It had been exactly 46 sleep cycles since Norman Osborn had been captured and held indefinitely in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s stupid prison, which felt much more like something from WWII. None of the "genetic freaks" (as the doctors would call them) ever saw the outside world, never knowing what time it truly was. And so Osborn began to count his sleep cycles for some realm of "stability."
The rest of Osborn's day was the same as the rest. Sit, wait, eat, go to "therapy," which was more like a group of idiots without their doctorates gawking at unwilling prisoners for two hours, sit, wait, sleep. And that was life there, although Norman had something a little different. If he were so pleased, he could speak to Otto Octavius... an old colleague who was selling out Osborn Industries secrets to Justin Hammer. He regrets it to an extent. It's clear in the way the man acts, but he regrets getting caught but not doing it. Norman could care less. In this place, personal grievances aren't of any use.
Otto was an odd man. And Norman would be lying if he said he didn't find the other man interesting or, God forbid, attractive if he was desperate enough. Otto was much better eye candy before his accident happened; the scarring was still red and aggressive around his waist and around his once beautiful eyes. Shame; he wasn't a bad lay otherwise.
Octavius would stare at Osborn for hours sometimes. Completely lost in his own mind, but staring at him nonetheless, well.. in his general direction. It could be a bitch to tell from the dark shades that covered his eyes at all times. Norman didn't have to look back to know Otto was staring, and he didn't need to look back for Otto to stare.
They'd fallen into a routine of their own. Sit, speak, wait, eat, "therapy," sit, speak, wait, sleep. They never spoke for more than a few minutes and never over much of anything. Neither were men for small talk. In the past, they could ramble about work for hours and hours. But here? With nothing to even be decent subject matter, and everything is being monitored. How is a man supposed to speak his mind if not speak at all? The other inmates could be loud. Especially the electric man and Mr. TV personality that seemingly should barely qualify to be here. Otto and Norman preferred to quietly stare at one another in contrast. Their calculating eyes convey something of a silent conversation whenever one isn't speaking.
Otto never showed remorse for the things he did. Not as Otto Octavius, and not as Doctor Octopus. And yet, 56 sleep cycles in, he cried to the guards and doctors that he was a changed man. That he wanted to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. It repulsed Norman; it repulsed him that he didn't know what the other man's true angle was. Otto was a weak man at times, but he was willing to do what he needed to get out of a situation, and Norman admired that. Both could put down who he needed to get his way. But there was a stark difference between them: Otto would give up the one thing Norman would never: his dignity. and this? This was just distasteful. And worst of all, S.H.I.E.L.D. bought it. They took Otto from his cell to "work with them” a few cycles after he'd cried for forgiveness.
Norman was seething with rage for the next few cycles; why would Octavius just give up his dignity like that? It was repulsive... until the power shut off.
The electric bars that kept them in their cells disappeared. The four men in the now-open room were confused, but deep down, Norman knew something the others did not. Norman knew it had something to do with Otto, as he was the only man not in the room. And his suspicion was confirmed when he heard the sound of metal clashing against metal. Otto had his actuators back, and he was getting closer.
Norman transformed into the goblin without a second thought once he realized the inhibiting collars were offline, reveling in the feeling of power he knew was rightfully his. The electric one handled everyone else's collars.
The guards were disposed of quickly. Unable to stop four genetically mutated humans from murdering them violently. The door out was broken down, the last of the men inhabiting the holding cell had done it... otto... this was his motive; this is why he gave up his dignity even for a short period... Norman had to admit... it was quite smart of him to take that chance, even with such a small success rate.
Otto didn't care about the men around him, looking up at Norman instead.
“You did this?” The goblin inquired, his voice low and gravely. He faced the other man, eye to eye, as he had used his metallic arms to raise him up to be eye level with the monster.
“I did this." Otto confirmed with a curt nod.
“I was wondering what you were up to with all this new-age crap that was coming out of your face." Norman's intuition was never wrong; Otto had ulterior motives for getting on S.H.E.I.L.D.'s forgiving side (Norman knew they lacked a “good” side all together). And it just so happened that his plan worked out in Norman's favor instead of Otto escaping on his own like the selfish prick he could be.
Otto chuckled briefly, smirking audaciously as he replied to what could barely be called a man anymore.
“It's called telling them what they want to hear.”
"My... Norman... what you've become... this.. this is truly magnificent."
Otto wasn't a man of compliments or praise, especially not for Norman. But when he did speak it, it was the truth. Otto reached one of his flesh hands out to touch the goblin's rough skin in what could be misconstrued as a "romantic gesture," when it was so much more than that. Hatred, intrigue, lust, disdain—every emotion they'd ever felt about the other—all in a simple touch.
“This is so much more than we ever hoped for with all our work.”
“We're even now for all past sins—you doing this. We're even now." Osborn spoke. Company secrets don't matter anymore, not when your company has been seized and the man who received them is dead and rotting in the ground. At the end of the metaphorical day system Norman had created, he had to take what assets he had and use them to his best advantage. Including the three meatheads he and Otto had been locked up with. No brain, but enough brawn to provide a good distraction for the two with any semblance of sense.
“Our paths may be crossing again, but this is an alliance of necessity, not sentiment.”
“I see it that way as well. And of course, no one in their right mind could form any sentiment for you—anyone but you, Osborn.”
Otto spoke as he continued to stroke the goblins' rough, almost scale-like face, to which the creature once known as Norman Osborn barely relinquished in the touch of man. Otto's cold hand radiating within Norman's scalding inside created a feeling he just couldn't particularly ignore, like any other feeling clawing away at his brain.
“A man in his right of mind doesn't escape capture or let out terrorists in the process, Octavius.”
Otto's hand finally left the other's face as the goblin turned away to the nearest outer wall and addressing the collective in the room, not just an old "friend.”
“You gentlemen can do whatever you want. I'm going to get my boy, and then I am going to destroy Nick Fury for what he has done to us.”
Glances were shared between Marko, Maxwell, and Kravinoff. Otto refused to meet any of their prying eyes. his gaze boring into Norman's back, much as he would when they were in captivity.
“And I mean destroy him, on every level. You're more than welcome to help, and I guarantee you compensation for your efforts- along with the satisfaction of revenge upon our jailer.”
None of the men had anywhere to go anymore. Maxwell didn't have a home, Marko couldn't return home, Kraven was stranded in a different country, and otto…
Otto would follow Norman to the ends of the earth, whether he liked it or not.