[FATR: Wow, Repto, that is dedication! I update my story and, out of boredom, check back about an hour later. I gasp in surprise to see that Repto has already read and reviewed! Not only that but it was my only review for chapter six. To show my full appreciation, I dedicate every single Otto bit in the chapter to you, Repto. /big grin/ ... /Stares at lack of reviews, shrugs/ On an interesting note, it was my idea to use reflective glass to look at myself. I didn't patent it. Boy was that dumb. To tell you the truth I own nothing in this chapter except the Underwoods and their background story. Poor Max and his issues, poor Otto and his issues... Speaking of which, if anyone dislikes that I made Max like Shrek 2 so much, I'm sorry, but it has symbolic value. I started doing thoughts in itallics to hopefully prevent any confusion that may have resulted. Without further jabber delay, I present drum roll chapter 7!]

A shirtless Max splashed some water on his face and peered hard at himself in the mirror. He turned and twisted to look over his shoulder at the bruise Quinton's knee had left in his lower back. His hand pressed to the spot, seeking the source of the pop he had heard. There didn't seem to be anything too serious going on inside his body, so he turned back around and forgot about it. Why do I bother with the matches anymore? I barely ever win, unless it's an Anything Goes fight. Even then, Otto generally kicks my ass. Ever since he insulated the arms... Wrestling and Ping Pong. Dammit, can't he give me something? He leaned over the sink again to peer hard at his reflection. Were his ears crooked? He turned his head this way and that. This brought his attention to his hair. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been deep ruby red like that actress what's-her-name, or even strawberry blond, but no. It was that plain orange-ish red. He straightened up. Now that he looked he realized he was a little scrawny, in comparison to the others at any rate. Fuck, I could've won that match if Otto hadn't been so fucking strict with the penalty. Just two more seconds, two more seconds and that ponytailed bitch would have been mine! No. Don't blame Otto. It wasn't Otto's fault all those times Spider-Man trounced you, was it? No. You couldn't even pull off the city wide black out scheme, could you? The web-head had to save your sorry ass.

Max's fists clenched at his sides and his teeth clenched in his mouth. The mirror reflected him back, mocking him with his own image. "What the hell are you looking at?" He snarled, glaring hatefully at himself. His reflection glared hatefully back. He pulled back his fist and made it connect with the glass at an immense speed. The scowling, taunting image of himself fragmented into a million shards. For an instant time stood still, the shards remaining inexplicably suspended in their frame.

A teasing feminine voice giggled, "That's seven years bad luck, you know."

Max blanched and jerked around to survey his room. As soon as his fist left the glass, timed resumed and his abrupt action was accompanied by the tinkling sound of falling shards. He leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge with his hands. Indeed, he was alone. Must've been in my head. He didn't even acknowledge his bloody knuckles as he left the bathroom. The fire that had momentarily flared in him had been dowsed by that voice and left him feeling like a hollowed out shell.

Sitting on the edge of his Shrek 2 sheeted bed, he reached for the gizmo on his night stand. It was a metallic silver, circular shaped base that held four metallic silver, joystick-ish handles. They were detachable connected to the base by chords that resembled those curly-cue telephone chords. It was a gadget from Spencer's Gifts. The idea was that up to four people would hold the joysticks and wait for the countdown to complete. The machine would then release a mild shock, perhaps surprising the unwary into a little shriek. This one, however, had been significantly altered. Now it plugged into the wall and released an exponentially larger amount of electricity. He selected two joysticks and held one in each hand. Thinking joyfully of the little noises of anger and annoyance that would echo throughout the mansion when he did so, he pressed the buttons mounted on the heads. The voltage flooded through him causing him to close his eyes and tilt his head back ecstatically. The feeling was rather sexual, almost but not quite orgasmic. Lights flickered around him.

"Hey!"

"What happened to the power?"

"Max, you little shit!"

When Max finished powering up, he replaced the glistening item and went to his closet. He pulled his suit on and paused before donning the gloves. He gawked at his bloody hand as if he had never seen it before. Then he shrugged and slid on the yellow gloves.

:o) (o:

Otto entered his room and locked the door. The tentacles rose up to scour every shadow but they were alone.

The tentacles carried Otto up the wall and onto the ceiling. The bottom two dug into the soft plaster while the other two released their hold. Otto now hung upside down from the ceiling, looking more like a bat in his leather coat than an octopus. He removed his glasses and presented them to the waiting tentacle. His eyes closed and he allowed his mind to merge fully with those of the tentacles. He could see five screens on the backs of his eyelids. Three were black, one was watching him, and the last was an extreme close up of his glasses being deposited on his night stand. It was easy to see through the arms when his eyes were closed, as simple as watching TV, but open he had dimensions to contend with. That's what he was working on. He'd made a lot of progress. Where him and the arms had once been separate entities, he could now truly be one with them. They weren't just pets that bowed to his commands, they were him.

Once he had established a solid link with them, he opened one eye. Through the other he was still watching the separate screens, but now the first screen was half lit up with an image of the floor directly beneath him. There was no way to describe what it was like when he opened his other eye. He used to get headaches trying to wrap his brain around the forms and figures, but he was beginning to be able to make sense of it. Once the connection had been established and the sense of vertigo had fled, Otto set about lulling his mind into a state of deep meditation.

The first thing he saw when he cleared his mind were her icy eyes. It was strange that such a warm blue could convey such malice. Her eyes greedily gobbled him up. He was helpless to escape the magnetic force of those black and blue pools, but he didn't want to escape. Cyan light erupted around him as he plunged into the chilling blackness. It reminded him of crashing through thin ice. A familiar lurch preceded the feeling of absolute weightlessness. It was like death floating suspended in the frosty water, at least he assumed it was water. When he moved his limbs he felt resistance from the surrounding space. Where was he? He had the feeling he had just transcended some boundary, but what and to where were never clear during these exercises. As he had passed through the barrier a name unwillingly burbled out of his subconscious. He was immediately consumed by conflicting emotions, principal among them uplifting joy and depressing shame. These feelings threatened to disrupt his concentration and he couldn't have that. He swam what he perceived to be down (though he couldn't be sure), running from emotion, seeking numbness. There was peace there, and he stayed for thirty or forty thankfully unfeeling minutes.

The dim bulb flickered and screams of protest drifted in to meet his eardrums. At this, Otto began to slowly ascend out of the dead ocean in which he had submerged himself. He was reminded of the danger of resurfacing too quickly while diving. One must enter and exit this place in stages or there could be serious repercussions. She had never specifically described the danger, but Otto hadn't needed to be told. It was awesome power he was dealing with here, moving back and forth between these worlds, and until he could learn more, he didn't want to push it. There was a feeling of... settling as up and down once more came into being. The arms were coming back to life, too. He could see each head unfold and glance around, even with his own human eyes closed.

The bionic creatures shook off the cold and set about gently returning their master's feet to the floor. They felt stronger than before. They were jazzed for the evening, ready to topple buildings. Their master's slightly slower return to consciousness made them impatient and they moved to nudge and stroke him back to reality.

Quinton pounded on the door. "Get a move on, Otto. Fisk isn't a patient man, you know!"

Otto snatched up his gloves, glasses, and hat with four different arms and donned them all at the same time, even as he strode across the room. Never having to pause once, he opened the door.

Quinton watched Otto through the white light given off by the dome now situated over his head. When he was in his costume, Otto tended to stay mostly in front of him or mostly behind him, lest any of the light should leak around the corners of his glasses. Quinton allowed this, even did his part to assist Otto in his endeavor. The metallic snakes sprouting from Otto's back seemed more restless than usual, demonstrating this through a writhing and twisting dance. "Can't wait to get out and kick some ass either, huh?"

"Some field work would be a pleasurable change," Otto admitted. Another advantage of seeing through the tentacles was that light was not an issue for them.

The red light settled on Quinton and stayed there. He felt strange talking to the faceless thing. It was like trying to speak to a video camera. Otto seemed to be in a generally good mood, so Quinton decided to return to an earlier issue. "We never got the chance to continue our conversation from last night."

"You're right." There was a pause. "Well?"

Quinton had been hoping Otto would speak of his own accord, but it appeared he was going to have to dig. "How did that puddle get there?"

"My visitor must of tracked it in from outside." He observed Quinton's posture change as is attention perked up. Otto snickered to himself.

"Who was it?"

His voice remained flat and unfeeling. "A totally hot babe. We had totally kinky sex until the odd hours of the morning." He observed Quinton's posture fall a little and had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

Nothing but sarcasm. "Otto..." Quinton started then sighed and put his hand to what would have been his forehead if the bubble hadn't been there. It was an 'I don't give a shit anymore' gesture. "You know what? Just forget it."

"Tis forgotten." There were 1.3 seconds of silence before Otto burst out laughing.

It was a purely insane laugh with an undertone of desperation and despair. Quinton favored his teammate with a concerned and disconcerted look. That man has one fucked up sense of humor sometimes. Not another word bridged the gap between them as they descended the stairs and made their way down a hallway they rarely bothered to travel. Quinton didn't mind the silence, he was perfectly content to remain in his own little bubble. He hoped it was something that involved sneaking. He loved sneaking. Perhaps Fisk was planning a robbery? Quinton followed that new thread of thought, allowing it to lead him to wonder who had robbed the bank. It had been in the paper this morning. His eyes turned suspiciously to Otto's back. Had he pulled a solo on them without sharing the profits? If that were the case Fisk wouldn't be too thrilled, not with the way Otto had been bucking his authority lately. As much as he disliked Otto, however, he didn't hate him enough to turn him over without some hard evidence. His reverie was shattered by shouts and laughter. Max zipped by, almost toppling the silent muser. Mac was close behind, bouncing back and forth from wall to wall, occasionally skittering along one in the manner of his namesake. He saw Otto put up a tentacle to shield himself from the swishing tail as the green blur leaped across in front of him. Instead of scowling, the man actually smiled and rose up on his tentacles to join the race.

Max looked behind him and caught sight of Otto and Mac gaining on him. He doubled his speed and pulled ahead, cackling. The door opened and Max pulled up short, landing about a foot away from Wilson Fisk. The others also immediately grew serious.

Fisk had come out to investigate the ruckus and had almost been run down by Electro. "Having fun?"

"Yes, sir," Max replied, sheepishly.

"You shouldn't exhaust yourselves so early in the evening." Fisk turned back through the door and took his place at the head of the table, placing his hands on either side of the manila folder in front of him. The four super villains filed in quietly and took their own places. Scorpion and Dr. Octopus had special chairs. When everyone was settled Fisk opened the folder and passed around a picture. "That is Larry Underwood. He is your target."

"Looks pretty harmless tah me," Mac commented as he studied the picture. The bespectacled man was young, a little pudgy, with a desperation hidden in his brown eyes. "Wha'd'yah wan' with 'im?"

"This man's whole life up until this point is in this folder." Fisk closed the folder and waved it. "Social security number, birth certificate, doctor visits, right down to grocery receipts." He slid the folder to them and they leaned over so they could all rifle through it at once. Accept for Otto, who sent in a tentacle to observe. "I would like you all to observe the credit card bills and bank statements. He was never able to pay off his student loan, he's behind in his mortgage payments, et cetera. He has been in debt since graduation, and has only sunk lower since then."

Otto removed a paper from the folder and skimmed it. The man was married, with a child. The wheels in his head began turning, plotting his own scheme.

"Naturally he only came to me only as a last resort. He was turning to drug dealing, and, given how pressed he was for time, wanted to break into the big leagues as soon as possible. I gave him names and a little seed money. He promised to pay me back and give me thirty percent of his profits. When I sent my men to collect, he wouldn't pay up the thirty percent."

"So what? Yah wan' us tah break this guy's legs as a warnin or somethin?"

"That's goon stuff," Quinton grumbled because Otto didn't seem to be in possession of any intent to say it himself.

"I wasn't aware you felt that way," Fisk's voice was ominously calm. "What about the rest of you? Do you feel this is below you?"

"Actually, I'm really looking forward to it," Otto replied.

"Good, because I didn't break you all out of prison so you could sit around my house playing video games and flirting with my house maids. Either earn your keep, or go back where you came from." He took the silence that followed as a sign of acquiescence. The large man settled back in his chair smiling pleasantly. "Besides, you may find this exercise a little more entertaining than you expect. Bring him to me alive, preferably unharmed. However, I will excuse 'necessary force.'"

Quinton grinned, all of them did. Fisk wasn't going to suck all the fun out of the event.

[FATR: Yay! Cliff hanger! You give me review now! I'm sorry if anyone is annoyed that I keep using "Fisk" but I just can't call Kingpin "Wilson" and take him seriously. Try reading the chapter and insert "Wilson" instead of "Fisk." You may see my point, and perhaps it will help you kill some free time, yes? Go out there and murder a few helpless, roaming minutes! blinks Any cell phone related pun was so not intended.]