Post by Dr. Otto Octavius on Nov 28, 2017 19:38:42 GMT -10
“Test #987.”
His voice was weary, like he hadn't slept in days. Dr. Otto Octavius was hard at work inside his lab. From the looks of it it had to cost a small fortune; something he had at one point in time. As a brilliant scientist and inventor there was a point in time where he could make millions of his latest innovation or discovery, giving paid speeches; money that would go right back into his work. But he didn't have time to play the long game these days as his mind was sharp as ever as far as he was concerned but his body was dying. Stage III cancer from adamantium poisoning that was bordering on Stage IV. He should be dead, he should've died over two years ago, he wasn't supposed to have lived this long after the adamantium wrecked his body with no way to remove it after being force grafted to his spine in a horrific accident. But he bought time, he paid a price few would be able to for the sake of prolonging his own life by inflicting more suffering upon himself. Experimental treatments with no human trials, using nothing more than his own knowledge of biochemistry and what dwindling funds he had. Needless to say some of the treatments were more successful than others but in the end he bought himself a few more months at a time, a few more months of staving off Stage IV; the red line nobody, may not even the brilliant Dr. Otto Octavius could even overcome.
A blue BIOHAZARD container sat on one of the tables with bags of blood sitting inside it, each with different labels sorted by blood type and illness. Some of the deadliest diseases to man sat inside that bin and in the wrong hands could become a bioweapon's starter's kit to inflict mass terror and suffering. A bomb packed with tuberculosis inflected blood could ravage NYC and enforce a city wide quarantine so fast that countless lives would be condemned to death. Weaponized HIV or AIDs and an entire generation would be given a death sentence that would creep along slowly and render everyone effectively sterile for fear of bringing new life into a world condemned to isolation. Bubonic Plague in a bomb? The Dark Ages would have nothing on that. It wouldn't even need to be spread in a spectacular way; poisoning the water supply would be enough to invoke a mass panic. Lucky, Otto was a man of science, with a lifelong mission to improve the quality of life of humanity.
Getting access to such deadly material was the easy part; getting the funding on the other hand took a bit of dirty work. The Doctor managed to secure access through a few Government channels from his days doing Government Contract Work, to research a cure to disease; a fact that was technically true. But he didn't want to be further indebted to those he once worked for; owing them a future favor would be enough as it was. So he made a 'withdrawal' at Empire State National Bank.
A heist he planned for months he would keep the police scanner running 24 hours a day as he looked for the next big crisis that would inevitably pull Spider-Man and New York's finest into the fray; he would strike when security was thinnest. And that day finally came. He fashioned a mask that resembled one of the Four Horsemen; Pestilence to hide his identity knowing that a job this high profile he couldn't slip under the radar. His tentacles were covered in an experimental nanoparticle coating that mirrored the environment around him, creating a cutting edge stealth effect that military technology might be able to detect, he hypothesized, if out in the field, but counted on the bank's outdated security system to stifle any reasonable ability to unmask in archival footage. It would appear rather supernatural or otherworldy seeing bags of gold and cash appear to float in mid air thanks to the high-tech optical illusion; and that was the point. To put Spider-Man and NYPD on a wild goose chase for a persona he only planned to use once.
The heist was largely a success but near the end the nanoparticle began to fail, the stealth flickering for a second or two at a time, briefly exposing his tentacles to plain view. Surely if he had some of Mysterio's technology he could've reverse engineered it for his own Superior design but for a one off live test run it certainly wasn't bad. The tentacle technology has been in the field for over a decade and the police would have a hell of a time combing suspects even if they narrowed it down to the fields of science, manufacturing, government, and insanely rich technoplayboys. Otto felt his odds of being singled out were so low in fact he considered the risk negligible. With such a score he wouldn't need to steal for a while; something that gave him a little relief. Robbing was becoming too much of a habit for him; he didn't like how it felt easier and easier to do it each time. But he needed this, he needed to prolong his life and overcome this devastating illness so that his best work may yet come to life.
Starring into a microscope he was peering into the depths of his latest hypothesized miracle solution – re-engineered AIDs. He had taken the virus and separated it from the blood while also managing to extract the vital anti-bodies against the illness. He spliced the virus with bits and pieces of bacteria and other DNA to code it to only attack the cancer and to leave his healthy cells (or whatever was left of them) unharmed. With a dropper he began to test a sample with a hodgepodge of diseases, seeing how the chimera would interact with it. Scribbling down notes vigorously he noticed a pattern, one that may bode well for him as the chimeric virus was indeed only attacking that which was unhealthy and foreign. For the first time in years there was a flash of hope in his eyes. He could cure himself and resume his life, he could win back Rosie and be a slam dunk for the Nobel Peace Prize all at once. History would forever remember Doctor Otto Octavius as the savior of mankind. This could alter the course of humanity as we know it.
Otto sat in a chair, hooked up to a near literal web of electrodes and sensors measuring all his vitals down to the tiniest detail. With a syringe in hand he slammed it down into his vein as he felt the solution slowly forced into his body. Almost immediately he felt incredible pain as it took every inch of mental restraint to stop his tentacles from flailing wildly as he made sure every single drop got inside before discarding the needle. He got up and walked over to the monitor as his arm was still writhing in pain. His vitals remained steady as he punched in a few more buttons looking for an in depth initial analysis. The cancer was in a holding pattern, in that respect the solution was doing its job but at the same time he didn't appear to be getting any better either. As he stared at the screen various prediction models flashed before his eyes in rapid succession from the most optimistic to the worst case scenario. At the very end a number flashed before his eyes; a number that in his mind indicated a complete failure.
Probability of Survival – 3%
Probability of surviving the cancer and eventually curing it. 3% Three Percent. Lower than last time.
In a rage his tentacles flail, knocking over the blood and destroying the notes he just took. The vial of what could have cured some of the worst diseases known to man, spilled onto the ground and lost forever.
Test #987 was a failure and he was running out of options.
His voice was weary, like he hadn't slept in days. Dr. Otto Octavius was hard at work inside his lab. From the looks of it it had to cost a small fortune; something he had at one point in time. As a brilliant scientist and inventor there was a point in time where he could make millions of his latest innovation or discovery, giving paid speeches; money that would go right back into his work. But he didn't have time to play the long game these days as his mind was sharp as ever as far as he was concerned but his body was dying. Stage III cancer from adamantium poisoning that was bordering on Stage IV. He should be dead, he should've died over two years ago, he wasn't supposed to have lived this long after the adamantium wrecked his body with no way to remove it after being force grafted to his spine in a horrific accident. But he bought time, he paid a price few would be able to for the sake of prolonging his own life by inflicting more suffering upon himself. Experimental treatments with no human trials, using nothing more than his own knowledge of biochemistry and what dwindling funds he had. Needless to say some of the treatments were more successful than others but in the end he bought himself a few more months at a time, a few more months of staving off Stage IV; the red line nobody, may not even the brilliant Dr. Otto Octavius could even overcome.
A blue BIOHAZARD container sat on one of the tables with bags of blood sitting inside it, each with different labels sorted by blood type and illness. Some of the deadliest diseases to man sat inside that bin and in the wrong hands could become a bioweapon's starter's kit to inflict mass terror and suffering. A bomb packed with tuberculosis inflected blood could ravage NYC and enforce a city wide quarantine so fast that countless lives would be condemned to death. Weaponized HIV or AIDs and an entire generation would be given a death sentence that would creep along slowly and render everyone effectively sterile for fear of bringing new life into a world condemned to isolation. Bubonic Plague in a bomb? The Dark Ages would have nothing on that. It wouldn't even need to be spread in a spectacular way; poisoning the water supply would be enough to invoke a mass panic. Lucky, Otto was a man of science, with a lifelong mission to improve the quality of life of humanity.
Getting access to such deadly material was the easy part; getting the funding on the other hand took a bit of dirty work. The Doctor managed to secure access through a few Government channels from his days doing Government Contract Work, to research a cure to disease; a fact that was technically true. But he didn't want to be further indebted to those he once worked for; owing them a future favor would be enough as it was. So he made a 'withdrawal' at Empire State National Bank.
A heist he planned for months he would keep the police scanner running 24 hours a day as he looked for the next big crisis that would inevitably pull Spider-Man and New York's finest into the fray; he would strike when security was thinnest. And that day finally came. He fashioned a mask that resembled one of the Four Horsemen; Pestilence to hide his identity knowing that a job this high profile he couldn't slip under the radar. His tentacles were covered in an experimental nanoparticle coating that mirrored the environment around him, creating a cutting edge stealth effect that military technology might be able to detect, he hypothesized, if out in the field, but counted on the bank's outdated security system to stifle any reasonable ability to unmask in archival footage. It would appear rather supernatural or otherworldy seeing bags of gold and cash appear to float in mid air thanks to the high-tech optical illusion; and that was the point. To put Spider-Man and NYPD on a wild goose chase for a persona he only planned to use once.
The heist was largely a success but near the end the nanoparticle began to fail, the stealth flickering for a second or two at a time, briefly exposing his tentacles to plain view. Surely if he had some of Mysterio's technology he could've reverse engineered it for his own Superior design but for a one off live test run it certainly wasn't bad. The tentacle technology has been in the field for over a decade and the police would have a hell of a time combing suspects even if they narrowed it down to the fields of science, manufacturing, government, and insanely rich technoplayboys. Otto felt his odds of being singled out were so low in fact he considered the risk negligible. With such a score he wouldn't need to steal for a while; something that gave him a little relief. Robbing was becoming too much of a habit for him; he didn't like how it felt easier and easier to do it each time. But he needed this, he needed to prolong his life and overcome this devastating illness so that his best work may yet come to life.
Starring into a microscope he was peering into the depths of his latest hypothesized miracle solution – re-engineered AIDs. He had taken the virus and separated it from the blood while also managing to extract the vital anti-bodies against the illness. He spliced the virus with bits and pieces of bacteria and other DNA to code it to only attack the cancer and to leave his healthy cells (or whatever was left of them) unharmed. With a dropper he began to test a sample with a hodgepodge of diseases, seeing how the chimera would interact with it. Scribbling down notes vigorously he noticed a pattern, one that may bode well for him as the chimeric virus was indeed only attacking that which was unhealthy and foreign. For the first time in years there was a flash of hope in his eyes. He could cure himself and resume his life, he could win back Rosie and be a slam dunk for the Nobel Peace Prize all at once. History would forever remember Doctor Otto Octavius as the savior of mankind. This could alter the course of humanity as we know it.
Otto sat in a chair, hooked up to a near literal web of electrodes and sensors measuring all his vitals down to the tiniest detail. With a syringe in hand he slammed it down into his vein as he felt the solution slowly forced into his body. Almost immediately he felt incredible pain as it took every inch of mental restraint to stop his tentacles from flailing wildly as he made sure every single drop got inside before discarding the needle. He got up and walked over to the monitor as his arm was still writhing in pain. His vitals remained steady as he punched in a few more buttons looking for an in depth initial analysis. The cancer was in a holding pattern, in that respect the solution was doing its job but at the same time he didn't appear to be getting any better either. As he stared at the screen various prediction models flashed before his eyes in rapid succession from the most optimistic to the worst case scenario. At the very end a number flashed before his eyes; a number that in his mind indicated a complete failure.
Probability of Survival – 3%
Probability of surviving the cancer and eventually curing it. 3% Three Percent. Lower than last time.
In a rage his tentacles flail, knocking over the blood and destroying the notes he just took. The vial of what could have cured some of the worst diseases known to man, spilled onto the ground and lost forever.
Test #987 was a failure and he was running out of options.