Taylor Andrews
Team : Gold Strike Force Co-Team : X-Treme
Iceman
Bobby Drake
Team : Red Strike Force
Shinzon
Scimitar Commander
Matthew Rosenberg
Eldest of the Rosenbergs
Lady Death Strike
A Clawed Huntress
Posts: 351
(6/9/05 12:37 am)
An Eight Legged Encounter (Repost)Doc Occ.
The night air in the alleyway was thick as the coated figure walked down it's shadowed direction. It was stagnant, old rubbish littered the puddled floor alongside the large old building of one of New York's largest banks. After much checking out of the area, Otto had discovered that the weakest point of the building, and thus easiest entry point was the wall along this side. He was not going to be able to break directly into the bank's vault itself, thick sheet metal made that more work that it would be worth and would attract attention to soon. It was inevitable that one of the lowly security guards in the building would see him before he left, but that did not concern him, a security guard was no match for him, and despite his aging body, the serum he had concocted to hold off time until his machine was complete was making sure he was strong enough for this.
Checking both directions down the alleyway, and a courtesy look up, a force of habit since his many confrontations with Spiderman, Otto allowed his hidden mechanical arms to unfurl behind him and ready to force a hole in the old buildings wall. This was to be his last heist, he didn't like feeling like a petty criminal but to get the funds to complete his rejuvenation machine he had to do it, and with there only being a single part needed for completion he focused on what this money was going to mean to him. He would no longer be dependent on the age serum he took, all the effects of time would be gone and then, then he would for his newfound power onto this weak city and show them that he was their true leader.
His larger lower tentacles pounded into the floor, gripping and cracking the concrete he stood on to brace himself for the needed power of punching through the wall ahead of him. One last glance to his sides and he willed his upper arms at the wall, the ends clasped shut and pushed through the wall, opening on the other side and then pulling back through to form bigger holes. The noise was loud, and he was sure someone would have heard within the building, but that did not matter, he tore at the bricks around the holes until a large enough gap formed form him to pass through and raising himself up on his lower tentacles he carried himself through and into the much brighter illumination of the banks back corridor.
Back here he had bypassed most of the security that would have set off the alarms, he did not want the police arriving, he didn't have the energy for the added inconvienience of the bumbling New York police force. Otto lowered himself off of his lower tenticles and walked briskly up the corridor, holding his tenticles up in a prone position for quick reactions. He could see the vaults outer entrance ahead, it would take him long to collect up the bags out of the vault and be back to his layer in the sewers.
"Halt! Stay where you are!" The voice reverberated down the corridor from behind him and an arrogant smile formed on his face as he turned around. "Stop moving!" The panic in the guards voice was evident, along with the hint of fear, Otto so liked that sound. He did not speak, he just smiled and in a flash one tenticle went flying at the guard, his gun being thrown to the floor as the end of the tneticle grip across the younger mans face, lifted him up and through him back down the way Otto had come, his body hitting the back wall violently and slumping to the floor in a heap, the bright lights shadowing his form in such a way as he looked like a bean bag.
Otto turned back around undeterred by the guard and stood ahead of the vaults main door, it's silver metal outside reflected the light and the form of the dead guard behind him. The powerfully intelligent man rose all his tentacles and gripped the vault door in four places and pulling hard he ripped it from the heavy hinges, the lock that held it in place being torn from the wall with it. Otto carefully put the vault door to the side as any normal person would replace a mug to a table and walked into the vault, easily tearing through the metal bars that were inside the vault. Ahead of him laid a large pile of bags of metal coins, and either side of the vault were large cabinets that held the notes. Otto grinned to himself; this had been to easy; he loved it. With this it would be no time until he returned to the powerful position he deserved, and without Spiderman about, no one could stop him.
The city was quiet, if quiet meant a roaring background of sound against which no one noise thrust itself more than another upon his heightened senses. No sirens split the air, no screams echoed across the night. At least not here where he patrolled, as he did most nights, flitting like a shadow from roof to roof. A vigilant guardian, tirelessly defending the defenceless…….
Yeah right Matt thought to himself as he stepped lightly on a narrow ledge high above the almost deserted streets. That might be what they said in the newspaper articles Happy so delighted in reading to him over morning coffee but it wasn’t the truth. The truth was that he was bone weary , wanting nothing so much as a hot shower and a couple of hours sleep before he had to assume the responsibilities of the day.
Matt Murdock Attorney at Law. Another defender of the defenceless if you wanted to look at it that way. Most of the time he did, feeling he was making as valuable a contribution through his actions in the courtroom as he did prowling Hells Kitchen in his familiar red costume. Nevertheless, the last couple of days had given him matter for reflection. Sure the majority of his clients came from underprivileged backgrounds, a fact that Happy never stopped grumbling about, even if it was only for the form. It was certain too that many of them would have gone unjustly to prison if he hadn’t stepped in to fight their cause. But still. Compared to the Morlocks Compared to that whole lost community of mutants that he had recently encountered, the lives of the people in Hells Kitchen looked like a slice of paradise.
Swinging his billy club out to catch a conveniently placed flagpole, he propelled his athletic body high up into the air, spinning gracefully round before coming to land on the next rooftop, crouching there for a few moments as his thoughts turned once again to recent events. Despite his own enhanced abilities he had had little to do with mutants before Spiderman had come tapping at his window looking for help. Now his contact with the Morlocks and the Xavier Institute had brought the mutant question into sharp focus, the many infractions in their civil rights glaringly obvious to the lawyers mind, the injustice of their position flagrant and unacceptable. *Now that I know them personally that is!* Matt thought bitterly *So how come I never saw it before?* That was what really bothered him he had to admit. He had been so sure he had his his hand on the pulse of injustice in this city and suddenly wham here was a whole section of it that he had had sadly overlooked. *Easy for a blind man to do* he thought wryly *so why doesn’t that make me feel any better?* Anyway he had had a wake up call with a vengeance. * Mutants rights. Something to add to my busy social calendar. When I’ve had some rest that is! *
The night had been particularly tiring. He had been over making sure that everything was Ok with Mary Jane , only even starting to patrol when he was sure the next shift of watchers from the Institute was safely installed. Maybe they were all being over cautious. Maybe the goons who had jumped Peter and so mysteriously rejuvenated him weren’t interested in his family but the risk wasn’t one either Matt or McCoy was prepared to take. Between them they would make sure that Peters loved ones were protected, even if it meant a few hard nights in the process.
He stretched, stifling a yawn and allowed himself to start thinking of heading home. Everything seemed peaceful enough. * Surely just this once I could ……..* The explosion, for surely that was, what it was pushed all thoughts of rest from his mind, the noise filling his ears even as the vibration reached up to him through the very stones of the building itself. Close, but not so close as to blind him with its volume. Throwing himself from the roof top, no sign of fatigue in his swift relentless progress, he tracked its aftermath through the well known district. Scant moments passed till he was narrowing in on the target, sensing another blast as he approached , this one loud enough to make him wince but thankfully muffled by the bulk of the building which had surrounded it. The plan of the city was clear in his mind a tracery of sonar readings , navigation by sound rather than sight, strange and incomprehensible to anyone not endowed with his mutated senses but nonetheless efficient.
He knew now which building was under attack. The Third National Bank, corner of 29th and Maine, its soft and under protected flank ripped apart as he had expected it to be. Still something wasn’t right, Matt knew that at once. The pavement beneath his feet was oddly cracked and broken, smashed from above but not by any explosion from the feel of things. Likewise there was no smell of chemicals hanging in the air, nor any scent of burning coming from the gaping hole. Rather there was an odour of….. oil, mechanical fluid mingled subtly with the unmistakable smell of a man.
Daredevil stopped for a second running his sensitive fingers over the gaping hole which had been punched….that was what his hands told him…… in the side of the building. Warning bells were sounding now in the back of his mind, the need for caution growing as he stepped forward. Whatever was waiting in the eternal darkness was no mere gang of bank robbers. It was a force to be reckoned with that much was obvious. He fought down the images of what a machine capable of making a hole in a solid concrete wall could do to a mans body, walling the fear up as he always did till people watching him thought that it didn’t exist when in fact it was all too real and always present.
Now as he made his way silently up the corridor, following the loud sounds of ripping doors and scattering coins, another scent reached him, the scent of freshly spilled blood, the lack of an accompanying heartbeat screaming to him that this criminal had already killed once and would not hesitate to do so again.
The noise was bordering on the uncomfortable now as he neared the vault, sensing the figure who reigned amongst the devastation. A man and yet not wholly a man, the smells and sounds of metal surrounding him, a haze of arms spreading out from his back in some obscene parody of life. Strong. Heavy. Deadly. And, as Daredevil was about to find out very, very fast.
Octavious quickly chucked bag after bag of money into a larger sack that he had with him, the weight of the money would not be a problem for his metallic arms he just hoped that the bags he had brought would hold out before he returned to the wretched sewers that he called home. But that would soon end, Octavious had had enough of being ‘addicted’ to the drug that kept him strong, stopped his body withering with age, it was a rare discovery but the toxin he injected into himself every morning and evening was staving off death, it was keeping him strong, but even now he could feel his body starting to fight this foreign substance, building up defenses ironically so that it could die. So Otto had to find a new way, and his machine was that way, and once the rejuvienation was complete a brand new Doctor Octopus would hit the streets of New York, a younger man, stronger than the original, youth on his side.
The machine was nearly complete but a final key component required more money, it wasn’t exactly an item you could get at your local high street shop, and it was because he needed that money that he was here. As he worked at filling the bags with the money he needed to finish his machine he heard something move behind him, he did not know what it could be, he had dispensed with the lowly security guard. He halted filling the bags and dropped them down beside him, turning slowly his four metallic arms raised up ready to strike like a scorpion’s tail.
“What have we here? Another have a go hero is it?” His arrogant smile widened as he stared deeply at his opponent from behind his shaded glasses. Otto’s smile dropped a little, Octavious snarled but before this new opponent could answer he attacked. In honesty he did not care who this was, just that he got in the way and he couldn’t have that. His machine needed finishing, and needed finishing soon and no sub-standard super hero was going to get in his way.
All four of his mechanical arms flew forward at lightning speed towards his new adversary; Otto had disposed of enough heroes in his time to know that this one shouldn’t be any different. But he watched in slight awe as this man sprang into action somehow dodging each flying tentacle as if it was moving no faster than someone on a bicycle, anger crossed his face in a snarl as his powerful arms smashed into the wall behind where his target had stood, his body getting hit by the slight reverberations from the impact. The arms quickly pulled out and swung sideways towards where this opponenet had landed and the same happened again, Ock watched with fuelled anger as the red clad man lept easily over the attack landing clear of him, once again his tentacles smashing into the wall to his side, this time much worse, pieces of the wall being torn out as the powerfully strong metallic arms smashed sideways into it. Ock quickly retracted his tentacles back to their default position, poised ready to strike again at any moment. His anger clear in his face, this was meant to be an easy heist, nothing like this was meant to happen, he needed to get back and finish his work!
Otto growled before his tentacles extended and flew towards the man, weaving like snakes in an attempt to grab him and tear his feeble little body apart.
Memories chased each other through Matt’s mind, a name trying to surface as he approached the hunched figure. The metal arms, the aura of menace that emanated from it, all struck a chord, but for the moment he didn’t have time to wait for his ideas to fall into place. The man was turning now his movements still measured, the metal appendages poised and deadly as he stepped forward. Matt held his ground letting his senses adjust to the sounds of metal joints slipping smoothly into position, learning the song they sang as they wove around the strangers body waiting for a chance to strike.
His universe narrowed, time itself seeming to slow as he separated out each whispered signal, the register of each arm subtly different from that of its fellows like an audible fingerprint which only he could detect. He took them and stored them as he had stored every voice, every sound, every scent he had encountered since the accident all those years ago, in the vast inner library of knowledge and recognition which furnished his world, replacing sight with insight, showing him what others could not see, a way to stay alive where none seemed possible.
He knew the man would speak even before the sounds left his lips. The heartbeat which his silent wait had allowed him to pick up through the relative vacarme of writhing arms showed neither fear or surprise but rather supreme confidence and perhaps a slight annoyance that this night time activity had been interrupted. Yet it was not the heart of a young man and somewhere carried on the sweat that lay behind the smell of oil and metal came the bitter aftertaste of drugs recently and copiously taken. The voice which issued from his lips however was unwavering , betraying neither the weakness of age nor of illness. It was the voice of someone sure of their abilities and power and it shrieked danger through the confines of the bank vault like warning bell through fog.
“What have we here? Another have a go hero is it?” Matt didn’t rise to the bait. Every second he could spend mapping out his opponents sound profile would help him in the coming fight. And he didn’t doubt that there would be a fight, everything in the bank robber’s stance indicated that he was ready to pounce. The only question was when. “Who are you and what makes you thinks you can challenge me?” he asked the intact of breath on the last word telling Daredevil that the moment had come and that it would be his last if his calculations were even the slightest bit wrong.
He had been ready, muscles tensed in preparation for the confrontation and as the deadly arms swept towards him all fear departed leaving in its place only the supreme concentration which kept him one hair’s breadth ahead of their crushing attacks, his trained body flowing between them, making their fluid movements seem almost clumsy on comparison to his own. Again and again they rained down their fury upon him, each time he dodged and turned, evading their thrusting claws, trying with each twist and roll to come closer to the man who stood at the centre of their web, close enough to strike at the vulnerable body that nestled in their metal fortress. That was where he had to strike if he was to bring down this adversary and so with each seemingly random tumble he worked his way relentlessly towards a position from which he could do so.
But it wasn’t easy The confined space played against him not only limiting some of his own movements but also causing the weapons the other launched against him to crash into the wall and floor, the noise of the impact painfully loud to his sensitive ears, not yet enough to cause his mutant radar to falter but enough to make him wince with each repeated shock. Still it seemed that his tactics were having some effect on his enemy. The heartbeat had quickened, the confident calm was ruffled anger showing through as the insect he had thought to crush so easily stubbornly refused to die. Suddenly there was a moment of respite as the tentacles pulled back and for an instant they once again faced each other, this time knowing the enemies strengths, seeking now for the weaknesses that would bring victory or defeat. It was the lull before the storm, the briefest of pauses before the battle resumed in earnest.
“You have picked the wrong night to annoy me!” the older man snarled and threw the fearful arms like so many spears towards his waiting adversary.
Otto Octavius could be a patient man when the time suited, if the waiting meant he was going to gain something from the situation then he would quietly stand by and wait. This was not one of those times however, every second he wasted fighting the younger vigilante resulted in less time to collect the money he needed before he retreated back to what he begrudgingly called home, thus making the chance of an early finish to his rejuvenator more and more unobtainable.
He could see that his current approach was not going to be effective like it was with other pests that he needed to swat. His foe was agile, too agile, and that was an impressive feat, not many opponents could weave so easily between the mechanical webs he spun, and if they tried they often ended up in a worse condition. Maybe this will be a bit more of a challenge, he thought with a silent smile. He couldn’t pause though, he would confer further advantage to his enemy if he waited and he was not willing to allow that to happen.
Otto’s face contorted with his frustration but a wry smile hid behind the expression as he swung his four artificially constructed arms back towards his target, continuing to play the simpleton and not changing aim to take into consideration the young mans agility. Feed him the belief that he has the advantage here, then I shall strike, he thought to himself as he slowly filled his enemy with confidence.
Only two claws went for the hero though, the lower more powerful flew past him as the other two kept him busy. They swiftly jolted upward and gripped the ceiling behind and ripped it downward to block his foes exit route behind, this hero seemed to rely on the space around him to avoid the attacking tentacles; it would be harder if that space was reduced.
Otto concentrated on the enemy, he thought he had seen him wince as the ceiling had collapsed, not very heroic but probably the gut human reaction within him. Octavius hoped to cunningly sweep the younger man’s feet from under him as he called back his lower tentacles, gripping them together to form a trip wire of such. But this was swiftly dodged despite the assault of the other two mechanical arms, it seemed as if something was allowing him to easily see or perceive a complete three dimensional map around himself.
The Doctor’s fiery anger was keeping well stoked as the fighting began to get more intense. This stalemate could not last forever and Ock was damn sure he was not going to be the losing party.
Once again his upper tentacles played at decoy attacks as his lower pair flew back towards the ceiling, he would pull down pull down more debris to lessen the space between them, it might be more dangerous for Octavius but it seemed it would be a bigger problem for the younger fighter of the two. Something unplanned happened as his tentacles began ripping at the building work however, the ceiling section that he swiftly tore downward was strongly connected to more of the buildings main structure, because not only did the ceiling fall in, but a lot of other debris came spilling out from above with an almighty crash. For a split second his foe faltered, something interfering with the enemies rhythm. It was enough, one of the attacking tentacles flew up from a downwards assault, its three pronged claw opened outward, smacking his attacker across his chest and up against his chin, the impact making him fly backwards from Otto’s tentacles. Was this going to finally mean he could finish this and leave? Otto would never believe or assume anything until it happened, he was a man of science, one accident cost him his life, made him stronger, he would no longer chance anything on mere assumption, and despite his arrogance he was not about to assume all was over because he managed to get a single blow.
*Go for the head.* Matt told himself as he flipped backwards to avoid the metal arms that struck out all around him.* No point trying to take out the tentacles they’re just too damned solid. Not to mention fast* he reminded himself evading another attack by millimetres *But the head…….. That at least is human.*
It was easier said than done though, his adversary protecting the potential weakness with the expertise of one who had done so for many years.* Doc Occ?*Daredevil wondered.* Is that who this is?* It didn’t seem likely and yet this mysterious foe certainly fitted the description of Spiderman’s long time enemy. *He’d be too old* the red clad crime fighter told himself nearly losing his footing as the snake like appendages sought to bring him down. *Mustn’t fall! If I go down even for a moment he’ll tear me apart old or not.*
He pushed any questions as to the identity of the criminal he was facing to the back of his mind, concentrating wholly on finding the opening that would allow him to hurl his billy club through the protective shield of limbs that kept him from his foe, knowing that he would only get one chance and that missing it could cost him his life.
It seemed that the other man’s attacks had settled into something like a pattern, strike, retire, strike again, making avoiding them easier, a respite Matt would have welcomed if his instincts weren’t screaming at him that there was something deliberate behind this seeming lull.* He’s like me* Daredevil realised *He’s waiting for the moment to strike. Now the question is who can get in the first blow. There!* A gap in the defences, not large but certainly big enough for a billy club to punch through. *He’s mine* Matt thought drawing back his arm to strike then the tentacles were past him and the world disappeared in dust and sound as great chunks of the ceiling fell in on him.
Instinctively he ducked his head hands, almost coming up to cover his sensitive ears against the unexpected assault, the billy club forgotten as he struggled through the ensuing confusion to find and keep his footing as his opponent pounced .* Noise. Damn it I can fight noise. I’ve got to stop him realising that or I’m dead in the water.*
He struggled to keep the pain from his face forcing himself to keep his hands away from his ringing ears. Things were clearing again as the noise faded *Attack Coming in low Two more from the sides* Desperately he flung himself through the trap feeling the brush of metal against skin as he did so. *Close. Too close.* The ground behind him now was treacherous filled with slippery rubble, restricting his movements, forcing him to remain within the reach of the greedy metal arms.* I have to hang on till everything comes back into focus* Matt thought.* Just keep out of reach and wait till I get another chance to hit him.*
Once more his enemy reached past him thrusting his arms towards the ceiling *Ok There will be noise* Daredevil told himself*and it will hurt but you’ve heard it once It wont take you by surprise this time Just concentrate and you can strike him just when he thinks you’ll be distracted.*
It was a good plan. It could have worked if luck had been on his side. But luck is fickle and Matt's had run out. The explosion of sound which followed was noting he could have prepared himself for. The clang of metal arms connecting with the buildings infrastructure sent a cacophony of high and low frequency waves crashing into him, his eardrums bleeding from the impact, deafened and blinded at the same time. Stunned, the pain in his head overwhelming all his remaining senses, he stopped, all evasion rendered impossible by the confusion into which he had been plunged.
The blow came out of nowhere, hitting him hard, flinging him backwards into the waiting rubble. Matt felt his collarbone splinter under the impact, a new source of agony coursing through his body, shattering any remaining concentration he had managed to salvage from the explosion. Vibration shook him, the ground trembling as Doc Occ thundered towards him, moving in for the kill.
Taylor Andrews
Team : Gold Strike Force Co-Team : X-Treme
Iceman
Bobby Drake
Team : Red Strike Force
Shinzon
Scimitar Commander
Matthew Rosenberg
Eldest of the Rosenbergs
Lady Death Strike
A Clawed Huntress
Posts: 363
(7/29/05 1:27 pm)
Re: An Eight Legged Encounter (Repost)
The crime fighter was hurt, he could see that, and Ock revelled in the initial victory. He knew it wasn’t the end, nothing was that simple when one of these have-a-go heroes showed up, they always seemed to come back for more, they would get knocked down but they would come back just as quickly with something that would thwart him and nothing was going to get in the way of this final step to youth, the final step to the power he so craved.
Something was different, pain could be seen on the uncovered part of his foes face but there was something different, other than the pain that came with his weak form being thrown against concrete walls. Octavious slowly approached him, his lumbering arms gripping the walls, floor and ceiling where possible, holding his frail but determined form up from the ground he sneered as he watched the hero start to move, groan slightly, seeming to wince at each heavy step his tentacles took, maybe he knew that further trauma would be coming to him and that each step meant that the pain was coming closer, but something in Otto’s gut told him it was more than just that.
Otto finished his slow crawl towards his downed foe and in the blink of an eye one of his upper tentacles had flown down to the squirming body and gripped him tightly around the neck holding him up in front of him; “Pathetic.” Otto sneered as he turned holding the semi-limp form, studying the red clad enemy, watching him struggle, weak hands gripping at the artificial clamps around his neck and chest as they bore through his flimsy ‘costume’ into his skin. In some ways Octavious felt that it wasn’t even worth the effort to finish this one off, leave the pathetic man lying in the rubble that had crippled him. But he could never do that, he always wanted to know that a job was finished and in this case curiosity was getting the better of him.
Otto liked to know who his enemies were, even if he was about to squash them like an insect he liked to look into the eyes of those, see the fear, see who they truly were. One of Ock’s tentacles started to snake around his foe holding him in a tight squeeze as a second came up level with the captured heroes face, the tri-pronged end snapped together and three much smaller grips came from the end of the now pointed mechanical arm, small enough to perform precision work. Gently the tentacle moved forward, close to his prisoners face and the tiny grips took hold of the edge of the red mask that covered his face and peeled it backwards, a smirk on Otto’s face the whole time.
But when he looked into the eyes of the man behind the mask (whom he did not recognise for anything in particular) he did not see fear, he didn’t see anything at all in fact. Otto held off a laugh at first but felt a sense of admiration pass over him, this man, this hero was blind…but he had been able to see, been able to avoid nearly all of Otto attacks. “Well, this is interesting,” Otto said folding the up turned mask back down over the glazed eyes that had stared back at him, “You have been a much more impressive foe than I realised, shame that it cannot last, but you are in my way!” Otto sneered with his final words and whipped the tentacle near the mans face across his cheek, a deep cut forming behind it as he quickly unfurled the other arm that had locked the foe ahead of him, he enemy spinny away, back down the corridor towards the vault. As Otto watched the mans form land ahead of him, he was a little intrigued as to the name of the foe, but he could not be distracted by such things, he already could feel the formula he had recently taken beginning to wear off, he needed the cash and needed to get out of here and back to completing his work, he had little time left, a few more hits and the blind hero would be no more and Otto would be gone again, back to hide underground until he can rise strong once more.
Re: An Eight Legged Encounter (Repost)
There was nothing to guide him now except vibration, even the distinctive scents muffled momentarily by the overpowering stench of cement dust that filled his nostrils. Still he tried to rise, pushing his hurt body upwards as is adversary continued his relentless approach. Too slow. Already he could feel the ground tremble beside him feel the air being displaced as the tentacles reached forward again imprisoning him in their iron grip as they hauled him from the wreckage of the vault.
Metal closed around him, cutting off his breath, his already wounded body crying out in protest as the mechanical arms tightened bruising, crushing. Matt could feel the blood beginning to flow as the sharp metal bit through the leather of his suit tearing their way into his flesh. Desperately he tried to prise the unfeeling pincers away from is throat, the need for air rapidly becoming a priority. *Mustn’t pass out* he told himself * Got to concentrate* But it was so hard, fighting against the mounting pain and the lack of oxygen.
His foe was close now, so close that Matt could feel his breath as the other spoke words he was no longer able to hear. The air moved too, his world filling with the smell of oil and metal as one of the tentacles approached his face not to crush this time but in a parody of gentleness to lift the mask away, leaving him naked and exposed to the others regard.
Matt went still in the others grasp, his face as blank as his dead eyes, refusing to let the sense of violation he was feeling show even for an instant. He braced himself for the telltale shaking that would indicate laughter, the contempt that the mere idea of a blind man setting himself up as a crime fighter would surely provoke but it didn’t come. Only more words and then pain as his cheek was sliced open and he was sent spinning down once again into the rubble.
Consciousness wavered, a darkness even deeper than that before his eyes threatening to engulf him but he didn’t let it. He was down and broken, blinder now than he had ever been in the long years since the accident but he wouldn’t give in while there was the remotest chance that he could bring this killer down. Although logic and indeed the most basic instinct of self preservation all cried to him to just lie there, to play dead and pray that he would be spared further suffering, one question forced him to drag himself onwards. *How many more will die if I don’t stop him?*
It seemed hopeless. Half his senses were gone and his body was bruised and bloody, each movement sending pain shooting through from his crushed ribs and injured shoulder. Then his reaching fingers brushed against a familiar object and the odds changed. His billie club, nestling unnoticed on the shattered floor, one last slim chance miraculously offered to him, one that he was not going to let slip. He had tried before to send it flying through the confusion of Doc Ocks whirling tentacles and failed. Now he had no radar left to guide him to his target but on the other hand his adversary would undoubtedly be off guard , so sure that the red clad crimefighter was defeated that perhaps he could be taken by surprise.
Matt spread his left hand out in front of him pressing it to the floor, all his concentration now focused on the vibrations made as Ock approached. Everything else was forgotten, pain, fear, danger all transcended, as he read each minute variation with his fingers, painting for himself a strange vision of his foe where touch and spatial memory were the only tools he had to guide him. *Mustn’t let him get too close.* Matt told himself *Those arms are fast. I have to stay out of reach or its all over.*
His other hand closed now around the club ignoring the protests from his collar bone as he steadied himself for the reckless action he was about to undertake. Calculations raced through Daredevils brain every element he could add from what he remembered of the confrontation, his foes height, weight,the length of the tentacles, where the metal ended and the flesh began, all vital elements in this desperate gamble.
Then he was moving, rolling , his arm flashing up, a cry of pain breaking from him as he flung the club to where his instinct told him his enemy’s unprotected head would be.There would be no second chance this time, his life was on the line and he was only to well aware of what awaited him if this failed.
Taylor Andrews
Team : Gold Strike Force Co-Team : X-Treme
Iceman
Bobby Drake
Team : Red Strike Force
Shinzon
Scimitar Commander
Matthew Rosenberg
Eldest of the Rosenbergs
Lady Death Strike
A Clawed Huntress
Posts: 368
(9/13/05 10:08 am)
Re: An Eight Legged Encounter (Repost)
The billy-club hit Otto square across the jaw, the hit itself wasn’t that powerful, the blind hero severely weakened by Ock’s constant assaults. But he had let his guard down, thought the enemy gone, it was a rookie’s mistake and he paid for it. Pain slashed across his face and the shock that accompanied the attack made Otto stumble backwards and for a split second the elderly villain lost control of the mechanical arms that were now suspending him and he began to fall his frail body heading for the gound, and he knew in that split second if he didn’t regain control now he would cause more damage to himself than he could allow at this stage in his project. With all the will he could muster his arms began to do as he commanded once again and his body was saved from the hard impact of the ground.
As Otto levelled up blood trickled along the gash across his jaw, stinging as the air rushed into the open wound, rage filled his mind and body as he looked at the standing hero ahead of him once again; this one didn’t know when to quit and Otto was not going to give him a second chance. For a split second they just stared at each other but Otto now knew his enemies weakness, the ability to see with sound could be blinded when chaos surrounds then and Otto had just been put in the mood to cause some complete chaos.
Suddenly without warning Otto moved, his mechanical arms, not affected by his ageing, moving with the same speed they always had and allowing him to move much faster than anyone of his age could normally. Spider-like Otto attacked, two alternating strikes came first but the enemy dodged them, much slower but still evaded the hit. Otto did not slow the speed of the arms though as the smashed into rubble and walling behind the hero, noise surrounded the pair and Otto could see it getting to the blind hero.
Octavious dropped down onto his own legs freeing up all four mechanical arms for the assault. The two heavy lower tentacles began to pound the ground noise reverberating around the room, the force of each hit making concrete dust and debris fall from the already weakened building and once again the upper arms struck, this time however they hit one came in first from the heroes left and the confusion being caused by Otto’s noise caught him off guard as it swept under his legs pulling them from under him like a predator weakening its prey. As he struggled to get up Otto sneered and sent in the second tentacle, whipping out at blurring speed it opened wide and struck his attacker in the side making him slide against the wall.
Otto wanted to leave him, to get his money and go, but the rage that filled him would not allow it, this man had arrived thinking he could stop Otto Octavious alone; one of the most brilliant ‘villains’ of New York’s history. He personally didn’t like being labelled a villain but there was nothing he could do about it, although his activities were illegal in the Police forces eyes he always believed them to have a greater good in the end.
Otto walked forward, weakened but trying not to show himself wincing at the pain that the exertion of the fight had caused. Slowly all four tentacles unfurled and the upper two grabbed the fallen hero’s wrists pulling up into the air. One of his lower tentacles beat the floor without control; Otto’s weakened state was making it harder for him to continue to control the tentacles fully and he needed to go, he had to be rested before the rejuvenation. Cracks formed all across the floor around him and rain had started to fall outside, the smell of damp tarmac and dust filled the air from outside along with the distant sounds of sirens. The rear tentacles whipped backwards and scooped up the two laden bags of cash and Otto looked at the barely conscious form of the hero ahead of him, he sneered and without a word flicked the tentacles forward that were holding the enemy, releasing him, throwing him out into the rain along the dark alley where he had first arrived. With that he passed the bags of money down to his own organic arms and rose up upon the mechanical tentacles again and they began to move forward out of the gap in the wall, past the fallen hero, his heavy metal arms smashed at the ground, it crumbled away reveling the sewer system that ran throughout the city. With a slight look of disgust Otto dropped down into the sewer and sped through the tunnels towards his underground lab where at last his rejuvenation and his return to strength would become a reality.
Re: An Eight Legged Encounter (Repost)
There had been a moment when he had thought that he had a chance. The vibrations had changed, no longer indicating confident and deadly progress but rather faltering as if on the brink of falling.* If he goes down I can take him* Matt told himself *Provided I can stand myself.*
Gritting his teeth against the pain Daredevil pushed himself upright, readying himself to take any slight chance that he might have to end this confrontation before his strength failed him. It wasn’t easy to tell what was going on with his hearing so impaired but he could feel the metal arms striking the ground heavily, seeking purchase on the shattered ground as his adversary struggled to keep his balance. “Fall, damn you” Matt muttered softly, his words almost a prayer. But one that wasn’t answered.
Doc Occ’s weakness hadn’t lasted long enough for Daredevil to be able to exploit it. Now as the two men faced each other it was clear where the advantage lay. Years didn’t count in this battle. Youth might be on Matt’s side but he was badly hurt while the robotic enhancements knew neither fatigue or pain And now the scientist knew his secret. He had looked into Matt’s eyes and seen that they were empty. Matt didn’t fool himself that it wouldn’t make a difference. It was a weakness to be exploited at a time when he couldn’t afford to have one.
Already the tentacles were reaching for him again only the displacement of air as they rushed towards him alerting him to the attack. Desperately he threw himself out of their way, his body screaming in protest as he forced it to move.*I won’t be able to keep this up for much longer* he realised grimly knowing all to well how much slower his reactions had been than when the battle had started. *Though I have to if I want to live* Knowing that he pushed all thoughts of failure from his mind, concentrating his remaining senses on evading the arms.
But it seemed that his adversary had decided to put an end to their deadly game. Suddenly the world came apart as wave after wave of vibration hit him, the ground shaking, the noise loud enough to penetrate even the cloak of deafness that had fallen around him, deepening it agonisingly. As he swayed in pain metal hit him hard , knocking him from his feet He was trying to rise, knowing that to stay down was to admit defeat when the second tentacle struck.
He felt ribs smash the blow landed, tasted blood in his mouth, the shock stopping the scream in his throat. There was no possibility of resistance now as he felt himself dragged upward praying that he would pass out as his wrists were crushed in the iron grip. But even here there was no relief. The incongruous scent of fresh rain pierced through the stench of blood and dust and concrete, cool air touching his ruined face as he was flung like a rag doll into the alley. Daredevils back and head struck the ground with dreadful force bringing a momentary end to the pain and at last he lay still.
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