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An all too familiar ache of soon to form bruises thrummed underneath his skin to the beat of his heart. However the familiar weight of his glasses sitting on his face was, horrifyingly, noticeably absent.
Otto’s father was going to be furious.
He was breathing heavily, taking in the smell of sweat mixing with the scent of blood as murmurs and shouts mixed with the sound of sirens. The shadow of a figure stood over him, breathing just as labored. Otto must have done something especially stupid to warrant whatever kind of beating he had received considering, he realized in a brief moment, that he must have blacked out.
The reaction! That must have been it. The last thing Otto remembered was the demonstration which must have gone horribly awry. It couldn’t have though, he had made sure to check over everything several times, he was confident that everything was more than ready. He was going to do it, he was going to unlock the secrets of the atom. He was going to expand what was possible with the human body and create a new breed of-
What am I thinking?
The ramblings of a mad man is what.
He felt nauseous. Did he have a concussion? He certainly had a migraine so it seemed likely. What else could it be? He got hit in the head is all, the demonstration went wrong and a piece of machinery hit him in the head during the meltdown.
The meltdown.
This was radiation poisoning. No one else should have been hit luckily but Otto had been determined to be front and center to truly know what it would mean to feel radiation. Anything that happened to him as a result, well that was simply an occupational hazard. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t prepared for it, he’d been preparing for it since he was a child. How many times a day in school was he reminded of the supposed inevitability of total nuclear destruction? The concept of death by radiation poisoning wasn’t a forgein one to Otto.
“Death from above.”
He may not be a medical doctor but he certainly was a doctor, so first things first…
The nausea and migraine were obvious, his disorientation and fatigue were less noticeable from the position he was in but certainly still there.
Why am I on the floor?
Right, of course. The specific pain points were clearly blunt force trauma but it seemed like it would heal. The rest of the pain, however, the subtle burn underneath his skin, could mean far worse than a few weeks bedrest. He could taste iron on his tongue. Depending on how far away he was he had a chance of pulling through. If he could get medical attention as soon as possible then he’d have the best chance. Perhaps that’s what the figure above him was doing.
No, that couldn’t be it. It must be the General, that man never seemed overly fond of Otto or his experiments, he just liked the idea of what they could be. This must be the General again then, come to drag him down to Psych to get lectured to about nothing.
It wouldn’t be about nothing. Yes, last time had been a bit blown out of proportion but it certainly would not be nothing this time. This was a proper nuclear meltdown. There was an explosion that had knocked him out.
This isn’t what getting over the head on accident feels like.
Otto would know, wouldn’t he? What getting knocked out by another person felt like. That once again brought up the question: What did he do to warrant this? In years past the reasonings were always far from logical but there was a reason. And besides, he couldn’t expect logical thinking from these barbarians-
Stop.
What were those sirens? They didn’t sound like anything that would be in the lab. The people too, the mutterings could easily be anyone but the shouting was far too unprofessional even for after a minor disaster such as this.
“...Shouldn’t have told me...Octavius.” The blurry figure above him, right. “-have told me you could feel the radiation-” He could barely hear the figure, there was a ringing in his ears. “-your arms.” If he had ruled out the General for who the figure could be…
The figure took a step closer, raising itself up and blocking the sun, “...just had to close the circuit...let them feed themselves.”
Duck and Cover
“N-no…” Otto’s voice broke.
Father?
The too familiar feeling of new bruises to be ignored or hidden the next day pulsed along to the rhythm of his heart. The taste of old blood and bile still sat in his mouth from that first night after Otto’s death. The crunch of his glasses beneath the General’s boot brought Doc Ock back to the present. His face was wet. Pathetic. The blonde who had tried to talk sense into him all those days ago pleaded to the General. She spoke of insanity. He spoke of his god.
What was her name? I must have been awfully attached.
Mary Alice...
A blur of red and blue gently placed the remains of his glasses on his face. One lens was shattered to the point of being nearly nonexistent.
Father is going to be furious.
“We are hideous, are we not?” Doc Ock asked as soldiers forced him to his feet.
“No,” Spiderman said, “No we’re not.”