After that, it's another escape, or some damn pardon, and we're back to lawlessness. And with five of his pals running around, we could be up to our foreheads in robots and not even know it."
"So kidnapping Elie becomes imperitive," Spider-Man replied. "This is how we stop the wee terminators."
"If Otto was able to make a duplicate, then he's not going to shove it away in a janitor's closet," Biehn shot back. "Elie's got no significant family, no scandal, no flash. You think it'd be hard for a man of Otto's skill to switch the two? The man doesn't set his sights low, for God's sake!"
Spider-Man said nothing for a moment. Then: "Well, why me? I mean, I'm up for some Rock 'Em, Sock 'Em Octobots, but you've got men, they've got guns. You just give the order."
"Because I want to hurt him," Biehn said. "A senator getting led away by armed guard could be misinterpreted. A guy in red and blue tights swings in for a grab, and we've sent a message. And if Otto realizes we're onto him, his pride's going to make him do something hasty--and then we've got a lead."
Spider-Man shook his head. "Sorry, but no," he said. "Otto's going to be just as hurt no matter how you take him. Besides, if he is the real McCoy, my butt's on the line and, no offense, but I've had enough 'help' from the Feds lately. Take him yourself."
Biehn clenched his jaw. "I don't have to let you leave."
"I'd love to see you stop me," Spider-Man said. "You want my help? Let me work alone. I do my best work as a free agent."
There was a pause. "Fine," Biehn said. "I'll have one of my men drive you back."
They started up the stairs. Spider-Man said, "I'll call you if I ne--"
Then Gunderson swore, loudly. "Director! You need to see this, sir!"
"All screens," Biehn shouted. Panels dropped from the ceiling and flickered on. Doc Ock's face was emblazoned across all of them.
God, no, Spider-Man thought.
"--York," Otto said. "You are familiar with my work. Two nights ago, my associate, Electro, absorbed enough energy from a nuclear plant to shut it down. His body is an extraordinary conductor of electricity, but even he has his limits. I expect his body to begin to combust in a matter of hours. When that happens, he will release the stored energy to save himself, and thereby incinerate the majority of the population. By my admittedly rough estimate, now fewer than sixty-seven percent of the city will be lit with his destructive power.
"Sixty-seven percent of the men, women, and children. I highly suggest you consider that as I continue. This devastation need not come to pass. I can funnel his power back into the city's power supply, and thereby avoid a single casualty."
"You smug, fat, monster," Spider-Man growled.
"Naturally, there are certain requirements for such mercy. I demand the delivery of 500 million dollars in gold bullion, as well as the immediate release of every criminal in the five burroughs, super-powered or otherwise."
"God," Biehn spit. "Maybe we can hand-deliver him a star, too."
"I have established several contingencies should any of you in power decide to evacuate New York. Believe me when I say there is no escape. My associates are everywhere, as is their technological insight. Any attempt to flee New York will only result in unnecessary death and destruction.
"I fully expect resistance from the so-called "superhero" community. I expect even though I repeatedly warn them of impending death to the innocents they claim to protect. So I need not waste words of protest, only a reminder: you will be defeated. Come if you so dare.
"I have no ticking clock to give you, New York. Death may come more swiftly than even I anticipate. So I compell those of you with authority to use it, and with haste. Otherwise, you may have no one left to govern.
"Good day."
The screen turned to static. Biehn turned to Spider-Man.
Spider-Man loaded his webshooters.

[Joker]

Wow, Ock is playing for the big stakes here. I love it :up:

We need stuff like this in the comic books again. Seriously.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Six


Mary Jane was having some iced tea in a deli with Virginia, one of her modeling friends. She had almost finished when some panic-gripped teenager burst in with a portable television, demanding they watch. The screen was small, and the audio was fuzzy, but they got the gist of Doctor Octopus' message.
"We're going to die," the teenager said.
"That's not true," MJ said. "This city is crawling with superheros."
One of the clerks chimed in, "Yeah, that four-eyes is gonna get smacked down hard. Dumbest move he ever made."
"Oh my God!" a mother screamed, pressing her daughter against her. "Look outside! Look!"
MJ looked up. The building fronts outside flashed a tremendous white, and a thunderclap shouted deafening power. "What the...?" Virginia said. MJ went through the deli's revolving door and across the street as the customers followed. She squinted at the sky and saw a small sun on top of the Empire State building, lightning bolts coruscating off its sides and nearby skyscrapers.
"God..." MJ breathed.
"What are we going to do?" Virginia asked.
The teenager sank to his knees and began crying. The clerk looked around at the others. "Yeah, what are we gonna do?" he asked. "We--we're not in politics. They're supposed to take care of this! They--why isn't someone like that put away--killed?!"
MJ looked at him. "What about--"
"We've gotta get out of here!" the mother said. "She's only seven, she....she can't..."
The manager walked through the crowd. "Listen, we can walk to--"
"We have to kill 'em!" the clerk raved. "Somebody like th--"
"Listen!" the manager shouted. "We can walk to the expressway. It's a ways, but we can--hey! Hey, you little--!" He ran back across the street as some looters tried to empty out the cash register. Virginia turned to Mary Jane.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. "I don't want to start running around like a chicken with--well, you know."
"We should try to get on a bus, or cab," MJ said. "He only warned the politicians and suits not to leave; he never said anything about us."
The crowd began to dissolve. "I--you want to risk it?" Virginia frowned. "That freak's crazy."
"We'd be just as crazy to stick around when a human nuke's about to go off," MJ said.
"Should we try to get them to come with?"
MJ looked and saw most everyone had gone their separate ways. The clerk was still there, and pulled the crying teenager to his feet. The clerk seemed full of adrenaline, and MJ wondered how reliable he'd be in a conflict.
"Stop crying," the clerk said. "We--s**t. Stop crying. We need to get out of here."
"But there's no way out," the teenager cried. "We're trapped!"
The manager came back, rubbing his hands. "I'm leaving. Now, listen, I've got a car, but what about you? Dillon, I know you've got one."
"Right," the clerk nodded.
"What about you, buddy?" he asked the teenager. He just sniffled and shook his head. "And you two?"
"I've got a car," MJ said. "But my husband dropped me off and...I think he left his cell phone at home."
"I walked," Virginia said. "My apartment's only three blocks away."
The manager rubbed his stubble. "Are you comfortable riding with one of us, then? I mean, if you're leaving."
"Seems like a good idea," MJ said. "Should we take two cars, or--?"
"I've got a stick, and I'm still new at it," Dillon said.
"So your car, then?" MJ pointed.
"I suppose so," the manager said. "I'm Steve."
"Mary Jane," she said. "Thanks for this."
"I parked it a couple blocks down," Steve said. "I assume everyone can walk?"
"I can jog, buddy," Virginia replied.
"Then let's do this."

They started walking. In the few blocks it took to get to his car, Steve started cracking jokes and worked to keep the group calm and amused. It worked pretty well, as long as they weren't looking at the ball of doomsday energy in the sky. The streets were filled with restrained desperation, and the police were out in force; be it by bike, horse, or automobile, they were all over the place. It was a bit surreal.
They got into Steve's car and began to drive. The streets were almost choked with cars, irate drivers hurled expletives, and traffic was nearly standstill. So that part hadn't changed.
"We're not going to get very far," Dillon said. "Should we have walked?"
"We should drive through the park," the teenager said. "It worked in Die Hard 3."
"The park's the other way," Steve said. "Good movie, though. I don't suppose anyone here has a superhero beeper or something?"
"Yeah, I'm married to Spider-Man," Virginia smirked.
Hilarious, MJ thought. "That helicopter's flying pretty low."
"It's a news helicopter," Dillon said. "Vultures."
"There's a bunch of helicopters," Virginia said. "Listen, they're all over the place."
The helicopter banked and slowly descended as one of the reporters pulled out a bullhorn. "We have a few seats in here! We can fit three inside this helicopter and give you a ride out! I repeat--"
"Idiot!" MJ hissed. Pedestrians started to run.
"--for three! We can give three , wait, two now, two people rides out!"
"I can see more choppers in my mirrors," Steve said. "Three of 'em."
MJ looked. There were three helicopters, and each one had a chaingun under the cockpit. "Get out of the car," she said. "We have to go right now!" She opened her door and stepped onto the sidewalk as the others got out. They began to run down the street as the helicopter took off. The lead gunship fired a missile and the newschopper exploded. The teenager swore as the chopper fell to earth, a funeral pyre for whoever those three people had been. The three helicopters slowed and hovered over the traffic, gigantic killer bees.
"No one leaves the city," the pilot boomed. "No one gets out. No one leaves alive."
A quick, repeated booming sound started up behind them. MJ turned to see the rocky body of Ben Grimm, a.k.a. The Thing, run up onto the top of a furniture truck and jump. He sailed onto the helicopter's tail and it dipped sharply.
"My God," Virginia said.
Ben ripped off the helicopter's tail and let go as the other two opened fire. He caught the helicopter that he had crippled, hefted it, and threw it into the rightmost of the two. Cockpit glass exploded, but both choppers were low enough to crash relatively intact. The other helicopter banked and retreated as Ben cracked his knuckles.
"Punks," he muttered.
MJ saw a blue flash from a few blocks down that turned into a red streak. The streak turned into Iron Man, who flew up to the retreating helicopter and blasted both of its propellers. He caught the chopper and let it down gently as Thing walked over.
"Holy cow," Dillon breathed.
"Nice work, Tin Man," Thing said. He looked at the men inside. "Any of you jokers want to make me break a sweat?" He paused. "Yeah, didn't think so."
Iron Man turned to the people in the street. "Stay calm, ladies and gentlemen. We're spread out, but we have you covered." He pressed a gauntlet to his helmet and began to radio for any available fire trucks and paramedics, the flashes of light glinting off his armor.
"That was amazing!" the teenager breathed.
"Man," Virginia said, "Any of them have cars? Because I will happily ride in the trunk, if so."
"Look, the traffic's starting to move," Steve said.
"No, no, we can't leave," Dillon said. "Those poeple in the choppers got killed just for getting in!"
"We can't stay," MJ reasoned. "That idiot's going to blow us all up!"
"Maybe they'll give him the money," Dillon retorted. "They're not stupid--they know what's at stake."
"They wouldn't give him the money," Steve said. "They'd call in the National Guard and try to evacuate everyone."
"They wouldn't have time," Mary Jane replied. "They only have an hour and a half left."
Dillon swore. "They're gonna have to call in an air strike or something!"
"And blow us all to kingdom come ahead of schedule?" Virginia asked. "Look, let's just drive."
"I'm driving," Steve said. "We're going to be at the expressway before you know it."
"No, no!" Dillon shouted. "Slow the car down, I'm getting out!"
"Yeah, I'm gonna stick with Iron Man," the teenager said.
"I don't want you running right into somebody's gunsights," Steve said.
"Then fire me, because I'm getting out," Dillon said. Steve grimaced, pulled over, and let them out. He merged back into traffic and sighed.
"Thanks for this," MJ said.
"Once we're outside the city limits you can thank me," Steve said. "D_mn." He drove off.

"Oh, what now?" Virginia asked. MJ leaned forward. They were at the expressway, but nobody was moving. There was a line of heavily armed men blocking the road. One of them had a bullhorn. MJ noticed his loins were taped up, and his voice seemed a bit high.
"Nobody leaves this city," the taped man said. "When we receive word from the doctor, we will let traffic through and ease the congestion. But until the ransom has been paid, you remain here!"
A portly man with a square beard threw his cigar away and swore. "You let us through right now, jerkhole! You keep waving that gun in my face and I'll shove it up to your eyeballs!"
The taped man pointed at the portly man. "You make one move and I'll put a bullet in your face! One move!"
"Somebody's about to get killed," MJ said. "Steve, let's find another way."
"I'm gridlocked," he said. "We're going to have to walk."
They got out of the car as three S.W.A.T. vehicles pulled up. The taped man turned to them. "Don't get any closer! You want to keep these people alive and you stay where you are!"
The taped man's comrades began to raise their guns as S.W.A.T. gunmen filed out of the cars. MJ's gut started to freeze. "Maybe we should get back in the car," Virginia said.
"Maybe we should get down," Steve said.
"This is Lieutenant Carver!" The S.W.A.T. leader shouted. "Put down your weapons before anyone else gets hurt!"
"Have you been listening?" the taped man bullhorned. "We are in charge! You put up any resistance--"
"Throw down your weapons!" MJ saw a few S.W.A.T. members start to sneak their way forward between the cars.
Oh, man, oh, man... MJ thought. She lowered herself onto the ground.
"Do not attempt to give orders! We will open fire!"
"Throw down--!"
Shots began to rang out and Virginia screamed. The two S.W.A.T. men advancing collapsed. MJ heard, "We've got snipers in the bu--" before all noise was drowned out by automatic weapons fire. The way the cars were stopped, she could actually see straight in front of her for quite a ways, and as such, could see a small car coming from behind the taped man. The passenger opened the door, swung himself onto the roof, and jumped sixty feet into the air.
Peter!
Spider-Man somersaulted, fired web-balls at the two buildings to his side--at the snipers, MJ guessed--shot out a web line and swung hard into the taped man. In a flurry of graceful, acrobatic violence, the henchmen were subdued just as the car pulled to a stop.
Now that was amazing, MJ thought.
The S.W.A.T. men rushed forward as people began to get back into their cars. MJ got up and smiled at Spider-Man. He caught her glance and gave her a subtle wave. She blew him a kiss and turned to see Virginia giving her a raised eyebrow.
"Aren't you married?" she asked.

Spider-Man webbed up the last criminal and looked at the sky. "Incredible," he said.
"Reminds me of Galactus," Biehn said.
"Which time?" Spider-Man asked.
"Oh, they were all the same," Biehn replied. "I can see Iron Man zooming up there."
"We're going to have to be careful about all this," Spider-Man said. "I'm not sure if dousing him with a little water's going to knock him out this time. We're going to have to feed his energy into something that can handle it."
"The city could hold it, but I doubt you're going to unearth the mains and drag them up to the top of Empire State."
"I don't need the mains, I just need some of the building's power lines. It'll probably overload, but better than sixty-seven percent of New York."
"Anything would be," Biehn agreed.
"I'm going to be doing some hard web-slinging towards Electro," he said. "What about you?"
"Oh, I'll keep up."
"How?"
Biehn went around to the trunk and took out a metallic backpack with fuel tanks and afterburners.
"Well, I'll be..." Spider-Man smiled. "Jet pack after all."
Biehn fired it up, and Spider-Man took off. He looked one last time at MJ--and boy, wasn't she gorgeous--and then slung hard and fast at the building. After a few minutes, he was there--and almost blinded. He crashed in through on of the upper windows and took out a ceiling panel. He found the building's electrical lines and tore them out. He crawled out the window and heard the faint boom of Biehn's jetpack catching up. He switched out his web cartridges with the mix that could conduct electricity, webbed the cable to the building side, and let it trail out as he lept up the final fifteen stories.
His world was entirely white, and though he could hear thunder in the distance, it didn't seem to exist. I probably won't either in the next few seconds. What happened to Iron Man?
He grabbed the loose ends of the webbing and lept into the blinding ambience.
He saw himself land and was surprised. How could he still see?
How could he see Mysterio, of all people?
How could he hear someone land right next to him?
He turned and looked right into the barrel of Biehn's gun.
BLAM!

[Joker]

A severe lack of Octavius in this one, but still an awesome read :up:

What can I say? I just crave the tentacled one's evil ;)

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Seven

"He's coming around."
"You know what we have to do, Otto. By the powers, if we don't ki--"
"By the powers? Geez, gramps, could we at least pretend we live in the twenty-first century?"
Spider-Man lifted his head, unsteadily. It was the only part of him he could move, he saw--his hands and feet were bound behind him to a large, heavy pipe. He was still alive, somehow--and, he noticed with a start, surrounded by super villains. Electro had grabbed a fistful of his costume and held him close, ready to kill. Vulture was perched behind him, brow furrowed with the frustration of an old man who has suffered many disappointments. Sandman stood off to the side, his arms crossed warily, his face cloudy. Mysterio was on the opposite side of Electro, a billowing cloud of green mist swirling around him. Agent Biehn was standing behind Electro with arms crossed and an arrogant smile tilting his face. Behind all of them stood the nemesis himself--Doctor Octopus, his tentacles slowly undulating and moving as if on currents of air.
"The gang's all here," Spider-Man coughed. There was a smell in the air he couldn't quite place...it was the sea. Oh, God, he was trapped out at sea.
"He's awake now," Sandman noticed morosely. "We all know that's gonna be trouble."
Electro turned and spoke as if to a child. "Of course there's going to be trouble, Marko. That's why we need to kill him." He looked up at Otto, hoping for an affirmation. He didn't get one.
"Hey, we can't just kill him," Sandman said.
"On that I find myself Marko's unlikely ally," Mysterio agreed. "It must be a grand execution--a killing of epic proportions! On a tall spire would be my preference--it lends a bit of the old Hollywood flair to the performance."
"Fine," Electro growled. "Then Flint here can make himself a sand castle with a little sand jail cell to put him in until we kidnap Spielberg's camera crew. You're all idiots, I swear..."
"And on that I must agree," Vulture joined in. "We all know what comes of traps, imprisoning, staying execution--it only leads to trouble, you mind me. Trouble."
Biehn stepped forward, crossed his arms. "I don't see why not. Shooting him worked once before--why not with a bullet this time?"
Spider-Man narrowed his eyes. "Nice to have a fan." His hands were tied too tightly and he was too groggy to escape. He shook his head, trying to clear the persistent fog around it.
Mysterio shook his head. "Spielberg, he says."
Otto strode through the crowd on his tentacles. "I did not affect this performance to kill our antagonist in the opening credits," he said. "Nor the others. Mysterio is right, it must be a murder to be remembered."
The Vulture blew out a cynical laugh. "Are you crazy?" Electro asked. "We've got him in our hands! We can wax him right now!"
"Do not slander my mental capacities again, Dillon," Otto warned. His jaw muscles clenched. "I have adapted to your various brands of insolence, but you go too far there."
He let the humbling sink in, and then turned to the rest of the Six. "You have all joined for your various bounties and ransoms--Spider-Man is mine. And he shall be killed by my hand alone."
"I wonder which one," Spider-Man muttered.
"Well, we can't just leave him tied up like this," Electro said.
"No," Otto agreed, "we cannot." He turned to Spider-Man. "Obviously, I am not ready to end you, wallcrawler. My associates, however, have a blood lust I don't think they can contain. We have captured your fellows, Ben Grimm and Iron Man...perhaps they should be killed to preserve you?"
Spider-Man gulped. He was thinking at a hundred miles an hour and arriving nowhere. Otto watched him, shrugged, then waved a dismissive hand. "Very well, then," he said, and turned to Biehn. "Shoot them b--"
"Wait!" Spider-Man yelped. "Wait, I've got an idea."
Otto turned.
"If they want violence, I can give it to them," Spider-Man said. "Put me and two of your cronies in a contained area. If I knock both of them out, you let Thing and Iron Man live."
"And if the reverse, the reverse," Otto replied. "It has its merits. Electro, Vulture, you want to kill him the most--are you willing to settle for a knock-out?"
Vulture thought about it, nodded. Electro shrugged. "Fine with me, as long as he doesn't escape."
"He won't," Otto said. "This yacht has an indoor pool with a ceiling several decks high--a good place to utilize all three of your talents. Biehn, Flint, Beck and I will position ourselves at the exits. No one runs away."

The pool area was indeed quite high, with three rings of balconies above him, and a cool blue ambient light giving the illusion of sky. The pool itself was sprawling and serpentine, winding around boulders, artificial palm trees, and deck chairs. There was a small shuffleboard set off to one side, and a hot tub pegged around one of the pool's curves, a small bar around the other. Biehn was on the higher level with a high-powered rifle, Mysterio was in several places at once, Sandman stood at the back doors with rocky blocks for fists, and Otto sat with arms crossed by the double-doored entrance. Vulture and Electro were placed in triangulating positions on Spider-Man's right and left.
Welcome to Thunderdome, Spider-Man thought miserably.
"Begin," Otto said.
The three moved at once. Electro threw out a thunderous bolt, Spider-Man somersaulted over it, and Vulture leaped into the air, taking wing. Spider-Man landed and jumped away as Electro smashed at him with more voltage. The Vulture dove and sliced the webslinger across the chest as he was helpless in mid leap. Spider-Man landed with a wince and saw Vulture loop up back into the sky.
Spider-Man yelped as Electro zapped him, and he fell back into the bar. Electro ran towards him, coming around the pool's curves. Spider-Man reached behind the bar and grabbed the first bottle he could find.
"This round's on me," he said, and threw it into Electro's shoulder, knocking him off balance. Spider-Man jumped forward to tackle him into the pool and was shocked again after connected with Dillon's electrified body. He stumbled away, almost falling in as Electro recovered.
--spider-sense!--
Spider-Man pulled himself down as Vulture flew over him and sliced across Electro's shoulder. Electro growled and threw a retributory bolt back at the bird man, which missed. Electro turned back only to meet Spider-Man's deck chair face first. It knocked him for a loop, and Spidey threw away the deck chair and gave him a solid right to the nose. Electro fell back onto some rocks and Spider-Man ran forward--
--only to have Vulture lob a concussive grenade into his path and blow him backwards. In the scant moments the webslinger was in mid-air, he calculated his trajectory and realized that he was going to fall into the pool just as Electro recovered. He threw out a webline blind and pulled hard. He twisted over the pool, landed ungracefully and rolled right into the shuffleboard set. Electro grinned at him. "Almost."
--spider-sense!--
Spidey jerked his head and saw Vulture coming in for a low swoop. "Here's a game for ya, old man," he shouted, grabbed a three shuffleboard discs and chucked them. Vulture slalomed around each and curled back, as Spider-Man snagged his ankles with a webline. As Vulture turned in the air, Spider-Man shot out another line to the wall, and re-directed his outward momentum in an upward loop to land squarely on Vulture's back.
"Hi ho silver!" Spider-Man yelled gleefully.
"Off me, whelp!" Vulture shouted. Spider-Man wrapped his hands around Vulture's neck and pulled him back, steering him towards the balcony.
"Sorry, Vulch, but this flight's been re-routed to Electro International." Spider-Man maneuvered the Vulture down, but the old man bucked him off balance and the wallcrawler was smacked off by a faux palm tree. He shook his head and recovered just as Electro sizzled his electrified fists through the air.
Spider-Man got up and Electro threw another punch. Spider-Man evaded, almost shot a webline. I still have the batch that conducts electricity, don't I? Wonderful. Electro proceeded to swing, and Spider-Man continued to avoid. On the rocks, Spider-Man had surer footing, but Electro was untouchable.
A bright flash went off in Spider-Man's eyes and blinded him long enough for Electro to give him two quick jabs to the face. Spider-Man rolled back and hefted a torso-sized rock as a shield.
"Come on, Electro, punch this," Spidey jibed. "You won't break your hand, promise. Come on!"
Electro tried to sweep kick Spider-Man, but the webslinger hopped over and Electro banged his foot up against a stone. Spider-Man saw Vulture flying at him out of the corner of his eye, said, "Here, catch," tossed the rock to Electro, and back flipped onto the lowest balcony as Vulture tossed another explosive. Spider-Man toggled his webshooters and began firing web balls in rapid succession, like a tail gunner on a B-17. He managed to his Vulture in the side of the face, and the bird man listed and skidded along the wall.
"Gah!" Vulture expectorated.
"Now you know how my car feels!" Spidey yelled, and cartwheeled out of the way of Electro's blast. Dillon shot himself up to the balcony on an electrical current and began peppering the ledge with lightning bolts. Spider-Man twisted, contorted, somersaulted out of the way of most, but one connected and he flew back, smashing a table and vase. Electro reared back for another strike as Spider-Man rolled himself over the edge of the balcony and crawled underneath it.
Electro began firing through the floor, and Spider-Man swung himself aside like a hinge. He punched through the floor by Electro's ankle and grabbed at it. Electro blew through the floor with another bolt, and Spider-Man dodged. He punched again behind Dillon, and Electro fired in turn. Spider-Man threw himself up onto the underside of the middle balcony and gave Electro a little wave. Electro had time for a confused look before the floor under him gave way.
"The only thing I regret is that he didn't hold up a sign that said 'uh-oh' right before he landed," Spidey muttered, and looked up. Vulture was struggling in mid air with the webbing Spider-Man had pegged him with, and the wallcrawler swung out and grabbed his wings. Vulture kicked at him, but Spidey had clambered over his shoulders and perched himself on the Vulture's hunched back.
"No!" Vulture screamed.
"That's right, baldy," Spider-Man said, "time to soak your teeth." He dug in and began to rip out wires and controls--the only means Vulture had of keeping himself aloft. The bird man began to falter and drop.
"Been fun as usual, Vulch," Spidey said. "Remind me to send you a nice card once you're back in the home." He turned to jump off, but at the moment Vulture jerked around, out of control and Spider-Man got tangled up in the wings. This never ends well in that rhyme, he panicked, and extricated himself just as the water gushed around him. He looked up as the cloud of bubbles faded and saw Electro standing over him, smiling. He threw up his hand and shot out a webline just as Electro fired. The webline hit Electro's shoulder and completed the circuit, shocking the shocker. Dillon spasmed and fell to the concrete walkway, down for the count.
Otto slowly rose from the chair and looked at the pool, a murky mess of bubbles. There was no movement for five seconds.
Then the Vulture's head broke the water...followed by Spider-Man, who had the unconscious bird man by the collar. He pulled himself, shuddering, out of the pool and looked up at a scowling Otto.
"Adrian," he chuckled.

[Joker]

"Do not slander my mental capacities again, Dillon," Otto warned. His jaw muscles clenched. "I have adapted to your various brands of insolence, but you go too far there."

LOL! I love these lines :D

Great chapter as per usual, Wabbit :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Son of a double post...:cmad:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eight

Spider-Man panted heavily as Otto's tentacles glided past him with the slumped bodies of Electro and Vulture. He tried to clench his hand, found he couldn't. It made him a little upset that his muscles were rebelling against him after he'd gave them that lovely gift of a few thousand volts. Kids these days...
He was able to lift his head, and he looked at Otto. The man's face was completely blank.
"So," Spider-Man shuddered, "you let them go now, right?"
"I don't remember that ever entering into the bargain," Otto ruminated. "We arranged that they would stay alive."
"Oh.....bloody hell," Spider-Man sighed.
"Apt," Otto said. He pressed a hand to his ear and muttered something. Soon, Biehn (still wielding the rifle) and Sandman appeared at Otto's side. Otto nodded and they dragged Spider-Man to his feet, Biehn's gun barrel pressed firmly against the wallcrawler's temple.
"Put him in with Keller," Otto said.
Spider-Man looked up. "Keller? She's still alive?"
"Of course," Otto said. "I don't terminate experiments before their completion."
Spider-Man looked over at Biehn peripherally. "Nice that your new boss has a sense of fair play. Too bad you didn't take notes...scumbag."
"Switching to the winning side doesn't allow for such niceties," Biehn said. He turned Spider-Man and they started to walk.
"Good career move, by the way. A government office has a few creature comforts, but nothing pads a resume like a stark little cell."
Biehn smiled.
"What did he promise you? Australia?" Spider-Man turned to Flint. "I know what you got: a nice cute beach to cuddle up to. Gritty girls were always your thing."
Biehn and Spider-Man stopped in front of a heavy door. Sandman grunted as he pulled it open.
"Sometimes you just see the change coming and act accordingly," Biehn said. "Not that it matters, I would have betrayed you anyway. Just ask her."
Sally Keller was sitting by the wall, grimy and downcast. Biehn shoved the wallcrawler next to her and began to chain him to multiple pipes.
"You think I'm not going to break that door down once the shakes wear off?" Spidey asked. Biehn finished and stepped back.
"Not really," he said, and slammed the metal slab closed. Spidey slid down the wall and crossed his arms to diminish the shakes. He met Sally's gaze. She looked sullen, and emotionally beaten.
"Seen any good movies lately?" he asked.

Otto opened the door to one of the yacht's suites, and set down Electro and Vulture. He moved into the room, followed by Mysterio. "Watch them," he commanded. "And shut off the Electro hologram when I return."
"Ah, time to meet the press, eh?"
Otto's mouth tilted in amusement. "You could say so."
He left. In moments he was at his extensive workspace of computer hard drives and monitors. His arms clicked and whirred, making different network connections and giving commands to elude network securities. He wanted to smile at the unstoppable gears he had begun to turn. Instead, he furrowed his brow and affected a grim air. The mayor's face blinked to life on the monitor in front of him.
"D-doctor," the mayor quivered. "We have 250 million ready for you now....but the president hasn't been able to get back in time to authorize the other half."
"Then you have failed, mister mayor," Otto said. "You have not delivered either the 500 million or released the prisoners. Unless you are able to give both now, unequivocally, then we have a crisis. Electro has already contacted me--he can't keep coherence much longer."
The mayor looked around at the clustered aides, guards, and members of the media in a panic. "Doctor, there was no way we could give you what you asked! You must have known--"
"It's not the difficulty of the command, it's the strength of the one given it," Otto interrupted. "Since you have proven yourself incapable of protecting your flock, the wolves will have their fill."
"For god's sake, you can't do this," the mayor shrieked. "Please!"
"Why should I show you mercy? I chose you as an opponent, and you were unable to even meet me as an equal."
"If you destroy New York, it'll set off a firestorm! The world's going to go to war against you!"
Otto paused. He stared grimly at the mayor for a long time. Then:
"Go home, mayor. Make your peace with wife and child. Then turn on the news, and we can finish this discussion vicariously." Otto shut off the transmission as the mayor's head fell into his hands.
Then he did smile.

Spider-Man sniffed the air and coughed involuntarily. "Sorry."
Keller huffed a dry laugh. "You'll smell too, after a while."
Spider-Man shook his head. "After a while, I'm going to break out. They're idiots if they think these chains are going to hold me for long."
Keller gave him a look. Spider-Man hesitated. "But they're not idiots," he finished.
"No," Keller agreed. "They're not."
Spider-Man moved closer to her, his chains rattling. He looked at her closely. "I think you know something."
She broke his glance, shuffling back. "I'm chained up right next to you."
"Not only do you know something, you told him something," Spider-Man hissed. "Biehn said he'd betray me eventually. Which means you'd betray me eventually."
"He's lying," she said.
"He's good at that, I grant you," Spidey agreed. He tugged against the chains. "But he's too smug to throw that at me without any sincerity. He wasn't lying then, was he?"
"He was mistaken," Keller replied. She looked at his mask, with its blank eyes. "I'm not going to betray you."
"But you were."
"I didn't say that," she said.
Spider-Man hesitated, then exhaled some emotion. "All right, whether you were or weren't going to beat Biehn to the punch is no longer relevant. We're both stuck here..." He looked around the room. "...somehow. Even if you hate my guts, it's time to compare notes, and my pages are blank."
She looked at him, surprised. "Why would I hate you?"
He frowned. "You don't?"
"No," she said. "I mean, you--well, never mind."
Peter' eyes narrowed. "Oh, do tell."
She sighed. "You remind me of my husband."
"You're married?"
She stared dully at him.
"Oh." He stopped. "I'm...uh...I didn't know." He hung his head and looked at her peripherally. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She watched the opposite wall, then brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Otto knows about Gopher. He forced me to tell him everything--why it was built, and how to use it."
"Dandy. Well," Spider-Man said, spreading his hands, "we have time. Share."
"Yeah. We've got plenty of time." She shimmied against the wall, getting comfortable. "Our...'group' doesn't have a name, exactly. It started out as a think tank--to answer how the regular man fits into this meta human world."
"Oh, I like this," Spider-Man said.
Keller frowned at him. "Why?" she asked. "You think we should sit on the curb and just watch you supermen slug each other through buildings?"
"No," Spider-Man shot back, "I think that every time you schmucks sit down to try and solve the 'problem' of the super-people, you've got two things on your mind: genocide or total control. Since I don't see Panzer tanks in the streets, I'm going to assume you kept Orwell on the nightstand."
"The very thing we were trying to avoid," she spat. "We knew the vigilantes would see this as a power grab. People on pedestals never fall in love with leveling the playing field."
"Oh, sure," Spider-Man rolled his eyes. "Doctor Doom runs an ‘enforced monarchy’, Magneto tries to enforce his own twisted ubermensche ideals, some thug makes a clean getaway and shoots somebody's uncle--yeah, I'm just in it to feel special. I bribe JJ to shower me with sunshine and puppies in the press.” He blew out a frustrated breath, then stopped in mid-thought. “Level the playing field? What do you mean?”
Keller glared at him. “As I was saying, our think tank studied recent events in the world to see what role normal people played in it. You want to know what cinched it? Otto Octavius tries to hijack a satellite so he can pump burundite into the atmosphere--a substance so addictive he expected billionaires from all hemispheres to pay anything for relief.”
“The last time he formed the Sinister Six,” Spider-Man said.
"We watched as you and they and other superheroes raged against each other. We decided right then and there that meta-humans are the deadliest weapon in any arsenal of any civilization. The combined efforts of a mere six of you--six!--puts billions of people in harm's way. How can an army--forget an army, how can a nuclear bomb compare with the level of intelligent, selective destruction you engage in over the span of a year?"
"I'm surprised you didn't try to get us to come forward, join the army of the government for a four-year tour," Spider-Man replied.
"Too public," she said. "No, we designed the Gopher as something more subtle. You know what it does? It makes you delusional. It hits the brain with seratonin to trigger a euphoric reaction and lower defenses, and then uses nanobots to cut off parts of the command center. The seratonin wears off, and a little roadblock is cemented in your brain. You never lose your powers, you still have them--but the lines have been severed. Much like how some victims of brain damage can't move an arm, you can no longer stick to walls."
Or use my spider-sense. Spider-Man frowned. "When was this project completed?"
"Shortly before Otto's most recent escape," Keller said. "One of our men was delivering a prototype sans nanobots, when Otto's men broke in and stole it. You were able to stop him, even though he threw a helicopter at you."
Spidey frowned. "Wait, that was part of the Gopher? That little doo-hickey Otto shanked me with?" He blew out a breath of frustration. "Wonderful. He's already taken this out for a test-drive...the going just got tougher."
Keller leaned her head against a hand. "Did you know doctors recorded a 78% increase in ulcers and other stress-related illnesses in the past seven months alone? Do you have any idea how much it's risen in the past five years? People used to worry about terrorists hijacking a plane. Now?" She sighed. "We've come a long way from Bikini Island."
She looked at him. "Don't you ever to just want to go back to the way things were?"
His mind drifted to the one moment in time he would gladly alter, and he mused.
"My...my husband Greg used to work with radioactive materials and...well, he got into an accident. He became a super-human."
"Really?"
She smiled. "I was amazed. He became so much more confident, even romantic in a way. He was a corny guy, bending steel girders into hearts, silly nonsense like that. And guess what? A month after that, I found out I was pregnant."
"Super in every way," Spidey muttered.
Her smile faded. "He was great."
He paused. "And the daughter?"
She looked down. "She was born weak and barely able to digest. She died after her third birthday. The doctors discovered it was because of our differences in genetics--they tore through each other like tissue paper. Two months after that, Greg gets so stressed out at his job he loses concentration and immolates himself and three other people.
"The think tank eventually decided I was too emotionally attached and erased my memory."
Spider-Man raised an eyebrow.
"I don't hate you," she said. He met her gaze.
"I'm sorry what happened," Spider-Man said. "But you can't bring back the past. The world's in a different place now, and getting rid of us won't improve that. Galactus, Kang, Doom--they're problems you can't solve by yourself, because you simply don't have the power. I do this because you need people like me. It's my responsibility."
She met his eyes. He sidled up to her.
"Let me tell you about someone I once knew," he said. "His name was Ben..."

Otto had his flesh and blood arms crossed as he looked out from all of New York's televisions. "By now," he orated, "you have undoubtedly come to realize New York is not facing a supernova collapse ahead of schedule. Doubtlessly, you are wondering why."
Mary Jane looked at the car radio as she and her little band drove on.
"You may not be surprised to learn that the city government was completely uninvolved. I conferenced with the former mayor and laid down specific terms; he was unable to meet them. I hope he is watching--are you, I wonder? You may have noticed I used the preamble 'former'--I'm sure even you cattle in the street know where this leads. However, before I get to that, indulge me as I address a side avenue.
"I had thought the severity of impending doom would stir the last, fading coals of common sense the superhuman community has. In hindsight, clearly one of my few flights of fancy."
Sue pressed tighter against Reed. "Ben--!"
The screen cut to a shot of Iron Man and Thing pulled tight against the wall. "True to form," he narrated, "representatives of the Avengers and the..."--he sighed--"...Fantastic Four engaged in a meaningless skirmish and were trounced. As such, they are going to brand a memory in the collective superhero consciousness that it will not soon be forgotten."
Hank McCoy gritted his teeth. Logan began to crack his knuckles.
On screen, Iron Man and Thing began to quiver. "It's a gradual pain, as my associate Electro can assure you." The two began to shake and rattle inside their bonds. Thing began to convulse in force, pebbles flaking off in a small erosion. Iron Man jerked and spasmed. "I might add it is extremely enjoyable to watch."
"My God," Robbie breathed. Betty's mouth hung open. Jonah was yelling for a photographer.
The spittle inside Thing's mouth became a lace of electricity. Iron Man's armor began to arc lightning like a Tesla coil.
"Enough," Otto said. They began to still. "This time, I have a promise to keep. Of course, in the future, this will no longer be an obstacle. Yes...I'm going to publicly execute two prominent members of two prominent super-vigilante confederacies. Indirectly, this leads me full circle.
"I am not reckless by any stretch of the imagination. I do not make promises without intent of fulfilling them. So I promise you, the citizens of New York, that you are now under my permanent governing authority. I can say so because your mewling mayor surrendered you to me without any resistance, and the superheroes that teem this city like ants are just that: insects." He straightened his tie.
"My associates will be in more direct contact with your echelons to implement this new infrastructure. Hold no illusion: I am in control. Those fools who claim to protect you are powerless and intellectually unequipped to stop me--though I am sure they will try. Good day."
The TV screen flickered off. Captain America rubbed his chin in thought, picked up his shield, then turned to the rest of the team.
"Avengers...assemble!"

[Joker]

Wooo, the Avengers enter the fray :up: :D

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Nine

Otto flicked off the signal and stood, silent. He could almost hear the frantic cacophony of emergency calls, the human cattle bleating desperately. He closed his eyes, seeing the vigilantes scramble along the rooftops and down fire escapes. So much pointless motion--wasted energy.
He saw Flint in his peripheral vision and turned.
"I suppose you want to discuss something," Otto said.
"You're going to kill Iron Man and Thing?" Flint asked. Otto nodded and began to walk. "There's no alternative?"
A tentacle lit Otto's cigarette. "Alternative?" Otto asked. "Surely, that was a poor attempt at humor."
"I'm not a murderer," Sandman said. "You can't make me kill 'em." Otto paused--he registered a hard underlay in Flint's voice that had not been there before...or he had simply not noticed. He filed it away with some consideration--he would not be betrayed again.
"No one is asking you to," Otto replied. "If you wish to distance yourself from the events to come, well, that's understandable. However, there must be no misunderstanding--we gamble for world conquest, and the powers that be will not cash in without resistance. Blood will be spilt: even if you are not directly responsible, you will be complicitous." He allowed it to sink in. "Can your conscience make peace with that?"
Marko's face squirmed in conflicted emotion. Otto paused, then put a hand on Flint's shoulder.
"I realize our history together has not been altogether pleasant," Otto asserted. "We will never see eye to eye, I think, but that isn't important. What is important is that we stand together against our common enemies. If they get the chance, the governments of the world will clap us in irons and send us both to very small, secure boxes. But, if we form a phalanx against them, our lines cannot be broken. I need you."
He met Flint's gaze squarely. Marko's eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope and surprise--a crack in the armor. Otto nodded and kept walking. Perceived sympathy was so effective on the weak-minded.
They turned the corner and walked into Mysterio's suite. Electro was sitting up, rubbing his head, while Vulture was still on his back, awake but groaning. "I'm gonna get him," Electro growled. "Turn all the liquid in his body to steam."
"We both know you'll do no such thing," Vulture rebutted. The septuagenarian groaned and pulled himself up on his elbows. "He's Otto's patient."
Electro got up and glared at the bird man. "Fine," Electro spat. "Then I'll have to settle for a crow like you." He made a sudden move, and Mysterio got between them. Otto looped a few tentacles around Dillon and pulled him back.
"I see our shock victims have recovered," Otto said dryly.
"Yes, a few moments after you left," Mysterio replied. Otto nodded and turned Electro to face him.
"You may not particularly enjoy this, but Adrian's correct," Otto told him. "You can't kill Spider-Man--or the old bird, as it happens."
"You've got some plan for him, too?" Electro sneered.
"Yes, to die old and unfulfilled," Otto retorted. "Enough bickering, we need to discuss the near future." He set Electro down. "Beck, corral your patients to the mess hall--and make sure they don't kill each other first."

In a few moments, Otto was standing at the head of the table, with the rest of the five sitting. He nodded.
"I'm pleased to discover that you are resilient," Otto spoke, "because I've just announced to New York that because of the deficient power structure, we have taken control. As a consequence of that and the apprehension of their fellows, the super-vigilante community will attempt a retaliatory strike."
Flint looked down at the table, Electro gritted his teeth and Biehn narrowed his eyes in thought.
"This is not as grim as it may first appear. The innumerable amount of meta-humans crawling inside this concrete anthill are all too independant. By themselves, they have insufficient resources and even less of an emotional attachment. Those who do are members of the three primary superhuman confederacies: the Avengers, the X-men, and the Fantastic Four." He paused. "Fortunately, I know exactly who will attack first, and therefore, how to welcome them properly."
"How can you be sure?" the Vulture said bitterly. "We've got both Iron Man and Thing in the cellar."
"Precisely," Otto said. "The X-men are not emotionally involved, nor was there a threat made on one of their own. With the rampant human/mutant schisms, they won't clean up another's mess."
"That still leaves two," Flint pointed out.
"The Fantastic Four are led by Reed Richards," Otto responded. "He fancies himself a scientist, so he will react as a scientist. He will realize he has no way to find us immediately, and waste time trying to do so. The Avengers are led by Captain America, a soldier. He will coordinate, strategize, and attack."
"But he doesn't know how to find us, either," Flint replied.
"He will," Otto said, and held up a small CD, "with this. It's a holographic video that shows Iron Man briefly escaping and getting to the monitor. We'll broadcast it to Avengers Mansion on an emergency band, to ensure authenticity."
"How do you know about their emergency channels?" Electro asked.
"I made Iron Man tell me," Otto said.
"What makes you think they won't share the information with the Fantastic Four and take us in a pincer?" Mysterio said.
"Simple," Otto said. "At the end of the video, Iron Man is vaporized. They'll be coherent just long enough to form a plan of attack, and then strike." He began to pass out dossiers. "That said, these files contain information on the Avenger's current members. Captain America: peak physical condition and fighting capability. His vibranium shield is used as a projectile weapon as well as being a nearly impenetrable defense. I suspect he will seek me out as his opposite number; I'll take care of him. The Wasp: able to change size, fire small bio-electric 'stings,' and on rare occasions, control ants en masse. Sandman, I expect you to take her down quickly. Nothing fatal, don't worry. The Vision: synthetic organism, able to change his tangibility, fly, fire energy blasts. Electro, use any means necessary to ensure victory. Hawkeye: archer, expert marksman, and overconfident. Biehn, exploit this. Scarlet Witch: mutant ability to alter probability and change perceptions through what she believes are 'hexes.' Mysterio, you'll be hard pressed, but I believe you're up to the task. She-Hulk: super-human strength, nearly impenetrable skin. Vulture, she can't hit what she can't touch."
"You left out Thor," Biehn said.
"He's busy in Asgard," Otto nodded. "It will be months before he returns, and when he does...you all know what to do. Dismissed." Chairs were pushed back and the Six got up. "Quentin, Biehn, come with me."

Spider-Man looked up as the heavy bolt was drawn back from the cell door. He glanced over at Keller--she was still asleep.
Biehn and Mysterio walked in, their boots clanging on the hull. A different sort of clanging followed as Otto strode in on his actuators. He set himself down, arms crossed and smugness oozing out of him.
"Nothing like having a close-knit circle of friends to visit when you're sick," Spider-Man said warmly. "Stay-Puft, Dwayne's World--and Mysterio! How did you get time off from the aquarium? You know they need all the space they can get."
"Are you comfortable?" Otto asked.
"What an apt question," Spidey said. "Did you want an apt, equally non sequitir answer?"
"More to the point, are you emotionally comfortable? Are you worried?"
"With all these rusty chains, I'm a tad worried about lockjaw," Spidey said. "Are you getting somewhere?"
Otto shook his head. "It's nothing short of miraculous you're still alive." He began to pace. "I plan to kill your compatriots within the next few days."
"We had an arrangement," Spider-Man said.
"Were you honestly under the impression I'd let two prizes out of my grasp?"
"No, I thought you'd let them live."
"Which I did," Otto replied. "We had an arrangement to an indeterminate time frame. Since it was never specified by you, I took the liberty. And with that liberty comes a new threat, one that involves you, your friends...your lovers."
"What?"
"Do you remember our confrontation in the mountain base? You were beaten quite badly...I would understand if you blocked it out."
"Oh, that's right," Spider-Man said, snapping his fingers. "Chasing you like a dog until I was so tuckered out I just keeled over."
"Revisionist historian," Otto snarled. "You played right into my hands."
"All six of them."
"You would have been dead," Otto continued. "In the case of brains versus brawn, once again, the one with the superior intellect prevailed."
"Wait a minute," Spider-Man said, "then wouldn't you be in jail?"
Otto paused. "You are still alive. You friends will not be. Believe me when I say this has all been worked out well in advance--your allies will walk right into a trap, the same way you did. You vigilantes like to cloak yourself in morality, the choice of right and wrong. You pretend you act out of responsibility and concern--now we can sift the fact from the fiction."
Spider-Man cocked his head, confused.
"I spared you to make you submit," Otto said. "Your irreverence, your constant moral patronization...it taxes me. After years of it, it infuriates me. Your entire meta-human caste infuriates me."
"So want me to stop being a superhero?"
"I want you to admit I'm your better," Otto said. "I know you'll never do it verbally, you're too proud. I want you to unmask."
"Check that prescription, Doc, you're seeing stupid."
"I want to make it clear that your entire sociological strata will be wiped out in one swift stroke. I also want to make it clear that by your submission, they will be spared. No one has to die if you give up."
Spider-Man said nothing, lost in thought.
"I can understand your hesitation--there's no personal connection. In a sense, there are no faces, only masks--you don't really know any of these people. You need a visible, identifiable consequence of your actions."
Spider-Man had to restrain himself from any visible body language as Otto pulled out a picture of Mary Jane.
"This woman...you know her, don't you? I know you do because she's the wife of Peter Parker--that vexing young man who canonizes you in the Bugle. Now, whether you're friends, business partners, or lovers makes no difference to me--but you should know that whatever fate befalls her will be a direct result of your actions in the next few moments."
Spider-Man said nothing. A tentacle claw slowly grabbed Spider-Man by the face and pulled it up.
"Unmask," Otto said, "or they all die. In her case, it might not be so simple."
Spider-Man swallowed. "No."
"Is that the responsible thing to do?" Otto smiled.
"I think so."
Otto let him go and walked towards the door. "You have no idea how pleased you just made me," he said.
Spider-Man looked down as the door slammed closed. The responsible thing...

Mary Jane saw flashing lights in the rear view mirror. "Steve..."
"I saw it," he said, and pulled over to the side of the road. The police car slowed down and landed behind them, still flashing.
"That's odd," Virginia said. "Why is there a cop coming from the city?"
MJ frowned. That was odd. The officer walked up to the window.
Quentin Beck, in police uniform, smiled. "License and registration, please."

[OctoHaz]

I finally got caught up. Awesome stuff, Wabbit. :)

[Joker]

Christ, what a cliffhanger :wow:

Wabbit, you never cease to amaze :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Ten

"You take me by surprise every time we see each other, Jonah," the mayor said, shaking hands. "Jonah, Robbie, this is Senator Elie and his, uh--associate, Mister Biehn."
"Good to see you," Robbie said. "But, this isn't really a social call."
"Nor is it an interview," Jonah said hastily. "I want to make that clear--nothing said here is on the record."
"I appreciate the discretion," Elie smiled. "As does my associate."
"Naturally," Jonah said, and lit a cigar.
"So, not a social call, not an interview...what is this about, gentlemen?" the mayor asked. He sat down behind the desk, hands interlaced.
"I think we need to be perfectly blunt, mister mayor," Robbie said. "Doctor Octavius has made pretty ambitious claims on New York--as well as a few threats to the political structure. We're watching a catastrophe unfold right in front of us. We--Jonah and myself, on behalf of the citizens of New York--want to know what you're planning to do about it."
"It doesn't seem like there's anything we can do right now," the mayor sighed. "Octavius' men are running all over the city in those stolen helicopters."
"Only fifteen helicopters were stolen initially," Robbie said, perusing his notes. "Something's not right here."
"With Doc Ock and those goons running around, I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Jonah responded.
"Let's not forget," Biehn said, "one of their chief power players is Mysterio. He's a master of holograms, cybernetic constructs--much of this could be a smokescreen, but we've got no way to be sure."
Jonah narrowed his eyes. "Pretty educated bodyguard you have there, Elie."
"He's not a bodyguard," Elie chuckled. "He's the director of a special division concerning the containment of the supervillain populace."
Jonah harrumphed in dismissal. "Nice work."
"But to be clear," Robbie said pointedly, shooting a glance at Jonah, "the mayoral office has no defensive strategy concerning the Sinister Six? How can that be?"
"Well, we didn't say we had no defensive strategy," the mayor said. "We're still fleshing it out. You have to understand, with a power grab like this, we've got to keep the everyman square in mind. He's the one that's going to be caught in the crossfire if things go south."
"We've already been caught in the crossfire, blast it!" Jonah thundered.
"Jonah..." Robbie tried to put a hand on his arm, but Jonah wrenched it away.
"Doc Ock almost blew up the city yesterday, and you're sitting on your hands? We can't wait any longer!"
"No," Elie said softly, "we cannot. Tomorrow afternoon there's going to be an emergency meeting of the senate. A bill I've spent quite a bit of time on is going to be up for vote, and once it is passed, we as a nation are going to take action."
"Tomorrow?!" Jonah exploded.
"Getting a herd of politicians to move with any speed is nothing short of miraculous, Jonah," the mayor said. "Besides, Octavius hasn't made any more threats, any more demands--we've got a very narrow window of time to take advantage of."
"What's this bill you mentioned?" Robbie asked.
"I'm sorry," Elie responded, "but even with confidentiality, I can't disclose such information of national importance." The intercom beeped, and the mayor leaned forward. "Yes?"
"Mister mayor, there's a visitor coming upstairs for you. He's quite insistent."
Jonah gulped. "Is that...him?"
Biehn slowly brought out his gun. "Put that away, you fool," Elie whispered. "Don't get us killed."
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs and closer to the door. They stopped outside and the door was slammed open.
"I am sorry to barge in on you like this, mister mayor," Captain America said, "but we have a serious problem." Jonah and Robbie exchanged shocked looks. Elie stood up and smoothed out his three piece suit.
"My God," Elie breathed. "It is an honor to meet you, Captain." He stuck out a hand.
Cap let it hang there. "Senator," he said, "I hope, for your sake, you are completely innocent of the matter I'm about to disclose. But until I'm sure, don't you dare try to kiss up to me."
Jonah raised his eyebrows.
"What are you talking about?" the mayor asked. Captain America shoved a CD into his hand. "One hour ago, we received an emergency communication from Iron Man. He had escaped his captors and was attempting to give us a lock on his location." He looked hard at Elie. "Unfortunately, he was discovered and...killed before he could finish his message."
He stepped closer to Elie, his circular shield glinting dully, face hard and set. "Fortunately, Avengers Mansion has technology perfectly capable of tracing that signal back to its source. It was a ship. We checked with the port authority--it's the S.S. Marilyn, registered to one Senator Robert Elie."
Elie was shaking profusely.
"So," Cap said, "needless to say, that casts a rather large shadow of suspicion over certain people."
"I don't have anything to do with this!" Elie sputtered. "That yacht should have gone up the coast, back to the caretakers! I only use it a few times a year, it shouldn't--" He stalled. "I don't know how this happened," he finished lamely.
"Iron Man's dead?" Robbie asked.
"My God," Jonah exhaled. "First Osborn...now this..."
"What are we going to do?" the mayor asked. "If Octavius is on that boat, we can co-ordinate a strike with the national guard. Overwhelm him with numbers!"
"No," Cap said. "This entire situation is suspicious. Electro almost self-destructs, then suddenly doesn't; Spider-Man, Iron Man, and Thing attack him, but he only brags about two of them.
"Iron Man..."
"You're going in alone?" Biehn asked.
Cap's grim look softened. "Not exactly," he said. "The Avenger's current roster is six members, since Thor's away. It will be an even fight."
"We can't risk national security because of a personal vendetta," Elie said. Cap looked at him. "We have to send in the military, along with the Avengers."
"This is not about vengeance," Cap said. "It's strategy. If you send in the military, he will kill his other hostages--one of which is not a superhuman--and make an escape. A surprise attack by a force he believes he can defeat, and things may turn out well. It's numbers--you politicians are good with those."
"Who's the other hostage?" Robbie asked.
"Sally Keller," Cap replied. "Government employee, work associate of one Dwayne Biehn--the primary reason I suspect you might be innocent, Senator."
He turned. "Mister mayor." Then he left.
Jonah counted to five, then stood up. "Well, Robbie and I should be going, too. I have to go fire my photographer--don't want to be late."
The mayor frowned. "Wait, this entire--"
"--Conversation is off the record," Jonah finished. "Complete discretion, that's what the Bugle's known for, bye-bye." He waved Robbie through and shut the door. Robbie turned to him, confused.
"The entire conversation is off the record, Jonah," he said. "And Peter's a freelancer."
"I know that," Jonah shot back, sounding hurt. "That's why I'm giving him a staff job--if I'm going to fire someone, it needs to have weight. And no, the entire conversation is not off the record."
"Of course it is!" Robbie said. "We can't betray disclosure, that's one of the main--"
"The senator, mayor, and bodyguard agreed to disclosure," Jonah replied. "Captain America, on the other hand..."
Robbie stopped, halfway down the stairs. "What?"
"Relax, Robbie, we'll give the senator a nice seventh-page fluff piece," Jonah said. He stopped, frowned. "But only if he agrees for half-price. We can't lower our standards."
"It's unethical!"
"Oh, no it isn't," Jonah waved it away dismissively. "It's an exclusive! We'll write out all the parts with the mayor, senator,...what's-his-name. All the relevant details were in that sliver of conversation with Captain America anyway."
"That's true," Robbie said, bobbing his pen. "The rumored location of the Sinister Six, an attack by Captain America and the Avengers...the mayor's not going to tell anybody else about the meeting--we're gold."
"Did you notice that bodyguard?"
"Who, Biehn?" Robbie asked. "He didn't say much--hmmm....he's connected to that Keller woman, though. We could research him--surreptitiously, of course."
"We did agree to confidentiality," Jonah pointed out. "But I was referring to his pants."
"You can't remember his name, but you notice his pants?"
"He was tightening his belt throughout the discussion," Jonah said. "The senator? Too busy hero-worshiping. Something stinks, Robbie."
"Probably just not impressed," Robbie replied. "How is this relevant?"
Jonah began ticking off points on his fingers. "Elie--an unknown--has a secret conference on board the Marilyn with major members of both sides. Biehn serves as a bodyguard, and manages to get Parker--Parker!--booted off the ship. God, I wish I had that talent--especially when the little scamp's begging for money."
"Jonah."
"Right, right, right. Parker returns with nothing."
"You tell him to leave and not come back until he has something."
"And he tells me he does have something--Biehn wants to set up a meeting with that wall-crawling weasel."
"There's that objectivity rearing its ugly head again..."
"Objectivity just gets in the way of good writing," Jonah replied. "But Biehn is connected to that Keller woman. She signs his checks."
"How do you know that?" Robbie asked.
"Once the Green Goblin was unmasked as Norman Osborn, I made Urich feel out any leads he felt was necessary. He learned from Osborn's datebooks he'd had several appointments with Sally Keller. Urich found the address of her office, made a paper-thin excuse to get Keller's records, found her signature on a copy of Biehn's pay stubs."
Robbie raised his eyebrow, impressed. "Remind me to give him a raise."
"No, no, no," Jonah waved his hands. "No raises. Back on track: Sally Keller is Biehn's boss, Biehn is the assistant to a very well-placed Senator, Keller gets kidnapped by that nutjob Ock."
"And Biehn adjusts his pants," Robbie said.
"Right," Jonah agreed. He looked at his stub of a cigar and grimaced.
"Suggestive body language," Robbie said. "What does it suggest?"
Jonah sighed. "I don't know. But it is suggestive, because this is suspicious--everybody Biehn touches gets kidnapped. Captain America was right--we just don't know about what."

Captain America closed the door to the roof. He walked to the ledge and looked at the mayor's building. "Well?"
Vision looked at him. "Elie was not lying," he said. "Perspiration levels, pulse rate, pupil dilation all indicate honesty. He is unconnected." Cap nodded and tapped his comlink. "Hawkeye?"
"The Marilyn's not changing course, Cap," Hawkeye said.
"You're keeping your distance, yes?"
"Don't worry, they can't see me. But that one henchmen of his needs to be more subtle about his groin wound. That tape lights up under these night-vision goggles."
"Are they maintaining speed?"
"Seems that way."
Cap did some quick calculations in his head. "They're going to be reaching the George Washington Bridge shortly after dusk. If we still have cloud cover, it's going to be dark enough to attack from above. Scarlet Witch?"
"I'm not sure I can create enough chaos in the atmosphere to darken the skies."
"Hmm. Wasp?"
"I know you're not asking me to create a lightning storm."
"You've got one hour--do some reconnaissance, study their weak points. Do not try to sneak below decks. We'll free the hostages after we take out the Six."
"Cap, they could be dead by then!"
"We can't afford to weaken our phalanx. I don't like it either, but we're going to have to take that risk. She-Hulk?"
"That's me."
"Grab some scuba gear and swim out to the bridge. Start piling up rocks--I need the Marilyn to run aground."
"Oh, wonderful."
He tapped the comlink off and watched the sky.

Biehn shoved open the door and walked up to Otto. "Captain America's on the warpath. He burst into the interview and is clearly intending to strike as soon as possible."
"Correction: he's going to strike as soon as it's strategically optimal," Otto replied. "He's going to construct a trap."
"What do we do?" Vulture asked.
"That's simple--we pretend ignorance and tear him apart," Otto said. "Maintain course and speed."
"I still can't believe we're doing this," Sandman groused.
"Oh, go nurse your emotional wounds through inebriation," Otto snapped. "Child."
"Sir."
Otto clicked on the com. "Go ahead, Mister Belgardt."
"The speed boat's pulling up to port."
Otto nodded and shut off the com. Scant moments later, he was at the port side, as Mysterio hauled a struggling, stressed-out red-head. "Let me go!" she screamed. "I am warning you--" She gasped when she caught sight of a snaking tentacle.
"Ah, Mrs. Mary Jane Watson-Parker," Otto smiled. "So nice to make your acquaintance."

[Joker]

Oh hell yeah. MJ is in Ock's clutches at last:


http://www.samruby.com/SpectacularD/Large/SpectacularSpider-Man174.jpg

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Eleven

The Oval Office was quiet, somber.
"Helluva thing about Norman Osborn," President West murmured. "Never would have expected it."
"Thank you for being able to come, mayor, senator," VP Reeves said. Hand shaking followed as the mayor and Elie sat down. "I'm told your liason Biehn was supposed to be here..."
"Yes," Elie nodded. "I'm afraid he had a departmental matter to attend to. We have his pertinent information on file."
"We have the pertinent information right here," Reeves said. "New York has been seized by meta-human terrorists--the Sinister Six, or some new variation. Fifteen stolen helicopters, illusory constructs, and the sundry mercenaries running around are keeping the local citizenry on a tight leash."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Mister President, I think we have to be realisitic about this," Secretary of Defense Hamilton interrupted. "The vigilante community is not taking any action against Otto Octavius-and personally, it would be foolish to rely on such a shifty resource."
"Actually, that's not strictly true," the mayor interjected. "Captain America and the Avengers intend to make a surgical strike as soon as possible."
Reeves raised an eyebrow. "Captain America...The Avengers have handled larger crises than this--we should stand back, observe."
Hamilton sighed. "Of course we should observe--and then implement our back-up strategy if they don't come through. Mister President, with two nieces in the five burroughs, I have no intention of sitting on the sidelines."
"Don't make this personal," Reeves said. "My son works in New York, and don't think that's not foremost on my mind."
"Then what do we do?" the mayor asked.
"Ordinarily, I'd recommend Navy SEALS," Hamilton said, "but it would be pointless to just throw men at the Six."
"Why?" the mayor asked. "With enough soldiers, one of them's bound to get a lucky shot eventually."
"Three reasons," Hamilton said. "The first is Sandman--with his impermeable mass and shape-shifting abilities, bullets would be useless. With enough heat or cold, we could immobilize him, but we don't have anything in production that could accomplish that as quickly as we'd need to. Second: Doctor Octopus himself is by now too experienced with those tentacles to be shot, and his brilliance lends itself to a strategic advantage--he's turned our strengths to weaknesses before. And third: Electro. With as much power as he has absorbed, he could and would simply eliminate wave after wave of soldiers before they could get within range--assuming he doesn't decide to create a lightning storm inside the city out of spite."
"Snipers?" Reeves asked.
"No," Hamilton said. "Now that the Iron Man transmission leaked out, they're going to play defensively--and there's no guarantee one of their mercenaries wouldn't spot our soldiers before we could use them."
West looked at Hamilton.
"Well, what, then?" the mayor asked. "We can't use helicopters, tanks, and the river's too small for battleships, submarines...what other options do we have?"
"Re-boot the Sentinel program?" Reeves asked.
"God, not the Sentinels," Elie muttered.
"And Electro could be too powerful," West reminded. "They're all too powerful." He looked at Elie. "When you told me about the Gopher project, I had assumed it would be useful--indispensable. So, several million dollars later, I find out that our principal investor is an insane criminal, and our large expenditure is stolen by Otto Octavius. Your entire division is completely powerless against the exact threat it was designed to combat."
"Designed to combat secretly," Elie pointed out. "They're scientists, not soldiers."
"That's what they are," West reminded. "Every single one of the meta-humans are soldiers without peer. They band together and form armies powerful enough to hold us to a standstill, completely independent...and we don't even know who most of them are."
Elie stared at him. "Need I remind you, mister President--"
West waved him down. "Yes, I remember your proposal tomorrow; I'm looking forward to it. It'd better pass, is all."
Elie smiled. "Norman Osborn's good for some campaign contributions--whether he knows it or not. It'll pass."
"Politics are only as good as the force that sustains it," Hamilton reminded them. "We need military support if the Avengers fail, or your speeches aren't going to mean anything."
"You must have some new options to consider."
"We have an Alpha-class sub stationed up near the Canadian coast. If they push it, the Arronax can make it to New York waters in time to respond."
"A sub can't make it into the river," the mayor pointed out, "it's too shallow."
"Submerged, it couldn't," Hamilton said. "It would be an extreme back-up plan, but we might be able to torpedo the boat."
"You'd better have another back-up plan," West replied.
Hamilton paused. "I trust we all remember the Enola Gay?"
"Are you serious?" Reeves exploded. "You want to drop an A-bomb in the middle of New York?"
"No, no," Hamilton said quickly. "No, we're not there yet. If we did drop the bomb, it would be out at sea--but we'd have to drive them there first. The aircraft carrier Trafalgar carries a full compliment of F-22s and F-35s. We could do long-range missile strikes--Electro would be able to sense them and disable them before they hit, but the sheer number would drive them back--and out to sea. Once that happens..."
Nobody said anything. West steepled his fingers and slowly blew out a breath.
"I admit it's not pretty," Hamilton said. "But it's all we've got left."
"We can't be seriously considering this," the mayor said.
"How close is the Trafalgar?" the president asked.
"It's coming in from Greenland for a refitting," Hamilton said. "It would arrive in six hours."
West nodded. "I'm giving you a cautionary approval. If the Avengers fail, coordinate the Arronax and the Trafalgar for attack."
"Given the circumstances, I think that's our best bet, mister President," Elie nodded.
"Sycophant," Reeves muttered. "Sir, we--"
"My decision is final, Reeves," West said quietly. "There's nothing to be done now except watch."

The Marilyn cut through the evening waters without a sound. Flint closed his eyes and breathed in the cool night air. He couldn't remember the last time anything had felt so peaceful.
He frowned and opened his eyes as a shadow fell across him. He turned--
"Enjoying the evening?" Otto asked, silhouetted in the doorway. He did not walk outside.
"Oh. Uh, yeah," Flint stammered. "Yeah, it's nice." He looked out at the George Washington Bridge, and smiled at the faint honks. "Too bad you can't see any stars."
"You're exposing us by being on deck," Otto remanded. "Get inside."
Flint grumbled and walked inside. Otto followed him down the stairs.
"Why are we picking a fight?" Flint asked. "Isn't there--"
"It was inevitable that the superhero groups should seek us out," Otto said. "It's more prudent to have them meet us on our terms, than the reverse."
Otto's com link chirped. "Frost to Doctor Octavius. The Human Torch just flew overhead, sir, 100 yards above us."
"Maintain course and speed," Otto said. "He doesn't know we're here." He shut it off and narrowed his eyes at Flint. "Had he crossed over us a minute earlier, however..."
"Right," Sandman groused. "Sorry."
They turned a corner and Flint stopped as he saw men going into Spider-Man's cell, dragging cables. He turned to Otto, who was grinning.
"They're installing a monitor in his cell so he can keep up on the battle," Otto explained. "There's more than one way to torture a man."
He produced three red hairs from his pocket and Flint winced. Otto smirked and walked into Spider-Man's cell. Flint stayed where he was.
"You seem more exhausted than ever, Spider-Man," Flint heard Otto say. "And you, Miss Keller...you look positively worn thin. The malnutrition, I suppose..."
"Well I'm glad you're installing cable," Spider-Man said. "Nothing like late-night TV to lift a man's spirits."
"Indeed," Otto said. "But should that fail..."
Flint grimaced and began to walk away.
"What is this?" Spider-Man asked.
"Proof, Spider-Man. We have your woman safely onboard."
"No--!"
"I'm afraid at present we can't arrange for a visit, but soon you both will receive the full 'hospitality' that only Doctor Octopus can provide..."
Their voices faded as Flint walked to the end of the hall. There was another heavy door there, but it had no sign, no number--not even a window. He turned the handle experimentally--it wasn't locked. Slowly, he pushed the door open. It was dark inside, but he could make out a blocky, detailed shape with w--
A tentacle snaked past him and slammed the door closed, almost cutting his hand off. He turned right into the angry face of Doc Ock.
"That room is restricted, Neanderthal," he growled. "Amuse yourself elsewhere."
"I'm s--"
"Just get out."
Flint left. Sheesh. He strolled around the ship for another ten minutes, and walked into the mess. Vulture, Mysterio, Electro, and a few of the hired guns were playing cards.
"Poker?" Flint asked.
"Texas Hold 'Em," Vulture explained. "Low stakes, I'm afraid. Still, we can deal you in."
"It's a bit late in the game for a new player," Mysterio grumbled,and Sandman transformed his hand into a solid mace.
"I'd like to play," he said. "Deal me in."
"Fine, fine," Mysterio said, and Flint sat down, put a twenty in the pot. He handed Flint his cards.
"Am I the only one who thinks this is crazy?" one of the guards asked. "Ticking off the Avengers? That's just asking for trouble."
"They're brash, young," Vulture explained. "Otto knows what he's doing. Raise five."
"See your five," Mysterio responded. "Yes, that's what troubles me, Toomes. Otto does need us to fight the Avengers, as well as any number of superhero groups...but to what purpose?"
"See and raise ten," Electro said. "Remember--we're going to rule the world, guys. And we're getting paid in advance."
"Which is precisely what troubles me," Mysterio replied. "He's dangled the carrots in front of our noses and we've followed."
"See your raise," Flint said, and watched the conversation.
"You think he's leading us into a trap?" Electro smirked.
"Fool me once," Vulture muttered. "Flip the card, Beck."
"If he is, it's against his own best interests," Mysterio continued, and flipped the card. "(Pass.) Otto is powerful, but even he can't take on the world by himself."
"You contradict yourself," Vulture said.
"No, this is what troubles me: he needs us. I don't think any of us knew the scope and magnitude of his offer when he came to us. We were down on our luck or imprisoned--"
"Raise five," Electro said.
"--and any offer seemed a good one. But really...ruling the world? What desperate power plays are running through his mind?"
"What do you mean?" Flint asked. "Otto's...well, he's a genius."
"No doubt," Mysterio replied. "But consider: the six of us against every known faction that currently exists. Not just super-human alliances, but governments, militaries, nations...we are gunning against the entire world. Otto can't afford to betray us, that's what troubles me: he's going to need us indefinitely."
"Really?" Flint asked.
"Hurrmm...." Vulture murmured. "I don't like the sound of that...I'm always up for a good score, but I'm no dictator."
"Nor I," Mysterio said. "Unless he has the proverbial ace up his sleeve--"
"Speaking of which: can we play cards?" Electro groused. "I don't know how I got mixed up with you nancies...the biggest score of all time and you're all wetting yourselves."
"I've got more than enough gumption to take down the Avengers myself," Vulture shot back. "But I like being a free agent."
"I like money better," Electro said. "If that means being somebody's second-hand man to rule the world, fine. Maybe I'll have the TV stations run 'Matlock' on every channel just for you, gramps." He paused. "On the other hand, maybe Otto's bit off more than he can chew."
"What are you saying?" Flint asked. "Oh, uh, pass."
"I'm saying I've got more electricity than I know what to do with," Electro smiled. "Don't worry guys, if Otto leads us into a dead end, I'll make sure he doesn't condescend to us ever again."
"Ambitious as ever," Mysterio muttered. "And for all the wrong reasons!"
"Listen, fishbowl, I've gotten enough flak from Spider-Man and disrespect from the rest of the rogues. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life as part of someone's team, or trying to run away from a bank carrying sacks of cash."
"I hate that," Flint muttered.
"Is that so?" Electro asked. "I'm not really interested in what you like, Sandman. In fact, I'm a little iffy as to why you're a member on the Six."
"You trust the new guy?" Flint asked.
"Not necessarily," Electro smirked. "But he's only betrayed our enemies."
Flint stared at him, and Electro's smile widened.
"Tell you what, Beach Boy," Electro went on, "I know how Doc Ock said you could keep your hands clean when we fight, but I'm changing the rules. I want to trust you, Flint, but how are you going to rule under me if you keep shifting sides? You kill the Wasp, Flint, understand?"
Mysterio sighed. "All right, you wanted to play cards, let's p--"
They were thrown to the deck violently. Gunfire echoed mutely throughout the ship.
"Game's over," Electro said. He looked over at Flint. "Right?"
Flint gulped.

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Twelve.

Captain America stood on the bridge, watching the Marilyn through night-vision goggles. "Avengers, report in," he said.
"Hawkeye, on shore, standing by."
"Wasp, on the bridge, standing by."
"Scarlet Witch, flying in from the rear, standing by."
"Vision, over the ship, standing by."
"She-Hulk, under water, standing by. Cap, the ship's going to run aground in ten seconds."
"Wasp, move in and take out the guards," Cap said.
"You got it."
"Vision, dive and go for the control room. Blackout communications."
"Roger that."
"Scarlet Witch, secure the ship from behind and make sure no one hassles the Vision."
"I can do that."
"You want me to sit on my hands, or can I enter the fray?" Hawkeye asked.
"Stay on shore and provide long-range support."
"Figures."
The ship came to a stop with a thunderous clanging, and the Avengers were already in motion. Wasp flew along the port railing and peppered the guards with stings. Vision landed on the aerial and ripped it away. Scarlet Witch spread her hands in a chaos hex and shots went wild.
Wasp dodged a volley of automatic weapons fire from one of the men.
"You don't swat a bug with a gun, genius," Wasp said, spiraling out of the way. "No cans of Raid on board?"
"This is Frost," he said. "The Avengers are blitzing the ship! Get up here right now!"
"Oh, you henchmen and your comlinks," Wasp sighed. "Speaking of which: Hawkeye, where's my cover?"
"Fly back two feet and find out."
She smiled and looped backwards. An instant later, a blunted arrow impacted off Frost's neck and he dropped, stunned.
Cap watched from the bridge and nodded. "The Sinister Six is going to storm the deck in less than a minute," he said. "Vision?"
"The antenna has been disabled," Vision said. "I estimate control of navigations in 26 seconds."
"Scarlet Witch?"
"I'll be caught up shortly--the gunmen are realizing they can't touch me."
"Excellent. She-Hulk?"
"Still here. Want me to punch a hole in the side?"
"No," Cap said. "I don't want to put the hostages at risk--place yourself under the front of the ship. On my signal, give it a heave up."
"Yeowch. Copy that."
"Cap, this is Hawkeye. Mysterio's coming up to the stern."
"Take him down."
"Fish in a barrel. Blast it, Cap, it's a hologram! Arrow went right through him"
"Keep covering," Cap said. "I'm on my way."

Scarlet Witch landed beside Vision. "Everything all right?" she asked.
"No appreciable resistance," Vision smiled. "Wait--"
The door slammed open and Electro filled the room with lightning. "You're terminated, sucker!" he shouted. Vision got in front of Scarlet Witch and took the brunt of the blast. "Retreat!" he shouted. "I can counter this!"
She nodded and flew out the window. Vision staggered under the force of the electricity as Electro moved closer.
Outside, Captain America landed on deck just as Sandman and Vulture came through the door.
"Get him!" Vulture shouted.
"She-Hulk, now!" Cap said. The ship bucked, throwing Sandman and Vulture back into the wet bar and Captain America up and through the window of the control room. Electro looked up just as his face met the broadside of Cap's vibranium shield. He fell back and Vision got to his feet.
"Hunh," Electro huffed. "Two against one--not my kind of odds."
"Exactly," Vision said, and fired a bolt of energy. Electro threw up a latticework of electric protection. Captain America moved in and then stopped as a concussive grenade rolled between his legs. "Move!" he shouted, and jumped backwards--right into the flightpath of the Vulture, who clipped him to the deck as the control room exploded in a muffled bang.
Scarlet Witch had circled around to the rear of the ship and saw five Mysterios.
"Obviously an illusion," she said. "You're not much of a trickster, Msyterio."
She yelped as the real Mysterio sucker-punched her in the back of the head. She rolled and came up, hands glowing with chaos magic. Mysterio stood there, enshrouded in his cloak and fog. She gestured and the boards underneath him snapped through. Mysterio didn't fall.
"You're not much of a witch," Mysterio chuckled.

The Wasp dodged Sandman's rock-hard fists and stung him with bio-blasts. "Lucky thing you're so big and dumb," Wasp smiled. "Helps keep my stomach flat."
Sandman growled in frustration and clapped his hands together. Wasp skirted out of the way once again. "Nice try." Wasp flew in to zap him in the eye. Flint expanded himself and turned soft, making her fly right through his skin and inside his chest. He hardened himself fast and she was trapped, her head sticking out of his back.
"Now that was uncalled for," she muttered. "I'm a little trapped inside Flint, guys."
Hawkeye took out an explosive arrow and nocked it. "I'm on i--"
He cried out as a bullet slammed into his shoulder. The arrow went wild and landed in the water, defused.
"I've been hit," Hawkeye said. Another shot rang out and a bullet bounced into his arm. "Unh...it's going to be a...little while."
Back on the ship's roof, Biehn smiled.

Electro's fist sizzled through the air, and Vision ducked back. "Come on, robo-shmuck," Electro said, a little out of breath. "You know I'm taking it easy on you."
"Unlikely," Vision responded. "Perspiration indicates that you're expending significant amounts of energy. It might be more prudent to give up before you wear yourself out."
"Yeah, not my style," Electro muttered, and threw out a lightning bolt. Vision became intangible and it passed right through him. He reverted to solid form and backhanded Electro to the deck. Vision raised his hand just as a titanic fist from Sandman clobbered him through the wall. Electro got to his feet and brushed himself off. "Nice assist, Flinty. Maybe you're worth something after all."
There was a clang to his right. Electro looked as Captain America's shield finished its ricochet and bounced into his gut. Electro fell to the deck, out of breath. Sandman turned and expanded himself to the size of a double-decker bus.
"Don't move," Flint said.
Captain America smiled and rolled out of the way. Sandman looked back just as She-Hulk dropped down on him with a right hook. Flint's face exploded in sand, and Wasp flew free, shaking herself off.
"Thanks, Shulkie," she said. "Guh. It's going to take forever to clean this sand out."
"That's why I don't go to the beach," She-Hulk smiled. "That and I can't really tan."
Captain America picked up his shield as Electro got up. "If you didn't like the odds before, I can't imagine you will now."
Electro grunted. "Two against three's not so bad." Cap lept aside as Sandman's fists exploded through the deck. Electro fired off lightning bolts in rapid succession and Cap lept over, under, or to their side. He yelped as Wasp stung him in the side.
She-Hulk punched at Sandman, her fists piffing through him uselessly. "Come on Marko--afraid to fight a girl?"
A concussive grenade blew her back into the prow. She growled and got to her feet. "Vulture!"
"You can't hit what you can't touch," he cawed, and threw another grenade. She caught it in her hand and crushed it. Sandman became a sandstorm and fell on She-Hulk.
"I'm betting your skin's not as invulnerable as you think," Flint said.
She-Hulk grunted and jumped away onto the bridge.
"Coward!" Vulture shouted exuberantly.

Scarlet Witch looked around Mysterio's fog helplessly.
"Not much of a trickster, you say?" Mysterio's voiced boomed. She gestured and the fog de-materialized, revealing no Mysterio. "Then where am I?"
Mysterio winked into existence three feet away and socked her in the kidney. She fell back and sweep-kicked him to the deck. She stood up and walked over to him. Mysterio put up a pleading hand as she gestured.
Nothing happened.
"What?"
Mysterio stood. "A witch that can't use her magic? You're less of a challenge than Spider-Man."
She concentrated harder, but Mysterio continued to walk towards her.
"Useless cow," he muttered, and swung. She ducked and punched him in the gut--or, through the gut. "A hologram!" she exclaimed. "No w--" Biehn shot twice and she fell, a bullet in her side and back.
The hologram faded, revealing a panting Mysterio, helmet quite cracked. "Excellent shot, agent," he said. "And just in time."
Biehn nodded. "Come on."

Captain America ducked and jumped forward as Electro fired another blast. He grimaced as Wasp buzzed around him, stinging him repeatedly. "Sandman, get her off me!" he grunted.
"Not a chance, starfish," she said, shrank down smaller and flew into his ear. Dillon grimaced and electrified his body, blowing the Wasp clear.
"Finish her!" he cried, and ducked a swipe from Cap. Sandman extended his arm and blasted Wasp with the full force of his sandstorm, shredding her wings and knocking her out of the sky.
Captain America kicked Electro into Sandman and back flipped as Vulture dropped an explosive at his feet.
"You don't have a chance, Captain," Vulture shouted, and frowned. The sky had become brighter. Had the moon come out, or--? He turned and saw a minivan's headlights bearing down on him. He juked to the left, but the van clipped his legs and sent him spiraling down. She-Hulk jumped back onto the deck and caught him as he landed.
"I'm touching you," she said, and punched him unconscious.
Sandman hammered a series of punches at Captain America, who continued to dodge. Electro grimaced and hemmed him in with a fence of electricity that extended from the hull to the balcony.
"No escape, Captain," Electro said.
"My words exactly," the Vision said, and with an intangible hand, phased through Electro's chest. Electro shrieked in pain and fell to the deck, unconscious.
"Good work," Cap said. "Get down!"
Mysterio appeared next to Vision and began punching him, disappearing, re-appearing, and so on, overwhelming the synthezoid with blows. With an immense hand, Sandman grabbed Captain America and began to squeeze. He frowned as something landed in his chest. He looked down just as Hawkeye's arrow exploded, scattering him to the winds.
"All yours now, Cap," Hawkeye said weakly.
"Not to worry, old friend," Cap said and landed on his feet just as Biehn rounded the corner. She-Hulk grabbed Mysterio and threw him into the agent, knocking him out cold. She smiled and helped the Vision to his feet.
Electro grabbed her ankle and poured electricity into her, making her revert to Jennifer Walters and pass out. "I'm shocked you thought I was out for the count," he said, and threw lightning at Cap. He brought up his shield and blocked the bolt, but was knocked over the side. Vision started at Electro, but Dillon pointed his hand at the water.
"Good effort," Electro said. "But your precious captain's not going to see another Fourth of July." Vision lept over the deck, grabbed Cap in mid-air, and threw him back onto the ship. He fell into the water with a loud splash, and Electro electrocuted him unconscious. Cap brought up his shield and slammed Electro into the wall.
"You fought well," he said. "But not well enough."
He grunted as something slammed into his head, knocking him to the deck. Cap looked up at Doctor Octopus, tentacles undulating.
"Captain America," he said, lowering himself to the deck. "Our modern-day Gilgamesh. The pinnacle of a warrior."
He thrust out a tentacle, and Cap leaped over it. In mid-air, Ock grabbed him and bashed him into the deck.
"I'm never very impressed with superheroes," Otto said. "But your Avengers were pitiful in the face of the Six."
"Give it up, Octavius," Captain America grunted. "You're only making it worse for yourself."
Otto chuckled. "Oh, you patronizing superheroes. Let me illuminate something: threats only work if you have the muscle to back them up."
Cap pushed the loop of tentacles out enough to escape. He landed and threw out his shield. It bounced off the nearest tentacle and would have hit Otto in the face--had not two other tentacles caught it six inches away from his face.
"Ah, your vibranium shield--advanced weaponry, for its time. It's a little outdated now--still, if you need it so badly, I'll let you have it back." He set down the shield at his feet and smiled. Cap ran for it. He crouched as a tentacles shot where his head would be, and jumped as two tentacles clapped together where his legs were. He somersaulted, grabbed the shield, and came up, ready to strike. But the fourth tentacle wrapped around the shield and Cap's arm.
"Tell me, Captain," Otto smiled. "I'm not quite familiar with vibranium: is it stronger than adamantium?"
He began to squeeze and Cap grimaced. Otto concentrated and the circular shield was soon crunched around Cap's arm, useless and deformed. Otto smiled and then slammed two tentacles into Cap's temples. Cap slumped, out cold.
Electro rolled over and stood as Sandman re-congealed into solid form. Otto smiled at them.
"Gentlemen, another prize for our trophy room," he said, then turned and left.
"Yeah, real easy to smile when we do all the work," Electro muttered.
"I don't feel so great," Flint said, leaning over the railing.
"Yeah, that was definitely one of the toughest fights I've ever been in," Electro said. "That shield just sucks."
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Flint said, and jogged to the nearest bathroom. Two minutes later, he wiped the spittle flecked on his lips and looked at his face. His eyes seemed glassy, sunken in. His cheeks--
He caught something in his peripheral vision and whirled. It was the Wasp, lying on the shelf behind him, her wings shredded and body bruised.
Flint swallowed.
She looked at him, completely spent and silently pleading.
She was completely at his mercy.
"Get out of here," he whispered, and slammed the bathroom door behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Electro's hand fell on his shoulder.
"Just wanted to say I saw how you broke Wasp during the fight," he said. "Good to have you back on the team, Sandman."
Flint watched him leave, remembering what Spider-Man had said to him at the hospital. "You, me...we're all going to sink a lot deeper in this."
It stayed in his mind for the rest of the night.

[Joker]

Finally got around to read these two chapters.

You're on a roll, Wabbit. No question :up:

[Redwoods Wolf]

Chapter Thirteen

The sun was coming up slowly over New York.
The U.S.S. Arronax followed suit. The submarine came up in a slow churn, the water frothing about it in angry halo. Captain Stewart was in heavy communications with Admiral Novak of the Trafalgar. The Trafalgar was still a few hours behind the sub, but it was going to hit the ground running. The two crews were stripping their ship down to the lean muscle it needed for the combat ahead. Torpedoes were secured and locked, F-14s and F-22s were fueled as the airmen scurried over the giant deck.
It was only a matter of time now.

Otto looked out over the railing and breathed deeply, pleased. Mary Jane wondered just how in the the world her life, in its myriad twists and turns, had led her here, exactly. Trussed up like pre-butchered pork on the deck of Doc Ock's lair, (http://forums.superherohype.com/showthread.php?t=201363&page=1) surrounded by his other five miscreants--naturally, with Peter nowhere to be found. The other members of the Sinister Six (and God, what a ridiculous name that was) kept eying her at the same time as they were toadying before their brilliant master, and she almost laughed at them.
Of course, she didn't--she and living had a good thing together; why throw it away?
"I will say this for inclement weather--it sweeps the sky clear for unmatched natural beauty." He looked away. "Don't you think so?"
She sighed--what was there to say? She half-wished she was under that buzzsaw on the movie set.
"You won't indulge your host?" he asked. "I did spend a great deal of time and effort to invite you here--and to let you out in the sun, instead of pent up below."
"I'm sure I never RSVP'd," she spat. "Why kidnap me? I'm nobody."
"Nobody? You are my symbol--a face that Spider-Man can see crushed and destroyed. You are no blank comrade in arms, but a very identifiable and tangible...consequence."
"Of what?" she fumed.
"Of getting in my way--the only crime worthy of my personal punishment. He is the only one that has risen to thwart my every intention and for his mindless persistence he must be torn apart--cast aside. Only then, after the bug's demise, will we both know true peace."
Mysterio raised a hand. "Arachnid."
Otto gave him a burning glare. Mysterio looked at the other rogues, then shrugged.
"Well, I don't want him saying it," he continued. Mary Jane couldn't help but grin.
"He won't be saying anything!" Otto blasted. "In a matter of hours he'll be out of our lives forever. All the more reason to celebrate. Belgardt?"
The henchman emerged from the wet bar with a tray of glasses and a bottle of wine. "Sorry for the wait, Doctor," he squeaked. "We've been repairing the aerial."
"On this day?" Otto said, taking all the glasses at once. "No need for apologies. Ah, allow me." He took the bottle, flicked away the cork with a tentacle claw, and poured the wine. "Gentlemen, we've struck a decisive blow against our enemies. To our first foothold."
"Here, here," Biehn agreed.
The glasses clinked together and they collectively drank. MJ gulped. Peter...
"Nice," Electro said. "Wish I could afford this more often."
"We'll be able to afford this and better," Vulture smiled. "Ah, a draught like this makes the aches worth it."
"Can't argue with that," Biehn nodded. Flint murmered agreement.
Otto looked down at Mary Jane. "Thirsty?"
"If I'm going to be poisoned, it's not going to be near you," she said.
"Paranoid this early," Otto chuckled. "That's funny."
Otto looked up and did a very slight double-take off Mysterio. "Quentin, is the wine beneath your standards? I procured it on short notice, but I made sure it was a good year."
"I'm sure the wine is delectable," Mysterio said.
"Yet you don't drink. I trust you don't share Mrs. Watson-Parker's reservations?" MJ threw him a catty look, wishing she had her husband's arsenal of quips.
"No, I don't," Mysterio said, and set the glass down. "My reservations extend to the beehive we're sitting on."
"The Avengers?" Otto replied. "They are well contained."
"They weren't last night--we were almost splintered right away. Where were you? It was nothing short of miraculous we held out after their blitzkrieg, much less won."
"Yes, it was," Otto mused. "I didn't expect you to ride without training wheels so well right away, but there you have it."
"A test?"
"A necessary growth period tempered by coincidence. It happens every so often."
Mysterio recognized the evasion and decided not to press the issue. Otto gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, yes, keep your place if you know what's good for you. Curious.
"I don't know what he's talking about," Electro said. "I took down at least three of them, one after the other."
"It was two," Vulture said.
"Ah, that's still more than you got."
"You all did exceptionally well," Otto said. "Every one of you performed to my expectations, sometimes even exceeding them. Flint, I heard of your neutralizing the Wasp; a tip of the cap to you."
Flint thanked him, but Mary Jane couldn't help but notice he seemed most uncomfortable. Then she noticed--or, was overpowered by--the Vulture as his face staggered into close range.
"And a tip of the cap to you too, my dear," he said. "You're exceptionally beautiful. Would you help keep an old man warm?"
MJ rocked her head forward and bashed into his beak-like nose, making him yelp and drop the wineglass. Otto pulled him away gently. "Dirty old man," she muttered.
"Not funny," Vulture growled.
"He had a good point, though," Electro smiled. "What should we do with her?"
Otto raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Biehn continued, "Well, we are the new kings, aren't we?"
Mysterio nodded. "Kings do need mistresses."
Otto l