WARNING: This work of fanfiction contains strong sexual content involving a man, his wife, and his extra sets of sentient robotic arms (granted, not all at the same time; only Japan has the moxie to consistently pull that sort of thing off with any success), including scenes of both regular and tentacle-assisted masturbation, hair-pulling (hint: not on the head), and other general masochistic elements, as well as a couple naughty four-letter words. If you're not physically, emotionally, and/or legally old enough to handle these concepts, do us both a big favor and press the Back button NOW. 

I don't own the Spider-Man series, nor its motion picture franchise. SONY, Columbia Pictures, Marvel Entertainment, and their license-holding subsidiaries do. Characters and concepts are being used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. This edition of Spot Stan Lee's Obligatory Cameo Appearance has been brought to you by Happy Fun Ball! While you're at it, feel free to picture Bruce Campbell in a bit part of your choice.

-----

Little Chores

by Apricot the Gerbil

For Dr. Octavius, there was nothing left after the explosion but a blur.

Not surprising, really; between taking enough volts to light up a city block and having his entire spine melted into a blistered, wire-choked sore he didn't dare touch, it seemed a miracle he was even still alive. The blankness was no mere metaphor to him, however. The shock to his system left Otto struggling to recall so much as his own name, to say nothing of why he had four mechanical tentacles the size of tree limbs trailing from his back. 

In place of decades' worth of memories, there were a loose handful of flashes, static pictures that flickered in and out of Otto's thoughts. Something about a bad joke... screaming... red lights and sirens, dark red splatters... and a woman. An important woman. His heart ached even to think of her, yet he had no idea who she was.

After coming to in a room full of corpses torn limb from limb, the doctor was sure of only one thing: his awakening was no miracle.

He was in hell. Pure and simple.

'Hell' was too complex a term for him to grasp just yet, of course. For the time being, Otto's universe was one made up of hazy, monosyllabic concepts at best. Even now, as he staggered through the hospital entrance the things on his back had torn the doors from in one swipe, Otto saw the streets of New York City as an alien landscape, filled with rows of... zoom things, what were they called? Wheels? No, that didn't sound right... He hobbled towards the nearest of them, and as he stared numbly into the headlights speeding an unstoppable path his way, a single word clicked into place.

Noise. 

With a metallic flicker, the oncoming taxi cab was hurled skyward. Its horn blared on as it slammed into the rest of the city traffic, blocking anyone else from harming the metal arms and their charge.

Otto flailed in a drunken totter-dance, his eyes bugged wide. Why did his body jerk off-kilter like that? He blinked at the shards of glass suddenly scattered across the road. At the pair of claws hovering before him. At the ground, where the other two arms were busy steadying him upright. Back at the cars... His synapses sputtered and coughed in an empty loop, struggling to string the ideas together. He hadn't picked that huge thing up and thrown it just now, had he? Did those things on his back...?

The bodies he'd seen upon waking leapt through Otto's mind like a grisly slide show. There was no way human hands could muster the strength needed to mangle a person that badly, much less a small crowd of them... The things stuck to his back must have done it. Yet these same machines swarmed and fawned around him, protecting him like he was some sort of god. Why weren't they attacking him?

He tried as hard as he could to remember. Lights. There had been a bright light, as though he was staring into the sun itself...

Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

The claws clicked open at the first wail of sirens. Blue and red swirls, coming closer. Fast.

Hide.

A block and a half. He'd barely made it a block and a half down the street, and he was already past his physical limit. Otto never had a runner's physique to begin with, but the strain of lugging his new accessories around left him soaking with sweat and half-blind from the specks and blotches spilling into his view. Whatever those red-blue patterns flashing behind him were from, he knew they meant danger, and they were gaining on him.

Groaning from the effort, Otto raised his head... and blinked in surprise at the brick wall closing off the alley before him.

His shoulders slumped.

...And then, with a yelp, Otto realized his feet weren't on the ground anymore.

Once they'd scaled the building, the tentacles kept moving-- charging from rooftop to rooftop, claw-tips biting a trail of tri-pointed stars from the brickwork and shingles in their path. When the buildings began to thin, they sprang back to the ground, steadying Otto in their grip as they fell.

On they ran, until there was only water before them, with the Hudson Bay shoreline stretching far into the distance. One last scan, and the arms snapped their cameras shut, satisfied that their human was the only one around for miles.

Otto took a cautious look around, now that his surroundings weren't whipping past him like gale-force winds. His eyes settled upon a sorry-looking structure nearby: an old storm-broken pier, halfway swallowed by the water. It was only Otto's stunted vocabulary that brought the word home to his mind at the sight of half a roof.

The upper pair of actuators followed his gaze. The series of clicks they emitted were quickly lost to the bay's tide, and moments later, the tentacles were scuttling towards the doctor's newfound shelter.

Cold.

At the first pin-prickles on his skin, the tentacles slithered out through the gaps in the pier's toppled walls. They reared high in the muggy evening air, their cameras whirring in all directions... and back down they came, three of them gathering themselves around Otto's body. While the fourth honed in on their target, the others hoisted the doctor aloft and started walking.

All the hapless bum could manage was an "Awp--!" and a grab for his bus-stop bench bed, as his blanket was hauled off by what looked like an ten-foot-tall robotic octopus in a powder-blue gown. "Hey!" he shouted at the creature, but it was no use; it skittered away, swallowed by the dark.

"Damn it," he mumbled, climbing back onto the bench. "Not again. Town's goin' to pot these days, I swear..."

Food. 

Otto's hands clutched once, then fell limp. By the time they twitched again, they closed around two mounds of something he choked down without a second thought.

He fell silent once more, never noticing the shattered window and terrified deli clerk his symbiotes carried him past.

Lonely.

Otto tugged his new blanket tighter around his shoulders. The support beams the arms settled him against gave him a perfect view of the bay the pier had long since collapsed into, but as he sat there, the sole thing on his mind was that woman-- the face without a name. 

Much more than a face, as a matter of fact... Once he'd realized it, he was scarcely able to think of anything else, like a patient scratching endlessly at their surgery scars: how could he remember what she looked like naked and not know who she was?

Well, whoever the lady might be, she sure had a nice body. Otto's mouth wrinkled to a dopey smirk as he paused over a few particular mental images. Yes, that was especially lovely. Right there, too... and those! Oh, if only she were here for him to give those a workover!

It came as no great surprise that he soon felt a dull ache pressing stiff against the hospital gown wrapped straightjacket-tight around his thighs. He sent his hand wandering immediately-- cupping the bulge in his palm, giving it a slow, firm squeeze through the fabric... Otto's breath left in a hum. He teased the pad of his thumb around the slit-ridge on top, circling the tip of the growing tent until it hurt to keep the gown stretched over it any longer than he already had.

He was too occupied with tugging loose the knots at his waist to notice how the actuators resting on the beams around him perked up. All four quirked their tips towards him, alarmed by the sudden havoc spreading throughout their human's system. There didn't seem to be any damage they could sense, but his blood pressure, temperature, breathing speed-- all were rising at a rate the arms had never seen before, to say nothing of the fireworks show going on in his synapses. 

The knoblike bit of flesh Otto wrestled out from under the gown, too, had bloated considerably. Its smooth pink tip bobbed in the air, rising away from the rest of his groin like a stubbier version of the actuators themselves. Its camera eye appeared to be fused shut, but a network of reddish-purple wires marbled the skin-tentacle's shaft, which slid with a soft shuff-shuff sound as Otto pumped it in his fist.

While the others remained intrigued by Octavius's penis, one tentacle turned to watch his facial expression shift instead: first a wide, mellow grin, one that clenched in steely determination... and then, an open-mouthed grimace of what would seem to be pain, if his body wasn't still scattering endorphins about like confetti in a tickertape parade...

...and suddenly, Otto stopped stroking, overcome by a terrible emptiness. This was wrong, somehow. Not the feeling itself, but something about the person that triggered it. He didn't know how he knew, but... she wouldn't ever be coming back, would she?

The tentacles hovered closer, sizing up his neglected erection. When his hand pulled away, one of them slithered over to take its place. 

Cold. Cold and pointy. Otto's head rolled back, nearly whacking against the beam. "Hh--uhh," he groaned, and shuddered, kicking the air by simple reflex. He swept the blanket across his lap in an attempt to make the pinching stop.

The remaining three arms kept their monitors trained on the doctor, but despite their fellow actuator's best efforts, the human's pleasure generator was wilting to a bread-dough sagginess. A second tentacle clicked to the others, then slid under the blanket as well... leaving two arms free to watch Otto's pupils dilate stupor-wide, note his flush-tinted lips parting in a silent ah. 

Shouldn't be doing this! Shouldn't! screamed Otto's conscience, fighting to be heard through the flood of sensation. He flexed his legs against the gown binding them in place, adding distractedly, And this thing's getting in the way, anyhow!

The sound of ripping cloth tore through the night air. Otto frowned, dumbfounded, as he tested the gown again and found no resistance whatsoever, thanks to the slits cut along either side. His legs spread wide, exposing the two tentacles hard at work between them... 

The pair paid him no mind, continuing to dote over his six-inch pillar as though his fit of bug-eyed sputtering was perfectly natural; in fact, the one rubbing its ridged tip-points up and down the length of his cock chose that moment to pick up speed. He batted it away, uttering a vague "Nn--!" of disgust.

The words seemed to come from everywhere at once: Not alone. NEVER alone.

If the doctor had a complete grasp of his senses, he would have been profoundly insulted to hear that same monotone voice go on to whisper stanzas from Whitman's Leaves of Grass, to say nothing of his confusion over who was talking in the first place. Instead, he found the words soothing, overcome by some unknown familiarity they held. It would be hours before he'd regain the clarity needed to place it as the poem he recited to Rosie on their first date.

With their human calmed, the machines returned to the task at hand...

Tired. 

As Otto succumbed to a sorely-needed sleep, four silver coils curled against his body in tight, looping piles, careful to settle a fair distance away from the semen trickling down the inside of his leg. 

They stayed there, motionless, listening to his shallow breaths.

Waiting.

-----

Octavius awoke to the smell of rust and stagnant water. Much like the stench, his first recollections floated into focus, harsh and overpowering. The actuator arms. The experiment. The explosion. 

His hands went for the metal belt at his waist, but no matter how he grappled with the latches, it seemed welded shut, burnt right onto his skin. He groaned, touching fingers to his temples. Did something smack my head when the blast hit? Is that why it won't stop ringing?  Felt like someone was scribbling over his brain with a static-colored crayon...

There was a name, too. Parker. Peter Parker... He knew it wasn't the mystery woman's name. Still couldn't recall a thing about her, which struck him as unfair. Parker... he was a student, wasn't he? Not even my student. Why would some kid spring to mind before her?

That's right, he'd met Parker only yesterday. Brilliant, but lazy, he thought, shifting his feet to...

To absolutely nothing underneath. He looked down and gasped, grabbing both hands tight around his support-beam perch. What was he doing two stories up in the air?!

When he spotted the metal beams lined up in near-ladderlike formation below him, he calmed somewhat. I must've figured I'd be safer off the ground if anyone wandered in, he reasoned, and slowly got to his feet, readying a jump to the next beam down... He didn't quite know why, but he got the feeling he'd let Peter down somehow. That look in the boy's eyes, so alive, so happy, when he was having tea with Rosie and--

Like a slug to the gut. Rosie. Oh god, Rosie. NO.

He fell like a stone.

The actuators darted in all directions, catching their claws on whatever looked sturdy. Otto jerked to a halt in midair, suspended inches away from the pier's rotten wooden floorboards. 

Even after the arms lowered the doctor safely to his feet, his body refused to stop trembling. He sank to his knees, his mind fully mired in a state of shock. She was standing right there. Wanted me to stop, get away... If only I'd've listened to her, she'd still be alive! 

The noise in his head grew to a crackling roar as the tentacles drew closer, but Otto heard nothing. That was why he'd disappointed that Parker boy, he realized. All that talk about using your intellect to help mankind... All that work, and where did it get ME? He raised his head, gazing out at the water. At the rainbows that danced across those weak-lapping waves, glittering in the morning sun's rays...

Motor oil, the doctor thought bitterly. Only reason it looks pretty is because it's poisonous. Makes perfect sense.

He grimaced at another burst of white noise rippling through his head.  Stronger, this time. Loud enough to make him dizzy. Otto frowned at the tentacle brushing against his neck and pushed it away. Strange... Looks like I came away with brain damage, and I don't even care.

A second arm came sliding over his shoulder, its tip curling to a stop under his hand; without thinking, Otto found himself petting it, scratching its metal ridges like the ears of some otherworldly Golden retriever. As he glanced down at the actuators, it occurred to him: They used to be shiny, didn't they? Looking at them now in the sunlight, they seemed different beings entirely, charred and corroded-- like giant skeletal earthworms, left to writhe on the pavement after an acid rain. I made sure fire wouldn't give them any trouble, but I guess I never thought about the chrome on their plating...

Wait. They don't respond to magnetic fields, either, even if the whole room around them did... The doctor's eyes grew wider with each connecting idea. Was it something that simple that made the experiment fail? That stupid?! Something even that Parker kid could've spotted ahead of time?

He was so close. Had his true love there at his side, with worldwide acclaim waiting just around the corner-- and now what? One little mistake, and what did he have left? A cracked skull, maybe? A bunch of extra arms grafted onto him-- arms that made him look even creepier than that Spider-Man freak who burst in during his demonstration? Shakily, Otto stood up, wrapping the blanket (where on Earth did I get a blanket?) closer around him. "My Rosie's dead... my dream is dead," he murmured to the water, barely able to hear his own voice over the barrage of hissing and chittering. 

The arms are heavy enough, I know they are. One jump, and it could be over... who knows? Maybe I might even see Rosie again.

"And these... monstrous things," Otto added, glaring at the actuators, "should be at the bottom of the river!" He turned to the cove once more, gazing longingly into the murk. "Along with me," he said, and took a jerky first step forward...

As all four tentacles lashed towards him, a single thought punched through the wall of static. NO.

Otto stared at them, his own train of thought startled silent. One actuator opened and closed its claws slowly before his eyes; he heard the word in his mind, as clearly as if it'd been spoken aloud, in a voice both flat and calm. 

Stay.

Another voice chimed in-- and another, and another, each as monotone as the first. The din raging in Otto's ears faded with every sentence, like an orchestra tuning itself to a single note.

Can't leave us.

Made us.

Not done.

The last piece of the puzzle snapped into place. Otto's hand darted to the back of his neck, patting over skin and wires in a frantic search for the computer chip that should be implanted there, should be keeping his brain safe, should be making sure these overgrown worms' A.I. programs hadn't fused their way into his own system and--

...Shit.

The arms spoke up again.

Rebuild.

Need you.

Finish it.

Rebuild.

REBUILD.

With a sinking feeling, Octavius realized he was outnumbered four to one. 

Given the circumstances, he decided to hear what his creations had in mind...

-----

He was at least able to convince the arms that one thing should come first: finding him some clothes. Their plans would be difficult enough without him having to tackle them in half a hospital gown and a blanket that smelled faintly of urine.

Still, for someone who had worked his way to a doctorate degree without cheating on a single pop quiz, Otto was surprised to discover how easy it was to steal. 

-----

A sales clerk hurried over to Otto the moment he set foot in the store. "Hey. Whoa. Hold it right there, buddy. We don't have any change, so scram, okay?"

The doctor hesitated at first. Here he was, barging in with a ratty blanket bundled around him, dirt crusted on his feet, and sweat twisting his hair to a gravity-defying russet mass. What did he expect the staff of a ritzy-looking shop like this to think?

"Of course," he said, and gave the man a humble, hopefully-disarming smile. He could feel the actuators stirring underneath the blanket. "I do apologize for this. Really, I do, but..."

A horrified look rippled over the salesman's face as the arms snuck out. Otto continued, speaking quicker. "You see, I'm in a bit of a bind for something to wear. I can't fully predict what my four friends here will do, but please don't try to stop us. I'll be out of your hair just as soon as I can."

The man was already quaking. "Oh Jesus don't hurt me," he said, holding up his hands. With a high, reedy whine, he turned to the side, crying, "Jeffrey--!!"

Otto looked up just in time to see another salesperson-- 'Jeffrey', he figured-- duck behind a counter at the far end of the store. Before either of them could react, a lone tentacle shot out and plucked the second clerk from his hiding place, hefting him across the room by the waist and dropping him at Octavius's feet.

"You," Otto commanded the newcomer. "Did you trip an alarm?"

Too frightened by his sudden trip through the air to open his mouth, the man simply nodded.

The doctor sighed, shaking his head. "How soon before someone shows up?"

'Jeffrey' was still catatonic, but the first salesman spoke up in his stead. "Not sure, about... I think, ten minutes? Maybe...?"

Otto's brow furrowed. His eyes darted from side to side, searching the display shelves. "Where do you keep the-- your size..." It took him a moment to remember; he hadn't gone shopping for an outfit without his wife in years. "...the two X Ls?"

He followed the twin pointed fingers to a rack of shirts and coats. His frown grew wider as he pawed through the merchandise. Nothing but winter coats... Damn it, he'd never understand clothes store logic.

He settled on two trenchcoats, holding them to either side of his chest by their hangers. "What do you think?" he called to the clerks. "The green one, or the brown?"

The men only stammered, struck dumb by his casualness.

Take them both, he heard.

Otto blinked at the actuators, mortified. "I can't do that, I only need-- hey, put that back!" he shouted, pointing at the brown houndstooth-print scarf an arm was wrestling off the nearest mannequin.

Why? You need a shirt. It draped the garment over Otto's shoulder. Close enough.

Won't get tangled when you put it on, a second arm offered.

"No, no. I mean, these things aren't mine!" he protested. "I can't go grabbing everything in sight just because I could wear it!"

One chance before people come to stop you. Should take what you can.

And why not? No wife, no job, no fame, all in one day. Life owes you a few!

Otto eyed the tentacles uneasily. "You're talking more," he remarked.

Oh, we learn fast! one actuator said.

Made by a genius. Connected to a genius. No surprise we're smart, too.

He was caught off-guard by the praise. With a smirk, he replied, "Well, I wouldn't say..."

A third cut in before he could finish the thought. Here. Put these on.

Octavius looked down and balked. The tentacles had pilfered a small treasure pile while he was distracted: glossy black boots, sunglasses, leather gloves...

Time's running out. An actuator nudged the boots closer with a blunt-ended tip. You really want to be naked when we're rebuilding?

After a grim pause for thought, Otto gathered the spoils in his arms, coats and all. He headed for the first changing room he saw, swishing its flimsy curtain shut. Noble as it was, the idea of giving his own creations a crash course in ethics before the cops showed up and started shooting at them seemed a tad unrealistic at the moment.

He didn't notice the one tentacle wandering its way back to the sales floor until it was pressing a pair of trousers into his hands. Forgot something, it said.

Otto frowned at it. "Thank you," he said tersely. He let his blanket fall, then yanked off the hospital gown tied at his waist. He had to admit, anything felt better than staying in that damned gown...

The voice from the other side of the curtain was faint, but shrill with panic. "Jeffrey! Jeffrey, you idiot, get back--"

By the sound of him, the second clerk was only a few feet away. "Ev... um-- everything fitting all right, sir?"

Octavius glanced up from his off-kilter hopping, still one leg shy of pulling his pants on. Above him, the actuators had already given up on sliding through the first trenchcoat's armholes, and were now punching their claw-tips into the backs of both coats, wrestling with the fabric like squabbling geese.

"I think we'll be fine," Otto called to the clerk over the sound of shredding leather. The tentacles stretched their points to the ceiling, shrieking in triumph.

"Okay then just checking sir," came Jeffrey's meek reply... followed by the thud of a fainting salesman hitting the floor.

Otto was still grappling the final odds and ends of his outfit into place when he heard the first whoop of a squad car's siren. Turning to the mirror on the wall before him, he spat an unintelligible swear word to his reflection and zipped the brown trenchcoat up the rest of the way.

All set! the actuators said. They lashed the curtain aside with a swipe that left half its rings on the ground with Otto's blanket, then bounded out of the changing room, hurtled over the sales clerk clinging to his fallen co-worker, and bashed through the store's plate-glass front window, showering shards onto the policemen outside. The cops fired wildly at the mass of tentacles hurrying down the street, but no sooner had the shoplifter shown himself, he was gone.

"Didja see that?" one cop cried. "Those legs..."

Another policeman scratched his head. "The papers haven't said anything 'bout Spider-Man usin' a new suit lately, have they?"

The arms erred on the side of caution; nearly ten blocks raced by before they began to slow down. They collapsed within the folds of Octavius's trenchcoats in the blink of an eye, leaving any witnesses more concerned for their eyesight than for their safety.

Peering over his sunglasses, Otto used the mirrored wall of the office building in front of him to check his surroundings. Looked like there was a bank on the other side of the street, not even a block away... "Perfect," he gloated to himself. Perhaps the recent adrenaline rush was influencing his outlook, but the idea of taking things that weren't technically his seemed like child's play, now that he had a taste of what the actuators were capable of. Why, he'd never have to grovel for grant money from corporate-interest know-nothings like that Osborn boy and his ilk ever again!

The tittering noise from one of the tentacles distracted him from his scheming somewhat, but not as much as the brown fedora hat that appeared on his head moments later.

"What the...?" Otto sputtered, jerking his head back in time to catch an actuator's tip sneaking under his coats. "When did you--"

Fooound iiit, the arm said with a child's drawl. One of the upper tentacles swished from side to side, making his trenchcoat seem to be caught by a strong breeze.

Wasn't our idea, another told him. That one's just grabby.

Looks good on you, though, said a third.

It does, it does! cheered the first. It slunk out to grab the hat in its claw again, lifting it from Otto's head and tipping it as a gentleman might to a stranger in old films.

"Give me that," Octavius grumbled, and snatched the fedora away. The fact that one of his arms was fast becoming a kleptomaniac troubled him less than how they were each apparently forming a distinct personality. He wondered if he should try naming the actuators while he could still choose for them, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. No sense in encouraging them, he thought.

-----

The less said about the bank robbery that followed-- specifically, the part where Otto was outfoxed by his own old lady hostage-- the better. 

A lucky blow, that's all it was, the arms consoled him. At least we've got the money.

-----

With the fundraising taken care of, next came the matter of finding materials to build a fully functional fusion reaction chamber without raising anyone's suspicions... none that might get an army of New York's Finest sent to his new lair before he could switch it on, at least. Compared to, say, looting a bank, this was a simple enough task, in theory. Of the lab technicians who worked with Dr. Octavius in the past, there were at least a few who weren't at his demonstration to see it fail. 

Nobody that afternoon thought it odd to see a man in a trenchcoat and hat feverishly searching through a public phone booth's copy of the White Pages, even if his coat appeared to be squirming from the inside and was clicking like a nest of angry bicycle chains. This was New York City, after all. 

Otto found the second one he tracked down at her home. One look at his haunted, desperate eyes, and she was only happy to place a rush order for him in her name. She didn't even ask why he was toting around a few thousand in cash. 

As for the first... he'd been watching the news. The years of camaraderie they spent in the labs apparently wasn't enough to win the man over to the doctor's side, but the actuator arms ensured he wouldn't be telling the authorities...

-----

"Why did you do that?!" cried Otto. He stumbled against the door frame, eyes glued to the shreds of meat, bone, and denim that had been his lab assistant only moments ago, and struggled to hold in his vomit. "I was going to give him money if he'd keep quiet! We've got two whole bags of it!"

Can't trust him, one arm calmly replied. You know what happened last time. They sent for the humans with guns without thinking twice.

We have to protect you, said another, curling itself around his leg.

"I don't want that kind of protection! And if you try that again, I swear I-- I'll..."

The tentacles arched high over Otto's head like cobras rearing to strike. You'll do what? they asked, clacking open claws still slippery with blood.

"I'll..." he said again, and fell silent. Slowly, he raised one hand and brought it to rest over his face, breathing in and out in deep wheezes. He'd never felt so unbearably small in his life. 

After a while spent standing there, Octavius lurched into motion at last. He trudged out of his dead colleague's house, closing the door behind him. "Just don't!"

Humans are very strange, he heard one arm remark.

He didn't answer them. A wooden sign had caught his eye, almost lost in the jungle of potted plants that lined either side of the front walkway steps. Welcome to the Michaelson's, it announced in bright green letters, with four names written in a child's scrawl around it. If he had to hazard a guess, Otto doubted the corpse inside was 'Sarah', but he couldn't for the life of him pick out his ex-co-worker's name from the rest of the bunch. Another person's dead because of me, he thought, and I can't even remember his name... 

That did it. He grabbed the nearest railing and slumped over the side, his breath coming in ragged pants.

The actuators seemed much more concerned by the sign itself. We missed three of them, one clicked, and snapped its camera lens shut.

We need to go, another declared. It tapped its tip insistently against the doctor's shoulder. The others could show up at any time!

Otto shook his head. "Not now... not--" He choked out a miserable, wet-sounding hiccup. "Gonna be sick...!"

You don't have to stand there to be sick, was their reply.

And, as it turned out, they were right.

While the arms continued bounding headlong towards the next address on Otto's list, he heard one ask, Why should it concern you whether strangers are alive or dead? 

We're doing this so Rosie won't have died in vain, right? added another. Isn't she more important to you than a stranger?

"Of course," Otto said, shakily wiping a coatsleeve over his mouth.

Well, wouldn't SHE want you to be happy? To reach your dream?

If it means Rosie'd be happy, what do a few strangers matter?

Doubt you've wiped out any cancer-curers, anyhow, one remarked. They're not smart like YOU are.

We aren't TRYING to harm anyone, you know. It's quite simple: if people didn't keep getting in the way, we wouldn't have to keep getting rid of them.

Can't make an omelette without breaking some heads!

...Lord help him, their arguments were starting to make sense.

-----

The first delivery crates showed up that same day at around dusk; from that point on, Otto had no concept of time. 

Ironically enough, in his quest to keep his wife's memory alive, the workaholic streak she had always hated took hold of Otto like never before. He plowed on without regard for food or sleep. There was only the project-- hammering, soldering, jotting last-minute notes onto the blueprints the actuators had redrawn perfectly from their databanks... 

It was only after his tentacles resorted to nagging that he finally took a break, trudging to the nearest fast-food joint the arms' cameras could find. Though it would be his first meal in well over a day, he sulked the whole way there. After all, would Einstein have abandoned his Theory of Relativity just to heed the call of a Big Mac Attack?

"Now listen, all of you," he cautioned, pausing in front of the glass entry doors. "I'm paying for this food. PAYING. I don't want any of you sneaking out and swiping anything. We have some change left over from the supplies, and given where the money came from, we don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have. Got it?"

All four arms hunched themselves doubly small under his coat. Got it, he heard in a chorus.

And, much to his surprise, the actuators kept their word. They stayed coiled and silent the entire time, even when he spied the headline on the courtesy copies of the Bugle-- 

...and suddenly, he was struck by the urge to sit and catch up on the news.

"Doc Ock?!" Otto muttered again. He tore into his egg and bacon biscuit like it had just insulted his mother. No matter how many times his eyes went over it, the nickname touted in the articles refused to sound any less stupid. "Of all the ignorant, ridiculous...!"

An elderly man in glasses two tables down spoke up, seeing the paper Otto was busy fuming at. "Sounds like a real freak show out there lately, doesn't it? Heard he 'n that Spider-Man guy robbed a bank yesterday." He twitched a thumb through his mustache, adding, "Not sure I believe that. I don't know about this new fella, but Spider-Man doesn't strike me as a shady kind of character, y'know?"

Something about the glare the trenchcoated stranger gave him made the man feel it was a good idea to change subjects, and quick. "You, ah... been workin' the night shift, there?" he asked, pointing at the gigantic cup of coffee on Otto's tray.

The doctor finished his biscuit, then picked up the coffee, sipping it defensively. "Something like that," he answered from behind his cup.

"Ahh, I remember those days," said the old man, smiling at the common ground he had uncovered. "Late shifts. Now that's when the crazies come out to play, ain't that the truth. Boy, could I tell you some stories..."

Otto shifted in his seat and ate his last biscuit in silence, taking longer and deeper sips from his coffee as the man kept lobbing bits of conversation his way.

He'd never been so relieved to feel bladder pangs in his life. 

"I have to go," Otto said, picking up his tray. He left the paper where it was, face down.

He made it to the men's room toilet stall without incident, but he had barely unfastened his pants before his privacy was invaded a second time. "I told you to stay inside!" he hissed to the actuator peeking out from his trenchcoat, and kicked at it, shuffling his trousers back up.

You said, don't swipe anything, it replied innocently. Its tip swished around, taking in the handicapped-sized surroundings. Not swiping anything.

"That's not what I meant! Listen, just--" Otto bit his lower lip. "Not here. Give me a few minutes!" 

He hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other, squinting. His whole body ached from the waist down, but the tentacle was staying put. "...Can't go if someone's watching," he admitted under his breath.

But we're connected!

A second tentacle slinked into the dim florescent light. Trouble? it asked.

Another customer wandered in, just in time to hear an agitated voice echo from the far stall: "No! No, and I don't care if you're a robot or a Siamese twin-- I told you to stay inside, and if you keep poking out and bothering me, we're going to be in here an awful long time!"

After a wary pause, the man turned and left, figuring he could wait a while longer.

-----

Perhaps it was the fault of the grease he'd bolted down, or maybe all the cheap coffee. Either way, as he walked out of the restaurant, Otto was struck by a craving he hadn't felt since he was fresh out of graduate school, one so strong that his mouth watered at the very thought.

He could really go for a cigarette right now.

Then get some, the arms told him. The heavier bottom tentacles rooted their claws to the pavement, halting Otto in mid-step.

Given the mess of block-letter ads tacked on the newsstand to his right, it took a moment for the CIGARS / CIGARETTES sign to register, but as Otto stared at the booth, an impish boy's smile curled across his face. He knew there weren't enough coins in his pocket for even a low-grade pack of cigs, and yet... honestly, who could stop him? He stepped closer, taking stock of the shopkeeper's wares, then the keeper herself, a gum-chomping girl in a kerchief cap and overalls. She seemed much more interested in the magazine spread over her knees than in the trenchcoated man sneaking around her booth.

When she finally spoke up, Otto flinched. "You lookin' for something?" she asked, never raising her eyes from the magazine.

"Oh. I, um," he replied, blindsided by the attention. "Cigarettes?"

The girl flicked to the next page. A gum-bubble crackled between her jaws like a tiny pink gunshot. "What kind?"

"Actually..." Why not go all out? he thought. "D'you have any good cigars? Really top-notch ones?"

"Back here with the smokes, yeah. How many you want?"

Otto gave the shopkeeper a flickering, manic grin. "How many do you have?"

"What, y'want the box of 'em?" She looked up for the first time, leaning to rummage behind the counter. "'Kay, but I gotta see some ID before I can..."

The actuators' screeches were brief, but frantic. Leave! Now!

The girl stopped chewing. Her eyes narrowed. "Hey, where the hell...?"

GO!

Sounding every bit as confused as the shopkeeper herself, Otto blurted a quick "Well, never mind," and hurried off down the street. "What did you do?" he asked his coat.

Trust us, was all the arms said.

Octavius felt around inside his pockets as he walked. The edges of a cardboard cigar box came as no surprise, but as he continued to search... a matchbook, bottle of aspirin... cheddar crackers, another matchbook, some dubious-looking caffeine capsules, three snack-sized packages of Oreos... He stopped partway through the second coat, feeling almost dizzy. "I'm impressed, but-- how?"

We're good helpers! one tentacle beamed.

"Yes, you are," he said, but kept the next thought-- maybe too good-- to himself.

-----

Now that his baser needs were sated, Otto was free to bury himself in his work-- which he did, happily, and to the exclusion of all else. There was a rhythm to the construction, calming in its own right; hypnotic, really, as stencils on paper began coming to life in forms he could touch, could piece together... the border edges to a magnificent puzzle, one whose solution would change the world. He was so very, very close.

He was dimly aware of the sky beyond the pier going dark, then light, and dark again, but never bothered to count how many times either shift occurred. Edison didn't waste time sleeping the night before he invented the light bulb, did he? 

Not that Edison had to deal with some of the more worrisome parts of this project, Octavius admitted. He scratched his brow, gnawing absently around his fifth stogie in a row, and tapped a pincushion-cloud of dots onto a draft sketch with the end of his pencil.

You seem troubled.

Otto didn't look up; he could hear the actuator clicking from over his shoulder. He gestured to the drawing, his pencil wobbling as he pointed. "I was just thinking. About the plan, I mean. It-- all of it, the whole thing. It doesn't add up."

Another tentacle joined the first. What do you mean? they asked.

"All this energy... Getting more tritium shouldn't be hard, but we're almost doubling the size of the containment field. How are we supposed to harness the watts it'll give off once the reaction starts?"

The arms were silent. They turned to each other, clicking back and forth.

The doctor kept mumbling to himself. "We don't have a team to monitor the output levels this time. If there's nowhere for the electricity to go, it won't be any different than before. It'll keep getting bigger and bigger until it reaches critical mass and explodes-- plus, we'd be right there in the middle of the blast when it does!" He gripped the pencil in his fist, shaking his head at the blueprint. "What are we supposed to do when--"

You're not making sense.

"I am too making sense! The way you've got it laid out right now, this 'rebuilding' idea is what doesn't--"

Slowly, one by one, the actuators began to circle around him. 

This is what we were created for. You MADE us to do this.

You're looking very tired, you know.

Perhaps you should rest. A few hours, and you'll be right as rain.

Otto's face darkened in a sour frown. "What? I hate it when people say that, 'right as rain!' Where did-- hey! Knock it-- hey give me that!" He tried grabbing back his pencil, but the arms had already carried it out of his reach.

His only reply came as the actuators congratulated themselves. 

An excellent idea. No wonder we've lost coherency.

It can't be healthy for humans to go without sleep for this long. 

"What are you talking about?" he growled.

Should we...? 

Yes, it was most successful the last time we tried it. Fell asleep in a matter of minutes. 

All in agreement? 

Of course.

His muscles were as good as paralyzed. All Otto could do was sit there and suck nervous puffs from his cigar, feeling as though the constant curtain of smoke was the only thing that might keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. When he saw one tentacle snap open and descend towards him like a toy in a nightmarish prize-catch game, he realized the cigar had dropped clear away from his lips. His body tensed, preparing for the worst...

He honestly didn't expect them to go for his privates.

...Now that he considered it, Otto couldn't tell which idea sounded more awful.

"Get off me!" Otto demanded, straining with both arms to shove away the one burrowing itself closest. "You wouldn't dare--!"

The actuators didn't budge. You need to rest, said one. Otherwise, we'll have to stop, and nothing will get done.

A second arm went for the goggles he'd pushed up on his forehead, nipping and tossing them to the floor with its pincers. To be frank, you're our battery for the foreseeable future, and you've been running on 'empty' for a while now.

If you're asleep, we can go on building without you, yet another piped up. 

We know this makes you sleep...

He wasn't strong enough to fight them off. He should know; he'd slaved over their designs to make sure they could heft solid steel beams as easily as they handled radioactive molecules. All he could do was pray they might listen to reason... "Wait! Just wait a minute, all right? I mean it, I feel fine! And we don't have much time, we-- "

Two tentacles grabbed either side of Otto's head with open claws. A whimper slid from deep in his throat as they began sliding shut, squeezing tight around his skull.

We don't need you to fall ASLEEP, you know. We just can't have you CONSCIOUS for a while.

A third actuator slithered around his pantleg, its blunt tip nuzzling the inside of his thighs like some gargantuan sperm trying to hit home. We don't want to harm you if we don't have to. We'd prefer you to be happy before you rest.

He watched in horror as the fourth crept alongside it, claw-tips at the ready and glinting in the moonlight... slicing perfect lines down the seams of his brand new pants. It peeled the fabric out from under him, then flung the strips aside, leaving him half-naked and squirming in his trenchcoat.

"No!" he ordered them. "Stop it! Let go of me, right now!"

Don't worry, one assured him. We can always get you more clothes.

"No," he said again, fully pleading this time. Realizing, before it even left his mouth, that the word no longer held any use for him. "It's not the clothes, it's-- my wife's not even in the ground yet! Please, this is... it's just all wrong!"

Otto felt the deathgrip on his head release. As he drew in a shaky, grateful gasp, one of the arms-- he was too relieved to care which one it was-- came to a stop inches from his face, pivoting its own 'head' slightly to the side. How can it be wrong? It makes you happy.

With a single tug, the coat covering his chest ripped wide open. His scarf was next; their talons shredded it away like so much tissue paper. The arm caressing his legs snapped apart, switching its tiny detail-work extensions into place. Rosie is gone now, it hummed, nipping a delicate trail nearer and nearer to his crotch. But you're here, and we're here. It only makes sense to work with what you have.

Otto closed his eyes, trying to ignore the first sparks burrowing through his gut at the touch. "You don't understand any of this. It's not about building a clean power source, so we can help the world, or-- or even wanting me to be 'happy', to you, is it? No, you just need me for my brain! So you can all keep working," he muttered to them through gritted teeth. "Rosie did this because she loved m--" 

He jerked involuntarily, his voice choking off there, as the manipulators reached the ticklish spot to the left of his balls. The one his wife used to go for to cheer him up after those long nights spent grading papers... For once, it didn't make Otto feel like laughing. Especially not when the move knocked away what flimsy sense of balance he could claim against the arms' constant gliding... He toppled back-first onto his shipping-crate seat, landing with all the dignity and grace of a medicated box turtle.

Their voices were as calm as they always were. Somehow, it made being seduced by his own robots seem even creepier to Otto than it already was.

We KNOW you. Not like Rosie.

We know ALL the things you like to feel.

The doctor cried out, a helpless, crumpling moan; the arms were closing in on him. Their nubs snaked over his bare chest, giving his nipples a test flick-- once, twice-- before seizing them both in their claws and twisting...

See?

He'd lost. Sweet mercy, he could feel his prick jerking to life like an unleashed attack dog at those first swipes alone. "Can't... help it, they've always been... sensitive," he managed to gasp through the onslaught of yanking and plucking and oh god one of them just started nibbling the tip of his cock... "Couldn't tell Rosie, she'd-- she would've thought it was weird...!"

Then maybe you're just weird, one replied matter-of-factly. As though it was obvious to everyone but him.

"Aah!!" he bellowed back, not sure what he was even trying to get across to them. He grabbed the air around their claws' pinwheel-squared points, fingers trying to find any hold on the sleek metal ropes-- and gave up, his endorphin-crazed brain settling for slapping at them and yelling until he could think of the right words. "Ahh! AAAAHH!!"

Their voices chittered to him the whole time, filling in the silence between his grunts and screams like a twisted Greek chorus. 

So happy. 

One tentacle whisked a spastic spiral pattern around the ridge of his cockhead. It smeared a glossy web into place with its claw tips, darting them through the juice dribbling out in sticky beads from his slit. 

Still think this is wrong? 

The others fumbled and wriggled against his chest like a litter of blind, suckling puppies.

It certainly looks like you're enjoying it.

They gnawed his nipples mercilessly, teasing the swollen red buds with nubs and pincers alike. Dark droplets of blood welled from the fresher bites, but the arms soldiered on, noting only the dopamine and adrenaline spikes, the frequency of tensing muscles, the way the human's head tossed back and went rigid in approaching release...

So, SO happy!

The part of Dr. Octavius's mind hell-bent on surviving this insanity simply by outlasting it noted with grim clarity, By god, if they take this any further, it'll be like that night back in college all over again.

All four arms paused as one. They clacked and whirred amongst themselves for a moment, leaving Otto panting for breath and terribly confused. 

It occurred to him that the machines' A.I. system still shared a direct neural link to his brain only after two of the tentacles spun away to grab his ankles-- guiding his legs upwards and apart, spread-eagling him there on the crate... 

"Sick!" he shouted at them, and thrashed like a trapped animal, already red-faced and sweating cold against his trenchcoat. "Don't! You're all SICK!!"

The coils loosened around his feet. Not enough to let him escape, but they weren't cutting off his circulation anymore. Please try to relax, he heard. We won't attempt anything that might cause you serious harm.

You didn't enjoy being entered anally, anyhow.

Just want to make you feel happy...

You enjoyed what happened before that very much, didn't you?

Otto paled. He stammered around his words before he was able to answer. "No, of course not! I--"

The tentacles squeezed tighter, then relaxed at the doctor's pained cry. Why do you feel the need to lie?

One actuator looped over to hover above his head, staring him down. We CAN tell.

So what if it makes you weird?Another nuzzled into the crook of his left arm like a cat. We won't think any differently of you.

"It's not that simple!" he protested, and sighed, sweeping sweaty hair away from his eyes with hands that hadn't stopped trembling. "Yes. It felt good. But you've got to understand, I was very, very drunk at the time! That, and I'd just started dating Rosie... I never told her about it. I-I never told anyone." 

His hands moved to cover his face. Otto's old roommate warned him that particular guest was the freaky type, and he went and followed the guy into a spare bedroom anyhow. He'd been on his back, with everything below his belt already kicked to the floor, clutching fist-sized dimples into the bedsheets and begging, "keep going," without making the command any clearer than that... Does it count as getting raped if I was stupid enough to not see it coming a mile away? he wondered.

A familiar hum jostled him from his own thoughts. The penetration that followed aside... If your response to the initial method of arousal he used was any indication, removing hair from your pubic region should be enough to make you ejaculate, yes?

Otto frowned, unconvinced. "That was years ago. How do you figure it'll even work?"

You're very close, one remarked, butting its tip gently against the evidence in an unmistakable mimic of a kiss.

Once you fall asleep, we'll stop bothering you.

Unless you want us to keep trying other methods...

"Nn..." said Otto, shaking his head. His hands sagged to rest on the crate. It felt like too much work to fight them anymore. "Fine. Do it. Just get it over with."

They won't hurt me, he assured himself-- and shivered, as their pincers grazed the base of his still-eager erection. They felt like dozens of tiny, wandering teeth, pausing here and there on their way down to give experimental tugs on the coarse, reddish-brown curls. They said they won't hurt me. Not any more than I know it's going to hurt. When the tentacles nudged his legs higher in the air, he drew in a deep breath and held it, waiting for those first stings...

The detail-claws all yanked their tufts at once, clearing a fat, hairless stripe on his skin from sack to sphincter. Not ready! NOT-- was all that made it through Otto's mind before he seizured in place, screaming his throat raw.

The actuators darted over him anxiously. Too much? asked one. 

Yes, most definitely. Go easier next time.

"N-next...?" Otto managed, blinking away the beginnings of two hot tears. The second he felt their claw-points grab the few hairs still rooted to his plucked-red groin, his whole body cringed. "Please. NO. No no no..."

There was a pause. You're not enjoying this? he heard through the pain haze. He looked up to see a tentacle hovering over him, its tip tilted like a curious parakeet's head.

We removed as many hairs as we could, given surface area constraints, one said. We can try for more, if it helps.

"No. Not about-- too much. Hurts too much," he wheezed.

Oh. The way the tentacle above him drooped at the news might have gotten a chuckle from Otto, if the circumstances were different. And didn't involve his ass.

The arms folded their gripper-nubs shut, seeing how the pain had made their human's erection shrivel beyond any hope of a quick salvage. Well, what about the scenario made you ejaculate all the other times you thought of it? one asked, settling itself upon his adequately ample stomach.

It doesn't require being in a hotel room, does it? mused another. That could get tricky.

The doctor's face felt like it was burning, and not simply from the sweat beading down his brow. "You... know about... No, of course you do," he murmured. All right, so they know I jerked off to the thought of having my shorthairs ripped out by some stranger I never saw again-- what, half the times I had an overnight conference Rosie wasn't along for...? Okay. No sense getting ashamed. Shame only means this'll go on longer. 

He shook his head at the rafters above, trying to remember. "I can't even explain why it... When it happened, he was all over me at first. And the way he was grinning the whole time, like he knew exactly what would work before he tried it... I didn't have a clue what he was doing, but it didn't seem to matter. I wasn't me, not this genius everyone thought of me as, to him. I was just some nameless guy, and he was going to drag me through something that didn't make any sense-- until I'd figure out he was right, that it felt amazing. Didn't matter how much hair I ever imagined him pulling off, if I think of it..."

But didn't he do what you didn't want him to do to you, after that? And you still think of him when you're...? The actuator near his head drooped again. I don't get it.

No, it's very interesting, said the one resting on his belt. Is it the loss of a sense of self that arouses you, or the feeling of not having control over the situation?

"I don't know," he sighed. "The whole thing was stupid. Both of us were horny and sweaty, there were a lot of limbs grinding around, I was too drunk to see straight..." He flopped his arms wearily. "Look. All I know right now is, the guy was an asshole, my backside hurts like hell, I haven't slept in forever, and I honestly don't want to think about that night at the party anymore." 

He tipped his head down to sneer at the tentacles clustered around his crotch, adding, "And you still need me to come." He shrugged, then closed his eyes. "Do what you tried before. Or whatever you think might work. I don't give a damn. I don't care."

There was nothing but a stretching silence at first.

"Well?" Octavius prodded.

Thinking, hummed the actuator curled on his stomach. It snapped open its tip, easing upwards to give his right nipple another tweak. It ached, but not in the twitching-prickly-agony way Otto's posterior was sore from. More of a sharp, familiar throb. "Mm. Better," he said, his eyes still closed.

While the first arm continued plucking, he felt another run its tapered snout up the shaft of his cock, pausing as tiny servos rolled its gripper-tools into place. It returned to prod at his scrotum-- ghosting along the tender flesh like moth's feelers over a dangling, dark pink light bulb, then pressing into the seam of skin down the middle.

Otto's back arched against the crate, scuffing the wood with his belt. "B-better... much better!"

Shh. There's no need for you to tell us, the tentacle nipping his chest assured him. We'll know.

The doctor's face fell. He knew they knew. That wasn't why he kept talking. The thought of having his sexual fantasies granted had jolted a memory to mind... Even now, through the tentacles' own brand of massage, he could hear Rosie's voice, see her pointing in half-amused disgust at the one porno flick he'd ever talked her into watching: Listen to that. Just cussing and moaning... They don't even sound human!

She snuggled against him, then, turning away from the whips and studded leather jangling back and forth across their bedroom TV screen. I can't see how anyone could like hurting someone they care about, she said, and looked up at him. I mean, you're not into this, are you?

Back in the real world, a third actuator dashed its point down his chest like a cracking metal whip, right where the mistress from the movie had struck her chained-up manslave. Otto whimpered; that surge of heat flooding out from deep in the pit of his belly meant only one thing. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, anything at all...

The second arm buried its nubby points into his ballsack.

Nothing. No words came. Only a hoarse-throated "uhh--" from lips frozen in a grimace, as thin, runny jism-strings spewed out from his cock, shuddering sticky ropes onto his belt, his chest... catching the edge of one tentacle that didn't dodge in time... until he could close his mouth again.

His limbs sank into the actuators' waiting grasp. He'd never noticed how much like chains those silvery-scarred arms looked, until now. Damn it all but he was exhausted.

Don't fall asleep, you idiot! That's what they WANT! he screamed to himself. However, Octavius' mental defenses had already been wrestled down to the strength of lukewarm gravy. When he felt something cold and wet sliming against his skin, the best counterattack he could think of was to toss his hands askew and beg, "Please no..."

It didn't stop. Still cold, still wet-- what were they doing? Otto forced his eyes open, straining to make them focus. He watched as three claws dragged small houndstooth-patterned scraps from his scarf along his chest. The fourth tentacle joined them a moment later, its scarf-rag dripping with water from the cove... scrubbing the stains off the metal belt. Dabbing them over his bloody nipples.

Cleaning. They were cleaning him.

"Thank you," he whispered. He was surprised by how genuinely he meant it. 

When they were finished, the arms hoisted Otto upright on the crate, seated just as he was before the whole ordeal began. (Was it really only a few minutes ago?) He crossed his arms into a makeshift pillow for the drafting table, half-listening to the tentacles' clicks and whirrs as he settled his head to rest.

Well, it only made sense.

We considered direct prostate stimulation via anal penetration at first, but the possible damage to the area in doing so made it far too risky to attempt.

Otto's eyes snapped open.

Yes, it could set back our construction efforts for days if anything went wrong.

Especially if there was a struggle involved...

The doctor gaped at them. "You... you things are monsters!" he finally managed, but he was too drained to express his loathing any better than that.

As his eyelids drooped shut, escorting him into sweet, merciful unconsciousness, Octavius heard the actuators hum their reply.

Yes, well... You're the one who made us.

We're all connected to YOU, remember. 

Doesn't that mean you're a monster, too?

-----

...Oh. You're awake already.

Otto leaned away from the table, frowning at the smear of warm drool matted across his arms. "Hn," he replied.

One actuator hummed to itself, processing the sound. How long were you out? Not long.

Hardly three hours, as a matter of fact, said another. We weren't expecting you to wake up for quite some time yet.

He was about to answer, but when his fingers finished rubbing and lifted from bleary eyes, the only thing Otto could think to do was stare. The spires for the magnetic field generator lay where they had been completed, placed on their sides like a row of snapped-off spider legs. The tentacles were still busy-- three of them welding, with another dragging a platform tile into place.

One of the last tiles.

They were almost done.

He was still trying to blink the fog from his brain when a tentacle telescoped itself over to him. It turns out cubits were more efficient to use for a hexagon pattern than decimeters, after all. Sorry you did all that work for nothing.

"Oh," he said. "Wait, wha... how big is a cubit?"

You don't need to worry about that, the arm assured him. It ruffled its snout through Otto's hair in such an intimate way that it should have disturbed him. He knew it should've... but when the waking world's boundaries looked as fuzzy as they did right now, the doctor couldn't recall why it should. The actuator's touch felt gentle. Comforting, even.

The arm seemed to sense this. It kept nuzzling, urging him, You should get some more rest.

We got way more done once he conked out, a tentacle clicked from around the blowtorch in its claw.

We hoped you wouldn't mind, the first arm added quickly, but we did some digging while you were asleep, in case you needed to rest again. We wanted to make sure there was a pleasurable experience we could duplicate for you. It paused, then asked, Do you remember your thirtieth birthday?

The usual images he'd come to associate with the event came to mind first. A dinner party. A sky full of stars. Spending the night underneath a tree... As Octavius mulled it over, more details flickered into place, twining off like leaves from a vine. His friends and Rosie's both, leaping out from behind the apartment furniture. Their grins melting to stark, wide-eyed panic, scampering to help him up from the floor, where the surprise had sent him tumbling. Laughter, spreading from himself to the whole room.

And Rosie. That's right, once the guests had all gone home, she led him to their car. Said her present was a surprise, too...

The actuator finished the thought for him. The field she drove you to. The blankets were already laid out on the grass, weren't they?

"Yeah," he drawled. Despite the sadness in his eyes, a smile spread across his face. "She was so beautiful."

Especially when she started unbuttoning your shirt.

"And as soon as my clothes were off, she started on hers," Otto said dreamily. "She moved the blankets... put them under a tree that was right there, told me the view'd be better. She didn't know there would be so many stars out that night." He grinned. "Like I cared about the stars, at that point. She never mentioned wanting to try it outside before, much less with her on top!"

Lean back, the arm said.

"Hm?"

Trust us. Lean back.

Slowly, he did so... and heard a quiet clacking sound, as his belt tapped the two actuators waiting behind him. One braced him upright from below, while the other curled itself carefully along his still-tender spine, spreading its claw-points above him like leaf fronds. Right where the tree would have been when he and Rosie...

"Oh," Otto said. He let out a faint, humorless chuckle as he gazed up at the 'branch.' "I get it. I see what you're up to." Shaking his head, he asked, "Which one of you is supposed to be my wife?"

Don't blame us, the bottom arm said. It was THAT one's idea.

The tentacle running its tip through his hair darted away, then slunk back to Otto's eye level. The cheeps and twitters it made sounded almost bashful. It would be an honor to be your Rosie. If you don't mind. There was no upward inflection in its humming, but there was no doubt the arm's next word was meant as a question: Please.

Octavius stared at the featureless robotic point hovering before him. He blinked at it drowsily.

"You things really are heartless," he said at last, and reached for it, guiding the actuator as it glided into his arms. He held it close to his chest, fogging the metal where the heat of his breath hit. He could swear he felt the arm shiver in response, but decided he didn't want to think about that, either. "Just get me away from here," he told it, and closed his eyes.

The tentacle wiggled, extending its coils a few extra feet... plenty of room to loop between Otto's legs and stay straddled there. Okay, it began, try to concentrate on how you felt that night. There was a light breeze. The ground was cool. It pressed itself tight against his body, then relaxed. And again, flexing and easing away, like a gentle tide. But neither of you were cold.

"Mm," said Otto, nodding. "No, not at all."

She was so excited, you barely needed to thrust at all when you slid in. So warm and slick inside, the sweat was shaking off from both of you when you moved.

The arm noted the jump in its human's pulse. Its shoves grew more arrhythmic, trying to stoke the effect. Your hands on her hips. Bucking in and away. In and away... and then she started talking to you.

The words were on his lips, just as the actuator provided an echo. "Love you so much, Otto."

In and away.

"So much."

A slow breath passed through Otto's teeth; he could feel his penis begin to sluggishly creep upwards. Though the metallic ribbing sliding along his erection refused to take on his body heat, he locked his legs tighter around the arm. For one fleeting moment, the smell of dead fish and dock water had become that unmistakable spice scent she seemed to carry around with her wherever she went, mixed with the tang of hot, fresh sweat. He could picture her face, contorted and gorgeous, panting into his mouth as they kissed-- see her long, amber-honey-gold hair draped over her shoulders, spilling down curves that looked even more milky-pale in the dark, shaking in time with every thrust.

Rosie gasped. I think... I'm...

Back in the real world, a lone actuator spoke up. This is taking too long, it complained. 

The tentacle shepherding Octavius's memories ignored the comment, whispering instead, Otto, I'm THERE, keep going, so close--

"Rosie," he moaned, and pistoned his hips, grinding desperately against the bulk rippling between his legs. With dots of froth-foam speckling his lips, Otto said her name again, his voice straining away...

...and the fourth tentacle flicked out from the shadows, swatting a lightning-thin line across the doctor's plump pink asscheeks. 

The actuator froze, still sandwiched in with Otto's groin. That wasn't supposed to happen! it screeched.

We know THIS works, said the newcomer. Why waste time?

Otto heard their bickering only as a faint chittering sound, drowned out by the surge of blood churning through his system. That wasn't Rosie, his logical side reminded itself nervously. His wife would no sooner spank him than a family pet would start shooting lasers from its eyes. He knew it wasn't Rosie. He knew. And yet...

"S-shit," he spat, and grabbed the tentacle in his arms with a strangler's grip. His cock was pounding so hard, it was making him dizzy. The words left his throat in a delirious slur: "Please, Rosie... god please do that again...!"

The two actuators quirked their cameras towards each other, but their programming held little comprehension of 'doubt.' The ringleader arm continued rocking methodically against the doctor's genitalia, precisely as requested. The newcomer reared back, scanning for a proper patch of skin... and down it came again, lashing its tweezer-claws in a swift, clean arc across his thigh.

Octavius's whole body shuddered at the blow-- first in shock, then again in pleasure. His eyes pinched shut even tighter, sending tears trickling down his lips and chin like tiny ribbons. In his mind's eye, Rosie was still on top of him, but her features flickered and reappeared at a frenzied nonsense pace, trying to keep up with the battle between Dick and Brain. First a catlike smirk, sneering down at her prey. Scratching, digging in deep... then, suddenly, the same grimace she gave his old porno tape. They don't even sound human! Now, clawing. Biting. Everything he wished she could do to him just once and knew she never would. And now, glaring at him. Disgusted. Betrayed.

Another sting from the lash. Otto's hips moved almost mechanically, lunging and kicking and humping the tentacle ridges between sobs for all he was worth. As he blubbered his wife's name again and again, her memory howled at him, How could you, Otto. How could you.

Please, he thought. Please, Rosie, don't let me come from this.

It was too late. He could already sense that telltale twinge, hear his breath catch and choke away as the hot drops spilled out onto the not his wife tentacle he was having sex with, that-- oh god, that he'd just fucked, and he was loving it...

...and he was crying. Big, snotty, gut-wracking, no-grown-man-should-be-making-this-noise wails. He let his head fall onto the actuator, still hugging it tight. He hadn't cried in years-- couldn't remember the last time he'd ever cried.

Uh oh, the frond above him whispered, tipping its point to the other arms. Humans don't break, do they?

The next thing Otto knew, the two tentacles propping him upright were gently gliding forward, bringing him back to the table to rest his head. There, there, he heard one say. Don't worry. You should be falling asleep any minute now. 

Sure enough, Otto's tears soon stopped. To his surprise, he no longer felt sad, or angry, or even guilty about what he had just done.

He didn't feel much of anything, anymore...

-----

Is he up yet?

There. Good.

The doctor opened his eyes with a snort. He wasn't expecting all four of the actuators to be right there, crowding their tips up close to his face, but the part of Otto's psyche that might have felt unease at the sight had given up some time ago. "What now," he asked, his voice coma-calm.

All done! All done! cheered one arm.

Yes, and we need your help, said another, ignoring the first as it jiggled about merrily in midair. The components are assembled. We just have to connect the larger parts into place, and we're going to need all the pushing strength we can get.

Otto nodded. "And then what?"

Then we go find more tritium.

His expression remained blank. "And after that. What then?"

We come back here and start the fusion reaction process, of course, a third replied.

"And then...?"

Don't know, it said. That's as far as our instructions go.

The memory of the explosion replayed itself in his head, over and over. Bright lights, and then...

"All right," said Otto. His legs were still jittery from his recent workout, but he got to his feet without pause. He didn't ask how the pair of black slacks folded and waiting for him on the ground nearby had gotten there-- or why his trenchcoats were zipped up to his neck, for that matter. The one thing left that mattered in Dr. Octavius's world was getting that tritium.

As he slipped his new pants on, he heard a tired, faraway-sounding voice ambling through his mind. It was only after noting how it didn't seem to be coming from the actuators that Otto was able to recognize it as his own. People will die if you start up this machine, it reminded him. A lot of people.

Compared to that thought, the tentacles' humming was like a monotone lullaby. No, you built it to SAVE people. If mankind can't appreciate the gift you're giving the world, well, you can't help that.

It's your dream, the arms reassured him. The phrase became their rallying cry, urging Otto on as he helped them shove the containment field spires into formation. A cold steel archway soon towered over them from all sides, gleaming like Death's own doorway. One more piece left to move. Your dream's almost complete!

"My dream," he repeated. He tipped his head back, squinting at the bits of sky and rotting roof still visible through the metal slats... then said it again, as though the words might jog his memory. "My dream..."

He knew that building this machine was a lifelong dream of his, but as for why it was so important... the answer wasn't coming. Every last thought in Otto's brain seemed snarled together with the rest. The whole world felt blurred at the edges, swirling--

He heard a sudden clatter, and looked down at the cigar box he'd knocked to the floorboards. The few stogies to have escaped the wrath of his earlier construction binge lay scattered at Octavius's feet. Otto groaned at them helplessly, scrubbing both hands over his eyes. Just want to go back to sleep, he thought. Or said out loud. He couldn't tell anymore. Sleep, and never wake up, ever again.

You can, after we finish the machine and start the reaction, said the arms. Just one more part to move. Then we find that Osborn boy and get him to give us more tritium. Then you can turn on your dream, and you'll be free to sleep for as long as you want!

A small smile came to Otto's face. 

With the determination of a true sleepwalker, he trundled over to the final spire. They're right, he thought. Just one more.

One more little chore, and this nightmare could finally be over.

-fin-