Chapter 9: Walking Contradiction, by Otto

"Do as I say, not as I do

Because the shit's so deep you can't run away

I beg to differ, on the contrary, I agree with every word that you say

Talk is cheap and lies are expensive,

My wallet's fat and so is my head."

Green Day, "Walking Contradiction"

One of the most pernicious influences on today's society is the encouragement of what is popularly called "self-esteem" as the highest virtue. That is, the encouragement of pride in those who have nothing to be proud of. You may think it a modern problem, but the excellent have always been punished by the mediocre. The superior have always been hated by the inferior. The intelligent have always been scorned, beaten, and their glasses broken by the imbecilic masses. But today, in this mercilessly egalitarian society, the masses insist on their right to live insipid, useless lives and make moronic decisions without interference from those who by all objective measures are their betters.

In today's society, those with the intelligence to make grand plans for the benefit of humanity, the power to carry them out, and the independence to disregard the petty laws enacted expressly to hinder them are pursued as criminals, scorned as crackpots and hacks. In a society that hates excellence and prizes conformity and mediocrity, I am Harrison Bergeron. In a society that prizes all the individuality of a herd of sheep and keeps the superior from their rightful place in the world, I am the ubermensch of Nietzche's wet dreams. Parker had so much potential...and yet he chooses to waste his intelligence and power for the benefit of those who deserve it least.

You may, dear readers, think I have an ego problem. I will tell you honestly, you think that because you do not have any special talent or intelligence to boast of yourself.

I ponder what I should do with my newfound knowledge of my enemy's identity. I figure that there are very, very many who would pay for the information. Enough, the scientist I still am tells me, to fund my own laboratory, make my breakthrough, get back into the good graces of the scientific community.

Or, Doctor Octopus reminds me, you could blackmail him. It's amazing what the threat of the loss of everyone he holds dear does to silence an enemy.

I'm no blackmailer, I tell myself.

Too little, too late for scruples now, I think. You have stolen, you have destroyed, you have murdered in pursuit of your ideal. You have sacrificed everyone you loved, even your wife, in pursuit of your dream. What does the life and reputation of the man who has always stood in your way matter now?

I hurriedly find two envelopes and two pieces of letter paper, and quickly write two identical letters. I write on one envelope To May Reilly Parker. On the other, I write To J. Jonah Jameson. I stuff and seal the envelopes.

My safety assured, I search through the cupboards for the Oreos I had bought, fearing May had discarded them in deference to "my heart condition." I finally find them in their original hiding place, and now busy myself with scooping mint chocolate chip ice cream into a bowl. Then I search for the chocolate syrup.

The bug's girlfriend stands behind me, arms crossed, watching me prepare my snack. "God, you're a fat, disgusting pig."

I heave the sigh of the truly affronted. Yes, I know I have always been what is charitably called stocky or husky. I also know that in this era when the richest man in the world earned his fortune and power by designing computer software, that while beauty is certainly not merely a social construct, the preference for it is increasingly an outdated relic of evolutionary psychology and a call of reactionary genes. "On the contrary, my dear Miss Felicia, I am no pig but an Octopus."

I grab the spoon when I hear a distant rumble and the shaking of tree branches.

"Somebody coming," she says to no one in particular.

"So take care of it," I say, digging into a chunk of ice cream. "Isn't that what you 'superheroes' do all day?"

I hear Miss Felicia scream, and turn the television volume louder. I hear a man shout. "Where is he? Bring me Octavius!"

Well, I am a number of things, but a coward I am definitely not. I place the bowl into the refrigerator and step out to meet my visitor. "Someone asked for me?"

My visitor is tall, muscular, and wearing a green suit with what looks like, of all things, a scorpion tail sprouting out of his backside. "I've got a message for you, Doc," he tells me.

"And what would that possibly be?"

"Annul your marriage to May Parker."

"I shall do no such thing."

The tail swings, and I use my tentacles to leap out of the way. "Pity," he tells me. "If you'd have done things my way, no one would have gotten hurt." He swings again, and the barbed tail grazes my face, and I see the streamer of blood follow. I manage to duck out of the way as he throws a punch. But the tail swings again, sending me towards the brick wall defining the apartment complex property, and I narrowly avoid serious injury by using my tentacles to cocoon my all too mortal shell.

He swings once more, and I finally catch the tail with a tentacle. "The only one here getting hurt," I tell him, "is you, Scorpion." He is promptly flung into the brick wall.

Scorpion merely leaps to his feet, and jumps toward me again, boots first and headed to my face. "You think a piece of metal calamari can stop the Scorpion?"

I simply grab him by the legs with two more tentacles and send him back through the brick wall. "No, I know it will!" This must be his first day on the job. He staggers up, shaking his head. I immediately take advantage, striking once more to the nape of his neck with the force of a jackhammer. Then I pick him up once more, and slam his head into the cement bench in the courtyard.

I then toss this cheap thug into the courtyard pool.

But Scorpion, dispatched as he is, still manages to crawl out of the pool, blubbering, pulls himself over the side, and grabs Felicia with his tail, tossing her away across the apartment courtyard towards the brick wall.

I turn away and grab her once more by the collar with a pincer, gently setting her down onto a bench. When I turn once more to this other arachnid aberration, I find the coward has escaped, trailing blood from the pool to the brick wall to the bench. I look at Felicia, and sigh. Maybe I still have some of that old-fashioned chivalry after all.

She looks at me with a strange expression I've never seen a woman direct at me before. "You—you saved my life."

"Don't mention it. Now bring me my bowl of ice cream and turn the television on to the Discovery Channel."

We trudge up the stairs to May's apartment, where she gently traces the cut on my face with a black-gloved finger. "We gotta get that cut of yours cleaned up," she says. "Looks like he did a number on you, Otto."

I didn't want let that go unchallenged. I wanted to correct her. Nobody ever calls me Otto anymore. Not to mention that, as one of the most brilliant scientists that had ever walked this terra firma, I find it only reasonable to insist I be addressed with the proper respect: either Doctor or Sir.

But to my immense surprise and chagrin, I only nod. "Not really, Miss Felicia."

I step into the living room and slump to the couch, grasping the remote with a tentacle and the bowl of ice cream and oreos with another, while Felicia sits on my lap and starts to sponge my battered face with a damp washcloth and rub neosporin into the slash on my cheek. I passively accept her ministrations, since we are both aware that not only my is marriage a sham, but that I feel somewhat flattered by the attentions of an admittedly attractive blonde in a tight cat costume.

She picks up the spoon. "Would you like me to feed you?"

"No. And get off me, I hear something."

"Who gives a shit?"

"You will soon enough, if I am right about whom I hear at the door!"

And then the little bug trudges in, dragging a hunk of melted plastic in one hand and a charred baseball bat in the other. His hair is burnt, his uniform torn, and he smells like smoke and frying meat. I chuckle at his predicament, wishing I was there to watch it. It would have been most entertaining. "Have a nice time?"

"Just wonderful, Otto. Just fucking delightful."

"I was only attempting a civil conversation, Parker."

"Fuck you."

"Language, Parker," I correct him. I briefly consider the many pleasures involved in throttling him for the sheer audacity of daring to cuss at Doctor Octopus. But after all, there are other considerations involved that prevent me from indulging my immediate urges towards him. "Cursing makes one look stupid. Not that you need any help in that department."

He only responds with an upraised middle finger.

I chuckle at his immaturity. Simply amazing how puerile someone of his intelligence and power can be. "Is that number your age or your IQ?"

"Don't start with me, Ock. I'm not in the mood."

"Now, I would advise against being so disrespectful to me, young Parker. Especially considering I hold a secret you're not amenable to having revealed publicly."

"You couldn't prove it." For all his brave talk, his voice betrays his fear.

"Of course I can. I have acquired a DNA sample from the spare costume you so imprudently left in your suitcase." I finally shove Felicia off of my lap and take out Parker's old comb from my trenchcoat pocket, secreted yesterday from the bathroom. "Comparing the samples was embarrassingly easy for someone of my intellect." Of course I am bluffing; I would have to reach one of my underground laboratories for my final analysis, but he doesn't need to know. All he needs to know is I could do it.

The second thing I take out is the two envelopes I had prepared earlier, waving them in front of his face. "These envelopes are, as you may clearly see, are inscribed the names of the two people you would least like to be made aware of your--shall we say extracurricular activities," I tell him. "The moment you step out of line, the envelopes go out. Don't even think to say anything. It was an opportunity easily taken, a foolish weakness easily traded on. You should have gone the route of the 'public' so-called superheroes. Are we abundantly clear on this?"

"You're a sociopath, Octavius."

"No, I am decidedly not. I just want to hold this temporary alliance of ours together long enough to find May Parker with a minimum of annoyance, dissent, and bickering. Have you managed to find any leads yet, or were you distracted?"

"Hey, I'm doing all I can on my end. The supervillain who attacked me told me to have your marriage to her annulled."

"Funny thing," I tell him. "Another superpowered thug showed up here ordering me to do the same thing."

"What happened?"

"You'll find his blood and some of his teeth in the courtyard."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Peter asks.

"Of course I do. These thugs' employer has found the new owner of Rosslyn Island. He wants it for his own, and is willing to take it by force."

"As opposed to you, who took it by cunning." he adds.

"Naturally."

"Find him, find May," he tells me. "He probably kidnapped her to—either get our attention and flush us out, or try to pressure her to sign the deeds over."

"I should give you a warning, Parker: there is currently no reason the culprit would keep May alive. In fact, the artificial intelligence of my tentacles have run the statistics into their probability calculators and strongly suggest against May's survival."

"You better hope to hell your computer systems are wrong, Ock," he growls. "For your sake."

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.