Disclaimer: All Spider-Man 2 characters are property of Marvel. No profit is being made from their use. And suing me wouldn't be a worthwhile endeavor.
Author's Note: So far so good; I think I can keep this story to three chapters, as I hoped. But I'm not going to hold my breath. I apologize if anyone finds this incarnation of Otto to be a bit too violent; this is an Otto that's completely gone over the edge, and is no longer the man he once was. Sympathetic Otto is a lot of fun to read and write about, but, sometimes, I get the urge to write an Otto that isn't quite so easy to empathize with, one that isn't so easily redeemable, if at all. But, you'll soon see, there are people who are far worse… No bizarre dream sequences in this chapter! And I apologize that this chapter's short, and not too exciting, but the climax should be good. Maybe next chapter, I'll actually remember that Otto has tentacles.
Thorns of the Dark Rose
Two – Bed of Thorns
The rustle of the brown paper bags clutched tightly in his flesh-and-blood arms and the muffled thudding of the actuators as they navigated the pitch-black, vertical shaft, were the only sounds that carried to Otto's ears, and he heaved a sigh of relief as he left behind the invasive cacophony that was as much a part of New York as the pollution and the vermin. Over the months of living in his subterranean lair, he'd grown accustomed to the silence, broken only by the hum of machinery and the whispers of the actuators. He'd begun to hate to venture from the lab, where he had to deal with the city's inhabitants, who scurried around like insects as they went on with their inconsequential lives. The man at the store Otto had stolen his groceries from had been particularly loathsome, trying to play the hero by pulling a pistol out from under his register. He hadn't heeded Otto's warnings and had fired at the actuators, who had deftly dodged out of the bullet's path and slit the man from throat to navel before he realized what was happening. As the man bled out under the counter, Otto had stared down at him and felt only disgust; he'd sacrificed his life to protect a few measly groceries.
No; Otto didn't leave his lair unless it was absolutely necessary. Only when his food supply had dwindled to nothing and his hollow, empty stomach reminded him he wouldn't survive much longer without sustenance did he venture out into the world above. He didn't need the people out there; the only person whose presence he longed to be in was hers. Rosie's. He'd spent countless hours just sitting beside the tube that held the growing embryo, watching as it transformed from an amorphous shape to something that resembled a human, from infancy to adolescence to young adulthood. As her features matured into Rosie's familiar countenance, Otto had begun to feel the first stirrings in his cold heart. He'd done it… it was her. There were subtle differences brought on by the peculiar genetic melding that had brought her into being, where the lines of her body were leaner, longer, and there were unnatural hues to her skin tone, a very pale, subtle green shade in her upper torso as well as faint brown, slightly rough skin along her legs, ending mid-thigh, that was noticeable when one looked more closely. The long, sleek waves of hair that drifted around her in the nutrient fluid were composed of thicker, blood-red strands, like thin, fine petals. And physically, she had the body of a twenty-year-old. But there was no mistaking the woman's identity. In another week, he would awaken her, and then he would no longer be alone.
His feet hit solid ground with a thunk and Otto smiled. He was nearly home; just a few hundred feet away, his Rosie waited, slumbering. He stepped quickly, anxious to be back. The actuators, picking up on his eagerness, writhed around him, weaving intricate patterns that were only visible to him as brilliant trails of light left by their LED's. He rounded a curve in the tunnel, and square of light became visible somewhere ahead of him. He nearly broke into a run as the light spilling over from his lab onto the abandoned tracks loomed larger. The emotions that swelled within him almost made him laugh aloud; he'd thought they'd been lost to him forever, but, even unconscious, Rosie was already exerting her influence over him. Soon, he could be the man he once had been! No, he'd be better… all his illusions about his work benefiting mankind had been peeled away. He now knew that humanity wasn't worth saving; hadn't they turned on him in his moment in need? With his illusions no longer handicapping him, and with Rosie at his side, Otto could live up to his true potential.
Otto stepped into the light, blinking and half blind in the sudden transition from darkness to light despite the dark glasses over his eyes. He set the grocery bags down on his makeshift table, absently pushing a pile of papers from the surface to make room. Then the turned towards the illuminated tube, his face softening in anticipation. And then his face froze at the sight before him: jagged glass shards, with the thick nutrient fluid still dripping from their razor edges, radiating in a burst pattern around the shattered cylinder. At first, rage boiled up in him as he thought that someone had dared take his Rosie from him… His fists clenched as imagined snapping the neck of Spider-Man, who was the only person who could have followed him, the only person who would do something so cruel to him… He'd lost his Rosie once before to Spider-Man's negligence; had history repeated itself?
Studying the scene more carefully, however, Otto realized the glass had been broken from within. Rosie had broken out.
Rosie was awake.
And she was gone.
A quick glance proved she hadn't concealed herself in the lab, and Otto felt panic rising. Rosie wasn't ready to leave the lab yet; her body still wasn't mature, and her mind was an empty void. She'd be vulnerable in the abandoned subway tunnels, stumbling around in the dark, her mind as unformed and naïve as a newborn's. Her body would be soft and fragile, ill-equipped to handle anything that could harm her. She can't have gone far, Otto thought, stepping onto the tracks and carefully scanning the rubble-strewn rails for any sign of her passage. She'd never left her tube, never even so much as twitched her arms or legs while she'd slept. Her muscles aren't developed enough to carry her for a long distance, he tried to reassure himself.Otto couldn't find any indication the rubble had been disturbed, but he figured she'd have had to have gone the opposite direction from which he'd come, or he'd have run in to her. Otto began to follow, slowly, quietly, not wanting to spook her further.
He hadn't taken the time to grab a flashlight, and he was quickly swallowed by the near-complete darkness of the subterranean tunnel. He relied on the actuators to alert him of any hazards in the darkness. His ears strained for any sound of her presence, but the only sounds that drifted towards him were the muffled roaring of a subway train passing somewhere above him, the scuttle of rats in the walls, a ceaseless drip, drip, drip from an unidentified source that was amplified in the echoing silence. Otto held his breath and ordered the actuators to be still, struggling to pick out any out-of-place sound that could lead him to her. A thermal scan would have made his job simpler, but too many conduits ran through the walls that gave off enough heat to render any thermal scans useless.
He came to a junction in the tunnel and stopped, lips curling into a snarl of frustration. He'd only given this section of the abandoned tunnels a cursory inspection, enough to ensure that no one came down here. He knew neither pathway very well, and either one could lead to disaster for an innocent like his Rosie. Damn… Otto picked the one to his left and followed it as quickly as he dared. The actuators all the while attempted to get a thermal reading that was identifiable as human, without success. Otto progressed a fair distance down the tunnel before turning back; he was heading deeper into the subterranean maze, where fewer pipes threaded through the masonry. Ahead, it was dark, empty; the thermal scans weren't picking up anything except for a few rats. He was forced to double back and took the right-hand passage, hoping this was the right tunnel, that he hadn't missed her. There were cracks in the ground… she could have fallen within one and he could have passed by her without noticing. He clenched his fist, fervently hoping that wasn't the case.
A soft whimpering caught his attention, accompanied by the soft splash of water. Otto oriented on the sound and as stealthily as possible, felt his way across the rubble-strewn tunnel. The actuators obligingly turned their heads away so the glow wouldn't startle her. The whimpers grew louder, and Otto slowed. Then he called softly, "Rosie? Are you there?" He kept his voice low, soothing, hoping to calm her. He heard a gasp, and the sound of something scuttling away. Otto followed blindly, cursing as he stumbled and fell into the brackish puddle. He grimaced as he considered the germs that likely thrived within the scummy water; Rosie's immune system would be easily compromised until Otto gave her the shots he'd prepared for when he awakened her. He'd worry about that later.
As her footsteps receded into the darkness, he threw caution to the wind and pursued her with the actuators' assistance, rapidly overtaking her. Concerned as he was, Otto couldn't help but admire her sleek, nude form. Despite the clumsiness of muscles that were being used for the first time, there was a grace there that spoke of a fluidity of motion that wasn't quite natural. She gasped and froze as the glow from the actuators bathed her body with red light, and she stopped, holding out a hand to where the light was brightest. But it seemed she didn't find what she was seeking, because she made a pathetic mewling sound and turned away, her lithe body poised for flight. Her actions were curious; it was like she hadn't even noticed his presence. Water and light, he realized, she's seeking water and light, like a plant. She might have taken flight them, but one of the actuators sliced through the air and grabbed her arm. Finally, she took notice of him, and she turned to stare at him.
In the reddish glow, he saw the dark pools of her eyes widen in fear, and then they rolled into the back of her head, and she crumpled into a dead faint.
XXX
Her breathing was still deep and rhythmic; she wouldn't be waking any time soon, not with the sedative he'd dosed her with upon returning to his lab. Otto ran his callused fingers down the line of her cheek, following it to the hollow of her throat. He longed to touch his lips to that warm, soft skin, but he restrained himself. Not now, not while she was so vulnerable. Not when she could awaken and take fright. He reluctantly drew his hand away and rolled her onto her stomach. He paused, listening to the rhythm of her breathing. It didn't change, and Otto felt safe enough to proceed. Carefully, he pushed the petal-soft strands of hair from the nape of her neck, exposing the pale skin beneath. Taking a packet of antiseptic, he delicately swabbed the area, pulling back when she twitched beneath him, then continuing when she didn't show any further response.
When the idea of cloning had first come to him, Otto had known that the result would be Rosie in the flesh, but that the mind would be something else entirely, a blank slate that would remember nothing of their life together, of the love they'd shared. Resuming their life as if nothing had ever gone wrong would have been impossible. Having a Rosie that had never known him would be more painful than having no Rosie at all. He'd wrestled with the conundrum for quite some time, knowing that if he didn't solve it, then all his careful planning, all his thefts of the necessary equipment, would have been for naught. But how was he to give her the memories of a dead woman?
He couldn't give her Rosie's memories, but he could offer her his own. Or a modified version of his own, anyway. With the actuators firmly entrenched within his mind, his memories were available for download into their data banks. With their assistance, he'd sorted through his memories of his life since he'd met Rosie, metaphorically cutting and pasting his memories and reformatting them so that they were no longer colored by his emotions, and the actuators had helped insert images of himself into the memories so they wouldn't be entirely from his point of view. They'd be slightly skewed, being from his point of view rather than hers, but it would give him something to build on. Perhaps he should have been alarmed by the ease with which the actuators manipulated memories, but he just couldn't make himself care anymore.
To transfer the memories, he'd constructed the device that he now held to the base of her neck, which he secured, temporarily, with a collar. It contained a computer chip that held the memories he'd downloaded, attached to nanowires that would connect with her spinal cord, much like those within his own spine that made the actuators a part of him. The chip would then upload the memories into her mind. He tapped in the command to begin in the keyboard connected to the device, and with a soft hiss, the machine came to life.
He wondered, as the nanowires forced their way through Rosie's skin, if he should feel guilty for forcing Rosie's life onto someone who, left alone, would develop her own personality, her own likes and dislikes, perhaps even her own choice of lover. He was depriving her of the chance to blossom into a unique individual. But he felt no guilt, only a grim satisfaction.
She twitched once when the wires connected with her spine, an unconscious spasm. Otto watched alertly, waiting for the more violent reaction that would indicate he'd miscalculated and had just irreparably harmed her nervous system. But the twitch was her sole motion besides the rise and fall of her ribs, and Otto began to relax. If he had crippled her, he'd have had to start over again. He didn't want to condemn his Rosie to life in a wheelchair – or worse. Better to begin anew if necessary.
But the readouts on the small monitor showed the procedure had gone according to plan, and only then did Otto sag with relief, resting his palms on the metal tabletop to help support himself. He stared down at her for several long minutes, unable to get enough of the familiar, yet refined, curves of her body, or the soft, smooth skin, or the fleshy strands of crimson-tinted hair that reached past the small of her back. He pulled his gaze away, lest he be tempted to try to wake her too soon. Her mind needed the time to reorganize itself, and he didn't want her to deal with the strain while awake. With difficulty, he turned his back on her, choosing instead to settle sideways into the battered easy chair to make room for the actuators, picking up the book of poems he'd left open on the chair's arm as he did so. He'd taken to reading poetry aloud, to accustom her to his voice and hopefully help ease her into her new life. He'd read all her favorite authors, including T. S. Eliot, despite his own loathing of the poet. He'd retrieved her books from the ruins of his lab, wanting her to have her own property once she woke. Because it was hers, he treated each volume with great care, as if it were a drop of tritium.
With a last glance towards Rosie to make certain she was all right, he began reading, his voice the only sound in the lab. He finished one and went on to the next, and the next, not really absorbing what he was reading. Lately, poetry had lost all meaning to him, as if the part of him that had taken pleasure in the elegant pentameter and its fanciful imagery had vanished forever. They were just words to him, now. But Rosie had treasured the book, and he faithfully read each passage. Upon reaching the end of the book, one of the actuators snaked out, retrieving another much-loved book.
They'd brought him one of T. S. Eliot's books, he noted with some amusement. He opened it to the first poem and read on, now as indifferent to the insufferable poet as he was to all others. He'd completed the first and was on the second when a soft murmur, nearly a whisper, stopped him. His head jerked up, and the actuators flared around him, startled. Rosie's head had turned toward him. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were moving, struggling to form her first words. He set the book on the chair's arm and stood, going over to her. She tried again to speak, and this time managed to articulate, "No… Don't… like…" Otto frowned, wondering what she was referring to. Then her eyes shot open, and Otto found himself blinking in surprise. They were a bright, vivid green, the color of new foliage in the springtime. Stranger still, something flickered in the unfathomable depths of those inhuman eyes, something unidentifiable, alien. Once, Otto would have shuddered to see the strangeness, but now, he didn't give it a second thought.
"Rosie?" he ventured.
She smiled, Rosie's smile, and he couldn't help but return it. He'd feared he'd never see that smile again. Rose red lips moved again. "Otto," she whispered. She weakly thrust her hand towards him, and Otto took it in his own, marveling at the smooth, uncalloused digits that fit in his own rough palm. He brought it to his lips and lightly kissed the back of her hand, and her smile widened. "Otto," she repeated, savoring the word with lips that had only spoken the name once before. "I know you."
"Yes," Otto said encouragingly.
"We're… married," she said, her voice growing stronger with each word.
"Yes," Otto agreed again, his heart pounding faster. The memory transfer was working…
Rosie pulled her hand from his, and gently ran her fingers across his stubbled cheek. Her eyes strayed past his face to the actuators that were peering curiously over his shoulders. This time, she showed no fear of them. He'd made certain to include plenty of memories of them, so she would adjust quickly. Instead, she regarded them with wide-eyed curiosity, and held her hand out to the nearest, touching the scorched metal surface and running her fingers along the pincer. Her expression was inscrutable as she pulled her hand away, and Otto wondered if something was wrong.
"Rosie, when you woke, you said you didn't like something. What did you mean?" She'd been accepting of him, but what if she didn't like the actuators? It would be a difficult obstacle to overcome.
"Him," she said, looking puzzled at his lack of understanding. "I don't like him." She gestured at the book that Otto had been reading to her.
She was referring to T. S. Eliot.
XXX
The next week flew by like a wonderful dream. Otto had watched as Rosie's fumbling steps grew steadier, her movements more refined. She bore the tests and injections necessary to normalize her body systems with great patience and whenever she encountered gaps in her memory, she turned to Otto to fill them in, which he did with great detail when he could. Her touch was warm and gentle, her lips on his skin like velvet. She returned his passion with equal fervor, and displayed a familiarity with his body as if she had known it for years, instead of a short week. She needed only water, a special nutrient feed, and sunlight to sustain her, and he supplied the latter by stealing the special lights from a greenhouse. She never expressed a desire to leave and bathe in real sunlight, as if sensing the danger of the surface world, and without having to be told. He'd adjusted quickly to the strange feel of her skin with its slightly spongy texture. It was strange, but not unpleasant. She'd turned out better than Otto had dared hope; she was very nearly perfect.
And yet… there was something about her that made him vaguely uneasy, something he couldn't put his finger on. At first, he'd thought it was just his conscience, finally displaying guilt over what he'd done and reminding him of his crime against nature whenever he was too near her. But he'd quickly established that that wasn't it; he felt no remorse for playing God. It was something else… Rosie showed a complete lack of curiosity as to how she had come to be what she was. Even though Otto had spared her the memories of her creation so as not to distress her, she seemed to know what she was without being told. Sometimes, he would catch her staring at him, her eyes dark, fathomless. Did she know he had killed her? How did she feel about it? How did she feel about him? Did she resent him for doing this to her, for making her an abomination to nature? Her face would betray no anger, yet sometimes, he thought he saw something smoldering in the depths of her eyes.
Something eerily like what he saw in his own, whenever he removed his dark glasses.
At the thought, Otto glanced up from where he was brewing the nutrient food for Rosie's diet. She was seated beneath the lights, eyes closed, soaking in the rays. She'd removed her clothing to increase the surface area for the light intake, and her skin seemed to glow a vibrant green. Otto studied her breathtaking form, feeling the rush of emotions that had eluded him for so long. And yet… there was still something missing within him, something that was perhaps too far gone for even his wife's love to restore. As Otto peered at her expressionless features, Otto couldn't help but wonder: what if he'd tainted her somehow? Her memories had been formed from his own; what if he'd given her more of himself than he'd intended? She loved him, and didn't hesitate to show it, but in other matters… she was cold. Distant.
Seeming to sense his scrutiny, she opened her emerald eyes and turned towards him, her hair sliding forward over one eye. She gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat, and Otto went over to her, despite the pain the piercing lights caused to his damaged eyes, even through the dark lenses. Her face, veiled by strands of hair, was cast in shadow, making her bewitching eyes seem even brighter. Otto felt his concerns melt away under that loving gaze.
She held out her arms to him, and Otto leaned down so she could slip her arms around his neck. Something pricked the nape of his neck and, startled, he drew away, probing at the wound on his neck staring dumbly down at the droplets of blood on his fingers. Otto glanced back towards Rosie, whose impassive face revealed nothing. His gaze dropped downward, to the palms of her hands, and he frowned at what he saw.
When had his Rosie developed thorns?
To be continued…
