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[from here]
It was a full moonlight night over Hell's Kitchen. Daredevil crouched on a ledge, listening to the sounds of the city. There were plenty of thugs and lowlifes out tonight, but he was still working on his hunt for the Kingpin of crime. If he could just find the right tentacle to follow...
The dark figure rose to his feet and, drawing one of his nightsticks from his boots, shot a line to the nearest building. Before it even hit, he launched himself over the side. A perfect swing across, somersaulting to land on his feet two rooftops across.
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If he was looking for trouble to take care of, a woman's scream gives him a pinpoint of focus to go after. No woman screams like that unless she's in serious trouble. Or has been paid to pretend to be. Still, if he comes on the scene, there's a drunk man with a knife, who is threatening her, albeit unsteadily. He just may not have the coordination to do her any serious harm, should she actually make an effort to fight back, but apart from the scream and the smell of alcohol and unwashed body, Daredevil might or might not be able to pick up on that detail in time.
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The scream catches his ears as deftly as if someone had grabbed him by the arm and pulled. He zeroes in on the commotion, noticing simultaneously how neighbors are more annoyed by the noise than helpful as they slam their windows shut and bolt them as he passes, running along the rooftops.
Two heartbeats. One with large footsteps.
While someone like Spiderman would give a quip here, Daredevil goes right to the saving. His nightstick flying through the air to hit the knife hand square on. Hopefully the lady will have presence of mind to take off while he deals with the man who's definitely had one too many. "Might be time to call it a night," he says beneath his shaded mask as he lands on his feet.
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What he's less likely to hear is another heartbeat, perched on the rooftop above, and drowned out by a noisy air-filter unit on the roof. The man there chose the spot for the camouflage of sound, the air intake that should sweep his scent away, and the physical cover large enough to hide his bulk.
On the ground in the alley, the man with the knife gives a howl of pain and stumbles back, staggering and tripping, to crash backwards against some heaped garbage. As criminal take-downs go, this isn't one to be especially proud of. The woman (possibly a prostitute, but he can't gauge by her outfit, after all), edges toward the alley mouth. She's more frightened of this dark rescuer than she was of the man with the knife.
More alarming is the bizarre, quiet, ratchet-rattle from above as a metal tentacle lashes downward from the edge of the roof, moving whip-fast to strike at the vigilante.
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It's almost too late in coming. The metal grinding sound bearing down on him like the speed of a freight train from behind. Matt dodges to the side as it barely misses him and takes a piece of his sleeve for the effor. He tumbles twice and retrieves his other nightstick in the process. Where had THAT come from??? Was there more?
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There is indeed a second tentacle, following not far behind the first, as if it's already moved to strike even before the first one managed a grab at his sleeve. They're fast, dangerous, and relatively quiet, but to his heightened senses they're like robotic rattlesnakes, with a warning sound to their movements.
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Daredevil strikes at the noisy snakes, his night sticks connecting with metal. This was not like any hoodlum he'do encountered before.
As one strikes another seems to be right behind it. Matt is doing his best to block them off without getting caught. Being forced back to a fire escape ladder which he quickly makes use of. At the next strike, he jumps on the tentacle'S "back" and runs along it to see where it might lead.
A new heartbeat. "What are you supposed to be?"
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Beating on the metal snake with a night stick sends a tremor up his arm. Those things are at least as big around as his thigh, long and weighty and powerful. It's not that the night stick has no effect on it at all, but it doesn't really do much to slow it down or throw it off. Now he knows there are at least two, but as he's starting to run up the second one, there's a solid, crunching thud. It's the sound of construction equipment on a brick wall, something very big and metal hitting the concrete of the building hard enough to dig into it. Whatever the metal monster is, if it manages to get an actual hit on him it's definitely going to hurt. But there's also something human at the end of the metal snakes, with a heartbeat that's starting to pick up, thudding faster with adrenaline, and just a tiny hitch once in a while that hints something may not be quite right there.
"Get off!" A low voice growls, and the tentacle under his feet ripples and writhes to throw him off, while a rattle off to his side tells of that first one swinging in again, to either hit him or help throw him off. The man's voice tells he's on the move and, strangely enough, hovering in what should be open space over the alley. There are more rattles- more robotic snakes, four in all.
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Daredevil is starting to feel a little outgunned right now. His senses telling him the impossible: that a giant metal spider was attacking him. With a human controlling it.
"Whoa!" he is flung off, using his momentum to grab a nearby flagpole and swing back around. Aiming his feet at the human in the middle. He wasn't making headway with the metal arms, better go for the source.
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Technically, Spiders have more than four legs, but he's got more appendages than the one they call Spider-man anyway.
The metal arms are fast and agile, and dangerous for the amount of force they could hit him with. The man in the middle is on the large side, but his reflexes are far slower and he lacks a fighter's instincts. Daredevil's feet connect awkwardly, slipping off the edge of a metal band, then impacting with a somewhat meaty chest. The kick lacks the force it might have had, but it's still enough to knock the air out of the man with an audible grunt. Supported by two of the metal arms, he's only pushed back a foot or so, but the upper two arms that first struck out at Daredevil flail slightly, pulled back by the man they're connected to, and any reaction delayed by that sudden jerk.
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That grunt is proof enough, there is a human attached to these metal tentacles. Daredevil finds a handhold on one of them and takes a page from his dad's handbook. And goes for the right hook to the face.
Hopefully this guy had a face to hit...and would be too off guard to avoid the punch.
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He's a very solid man, with some kind of metal band around his middle, which may give a clue how those metal arms are connected. The arms themselves are easy to grip, segmented with cables through the middle, and each segment is roughly triangular so there's edges, but he'd better be careful gripping them in case they twist and crush his fingers.
At night, there's no need for sunglasses, and Dr. Octavius sees the second blow coming in time to throw up an arm- a flesh and blood one, but it's enough. He gives a wheeze, still catching his breath, a clear and audible signal of distress even if he has warded off a blow to the face.
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He couldn't hang here for long without inviting injury from those tentacles. Matt climbs up the flailing arms and launches himself over the man's shoulders to catapult onto the roof. Getting behind the man to go for a hold around his neck with a baton. His hand finding where the arms attach to the man's back...that added a whole new level to how integrated this man was to his technology.
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The man at the center of the robotic arms is slow to recover, but the arms themselves have faster reflexes, and they react like living things with minds of their own. While two of them are anchored into the nearby buildings, supporting their wheezing creator, the other two writhe and snap at Daredevil's heels as he launches himself to the roof. They're not quite quick enough to double back as he moves for the man's back, so he makes it there, and there's another wheeze as the baton goes around his neck.
There's a couple layers of battered coat in the way, the metal arms emerging from holes torn in the back, but if he slides an arm along the metal segments to the source, he quickly encounters a sturdy metal brace and, above that, scarred and melted flesh against scarred and melted metal connections that go up the man's spine. Those arms have been fused to his body, painfully so, and there's no way they're coming off. Fortunately he doesn't even seem to notice the groping at his back- scar tissue is not known for having much sensitivity, due to nerve damage. He's more concerned with being choked right now, fingers prying at the baton. He's no weakling, but he's not an athlete either, and right now he's at a disadvantage.
Showing initiative to protect their host, the arms are far more effective. Daredevil can't go forward, since he's on the man's back, and the arms coil back to come at him from two different directions, one grabbing accurately toward the arm that holds the baton.
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He boots one of the arms away with a kick, trying to put an end to this. "Enough, stop!" If he could reason with him before they both got seriously hurt...
But the tentacle is already wrapped around his baton arm. Not having any other card to play, he tries to tighten his grip in a sleeper hold. "Let go and I will," he says through clenched teeth. Trying to ignore the pain in his arm. Hoping not to be flung like a bug from a windshield wiper.
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This may not be as good a plan as he hopes, because while the man he's holding onto is starting to lose air, his clawing at the baton growing more feeble, the metal arms seem just as lively as ever. Now the two supporting them take action, and suddenly he hears one let go of the concrete and they're abruptly moving through the air, swaying and swinging backwards. It's not a freefall, and while the man is still conscious his legs simply hang, as if the part of one's brain that should panic from knowing there's no part of your body holding you up has shut down. This is because the metal arms make better legs than his flesh and blood ones do, and they're making a controlled move now. Before there's time to register more than that they're swinging through the air at the mercy of metal snakes, Daredevil is slammed backwards against a wall. That would be unpleasant by itself, but he's sandwiched between wall and a very large man with a lot of metal coming out of his back.
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While most superheroes and vigilantes wear armor for just such an occasion as this, Daredevil'S costume is decidedly not padded, due to it dulling his senses.
He hits the wall with a thud, his eardrums practically exploding from the sound of it, and doesn't get back up again. A limp figure in black hanging off the tentacle holding to him. His batons dropped out of his hands to hit the ground. He was out cold for the moment, a trickle of blood coming from the side of his face.
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The actuators pause briefly, a claw tilting and opening to study Daredevil with a camera while Dr. Octavius gasps and wheezes with the renewed surge of air to his lungs. Well that could have gone better. The prostitute and the drunk he hired to make a scene have both long since fled in terror of the fight waging above the alley.
Carefully, still gasping, the man at the center of the metal arms uses them to descend enough to retrieve the batons, then moves up between the walls and over the edge of the roof again. His own legs aren't likely to hold him right now, since he's still got spots dancing in his own vision, but he pauses on the roof to sort himself out. A helpful actuator claw hands him the batons to shove in a coat pocket, then they carefully lower the unconscious man to lie on the roof, and nudge his limbs around. One claw grips both the man's wrists together, another does the same for his ankles. Thus hogtied, they lift him again, to dangle out of reach of their host. The lower set of actuators flex, and they're off swinging across the rooftops with ease, toward an empty warehouse a few blocks distant. Hopefully they can reach it before the man comes around again. He's clearly trouble, and needs some better restraints.
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Daredevil offers no resistance as he's carried away from the scene. He'd be seeing stars if he could see.
When he starts coming around, he doesn't move. His ears taking a few moments to clear. His back aches something awful and his arms were restrained. This was not a promising situation.
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There was also, as his senses began to recover, the occasional strange metal rattle of a metal arm in motion, some just-slightly-harsh breathing, and the heartbeat with the very occasional irregularity. That fight did not do wonders for his captor's health.
"...It'll have to do. They're only temporary anyway." The voice was the same that told him to get off, earlier, but slightly rougher, and followed by a cough. He seemed to be speaking off-handedly to somebody else, yet there's no other heartbeat, no other sign of anyone else in the echoing space besides him and Daredevil. Unless one counts the metal arms.
The creak of a chair under a heavy weight, then the quietly ratcheting approach of an arm, to wrap something tight around his wrists. Tight, but not metal, something flexible like rope or thick tape or cloth. The man shifts in the creaking chair, coughs again, and there's the quiet sound of skin-on-skin as he rubs his raw and aching throat.
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There's an almost wince at the metal sounds all around him, but he does his best not to let it show. Now that his brain was clearing, two things were glaringly obvious.
He wasn't dead.
And he was still masked.
"Who hired you?" he asks without moving, as if he's been awake this entire time. Someone obviously wanted him alive.
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Instantly the sound of rubbing his throat stops, and the man replies in a sneering tone. "Oh please, don't make it sound so plebian. I wasn't hired by anyone, but there is a substantial bounty on your head."
While he speaks, the metal arms continue their work, finishing off the binding of his wrists, then letting go without warning so that he's suddenly swinging upside-down to hang by his ankles. There's another set of bindings, for those, and the arms get to work on wrapping his ankles as firmly as they did his wrists.
"I ought-" He chokes on the word and has to stop and cough painfully before he gets his voice working right. "I ought to take my own cut out of you, first, for that little trick."
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Despite his position, a smirk finds its way across Matt's face as he lets his arms hang down. "I tend not to roll over and get captured if I can help it."
Plebian? This was no second rate hoodlum, they couldn't even spell a word like that. "I could point out that your...metal friends (for lack of a better word) attacked first." He didn't doubt there was a price on his head, he'd made a big enough dent in the criminal community for that. "How much is it up to? 50k?" Matt's not sure how he's going to get out of this one, but he's working on it.
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Some people, on seeing the big man for the first time, might take him for a thug. Dr. Octavius has the build of an old-time boxer, barrel-chested and tall, and just slightly overweight. He's a very solid mass to have sandwich you against a wall, and the metal arms add bulk. The way the chair creaks under him makes him sound huge, but a third of the weight isn't technically him. On the other hand, his vocabulary shows both intelligence and education.
"...No, I suppose if you were one to go down easily, you would have been taken out without the need for anyone to offer recompense for trying." He shifts again, and the metal arms finish their work, leaving one alone to dangle him by his ankles, while the rest retract in closer to their host. The sound of him running a hand over a metal arm is a very quiet one, but that he's pet one like a cat speaks volumes. "And do be careful how you address the actuators, or they may get ideas of their own regarding your handling before delivery." Amusement enters his tone. If the topic wasn't such an unpleasant one, he's got a very good voice, rich and deep with just a mild New York accent, something upstate. "And you're not the one collecting the bounty..." Of course he can completely understand why he'd want to know.
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His own build was lithe and agile, one that hid well under a suit when he's being Matt Murdock, the lawyer for Hell's Kitchen. Under that slightly ridiculous costume, there was a brain.
Matt continues the conversation as if he wasn't hanging upsidedown. "True. Of course, one has to be around and alive to collect it. And I doubt very much the Kingpin of crime will be letting that happen after you turn me in." He'd likely find a way to get rid of Doc Ock and take the credit himself. No honor amongst thieves.
He's very aware of the snake like metallic creatures circling around. "I'll keep that in mind." Perhaps the fact that he doesn't look to them to see them was a tell in itself.
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Dr. Octavius shifts in his seat, studying the upside-down man with a frown, but all Daredevil hears is the creak of the chair. An actuator extends, claw open, the leds inside glowing without heat, and it waves slowly back and forth in front of Matt's face, almost like a person waving their hand in front of him to check if he can see. That's an experience he's probably suffered before. The metal arms, the man that wears them, or both are clever enough to have noticed his blindness quickly.
"You're suggesting there'll be a bounty on me next? Frankly, I'd be surprised if there wasn't one already, yet here I still am... I have my safeguards. He won't be getting close enough to do me harm." He speaks even as the actuator tests Daredevil's vision, his voice a distraction from the sound of its movements.
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His head does turn to follow the noisy actuator, but not with his eyes so much as it's his ears he can see it with.
"I'm suggesting an alternative. A trade, if you like." As if he had something to bargain with. Which he did have a plan of sorts forming. "One that would guarantee avoiding trouble after getting the money."
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"Oh. Of course. No- don't tell me, you only want a tiny percentage..." He can almost hear the eyeroll in that voice. He's dismissive, but he is still listening, at least, not beating Daredevil's brains out or carrying him off to turn him in yet.
"What do you have to trade?"
The actuator claw zooms in close, camera inches from his face. There's no heat, no sound once it's still, and the only scents are metal and the general smells of New York city streets. If it wasn't for the sound they make moving, they'd be a stealthy enemy even to his sharpened senses.
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"...I want the Kingpin."
He's very serious about that. The problem being he could never get near enough to him to do any damage.
"I can cause a good distraction while you get away with your payment. Leaving nothing to chance for you. All you need to do is provide me with a way of escape when I'm close enough."
He doesn't flinch at the closeness of the acutator, knowing full well that it would take a flick of the claw to unmask him, not that his secret wasn't already out of the bag.
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"...I see."
The claw tilts, a very quiet servo-whine of movement, before simply retreating again. Its host's comment just may be a subtle jab.
"And how precisely are you expecting me to provide you with an out, while simultaneously absconding with the funds? I know who you are, and what you do. What's to stop you coming after me, next?"
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"I'm sure you'd come up with something clever enough. Off the top of my head, something small I could cut my bonds with at the right time would work." That would be cutting it close for Daredevil, having to get loose before he's shot or worse. But he'd be close enough to finally get the Kingpin, it was a gamble but one he was willing to take.
"Nothing." Daredevil always sticks to the truth. He knows when people are lying just by hearing it. However, he had caught Daredevil once already, he already knew his weakness being blind...Daredevil wasn't as interested in Doc Ock as he was with the Kingpin.
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"Oh, that's very reassuring." He gives another cough and a wince, rubbing his throat again, but he's considering.
"Mmm? ...Hush now..." It's quiet, distracted and under his breath, but clear enough to Matt's ears. What he can't hear, no matter how keen his ears are, is the other half of that conversation. The comment about the arms getting ideas was no joke, and somehow they're communicating those ideas to the man in the chair. He can hear the soft rattle-and-whine of the arms moving, pausing, claws adjusting and tilting. It's almost a shame he can't see the snakelike ballet. The one holding him begins to drift a little closer, as if wanting to take part in things, but it's smart enough not to let go of its burden.
"All you want is to get close?" He's definitely considering.
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That was curious. Matt had never heard of robotics taking on a life of its own, not yet anyway. But he still got the sense that these were not entirely robotic, that something else was controlling them. And it wasn't the man attached.
"That's all I need." The fact he was thinking it over was promising. Matt didn't usually make deals with criminals, but in this case, he saw it was the only feasible option for both of them to make it out alive. And he knew it would be too tantalizing to have a plan B already in one's back pocket when going to meet a crime boss that could turn on you whenever he wanted.
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Matt may or may not have had much interest in the news stories a year before, about a mad scientist and an experiment gone awry. It ended in tragedy, twice, when the scientist was drowned with his second attempt, and villified as a bank robber and a lunatic monster.
Not that the Daily Bugle has ever been known for accuracy in reporting.
Still, that man was dead, lost to the Hudson, which is a pretty toxic river even without a boiling burning small sun going down in it.
"And later? Provided you survive your little up-close-and-personal conversation with the Kingpin?" He wants a plan B, but he also doesn't want it to come bite him in the backside later.
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"I protect Hell's Kitchen," he says simply. Stay off his turf and they won't have issues. Spiderman usually kept up with the rest of the city. "Unless you plan on coming back to cash me in, I would hate to have to go through all of this again."
He finally does turn his head as one of the acuators rattles nearby, the sound outlining the metal snake-like head. Wicked looking things, even with just sound waves.
"Do we have a deal?"
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Triple-pronged with a claw just big enough to comfortably grip a man's entire head, and the arm that travels back from the claw to the big man in the chair is thicker around than Matt's arm. They're definitely wicked weapons, but where they keep their brains, if they have them, is hard to say. They're all three tilted toward him, now, the fourth still firmly gripping his ankles. They're watching him.
Hell's kitchen is an area he has little interest in, but he's been loitering its edges out of necessity, off and on. Still, he hasn't made any actual trouble there, and he doesn't plan to. "...Fine. But if you try to turn the tables and come after my head, they won't be so gentle, next time. You're lucky you're of more use alive." It's not an idle threat. If he'd been out to kill him, his tactics would have been far different.
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An amiable smile breaks out across Matt's face under his mask. A compromise at last. Things were looking up. The hard part was yet to come, facing Wilson Fisk. "Fair enough."
But something was nagging at the back of his mind. "What are they exactly...if I may ask?" He bends upwards easily, tied hands to hang on to the one holding his feet, which hopefully will deem it safe enough to leave go of him so he can hop down right side up.
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If Octavius knows the real name of the Kingpin, he doesn't care. He's not even interested in the money for its own sake, only for the scientific equipment it can buy.
"...Actuators." He wasn't expecting the question, and his eyebrows rise. The claws tilt and move closer to Daredevil, equally intrigued, and maybe a little flattered. He sways slightly as the claw moves a little, startled by his grabbing on- it feels sturdier than the one that was close to his face, before. They're not all identical. After a moment of consideration, he's lowered a foot or two and let go of with surprising gentleness, but at the same time he feels and hears two others arching to make a loose circle around him. They're not touching him, but they are close enough to react fast if he makes any sudden moves.
"They were designed to aid in scientific endeavors, but they've adapted... learned new skills."
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Daredevil hangs on even after being let go before dropping to his feet. Despite being tied up still, he has impeccable balance, well enough that he doesn't fall down with his ankles tied together. It's entirely possible he could have gotten free on the way to be delivered without Octavius' help.
"Strange things to be attached to," he comments. "Regardless of how handy they might be." Also they seemed awfully dangerous. Having robotic arms with their own mind and decision making skills.
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He's not stupid, and therefore he is just a little nervous about this agile prisoner of his. There's the very subtle giveaways of a slight speeding up of his heart rate and breathing, once Daredevil's feet touch the floor. His heart gives that slight irregularity of beat, again, and he shifts in his chair and rubs one knee. "They weren't designed for... permanent neural interface, but they've adapted to that, too. As have I." If there was any doubt left in Matt's mind that these things are the man's own creations, that should put it to rest. He's dealing with a scientist, not a thug.
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Most natives of New York adapt to something. Matt can understand that firsthand from his blindness at the age of 8 and his super senses that give him abilities far beyond those of a normal blind man.
He makes no attempt to remove his bonds, knowing that he had not been lied to yet by his captor. "When does the transfer occur?" Might as well hammer out the details if they were going to pull this off.
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"What time is-" He pauses ever so briefly, questioned answered before he can finish asking. "Not for nearly two hours, but that includes travel time. Although... the actuators make their own highway through the city." There's a trace of pride, there. If he has to be welded to the arms, at least they have some advantages.
"I suppose next you'll be wanting your billy clubs back..."
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"I don't doubt that." They could sure tear up a building if they had the mind to.
Obviously he'd not inspected those 'clubs', which was probably good considering all the gadgets that could pop out of them. "I'd appreciate it." He can improvise if he had to, but they would be a big help.
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The actuators are useful, but they're not subtle. On the other hand, since he's been captured, they've handled him without giving him so much as a bruise, unlike the rough treatment earlier in the fight.
"Not until there's no chance you'll use them on me." There's the quiet thud of a claw planting on the floor, but this time there's no breaking of concrete, and then he stands, chair creaking and one knee popping quietly. They're not light, those arms, and he's had one brace against the floor to help support their weight before he stands. It's a good thing he's got a large, sturdy frame himself, or he wouldn't wear them as well as he does.
The sound that follows is a quiet rummaging on a table, papers and candy wrappers, odds and ends of metal and wire. He has a cluttered workspace. "We're not going into his lair directly. I don't trust him not to have ready traps on hand. But the exchange is nearby on a rooftop. I wanted a clear view before I move in."
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Considering he had nearly choked him earlier, a fair precaution. However, Daredevil's not one to go back on his word. Unlike most criminal types. "I'll save them for the big fish."
"And for certain he will be there?" To see Daredevil in the flesh? That might be worth the Kingpin showing up himself to claim his prize.
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"I can hardly be expected to guarantee you that, can I? Depends how cautious he is." Because Octavius is cautious, and not just of Daredevil. Of course he's turned his back on the man, now, but the two of the actuators are still loosely curled in a half-circle cage around him, with the third watching him. If Daredevil is paying attention, as long as Octavius is on his feet, the fourth one is occupied bracing him, so that makes one less to deal with. This is not to say he can't walk without the help, but it's harder on his knees.
"For certain you'll be taken back to his place, doesn't that suit your purposes? ...You know, an explosive would give you an out whenever you want it..." He says this as if he just has explosives laying around.
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Ouch. An explosive. Matt's ears are already aching at the thought of how painful that would be.
"I prefer something a little more hands on," he says. Something like that would not only incapacitate his enemy, he'd be down for the count too.
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"I'm not a weapons designer by trade." He sounds mildly annoyed, but it's just a grumble, without any threat behind it. More rummaging, and a few quiet clicks from the claw that's watching Daredevil.
"No, no... there's bound to be security systems. Maybe an E.M.P. would help..." He gropes for the chair and pulls it closer, spinning it around. Straddling a chair backwards, or a backless stool is the only way he can comfortably sit anymore. "IF you succeed in taking him down, your next problem is going to be his security force, be it men or electronics or both..." The challenge of a new project to work on, even one that has to be done on a very short timeframe, is a good distraction.
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"That might point to you in the end for helping me." Keeping his movements fluid and visible, Matt bends to balance on the palms of his tied hands and front flips to land on his feet beside the table. So he doesn't have to talk to this man's back.
"Not something I'm sure you would want to be known for." All Matt expected was help in getting close enough.
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The rummaging pauses briefly, as he considers this advice with a frown. He hates it when somebody else is right, but that's advice he'd be a fool not to listen to. "...Low tech, then." He's just sitting down when the man does a flip, and whip-quick the arms follow, ready to make a grab or a striking blow if this is an attack on their host. The arms themselves have little to fear from him, but they're very protective of their creator. As soon as he's on his feet, he can feel and hear the open claws of the actuators all around him, close and watchful. The man's heartbeat has sped up, but once he's sure this isn't a threat, he sinks slowly into the chair again.
"What style would he expect from you? Apart from a lot of flipping around like a damned circus performer." First Spiderman, now Daredevil, they're all a bunch of scrawny human bouncing beans. It's annoying.
The claws retreat slowly, but stay grouped loosely around him, watchful.
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He's not called Daredevil for nothing. Matt taps a knuckle on the table as if he's thinking. Really, the sound waves serve to light up every object on the table. He can then pick up a sharp piece of metal to get his hands free as if he had seen it. Seeming quite at ease with his captor and his metallic friends at the moment.
"A sneak attack, obviously."
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The quiet tapping echoes show the stocky man straddling a chair backwards, across the table from him, one of the lower set of arms still supporting some weight for him. The other three are arched over and around the table to focus on the captive, three-pronged claws open and facing him, as if there may be cameras or other sensors in the center of each to act as their eyes. The table itself is a mess of papers, odds and ends of wire and metal and a couple of pairs of sunglasses or goggles. A desk lamp and a soldering gun have trailing wires to a home-made generator off a car battery. The wider surroundings are cavernous and cluttered, some kind of old warehouse, probably, with stacks of boxes and crates that are falling apart. It's not the glamorous environs of a criminal mastermind who's doing well, really, almost an antithesis to the Kingpin's luxurious place. On the other hand, some discarded junk food wrappers and empty soda bottles hint at a man who is a little careless of the quality of his workspace. As long as he has what he needs to tinker and invent, the rest doesn't matter.
"...If you're attempting to gain my trust as some kind of ally, showing off isn't the way to go about it." He sounds mildly annoyed, just a little wary, and tired.
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Matt smirks again as he just manages to start a slit on the bindings and helps the rip with his teeth. "I think better on my feet." Thinking that he meant showing off by his acrobatics earlier.
"Hot tea with honey will help that throat," he says offhand as he bends to cut his ankles free. He's been in enough choke holds to know the remedy, but perhaps this guy doesn't.
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"Of course. I'll just send the butler to fetch some, shall I?" He sneers. A claw draws closer, the slow movement more of a metallic creak than a rattle. It's as stealthy as they get, but that metal arm is close now, ready to make a grab from just a foot away. One of the lower arms retreats slightly, curling in closer and ready to block and defend if that useful little metal shard should be thrown at Dr. Octavius. He may not be a criminal success yet, but he's both cautious and smart, so that might just be a matter of time.
"In that case you'd better stay on them. I don't appreciate Spiderman's antics, and I don't appreciate yours either." A third claw, still just watching, gives a sort of warning rattle that is a deliberate threat.
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Matt shows no aversion to the closeness of the actuator. He holds up the piece of metal for the good doctor to see as if making a point. It wouldn't take much for him to get free. He then puts the piece back on the table in roughly the exact spot he took it from.
"Yes, I see why you're needing the money." Most of the criminal types in Hell's kitchen were not bad people, just caught by their situations to be taken advantage of by the wrong kind of people.
While he'd never had the pleasure of meeting him, he does hear stories about this Spiderman, however unlikely they may sound.
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Once he puts the piece of metal down, the claw backs off slightly, to the previous level of wary. The metal arms are like a pack of intelligent guard dogs, watching his every move. Dr. Octavius, too, relaxes slightly once the potential weapon is back on the table, and waves a hand dismissively.
"There's nowhere legitimate I can work anymore, and funding is the necessary evil of scientific research. Frankly, I was fed up with brown-nosing wealthy idiots to finance important work, anyway." Nobody is taking advantage of Dr. Octavius, and he's just morally grey enough not to bemoan his newly criminal status. On the other hand, his aims aren't specifically criminal in nature. He'd take the money through legal channels if he could get it, and all else in his life pales before his passion for Science.
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Arms crossed thoughtfully, Daredevil only says, "I see." An ironic statement perhaps. He's just as passionate about the law and justice but science at the cost of human lives is not something he would stand by. But it's not unlike his own frustrations with the police force in his part of town. Everyone on the take, nobody trustworthy. Save for Tindelli, who he knows can't be bought off.
Speaking of, he should try to contact the good Captain, see if he can spread a net to catch his large fish once he has him. "I'll need to make a call before we go."
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The scientist looks at him, blinks, and then laughs.
"No."
It might be just more of that (not wholly unreasonable) caution, or it might be a display of power to remind Daredevil that he is, technically, still in captivity. It might be some of both. "Do you think I'm about to let you just run out to a pay phone and call some allies or the police to come round me up? If you have a message, you'll give it to me, with the contact number, and I'll pass it along if I feel like it."
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True, he didn't think that his captor would go for that suggestion. Can't blame him for trying.
Daredevil considers his options, few that they are. He couldn't give the police station number outright, that would be a bad phone call. Hello, New York police station, what is your emergency? Followed by the sounds of him being pummeled into the cement.
So he gives his own number. To his office, Murdock and Klein. "The message is 'if Tindelli wants Fisk, he should keep an eye on him today'."
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Dr. Octavius considers for a long moment, ignoring the quiet clicks and rattles of the arms. "Keeping an eye on him risks my being spotted, too..." It's not a no, but he is reconsidering his own approach to the handing off of his captive. Sneaky, it seems, may be what he needs himself. He'd prefer the headlines tomorrow don't blare 'the return of Doc Ock', although he's more confident he can escape the police than one of Kingpin's traps. He hasn't let Kingpin know who he's dealing with though, either.
"All right. But I'm not giving your friends much of a head start. We'll phone on the way. Now, apart from your little sticks, did you have anything more specific in mind for your escape from his headquarters?" He's willing to bargain, at least, and hold up his end of things. Daredevil's lucky on that count.
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He still had not been lied to, his ears told him as much.
"Getting him off the roof before his body guards can react." But Daredevil wasn't planning on telling his whole plan, after all he didn't need anyone, especially his captor, intentionally sabotaging it. He'd been working years to get close to Fisk and he wasn't going to lose him this time.
Even if he had to get tied up again for the transfer.
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Dr. Octavius might not exactly be pleasant to him, but he was being honest. Wary, but honest.
"Fine, we'll make sure you're armed enough to carry out your little personal vendetta." Considering the grudge he holds against Spiderman, that's the pot calling the kettle black, but it wouldn't be wise to point that out. "I should have more of that stuff I tied you up with, and you've already proven what can cut it, but you'll need to be able to walk a little..."
After all that talk, their remaining time would be best spent preparing for the upcoming meeting.
It was a full moonlight night over Hell's Kitchen. Daredevil crouched on a ledge, listening to the sounds of the city. There were plenty of thugs and lowlifes out tonight, but he was still working on his hunt for the Kingpin of crime. If he could just find the right tentacle to follow...
The dark figure rose to his feet and, drawing one of his nightsticks from his boots, shot a line to the nearest building. Before it even hit, he launched himself over the side. A perfect swing across, somersaulting to land on his feet two rooftops across.
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If he was looking for trouble to take care of, a woman's scream gives him a pinpoint of focus to go after. No woman screams like that unless she's in serious trouble. Or has been paid to pretend to be. Still, if he comes on the scene, there's a drunk man with a knife, who is threatening her, albeit unsteadily. He just may not have the coordination to do her any serious harm, should she actually make an effort to fight back, but apart from the scream and the smell of alcohol and unwashed body, Daredevil might or might not be able to pick up on that detail in time.
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The scream catches his ears as deftly as if someone had grabbed him by the arm and pulled. He zeroes in on the commotion, noticing simultaneously how neighbors are more annoyed by the noise than helpful as they slam their windows shut and bolt them as he passes, running along the rooftops.
Two heartbeats. One with large footsteps.
While someone like Spiderman would give a quip here, Daredevil goes right to the saving. His nightstick flying through the air to hit the knife hand square on. Hopefully the lady will have presence of mind to take off while he deals with the man who's definitely had one too many. "Might be time to call it a night," he says beneath his shaded mask as he lands on his feet.
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What he's less likely to hear is another heartbeat, perched on the rooftop above, and drowned out by a noisy air-filter unit on the roof. The man there chose the spot for the camouflage of sound, the air intake that should sweep his scent away, and the physical cover large enough to hide his bulk.
On the ground in the alley, the man with the knife gives a howl of pain and stumbles back, staggering and tripping, to crash backwards against some heaped garbage. As criminal take-downs go, this isn't one to be especially proud of. The woman (possibly a prostitute, but he can't gauge by her outfit, after all), edges toward the alley mouth. She's more frightened of this dark rescuer than she was of the man with the knife.
More alarming is the bizarre, quiet, ratchet-rattle from above as a metal tentacle lashes downward from the edge of the roof, moving whip-fast to strike at the vigilante.
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It's almost too late in coming. The metal grinding sound bearing down on him like the speed of a freight train from behind. Matt dodges to the side as it barely misses him and takes a piece of his sleeve for the effor. He tumbles twice and retrieves his other nightstick in the process. Where had THAT come from??? Was there more?
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There is indeed a second tentacle, following not far behind the first, as if it's already moved to strike even before the first one managed a grab at his sleeve. They're fast, dangerous, and relatively quiet, but to his heightened senses they're like robotic rattlesnakes, with a warning sound to their movements.
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Daredevil strikes at the noisy snakes, his night sticks connecting with metal. This was not like any hoodlum he'do encountered before.
As one strikes another seems to be right behind it. Matt is doing his best to block them off without getting caught. Being forced back to a fire escape ladder which he quickly makes use of. At the next strike, he jumps on the tentacle'S "back" and runs along it to see where it might lead.
A new heartbeat. "What are you supposed to be?"
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Beating on the metal snake with a night stick sends a tremor up his arm. Those things are at least as big around as his thigh, long and weighty and powerful. It's not that the night stick has no effect on it at all, but it doesn't really do much to slow it down or throw it off. Now he knows there are at least two, but as he's starting to run up the second one, there's a solid, crunching thud. It's the sound of construction equipment on a brick wall, something very big and metal hitting the concrete of the building hard enough to dig into it. Whatever the metal monster is, if it manages to get an actual hit on him it's definitely going to hurt. But there's also something human at the end of the metal snakes, with a heartbeat that's starting to pick up, thudding faster with adrenaline, and just a tiny hitch once in a while that hints something may not be quite right there.
"Get off!" A low voice growls, and the tentacle under his feet ripples and writhes to throw him off, while a rattle off to his side tells of that first one swinging in again, to either hit him or help throw him off. The man's voice tells he's on the move and, strangely enough, hovering in what should be open space over the alley. There are more rattles- more robotic snakes, four in all.
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Daredevil is starting to feel a little outgunned right now. His senses telling him the impossible: that a giant metal spider was attacking him. With a human controlling it.
"Whoa!" he is flung off, using his momentum to grab a nearby flagpole and swing back around. Aiming his feet at the human in the middle. He wasn't making headway with the metal arms, better go for the source.
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Technically, Spiders have more than four legs, but he's got more appendages than the one they call Spider-man anyway.
The metal arms are fast and agile, and dangerous for the amount of force they could hit him with. The man in the middle is on the large side, but his reflexes are far slower and he lacks a fighter's instincts. Daredevil's feet connect awkwardly, slipping off the edge of a metal band, then impacting with a somewhat meaty chest. The kick lacks the force it might have had, but it's still enough to knock the air out of the man with an audible grunt. Supported by two of the metal arms, he's only pushed back a foot or so, but the upper two arms that first struck out at Daredevil flail slightly, pulled back by the man they're connected to, and any reaction delayed by that sudden jerk.
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That grunt is proof enough, there is a human attached to these metal tentacles. Daredevil finds a handhold on one of them and takes a page from his dad's handbook. And goes for the right hook to the face.
Hopefully this guy had a face to hit...and would be too off guard to avoid the punch.
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He's a very solid man, with some kind of metal band around his middle, which may give a clue how those metal arms are connected. The arms themselves are easy to grip, segmented with cables through the middle, and each segment is roughly triangular so there's edges, but he'd better be careful gripping them in case they twist and crush his fingers.
At night, there's no need for sunglasses, and Dr. Octavius sees the second blow coming in time to throw up an arm- a flesh and blood one, but it's enough. He gives a wheeze, still catching his breath, a clear and audible signal of distress even if he has warded off a blow to the face.
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He couldn't hang here for long without inviting injury from those tentacles. Matt climbs up the flailing arms and launches himself over the man's shoulders to catapult onto the roof. Getting behind the man to go for a hold around his neck with a baton. His hand finding where the arms attach to the man's back...that added a whole new level to how integrated this man was to his technology.
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The man at the center of the robotic arms is slow to recover, but the arms themselves have faster reflexes, and they react like living things with minds of their own. While two of them are anchored into the nearby buildings, supporting their wheezing creator, the other two writhe and snap at Daredevil's heels as he launches himself to the roof. They're not quite quick enough to double back as he moves for the man's back, so he makes it there, and there's another wheeze as the baton goes around his neck.
There's a couple layers of battered coat in the way, the metal arms emerging from holes torn in the back, but if he slides an arm along the metal segments to the source, he quickly encounters a sturdy metal brace and, above that, scarred and melted flesh against scarred and melted metal connections that go up the man's spine. Those arms have been fused to his body, painfully so, and there's no way they're coming off. Fortunately he doesn't even seem to notice the groping at his back- scar tissue is not known for having much sensitivity, due to nerve damage. He's more concerned with being choked right now, fingers prying at the baton. He's no weakling, but he's not an athlete either, and right now he's at a disadvantage.
Showing initiative to protect their host, the arms are far more effective. Daredevil can't go forward, since he's on the man's back, and the arms coil back to come at him from two different directions, one grabbing accurately toward the arm that holds the baton.
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He boots one of the arms away with a kick, trying to put an end to this. "Enough, stop!" If he could reason with him before they both got seriously hurt...
But the tentacle is already wrapped around his baton arm. Not having any other card to play, he tries to tighten his grip in a sleeper hold. "Let go and I will," he says through clenched teeth. Trying to ignore the pain in his arm. Hoping not to be flung like a bug from a windshield wiper.
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This may not be as good a plan as he hopes, because while the man he's holding onto is starting to lose air, his clawing at the baton growing more feeble, the metal arms seem just as lively as ever. Now the two supporting them take action, and suddenly he hears one let go of the concrete and they're abruptly moving through the air, swaying and swinging backwards. It's not a freefall, and while the man is still conscious his legs simply hang, as if the part of one's brain that should panic from knowing there's no part of your body holding you up has shut down. This is because the metal arms make better legs than his flesh and blood ones do, and they're making a controlled move now. Before there's time to register more than that they're swinging through the air at the mercy of metal snakes, Daredevil is slammed backwards against a wall. That would be unpleasant by itself, but he's sandwiched between wall and a very large man with a lot of metal coming out of his back.
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While most superheroes and vigilantes wear armor for just such an occasion as this, Daredevil'S costume is decidedly not padded, due to it dulling his senses.
He hits the wall with a thud, his eardrums practically exploding from the sound of it, and doesn't get back up again. A limp figure in black hanging off the tentacle holding to him. His batons dropped out of his hands to hit the ground. He was out cold for the moment, a trickle of blood coming from the side of his face.
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The actuators pause briefly, a claw tilting and opening to study Daredevil with a camera while Dr. Octavius gasps and wheezes with the renewed surge of air to his lungs. Well that could have gone better. The prostitute and the drunk he hired to make a scene have both long since fled in terror of the fight waging above the alley.
Carefully, still gasping, the man at the center of the metal arms uses them to descend enough to retrieve the batons, then moves up between the walls and over the edge of the roof again. His own legs aren't likely to hold him right now, since he's still got spots dancing in his own vision, but he pauses on the roof to sort himself out. A helpful actuator claw hands him the batons to shove in a coat pocket, then they carefully lower the unconscious man to lie on the roof, and nudge his limbs around. One claw grips both the man's wrists together, another does the same for his ankles. Thus hogtied, they lift him again, to dangle out of reach of their host. The lower set of actuators flex, and they're off swinging across the rooftops with ease, toward an empty warehouse a few blocks distant. Hopefully they can reach it before the man comes around again. He's clearly trouble, and needs some better restraints.
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Daredevil offers no resistance as he's carried away from the scene. He'd be seeing stars if he could see.
When he starts coming around, he doesn't move. His ears taking a few moments to clear. His back aches something awful and his arms were restrained. This was not a promising situation.
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There was also, as his senses began to recover, the occasional strange metal rattle of a metal arm in motion, some just-slightly-harsh breathing, and the heartbeat with the very occasional irregularity. That fight did not do wonders for his captor's health.
"...It'll have to do. They're only temporary anyway." The voice was the same that told him to get off, earlier, but slightly rougher, and followed by a cough. He seemed to be speaking off-handedly to somebody else, yet there's no other heartbeat, no other sign of anyone else in the echoing space besides him and Daredevil. Unless one counts the metal arms.
The creak of a chair under a heavy weight, then the quietly ratcheting approach of an arm, to wrap something tight around his wrists. Tight, but not metal, something flexible like rope or thick tape or cloth. The man shifts in the creaking chair, coughs again, and there's the quiet sound of skin-on-skin as he rubs his raw and aching throat.
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There's an almost wince at the metal sounds all around him, but he does his best not to let it show. Now that his brain was clearing, two things were glaringly obvious.
He wasn't dead.
And he was still masked.
"Who hired you?" he asks without moving, as if he's been awake this entire time. Someone obviously wanted him alive.
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Instantly the sound of rubbing his throat stops, and the man replies in a sneering tone. "Oh please, don't make it sound so plebian. I wasn't hired by anyone, but there is a substantial bounty on your head."
While he speaks, the metal arms continue their work, finishing off the binding of his wrists, then letting go without warning so that he's suddenly swinging upside-down to hang by his ankles. There's another set of bindings, for those, and the arms get to work on wrapping his ankles as firmly as they did his wrists.
"I ought-" He chokes on the word and has to stop and cough painfully before he gets his voice working right. "I ought to take my own cut out of you, first, for that little trick."
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Despite his position, a smirk finds its way across Matt's face as he lets his arms hang down. "I tend not to roll over and get captured if I can help it."
Plebian? This was no second rate hoodlum, they couldn't even spell a word like that. "I could point out that your...metal friends (for lack of a better word) attacked first." He didn't doubt there was a price on his head, he'd made a big enough dent in the criminal community for that. "How much is it up to? 50k?" Matt's not sure how he's going to get out of this one, but he's working on it.
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Some people, on seeing the big man for the first time, might take him for a thug. Dr. Octavius has the build of an old-time boxer, barrel-chested and tall, and just slightly overweight. He's a very solid mass to have sandwich you against a wall, and the metal arms add bulk. The way the chair creaks under him makes him sound huge, but a third of the weight isn't technically him. On the other hand, his vocabulary shows both intelligence and education.
"...No, I suppose if you were one to go down easily, you would have been taken out without the need for anyone to offer recompense for trying." He shifts again, and the metal arms finish their work, leaving one alone to dangle him by his ankles, while the rest retract in closer to their host. The sound of him running a hand over a metal arm is a very quiet one, but that he's pet one like a cat speaks volumes. "And do be careful how you address the actuators, or they may get ideas of their own regarding your handling before delivery." Amusement enters his tone. If the topic wasn't such an unpleasant one, he's got a very good voice, rich and deep with just a mild New York accent, something upstate. "And you're not the one collecting the bounty..." Of course he can completely understand why he'd want to know.
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His own build was lithe and agile, one that hid well under a suit when he's being Matt Murdock, the lawyer for Hell's Kitchen. Under that slightly ridiculous costume, there was a brain.
Matt continues the conversation as if he wasn't hanging upsidedown. "True. Of course, one has to be around and alive to collect it. And I doubt very much the Kingpin of crime will be letting that happen after you turn me in." He'd likely find a way to get rid of Doc Ock and take the credit himself. No honor amongst thieves.
He's very aware of the snake like metallic creatures circling around. "I'll keep that in mind." Perhaps the fact that he doesn't look to them to see them was a tell in itself.
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Dr. Octavius shifts in his seat, studying the upside-down man with a frown, but all Daredevil hears is the creak of the chair. An actuator extends, claw open, the leds inside glowing without heat, and it waves slowly back and forth in front of Matt's face, almost like a person waving their hand in front of him to check if he can see. That's an experience he's probably suffered before. The metal arms, the man that wears them, or both are clever enough to have noticed his blindness quickly.
"You're suggesting there'll be a bounty on me next? Frankly, I'd be surprised if there wasn't one already, yet here I still am... I have my safeguards. He won't be getting close enough to do me harm." He speaks even as the actuator tests Daredevil's vision, his voice a distraction from the sound of its movements.
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His head does turn to follow the noisy actuator, but not with his eyes so much as it's his ears he can see it with.
"I'm suggesting an alternative. A trade, if you like." As if he had something to bargain with. Which he did have a plan of sorts forming. "One that would guarantee avoiding trouble after getting the money."
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"Oh. Of course. No- don't tell me, you only want a tiny percentage..." He can almost hear the eyeroll in that voice. He's dismissive, but he is still listening, at least, not beating Daredevil's brains out or carrying him off to turn him in yet.
"What do you have to trade?"
The actuator claw zooms in close, camera inches from his face. There's no heat, no sound once it's still, and the only scents are metal and the general smells of New York city streets. If it wasn't for the sound they make moving, they'd be a stealthy enemy even to his sharpened senses.
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"...I want the Kingpin."
He's very serious about that. The problem being he could never get near enough to him to do any damage.
"I can cause a good distraction while you get away with your payment. Leaving nothing to chance for you. All you need to do is provide me with a way of escape when I'm close enough."
He doesn't flinch at the closeness of the acutator, knowing full well that it would take a flick of the claw to unmask him, not that his secret wasn't already out of the bag.
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"...I see."
The claw tilts, a very quiet servo-whine of movement, before simply retreating again. Its host's comment just may be a subtle jab.
"And how precisely are you expecting me to provide you with an out, while simultaneously absconding with the funds? I know who you are, and what you do. What's to stop you coming after me, next?"
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"I'm sure you'd come up with something clever enough. Off the top of my head, something small I could cut my bonds with at the right time would work." That would be cutting it close for Daredevil, having to get loose before he's shot or worse. But he'd be close enough to finally get the Kingpin, it was a gamble but one he was willing to take.
"Nothing." Daredevil always sticks to the truth. He knows when people are lying just by hearing it. However, he had caught Daredevil once already, he already knew his weakness being blind...Daredevil wasn't as interested in Doc Ock as he was with the Kingpin.
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"Oh, that's very reassuring." He gives another cough and a wince, rubbing his throat again, but he's considering.
"Mmm? ...Hush now..." It's quiet, distracted and under his breath, but clear enough to Matt's ears. What he can't hear, no matter how keen his ears are, is the other half of that conversation. The comment about the arms getting ideas was no joke, and somehow they're communicating those ideas to the man in the chair. He can hear the soft rattle-and-whine of the arms moving, pausing, claws adjusting and tilting. It's almost a shame he can't see the snakelike ballet. The one holding him begins to drift a little closer, as if wanting to take part in things, but it's smart enough not to let go of its burden.
"All you want is to get close?" He's definitely considering.
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That was curious. Matt had never heard of robotics taking on a life of its own, not yet anyway. But he still got the sense that these were not entirely robotic, that something else was controlling them. And it wasn't the man attached.
"That's all I need." The fact he was thinking it over was promising. Matt didn't usually make deals with criminals, but in this case, he saw it was the only feasible option for both of them to make it out alive. And he knew it would be too tantalizing to have a plan B already in one's back pocket when going to meet a crime boss that could turn on you whenever he wanted.
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Matt may or may not have had much interest in the news stories a year before, about a mad scientist and an experiment gone awry. It ended in tragedy, twice, when the scientist was drowned with his second attempt, and villified as a bank robber and a lunatic monster.
Not that the Daily Bugle has ever been known for accuracy in reporting.
Still, that man was dead, lost to the Hudson, which is a pretty toxic river even without a boiling burning small sun going down in it.
"And later? Provided you survive your little up-close-and-personal conversation with the Kingpin?" He wants a plan B, but he also doesn't want it to come bite him in the backside later.
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"I protect Hell's Kitchen," he says simply. Stay off his turf and they won't have issues. Spiderman usually kept up with the rest of the city. "Unless you plan on coming back to cash me in, I would hate to have to go through all of this again."
He finally does turn his head as one of the acuators rattles nearby, the sound outlining the metal snake-like head. Wicked looking things, even with just sound waves.
"Do we have a deal?"
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Triple-pronged with a claw just big enough to comfortably grip a man's entire head, and the arm that travels back from the claw to the big man in the chair is thicker around than Matt's arm. They're definitely wicked weapons, but where they keep their brains, if they have them, is hard to say. They're all three tilted toward him, now, the fourth still firmly gripping his ankles. They're watching him.
Hell's kitchen is an area he has little interest in, but he's been loitering its edges out of necessity, off and on. Still, he hasn't made any actual trouble there, and he doesn't plan to. "...Fine. But if you try to turn the tables and come after my head, they won't be so gentle, next time. You're lucky you're of more use alive." It's not an idle threat. If he'd been out to kill him, his tactics would have been far different.
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An amiable smile breaks out across Matt's face under his mask. A compromise at last. Things were looking up. The hard part was yet to come, facing Wilson Fisk. "Fair enough."
But something was nagging at the back of his mind. "What are they exactly...if I may ask?" He bends upwards easily, tied hands to hang on to the one holding his feet, which hopefully will deem it safe enough to leave go of him so he can hop down right side up.
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If Octavius knows the real name of the Kingpin, he doesn't care. He's not even interested in the money for its own sake, only for the scientific equipment it can buy.
"...Actuators." He wasn't expecting the question, and his eyebrows rise. The claws tilt and move closer to Daredevil, equally intrigued, and maybe a little flattered. He sways slightly as the claw moves a little, startled by his grabbing on- it feels sturdier than the one that was close to his face, before. They're not all identical. After a moment of consideration, he's lowered a foot or two and let go of with surprising gentleness, but at the same time he feels and hears two others arching to make a loose circle around him. They're not touching him, but they are close enough to react fast if he makes any sudden moves.
"They were designed to aid in scientific endeavors, but they've adapted... learned new skills."
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Daredevil hangs on even after being let go before dropping to his feet. Despite being tied up still, he has impeccable balance, well enough that he doesn't fall down with his ankles tied together. It's entirely possible he could have gotten free on the way to be delivered without Octavius' help.
"Strange things to be attached to," he comments. "Regardless of how handy they might be." Also they seemed awfully dangerous. Having robotic arms with their own mind and decision making skills.
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He's not stupid, and therefore he is just a little nervous about this agile prisoner of his. There's the very subtle giveaways of a slight speeding up of his heart rate and breathing, once Daredevil's feet touch the floor. His heart gives that slight irregularity of beat, again, and he shifts in his chair and rubs one knee. "They weren't designed for... permanent neural interface, but they've adapted to that, too. As have I." If there was any doubt left in Matt's mind that these things are the man's own creations, that should put it to rest. He's dealing with a scientist, not a thug.
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Most natives of New York adapt to something. Matt can understand that firsthand from his blindness at the age of 8 and his super senses that give him abilities far beyond those of a normal blind man.
He makes no attempt to remove his bonds, knowing that he had not been lied to yet by his captor. "When does the transfer occur?" Might as well hammer out the details if they were going to pull this off.
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"What time is-" He pauses ever so briefly, questioned answered before he can finish asking. "Not for nearly two hours, but that includes travel time. Although... the actuators make their own highway through the city." There's a trace of pride, there. If he has to be welded to the arms, at least they have some advantages.
"I suppose next you'll be wanting your billy clubs back..."
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"I don't doubt that." They could sure tear up a building if they had the mind to.
Obviously he'd not inspected those 'clubs', which was probably good considering all the gadgets that could pop out of them. "I'd appreciate it." He can improvise if he had to, but they would be a big help.
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The actuators are useful, but they're not subtle. On the other hand, since he's been captured, they've handled him without giving him so much as a bruise, unlike the rough treatment earlier in the fight.
"Not until there's no chance you'll use them on me." There's the quiet thud of a claw planting on the floor, but this time there's no breaking of concrete, and then he stands, chair creaking and one knee popping quietly. They're not light, those arms, and he's had one brace against the floor to help support their weight before he stands. It's a good thing he's got a large, sturdy frame himself, or he wouldn't wear them as well as he does.
The sound that follows is a quiet rummaging on a table, papers and candy wrappers, odds and ends of metal and wire. He has a cluttered workspace. "We're not going into his lair directly. I don't trust him not to have ready traps on hand. But the exchange is nearby on a rooftop. I wanted a clear view before I move in."
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Considering he had nearly choked him earlier, a fair precaution. However, Daredevil's not one to go back on his word. Unlike most criminal types. "I'll save them for the big fish."
"And for certain he will be there?" To see Daredevil in the flesh? That might be worth the Kingpin showing up himself to claim his prize.
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"I can hardly be expected to guarantee you that, can I? Depends how cautious he is." Because Octavius is cautious, and not just of Daredevil. Of course he's turned his back on the man, now, but the two of the actuators are still loosely curled in a half-circle cage around him, with the third watching him. If Daredevil is paying attention, as long as Octavius is on his feet, the fourth one is occupied bracing him, so that makes one less to deal with. This is not to say he can't walk without the help, but it's harder on his knees.
"For certain you'll be taken back to his place, doesn't that suit your purposes? ...You know, an explosive would give you an out whenever you want it..." He says this as if he just has explosives laying around.
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Ouch. An explosive. Matt's ears are already aching at the thought of how painful that would be.
"I prefer something a little more hands on," he says. Something like that would not only incapacitate his enemy, he'd be down for the count too.
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"I'm not a weapons designer by trade." He sounds mildly annoyed, but it's just a grumble, without any threat behind it. More rummaging, and a few quiet clicks from the claw that's watching Daredevil.
"No, no... there's bound to be security systems. Maybe an E.M.P. would help..." He gropes for the chair and pulls it closer, spinning it around. Straddling a chair backwards, or a backless stool is the only way he can comfortably sit anymore. "IF you succeed in taking him down, your next problem is going to be his security force, be it men or electronics or both..." The challenge of a new project to work on, even one that has to be done on a very short timeframe, is a good distraction.
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"That might point to you in the end for helping me." Keeping his movements fluid and visible, Matt bends to balance on the palms of his tied hands and front flips to land on his feet beside the table. So he doesn't have to talk to this man's back.
"Not something I'm sure you would want to be known for." All Matt expected was help in getting close enough.
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The rummaging pauses briefly, as he considers this advice with a frown. He hates it when somebody else is right, but that's advice he'd be a fool not to listen to. "...Low tech, then." He's just sitting down when the man does a flip, and whip-quick the arms follow, ready to make a grab or a striking blow if this is an attack on their host. The arms themselves have little to fear from him, but they're very protective of their creator. As soon as he's on his feet, he can feel and hear the open claws of the actuators all around him, close and watchful. The man's heartbeat has sped up, but once he's sure this isn't a threat, he sinks slowly into the chair again.
"What style would he expect from you? Apart from a lot of flipping around like a damned circus performer." First Spiderman, now Daredevil, they're all a bunch of scrawny human bouncing beans. It's annoying.
The claws retreat slowly, but stay grouped loosely around him, watchful.
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He's not called Daredevil for nothing. Matt taps a knuckle on the table as if he's thinking. Really, the sound waves serve to light up every object on the table. He can then pick up a sharp piece of metal to get his hands free as if he had seen it. Seeming quite at ease with his captor and his metallic friends at the moment.
"A sneak attack, obviously."
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The quiet tapping echoes show the stocky man straddling a chair backwards, across the table from him, one of the lower set of arms still supporting some weight for him. The other three are arched over and around the table to focus on the captive, three-pronged claws open and facing him, as if there may be cameras or other sensors in the center of each to act as their eyes. The table itself is a mess of papers, odds and ends of wire and metal and a couple of pairs of sunglasses or goggles. A desk lamp and a soldering gun have trailing wires to a home-made generator off a car battery. The wider surroundings are cavernous and cluttered, some kind of old warehouse, probably, with stacks of boxes and crates that are falling apart. It's not the glamorous environs of a criminal mastermind who's doing well, really, almost an antithesis to the Kingpin's luxurious place. On the other hand, some discarded junk food wrappers and empty soda bottles hint at a man who is a little careless of the quality of his workspace. As long as he has what he needs to tinker and invent, the rest doesn't matter.
"...If you're attempting to gain my trust as some kind of ally, showing off isn't the way to go about it." He sounds mildly annoyed, just a little wary, and tired.
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Matt smirks again as he just manages to start a slit on the bindings and helps the rip with his teeth. "I think better on my feet." Thinking that he meant showing off by his acrobatics earlier.
"Hot tea with honey will help that throat," he says offhand as he bends to cut his ankles free. He's been in enough choke holds to know the remedy, but perhaps this guy doesn't.
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"Of course. I'll just send the butler to fetch some, shall I?" He sneers. A claw draws closer, the slow movement more of a metallic creak than a rattle. It's as stealthy as they get, but that metal arm is close now, ready to make a grab from just a foot away. One of the lower arms retreats slightly, curling in closer and ready to block and defend if that useful little metal shard should be thrown at Dr. Octavius. He may not be a criminal success yet, but he's both cautious and smart, so that might just be a matter of time.
"In that case you'd better stay on them. I don't appreciate Spiderman's antics, and I don't appreciate yours either." A third claw, still just watching, gives a sort of warning rattle that is a deliberate threat.
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Matt shows no aversion to the closeness of the actuator. He holds up the piece of metal for the good doctor to see as if making a point. It wouldn't take much for him to get free. He then puts the piece back on the table in roughly the exact spot he took it from.
"Yes, I see why you're needing the money." Most of the criminal types in Hell's kitchen were not bad people, just caught by their situations to be taken advantage of by the wrong kind of people.
While he'd never had the pleasure of meeting him, he does hear stories about this Spiderman, however unlikely they may sound.
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Once he puts the piece of metal down, the claw backs off slightly, to the previous level of wary. The metal arms are like a pack of intelligent guard dogs, watching his every move. Dr. Octavius, too, relaxes slightly once the potential weapon is back on the table, and waves a hand dismissively.
"There's nowhere legitimate I can work anymore, and funding is the necessary evil of scientific research. Frankly, I was fed up with brown-nosing wealthy idiots to finance important work, anyway." Nobody is taking advantage of Dr. Octavius, and he's just morally grey enough not to bemoan his newly criminal status. On the other hand, his aims aren't specifically criminal in nature. He'd take the money through legal channels if he could get it, and all else in his life pales before his passion for Science.
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Arms crossed thoughtfully, Daredevil only says, "I see." An ironic statement perhaps. He's just as passionate about the law and justice but science at the cost of human lives is not something he would stand by. But it's not unlike his own frustrations with the police force in his part of town. Everyone on the take, nobody trustworthy. Save for Tindelli, who he knows can't be bought off.
Speaking of, he should try to contact the good Captain, see if he can spread a net to catch his large fish once he has him. "I'll need to make a call before we go."
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The scientist looks at him, blinks, and then laughs.
"No."
It might be just more of that (not wholly unreasonable) caution, or it might be a display of power to remind Daredevil that he is, technically, still in captivity. It might be some of both. "Do you think I'm about to let you just run out to a pay phone and call some allies or the police to come round me up? If you have a message, you'll give it to me, with the contact number, and I'll pass it along if I feel like it."
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True, he didn't think that his captor would go for that suggestion. Can't blame him for trying.
Daredevil considers his options, few that they are. He couldn't give the police station number outright, that would be a bad phone call. Hello, New York police station, what is your emergency? Followed by the sounds of him being pummeled into the cement.
So he gives his own number. To his office, Murdock and Klein. "The message is 'if Tindelli wants Fisk, he should keep an eye on him today'."
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Dr. Octavius considers for a long moment, ignoring the quiet clicks and rattles of the arms. "Keeping an eye on him risks my being spotted, too..." It's not a no, but he is reconsidering his own approach to the handing off of his captive. Sneaky, it seems, may be what he needs himself. He'd prefer the headlines tomorrow don't blare 'the return of Doc Ock', although he's more confident he can escape the police than one of Kingpin's traps. He hasn't let Kingpin know who he's dealing with though, either.
"All right. But I'm not giving your friends much of a head start. We'll phone on the way. Now, apart from your little sticks, did you have anything more specific in mind for your escape from his headquarters?" He's willing to bargain, at least, and hold up his end of things. Daredevil's lucky on that count.
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He still had not been lied to, his ears told him as much.
"Getting him off the roof before his body guards can react." But Daredevil wasn't planning on telling his whole plan, after all he didn't need anyone, especially his captor, intentionally sabotaging it. He'd been working years to get close to Fisk and he wasn't going to lose him this time.
Even if he had to get tied up again for the transfer.
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Dr. Octavius might not exactly be pleasant to him, but he was being honest. Wary, but honest.
"Fine, we'll make sure you're armed enough to carry out your little personal vendetta." Considering the grudge he holds against Spiderman, that's the pot calling the kettle black, but it wouldn't be wise to point that out. "I should have more of that stuff I tied you up with, and you've already proven what can cut it, but you'll need to be able to walk a little..."
After all that talk, their remaining time would be best spent preparing for the upcoming meeting.
