Unavoidable Confrontation
Even if the mechanical arms had not made themselves known; even if that voice and laughter had not been so frighteningly familiar; even if the light on the far side of the room remained off; the hulking heavyset figure looming over the foot of the bed was unmistakably Octavius. From the long brown trench coat that gave his body an even more heavyset figure to the shaded glasses that he wore despite the current lighting, he had hardly changed from the last [Name] had seen him in person.
Granted, [Name] had already known that based on the news coverage of Octavius’ criminal escapades. Seeing him in person, though, was a quite different from seeing crude pictures from bank robberies and murders. His stature had been intimidating before his fateful accident, but now? Intimidating was no longer a fitting description; frightening, terrifying, maybe even horrifying, would all be better suited to describe just how hulking he was. And with those mechanical arms attached to him, often lifting his body into the air and carelessly maneuvering him around the city – he had to have the ability to reach clear over twenty feet tall.
Images of the day after the accident came back to [Name] as she stared at Octavius hovering at the end of the bed, obviously amused at her display of getting away when he appeared. People – good people, doctors – had been slaughtered at the hands of the mechanical appendages that now held her firmly in place; some of those doctors had been completely gutted, intestines and gore piled in heaps around their lifeless bodies. Bile rose in her throat, the memory burning her to the core.
“You’re quite a difficult young woman to find, [Name],” Octavius finally spoke, still hovering at the end of the bed, “but I did tell you we were going to finish our conversation, didn’t I?”
The modified metal pincer attached to [Name]’s mouth and face forced her head to nod in rapid fashion; it was a quick, possibly unintentional reminder of just how easily these machines could snap her neck. Octavius tutted in response. It was a mocking disappointment, the same he feigned as her professor, because he knew how much she hated to disappoint people – even him, even now. That had been the biggest indication of her affections and lust toward him other than her constant belittling; she worked much like a child in her ways of showing affection, hoping to conceal it behind hateful motives.
“Yes, I did tell you that,” Octavius agreed as he approached the left side of the bed to look down at [Name] instead of hovering at the foot of the bed, “but you avoided me after that like an insolent little girl, didn’t you? You made it impossible to contact you so you could avoid the pathetic embarrassment of your little crush being acknowledged.”
Anger was the expression that Octavius wore, brows knitted and the ever-persistent frown that adorned his lips remaining from the last she had seen him. Though [Name] could not see his eyes from behind the darkened shades concealing them, she could feel the pure fire behind them burning holes into her helpless form. Through his scrutiny she had not yet noticed the silent tears falling down her cheeks.
“I’m sure you remember Harry Osborn,” a gloved finger trailed a tear cascading down [Name]’s cheek, “he’s a mutual acquaintance of ours; you work under him now as a mental health advocate, I previously worked under him as one of the top scientists in the world. But let’s not get lost in the fine details.”
There was a pause as Octavius allowed the implications of his importance over [Name] to settle.
“I visited our dear friend recently, and he was quite happy to provide your address and more when I explained just how childish you’ve been acting for the last two years,” the gloved finger scratched the surface of [Name]’s cheek roughly as Octavius yanked it away from her, “turns out that Oscorp needs someone to put you in your place due to recent behaviors anyway; they can’t have someone so disrespectful and avoidant under their company, now can they?”
Crescent indents were left on [Name]’s palms from how hard she had been trying to struggle out of the grip of the mechanical pincers that held her down. What she fantasized about – the flirtatious, steamy event that could have taken place should Octavius had come to her – seemed much farther away now, replaced with the heavy implications that something terrible was going to happen to her because she had been avoidant. Because Harry fucking Osborn had thought it appropriate to give a known criminal her address, for what? His own amusement at her gory demise just for her occasional snarky remarks to him?
Fear had been replaced – rather, misplaced – with anger; fuming, heated anger that stemmed from the absurd thought that [Name]’s boss had willingly put her into danger. Add on the fact that Octavius, her former professor that she lusted for turned murderer, had broken into her apartment to dangle the threat of her death in her face? Red flushed over her cheeks and neck, and her brows knitted in frustration.
“Fuck you, Otto,” [Name] tried to bark through the pincer on her face, though it came out quite muffled.
Octavius raised his brows. “Oh, my mistake,” the mocking tone was back, “would you like to run that by me again, sweet darling?” He removed the pincer from [Name]’s face and waited expectantly. He had heard her – his pincer had, anyways – and he doubted she would be audacious enough to continue her little outburst.
“Fuck you, Otto,” repeated [Name] much more aggressively, “fuck you and your stupid mechanical creations. Fuck you and Harry Osborn. But mostly, fuck you, Otto.” Spit flew from the amount of force in her words, showering the duvet in her filth.
The metal pincers that remained on [Name]’s arms tightened their grip from slightly painful to bruising, though Octavius’ expression remained quite neutral. Despite not expecting her outburst to continue, he was not necessarily surprised by the violent reaction; she was always the most obnoxious in his classes, and given her bratty attitude, it was only natural for her to react so deeply to him. It was, after all, what she wanted from him to begin with – someone to tame that attitude, to claim her as their own.
“I’m afraid I won’t be sharing that burden with Harry, my dear,” Octavius pulled a bottle and handkerchief from the inside of his coat, “but I must agree with him that, even after all of this time, you’re still in need of some behavioral correction – that you’re still an insolent little brat. I’m happy to oblige, though, and I’m sure you’ll find my methods quite… enlightening.” He poured liquid from the unmarked bottle onto the piece of cloth before neatly setting the bottle back inside of his coat.
For the second time that night, [Name]’s body convulsed with panic, fighting against the impossibly tight bonds that held her down to no avail. Her eyes met those of Octavius, which were just slightly revealed from his glasses sliding down his nose, and he smiled; he smiled the most unkind smile she had ever seen on a human being. Before he could stop her, before that awful liquid could put her body out of commission, her throat ripped into a scream.
“Help me,” the words came without thought, a heart-wrenching scream through the night air, “please, someone, anyone-!” Octavius shoved the handkerchief into [Name]’s mouth and nose, forcing her to breathe in the chemical that laced it. Her scream died in her throat, eyes fluttering about the room in a panic as she fought the urgent need to sleep.
Within seconds, the chemical won, and [Name] lay motionless in the bed.
“My sweet darling,” muttered Octavius as the pincers removed themselves from [Name], “so terrified of the potential of letting go – that’ll change soon, and you’ll thank us for it. You’ll choose us, like you should have two years ago rather than running like a coward.” The last word came out as a growl, low and angry from the memory.
Gloved hands pushed the emerald duvet from [Name]’s unconscious body, a soft hiss leaving Octavius at the sight of her in her pajamas; she wore a matching emerald set of soft shorts and a tank top, and it was obvious she had chosen not to wear undergarments. Her tank top had risen from her excessive struggling before, revealing the soft of her stomach. She was much more beautiful than he had dreamt of. One of his hands curiously touched her stomach before ghosting down to her thigh, giving the flesh there a squeeze. Absolutely perfect, she was.
“We could have had her years ago,” Octavius looked at his pincers, anger flooding through him again.
Rougher than before, Octavius reached down and grabbed [Name], carelessly hoisting her into his arms. She was wrong for abandoning him, and he was too much of a coward then to do anything about it – but not anymore. She was his – theirs – now, whether she knew it or not, and as much as he hated to do it, she needed to be punished for what she did to him. But maybe he wouldn’t hate it so much; she deserved the punishment, after all, and blood might just be intoxicating on her.
Mechanical arms lifted Octavius out of the window that was carelessly left cracked at the far side of the bedroom, loudly carrying him back to the hideout by the docks that he had claimed for himself. In preparation for [Name] joining him, he had fixed the area up with dim lighting and less exposure to the elements – and a custom chain and cuffs linked to a bedpost so that she couldn’t run and still had access to her sleeping quarters.