A/N: Dear reader, in case you haven't heard, I re-read some of my Spiderman stories last week and was appalled by their...well... terribleness. Given, I was six years younger, but still. I know several of you were fond of them and I thought it was a shame how poorly my tribute to Doc Ock and Spiderman did them justice. All that to say, I am revamping probably all of my Spiderman stories, but especially this one and The Arms. Changing as little as possible, but as much as is necessary. If you read these before, please review and tell me how the new versions compare. So far, chapter one of You've Been Rejected is the only one up, so there is a huge writing style gap between it and the rest of the story. I am steadily revamping, though, so fear not! Anyway, enough of that. I hope you enjoy this revisit to our favorite tentacled physicist.
Chapter One
The tentacles nudged their master's cold, wet body. It had taken longer than ideal for human lungs for the actuators to drag their unconscious host onto the broken edge of the dock that had snapped off from the destroyed warehouse. With a hard thrust of the lower right actuator against his chest, their master had coughed and spluttered water onto the wood and then gone back into inactivity. But Otto was still alive: the actuators could feel his heartbeat and brain activity. However, both were the lowest they had ever experienced.
Please wake up.
He'll freeze if he lies here much longer, stated the top right tentacle as it shone a red light through the fog of midnight onto Otto's face.
No response.
We need to get him to warmth or he'll go offline.
And we will too.
Desperate for a warm place in which to lie Otto, they set him under a street light overlooking the river. But he did not stir, even when they lifted him close to the bulb. The top right's motherboard worked furiously for new options.
Electric circuits are warm.
But humans cannot stand that much heat.
What do humans use when they're cold?
A loud gasp alerted the actuators and the top two focused in on a woman at a bus stop. She pressed herself into the back of the little shelter, eyes wide and mouth agape. Up the street came a larger and louder than normal automobile and when the actuators looked up, they saw that it was a bus.
The actuators quickly ducked Otto behind a parked car and watched. They could feel the heat emanating from inside the large vehicle. The side doors opened and the woman at the bus stop quickly jumped inside.
They had found their solution.
Cars have an automatic heat source.
They came out from hiding and lumbered into the street. Cars screeched to a halt and screams set the air aflame. One actuator held the van they selected firmly by the front bumper and the other two tore the passenger's side door off and flung it into the river. The human driver dove out the other side and disappeared down the street, dodging death by panicked drivers. The tentacles eased their master into the van and the top left carefully turned the heat up to full power.
They huddled around him, monitoring his vitals and waiting for him to revive.
Otto's mind was a swirling darkness with bright sunspots behind his eyelids. A murmuring in the back…
His brain waves are approaching normal functionality.
He is conscious.
It took him a moment, but Otto realized what those voices were. It can't be, he thought. When he opened his eyes, he saw four red lights shining down at him.
Are you still alive?
We were worried.
If you died, we all would have died.
"I guess I am alive," Otto admitted in surprise, looking himself over and taking in his odd surroundings.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of a minivan in an abandoned street – what street in New York City is every abandoned? Oh. Police cars formed a barrier, with caution tape, an armored containment vehicle, a helicopter, and policemen keeping the crowds back. His actuators were as subtle as Godzilla.
"Why are we here?" Otto asked.
Heat. The actuators explained.
Otto was still very cold and he wanted to curl into himself and go back to sleep. The van was so warm. He thought briefly about driving off with it, but by that time police cars blocked all avenues of escape and the only way out would be the actuators. His skin was still wet underneath his slowly drying coat and pants and his shoes sloshed around his clammy feet.
Rebuild. Came the four-fold voice.
Otto tried to brush it off. Rebuilding the fusion reactor was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He was tired of struggling, conniving and fighting.
Rebuild, they persisted.
"Get us out of here," he said. "I need rest."
The tentacles looked at him and cocked their heads.
You have been sleeping for hours.
"It's not the same thing," he countered.
The actuators picked him up and out of the van. Heavier weaponry had just arrived and Doc Ock focused on quickly climbing over the nearest building and out of shot.
We have much to do.
"I must rest," Otto persisted. "I cannot concentrate on anything. I'll miscalculate."
Tomorrow then.
"No. The next day."
The actuators were taken aback.
Two days? So inefficient!
"I'm inefficient now. And I am your master. Remember, you answer to me."
We have not forgotten. We do not forget.
"Are you elephants?" He attempted a smile and failed. The actuators didn't appreciate his effort nor find the humor. Oh well.
If he were totally honest with himself, he might admit that he didn't want to make a third attempt at the fusion reaction at all. Parker's words about dreams and doing what's right still grabbed him.
The actuators sensed his uncertainty and screeched in disbelief.
You do not want to rebuild? The dominant voice asked incredulously.
Father's brain is injured! He is losing his sanity!
Otto marveled at the irony.
We must rebuild. We must! Nothing matters more.
Nothing.
We saved you from drowning. Your life belongs to us.
Your mind is broken. We must carry you.
We must do what is best for all. The bottom left actuator stabbed into the side of the building with more force than necessary.
"'All' meaning you and me," Otto clarified. "You care nothing for the people of this city."
We do not.
Neither do you.
They do not influence you.
They do not matter.
Otto stopped the actuators journey across the city and let himself down onto his own feet on top of a lower building. He ripped off one of his gloves and pressed his cold hand into his cheek to rouse his senses. He was still Otto. He was still human and his mind was ruled by morals, not machines.
We must keep moving.
The bottom two actuators lifted Otto from the gritty cement roof and grabbed the ridged edge. Something in the intensity of the actuators' voice surprised Otto. He didn't want to stay on the roof exposed to the chill New York air, but it unnerved him when the actuators moved without his direction. He groped for control of them but they resisted and his will receded.
Otto set his jaw firmly. "Listen to me," he growled, struggling against them. They ignored him. "I am the leader here."
Finally, they surrendered and Otto, now in control of the actuators, scrambled to keep himself from falling. The tentacles cowered in his mind and spoke quietly.
We are listening.
Otto blew a relieved breath through his lips as he led them over rooftops towards his house. He hadn't realized where they were going until just then. He was so used to traveling to his house that it still felt natural even suspended above the city from mechanical tentacles.
Power struggles with his actuators scared Otto to death. He had seen what happens when he gives in, and he never wanted to be controlled by them again. Yet, he knew they would never try to hurt him. They couldn't help it that Otto had created them for one purpose and now was telling them that they couldn't fulfill it. He would have to figure something out and fast, before he fell under their spell again, as he knew he would, eventually, because fusion was still his dream, though he knew he could never attempt it again. …At least not until he straightened some things out and, boy, did he have a list.
For the time being he would rest. Let the actuators speak all they wanted to; he would ignore everything.