JMJ

THREE

"Mmm?" Otto moaned.

He shoved his face into his pillow a moment, but consciousness was unavoidable however much he could have slept a little while longer. Slowly lifting his upper body on his hands and feeling uncomfortable and stiff from sleeping on the floor while curling up near a radiator, he opened his eyes, and he closed them again tightly as he realized he had not dreamt the events of the evening before.

"Mmph!" The boy quickly pulled his blanket over his head.

After a moment or two, Otto reached out a little hand for his glasses on the windowsill. There was no use in denying where he was, he knew. As he placed his glasses back onto his face, he remained inside his cocoon a little longer, listening to the snoring and the muttering from his older self proving that he was still asleep. He thought for sure he had heard his older self leave in the night, but he must have come back without Otto's knowing, and he was happy that he was not awake before him.

Slowly he lifted the blanket and allowed himself to adjust to the light coming in from the frosted window wreathed with snow and frost. A sudden snort startled him, but as he turned towards the sleeping form over the counter with head in his arms, he realized that he had only been adjusting himself in mid sleep.

His older self was dressed far stranger than before, but then it was the future. Maybe jumpsuits were in, and glasses could be more electronic-based. He was still wearing his winter coat too. That looked normal, anyway. A metal crate with impressive parts and tools rested on the counter just in front of older Otto's face. Although a mug of cold coffee was near at hand, and some of the tools from the crate were closer, the older Otto Octavius slept as soundly as a baby now.

Just to make certain, Otto watched the sleeping form a little longer. Then with utmost care, he crept out from under his covers and rounded the futon to approach something which had caught his interest more than anything else about the scene had. At first he thought the long robotic snakes were lying behind his older self on the floor, but he soon followed them to their source poking through neatly cut holes in the coat from the back of the sleeping bear. Like approaching a sleeping bear too, Otto tiptoed forward with tingling fear and many rabbit-like pauses to look up at the head on the counter before returning to the robotic arms on the floor.

Only inches away from the nearest end of one of those arms, Otto looked down at the pale light emanating from the smooth cup in the middle of the deadly claws. It seemed to twitch slightly, or at least he heard some sound coming from the inner workings of the ball which held the light.

Wrinkling his nose and examining it closer, young Otto squatted down, and abounding with full scientific curiosity he reached out a hand to touch the side of one of the claws.

Like a Venus flytrap on steroids it clamped around his wrist with the force a crocodile jaw, trapping his hand inside.

"Wah!" Otto cried tumbling over.

The pale lights went out of a sort of sleep mode and became piercing lamps all shining in his direction.

A groggy and very grumpy Doctor Octopus lifted a heavy head from the table and leered at the boy on his knees struggling to free himself with his other hand.

"Please!" little Otto gasped. "Lemme go! It hurts!"

"Does it?" Doctor Octopus closed his eyes impatiently as he stood upright from his seat. The arms meanwhile slowly brought the boy towards him, dragging him across the floor. Once the boy was at his feet, he looked down and opened his eyes again. "Then perhaps you've learned a lesson in how the feeble are easily ensnared in their own idle curiosities."

Doctor Octopus released his hold, and Otto snatched back his hand and rubbed his wrist tenderly.

Glancing back upon the counter briefly he used another mechanical arm to pick up the cold mug of coffee and pour it down the sink. Then taking the well-insulated thermos pot from the stove he poured himself a warmer cup and began to reheat what remained within it. Seating himself back in front of the counter he also quickly snatched a can of span from the cupboard behind him and dropped it at young Otto's feet.

"Eat your breakfast and don't speak," said Doctor Octopus without looking up. He mused over the design plans of Boraas' machine and glanced into his crate with a grumpy pout.

Forcing himself not to cry, Otto opened the tab of the can and sat down on the futon to eat his spam; though without a fork it was highly unorthodox in his opinion. Granted the whole living situation of his older self seemed overall quite appalling. For a time Otto kept to himself trying to allow his older self to work in peace, but as he looked around him and slowly ate his spam he could not help a growing unhappiness. Confusion, almost disgust, filled him, and looking around him at the boxes and stacks of newspapers in what might have served for a living room away from the kitchen area, a burning inside of him finally gave him enough courage to ask, "Why in the future do I live here?"

Doctor Octopus did not seem to hear him as he muttered to himself, "Hmm. I need more parts … some of these are damaged beyond repair. We must have had a charming little tantrum, didn't we, Pr. Boraas? Tch, tch, tch …"

"I mean," said Otto twiddling his fingers uncomfortably. "Where's my lab? Where's my house? Where's my dog? Why do I live in this bad neighborhood? Aren't I a scientist inventor? Don't inventors get paid a lot? I mean … you invented those, didn't you?" He pointed to the arms, and Doctor Octopus snorted as though to say that it was insulting to be asked, but he still did not grace young Otto with a straight look.

"Are houses really expensive in the future?" asked little Otto. "Is inflation out of control?"

"You don't know what inflation is," muttered Doctor Octopus.

"Yes, I do," said Otto quietly and firmly, and he paused for a moment or two before he continued, "You don't even take care of your home. It's got nothing in it. It's like those cop movies where people hang out in abandon places to hide from the police … or those future movies where everyone's brainwashed into an evil government … is this an evil empire now? And you have to hide because you're a free thinker?" He gasped and looked around him warily as he shrunk into his shoulders. "Are you hiding from a future government like in 1984? Is that why you're grumpy?" He held his fists to his mouth nervously.

He had not read the book, but he had heard plenty about it since 1983. His own time being 1984 itself it was the deal of the year.

"Well, that science expo looked pretty normal," Otto then muttered to himself. "Of course looks can be deceiving but … are you hiding from something? A rival scientist? That's out to get you?"

"I thought I told you to keep quiet. You don't want to spoil the future, do you?" said Doctor Octopus lightly still holding the designs in front of his face.

The boy was beside himself now with frustration. "But it doesn't make any sense! Why are you living in this … this … hovel?" He spread out his arms desperately.

Doctor Octopus stiffened strangely a moment. He seemed almost to bristle. The mechanical arms all hissed as they turned their flashlight faces into Otto's eyes. Slowly the papers lowered from the good doctor's face. He stood up and watched the boy blink and cringe and cover his eyes against the glare so that he did not notice until it was too late the one claw coming up from behind and snatching him around the back suddenly. Young Otto let out a terrified gasp, and then it forced him upright in a flash of motion so that his toes barely touched the futon cushion.

Slamming the papers back onto the counter, Doctor Octopus clenched his teeth briefly and then hissed, "I live where I choose, and I don't live here! Do I make myself clear, you pathetic, inconsequential little—?"

He let out a slight growl and turned away trying to regain control. He could not hurt Otto Octavius. He needed him. Despite it all he needed him.

He let him go tumbling backwards onto the futon.

"I'm going out," he then told the boy calmly. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

The boy gulped as he put his glasses back onto his face and repositioned himself over the arm of the futon anxiously. He did not have the courage to ask where his older self was going; though, he later recalled the villain saying something about parts. Either way, young Otto's little bout of anger and frustration had been certainly outdone by his older self. Almost anyone could outdo that anyway so why not his older self too. It was all he could do to keep from crying until the Doctor Octopus had left and a mechanical arm reached back behind him to pull the door shut.

For a long while Otto did very little in the small living space, or what held for one. Seated on the futon he ate his spam slowly and with distaste. He thought of trying to heat it up on the stove, but though he considered himself able to work a stove, he felt his older self would not approve of him taking the initiative.

He went to the bathroom, which was a most unappealing place, but at least it was not that dirty, and he spent a while washing his hands as he waited for the sink water to warm, but it never fully did. While he waited he stared into the mirror, and tried to picture himself turning into the man who had abandoned him here. He had pictured many things for his future, but what he had found was not close to any of them.

Otto had always believed that when he grew up he would be happy, because when he was grown up he would not be bullied by creepy students or forced to do gym class or sing in music class. He would not be humiliated when the teacher decided it was such a nice day that everyone should go outside and play kickball and the ball hits one small boy square in the face and breaks his glasses and he falls flat on his back in excruciating pain. He would be free from the confines of industrialized prison-like institutions founded upon Nazi principles where thought and reason were suppressed. He could work in the freedom of scientific endeavor where all was the excitement of exploring the unknown and the goal of using one's intelligence and discoveries for the better of mankind. He pictured a wide-open, clean working space to research and conduct experiments. Huge windows to see up into the stars or look over vast landscapes where the inspiration of the wide world could be viewed at any time to encourage one out of slumps, blocks, or failures. Biology and the natural environment of the earth was a never ending inspiration, after all. He pictured himself a highly respected researcher, a professor in London, Paris, and Munich and Tokyo. He pictured himself also a scientist as the source. Maybe at NASA. On Mars even. Or somewhere at the bottom of the ocean where underwater domes allowed one to delve into the true depths of the world's most mysterious realms. To the volcanic cores in a specialized heat repelling suit studying the earth at its most powerful moments.

But no.

Here was Otto Octavius, and there was no denying that it was Otto Octavius, living in apparent squalor or hiding, and he looked anything but happy. Well, perhaps he was happier when he was not trying to figure out how to fix this unfortunate and confusing tampering with time, but young Otto doubted it. How could he be happy here? He was not even sure where here was. It was a big city. The parts of it he had seen could belong to any major city; though growing up in a small town in New York State, he could only guess it was New York City.

With this slight change of topic, Otto at last gave up on getting some hot water, and decided to find out exactly where he was and when in 2009 he had appeared. It had been October in his own time, but judging by the depth of the snow and the icicles hanging from the window and on roofs out across the street he knew it had to be later than that.

There had been some newspapers in the corner of the room. They probably would be too old to tell Otto when he was, but they certainly could tell him where. Thus conducting himself to the first pile he lifted it up and soon found that he was reading the Daily Bugle from New York City.

Well, that was solved, fast enough. The paper was from June so it would not help with "when", as he had guessed. He was not in the habit of reading newspapers, but he was curious and paged through it a little, reading the captions and studying the images to see if he could figure out the state of the future. He was surprised to see that although they may not have flying cars in the future like a 60's movie nor an apocalyptic 80's rendition of the future, it did apparently seem that the creative minds of the past were right in one regard, for there seemed to be mutants running wild in New York.

He would have believed the whole world at war more than believing New York being overrun with mutants. Spiderman who could climb up walls and leap faster and further than any other man alive? How incredible, and there were apparently more where he came from.

Picking up another newspaper, Otto saw that Spiderman was a very popular topic for the Bugle; though the paper could not apparently decide whether he was good or bad. Whatever his motives, he certainly was active and did not like sharing New York with other mutants who were always portrayed as a complete menace to society. Quite enthralled by now, the boy took a whole stack and brought them to the futon to read.

And all this time I thought the idea of mutants was just stupid, thought Otto quite impressed, and it also occurred to him that maybe his future self was hiding from the mutants.

There was hardly one paper that did not say something about Spiderman or at least one of the mutants and just plain insane people he fought. The boy wondered immensely how the city could continue on as normally as it appeared it did with so much chaos. But in the words of the British, he supposed "Keep calm and carry on." After getting himself some water to drink at the sink, he settled in even more comfortably with his blanket from the floor as he read about a man who had become entirely liquid that the paper called Hydro-man. The explanation for how he became him was vague but he had apparently been a demolition's expert beforehand, a completely normal human being. A mutated man creature called Scorpion was also spoken of as well as the phenomenon known as Sandman, the unexplainable Electro, and the anthromorphic Kraven. The latter three had apparently appeared less recently. Mutagen seemed to have run amuck worse than could be pictured. With a mixture of horror and excitement he paged through some more, feeling ready for anything now. Many of the other villains who were not physically altered caused Otto to wonder if they were not at least mentally deformed to dress up as they did and fight like lunatics in the streets.

But the one thing he was not ready for was to catch his own name out of the corner of his eye and not among the college sections or company projects. His name was not in the title, but it was on the front page from the middle of July. It was used as a secondary title to the name Doctor Octopus where it was also added that he was a former employee of Oscorp Industries. But Octavius was not a mutant. He was not a mutant, but he led the mutants. There was an apparent disagreement between him and Spiderman, though the paper led one to believe that this had nothing to do with Spiderman's innocence in the affair, but the scheme had been Octavius'. A horrible scheme! One that took advantage of the city. One that would likely destroy the economy, the lives of normal citizens. There were at least seven people injured during the fight between Spiderman and Doctor Octopus, but no evident deaths. It was evident enough however by the picture how those mechanical arms were used when not grabbing spam from a cupboard.

Otto looked through more papers and found his name again in a back article about how Doctor Octopus AKA Otto Octavius had escaped from an insane asylum, had taken back his arms, and was at large and dangerous. A paper from before summer told of how he was involved in a great gang war. Literally gangsters were all fighting over control of the city and he was amongst them. He found another paper telling about how he had gathered a horde of super villains to help him try to take over the city with computers. He kidnapped a policeman's daughter and conducted his scheme from an underwater lair under the title Master Planner. So now he had two villain aliases!

Biting his lip and staring out the window for a moment, Otto felt very cold and very alone. More than anything he longed to go home. This could still be a nightmare, he tried to tell himself, but he had spent too long a time here to believe this to be true. The word "asylum" sent chills up his spine, the word "kidnapped" made his heart ache, and the words "manipulative", "infamous", and even "murderous" made him feel so sick he only moved to allow himself to lie down on the futon and squeeze his eyes shut.

All that cold spam had was not improving how he felt either. He got stomach aches easily. But he did not remain there long.

His future self would return soon, and although part of him tried to argue that perhaps the paper was just a load of lies and Otto Octavius still could be a fugitive from an evil empire, he knew that he was only a fugitive from the normal law and for a good reason. The man who had put him here in this shack was enough to send chills down anyone's spine. If he had not seen him first so surprised at the expo where he did not want to rouse attention to himself but had instead seen him as he had this morning grabbing him around the middle with those mechanical arms like a snake, he would have had no trouble believing that he was evil. He would have had no trouble believing he was downright insane. Behind those eye pieces that covered older Octavius' true eyes the boy had sensed seething hatred and for his younger self besides.

Who else but an insane villain would threaten his childhood self?

Slipping quickly from the futon, his heart racing wildly, the boy had only one thought: to flee. He tried the front door, but he was not surprised that it was locked. Pulling the lock of the window, Otto pushed it up and looked down. There was no screen, but climbing down looked precarious enough without snow and ice, and without even gloves to keep his fingers warm, he would not be able to keep his grip.

He had to decide now what he feared more. Doctor Octopus or falling.

Otto paused blinking out across the street, but he made up his mind soon enough. Swinging his leg out over the windowsill he scrambled with all the care and slow patience he could muster to climb out and try to ease his way to the drain pipe. It took only a few seconds for his fingers to feel numb. The bone chilling breeze whipped past him and burned his ears. He had not even zipped up his fall jacket in his panic to get away. Closing his eyes and blinking away a stray tear he wished his mother was there to take him home. But looking up again he reached up for a pipe along the outside of the building, and thought that if he held on tight enough with one hand he could reach the drain pipe with his other hand and only one foot on the windowsill. Reaching upwards he tried, but fear overtook him. He withdrew back to the window breathing heavily.

He could not do this. He just could not.

But just as he was going back into the building he slipped.

His cry pierced to the air, but he did not strike the ground. He had hardly felt the prickling terror of losing his footing on the ledge when he was suddenly snatched by the swing of one of those mechanical arms. Below him Doctor Octopus leered up in a manner which made Otto think of a rattlesnake's rattle.