Water, everywhere! Otto closed his eyes. His ears throbbed from the pressure, and he felt his coat ripple around him as he fell farther. The golden glow of the reactor was gone, somewhere far beneath him, but where it was didn't matter anymore. It would all be over soon, if only he could muster the courage to take a breath...

Why had he not listened to Peter? Peter was a smart kid. He had warned Otto about miscalculating. Pride was the problem, wasn't it? Otto had never fancied himself as the humble type, but he didn't think he was the kind to make stupid mistakes for the sake of ego. Well, this incredibly stupid mistake - he tried in vain to dig more intensifiers for stupid out of his foggy mind - had taken its toll on so many.

So many. Even Rosie. That cursed project...his own foolishness...if only he could go back and reverse it. Now, all would be good again in New York City, as long as he never came back. Yes. The world would roll on, forgetting his existence sooner or later.

Three minutes without air. That was how long a human could last. Otto buried the fact in his blurred thoughts and wondered how much longer he had until his three minutes were up. His lungs burned for air -- not long, he assumed.

Otto.One of them. The voice was almost alien now; none of his four metal arms had spoken to him since he managed to suppress them. He tried to snarl, but couldn't remember how.

Go away. He felt like sobbing, but the pain in his lungs smothered the pain in his heart. There was no reason to mourn the past when death allowed no memories beyond its gates. You're dying with me. You can't do anything.

A more high-pitched voice appeared, tainted with a shrill mechanical grinding noise rather than the typical low whirring. What is happening to you, Otto? What is this...dying?

Otto managed a sigh underwater, watching the hazy bubbles drift toward the invisible surface. Any normal person would be clawing for the surface, or at least panicking underwater. Yet, he felt calm, rather than alarmed. Perhaps he truly was insane. It's when...you go away forever.

The machines, all four this time, seemed nothing but confused. Their presences shifted back and forth in his mind, ebbing and rising like waves rocking back and forth against the shore. Their voices came in unison.Forever? Is that a long time? You have never thought of this word in our presence.

It means I'll never come back.

As the actuators contemplated his words, a silence dropped over him that seemed to last for hours. The rest of his breath trickled from his lips, and a few gentle rays of light pushed through the darkness below him. Surely if he did not drown, he would fall into the sun below him and burn, mere fodder for the powerhouse that had consumed his life even before it took his body. He closed his eyes and forgot the pain and pressure of the river.

A strengthening aura rose from the voices in his mind. It was something he could call...not sadness...regret was more the word. We do not want you to leave us. Still calm, still smooth, still volatile, like thin ice that covers a pond and reflects the light yet cracks and vanishes at the slightest touch.

I'm not a machine like you. I can't come back. Now, go away. Please. Let me die in peace. Rosie...I've missed you so much...

"Rosie." The word was slurred and distorted, but Otto pieced together the syllables and opened his eyes just the slightest bit. He had no energy to respond; his mind was still fuzzy. Why wasn't he underwater? Where was he? Adrenaline flooded his veins. Did police bring him up? What had happened? And what was that curious sensation in his chest?

He froze and pondered the feeling. It was a rising sensation, something moving out and in. Air pushed at his compressed breastbone, and he blew it out with a cough.

He was breathing.

The concept shocked him; he expected to be dead. His breaths were faint and rough, but his mind welcomed the oxygen and cleared enough for him to see more than fuzzy blobs. He felt rocks beneath him, and a gentle breeze chilled his wet hair. Though he was glad to be on land, a small part of his mind still wished that he were on the bottom of the Hudson, or else burned in the reactor. Fate had a twisted sense of humor, one that infuriated him.

Why was he out of the water? Why was he even alive? What monster had dared to pull him back up? Whoever had dared to revive a...a...a thing like him should be hanged. Or worse. He would lose his mind again, he was sure. What if he went out of control? What--

Derivative of the cube root of 2x plus y minus four z, quantity squared...Otto froze his thoughts, and his confusion shifted to anger. How could those machines think of math at a time like this? Yet, as he pondered their words, Otto felt his mind slow down. He always thought about his calculations when he was frustrated or angry, and the actuators were drawing on that to force him to focus. The equations had always helped him focus. He concentrated on the words they placed in his mind. Partial with respect to x equals...are you with us, Otto?

The anger drained away, leaving him with the void in his mind and the ache in his chest. His thoughts echoed in the hollow silence. Yes. Yes. I'm here. Where are you? He sighed.His first complete sentence was to those infernal arms. Such were his priorities, now, and he would have to get used to that.

We are here with you. We are the only ones who are with you, Otto.

He winced as they repeated his name. Every time they mentioned the word, it cut into his brain. He wouldn't submit again. He couldn't. He had to muster the energy to fight his own monsters again. For now, the actuators weren't resisting, but he knew they would all come at him at once, when they fought for control once more. Though he wasn't a religious man, he recalled the story of Adam and Eve, and the tempter in the form of a snake. Otto had four snakes. Eve had it easy.

Pushing away the image, Otto raised his head, and one of the actuators curled to his face and used its pincers to brush a mat of wet hair away from his eyes. The scientist pushed himself to his knees and spat river water onto the rocks. Where are we? Before he could look around, he doubled over and coughed until water and saliva ran from the corners of his mouth. He dared not rise from his hunch, but squeezed his eyes shut and waited until his body stopped trying to wring itself out from the inside. Slowly, he felt his muscles relax, but he stared at his knees and refused to move.

You are not well! What is happening?

It's...it's all right. It's a normal reaction for humans. He took a deep breath and raised a sleeve to his mouth, but merely smeared water over his face rather than wiped it away. Now, where is the pier? How much is left? What about my research?

A metal claw nudged his face, cold against his cheek, and he followed its motions. At the edge of the river was a huge warehouse that reeked of despair. Its rusty roof was no more than a few ragged edges, as if some giant had stepped in the center of it and knocked a hole through the roof but spared the walls. Its barnacle-encrusted pilings leaned under the pressure, some no more than soggy splinters floating beneath the dock. 56, read the remnants of a shattered glass pane, pieces of the number scattered across the ground like so many slivers of dirty ice.

Otto climbed to his feet, wobbled until he caught his balance, and shuffled to the riverside. Perhaps he could salvage what was left of his books and tools from the pier. The edges of the walls, where he had stacked boxes and boxes of notes, diagrams, and schematics, were still intact. He stopped at the edge of the soil, one foot on the dock, and stared at the broken glass beside the old building. For a few seconds, he stood with one foot on the ground and one on the wood, both pushing himself forward and pulling back at the same time.

He could go inside and find the designs to rebuild.

That, of course, would lead to more destruction.

Or, he could revolutionize mankind.

A fat lot of good that thought had done him last time. Rebuilding would accomplish nothing.

Doing so would give him a purpose.

Wait, was he arguing with himself?

Otto paused. Yes, he was arguing with himself. The actuators looked on with stifled amusement, saying not a word. Scoffing at his own oddities, Otto turned away from the dock. What remained of his work had to stay inside the pier. Without his notes, his projects could not tempt him to try them one last time. Otto leaned against a pillar of the dock.

Staring down into the murky abyss that had nearly become his grave, he peered at the image of a man in a thick, soaked coat, with stringy, flat hair plastered to the sides of his face. He wondered what Peter would think of him, now that he had nothing left but the clothes and machine on his back.

He wished his life was all a dream. That couldn't be him in the water, could it? He hadn't fallen that far, had he? And that...cursed machine wasn't a real part of him, was it?

Of course that's you, Otto. A small voice, laced with a whirring noise this time, much more pleasant than the snarls and demanding cries of rage he often heard.

That's not me. Otto stared down and thought of the image of himself he had seen in the newspaper. He had seemed like such a savage, a beast who knew no sanity. What had he done? He could have resisted before lives were at stake. Why had he given in? Was he weak? No...he couldn't be weak. He had to be strong. Yet, machines were always stronger, weren't they? That's why they were machines. What humans couldn't do, machines could. The only skill humans possessed that machines did not was intelligence, and now his own actuators were more than a match for the minds of average humans. Don't say that's me.

Another voice interrupted his thoughts. Why is that not you, Otto? It looks like you.

No, it's you.

That is all of us.

No. It's only you.

But Otto, we see you there.

No, you don't! Otto jerked away from the reflection. Had the arms been people beside him, he would have turned and punched the nearest one into the water. Instead, he flailed about in his mind, wishing he could hurt them somehow. He wanted to turn and snatch one by its cable and strangle it until it died in his hands, until the tense coils turned limp and cold. Yet, he knew all he would do was hurt his fingers, trying to kill something that could not die. His machines had never lived, but still moved, like ghosts crusted with metal. You don't see me! You see you!

The arms were confused, the waves of their presences rising into surges that thrashed against his thoughts, and their bewilderment sent Otto's mind into a dizzying spin. He tried to focus on the calculations again, to calm himself, but only succeeded in tumbling to his knees and lowering his head to stop the vertigo.

Why are you worried, Otto? What is this spinning? You alarm us.

We will protect you. Don't be afraid. The shrill grinding again. Otto stifled the impulse to clamp his hands over his ears.

Instead, he lowered his gaze to the ground and sat down by the water, without looking back at his reflection. They could protect him from outside threats, but...if only he could save Otto from Doctor Octopus, the murderer he had created himself. Otto snarled at the nickname and glanced back at the water, watching his reflection's brows furrow, eyes narrow, mouth twist into a disgusted frown. Who was he now? Otto or Octopus?

He couldn't think about that now. The arms were restless, sensing some kind of threat in reflex to his fear. He could only wish he knew a way to tell them that they were the problem.

Otto, you are not in your right mind. Your thoughts are slow, and you seem in pain.

Well, what do you expect? I just came back from a near-death experience. You expect me to be happy now?

We do not know specific human thought patterns, but we do not like your state. We must take you to a place where you can rest.

Otto scowled. So they wanted control of his moods, too? Just great. And where's that?

The place where you created us, Otto. We know the way.

Go ahead. At least it would keep them busy. He could think once he was home, lying in his bed. Then again, if he didn't pay his bills soon, he wouldn't have that bed. Otto scowled at the thought of having ordinary problems like paying rent. He didn't need ordinary problems along with his -- he glanced at the actuators -- more strange ones.

Go!

With harsh clanks, four claws dug into the ground, grinding rocks as they clutched the earth. Otto felt himself rise off the ground, and he tugged his sopping coat around him to shield himself from the wind. The arms knew what they were doing, he assured himself. They would take him home as long as no one got in his way. He relaxed in the harness, and the four tentacles turned him upright. For a moment, he was dizzy from the sudden change of position, but then he blinked and cleared his vision, watching himself climb a wall as from afar.

When he lurched over the edge of the roof, Otto felt his feet touch down. He dragged his toes while the arms carried him to the opposite side and sat him on the side. He absentmindedly wrung out the corner of his coat while trying to recover from the dizzying trip to the roof. Apparently his mind wasn't clear enough to handle the actuators' rough ride. He ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. Was this what he been reduced to -- sitting on an old apartment roof in a drenched coat, looking like a bum off the streets? Never mind looking -- he was a bum off the streets now.

You are distracted, Otto. We do not like this strange flow of thoughts and the spinning images. Focus, or we will force you to focus.

Otto ground his teeth. He was on the verge of making some sharp retort, but then calmed himself and decided to explain. It's called vertigo. Some humans get it when you suddenly jerk to a standing position or else go flying into the air. I'm one of them when I'm tired. And I'm very, very tired, so just take me home.

The actuators ignored him and continued in their annoyed tones. Listen to us and remain calm, and we will direct you. You do not know where you are.

Well, then, tell me where I am. If they were going to be demanding, he had a right to be miffed. After all, most sensible creatures didn't torment a person after his near-death experience.

A voice mixed with a hoarse hiss replied. You are pointed north-northwest, toward your apartment.

All right. Take me home, then. More motion, less speech, if you all don't mind.

The actuators carried him through the shadows of buildings, muttering to each other in the back of his mind. He decided not to eavesdrop for once and would have fallen asleep had he not been constantly bouncing up and down. For once, he was glad he hadn't eaten in several hours. He didn't need to throw up in addition to evading death by mere seconds.

Just when his tired mind had managed to overcome the jerking, and he had nearly fallen asleep, the actuators shoved Otto into the apartment through an open window. Whoever had opened it had done him an unintended favor, but he shoved that thought away and wondered if anything had been stolen. He shut the window with a metal claw and scanned the room. Nothing was missing from his bedroom, and he would check his table drawers later. Now, what about the workroom?

The workroom, next to the bedroom, seemed the same as before at first. Yet, something wasn't right. There were his books, right where he had left them. His binocular lenses were still on his table. The few small contraptions that he had tinkered with were still on the floor. Wiring trailed over the carpet, and a saw lay next to the wall. Yet, something pulled at his mind. What was different? He resisted the impulse to drop to the floor and fall asleep; instead, he peered at the walls and traced his eyes over every inch of the room. Table. Lamp. Electrical socket. Locked box. Bowl. Crushed circle on the carpet where something used to be.

Wait. Crushed circle? Where was the mount for his mechanical arms? Before the fusion disaster, he had created a prototype set of arms, those four weaker than the second machine and also lacking the AI capacity. He had left them next to the door, with a dark sheet over them. Now, they were gone, the mount resting in a corner, where it hadn't been. In a final irony, the cloth was draped neatly over a chair in some sick joke of a courtesy.

Otto sat down in the chair, a chilly wave of fear washing over his body. He had to find the prototypes, but he couldn't do that while panicking. Perhaps an OsCorp employee had taken them to keep them away from the common New York City thief. He assured himself with the thought and took several deep breaths. He pulled the dark cloth from the back of the chair and felt a rip in the fabric. When he brought it closer to his face, he saw rough lines torn in a pattern. The lines grabbed his attention, and he narrowed his eyes as he stared at them.

The marks formed a little circle, with three triangular tears in the middle that formed a rough actuator claw silhouette. For a moment, the symbol reminded him of Zorro and his Z that he cut into various objects. Then, the thought struck him, as slow as his mind was at the moment. Whoever had stolen them would probably use them, or sell them. After all, no one stole something just to have it lying around.

Ha, very good, Otto. He wanted to slap himself at the thought of how long it took him to come up with that conclusion. He was too tired to think. Had Rosie been with him, she would have demanded that he go to bed now, and no questions, not even a shower until you get some sleep! But, Rosie wasn't here now to tell him that. He drove the memories back before they could plant themselves in the center of his thoughts.

The thought of the prototypes cut into the space left by memories of Rosie. Otto sat down and placed his head in his hands. Anyone could sell his invention for incredible amounts of money. OsCorp especially wanted it, and he knew from experience that Harry Osborn was partial to bargaining. Who knew what OsCorp would do with those arms. They could take them apart, build more, create an entire league of super-criminals should OsCorp's buyers run wild. The prototype had enough power to lift one ton, easily dwarfed by his own actuators' three-ton strength but far too much for an everyday user to be trusted with wielding.

Do not worry, Otto.

You can find them. We will help you.

Otto nodded. All right. You'll help me. But we're not killing anyone. Are you all clear on this?

We will not perform any actions except those in your defense, Otto. A force coiled behind their presences, ready to strike. And the best defense, as we heard a human say, is a good offense. Is that not a human statement?

His defense. That meant killing anyone who could remotely be a threat. Perhaps he still had that...don't think of it. He had to keep the idea away from the actuators, or they would talk him out of it, whether by words or by old-fashioned physical negotiation.

Before he had time to contemplate further what he was about to do, he sat down at his workbench, rooted through the supplies in a drawer under the table, and pulled out a tiny plastic casing. Inside was the spare chip he had created long ago, for the original prototypes. He had later scrapped the AI program for the original actuators, so the chip went into storage.

What is that, Otto?The gentle whir again.

I like having control of my mind. I don't mind your presence, but I prefer running my own thoughts.

What do you mean? You do not like us?

You're fine. You're my friends. He inched his hand back over his shoulder. After all, I created you. You are my magnum opus, my greatest work. If he could keep them listening, rather than watching...

A flash of metal struck his hand. Jerking his arm out of the way, he jammed the object onto the top of his harness. A crackle of electricity raced up his spine, and a loud shriek tore his mind. He leaned over the table and clutched his head; the pain felt like animal claws grinding into his flesh, beneath his skull.

What are you doing? The last voice bellowed at him in a rough roar split by a low, hoarse hum. Otto felt a power rising in his mind, and the arms thrashed, jerking him back and forth in his chair. One claw knocked over a heavy object, sending it crashing to the ground, and another shattered an unknown piece of glass with a harsh crack. Then, the inhibitor took effect, and one by one they fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Otto clenched his teeth until the pressure felt about to crack them apart. No, the metal beasts didn't help him. They had never done him any good. He had to convince himself of that. He couldn't listen to their demands; after all, he had control now. He was Otto now, not Octopus. Otto. And he would stay that way. The new inhibitor chip was flimsy, but it would do for now. He could still hear the arms, but they were fainter voices now, voices he could try to ignore.

No. You listen to me now. I am your master. Otto stood and directed the arms to pull back the chair behind him. Hissing with anger, they obeyed. For the first time in so long, Otto ruled his own mind. The actuators' angry grinding and roaring were mere sounds, instead of forces that pushed at his thoughts and sent his mind reeling. He trudged to his bed, used his actuators to fling off his trenchcoat, and flopped across the soft covers. For once in what seemed like so long, he let go of his mind and fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, all four would be out in force. He couldn't lose this time, could he? Even if he could, he would take the chance. He wouldn't miscalculate again. He would make it.

I am a fool.