It was two hours later when I was done. I set the newly built weapon on the table and studied it.
Why? Why had I made this? It was just like that time I started the whole hero business in the first place. MJ had told me that heroes were needed, and I spent a week perfecting my first pair of web-shooters. A whole week. And for what? A chance?
I took my empty mug. I needed more coffee. I walked into the lounge and found Ben watching the news, jaw open, staring at the screen. In bold red letters across the bottom it read: OTTO OCTAVIUS ESCAPES — 10 KILLED.
What followed was footage of Otto tearing through the city, hurling cars and lorries aside as though they weighed nothing.
"What is this guy?" Ben asked.
The reporter's voice continued over the footage: "Approximately one hour ago, former head of Oscorp's pure energy division woke from his coma. He had been found critically injured following the Oscorp energy incident nearly a week ago. Doctors stated that, given the condition of his brain, there was no medical reason for him to have regained consciousness. But he did. We are now receiving reports that at least ten people have lost their lives before the rampage came to an end. A police confrontation broke out in the street, and Octavius evaded officers approximately ten minutes ago. If you see this man — do not approach him. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous."
The footage cut back to Otto roaring in the street. I squinted. I could barely make out what he was screaming: "Where is my wife?!"
My eyes went wide.
"Hey, Pete — those arms look kind of like yours, don't they?" Ben asked, turning around. But I was already gone. "Hey! Where are you going?!"
I ran back into my lab, grabbed the gun, and tucked it into the waistband of my jeans. I took the elevator down and drove off as fast as the car would go.
There was every chance Otto had already worked out where Rosey was. The man was a genius — he could have stayed hidden just long enough to run a simple internet search. Rosey's accident had been all over the news, and the papers had reported exactly which hospital she was in.
I reached the hospital in record time. The lifts were too crowded and too slow. I took the stairs two at a time.
I reached her floor just as Bobbi was stepping off the elevator with a steaming cup of coffee. She blinked. "Parker? What are you doing here?"
"He's coming," I told her, already moving past her toward Rosey's room.
"What? Hey — get back here!" Bobbi threw her cup aside and broke into a run behind me. I ignored her. I reached Rosey's room, grabbed the door handle, and threw it open.
A mechanical arm shot at my face, its claw opening to crush me — then a quiet voice said, "No." The arm halted. It slowly withdrew and turned away. "He is a friend," the voice said. The arm retracted as though it understood perfectly.
Otto stood over Rosey's bed wearing a long trench coat and a pair of dark glasses. The hospital gown visible beneath it was streaked with dirt and blood. His four arms hung around him like great tentacles, each one seeming to watch in a direction he wasn't.
"Otto," I said softly, stepping forward. "You're awake."
"Yes," he nodded slowly, then swallowed. "She... is she all right?"
"A blood clot in her brain," I told him. "It's almost ironic — if she hadn't been injured when she was, the doctors never would have found it. She's stable, but her mind needs time to heal before her body can follow."
"Stop right there!" Bobbi cried out, levelling her firearm at Otto. "Down on the floor — now!"
"No!" Otto bellowed, spinning toward her, all four arms rising at once.
"Otto — stop!" I stepped between them. The arms froze inches from my face. I breathed slowly, forcing my nerves to steady.
"Get out of the way, Peter!" Otto cried.
"No," I told him, meeting his gaze. "I can't do that. If I move, you'll hurt her. And Rosey would not want you to be this."
"What the hell are you doing?!" Bobbi hissed behind me.
"Don't move, and don't fire," I said quietly but firmly, "or I'll have Fury pull your clearance." I turned back to Otto and kept my voice even. "Please, Otto. You need to stop this. Those arms — they're interfering with your mind. The neural interface was never designed for—"
"They aren't doing a damn thing!" he roared, driving one arm into the wall beside my face and wrenching it out again. He brought another close to my throat. "Watch your tongue."
"I saved you and your wife," I said quietly. "I helped you. I am your friend. And now you're threatening to kill me. Would you really do that? Is that the man Rosey married?"
Otto stared at me. Behind his glasses, his expression shifted. His arms began to move around his head in small, agitated arcs — as though they were whispering to him. He clutched his skull and shook it violently. "No — no, that's... no! He's a good boy! He saved Rosey!"
"Fight them, Otto," I urged him. "Please."
He did. And I could see that he was winning.
After a long moment, his breathing slowed. He looked at me with something that was almost himself again. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry. It's not your fault. You saved her. Thank you."
I let out a slow breath. "It's all right." I glanced back at Bobbi — she was staring, clearly unsure what she had just witnessed. I motioned for her to stay back. Then I turned to Otto again. "We need to have those arms removed as soon as possible, Otto. The neural interface chip that kept them regulated has been destroyed. Your mind is exposed. You can't carry these."
"Yes... yes, I know. I need help," he murmured. His arms began to stir again. "But first — I will kill the man who did this to me. Norman Osborn will die."
"Otto, no," I said firmly. "I promise you will have justice. But not like this. People will be hurt — innocent people. Please, just—"
"What kind of man would I be if I didn't avenge my wife's suffering with my own hands?! Osborn will die for this!"
"Rosey is not dead. She is right there." I pointed at her. "And if you do this — if you walk out of here and become a killer — you will spend the rest of your life behind bars or on the run. And when Rosey wakes up and opens her eyes, I don't want the first thing she sees to be an empty room. She needs you here. Right now."
Otto growled. His arms spread wide, rising above him.
"You talk too much, boy. You presume too much. I will have my revenge, and I will protect my wife — and there is no one who can stop me!"
"Stop — freeze!" Bobbi fired.
Otto deflected the bullet with one arm and lunged toward her. "No!" I drew my gun and pulled the trigger. An EMP round struck him in the chest. His arms collapsed instantly, all four dropping simultaneously, no longer able to support their own weight. Otto fell to his knees, the mass of now-inert metal sprawled around him.
He looked up at me. His eyes were clearing. "Peter... how?"
"EMP," I said simply. "Are they quiet now? The voices?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes... yes, they are..." He stared at his arms, and what I saw in his face was grief. "Oh God. What have I done?"
"It's not your fault, Otto," I knelt down before him. "You were not well."
He looked up at me. "Osborn did this," he said. The fury was still there — but quieter now, human. "I want him to answer for it."
A crackle of electricity. "No!"
The stun baton hit him before I could move. Bobbi had fired it. Otto went rigid and dropped unconscious. I turned to her slowly and shook my head. "Are you serious? Or did S.H.I.E.L.D. deliberately send me the worst agent they had?"
"He was escalating again," she said.
"His arms were disabled," I said, keeping my voice flat. "What you just saw was a man whose wife is in a coma and whose spine has been permanently fused with four robotic limbs. He is entitled to some anger. I am this close to calling Fury."
"Okay — who exactly are you?" Bobbi demanded.
"Did you call Fury?"
"I did."
"And?"
"He called you a pain in the neck."
I almost smiled. "Well. He's not wrong."
The following week:
Otto was taken into custody. I told Fury he needed treatment, not a cell — but the man didn't listen. S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to detach the arms and store them under secure conditions. I was fairly sure it wouldn't hold. Otto was too intelligent for that.
Bobbi, it turned out, had followed procedure precisely. She wasn't disciplined for what happened. I didn't have a strong objection to that — the protocols existed for a reason. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to treat enhanced individuals the same as everyone else, that was their choice to make.
Either way, I had done my part. One situation, one intervention, that was the deal I'd made with myself. And now I was done.
I told myself that. But every time I switched on the news, I felt my resolve give way a little more.
The names of the ten people Otto had killed were released. Ten people. Families who would spend the holidays without them. Ten people who might still be alive if I had just put the suit on sooner.
Ten people. Damn it all.
I blamed myself, even though I knew — rationally — that the fault lay with Osborn. It was his miscalculation, his recklessness, his greed that had set all of this in motion. And the press agreed, for once. When the full story of Otto's background came out, the media framed him as a victim — which he was, in many ways — and redirected the full force of public anger at Norman. The man now faced criminal charges. They wouldn't hold up in court. I knew that. But it cost him, and maybe that was something.
I sat in my room, thoughts running at full speed. I didn't know what I needed to do. I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't want to die — and thanks to Logan's blood, I was increasingly unsure I even could.
So I asked myself the question I'd been avoiding: What am I supposed to do now?
And I didn't have an answer.
I needed to talk to someone. A professional. Someone who could help me untangle what was happening inside my head and figure out what I was actually supposed to be. I needed a psychiatrist. I also needed distance — from all of this, even if just for a few days.
I picked up my phone and dialled a number I'd committed to memory a long time ago. It picked up on the second ring. A calm, measured voice answered. "Hello?"
"Professor," I said quietly. "It's me. Peter. I need to talk. I need help."
A brief pause. Then, warmly: "My doors are always open to you, Peter. Come whenever you're ready."
"Thank you, Professor Xavier. I appreciate it." I hung up and looked around my room.
I would need to come up with something to tell May and Ben. Whatever it was, I'd figure it out. I already had a plan forming. This weekend, I would go. This weekend I would visit them all and try to find whatever part of myself I'd lost somewhere in the last two months.
I had to start somewhere.