Chapter 4: The sky was falling
"Mum," a boy spoke when he was walking home from school; "I'm home! I'm going to do a science project in my room, and I don't want you to disturb me please! Okay? Thank you!" He immediately ran into his room before he could even look at his mother's face.
"Ollie?" Mrs. Osnick peeked her head through the doorway that leads to the corridor and Ollie's room. He didn't answer; he closed the door.
Ollie Osnick, boy genius. Ten-years-old, already in the 9th grade. He's just your average student with a high IQ, good at math and science...and guess who's his favorite science idol? No, not Einstein (okay, maybe he likes Einstein too)...but a much better, particular, hotter, handsomer, cooler scientist in his day: Doctor Otto Octavius AKA the tenacious Doctor Octopus.
Ollie was a fan of Otto even before the guy got into a freak accident. You would know, because he has a large collection of newspaper articles in the science section about him (including that People magazine article claiming Octavius 'possessing charming madness')
And to this boy, who is so brilliant for his age, guess what his science project is? No, not a mini-sun, but close...his very own set of actuators. Complete with its metallic features, and impervious to heat and magnetism. But then, his project isn't for school at all. In fact, this is a personal project, and Ollie was planning to do something that is a dream come true to many of Otto's fans—being worthy as Otto's partner in crime.
Ollie dropped down his backpack and opened his closet door, looking at a box that was labeled 'Christmas decorations'. In fact, there were no Christmas decorations inside; he threw them away along time ago. But, to keep up an alibi and to keep his mother from looking, he hid the arms in the large box. Besides if his mother needs some decorations, he could always steal some from the store with his new set of arms...after he was finished with it.
He knew the blueprint of the actuators, because he once met Octavius himself. Ollie's dad is in the army, and well, you know how Octavius was working on cold fusion, which was sponsored by the Government...But anyway, Ollie stole, or rather borrowed (since he returned it), a copy of the blueprint, and photocopied it at Kinko's. And he worked on it ever since.
Ollie took his own set out, and ran his finger along to touch of the arms. His own tentacles...not as strong but still tough.
He decided to try it on.
Gary felt cold. No, not cold, more like he's freezing his ass off! He grasped his coat as hard as he could keeping warm. He does not know how these people get around, especially the farmers. A cold wind blew the soldiers in the army truck, and they each felt far from comfort. Gee, he wanted to say to Scott aloud, is it me, or does Russia finally lost her mind? But he couldn't. You shouldn't joke around in a serious situation. You'd lose your guard. Russia's full of snow, full of hiding places. The Wooies could be anywhere. Gotta keep an eye out. Dangerous people.
But, not as dangerous as the evil mutant Magneto. Gary smiled. Other than Spider-man, this particular spider-fan is also an X-men fan. Wolverine kicked ass, Cyclops rocks, and Jean Grey's hot. That's what he's always thought.
And Magneto, your awesome magnet-mutant-leader-of-the-brotherhood-who-was-once-a-victim-of-the-Holocaust, is gotta be the best. Who couldn't like him? Ian McKellen was wicked in the movies. And...think up a dream battle—Doc Ock verses Magneto. Though, o' Otto would lose in the end because he got metal arms and Magneto controls metal, and well. It'll be an interesting encounter.
So, Wooies couldn't be any dangerous than a brotherhood mutant, as in the fact that in the mutant-verses-human wars, the human army would be in the losing side.
Gary smiled, but was still warming up.
He tries not to think about what happens if he was killed in battle. Afterall, if he's killed, he's killed, but Gary still have dreams, and he wants to (as Otto would say it) 'help mankind'. Okay, so maybe being in the army is helping for mankind, but it doesn't actually does anyone any good if you're dead.
Gary wonders what battle would really, really be like with W2. He'd give them all his best, which's for sure.
Marc sat on a boulder in the cold, singing in his head. He now knew what guards had to go through, because sitting out there alone in the cold guarding a secret government faculty is, not only painful, but also boring! In all those times he played a role as ninja for S.W.O.R.D., killing all those unlucky guards, he now sympathizes them. Oh well, he thought, I'd be out here for the next...2 hours and a half. Marcus sighed. He'd turn into an iceberg right before the next guy comes.
"O-one thousand b-b-beer bottles are up on the wall," he muttered in the cold. He heard it was to drop below –50 when he's heard its already 13 degrees out there. "One thousand beer bottles are u-up! Take on down, pass it a-around, nine hundred and ninety-nine beer bottles are up on the w-wall!"
Oh god, he thought, I haven't stooped so low enough to sing the beer song from the count of 1,000! Oh well. It kills time anyway.
"I-I'm in control of my life..." Otto whispered in the dark, sleeping, muttering. "N-no one else! I control my own fate!"
Then, he sat up right that minute, his mechanical arms out in a way to attack, him covered in tensed sweat. "Damn you Spider-man!" he tried to catch his breath, and realized...there was no Spider-man. He sighed. Another nightmare. Who wouldn't have one if your life was ruined in a traumatic accident?
He placed his hand over his forehead, and sighed uneasily. Why him, of all people? Why is it Otto Octavius the one who gets hurt? The one, who is a mad scientist? He wonders about that sometimes, and wonder if there is a God. Maybe not, at least in this world.
He heard a knock in his bedroom door. "Otto?" Norman Osborn opened and peeked through.
"What is it Osborn." He spoke coldly, his hand still in his head, not looking at the Green Goblin.
"You're alright? You're practically screaming back here."
"Get out Osborn." Otto said, still not looking up. He didn't want anyone to care. It was his own personal business...and Otto sometimes wish he would hurry up and retire from being a member of this 'ultimate six'.
"...'K. Try and keep quiet, will ya?" Osborn closed the door, and Otto could hear him walk off.
Otto tiredly lay back in his bed, rubbing his temples. Why him, anyway?
Marc rocked back and forth, still out there in the cold, shivering. He was still singing the beer bottles song, but then, by the time he reached the middle of it, he lost count and panicked.
"Smoke, smoke," he muttered looking through his coat, "where's my friggin' smoke?" He chuckled in relief when he found his cigarette, and wondered why he didn't think of smoking at first.
"Now, what number was I? I think I was in 870...or something." He scratched his head, and took a puff.
"Eight hundred and seventy beer bottles were up on the wall, eight hundred and seventy beer bottles are up! Take one down, pass it around, eight hundred 'n sixty-nine beer bottles 'r up on the wall!"
Whew. Singing and counting is hard work.
"869 beer bottles are up on the wall, 869 beer bottles are up!"
Marc saw something through the snow, and paused. He saw a figure in what seem to be a white coat, but figured that it was to be a fox or something. He shugged and continue to sing.
"Take one down, pass it around, 868 beer bottles are up on the wall!"
Then, out in the quietness snow, engines could be heard. Marc thought he was hearing things, especially when he's been hanging out with jet planes and jeeps too often. You'd never know.
"868 beer bottles are up on the wall, 868 beer bottles are up!"
The noise became louder. Marc began to raise his voice.
"Take one down, pass it around, 867 beer bottles are up in the wall!"
The noise became louder. Marc screamed louder.
"867 beer bottles are up on the wall, 867 beer bottles are up!"
He hears a masculine voice from behind him, by the government facility. "Marc! Marc! Lordy, mate! Don't you hear that!"
"Take one down, pass it around—huh?" It was Morgan. He was running up to his American friend with a rifle in hand.
"Damn it Marcus! Blitzkreig! Blitzkreig!" Morgan gasped. "Look out! Behind you!" His friend pointed to behind Marc.
Marc turned around—a man in a white clear fur coat took out an army Swiss knife and began to attack. But Marc was all prepared, he knew better than this.
"Take one down," he sang with a smirk, grabbing hold of the stranger's arm, "pass it around..." Marc grabbed hold of the guy's head and cracked his neck, "866 beer bottles are up on the wall!"
Morgan stopped in front of his friend. "Forget about beer bottles, look! Here they come!"
Airplanes. Hundreds of them.
They were dark red, a symbol of W2. Marc and Morgan stared at the planes. Where did they get the planes from? The government controlled manufacturing factories.
"Morgan..."
"W-what?"
"They're bombers! Hurry! Hide for cover! Doesn't make you any good dead!"
They began to run towards the Government factory, Marc shooting at the planes with one hand. American style. Sounds of machine guns burst around the air, as the other guards that secured the perimeter of the facility come running and yelling like bloody murder.
The planes were over head, soon dropping bombs. But Marc and Morgan continued to run, missing and dodging the machine guns and bombs.
"Shit!" Morgan cursed.
"Get down!" Marc screamed, who finally stopped shooting. They got down in the snow, soon crawling over the land.
"Look! Look! A rabbit hole! Get in there!"
"Too small!" Morgan yelled. The bombs got louder.
"Make it bigger, Dammit!" Marc screamed. He kicked the edges around the hole, dirt tearing to pieces as he kicks them.
As they build their hole, they could hear no other sound than guns, bombs, and men's screams. Black smoke poisoned the icy air, and this was only an invasion. "Marc!" Morgan screamed, helping his American friend with the kicking.
"Done! Now get down and start shootin'! Don't stop!"
"I know how to fight! I've been in battle before!" Morgan took out his rifle and started shooting at the red planes. Marc did the same.
Soldiers were running around like scattered ants, not sure what to do. They were prepared, but they weren't. Bombs filled the sky. Soldiers were getting hit by bullets. Blood spat every where. Men were screaming for their lives. It was too cold to fight.
"Run! Run!"
"Keep shooting!"
"Mama! I don't wanna die!"
"Shoot! Shoot! Schnell! Schnell!"
It was amazing how Marc and Morgan could still go on.
"Shit!" Marc cursed.
"What?" Morgan asked, still shooting.
"I've run outta ammo! Got some more?"
"That was my last pack."
"Damn it." Marc looked around the battlefield around him. Bodies were everywhere, being blown up into pieces. God, these Wooies are so going to pay for it.
Marcus looked around over to the factory, where an unattended jeep that had a machine gun in the back stood. He tapped on Morgan's shoulder.
"Morg, we got to run to that jeep okay? We need more juice!"
"Okay!" Morgan was still shooting. His ammo was soon to run out.
"Let's run! Now!"
"Now?"
"Now!" Marc grabbed Morgan's jacket collar and they began to climb out. They ran, but still laid low. They ran faster and faster, farther and farther, with Morgan still shooting, but both ignoring the world around them.
But soon enough, an army of tanks entered the battlefield, attending the ambush. This truly was a Blitzkreig.
They're using World War II material, Marc thought as he jumped aboard the jeep with Morgan on the machine gun seat, but why?
Marc realized, he'd need to save some soldiers in this bloody massacre, because if perhaps if they lose this battle, they'd still need some more men to use teamwork to defend each other in case they were to die when been caught.
"Get on the car!" Morgan nodded at Marc's command and jumped on the driver's seat.
"There's no key!" Morgan said worriedly.
"Here," Marcus took out his Bowie knife, "something I learned from the Terminator movies." He used the knife to hurriedly rip the leather where the keyhole was, which reveals a bunch of wires. He immediately ripped out all of the wires, and the jeep turned on that instant.
"You drive," Marc told Morgan, "I shoot and rescue."
And they entered the hell upon them.
A big explosion was heard, and black smoke was seen. That made Gary shook. What was happening?
The British army each looked over to where the attack was seen. And soon enough, a few jets flew at a high velocity above them.
"Abandon mission!" The British general yelled. "Retreat! Retreat!"
The jeeps were redirected over to where the smoke was. Gary gulped, just knowing that is where battle was. That is where they were to fight, possibly die. But the people over there needs them. That could be the allies losing, and they need assistance. That could be the Wooies losing, and they could just finish them off.
Gary grasped his rifle, and looked at his friend Scott, eye-to-eye. Suddenly he got a premonition...or perhaps its paranoia? He fears for his friend of death, or maybe he was just simply nervous.
"There's a battle goin' on." Scott said, looking at the black smoke. Gary didn't say anything. "If anything happens, it just happens. We win or lose. We move on. Deal?"
Gary cocked his gun. "Deal."
And they entered the Hell upon them.
TBC….
OMG! I got some serious writer's block, I swear! But don't worry, I'm not going to lie to you, but the thing you'll be waiting for, will happen next chappie!