Chapter Text
June 23rd, 1933
Earth-TRN1832
As told by TRN1832
None of my fellow friends had liked the way I behaved physically; my condition was of disgust to them, and because of that, I had been discarded into the streets like a dog with rabies. I was convinced it was not my physical attributes that scared them, but the fact that my mind worked brightly in the way the sun shines through the clouds, exactly like that day. I could barely move through the tight spaces of the crowded city, but I managed. The looks the people gave me, however, were not entirely ones that welcomed me warmly into an unknown territory, but who was I to care, anyway? These people were simply staring because they thought I was just a man who had been unfortunate, they did not know I was one of the greatest biologists in the world. It was precisely when a hurried man passed by that I felt the firm tug at the wheelchair; an African American man, leaning down to check for any inconveniences. My stomach turned, and not in a nice aspect.
“Apologies, sir. You okay?” He sounded concerned, almost too concerned. It was amusing. “ Do you have a caretaker around? ”
“I need no such thing, sir.” I replied, cold, distant, wanting for him to release me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.”
I felt him release my wheelchair reluctantly, his hands lingering on the handles, a gesture that made a burning sensation settle through my throat. Why was it that men like him did not take the hint? I noticed his gestures, and I knew them too well. The subtle rise of his lips, the squint of the eyes, the slight lean of his body to one side; I believed this man lacked any sense of understanding, at this point. It was a repetitive gesture, one where I felt like an exhibition being analyzed, studied, but not praised by its natural beauty.
“ You are staring, gentleman.” I announced, snapping my fingers at his rude behaviour, which seemed to get him out of a trance. He still did not speak, however, too entranced in something. Was I really that amusing, or perhaps his privation of common manners prevented him from realizing his gestures were enough as they were. When he reached for his pocket, my heart stopped for the slightest of seconds, but when he pulled out a small book, I relaxed, and it was visible, because he turned his head my way.
“Wait, I know you.” He began, expression as still as rock, then broken into a small, pearly grin.
“You are Doctor Otto Octavius, the biologist sent from Berlin.”
Oh.
Well, that was certainly not something I expected. Not that day, at least.
My shoulders slumped inevitably towards the back of the wheelchair, and I subtly looked away as to announce a sudden, reluctant interest. He saw it, I knew he did, but I wasn’t going to admit that, was I? I was about to speak when he suddenly redirected my wheelchair into the opposite direction of where I was going, which was nowhere, really. I wanted to fight, to argue, but my usually composed mouth was now opening like a fish out of water. I had to drop my head back to look at him, only to be greeted with that stupid grin that was starting to get on my nerves.
“ Where are we going?” I asked, aghast.
“Don’t worry, Doctor, I will just take you to my office to ask you a couple of questions.” Answered the buffoon. “ My name’s Robbie Roberston, I’m the best journalist in this city.”
Did I believe him? No. Not one bit.
Did I have a choice? Not really.
I could only watch as he drove me past the street I was struggling to cross just minutes before with an ease that was deriding my whole legacy. I couldn’t help, however, but to let his words turn in my head; if he claimed to be a journalist, the best in the city, he could write a big story about my work, perhaps on my version of how my Friends of New Germany refused to help me, or perhaps on how they used the poor crippled man on their behalf and obliged him to do horrendous stuff. Maybe that way they would feel the way I felt. Used. Torn. Thrown at the dirt.
“ My friend, Ben Reilly, he’s a wonderful man. He’ll help us.” Said he as he picked up his pace. I felt like a bloody trackstar in the street, and I even noticed that he was pushing the people aside to get through.
“ Slow down, Mr. Roberston. You’ll run over a man.” I replied, not comically, but gaining a laugh from him anyway. This man was infuriating, and I could tell from this short interaction that I wouldn’t like him or his friend. Not one bit.
“ Relax, Doctor, I have dealt with wheelchairs.”
“ I doubt it.”
The walk, or rather ride, to the apartment complex was rather annoying with his blabbering about a late “Silvermane” and the loss of “Leyden,” whoever they happened to be. The truth was, none of them were important to my story, and I didn’t really care about how theirs ended. Not my burden, not my problem. Life was easier that way, but this man sure didn’t make it easy with all the prattling. It made the way to the office way longer than it was. When we finally reached the office, however, I could see the mahogany door illuminate, not due the light, but in my eyes, strangely so. It had a crystal, and in it, the words “B. Reilly, private investigator.” Convenient. And here I thought men couldn’t get smarter. When we walked through the door, I saw a woman; full-figured, well maintained work area, confident posture. When she looked my way and drifted her eyes up and down, I saw it. Judging, not in a bad way, but it was a way that told me she was not impressed and that she had gone through worse. It left me speechless for a moment, but I managed to snap out when Mr. Robertson talked;
“ Janet, this is Doctor Octavius. Doctor Octavius, this is my friend and colleague, Janet Ruiz.” He introduced me while positioning me in the corner next to the desk where she presumably worked. When she reached to shake my hand, I felt her utter pity and support, and then it hit me. The hospitality didn’t quite feel American. It was foreign. Close. I felt the cold sensation of something on her finger; a ring. It wasn't an engagement. It was a silver, double sphered ring. Her engagement ring laid strictly on her left hand.
She wasn’t from New York, I concluded. Spanish speaking, perhaps Mexican. I understood then that, whoever this Ben Reilly was, work in that office didn’t mean intellect or power, it meant efficiency. I could respect that
I had expected the man to come out of the office within the complex, but instead, he came through the window. I supposed he was either insane or simply escaping a convict. Private investigators don’t have an easy job, in the end, and they are not protected by the authorities. And, well, this wasn’t Sherlock Holmes. I saw a faint flicker from the inside of his trenchcoat, but it quickly disappeared as Mr. Robertson took it to hang it away. I saw him look at me up and down, like the others previously, and a tight breath slipped through my lips, one I didn’t mean to let out loudly. I saw him momentarily drift his gaze towards Mr. Robertson and Ms. Ruiz, thing I deduced was a silent communication among them, one that had seemingly grown through years of working together.
“ And who is this… fine gentleman?” Mr. Reilly questioned, taking off his gloves with a subtle shift of his fingers and dropping them clumsily in Ms. Ruiz’s desk. Mr. Robertson pushed my wheelchair out of the corner towards Reilly, which left me no other choice but to shake his hand; it was cold, sweaty, like a man who had run five hundred miles.
“ Ben, this is Doctor Otto Octavius, the… biologist we were talking about.” Mr. Robertson replied as I pulled my hand back and placed it inside of my pocket, successfully cleaning my palm without them noticing.
The fact that Robertson had openly admitted to “talking” about me with Reilly was somewhat flattering, but heavily suspicious. I didn’t know what they were talking about, it could’ve been my experiments, my research, but it could’ve been the FBI’s investigation on my experiments, as well as it could’ve been about my temporary alliance with the Friends of New Germany. I knew they had recorded me, somehow, but that couldn’t prove it was me. Whichever it was, I would make sure to cover it correctly.
“ Oh, yes, Doctor Octavius, yes. South African. Sent from there to Berlin, but your brothers didn’t quite accept you, did they?” Snarked the man, who, to my surprise, had me absolutely tracked. I had been afraid that he knew, and he did.
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about.” replied I, silent, charged. “ Perhaps you are confusing me.”
He clicked his tongue, sharply, mockingly, and rested his hip against the desk, a gesture I had seen before so many times yet chose to ignore. He took out a picture from his pocket; it was old, crumbled, stained, something that didn’t quite match my criteria on how to keep pictures, which was exactly the problem. When he extended the photo my way, I couldn’t grab it. My eyes landed on the distinctive silhouette of my wheelchair in a South African laboratory, conducting my research, along with African minorities. It was a trap. These men were going to get me arrested.
“ You’re not in trouble, Doctor Octavius, I just need your help.” Reilly mumbled. His voice was almost low, but then again, with the nasal sound, I could barely understand anything.
“ In what matter?” I questioned, my voice rising in level defensively.
“ Are you familiar with the concepts of astrophysics? Specifically black holes? “
I stopped, then felt my face contort into something of confusion and disbelief. This man was asking a world-renowned biologist if he was familiar with the concept of astrophysics. I scoffed, utterly aghast, just as minutes before.There was nothing that bothered me much more than a man who carried himself confidently and had the brain of an illiterate child. I saw In Ms. Ruiz’s expression that this wasn’t a new way of work of Reilly, and I also saw the face Mr. Roberston was doing, one that clearly spoke “I don’t know whether to love or hate this man,” which honestly should have ended in the second option.
“ Mr. Reilly,” I began, serious and blunt. “ I have not been pushed from my destination by your friend here for you to address me as another one of your clients or close friends. I am friends with no one, and if you happen to want a scientist that knows about astrophysics, you happen to have abducted the wrong scientist; I am a biologist, I am not a physicist!”
“ Excellent. Janet, could you, uh, play the audio for me?” Commanded Reilly, and I felt my body go rigid.
The audio echoed alive through the room; harsh, barked orders in Xhosa, directed from me to the others. He didn’t want an astrophysicist. He wanted a biologist to scream so he could frame him. Clever. I was no more of a man than he was, apparently. At the moment being, at least. I let my hands drop to the sides of my wheelchair, feeling Mr. Roberston’s hands on the edge of it. So, basically, I was being kept hostage. It’s not like my legs were magically going to work again, anyway.
“ What do you want from me?”
“ We can explain as we go. “