Cat-and-Piggy Show
Have you ever really looked at yourself in the mirror? Have you taken a gander at your own weird, fleshy oval of a face and spindly little monkey hands? What about your elbows? Why are they so crusty? And don't get me started on the back: no tail. No tail, just a smooth patch of hide, maybe an embarrassing tattoo you thought was a good idea when you were eighteen but only exists now to prove that you are too broke to fix it.
To clarify: that last paragraph was meant specifically for humans. Humans are reading this, right?
Let's take it from the top!
___
"You know, for a guy named after a James Bond movie, you aren't really bo--"
Peter Porker wheezed as the tentacle slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. Doctor Octo-pussy Cat, a deranged scientist unjustly saddled with both the best and the worst name ever, loomed over him, cackling.
"Can't even get a good quip in," Peter wheezed, snorting a puff of plaster dust from his nose.
The lair wasn't one of the best he'd ever fought in, but it was serviceable: there was a kitchen, if the tuna smell wafting from one door was any indication, and the row of blinking buttons dominating the far wall cast a rainbow of gleaming light into an otherwise dark room. He'd even been able to stow an anvil in the ceiling, just in case. He snapped a hand out and yanked himself away just as another arm came smashing down where his head had been.
"This isn't your usual setup," Peter called, dodging and weaving across the ceiling. He pulled a mallet from his pocket and used it to knock one of the arms completely off with a BLAM. "What exactly are you doing in here, Doc?"
"You could barely comprehend it, Spider-Ham," mewed Doc Ock, licking his lips. "You embrace this universe like a fool, when there are so many ripe for the plucking!"
"News flash, Doc Ock, we can't go to other universes without a massive collider!" Peter said. His ears pricked; he didn't need his spidey sense to tell him that there was a monologue coming.
"But we can!" snarled Doc Ock, pushing himself upward. "Why would I settle for this Looney-Tunes ripoff when there are universes that make sense out there? Ones where my genius would be feared, not some gag from a Saturday morning kids' show!"
"Doc, you're a literal cartoon cat," Peter said, "but hey, if you want to branch out, you could always do some of those Tender Centers cat treats commercials--"
With a snarl, Doc Ock grabbed Peter's arm and threw him down, jarring the breath from his lungs. He groaned and shoved himself to the side, trying to catch his breath. Doc Ock was really playing to win, huh?
A clawed metal hand closed around his throat and pinned him to the floor. "I have no interest in you anymore, pig," the mad scientist said, scruffy black fur reeking of motor oil and sweat. "I will be a god, entering every universe where I do not already exist at will. And you'll be nothing but a running gag. Get it? Gag? I can make jokes TOO, Spider-Ham!"
"HKKK--very funny!" Peter felt spots in his vision as he scrabbled at the floor. He heard a faint beeping, and an ominous whirring, like a fan ready to overheat. The lights of the control panel grew brighter. The floor began to shake--or maybe that was his body, quivering from the lack of oxygen. Either way, it was bad.
"Ksh--What's going on?" he gagged.
"Don't you mean what's up, Doc?" Ock laughed uproariously and threw a few switches. The hold on Peter's neck grew just a bit weaker; Peter's hand twitched. If he could just hit that red, glowing off switch--what, don't all machines have a red, glowing off switch?--with a web, he'd be out of here in minutes. As it was, he was trapped, and the freaky universe hopping machine Doc had come up with was about to woosh his arch nemesis into an alternate dimension, if Peter had heard that monologue correctly.
As Doc muttered to himself, Pete inched along the floor, peering up through his mask to ensure that the cat didn't notice. The hold became even lighter, and Peter had his senses back in full: he could now see that the dashboard had various labels, along with a diagram of some kind, and an interface spilling enough green-on-black code to make the Matrix blush.
Geez, they oughta update their design, Peter thought. He looked down at his hand. Did he have enough web fluid to even make the shot?
He hated long fights. It was always a %@!! of a lot more fun to drop a piano on a guy and call it a day.
It was his only shot, though. He leaned over and winced with pain, pulling up his hand to hit the button--
"I'd best stand back," Ock said, grinning like a madcat. Which he certainly was.
Peter bit his tongue, aimed, and called:
"That's all, folks!"
Ock whirled. Peter clicked, just as his arm was jostled by the motion. The doctor's expression turned from shock to horror as the glob sailed through the air--
And just to the left of the red button. Right onto the big, green ON button.
Yikes.
The cat howled with laughter as Peter's eyes went wide. A muffled "whoops!" escaped his lips as the room began to really shake, jarring him from his stupor. He frantically fired a few more shots, all of which missed the mark and landed on the floor next to Doc, and scrabbled backward as Doc lifted his arms in celebration.
"What the h@#* did you do, Frankenstein?" Spider-Ham shouted, the kid-friendly censors barring him from using the only language appropriate for the situation. The machine crackled with blue electricity, the same sort of stuff that kid Miles had supposedly been able to use. He'd never gotten to see it, but he was sure it looked like that.
"I'll be a god!" Doc shouted, which, frankly, was not an answer at all, and was the sort of weird gritty stuff that didn't belong in this universe.
The panels of lights slid apart, revealing a cylindrical compartment covered in small, circular sensors.
Doc began to enter just as Peter pushed himself to his feet.
"Goodbye, Peter!" Ock smiled, on the threshhold of the machine. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're almost certainly going to die, standing where you are now. Or at least be knocked into a coma."
Ock's cackle tapered off as Peter got to his feet, peering up into the ceiling.
"Actually, Doc... what's your stance on head trauma?"
The anvil, unsettled by the shaking of the room, chose that exact moment to fall, raising a bump on the cat's head.
"Whuh?" Doc groaned. He met Peter's eyes with a look of bleary hate before collapsing in a heap. Peter might have found it funny if the machine weren't still VERY active and VERY evil sounding.
"Okay, now comes the hard part! Whoopee!" Peter threw himself to his feet and began skimming his hands over the machine. Oh, yeah! The off!
He took out the mallet and slammed it down on the red button. Nothing. He tried putting his hand over it. Nothing. He tried webbing it, yelling at it, seducing it--hey, it worked in DnD that one time--and generally harassing it, but it remained stoically red. The cylindrical compartment glowed a bright blue, and Peter winced as he remembered Doc's words about the whole dying business.
"Well, I guess--" a beam fell from the ceiling. Peter yelped.
"Alright, into the coffin we go! Woohoo!" Peter ducked into the cold of the compartment as a hunk of metal slammed down where he'd been standing. He covered his head and rocked back and forth: a strategy fit for dealing with many of life's issues. Alarms blared. Outside, someone shouted. What the #$@! was happening out there? The lights on the control panel REALLY weren't adequate, now that he thought about it.
He was relieved for just a moment when the door slammed, trapping him in the room. Then he realized that he was trapped in the room. He ran to the door and beat fists against it, yelling for help. Of course, knowing Doc, this thing was probably soundproof, to avoid anyone hearing anything embarrassing, like screams of agony (in case the experiment went horribly wrong) which it most certainly might.
He turned away from the door and noticed a tiny screen, flashing information like a wanton encyclopedia. Earth-something. Picture of Peter Parker--not Peter PORKER, but a Peter Parker, with brown hair and a general human-y look to him, along with a brief description of a world. So this was a dimensional gateway? How the #@#*&% was it so tiny? He pushed against the screen, but it didn't react. Wherever this thing was going, he was going with it.
He looked back out, at Doc Ock's prone body, and winced. "Hasta le vista, kitty," he said, giving a nervous wave.
Then there was a loud noise, and after that, $l-l:t got really weird.