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Chapter 2: Unwell, by Otto Octavius

"All day, staring at the ceiling, making

Friends with shadows on my wall

All night, hearing voices telling me

That I should get some sleep,

'Cause tomorrow might be good for something…"

Matchbox twenty, "Unwell"

Some people think of life only in terms of black and white; right and wrong. I certainly like to think that I am old enough and intelligent enough to know better. It is indeed the rare instance in life that things are truly black and white, rather than some shade of gray.

Even though I know all the things I have done in these recent years were wrong, sometimes I still think of myself as a victim. My hopes and dreams, my shot at changing the world, my wife—they have all perished, and I seem to not be able to assign blame where it's due. I keep looking for some explanation—any explanation, anyone to blame, besides the obvious one—they all are dead by my hand, or precisely, my arm.

I am an outcast in the city, looked upon as a freak, a modern-day Frankenstein, and it wasn't just corpses I was stealing for my experiments. One attempt at "going straight"—a high school teaching job in a nearby town—was all it took to convince me that no one would ever accept me as I am. Appearances are everything, because in this age of secret agent thriller television series set in real time, instant messaging, and accelerated internet, no one simply has the time to get to know the real me. No one wants to look for Otto Octavius underneath the tough façade of Doctor Octopus.

Unless…unless modern scientific technology, and my extraordinary aptitude with it, can help me…

I stare at the bracelet. I had acquired it a year ago from one of New York City's many scientific exhibits, with the help of a young girl who claimed to be my clone. Its sophisticated technology had enabled me to turn entirely invisible, allowing me to come the closest to defeating Spider-Man than I had for a long time.

Now, if I could figure out how to alter the holographic patterns to render only my arms invisible, then I could walk about the city as…normal. I could find a True Love and—well, I suppose that someday, I will have to tell her about my Criminal Reputation, but we can burn that bridge when we get to it.

I peer into the computer screen. The laptop's a little small for my taste, but I got a good bargain for it—a three-pincer discount, if you will.

"Good Lord," I mutter to myself while surfing. "That accursed arachnid is making more deals with Marvel for his own comic books detailing his adventures. Ultimate Spider-Man, indeed. Who is that man supposed to be? It certainly isn't me. I only wish I looked like that. And more movie deals, too—who exactly is that guy playing me, anyway? I've never heard of him. I'm beginning to agree with Jameson—that boy would do anything for fame and fortune."

I sigh. I hate to admit it, but I hate Spider-Man for his role in The Accident, you know the one—the one that turned me into a freak—but I know obsessing over him could bring the voices back, or bring back the madness, and where would that get me? It could only bode ill for me. If I am ever fated to turn straight, I had better stop thinking about the bug, because it only pisses me off and gets me thinking about tearing him limb from limb, and not only that, it gets me thinking about blowing up the city for taking the bug's side. Back to finding True Love. Click.

Society is built on appearances. I understand. Humans are merely a slightly evolved animal, and like all animals, seek signs of good genetics while looking for a breeding partner. I wonder if the soul, the mind, love, are merely illusions caused by the firing of neurons. I think Rosie knew, and she certainly wasn't about to share that secret with the likes of me.

I enter my profile information on the dating website. I smile as I read the cartoon in the current Reader's Digest, depicting two dogs on a computer, one canine informing the other, "On the internet, no one knows you're a dog."

On the internet, no one knows you're an octopus.

I shake my head, and laugh. Just another day in the life of Dr. Otto Octavius, called Doctor Octopus.