Redwood Wolf's Fanfics

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction & Films' started by Redwoods Wolf, Jan 13, 2007.

  1. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    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.

    Part One.......................................................................................................1-3
    Part Two.......................................................................................................3-4
    Part Three.....................................................................................................4-5
  2. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    A Spider-Man/Doc Ock story
    By RW

    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."
    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.
  3. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
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    As I said in the Lair, it's awesome so far. I love how you write Octavius. Cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless.

    Brilliant :up:
  4. Arcturus

    Arcturus Well-Known Member

    Jun 8, 2002
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    Awesome work, Redwoods Wolf!

    Can't wait to read more.

    :word: :up:
  5. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    Chapter Two
    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."
    "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."
    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?
    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 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."
  6. Arcturus

    Arcturus Well-Known Member

    Jun 8, 2002
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    Wow, that was incredibly awesome! Keep up the good work.

  7. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
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    Great stuff :up:
  8. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    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.
    She was in a bathrobe, eyes squinty from sleep. "You all right? I heard the TV..."
    "Yeah, I' 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. " 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. 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 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.
  9. OctoHaz

    OctoHaz Doc Ock Fangirl

    Sep 12, 2006
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    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:
  10. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
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    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:
  11. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    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.
    "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.
  12. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
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    Very cool.
    Man, Otto is cool.
    Was that too many 'cool's?
  13. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
    Likes Received:
    Nah, it's cool :oldrazz: :cwink:

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

    Kevin Roegele Do you mind if I don't?

    May 2, 2000
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    I'll just add to the growing acclaim by saying this is very good indeed. :up:
  15. OctoHaz

    OctoHaz Doc Ock Fangirl

    Sep 12, 2006
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    More brilliance. This is shaping up to be one of the best fanfics I've ever read. :up:
  16. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    Thanks, everybody! Glad you enjoy it!
    (Chapter Five up soon)
  17. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
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    How soon is soon?
  18. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
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    I like this!!!
  19. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    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."
    "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."
    "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

    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."
  20. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
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    Security moron is dead, then?
    Oh, well. (LOL)
  21. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
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    Wow, great chapter. Loved the scene with Jonah :up:
  22. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
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  23. Redwoods Wolf

    Redwoods Wolf Well-Known Member

    Jan 2, 2007
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    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 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 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. 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 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.
    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, 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.
  24. The Joker

    The Joker The Clown Prince of Crime

    Dec 15, 2003
    Likes Received:
    Yesssssssss, Otto has his tentacles back :up:

    Great chapter, Wabbit.
  25. GuesssWho

    GuesssWho Arkham Inmate

    Oct 14, 2006
    Likes Received:
    I love Otto, I really do . . .

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