Otto squints through the night vision goggles, holding them steady as Kravinoff floors it down the freeway.

"Old man most likely is dead." Kravinoff mutters, not taking his eyes off the road. "If not, will need medical care."

"I know." Otto snaps back. Kravinoff isn't bothered by his moodiness. The sniper rarely seems to react with anything outside of stoicism.

"Why go to trouble?"

Otto sighs, annoyed at Kravinoff's questions. Normally the man isn't this talkative.

"Toomes might have one foot in the grave most days, but would you really trust Gargan or Aleksei on that wing rig? Whether the old man knows it or not, it takes a certain level of guts and skill to pilot that thing and do what he does. He got nearly a decades worth of experience behind the wheel with his last pair. You find me someone with eight years of experience flying a personal VTOL aircraft system and a willingness to use it in our criminal endeavors, please. I'll take them into consideration."

"Anyone can learn to use wings."

Otto sneered, putting on a mockery of Kravinoff's accent, "But can anyone learn to use wings good, comrade?"

That finally earned him an annoyed glance from the hunter, and Otto just grinned in return.

The two drove in silence for a while longer until Otto finally mustered the courage to speak about something he was sure that Kravinoff would scoff at.

"I know you don't put a lot of stock in giving a shit about people. Consider you...y'know, like to hunt them. I get it, you fly solo, that's your thing. It's fine. But Gargan actually kind of has a weird point. It'll behoove us to work together and support each other. We're not a gang or a couple of...drug guys who will sell each other out at the first sign of trouble." Otto paused, "I was never actually involved in the criminal underworld, I got sent away for manslaughter. I don't know how gangs work."

This piques Kravinoff's interest and he looks over at Otto. He knows immediately what Kravinoff is interested in, and he sighs. Time to mull over his favorite piece of uncomfortable history.

"When I was in grad school, I built a limb rig like the one I have back at HQ. The one I built back then sort of...pulled my professor apart. While I was operating it. And we were having an argument...it was an accident!"

Kravinoff chuckles, nodding and turning back to the road. "Feeling bad now won't change it."

Well, he had a point there.

"Anyway," Otto continued, "I was never a street criminal...person...before all this. But I binge watched a lot of Law and Order in high school and it sounds like criminals aren't usually friends. Now – now before you get any ideas, I'm not suggesting we be friends."

"Good."

"..Right – but what I am suggesting is that we make a pretty good team, right? We can all tolerate each other to a certain extent. Especially when you all aren't bothering me at my work station. We can occupy the same space and form plans, we all have our roles to fill. This is a good team. This is a good thing we've got going."

Kravinoff shrugs, giving a nod of agreement. "Is good thing, true."

"Right. So that just means we need to support each other. Like right now. If we lose Toomes, we lose our air superiority. It'll take time and finding someone we can trust, which will not be easy, to get a replacement. Unless you want to me to resize the rig to fit you so you can learn how to use it?"

Kravinoff shudders at the thought, shaking his head. "Hate flying."

"See? One down. I have my own rig that I'm almost done with. Gargan likes to keep things 'up close and personal' as he put it – and, would you really trust Rhino to fly that thing if he had to carry two tons of equipment and you safely? I'm making him a suit specifically designed to crash through walls. Does that scream 'aerial finesse' to you?"

"Point is made."

"Alright – alright."

Otto fidgets in his seat for a little bit. The sun has gone down well beyond the horizon, and the crescent moon is peaking out from behind some heavy cloud cover. It's a cool night, and Otto can smell the rain that's coming in from the north.

"Is this top speed Kravinoff?"

"Mm. We get there soon."

"Can I ask you a favor?"

Kravinoff glances at him oddly then gives a nod.

"If he's still alive when we get there but it's not something we can fix, I got some morphine stashed in the back. If we're sure he's just going to die there could you uh...just- you know?"

The Russian gives him a small nod, turning his eyes back to the road.

Otto breathes a sigh of relief. Out of all the group, he was still the youngest, and he figures maybe that was why he was so soft about these sorts of things. Gargan, Kravinoff, Aleksei and Toomes could all kill without the slightest hesitation. He'd seen all of them do it at least twice.

Him on the other hand, he still had nightmares about the aftermath of the lab incident. Of a red soaked lab coat and person pieces strewn from one end of the lab to the other. Students screaming, people shouting in horror when they came in to see what was wrong. Everything had gone numb for him at that point after the arms had just...torn and ripped and twisted away at the man. Otto remembered shouting at them to stop – as if that would do any good.

They had been wired to a helmet similar to the one he had constructed back at the lab. One that could sense his neural patterns and commands. If he'd really wanted them to stop, they would have. That was really the damning evidence in court when his own presentation about 'absolute control' using the neural helmet had been brought in by the prosecution.

He'd grown fond of all of them. Except Gargan. The man knew Otto's worth and backed off whenever he got too pushy, but Otto was still downright terrified of him. He knew that if it came down to it, he was all bark, and Gargan was all bite. Kravinoff though was quiet but knowledgeable, Aleksei was jovial and never picked on him. Toomes was laid back and had a good work ethic.

No, they weren't friends. But they still needed to look out for each other. Otto knew that the chances of a man in his 60's to survive a gunshot wound after nearly an hour and a half of infliction was pretty damn low, especially one to the thigh as Aleksei had described. Still, he had to try.

Plus he really didn't want the beautiful wing suit he'd built for Toomes to end up in the hands of some jerkoff who would crash it.

"See them." Kravinoff grunted.

Otto sat up in the passenger seat of the Jeep, bringing his night vision goggles back up to his face. He could see it then, the massive wings sprawled across four lanes of highway. Adrian had at least had the sense, or luck, to make a full turn and land on his back. The bladed feathers of the wing tips cut through the cold air, sharp black silhouettes rising against the dark blue sky.

He saw Aleksei rise up from nearby, waving at them. Kravinoff slowed the Jeep and the two climbed out, rushing over to Aleksei who was carrying Toomes. Even in the dark, Otto is able to spot a heavy bandage above Toomes' right knee. He silently gives himself a pat on the back for installing a small first aid kit in one of the wing compartments.

"Still have pulse but, I don't know how to help this." Aleksei said quietly, offering Toomes over to Kravinoff.

The man takes him, bringing Toomes to the back seat of the Jeep and laying him down carefully. As he works, Otto takes out a flashlight and begins to inspect the wing rig.

"Did the diesel make it?" He asks as he checks over the most vital components.

"All drums are good, no leaks."

"Good...still, getting these back without the wing rig will be a logistical nightmare. I might have to just use them myself." Otto gives a look back at the giant wings, spread out on the pavement. "Not really my style but we can't just leave them here."

Kravinoff grunts to get their attention, Otto and Aleksei looking over at him. He's positioned himself awkwardly over Toomes, flashlight wedged between the side of his face and his shoulder.

"Superficial wound – in and out. Lots of bleeding, but no bullet inside. May make it through the night..might not. He needs a blood transfusion."

"Where we gonna pick one of those up? The Costco nearby is all out." Otto huffs.

Kravinoff hops down from the passenger seat, climbing back in behind the wheel.

"Medical tech was in one of the crates we stole from Avengers HQ. I'll see if I can get an ID of his blood type and find donor." Kravinoff explains.

"Let us know as soon as you find out." Otto responds with his attention only half on Kravinoff. He stares at the wing rig in apprehension. When Otto built it, he'd never intended to actually use it himself. Knowing what the controls did was one thing, actual experience was another.

"Get in wings so we can get fuel back to warehouse!" Aleksei shouts, moving to the netted oil drums a few yards away. Toomes had at least had the sense to drop the goods before impact.

"Uhhh yeah just..gimme a few minutes to get in this thing." Otto responds, nervously looking down at the rig that he had tailored to Adrian's measurements. From the exo-legs to the gloves, it was all custom. Illegal turbine powered alien-tech flight suits didn't come in Small to XL.

"I'm going back to headquarters." Kravinoff called from the Jeep as he turned it on. "Don't waste time."

With that, Kravinoff speeds away with an unconscious and possibly soon to be dead Adrian Toomes.

Otto swallows nervously, looking back down at the wing rig. Well, on the upside, he didn't have to get it turned over. Toomes had landed on his back and skidded across the highway for a while before stopping. All he had to do was lay back in the harness and get it attached, get himself in the exo-legs and put the gloves on.

Easy.

Easy peasy.

Easy peasy crash and die if there's a strong breezy.

"Rhino come help me get in this thing."

He knew the man's real name but, Rhino just fit. Plus Aleksei seemed to like the nickname.

Otto laid himself back into the harness, securing the saddle and leg straps on himself. Rhino had to help him with the underarm and chest straps, readjusting the length of the straps several times before it finally fit.

"You are fatter than Vulture." Rhino remarked.

Otto bristled, but he knew that Rhino was just making an observation, not a judgment.

"Will the exo-legs fit?" He asked, unable to bend down to look. That was frustrating. Mental note, improve flight rig so user can actually bend over. He felt a little silly but he'd never really considered Adrian would have to bend completely down when he could just lean forward for his momentum.

He felt the pressure of the metal as Rhino tried to fit the casings over his legs. He could tell it was going to be a rough time, but if Rhino just squeezed hard enough some of that pudge could move…

After much struggling and uncomfortable shifting around, the exo-legs finally locked into place. Otto's legs were shorter than Adrian's, so the exo-legs didn't fit like they were supposed to. They tugged and pinched at various parts of his skin, but it would only be for the trip, he reminded himself. Just for the trip back.

Rhino helped him pull the gloves on. He ran through the various operations in his head then nodded to himself. He had this. He could do this.

"Get the talon harness ready on those oil drums so we can get them back to base!" He ordered.

Rhino nods and rushes back to the oil drums, securing himself on the slip-mesh.

Otto knew the mathematical formulas he'd taken into account when creating Adrian's new wings. He knew how air pressure worked. The needed lift, the tilt of the rotors, the brief drop he would feel when the rotors would shift to accommodate for his movements.

He knew that flying at an angle would split the lift between the rotors and the wings. Otto had designed all of this, and no doubt so had the creator of Adrian's original wings. But actually feeling it, feeling the raw power of the rotors pushing him upright when they warmed up and began to push him off the ground was so, so much different.

The rotors can't be heard but Otto feels the incredible power behind them as they push him completely upright and off of the ground within seconds.

He realizes he's hovering then. His heart races, but a voice in the back of his head reminds him; The rotors automatically adjust, you're fine, whatever you do they'll compensate to keep you in the air.

Otto takes in a deep breath, telling himself to trust his own tech, trust his own genius. The same genius that considered his subconscious desires to tear apart his professor rather than his rational desires to do the opposite.

Maybe right now wasn't the best time to be thinking about that.

"Just hold the talon harness steady, Rhino!" Otto shouts as he carefully tilts forward. The rotors tilt in turn to adjust, and he hovers over the pavement awkwardly.

Rhino is holding up the large horizontal harness that Otto had designed. It's almost shaped like a bobby pin, but wider, with grooves to lock the talons into place so the cargo wouldn't slip if Adrian had to make sudden movements in the air.

Otto was quickly finding out, as he tried time and time again to swat the harness with his foot, that foot-eye coordination wasn't a skill that came naturally. Of course, his actual feet being a few inches shorter than the actual exo-boot made it harder. He had to compensate for a tiny bit of space he was forgetting wasn't there.

After several clumsy tries, he finally gets one talon in, then the other. They lock into place automatically, and Rhino gives him a thumbs up to confirm everything is secure and ready to move.

The old man can do it. If he can do it, you can do it. You are strong. You are independent. You are capable. Otto recites in his head as he prepares to activate increase the RPM of the turbines.

You read that in a self-help book in prison but that doesn't make it any less valid.

The wings do their job, and most of it is making up for the fact that Otto is terrified and can't steer for shit. Adding to some salt in that particular wound is that he designed the steering controls himself.

Otto has never believed that fear is a good motivator. In fact, it's a terrible one. The worst one. People panic, just like he's panicking now. They screw up, just as he's screwing up repeatedly much to his own embarrassment.

Still, despite it all, he does manage to fly the wing rig back to the headquarters. They make it back before Kravinoff – no surprise – but aren't able to beat the rain. Throughout the entire trip, rain has been pelting Otto in the face.

No doubt Kravinoff and the old man had been caught in the rain too. Which meant Toomes would have to pull through major blood loss and possible hypothermia.

Otto carefully hovers over the parking lot while Mac directs him back to the drop-off point. Four semis are parked in the lot, with more of Mac's old prison friends who are supposed to be helping out with the whole organization.

The number of men and women Mac has gathered to be his 'help' worries Otto. Just how many people did Gargan have connections with? How many of these thugs had their been before the 2nd incident?

(He'd pitched out names for what to call what had happened. So far the only thing that had stuck was '2nd Incident'. Everything else from the 'Ashening' to 'Dusting-Day' had been met with a chorus of resounding 'No!'s)

The whole crew of thugs and drivers is all camped out near and inside of the semis. Otto had refused to let them inside, citing that the equipment within was far too dangerous to just let a bunch of street thugs hang around by. Gargan had grudgingly agreed and forced them to reside near the semis.

That didn't make Otto any new friends, but he wasn't going to let them wreck any of his hard work. Kravinoff and Rhino would have his back. Toomes too. If Toomes was even alive by tomorrow morning.

Gargan gives him a thumbs up from the ground, signaling he can set down the cargo safely. Otto carefully eases down the net, Rhino jumping off a few feet from the ground and clearing the landing zone.

Once the drums of oil are on the ground, Otto lands the wings back in their supports. Rhino helps him out of the harness and exo-legs, and he breathes a loud sigh of relief once the uncomfortable metal is unlatched from around his calves.

Rhino slaps him on the shoulder so hard that it almost sends him flying.

"You did such good job! Good job!"

Otto laughs nervously, forcing an uncomfortable smile.

I am never doing that shit again.