Night fell, and a fine drizzle began to drift from the sky. Bright lights gradually illuminated every street and alley in New York. The blonde girl raced across building after building, scaling walls and leaping rooftops with swift agility.
She crossed nearly half of New York City on foot before arriving outside a gloomy factory. Light as a monkey, she vaulted over the three-meter iron fence and landed in a crouch within the pitch-black yard.
Gwen took a deep breath, forcing down the unease in her heart as she cautiously stepped forward.
There was not a single source of light in the vast factory. Silent darkness shrouded everything, wrapping the towering workshops and buildings into jagged silhouettes. A chilly wind slipped through the cracks in the doors, its coldness sending a shiver down her spine.
Gwen was beginning to feel like retreating. The burning prickling sensation had not stopped for a moment since she had jumped into the warehouse (though she did not yet know it was Spider-Sense warning her of danger). She could not explain why, but some instinct had branded this address deep into her mind, like a map marked with GPS navigation.
The factory doors were unlocked. She strained to lift the nearly five-meter-tall door, then ducked inside. It was a mass of blackness, even more impenetrable than outside. The prickling sensation guided her as she felt her way to the entrance of a basement. Grasping the door ring, she pulled up the heavy steel plate and revealed a staircase slanting downward.
Gwen felt her way down the stairs. A faint white light vaguely outlined the steps. At the bottom, she found herself in a dimly lit metal room. Someone sat in a swivel chair with his back to the entrance, four limp metal tentacles extending wildly from behind him. In the weak light, they cast four long, narrow shadows across the wall.
Gwen felt her heartbeat beginning to slip out of control. She tried to hide her anxiety with a question. "Who are you?"
"I have been waiting for you for a long time. I knew you would come looking for me," the man said in a murky voice. "I just did not expect you to be the first one here. What an unexpected surprise."
The swivel chair slowly turned, revealing the man's sinister, unnerving face. He wore a crew cut, dark green lenses, and a respectable-looking black suit. Four metal arms swayed behind him like tentacles.
Gwen recognized him.
"Otto Octavius, Doctor Octopus?" she said in surprise. "Wasn't Spider-Man supposed to have caught you?"
"Yes, it is I, your creator." Otto rested his crossed hands beneath his chin. "For some time, there had been problems with my memory. I could not piece together the fragmented bits in my mind—and that was all thanks to the failed Oz Human Experiment at Osborn Laboratory. The laboratory explosion affected my sanity and, oh, conveniently stuck this thing onto me so that I could never get rid of it."
Using his thoughts, he brought one tentacle before him. Its sharp claw snapped twice at empty air.
"At first, it was extremely painful. The control centers for these four extra arms fused directly into my spinal cord, and the agony was unbearable," he said. "But I soon learned to control them, to coexist with them. I pulled myself together and tried to build a new laboratory, to restart my career. Then that detestable Spider-Man appeared and repeatedly obstructed my plans."
"But you were trying to rob banks and steal equipment from other people's laboratories." Gwen frowned. "He was only doing good."
"Those who accomplish great things do not concern themselves with trifles," Otto said coldly. "For a very long time, that accursed wall-crawling bug irritated me beyond measure, but because of my memory problems, I could never remember who he was. But after Spider-Man threw me into prison, I had plenty of time to reminisce and organize my thoughts. Then I finally remembered—the accident at Osborn Laboratory, the Oz serum, and Spider-Man's identity."
He smiled. "So you see, in a sense, I have Spider-Man to thank for this. Back when I worked at Osborn, I was the senior director of the Oz serum project, so I knew the Oz Equation and how it worked very well. I made a proposal to the CIA, told them Spider-Man's secret, and promised that I could make more." He paused and spread his hands. "So that is how you came to be—my most perfect creations."
Gwen bit her lip and clenched her fists. "You did this to us."
"I created you," Otto corrected. "In other words, I am your creator. Your lives and your destinies belong to me. You were born to serve me."
"No, you are not." Gwen was no longer afraid. A blazing light shone from her emerald eyes. "The meaning of life is created by oneself. It belongs neither to God nor to anyone else—certainly not to a mad scientist hiding in a basement and daydreaming."
"Hmm, interesting." Otto was not angry. He merely looked intrigued. "It seems someone has filled your head with some strange ideas. But that is fine. Once I capture you, I will make the necessary adjustments. Then you will be more than willing to serve me."
The sound of the steel plate being lifted came again from the entrance. Multiple sets of footsteps approached down the staircase. Gwen instinctively turned around and saw two Spider-Men standing at the stairway entrance alongside someone in a blue-and-black uniform with a red cape.
The instant their eyes met Gwen's, they froze as though struck by lightning.
"Gw-Gwen?"
"Hello, Peter." Otto sat upright in his chair and chuckled. "Allow me to introduce Gwen Stacy, Spider-Woman, the clone I specially made for you. Aren't you touched?"
Peter recovered from his shock and clenched his fists. His gaze at Otto nearly spat fire.
"Otto."
Unable to endure it any longer, he leaped past Gwen and lunged at Otto without hesitation.
"What have you done?!"
A frigid current of air chased after him from behind. The cold, accompanied by Spider-Sense's warning prickles, stabbed at the back of his neck. Peter reacted with astonishing speed, twisting aside as something long and cool swept past his neck.
Peter had no time to think before a fresh stab of pain followed. He launched himself sideways, flipped through the air, and shifted positions several times in the blink of an eye with nimble movements. Strange weapons struck one after another under cover of darkness, their rushing air like clubs one moment and spears the next. Peter dodged repeatedly, but one lapse was enough—a steel arm smashed viciously into his abdomen. The force of more than ten tons crashed down like a mountain, nearly shattering his internal organs.
Only then did they realize that far more than the four tentacles behind the doctor had been concealed in the darkness. Countless steel tentacles moved soundlessly like black snakes lurking beneath water, waiting for an opportunity to deliver the most lethal strike against prey that had wandered into the room.
Otto slowly rose from his swivel chair, metal tentacles dancing wildly behind him.
"You see, I just said that I have gradually grown accustomed to coexisting with these cold machines." He smiled. "In fact, I have even begun to enjoy the feeling. I upgraded the neural links fused to my spinal cord and amplified the signals, allowing me to command more arms. The arms I possess now have long since numbered far more than just four."