NEW YORK. ONE OF MULTIPLE IRON HALL'S.
Two men mopped the gleaming tile floor of one of the many corridors of the giant Iron Hall. One was old, hunched over, he had seen much in his life, this much was evident. You could see it in his posture alone, he was a man who had survived through hardhips and much strife. He was a survivor. Another, was quite young, most likely in his early twenties, the young man had a scowl plastered on his face, he was obviously unimpressed with his current job, although in these times, having a good paying job was quite remarkable, even if it was cleaning up Iron Halls.
The young man approached a large metal door, on it, in red writing read as follows: "NO ACCESS". He pulled out a keycard from his pocket, and placed it in front of a scanner on the door-handle, a green light illuminated the card from the scanner, reading the black and white barcode before it was swiped from the young man's hand, the light's immediately disappeared and the old man stood leaning on his mop, the key-card in his free hand.
"What the Stark d'ya think you're doin' boy?" He asked, one eye struggling to stay open, his whole body shaking, not in a major way, but shaking no less. A look of fear was on his face, a look of dismay.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm doing my job so I can get the Stark outta here and go home. I'm gonna go and clean the cell-units." The young man replied, scowling, he didn't understand. He was ungrateful, even though this old man may have just saved his life. The youngster reached out to snatch back his key-card before being utterly rejected when the old man retracted his arm yet again, keeping it out of his reach.
"You really don't know what's down there, do ya boy?" He asked the young man inquisitively, although his frustrated shift-partner only raised and eyebrow, he was intrigued, that was for sure. "You may be new here, but you gotta understand boy, you can't go down there...That's restricted, a quarantined sector of the cell-units, only prisoner down there is old Doc Ock." He stated, a subtle smirk sliding across his face as a memory slippedinto his head, a memory of the olden days, a memory of when stories of the old heroes still circulated.
"Doc Ock?" The young man asked.
"Doc Ock. Back when...Spider-Man, and all the other heroes were around, he was one a' the big baddies. Had four big metal arms attached to his back. He was one a' the few that survived when the Iron Soldiers wiped 'em all out, no-one really knows how he survived exactly, but apparently, he took out multiple squads a' the Iron goofs before finally being taken down. Apparently nothin' could stop him, after shooting him, and blowing him up, he was still alive, just in some kinda coma, he went completely under, and eventually healed, but was still in that Starkin' coma, the doctors eventually came to the conclusion that the arms were somehow keepin' him alive, so they caged him up down there, and since then, he's been nothin' but a Starkin' Veggie..." The Elder explained, making multiple vivid hand gestures, and even smiling, something that wasn't often seen in an Iron Hall.
"Well...If that's true...How does he eat..? How does he use the washroom..? That's gotta be fake...You\re Starkin' with me, arne't you?" The youngster asked, a smile creeping onto his face, obviously thinking it was some kind of joke.
"This ain't no joke boy, it's real, as to how he goes to the washroom, I don't have a Starkin' clue, but as to how he eats, they throw a big chunka' meat down there every day, and by the next day, it's gone. Y'see, apparently, the arms were once removed from his body, but now, they've bonded to his body and become a part of his whole Starkin' body! His insides and everything! Rumor is, he eats it through the arms." The old man shuddered. "but I'm done, guy gives me the Starkin' creeps." The old man tossed the youngster his key-card and cassually exited the corridor, leaving the young man alone...Staring down the door.
He approached the large metal door and scanned his key-card. It rattled and clanged before ultimately sliding open, revealing a large metal staircase. He hesitantly made his way down, inching back a few steps every now and then, before continuing on. At the bottom, nothing but darkness. He slid his hands along the wall, before feeling something, large, he pulled down on it, only to be greeted by blinding light, all around him. Before him, almost five feet away, was Otto Octavius, his eyes closed., drool slipping form his mouth, with long, shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the middle of an open-space, each arm pulled out almost twenty feet, before being contained by four seperate metal contraptions, which obviously released the arms when food was thrown in, juding by the different gears and mechanisms which were used for easy containment of the arms. The young man was terrified, all around Otto were empty metal cages, which, if it was any other cell-unit, would be filled with prisoners. He was terrified. The young man turned and began to sprint up the stairs, before tripping, and letting out a scream of pain as he fell.
Gears began to turn as the arms pulled free of the contraptions, each opening up into three long metal claw-like tongs, before opening and closing multiple times, each seemingly getting a feel for the freedom. The arms shot forwards, each grabbing the young man by a different limb, one on each arm and leg, before pulling him closer to Octavius's seemingly lifeless body. the young man screamed for help, although deep down, he knew nobody would hear him, and, even faster than it took for the arms to grab hold of him, each pulled in a different direction, ripping the young man apart, blood flying everywhere in the cell-unit. As the liquid splattered against Otto's face, his eyes snapped open, and he boruhgt in a deep breath, as the arms each seemingly digested their own individual limbs through the center of it's arms. Somehow. His gaze shot around the room, almost scared, and then the images flooded into his head from the minds of the arms, and suddenly he remembered everything. He could hear everything the arms could hear while he slept. Everything. And to tell you the truth, Otto was frightened.
Nevertheless, his body raised up, with the arms help, raising him high into the air, as he assessed the situation, he could already feel himself becoming somewhat weaker, his body, after all this time, was finally catching up to his aging process. He was in pain.
"My children...We must..Extract revenge...." That was the only thought in his mind. REVENGE! REVENGE! REVENGE! He would get his revenge, the heroes were long dead, this he knew, but the Iron Soldiers, they had done this to him, he could get revenge from them, could he not? He couldn't thin clearly, each arm screaming something different within the chambers of his mind, before he ultimately thought one thing only.....
Kill them all.
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