Disclaimer: Stan Lee still refuses to surrender the Marvel Universe and Doc Ock with it, no matter how many Oreos I attempt to bribe him with. That being said, Ock isn't mine. Ariane, however, is, and I absolutely adore my blonde college student. Attempt to take and harm you I shall.
A/N: This chapter is done in Ock's POV. His views on Ariane, the sudden appearance of one so willing to aide him, and spot-lighting a little gift. I plead for reviews, because I'm not sure how IC I got the Doc. I try my best, really, I do. But he's such a hard char, y'know? lol. Anyways, here's the chapter.
Life certainly throws the strangest twists at people, if I do say so myself. From fusing two pair of metal actuators onto my back, to throwing in a young woman who, above all else, seems to hail from the South, life seemed to give me the path of all oddities.
Of course, I could have easily be rid myself of this latest addition with a simple strike of an arm. But, as I have come to realize after reliving the previous few hours, this could become quite the symbiotic relationship. After all, she had her points. She was a tiny thing, and, judging by the way she was able to get so close to me without my knowledge, had talents lying in the stealth department. In return, she would get to learn from one of - no, the greatest mind in all of New York.
And if things didn't work out, that was of no consequence. I will have taken from her what was needed, and then be rid of her as easily as if she was my last unwanted neighbor.
Chittering noises aroused me from my thoughts, and I glanced about. Only after realizing that, of course, my arms were simply amused by the thoughts buzzing around my head did I realize. They were of the playful sort. If one could count enjoying chaos and destruction playful, anyhow.
Looking back, I new they were just as anxious as I was about accepting this offer of aide that had materialized out of no where at all. After all, if a woman appeared and offers to be your gopher, your lab assistant, and your student while you're still a wanted criminal and known murderer, you would be slightly wary. In this situation, however, the benefits outweighed all the risks.
And, if Ariane was as intelligent as she laid claim to be, she would most definitely know better than to even dream of double-crossing me.
One other thing tugged on my thoughts. Ariane had briefly mentioned her reasoning for this uneasy alliance. It was a "legacy", she had claimed. The eldest child of that generation always found an individual to protect - "to guard" was actually her exact wording. Somehow, she had chosen me. It made me question exactly how bright this young woman was, though. Had she researched, or had she merely opened a book and picked a name?
Whether her choice was made by careful observation and nights of studying, or simply misguided interpretations made little to no difference to me. I had accepted the aide already, and would use her and her abilities until she was simply no use to me anymore.
That was when the voices began again.
How can we be sure--
--That she is--
--Of the honorable sort--
--Father?
They came into my head all at once: four metallic whispers originating from the area near the base of my skull. I immediately knew them to be my actuators, my creations, whose voices had become ever-present in my mind. They thought as I did, wondered what I wondered, and so it was no doubt that they knew the answer to the question before I even supplied it. I still spoke it aloud, though.
"We cannot."
Then why trust her? Questioned the ever-curious voice of my youngest creation, the upper-left tentacle. It hovered around my head, albeit at a certain distance, as if it was waiting for my answer. I sensed impatience, even though I answered almost as soon as the question was asked.
"I don't."
They seemed satisfied, or at least occupied, by my answer, and so the ever-present voices quieted to allow me peace again. I turned from the plans of my latest machine, scribbled in fading white on an old chalkboard, to stride to the rotten jumble of wood that once had managed to pass for an acceptible desk. There, I saw a glint of sunlight reflectinig off black glass.
An arm heard my unasked question and snaked over, grasping the item gently within its claws. It returned to me and deposited the device in my open and waiting organic hand. I looked it over with a curious expression.
It was a cellphone, pure and simple. A prepaid one, untraceable, with a touchscreen that undoubtedly held buttons too small for my fingers. I turned it over and noted that the back was a plain silver color, marred by the young woman's fingerprints; my own joined them a nanosecond later. I was looking for some way to cut it on, and was very unsuccessful in this.
After several minutes, though, I finally managed to do so. I was scientist with a fearsome reputation; my inventions and experiments were technological marvels. I created things that would make your eyes pop out of your head.
And yet these blasted new cellphones confounded me.
I let out a victory grunt as the black screen turned bright white, then a serene blue. A second later, the background began to materialize, followed by the icons that I would, no doubt, have memorized within a moment. One caught my eye, though, and I focused on it.
It was a little envelope, plain and white and simple. In the upper, right corner of the envelope I noted there was a red circle; a white number one sat in the middle.
You have a text! My youngest chirped. I gave it a look out of the corner of my eye.
"Thank you for that astute observation." I said dryly, and touched the icon.
It opened, and displayed my inbox - chiming cheerily as it did so. After scanning the text, I came to realize that this was just the typical "Thank you for purchasing, here's your number. If you have any questions, too bad!" introductory message that all prepaid cellphones received. The phone number I mentally recorded instantly, then I tucked the phone into a pocket of my coat.
So the young lady had left a way to remain in contact before hurrying off to her classes, had she? How...interesting.
Perhaps to track you?
Lead the Spider to you?
Can we trust this?
Can I play with it?
Three of my actuators, and myself, turned to look at the curious actuator. It had its claw near my pocket, and was attempting to peer inside without being seen. Absentmindedly, I gave it a little swat; it backed out with its head ducked in a position that reminded me of a child who had just been scolded. I almost - almost - cursed the day I decided to give them all advanced AI. It had been just enough for them to all gain personalities of their own.
Shaking my head, I dismissed all claims and worries.
"I doubt she can track a prepaid cellphone." I told them, calmly walking over to my desk and sitting, "She majors in genetics; she is one of Connors' students. I highly doubt she is a computer genius as well."
Yes, because, as we all know, one cannot be both a genius, and know how to work technology.
Knowing full well it was a jab at my earlier escapades with the cellphone, I gave the lower left actuator a look. "You know full well that was not what I was saying. And I would appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself and your brothers. I was simply alluding to the fact that there are much simpler ways to track another." And then, inspired by the thought, I grabbed a sheet of paper and proceeded to sketch out a new idea.
In the back of my mind, though, I had to marvel at this simple act of kindness. Since the accident that made me who I was that day, no one had ever given me something without demanding for monetary compensation. And yet, here I was, with a new cellphone in my pocket and an assistant on speed dial (figuratively), who wanted nothing more than the knowledge she could gain while observing me.
Those the world considered "normal" didn't show that variety of kindness anymore.
"Then again," I commented, my wit suddenly dry yet again, "who ever said I or those around me are normal?"
HFG: That be my latest chapter; done in Ock's POV. The Next one shall be in his POV as well. I'm begging you, peoples, review. Critique, comment, I do not care. This is my first Spider-Man fanfiction. I promise; the bug will make an appearance, if y'all are waiting on that. Just give me a few more chapters. Anyways, like I said, first chapter in Ock's POV in my first Spider-Man fic. Review and be nice! I don't mind crit, but not flames. Those are evil.
Look what they did to movie!Octavius.
