Chapter 9
I'm going to admit I kind of bypassed the old 'how dare you lie to me' spiel. It's just done so much, and I honestly didn't know how to not parrot back everything ever said in an angsty teen story. So you get a shortcut to . . . the calm before the storm? Are we that close to the climax already?
Wow, time flies when you're stuck at home. But it's our civic duty to be couch potatoes for the month!
Unfortunately, I've run out of buffer. I can probably finish chapter 10 by next week, but I'm not going to adhere to a strict posting schedule from here on out. I was happy I could do that with Anansesem, but that turned out a bit . . . crazy. I want to retain the coherence of this story. I'll try not to leave it hanging for too long though!
Hope you're all well!
In a Queens neighborhood where all the houses on the street look the same, there is one house that is not like the others. A passerby would never be able to discern the difference. The roof, eaves, windows, doors; everything looked like the rest. Even a guest within the house would be clueless. The picture frames, furniture, and teenager-caused messes looked appropriate to those who lived in the house.
This is not surprising, for the house was literally made to appear just like all the others.
Unbeknownst to the community, the Parker house was not the same house that had once been on that plot of land. It was far newer, built in a night after it had been destroyed in a day. Beneath its mundane beige siding were steel walls and high-tech sensors and weapons. To avoid having to build it again, Shield had built it with a state-of-the-art security and weapons system.
Thus, the only sort of person who might ever suspect this house of being different would be a burglar. And the burglars who broke into the houses of Shield agents had a tendency to disappear.
There were more details in this house that wasn't immediately noticeable. In a closet hung a bright red and blue spandex onesie. In a desk drawer there was a pile of technological scraps salvaged from Shield and alien tech. In a cabinet sat a set of trophies and memorabilia from a well-travelled woman. And in a corner of the attic, between a myriad of boxes and support beams, inaccessible except for the most flexible of people, one could find a boy.
In his eyes are tears.
In his heart there is pain, betrayal, regret.
And in his head . . .
Peter sat on the floor of his hiding spot, knees pulled up to his chest. He hadn't been up here for years. He hadn't been able to for a long time. The last time he had been able to squeeze between the boxes this far was when he was about nine or less. After he finally realized his parents weren't coming back, he had mourned here. He hadn't wanted to upset May and Ben. They had already done so much for him. He hadn't wanted to make them feel underappreciated just because he had only just begun to understand the finality of death.
He had eventually grown out of the need of this spot, and soon after that the ability to enter it in the first place. This was his first time back, and it was pretty much for the same reasons.
He felt the need to mourn, and he didn't want May to know, not yet.
The last twenty-four hours had not been kind to him in the slightest.
It started with the previous night. Not only had Octavius decided to make contact for the first time in months, but Peter had yelled until his voice was sore because no one had told him that Octavius had been watching him for that entire time. He had yelled at everyone. He had yelled at his team. He had yelled at Nick Fury.
Peter had never dared to yell at Nick Fury before.
But that wasn't really what was bothering him. He had just learned that they were all keeping secrets from him. It was understandable that he was upset, that his judgement might be clouded. It was only natural that he was rougher than he intended, telling them how wrong they were.
What was troubling was that the fact they agreed with his ramblings.
Ava Ayala, the girl who never backed down from a fight, had only stood there with her shoulders hunched. She hadn't backed away, but she had taken each word without saying anything back. When he finished, she had apologized.
"I knew you would want to know," she said. "I just wasn't sure if telling you was the right thing. I don't think it was now."
Ava hardly ever admitted she was wrong.
Truth be told, having people agree with you when you're boiling with rage isn't as satisfying as everyone expects. Peter hadn't screamed at her for too long after that. They had gone straight to the Helicarrier. It was probably lucky that he hadn't burst in while Fury was in an important meeting or something. It was probably lucky that he had made it to Fury at all. Now that he thought about it, one of his teammates must have called in ahead or else the guards would have stopped him.
Then he had yelled at the director of Shield, and Fury just looked at him, single eye studying him. After a time, when the fight was leaving Peter, Fury had held up a hand and said: "This isn't my first rodeo. But the bull bucks differently every time. Understand that I do what's right at the time, not necessarily what is right."
And Peter had finally sobered up then. He finally realized what was really bothering him, and it wasn't anyone at Shield.
That was when the apologizing started, but Fury cut him off. There were more pressing things to discuss, like the plan for world domination on Octavius' flash drive.
It was a good thing Fury wasn't prone to things like embarrassment after awkward situations.
They wasted no time in plugging it into a secure computer. The files were as Octavius had promised. Complete records of his work and a word document with a full description of the Goblin's plan.
Peter had already felt drained from his bout of rage. Reading the synopsis almost made his knees weak.
The Goblin's brand-new plan was not very new at all. It was a variation of the time he broke into the Helicarrier with Venom. He wanted the symbiote to be mass produced so it could contaminate everyone. And he wanted a 'master control' symbiote for himself. He would be king of New York in less than a day.
Naturally, he had decided his first order of business would be to kill Spider-Man. Either Spider-Man would be infected and come forward himself, or the symbiotic army would find him. The Goblin had plans for both scenarios. Both involved copious amounts of torture.
Dr. Connors had gone over the scientific reports. He was disappointed in how much progress Octavius had allowed them to make. The plan would be feasible within the week. Peter hadn't expected much better from Doc Ock.
But that was all normal for the Goblin's plans. They were always wild and grand-scale affairs.
What was worse was that Octavius appeared to be right about the security system.
Maps and long series of code were also in the files. They described the most severe safety system Peter had ever seen. Nearly every single door in the place required some biological identification to enter. All entrances required everything.
Peter all but begged Fury to send someone else, anything else. He had even suggested Deadpool since Taskmaster was involved, and Peter usually didn't wish that psycho on anybody.
Wasn't that just something? To go from yelling, to apologizing, to begging within a matter of hours? Wasn't that how all the movies went?
Fury interrupted even sooner that time: "I was already planning on it. If you think you're getting off scot free after what you pulled tonight, you've got another thing coming."
That was honestly the most normal part of Peter's day.
But none of that was the real reason he was here, curled up and crying in a corner of his attic. They were all distractions from what had been on his mind since Octavius said that word.
Future.
His future.
But who did his refer to?
For all those months, Peter had been entirely focused on his past, questioning: had he always been a Parker or an Octavius? He had picked apart every memory, trying to find any evidence one way or the other. And only after all those months had he finally felt comfortable to say that he had always been Peter Parker and currently was Peter Parker. He had only reconciled with his past and present a few days ago, and now he was forcibly reminded that his future was unaccounted for.
Who was he going to grow up to be?
Peter had already known all of his DNA came from Octavius for a while now. He knew how cloning worked and he wasn't nearly that far into denial. But perhaps on some level his brain had ignored one little aspect of it.
Who was he kidding? There were several horrible aspects he had willfully ignored before now.
For all intents and purposes, he was Otto Octavius to anybody with a DNA analysis machine.
How had he not realized? Octavius was a known villain, nearly a terrorist. His DNA was on file in every governmental database. It was lucky Peter had already had an aversion to DNA testing thanks to the spider bite. And since he had joined Shield, he hadn't really needed to worry about it. They had ensured his DNA would never go on file.
Yup, of course he was the only one to be failed by their meticulous system because it worked perfectly.
But equivalent DNA meant equivalent bodies. Peter had already seen himself in Octavius' old teenage photo. He had seen himself in those lined eyes. Of course he was only going to continue to look exactly like Octavius as he got older.
It was just so much worse to consciously think about it. To expect it. To . . . to have to plan for it.
Just a couple of hours ago, after Fury had dismissed them, Peter had stayed behind. He stayed to ask what could be done since he was essentially physically identical to Otto Octavius.
Fury had had, of course, the foresight to begin preparing for that eventuality since they first learned about it all those months ago. This had almost reassured Peter, until Fury got to explaining the details.
Shield was altering Octavius' DNA in all governmental databases and removing all publicly available pictures of the doctor. A system would be put in place so Shield received any samples of DNA authorities suspected belonged to Doc Ock (not that supervillains' identities often needed to be verified). The world would eventually forget there had been a regular man before there had been a mad scientist. Then Peter would take his image as his own.
It fixed a lot of problems, but it wasn't the most comforting solution.
And then Dr. Connors had come in holding a small taser-like machine.
Peter knew Dr. Connors hadn't meant to be so inconsiderate, but it had still happened.
Connors had spent the previous hour in Shield's tech division to figure out exactly how picky the Hydra security system really was. He came to the director with a quick oral report on the findings, insisting Peter stay to hear it out as well. It was all bad news. If they wanted to reach each area of the base necessary to completely stop the Goblin's plan, each type of biometric security would be faced. Fingerprints, DNA, eye scanners, vocal analysis, the works.
He had pressed a device to Peter's throat then, and Peter made the mistake of asking what it did.
And the voice of Otto Octavius came out of his mouth.
And that was why Peter was crying here. Not because he had been lied to, not because he felt overly guilty for his burst of outrage, not because the world was in danger yet again. He was upset because he was going to grow up to be Otto Octavius, and nothing could be done about it except prevent other people from finding out. He was upset because, once the prepubescent timbre was entirely gone from his voice, he was going to sound just like the mad scientist that had kidnapped him and tortured him so many times.
The communicator on his wrist beeped. Peter glanced at it, stifling another sob.
And now three of Shield's best agents, including Hawkeye, were in critical condition because Peter had refused to go even when Shield confirmed that only he could bypass Hydra's security system.
He felt like that was the cue for him to realize some profound truth about identity, say a motivational one-liner, and walk proudly out of here with newfound vigor. But he wasn't sure what the truth was, or what to say to inspire himself, or where his usual drive for helping was.
. . .
. . .
. . .
No. No, he was Peter Parker. He was Spider-Man. He had responsibilities that Octavius would never have. Responsibilities he had inherited from his Ben's wisdom, his aunt's energy, and his parents' love. The moment he gave in to his little pity party was the moment he ignored his roots (his lifeline) in the Parkers. Uncle Ben hadn't referred to a specific power when he had said his last words. He had just said power. And that's what Peter had right now. People were in danger, and he had the unique power to help without sending a whole battalion of Shield agents into a full-on battle with Hydra.
This was the moment when the teenage superhero stopped their evil, future self, even if Peter had his own little twist on the scenario.
Careful not to topple the boxes piled high around him, Peter left the attic to prepare for the inevitable. Mission. The inevitable mission.
He'd deal with the other inevitable things when the day was saved.
In a New Jersey train yard, where all of the tracks looked the same, covered in weeds and tall grass, there is one that is not like the others. It is, of course, designed to look exactly like them, although slightly more hazardous to step on. It was made to repel anyone that might wander the tracks.
After all, Hydra didn't want to deal with dead bodies every time their agents came and went from this base.
In this hidden base, there are labs, prison cells, and mad men. In one particular lab that was essentially a cell, there is one particular man that outwardly acted as vindictive as the others. In his heart there is pain, betrayal, and regret.
And also fear.
Otto Octavius tried not to sigh as he stared into the microscope. It was hard being a genius, he thought. There was almost never anyone else around intelligent enough to catch his occasional errors.
For the last few months, Otto had been riding high on the revelation that his clone was still alive and thriving. Spider-Man had proven himself to be strong and intelligent, and Otto's research showed that Peter Parker was indeed doing well in his academics. He had friends and a caring aunt. The poor boy had lost two father figures, but Otto would be a third. Peter was so young after all. It would take years for him to live up to his potential.
But somehow, Otto had forgotten that genetics weren't everything. Or at least, he forgot that genetics didn't usually dictate day to day emotions.
He had been sorely reminded of reality when he spoke to Peter again yesterday.
The boy had been so hostile, and it was so out of character. Spider-Man had rarely acted so cold even back when they had fought each other. Otto had expected Peter to act indifferent in front of his friends. He hadn't expected so much resistance to his help. And Otto had greatly increased the amount of advice he had initially intended to give. He had originally wanted to leave Peter in the dark and take him to a secure location until Shield took care of the Goblin.
Otto was not ignorant of the boy's self-destructive tendencies.
But considering his young life of service, it was especially odd how Peter had been so unwilling to listen and to give help in return. Otto had witnessed Spider-Man give so many people the benefit of the doubt even when it was highly undeserved. Yet now he was refusing to help even when told he was the only person who could perform the mission with the least casualties.
Otto was baffled.
Of course, he had seen how depressed Peter had been shortly after they realized he was a clone. He had intervened when Peter had nearly revealed his superior strength at the Osborn child's party. But Otto had also seen the abrupt change in attitude afterwards. Octavius didn't have much to go on, but Peter appeared to be much happier, presumably nearly back at his old normal. Otto had assumed Shield had informed the child of his surveillance. It wasn't anything too intrusive, no worse than a parent keeping track of their young. But apparently Shield had not been so forthcoming, nor had Peter been so understanding.
Octavius vaguely remembered being so stubborn. But that was the issue, wasn't it? He had done a lot in his past in order to achieve his dreams. Science could be a very cutthroat field, especially when one desired to be more than a mindless lackey in a lab. Otto knew from a young age that he wanted to lead research. He was one of the few great minds in the world that truly questioned everything and was still willing to find the answers at any cost. Sadly, he had quickly found that the rest of the world was full of imbeciles.
Honestly, how could everyone sit happily with their mice when vaccines could be available so much sooner if they used human testing from the start?
But everyone averted their gaze from his grand ideas. Eventually, Oscorp was the only respectable place that would hire him, and Norman only had eyes for money. Otto was shoved from one project to another, often long before he was able to get any viable data for his research. Of course, now he knew his cloning project had indeed been a success, and the 'Handy Helper' worked fine, though it was permanently fused to his back. But more recently, he had worked for psychopaths, and he was never left alone long enough to complete anything, much left anything useful for humanity.
Otto had told Peter the truth. His life was currently very rotten.
But he wasn't about to give up on it. Especially not now that his old goals were finally within reach again.
With Peter's help, Otto could stop being the 'scientific lackey' of these insane groups. Spider-Man could put them behind bars, and Otto would be free to do as he pleased. Surely, in time, Peter would understand and ensure Shield didn't bother him either. The boy had vouched on other villains' behalves. Once Otto had more time to explain, Peter would see that he had never really intended to become 'Doctor Octopus'.
Otto hadn't even chosen the name.
Well, technically, he had, if one considered that Peter was his clone.
A small smile almost graced Octavius's lips at the irony of it.
There was just one speed bump on that road.
Otto had never once thought to become a hero. He had only wanted to use science to help people in an indirect way. But Peter was helping countless people every single day. Otto would honestly prefer if he would stop risking life and limb so often, but the child had proven his stubborn ways. And Otto had a feeling that Peter would never be willing to listen if he tried to sway him from that path. So, if he could try to keep his clone safe by remaining in the evil limelight for a little bit longer, Otto would do it.
But he knew this charade couldn't last forever, especially not if Peter wasn't willing to actually complete the plans Otto so meticulously laid out for him. Octavius had waited so long. It was hard to wait much longer even as he knew his plan was failing.
It was a good thing Otto was now in the habit of second-guessing himself, or else he wouldn't have come up with the back-up plan that was now his only hope.