Again, be patient with the format. Half the story, or every other chapter, is narrated by Peter Parker. The other half is told from Otto Octavius' point of view. Remember, there are three sides to this story: Peter's, Otto's, and the truth. After reading the first two sides, you can figure for yourself the third.

Happy reading (and hopefully, reviewing)!

Chapter 4: The Scientist, by Otto Octavius

"I was just guessing at numbers and figures,

Pulling the puzzles apart.

Questions of science, science and progress,

Could not speak as loud as my heart.

Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me,

Oh, and I rush to the start..."

Coldplay, "The Scientist"

I suppose this is how all people feel when going on their first blind date. What will she look like? How will she act? How much wit and humor—or lack thereof—does she have? How old-fashioned will she be? Will she expect me to pick up the check? And most importantly, what will she think of me?

I've never done this before. Rosie and I met on the college steps and in rapid succession, we became "steady", engaged, and married. As the young people like to put it, we "clicked". Will the lady I meet tonight click with me? Will love last beyond that period when the brain floods with oxytocin, resulting in that "love at first sight" feeling? If it does, will she accept it if I tell her? Or must I forever rely on technology to keep my deformity secret? Will I live a lie, and won't it be selfish to do so, all for the chance at companionship and the chance to pass my DNA along? My needs are still insistent; some say a human is a gene's way of producing another gene. The idealist in me certainly hopes love is more than that.

I pulled on my best white Armani suit, a gift from my old employer. I pulled on my tie, my black trenchcoat. I adjusted the bracelet, my tentacles fading from view. I fidgeted with the buttons, walked to the city limits, hailed a cab. I pulled out the printouts from her email messages and a printout from MapQuest concerning the Italian restaurant where we would meet. Frankie's, I believe, is renowned among teenage prom-goers and newlyweds for its romantic reputation. I can do romantic, I thought.

According to the message, she would be at the designated table, holding a red rose. The rose was my idea. A psychologist might suggest I haven't gotten over Rosie yet, and I suppose I never quite will.

I was escorted to my table. It came as somewhat of a shock—she was quite a bit older than I am. And she looked so familiar...

I needed to get the police off my heels after I stole the money for my experiment...I took a hostage, an old lady who had already lived out most of her life span...the bug followed me up the wall...I dropped her, and she hooked her umbrella on a statue near the balcony...and smacked me upside the face with it when I recaptured her...

I shook the memory out of my head. Doctor Octopus doesn't exist now, not here. He would not intrude on my romantic night out.

"So, you're my date." She offered her hand. "I'm May."

I shook the profferred hand and offered a lie. "I'm Oliver." I handed her a bouquet of deep red roses and promptly got to the business in question. "'O, my love is like a red, red rose/ That's newly sprung in June. / O my love is like a melody/ That's sweetly played in tune.'"

She blushed at the Robert Burns and giggled like a schoolgirl. "You like poetry, huh?"

"A little bit." I then offered her Lord Byron. "'She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; / And all that's best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes...'"

"Oh, Oliver, you're too much." She smiled. The waiter walked over with the menu.

"What shall we order tonight, my lady?" I said. "I'm in the mood for lobster."

She ordered the veal parmigiana. We made small talk about celebrities, the weather, and television shows. "I'm glad that Paris Hilton is in prison," she said. "For too long, the wealthy practically get away with murder."

I chuckled at that. "Where she is, is practically day camp next to somewhere like Ryker's or Ravencroft. Why, I'd bet her chiefest complaint is that the cable TV went down."

"So, Oliver, what do you do?"

"I'm a scientist. I used to work in a large research facility." I mixed truth with the lies. Life is, after all, mostly gray.

She studied my eyes and frowned. I knew what she would say. "You look kind of familiar. I think I met you once."

Again, I mixed lies with the truth. "You're the one he took hostage last year. I saw it all on the news. Please, you mustn't judge me on what my brother Otto does."

She seemed content with the lie. She bit into her veal, and she insisted that she pay for her half. After haggling for a while and persisting that I pick up the tab, I obliged.

But now, my cell phone rings. "May?" I ask.

"No, this is Anna Watson, her friend. You must hurry to Phoebus General Hospital, she's had some kind of heart problem..."

I think briefly of using the tentacles, but reconsider. I hail a cab, and rush into the hall toward room 213. A frowning young man is conversing with the doctor. He turns to me. "Aunt May, who is this?"

The voice is so familiar...

Just another day in the life of Otto Octavius, formerly Doctor Octopus...