From Author to Reader: I wasn't going to start this until the other was finished, but I keep suffering from creative constipation on "Opening the Gate." I think it's because I've been looking at it for so long, so I'm taking an itty bitty break. "OTG" will still remain first priority, but I will also work on this one. This is suitable for a wider audience, which is a plus. Venom-The Real Spiderman inspired me to use the black, gooey alien symbiote we all know and most of us love, so I thank him and encourage more people to hoppity jump on over and check out his story "The Owl." After you read and reveiw this, of course. This may seem generic to begin with but there will be quite a plot twist later. I assure you. I don't own Spider-Man or anything related to it, but we know this, so let's just get on with the story, yah?

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It's... Cold? There had been a heat searing him like the center of the sun and now It's cold. More assured this time. It was dark, too, until he realized his eyes were closed. He forced them open and studied the roof of iron and cement over his head. A chilling breeze ruffled his still damp hair. The ground was mushy, stinky, and cool. He tried to turn his head to take in more of his surroundings but couldn't. All well, he could see enough by moving his eyes to know that he was lying under a bridge. It seemed familiar, but he couldn't grasp the name. Why am I here? Is this death? I always thought heaven would be... cleaner. Of course I'm dead, so I must be in Hell. Did I honestly think Heaven would take me after all I've done? Stupid...

#Father, father, your awake!#

He's awake?

(We were so worried about you!)

Are you okay? Can you move?

Otto stared at the four red lights shining down on him. Definitely Hell.

#Don't think like that.#

For a while we thought you were gone.

(But we brought you back.)

Aren't you proud of us for saving you?

That's why I cant move. I'm still stiff from death. This time Otto focused all of his energy on the sole task of moving his head. It elicited a weak scream of agony that was swallowed up by the traffic passing overhead. The scream in his head was louder and the arms all flinched back then leaned closer, concerned but silent. They knew he needed to focus. When the pain cleared he was pleased to note his head had turned to the left, though now he was ear down in the sludge under the bridge. That had to be unhealthy. The first thing he had to do was find shelter before the sun came up. He was helpless lying here. Just the act of moving his head had left him feeling as though he had run a marathon.

#Relax.#

(We will help you, father.)

The smart arms hoisted him into the air and began stomping along the shoreline, keeping a wary eye out for observers. Bottles and fast foodcontainers were crushed under them. They chittered back and fourth for a while and finally agreed on hiding in a large culvert that jutted out over the river. It wasn't the most sanitary place but it would be adequate shelter until he could move again. They dragged him about three or four feet inside before carefully arranging him in a sitting position against the wall.

Can you hear us?

Otto groaned and forced himself to nod. Yes.

Can you move your fingers?

Can I? It was like the first time he had donned his assistants. They had at first just hung from his back, dead weight, until he finally forced his brain to recognize them as an extension of his body that it could manipulate at will. Otto focused on his right hand, staring at it. Nothing else but that hand, that finger, existed in the universe. The effort squinted his eyes and wrinkled his brow. After about thirty minutes a bead of sweat traced down the side of his face. Come on, come on... About an hour later: Success! Break out the confetti! Pop the champagne! To think that he, the great Dr. Otto Octavius, who had made so many scientific breakthroughs, was reduced to slumping in a drainage pipe rejoicing over twitching his pinky finger a fraction of an inch. However, he was in no hurry to face the general populous or go over any recent memories, which meant he had nothing better to do than crouch here and will his body back to life. That's how he occupied the rest of his night. It became easier with each muscle he coaxed into function. By the time the sun began sending down fingers to caress his maiden earth, Otto Octavius had achieved full movement from the waist up. By the time the sun had fully embraced the earth, Otto was fully mobile, though not sure if he could stand. Now the worst thing to deal with: thinking.

My hat is gone, I smell like I spent the night in a sewer... okay, I did spend the night in a sewer, but I can't go back among civilized human beings. They would recognize me, and I'm supposed to be dead. Not that I could show my face among them ever again, anyway. Oh, god, what have I done? I wasn't trying to save humanity, I was trying to save my ego. Some kid came along and pointed out the mistake I hadn't seen. I couldn't admit I was wrong, and if that same student hadn't stopped me I could have... Otto took a shaky breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. So I was wrong. No problem. I'm not perfect. He managed to think that without feeling the pang of wounded pride, which had to be a step in the right direction. Though it didn't amount to much after the mess he had made of his public image. I decimated any chance I had to live even the semblance of a normal life, with or without the arms. I'm ruined.

#Stop thinking like that, father! We will try again!#

(Yes, we'll make them see how great you are! We can-)

No. We have done enough. It's over now. Let's just... lay low for a few days, or weeks. Hell, maybe even a few years, huh?

The arms drooped as all of their enthusiasm evaporated. It was clear he had absolutely no intention of trying again, not even the smallest inkling.

(We were built to serve you.)

Where will we go?

Otto peered into the bowels of the pipe. Way in the back it was still night, but the tentacles could light his way. He hadn't tried standing yet so he wasn't sure if his legs would hold him.

Please reconsider! It was sticky and dirty back their, festering with pestilence. You'll get sick!

I've allowed you to control me for far too long. It is my body, my brain, and I say that's where we're going. He stumbled to his feet and hunched over, pulling his arms closer. The space was smaller than it had appeared sitting down. Waste sloshed and squished beneath his feet with each step. A once great man reduced to this, a monster slinking through the tunnels that honeycombed the city. This is where I belong.