Who:Norman Osborn Goblin & Otto Octavius Doc Ock What: Bro bonding Where: A hospital, a bar. When: During the blackout. Warnings/Rating: Crazy~
Norman Osborn might have been a genius, but the life of villainy wasn’t all complicated plans and wicked schemes intended to send heroes into a tailspin and the entire city falling at his feet. Oh, those would come, but with the onslaught of seemingly perpetual darkness and vulnerability of the citizens of New York, having some good old-fashioned fun was just too tempted to pass up. And he could have easily partaken alone, but why not invite Doc Ock along for the ride? Solidarity among villains, or something, not that he trusted the man by any means. Trust was for fools. Otto was useful, however, just like Connors was, and they could be friends without trusting each other enough to turn their backs even for a second. It was a careful dance to be sure, but one Norman engaged in on a daily basis; such was life when the only person you trusted could be found in the depths of a mirror, but nowhere else.
On this particular night, however, Norman was nowhere in sight. The CEO of Oscorp was gone, leaving Goblin in his place, in a slightly updated suit from the one he’d debuted during his encounter with Spider-Man and, to his displeasure, the interfering pile of black goo. He was still something out of a nightmare, the mask very much the same, gaping jaws frozen in a maniacal laugh and eyes that burned like the depths of hell itself.
And this time, Goblin had his trusty glider along for the ride.
Terrorizing the inhabitants of one of New York’s largest hospitals was the most fun he’d had in weeks, and it was sort of nice, having Otto at his side, even though he knew his brand of sadism was a little wilder and less sane than the other man’s. Like monsters, they emerged from the darkness, showing the people that even the emergency lighting of a supposed safe haven couldn’t save them. Nowhere was safe. Cackling madly, Goblin whizzed through the halls, sending glass raining down upon those who tried to flee, lighting up rooms with glowing pumpkins the size of baseballs that exploded seconds after being thrown; for many, it was the last thing they would ever see. He was sure Otto was off having his own fun, as they’d split up somewhere along the line, but after destroying nearly an entire wing and sending dozens scrambling for safety, he decided it was time to meet back up with his compatriot.
“Marco,” he called, maniacal glee in his voice amidst the screams and other sounds of the hospital falling down around them.
The blackout hadn’t gotten to Otto’s mechanical arms. The only electrical component had been blown out long ago, and the things ran completely by brain power now; lucky enough, because if they had stopped working, he would have been hunting down the source of the blackout personally. As it was, he was still more than a little irked by the lack of much of anything to do without the energy sources he needed. Calculations only went so far on paper, and when he couldn’t even run a test … it had been a few weeks of letting his Vegas-side do whatever he wanted without any interference save a few short visits, which was enough to give him a pass through the door without so much as a second glance when he’d so politely asked.
That probably wasn’t going to happen again, he thought idly as he clambered out a hospital window and up toward the roof of the building. So may as well wreak as much havoc as possible while he had the chance. Norman’s invitation had been a surprise - a suspicious one, but a welcome one, too. The man was even further from sane than a lot of them, Otto wasn’t about to try and dissuade himself from that, but he was also insane enough to be interesting and (key, this was) the head of Oscorp. There was a lot he had access to.
A lot Otto wanted whether Norman was interested in handing it over or not.
His trek through a separate wing of the hospital hadn’t been quite so homicidal, and in fact the only people who might have died in his wake did so because of their own weak hearts or maybe a panic-induced trample or two. He’d taken a few minutes to test a couple of generators to see if they’d work for him, but still nothing. Kind of irritating, and enough to have him rip out half a room (just because he didn’t aim for deaths didn’t mean he didn’t leave behind a swathe of destruction nasty enough to be in the millions for repair bills).
It wasn’t hard to see where Norman was coming from, so Otto clambered over the rooftop to where he heard the most screaming and hysterical laughter. He surveyed the damage from a vantage point and thought too bad the news isn’t running right now.
Marco came the call from somewhere down in the hospital, and he almost responded in kind before grimacing and leaping down back into the chaos, catching himself a few floors above.
“Wrong floor,” he called into the semidarkness. The guy was probably still a floor down, but there were enough holes in the floor to let voices carry. “The pool’s on the ground level.”
Oh Otto, still so concerned with powers and generators even while an entire hospital had just been transformed into their own personal playground. Not that Norman would have been surprised, of course, and perhaps in his saner moments he might have shared similar concerns, but Oscorp was a shining beacon in the darkness, resilient whereas the rest of the city fell to pieces at the slightest touch, He was far better off than most, a king in a high tower; why bother worrying? The mood he was in, he’d give Otto a generator if he wanted one so badly. In fact, much as he was with Connors, Norman was willing to donate some of his resources so long as he had, at the very least, a front-row seat to whatever Doc Ock was planning.
His generosity only went so far, however, and insane or not, Norman Osborn wasn’t a man to be crossed.
But he wasn’t thinking about any of that just then, not predominantly. Chaos and murder could do that to a guy, and besides, Goblin didn’t care for companies or shiny machines all locked up nice and tight. He chortled in glee when he heard Otto’s distant response, from somewhere over his head, and instead of taking the stairs he simply created a way up for himself through the ceiling. “There’s a pool? You’ve been holding out on me, Doc,” he chuckled.
One metal arm caught a stray chunk of debris, concrete and linoleum stopped on its intent flying trek toward his face. Otto tossed it aside and leaned back as the dust cleared and the Goblin surfaced. The mask was enough to make most people run in absolute terror, but the total deranged insanity in those eyes would be enough to stop most people in their tracks. There was probably a matching grin under that mask.
Fortunately, he wasn’t a normal person, and the demented look barely fazed him in the least. Otto shrugged a little dismissively and waved away a little more crumbling dust.
“It’s not my hospital; your own fault you didn’t find it earlier.” He cleared enough space on the floor to actually stand on it instead of using the metal arms to balance and eyed the destruction through the hole Norman had left. “I think together we may have just done enough structural damage to condemn this place. Seems a shame, it was a newer building.” There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his voice, though; there was just a faint, dismissive grin on his face, like several million dollars of damage and multiple casualties was about as important as the weather.
Goblin had absolutely zero sense of regard for other people, and it pleased him that Otto was someone who was very much aware of that and simply didn’t care. Oh, he liked sending people running scared, but it was always nice to have that one person who stood apart from the uninspired masses; Connors was no fun, and Spider-Man seemed to have been absent as of late. As for the big bad black goop monster, the one that had interfered, well, he didn’t count. No, that one was his own personal side project.
“Guess I was having too much fun,” he shrugged, careless, his erratic mind already moving on from pools to more interesting things. “Oh well.” To call him fickle would have been an understatement, which was why anything--or anyone--he did choose to focus on for an extended period of time would be in a great deal of trouble. As for the damage they’d caused, Goblin simply grinned behind his mask. “Oops,” he cackled, obviously thrilled by what they had managed to accomplish. “Now they can build an even newer one. If we’re done here, how about you and I hit the road?” In a manner of speaking.
Otto was well aware of the dangers that came from being in the Goblin’s focus for too long … which was why he was more than satisfied just being an occasional partner in crime or customer of Oscorp. Let Norman unleash the full insanity of his derangement on everyone else who provided more than a minute of interest or amusement or anger; he’d just sit back and wait for the opportunity to strike. And it never hurt to stay on the man’s good side(s).
“I’m about done. Unless there’s a few more rooms you want to incinerate … got another plan in mind?” This had been a fun evening’s distraction, but he knew he probably wasn’t getting back through the door in any great hurry after this, so he wanted to drag it out as long as he could manage. “We could grab a drink.” Not that he would trust the goddamned Green Goblin to be drunk, especially with that glider on hand, but he said it with a half-grin and a glance upward to where the ceiling was still crumbling down around them and the sounds of shouting rather than screaming were starting to make themselves heard in earnest.
One of the very best parts of being him was that he had full and total control over the idiot he was forced to co-exist with through the door. And, of course, he had leverage; little Miss Stacy happened to be joined with the drunk’s girlfriend, and he didn’t want anything to happen to her, did he? Not that Norman was known for his honesty, but he had no immediate intentions of causing her harm just yet. For now, the girl was a leash he kept the Vegas-side man on, and with the redhead to play with, along with Spidey’s other teenage friends, he could afford to give Gwen a small reprieve. Thus, there was no particular hurry to get back through the door and no one that could force him to before histime was up.
“Hmm.” Goblin considered the possibility, head cocked to the side, but it didn’t take the madman long to make a decision. “Nah, don’t want to make it overkill. That’s just tacky.” Now, he didn’t take Otto’s suggestion of having drinks literally, and really, with the serum he’d pumped through his own veins he didn’t need alcohol. He enjoyed it, yes, and indulged himself in only the finest every now and then, but he didn’t need it. “Ooh, yes. Let’s.” Apparently unconcerned by the shouts, which were growing louder by the second, he kicked his glider into high gear and crashed through one of the windows to the darkened outside world. Otto, he was sure, could keep up.
And keep up he did. Following through the broken window a little less swiftly and horizontally, Otto clambered out, down the side of the building and took off along the road after the unsteady smoke trail left behind by the glider. He’d always automatically assumed he had more willpower than the gloomy ex-humanities student he had to spend more than his fair share of time with; there’d just never been any reason to exert the influence as yet. But if this was horrifying enough for the other man, then that might be necessary. He’d get back through this door if he felt like it was necessary, whatever the idiot thought be damned.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” he yelled up at the serving glider eventually, pausing partway down the road and glancing around to see if (oh, if only) someone had decided to play hero in even this unbelievable kind of situation and was chasing after them. With no power meant no wild police chases, which was almost a little disappointing. “I have this feeling you’re not familiar with any local bars. Doesn’t really seem like something you’d frequent.” Not that he was overly familiar himself, but he did, at least, know of a few. With the arms hidden under his coat they’d sometimes even let him buy a drink.
There was one a block or two east, so he redirected and climbed in that direction. Inevitably, Norman would follow. Or he’d take off like the lunatic he was and try to blow up another building or three. There really was no telling with some people.
Did he know where he was going? Goblin pondered this as he drew the glider up sharply in a sudden, wide circle, hovering mid-air as he regarded his multi-limbed companion. While more than capable of concrete plans which were carried out step by step, leading up to the grand finale, he did favor a more disjointed line of thought, based upon random happenstance and whatever struck his fancy at any given moment. “Oh, were we playing follow the leader?” He grinned, the sound audible behind the mask, though the jaws of his creation were eternally frozen mid-cackle of a maniacal laugh. No heroes tonight, how disappointing, though Goblin was thinking more along the line of spandexed arachnids than the pitiful excuses for human beings who called themselves police officers. Still, lining up a nice stack of official funerals to follow in Captain Stacy’s stead would have been fun. Oh well, there was always next time. Maybe he’d terrorize a school next time. Everyone always got so touchy when it came to kids, after all, and--
Oh, but there he went, getting off track again. “No, you’re right, I’m not familiar with the local bars at all. I defer to you, my friend. Lead the way.” Goblin allowed Octavius to take the lead, not particularly caring about following in this case, but Otto was right to wonder if he might just take off and cause more destruction; it was tempting. Instead, he multi-tasked, keeping up with his partner in crime while sending off projectile explosives in bizarrely random directions and chortling with glee when they made contact. Why pick one or the other, after all, when you could just have both?
When Otto stopped outside the right building, he knew there wasn’t going to be much left. Looting had taken its toll on the darkened city. The windows were smashed, boarded, and smashed again; the inside of the bar would have glittered by thousands of broken bits of glass had there been anything even remotely resembling a light source around. As it was, he squinted into the gloom and frowned. There had to be something left somewhere, even if it was lukewarm and not worth half the price. He picked his way through the shattered windows and made his way around behind the counter. Either the Goblin would follow or he wouldn’t.
Though ideally he’d follow without putting a new hole in the storefront. Norman might have been protected against flying glass, but Otto wasn’t armed with a state-of-the-art protective suit. Best to be ready to duck anyway.
Despite the rampage that had gone through the place more than once, there were a few miraculously unbroken bottles of (as predicted) tepid beer lodged in a broken cooler. He fished them out of the water and waited idly to see if another bomb went off before his companion in crime decided to join him. A hell of a strange idea, but at the same time - isn’t this what you were supposed to do after a long day of working? Wind down with a couple of drinks and coworker to complain about everyone else?
Temporarily distracted by a rather colorful explosion, Goblin made his entrance into the dilapidated bar a couple of minutes after Octavius. He was surprisingly tame, considering his previous trail of destruction, choosing to step over debris and broken glass cheerfully with his glider tucked under one arm. Oh, how wonderful; a place already in shambles. He liked the atmosphere, and had it been a fully standing building, he probably would have been far more inclined to reduce it to a condition similar to the one it was in now. While his moods were unpredictable, and Goblin in a good mood was no less dangerous than Goblin in a bad mood, he seemed to be content with the damage he had already caused-- for the time being, that is. Right then, he was curious to see if Otto could actually find any booze worth salvaging.
And he didn’t disappoint. Beer had never been his--Norman’s--drink of choice, especially not when lukewarm, but Goblin wasn’t much inclined to care. “Well, well. Looks like we got lucky,” he commented, managing to find a bar stool that wasn’t entirely mangled and hopped atop it like a child. “Is this the part where we make small talk? Swap stories and bond? I haven’t done that in so long.”
Otto tossed one bottle over his shoulder in the general direction of the now slightly-less-manic voice of the Goblin, automatically assuming the other man would catch it (not his problem if that turned out not to be the case). He cracked open his own and fished through the water for anything else, but it looked like the rest were all the same. Oh well.
He turned and leaned on the counter, grimacing after the first godawful sip and setting down the bottle with no real plan to pick it back up.
“That’s because you don’t bond,” he pointed out, “and neither do I. Plus you kill everyone who might be willing to listen to your insane theories.” All said with moderately good humor, because it took one to know one in this line of work. “Except the few of us with equally insane theories to propose. But I’ll leave all this squarely on you for now. Why the sudden urge to blow up buildings?” Would there even be a reason, other than the usual lunacy that marked them both? He almost hoped so; it was never a good sign when the Goblin was getting bored.
There was a brief second in which Gobin considered intentionally missing the bottle and letting it crash, if only for the sound and sight of shattering glass, but changed his mind at the last possible moment and caught the drink as though that had been his intention all along. Improved reflexes were merely one of the perks that came with his self-made little cocktail, and after opening the bottle, he lifted the bottom half of his mask--hey, gotta keep up appearances--in order to gulp back some of the lukewarm brew.
As expected, it tasted horrible, but he seemed unconcerned. Maybe he didn’t really taste it at all. “Hm, true,” he remarked, because bonding was far from being a thing which he took enjoyment in. As for killing those who were willing to humor him, well, he found that hysterical, as evidenced by the maniacal laughter that escaped his lips. “I’m not a fan of one-sided conversations, Otto. Why should I suffer a fool whose only redeeming factor is their willingness to listen? I’d just talk to myself if I wanted that.” And he did. Quite literally. He ventured another sip of the revolting beer, giving no outward sign of his distaste, and grinned. “I was bored,” he shrugged. “The city was boring. Everything was so dull. Why not liven things up a bit? No one else is going to. And maybe I like the attention,” he added with a snicker.
So, just boredom. Not the best thing in the world to hear. With a goal, something he could at least try to focus on, the Goblin was a hellish danger but he’d keep it … collected, in a sense; running wild, it was only a matter of time before one of those bombs might go his way. Otto picked up the lukewarm beer with a mechanical arm and tossed it idly from one metallic grip to another.
“You never know. I might have given it a try myself.” And he might have if the darkness and silence had continued for too long without any idea of reprieve. He got bored, too, which turned his focus into a laser sight on - in this instance - the sources of energy that weren’t working for him. “Or maybe someone would have snapped in all this isolated darkness and you’d have someone new to compete with. Now they might be dead in that hospital. Shame to think about, isn’t it?”
It was an idea he seriously doubted - their supervillainous kind came out of particular thing, chemicals and experiments gone wrong and other strange but definite triggers. Anyone who lost it during a darkness like this one was probably just going to turn into a serial killer and get caught in ten minutes. Still, it was something.
“And there’s nobody coming after us, I notice.” No cops, no SWAT teams, no Spider-Man. “Kind of takes the fun out of it.”
Silly Otto, there’s no need to worry. Not yet, at least, but Goblin lived in the moment, and there was no guarantee that he’d set his sights on his pal with the mechanical arms. No guarantee that he wouldn’t either, yet the city was so full of potential victims and he already had his sights set on Spider-Man and his hero friend, so it wouldn’t have been very difficult to divert his attention elsewhere. Besides, he liked Octavius... as much as someone like him was capable of liking someone else, that is. “Anyone who snaps because of a little darkness wouldn’t last long,” he said scornfully. “That’s not competition, it’s just pathetic. Not worth my time or yours.” Competition was a tricky subject. On the one hand, a little variety in life was always exciting, but on the other hand, Goblin liked his limelight, and anyone who threatened it was bound to meet a bad end sooner or later.
Somehow, though, that didn’t apply to Otto. He simply didn’t see him as a threat; not because he wasn’t capable, oh no, but because they were simply on different wavelengths. Different sanity levels, too.
“Mhm, I know.” Personally, Goblin had been hoping the spandexed hero might make an appearance, or even his goop monster friend, but no, they were free to leave destruction and slaughter in their wake without anyone to stand in the way. “Disappointing, isn’t it? I thought Spider-Man was a hero, but letting innocent people die isn’t very heroic. And the cops? They didn’t even try. Tragic.”
“Too busy hiding out wherever it is they’ve holed up in now that there’s nothing they can do, maybe.” Though Otto knew the police were out there, patrolling on foot, doing everything the really old way to try and keep the peace. Not that the looting stopped or anyone really cared. But, yes, it would have been interesting to see even a handful of them try to stop the chaos the two supervillains had just caused. And Spider-Man … where was the little hero, anyway? Surely he would have picked up on something. “Maybe we hit one of those rare few windows of opportunity where he’s not here,” he suggested.
It was a real pain in the ass to be beholden to the whims of someone in another world. If they didn’t want to spare some time for you, you didn’t (usually) get your time. He couldn’t imagine anything else would keep both of them from getting at least driven off from the hospital by a tidal wave of webs.
“I’m sure he’ll regret that later. We’ll see if he tries to threaten us into being decent people.” Because he was never concerned about being imprisoned, even by a hero. And killed? That would outright make him laugh.
“Ooh, I like that. All the brave little police officers, huddled together in their failure,” A pretty picture indeed, but Goblin knew better. Oh, the cops were probably still out there in the dark, falling back on tactics they hadn’t needed in decades, but they just couldn’t keep up. No one could, even with the lights on. Spider-Man was the only one capable of coming close, but even he fell short. Even he disappointed. In the real world, good didn’t always triumph over evil. “Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “Imagine the disaster the poor spider will come back to. Tsk tsk. Think of the guilt.” But maybe he wouldn’t come back. Maybe he was gone. A world without Spider-Man... it wouldn’t last very long.
He shared Otto’s views on imprisonment and death. No jail could hold them. Killing them, even if the moral little superhero had it in them, would be an uphill battle, one he was confident they would win. “Something to look forward to,” he chuckled. “Oh yes, Mister Spider-Man, I’ve seen the error of my ways. Please help me repent.” He might actually give that one a shot, see how gullible their hero really was.
“Too hammy,” Otto said with a smirk. “Nobody uses ‘repent’ these days unless they’re a priest or don’t mean it. Or both.” He tilted the mostly-full bottle around on the counter, letting it roll back whenever he let go, watching it avoid tipping over through the magic of physics. “Begging’s a good one, though, if you don’t mind degrading yourself for a while.” He imagined trying to trick the whole city into thinking he was redeemed, and then … turning around and giving them all the metaphorical finger as he got what he wanted and ran like hell back to where he’d started. Could make the heroes look bad. Could make civic leaders look worse.
But it would be a lot of time and effort and insults, so he figured he’d let someone else try it. He personally would prefer to be shunned and isolated (except on the few occasions he ventured out to wreak havoc and get supplies) than to try something as elaborate as a false redemption.
“Of course, you’re rich. You could pay your way there, probably, with only a minimum of suspicion all around.” Lucky bastard. Otto gave the Goblin a sideways glance and tipped the remains of his own lukewarm beer out onto the shattered glass below.
“Huh.” Goblin tilted his head to the side with a frown and guzzled down the rest of his god-awful beer. “I like ‘repent’. But you’ve got a point, Otto, my friend. It’s outdated.” Pity. He’d always felt he had a flair for the dramatics. Begging was a thought, but he didn’t quite relish the thought of degrading himself in order to pull one over on the good guys. He had his pride, after all, and a lot of it. Maybe, if he ever found himself bored enough that lowering himself to the level of the peons in order to mess with everyone was appealing, he’d give it a shot, but he hadn’t even begun to approach that point yet. No, he was just getting started. “I’m not a fan of self-degradation,” he said dryly, “but I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”
He gave a broad grin because, well, he was indeed rich, and wealth went hand in hand with influence and power. “Probably,” he agreed. “You’re lucky I like you, Octavius.” He said it with a simple, almost child-like sort of cheeriness, which might have fooled someone who didn’t realize just how dangerous he really was, or the extent of what he was capable of doing. He regarded his own beer bottle for a moment before pushing it off the edge of the bar, simply to hear the crash and shatter of glass shards. “This was fun,” he declared. “We should do it again sometime.”
“I didn’t think you were.” No, the Goblin was too insane, and Norman Osborn was too proud and powerful to ever consider that kind of thing in the long term. Hell, even in the short term, thought Otto. Fake apologies and subtle nuances and then a set of explosives to the critical areas, that was more of a professional CEO style.
And he heard the subtle nuanced threat in that one cheerful line. Yes, it was probably a damn good thing he wasn’t on the bastard’s bad side, because there was a lot both the Goblin and Norman could do to make his life hell. It wouldn’t require killing him - that might be the easiest way to go about it, though - or even having anything to do with him. Powerful men made powerful enemies. You learned that in the various fields he’d been in.
“Aren’t I just.” It was said dryly enough to convey the disdain along with the recognition of the truth of the statement. He pushed himself away from the counter and dropped the empty bottle behind him. “We should, but I doubt it’ll be so easy to even get in the door the next time around. For me, anyway. Hope your other side is more amenable to murderous insanity.” Already the rage and mute horror were starting to bleed through and give him a headache. “Got any other plans? There’s still a few hours left before we get backed out, so unless you want to trash another hospital, I’m going to try and start my goddamned generators again.”
Pleased that Otto acknowledged the wisdom in his words--or just the simple truth, since all the clarity in the world couldn’t erase the fact that he was irreversibly insane--Goblin slid off his stool, sending it crashing down with one well-placed kick. Splintering wood wasn’t quite as satisfying as shattered glass, but he liked the sound of destruction all the same. “Oh, the idiot through the door isn’t a problem,” he said airily. “I have him wrapped around my little finger, you see. He can’t stop me from crossing. Very bad things would happen if he tried.” He was practically beaming, so very proud of the leash he’d managed to wrap around Mr. Donovan’s neck. Oh, yes, there was a bit of bleedover sometimes, but nothing significant to put a stop to his antics. They had an understanding; he’d keep out of his Vegas side’s life, as long as Neil didn’t attempt to interfere with his. Of course, it was probably only a matter of time before Goblin changed his mind and decided to mess with him regardless, but for now, it worked quite well.
“No, no other plans.” He tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. “Mind if I tag along? I might even be able to help.”
How lucky, Otto thought, though privately he thought that there would be no trouble whatsoever if he decided to exert the same influence over his own Vegas-bound half. He was stronger mentally, no doubt there. But he also would have preferred to not have potential interruptions when he was doing delicate work. There was a vindictive side to most liberal arts majors, he knew.
“If by ‘help’ you mean graciously and generously donate one of your own so that I can get some work done for once, then by all means.” He lifted himself over the bar and headed for the broken windows again, carefully avoiding any remaining pieces of the panes still sticking out of the frames. “Otherwise a helping hand in figuring something out might not be amiss.” Even if that hand was attached to someone so clinically insane it wasn’t funny. Still, you took help and compatriots where you could get them. Total isolation wasn’t fun all the time.
He started off back down the dark New York streets at an even pace, heading back to his harborside warehouse where all the sundry machines were sitting quiet and still, waiting for a spark.