[center][img]https://comicvine.gamespot.com/a/uploads/original/1/15776/6219635-superior%20octopus%203.png[/img][/center][hr] The noise of the projector finally whirring to a stop and echoing out a loud click as it shut off served as a makeshift alarm clock for the napping Otto Octavius. He groggily raised his head - a sheet of paper stuck to his cheek with his own saliva as glue - and scanned the room around him. This definitely was not his dorm room, not even close. Every seat in the lecture hall as far as he could see was empty. Every seat but his own. He searched the room for a clock, his eyes resting on a time that sent shockwaves through his spine. Had he really slept for just over half an hour after his class had finished? And more importantly why hadn't anyone woken him?! He facepalmed and slid the paper from his cheek back onto the desk. If there's one thing he'd never accounted for it was how late crimefighting would keep him out - and how tired he'd feel the next day. He clicked his pen a few times quickly as he gathered his thoughts, and then quickly slid his books and papers into his satchel and stood up. His embarassment was not unnoticed though as the door to the hall swung in, and in walked the ever debonair Harry Osborn - slightly less well dressed than the day previous as he was missing his tailored suit - but still wearing the latest designer fashion. Otto allowed himself a second facepalm, mentally preparing himself for the ribbing he was about to endure. "Oh-hoh! Look who we've got here! Sleeping not-so-beauty!" Called Harry up the seats towards him. "Nice of you to keep us waiting! I'm sure my dad will take real nicely to being kept waiting this long. Not like he's the head of one of the top FTSE 500 companies or anything!" [color=#00FF00]"Shit. Was that today? I'm really sorry, dude, honestly I didn't realise I was falling asleep."[/color] Otto collected himself and started down the stairs towards his friend, a sorry expression on his face. [color=#00FF00]"Was he upset? Any chance I can salvage this? Where's Pete?"[/color] "Woah, woah, woah. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?" Harry held up his hands in mock surrender. "Look man, that's not for me to say. He's a real old fashioned guy, nothing short of kissing his Armani shoes would get you a second audience with the king." Otto began cursing and damning his own ineptitude. One of the biggest opportunites of his life and he wasted it playing superhero the night before. God knows he needed this chance. The money from even the lowest paid research job at Oscorp would be more than enough to get him a place of his own, and to slide a bit of extra cash his mothers way under the ever watchful nose of his asshole father. [color=#00FF00]"Look, Harry I'll do anything for this. You just let me know what I gotta-"[/color] His sentence was stopped midway by the raucous laughter of his friend. "You should have seen your face!" His laughter only got louder. "Don't worry about it dummy, dad had to cancel anyway. Some meeting with government contractors or something. I was actually coming to deliver his apologies." Otto gave him a playful punch on the arm. [color=#00FF00]"Always with the jokes, huh? Well at least no one else saw me grovelling. You really know how to embarass a guy, Harry, it's a skill."[/color] "I prefer to think of it as an art. Plus you're not entirely alone, Otto." He nodded further up the hall than where Otto had been sleeping, up towards the seats at the very top of the lecture theatre. Otto turned over his shoulder and looked up to the back. Sitting there was Lia - almost silently tapping away on a laptop she was gazing at through a pair of large round glasses. For a moment he wondered how he'd managed to miss her. The next moment he wondered why she hadn't bothered to wake him up. Her posture was slightly hunched over the laptop resting on the desk in front, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard with a soft clacking that echoed faintly through the empty lecture hall. A mess of dark curls framed her face in a loose afro that seemed determined to escape the hairband trying unsuccessfully to hold it back. The large glasses magnified her eyes just enough that whenever she glanced up at the screen light it made them look wider than they probably were. Otto felt the strange, immediate urge to pretend he hadn't turned around. Lia froze mid-keystroke, like a deer caught in headlights, her fingers hovering above the keyboard for a second before slowly finishing whatever sentence she had been typing. Her gaze flicked from Otto, to Harry, and then back to Otto. Harry grinned. "Guess you weren't the only one who stayed behind." He whispered, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow. Otto awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he must have looked waking up with paper stuck to his face. Lia, looking like she felt just as awkward raised her palm and gave him a small, uncertain wave. [color=#00FF00]"Uh...hey."[/color] Otto's voice echoed embarrassingly far in the near empty hall. In reply to her wave he held out a thumbs up. Lia held her gaze. For a second it looked like she might say something - her mouth opening slightly - but whatever words had been forming seemed to evaporate before they reached the surface. Instead she gave a small smile and then resumed typing on her laptop. Harry leaned closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he guided his friend out of the lecture hall and into the halls of ESU. "Smooth, Octavius, very smooth. I'm sure all the pickup artists in Vegas are going to be using the [i]thumbs up approach[/i] after that masterclass." He mocked as he released his grip. [color=#00FF00]"I wasn't trying to be smooth, Harry."[/color] "Pfft, yeah right. You might be awkward around girls but god knows you strive for the feminine touch as much as the rest of us do." [color=#00FF00]"Well, yeah, maybe. But with Lia? No way dude. I barely even know her."[/color] "When did knowing her matter? Never mattered to me." The expression on Harry's face changed to that of the cocksure grin he always had when talking about the fairer sex. "Besides, it's not like she doesn't like you, she's always hanging around when you're about." Otto blinked, thinking for a moment before replying. [color=#00FF00]"Really? I hadn't noticed."[/color] "Is that a bad joke?" [color=#00FF00]"I'm being serious."[/color] "Y'know Otto you might be one of the smartest guys I know, but you definitely lack common sense. That or a pair of eyeballs." [hr][right]Some Time Ago Oscorp[/right][hr] Norman Osborn sat cross legged with his finger steepled together in front of his face. He gazed out of the huge window overlooking New York City - his City. The one he'd grown up in, lived in, found his fortune in, and raised his son in. He let out a sigh. Just what was he going to do with Harry? He'd given him the world on a plate and still he disappointed him. If Norman had the resources he'd afforded his son at that age he'd be President by now, let alone one of the richest men in the world. "Mr. Osborn, a Dr. Ellison is here to see you." The voice cracked softly through the intercom mounted on the corner of Norman's desk, its polite tone breaking Norman's train of thought. He didn't move at first, still gazing out onto the skyline as the sun fell behind it. It cast long shadows across manhattan. From this height the traffic below looked almost like toys. "What does he want? Does he have a meeting?" "No, he doesn't have anything arranged, sir. He says he's part of the maritime exoskeleton development team." She explained. "He's requesting a moment of your time regarding the prototype." Now that - that piqued his interest. He spun around in his chair, leaning forward on his desk to better speak clearer into the tannoy. "Send him in." Norman rose from his chair, smoothing out his tie underneath his suit jacket and fixing his cufflinks. News about the prototype could only mean one thing, and one thing that Norman was very excited about. The prototype itself had been completed months ago. Frankly he only kept the team on the payroll for fine tuning and in the event that anything needed repaired or improved with the device. Not that he saw this as a possible eventuality. He'd been involved personally in the design of the suit - any error would have been on the part of the team putting it together. No, if Ellison had news it meant one thing. They'd finally found someone to test the damn thing. The suit wasn't by all accounts 'legal' in the truest sense of the word. If they could do some under the table testing however, then Norman was sure they could regear the entire project and make a killing in deep sea research. Not only that, it would make a hell of a pitch to the military, and once that door was open there's no telling where he could go with those resources at his disposal. But the Kinetic Reinforced Amphibious Bioshell - affectionatelly nicknamed 'K.R.A.B' by the research department - was just the first step in a grand plan he'd set in place years previous. He moved over to a tall, vintage drinks cabinet in the corner of the room as the door creaked open and in walked a thin man wearing a white lab coat, clutching a clipboard. "Mr. Osborn." he said quickly. "Thank you for seeing me." "Please, call me Norman. We're both men of science here I see no need to deal in formalities." He gave him a smile that resembled something closer to a shark than anything welcoming. His son had that effortless charm that just made you like him from the get go - Norman had a different kind. One that was practiced, sharpened through years of business deals - and one that made you feel more uneasy than relaxed. He pulled two whiskey tumblers from the cabinet followed by a single malt bottle. "Can I offer you a drink, Dr...?" "Bill, Bill Ellison. And no thank you, Norman I'm not one to drink on the job." Norman shot him another, practiced smile. "Good answer." He said, picking up the bottle and pointing to him casually with a finger. "But I can assure you that wasn't a test, Bill. I'll be partaking myself so I really must insist. I can only assume you come to me with good news which must be celebrated. Otherwise it must be bad news in which case we must drink to drown our sorrows!" He filled up both tumblers and gestured for the doctor to take a seat on the other side of his desk. Norman took a seat in his chair, sliding the second drink over to his employee. "So, tell me the good news. I'm all ears." Bill felt a chill run down his spine. Rumours had always circulated about Norman within the company, but coming face to face with the man in a situation like this made him feel uneasy. He took the drink and sipped it gently, if anything for fear about what would happen if he didn't. "Well, uh, I'm happy to say we have good news. We've found a test pilot for the prototype." "Oh?" Norman replied, clapping his hands together once and leaning forward with his elbows on his desk. "That's fantastic news. Tell me more about our pioneer?" Bill turned the clipboard around in his hands and pushed it over to his boss, who began looking it over intently. "His name is Gabriel Alvarado. He's a dock worker from the Brooklyn shipping yards. Strong build, excellent muscle response. Our preliminary scans show his nervous system should interface with the suit's control network better than any of the volunteers we’ve screened before." Norman nodded. "And our other problem? The matter of - shall we say - discretion?" "Our problem solved itself. Gabriel is an undocumented immigrant from down south. Venezuela, originally I believe." A toothy grin grew on Norman's face. "Bill, I've got to say you've outdone yourself here. You've made me a very happy man." He took a drink and continued. "Let's start work immediately. Tell your team they can take the rest of the day off, but let's try and get Gabriel in before he changes his mind. If he does, up the amount we're paying him, money is no object." "Thank you, sir." "Hey, it's Norman, alright? Keep this up and I might even let you call me Norm." Bill said his goodbyes and left the office. It felt more like escaping a lions den than a meeting with his boss. Norman pressed the tannoy to his PA once he was gone. "Sally, please get in touch with finance and let them know I want them to wire a few bonuses for the research team - oh, and you can take the rest of the day off on me." His gaze drifted briefly back toward the window, the city glittering beyond the glass. "Let's see what your machine can do, Doctor." [hr][right]Last Week Atlantic Waters [/right][hr] "Pull the nets up!" Shouted Mayhew from the top deck of the fishing trawler. Rain was battering down on his waterproof cap and jacket, pelting him like liquid bullets. "The water's too rough! We've gotta get below deck!" The young, brash Jackson Harris glanced up at his senior through squinting eyes, as if shutting them tighter would stop the splashing salt water from stinging them. He grinned at him with that familiar, friendly gap toothed smile resting handsomly under a thin, preened moustache. He was at the early end of his 20s, and determined to prove his worth on the boat. He'd felt the calling of the sea all his life, ever since his first trip out with his father on their old family dinghy with their passed down fishing rods. "You got it chief! We've got something good in here, I can just feel it." He stomped in puddles over to the side of the boat, holding on to the side of the metal crane the net hung from. He steadied himself, and then took off his gloves to get a better grip of the winch. With all his might he began the arduous process of turning the winch rotation by rotation - a process made all the more difficult by the violent rocking and swaying of the trawler. But Jackson was no rookie. Not in the true sense of the word anyway. He'd spent time on harsher waters than this, and he'd be damned if he was going to let a little rocking stop him. Again and again he turned that winch. The pull of the ocean only got stronger the closer it got to the surface, like it was trying to keep its bounty below. Then, the winch stopped turning. A huge weight had gotten hold of the net, so heavy that the sudden rigidness of the handle stopping nearly tore the handle from Jackson's grip. "What the hell?" he muttered, bracing his boots against the slick deck and pulling again. The winch refused to budge. Whatever had taken hold of the net wasn't just heavy - it was holding it. "Leave it!" Mayhew shouted through the rain. "Cut the damn thing loose!" Jackson ignored him for a second, squinting out over the black, churning water below the crane arm. The net line had gone taut as piano wire, disappearing into the waves that rose and fell like the breathing of some enormous creature beneath the surface. "Chief, I think we snagged the bottom!" "Out here? There's no bloody bottom shallow enough!" A violent jerk on the net answered the argument. The crane arm groaned, metal shrieking under sudden strain. Jackson stumbled forward as the winch spun half a turn back against his grip before locking again with a brutal clank. Then a silhouette beneath the water began to rise. At first, Jackson thought it might have been a shark, taking advantage of the choppy water and abundance of caught fish. But it looked to rigid, too big. Jackson leaned over the rail, rain streaming off the brim of his cap. "Uh...Chief?" Mayhew was already moving toward him, one hand gripping a support rail to keep from being thrown across the deck. "What is it now?!" Jackson didn't have time to answer before the sea erupted. The net burst upward in a spray of water and writhing fish as something tore through it from below. Steel mesh snapped apart like thread as a massive shape hauled itself halfway out of the water. It was metal. Thick armored plating glistened under the rain. Two massive metal claws gripped the netting with crushing force, each joint moving with the slow, deliberate precision of industrial machinery. Hydraulic pistons hissed as they flexed, cables tightening like tendons. It stood, huge and imposing on four smaller articulated legs that unfolded from the chassis and dug and carved into the metal of the trawler as it pulled itself out from the sea. Mounted in the center of the chassis sat a heavy domed cockpit surrounded by reinforced plating - a bulbous armored shell like the carapace of a colossal crab. Painted across the side in faded white stenciling were the letters: K.R.A.B The machine's claws tightened. The net shredded apart completely - fish guts spilling across the deck. Jackson staggered back. "Jesus Christ, what is that thing?!" The cockpit visor flickered faintly with dim instrument light. Inside, the silhouette of a man shifted. His face was obscured like a shadow. But from what Jackson could make out in his last moments alive was the expression on the man's face. He was in pain.