Gone
"I'm so sorry."
He doesn't know if he really means it any more. He doesn't know if inside he feels regret, or sadness. He doesn't know if he can anymore.
But he looks at the dead bodies, still staring up at him, and he tries his hardest to give meaning in those words. He tries so hard to mean he's really sorry. The bodies still look up at him, as if expecting more from him, wanting more from him for their deaths. But he has nothing else to give them. Then he looks away, because he hates their eyes staring at him.
Their eyes still full of fear, still full of hatred, and misunderstanding. Their eyes staring at him, wanting so much more than he has.
He looks away, and one of his arms looks away with him, as if it understands the word, 'sorry.' They don't understand. They don't realize how precious one life is. But then again, neither does he. Not anymore.
He stares at it, to see blood stained on it, and he frowns.
"I'm sorry." He says again.
Then he looks at his arms.
"Let's go." He tells them.
Then he grabs a bouqet of roses from the desk he puts his money on the desk to pay for them, and begins to walk out of the broken wall he tore down.
People begin screaming, as he walks out no expression on his face, as he stares out at the screaming crowds. They point and run, run away from him. Run away like they always do. Not thinking about who he once was, just what he is, run away, run away from the monster.
And their screams to him, so distant. Their horrified faces, and their screams seem so far away from him now. Their fear so far out of reach. He can barely hear them now. Now with the arms. Now as Doctor Octopus.
"Freeze!"
"Put your arms up!"
The police are here now. The arms look at the guns that they hold, and understand. He just stares at the police with their guns, staring at them, as if he doesn't understand.
Then the arms jump to the side of a building, and carry him to the top.
The gun shots the police below fire sound so small, so distant. He doesn't care though. They never get him, his arms never allow it. He turns and one his arms goes in front of his chest and the bullet hits it without leaving a mark.
And on the top of the building, he begins his way to the graveyard.
He holds the roses gently within his real hand. He knows how fragile roses are.
He pauses for a second, and looks over at the city. He can hear sirens still, and screaming from the people that can still see him from the other buildings. He looks over at the city within the night. Before all this happened he would have smiled. When he first came to New York, that's what he did. He looked out his window and smiled at the bright city that refused to sleep.
The arms wonder what he is looking at, and call to him.
"Nothing." He says to them.
Because it is true. Nothing, nothing at all. It used to be something, but now it's nothing. It will never be something again. The lights aren't beautiful anymore, they're just lights.
And he wonders to himself what has happened to him. Then he looks at the arms, and they say together, "Us." Then he crosses onto another building. He stares down at the ground. He's so high up. He remembered he was terrified of heights, he remembered hating them. Then why was he able to do this so easily, stare at the ground so far underneath him?
What has happened to him?
The voices in his head just say, "Us." The voices in his arms try to make him feel better. The voices in his head won't be quiet.
Then he realizes. They are right.
Before this all happened. Before he had these arms, he could feel fear, and sorrow. He could feel horrible for murder. Before he had these arms.
But that's what they do. They infest his mind, and suck it dry. Toy with every memory, every thought and feeling, and feast on it for information. Play with it, until it dies inside him. That's what his arms do, because they want to learn how to make him happy, how to feel happy. But in their attempts, they just make him forget how to feel as well.
They go in his head, and break it. Take control of it, and manipulate it. Break it. Hurt it. Destroy it. Kill it.
Kill it.
That's what they do. And he doesn't even realize it. He doesn't know, because they don't allow him to.
And he frowns an empty frown, not really feeling sadness, but something that seems like it.
"Hey Otto!"
He doesn't even recognize his own name, as he just keeps walking, without looking back.
"Otto! Otto!"
Then he lands right in front of him.
"Peter?" Otto says.
Peter takes off the face of Spider-man to reveal his own, and he stands in front of Otto, as the arms begin to hiss at the boy.
"Otto, what are you doing!?" Peter yells.
Otto looks down at the roses.
"Peter, I have to go now." Otto simply says.
"No!"
Peter stops him.
"No, you can't go. You can't keep doing this, Otto. You can't keep killing people, you can't keep hurting people. This isn't you, Otto. Fight it." Peter yells at him.
And Otto stares at the young boy that reminds him so much of himself.
"You wouldn't understand, Peter." Otto says.
Then he looks away from Peter, and at the city he once smiled at.
"What? What don't I understand? Otto those things, they're taking control of you! Remember at the pier!? You made them listen to you, can't you do it again?" Peter says.
Of course he remembers, how could he forget. It was the last time he remembered feeling anything. And all he felt then was cold. Cold as he fell to the bottom of the ocean, drowning, losing his life. His arms were the things that saved him.
"Do you need a photograph, Peter? Do you need the money?" Otto asks.
"…No, it's okay…" Peter says.
He still stares out at the city. Out at the world, that sees him as nothing more than a monster. Maybe they're right. He remembers being so close to helping the world. Using his intelligent, his gift and sharing it with the rest of the world. Now look where it has gotten him. The world will never accept his help anymore. He can't help it anymore. He can't help mankind anymore.
"Will you take care of it, Peter?" Otto says.
"What?" Peter asks.
Otto looks back at Peter, a blank expression on his face.
"You have to take care of it now Peter. I can't anymore. Take care of the world, Peter. I can't anymore." Otto says.
"Otto, you can. You just have to get those things,"
"And that girl. Don't forget her. Don't let her go, Peter. Love her, and tell her that. Don't let her go, not like me." Otto said.
"Otto, you can get those things off of you, you just have to…"
"Don't you see, boy!? Can't you understand it!? Otto is dead! He died drowning back at that pier! He's gone! Gone forever! There's nothing left of him anymore!" Otto yells, rising above Peter with his arms.
Otto drowned. He was left. Doctor Octopus was all he was anymore. Doctor Octopus, who barely had any humanity left in him. Doctor Octopus who felt nothing, who never could mean sorry.
The arms did this to him. The arms, their voices went in his mind, and destroyed it. He felt nothing has he killed those people. Nothing as he watched their blood stain his arms. Nothing as he stared out at the world. He knows his arms took that away from him. He knows he should feel anger. But he can't. He can't feel anymore.
The arms killed him. Went into his head and sucked it dry, left nothing.
Otto was gone.
"No, that's not true!" Peter yelled.
"Open your eyes, Parker!"
Then one of his arms grabbed Peter by the neck.
"Look at me! Nothing! Nothing! It's all gone!" Otto yelled.
The other arms hissed at the boy. And Peter started gasping for air, refusing to believe Otto would kill him, refusing to believe he was going to die here. Then as Peter closed his eyes into unconscious, he was right. For Otto gently rested Peter to the floor, and put his mask back on.
He needed Peter to live. He needed Peter to take care of the world now.
And as Otto stares down at Peter with Spider-man's face, he feels nothing. No happiness, no friendship, he no longer saw anything in Peter that reminded him of himself. He felt no pride in thinking Peter was Spider-man, Peter was a hero.
Maybe because truly Peter was nothing like him. Peter would have not let the part of himself that could feel go. He wouldn't have been so weak and given in. He wouldn't loose that part of himself that could love.
Not like him. Peter was stronger than him.
And still, Otto felt nothing. Because that part of him was gone. Gone.
Then he left the boy lying there. He continued across the tops of the buildings, still holding the roses.
That part of him is gone. Otto is gone, Otto is dead. He can't feel anything anymore. There's nothing left in him to feel anymore.
Then they stop, and he stares across the street, and the arms begin to hiss at him, and ask him questions. There, across the street, is Rosie.
The arms slip into his trench coat, and they cross the street.
Otto takes a moment before going ahead. He looks up. It's the graveyard, and Rosie is there. Then he walks in through the metal cold gates.
He knows where she lies, he was here for her funeral. In the rain, crying in the back. Sunglasses and a hat on so no one could recognize him. His arms in his trench coat so no one would know. He was the last one to leave, there standing in the rain above her.
He felt so sad that day. He remembers feeling sad, but not what sadness feels like.
That part is gone now.
One of his arms peeks out of his coat to look around.
And he lowers his head, as he stops on top of her. His Rosie. He stares down at her, feeling things that remind him of sadness. "Rosalie Octavius," It said. He is surprised they wrote their last name, considering what he has done.
And the feelings that feel like they could be sadness and heartbreak begin. The first things he's felt in so long.
"Hello, Rosie." He said. "I got you roses, I know how you like them."
He kneels down to her, leaving her the roses.
"Rosie…I can't really explain to you what's happening to me…And I know you'd be scared for me, sad for me. Rosie…"
He takes off his sunglasses, and lowers his head, standing up.
She's dead, she's gone, gone along with part of him that could love her.
"I can't really…I can't…I can't feel anything anymore, Rosie. I can't feel the world…I can't feel sadness, or guilt…"
She's gone.
"Oh, Rosie. All those people I've killed…Why can't I…Why can't I make it stop, Rosie? Why can't I feel anything for them? Why can't I…"
He's gone.
"Rosie…I'm so sorry. I couldn't fight it, I couldn't fight it…"
And the arms slowly come out of his coat, and hiss at the grave.
"Rosie, I'm sorry I didn't save you…Maybe if I did, things wouldn't be like this…"
The arms scream at the thought of not being here with him.
"If I had only saved you…"
If…If he had saved her…He would have ran away from that hospital to her. He would have never listened to their voices. Rosie would have held him, and told him to ignore them…Told him to be stronger than he was. She would've asked for more than he could give. But he would still give it to her. He would've never killed anyone. She would've taken him to the hospital, tear those things off his back.
Everything would be different.
"You would have kept me alive, Rosie. You would have kept me feeling the love I felt for you. I miss you, and that's all I can give you Rosie, and I'm sorry for that."
The voices in his head, scream at him, he ignores them for once, because he knows Rosie would want him to.
"I loved you so much, and that's all I can give now."
They scream at him, tell him to love them, like they love me. But they don't know what love is, they only know about his memories of love, and they are as confusing to them as they are to him.
"I remember everything about you, Rosie. I remember every moment we spent together. Memories filled with love. But I can't feel that anymore. I loved you. I loved you. But that love is gone now. I'm so sorry I let it go…I loved you."
He puts his hands on his ears, trying to make their voices go away, and he kneels down to Rosie.
"I loved you…"
And that's all he can give to her. If she was alive, he knows she would've accepted that.
And he lowers his hands, to listen to the voices in his head. And he asks their forgiveness, for they are the only ones who can understand him now. The only ones who remotely care about him.
He leaves his Rosie then. He doesn't want to call her his anymore, because he can't love her anymore. But he still does.
He leaves her the roses.
He loved her.
The roses wilt, his Rosie wilts.
Let it go.
He's gone anyway.