The Maniac Norman

Near dusk, at the headquarters of Oscorp, inside the Cross-Species Genetics Laboratory.

"Cross-species genetics has begun to take effect. I used lizard DNA to help Freddy regenerate that leg!"

Dr. Curt Connors introduced the progress of his experiment, his calm tone brimming with a faint sense of excitement. With the critical decay algorithm brought by Peter Parker, his experiment was finally nearing success.

At this hour, the employees of Oscorp had already clocked out. The only person standing beside Dr. Connors was a Black man in a tailored suit.

This man appeared to be of mixed heritage; compared to other Black men, his features leaned more toward Asian, save for his dark complexion.

He was Norman Osborn's proxy within the corporation. Norman Osborn, who was bedridden with a severe illness, controlled the company remotely through him. His authority could be said to rival that of the board of directors, as the majority of the company's shares remained in Norman Osborn's hands.

"It is a miracle."

The Black proxy looked at the white mouse named Freddy in the pet cage with a flat tone.

"No, this is the success brought by diligent research, and it is hope. We are one step closer to primate testing..."

Dr. Connors clearly did not want others to dismiss his long-standing efforts with the word "miracle," so he raised a hand to interrupt the proxy.

"Mr. Osborn does not have the time to wait for you to take small steps!"

The Black proxy also cut Dr. Connors off.

"Small steps?"

Connors was clearly dissatisfied with this description.

"I am simply saying that he cannot wait any longer!"

The Black proxy stated calmly.

"But he must wait patiently, unless he wants to become a lab rat himself!"

Dr. Connors frowned.

The Black proxy picked up a vial of genetic modification serum from the lab bench. "That is not what I meant. I mean... you must begin human trials ahead of schedule. Immediately!"

"That is impossible. Our previous goal was to develop it into a universal serum, but in reality, we went down the wrong path. Genetic modification does not possess universality."

Dr. Connors shook his head, frowning. "This serum is only suitable for white mice, perhaps even only for Freddy. To apply it to humans, we must adjust and calculate the serum from scratch, and everyone's genes are different... that will take a very long time!"

"Then he is doomed to die?"

The Black proxy's expression turned cold.

Although he did not understand scientific research, his long-term dealings with the Cross-Species Genetics Laboratory allowed him to grasp what Connors meant.

The current experimental progress had only succeeded in white mice, and it could not be applied to other organisms. To complete Norman Osborn's treatment, it would require multiple primate and human trials to ensure safety and success rates.

Furthermore, even after that was finished, the serum would still need to be fine-tuned to adapt to Norman Osborn's specific genes. The time span required was far too long—so long that Norman Osborn could not possibly wait.

"Everyone must die eventually, even Norman Osborn is no exception."

Dr. Connors began to pack his things to leave, unconcerned. He was a pure scientist; the purpose of his experiment was not merely to treat any one individual, and he cared nothing for whether Norman Osborn lived or died.

"Curt... Connors..."

A low, weak, yet rage-filled raspy voice suddenly rang out. The direction the sound came from was not a person, but the speaker attached to the camera mounted on the ceiling.

"Norman!"

Connors looked up.

"Richard Parker was like this, and now you are the same..."

Norman Osborn's voice, suppressed to the point of extreme fury, continued to emanate from the speaker. Even though his words were intermittent and accompanied by the sound of a ventilator, they still radiated the authority of one long accustomed to being in power.

"Every time, you give me hope, only to leave me with even more intense despair in the end... Do not forget that your research funding is provided by me. Your experimental results belong to me!"

Norman Osborn, lying on his sickbed on the other end of the speaker, roared in a near-manic state. He was on the verge of collapse, both physically and mentally.

At this moment, he was no longer a deep-scheming, successful businessman; he was merely a madman who had completely broken down under the long-term oppression of the fear of death.

After roaring for a long time, perhaps having vented enough, the voice in the speaker fell silent for a moment before delivering words so calm they chilled the bone.

"Lada, proceed directly to human trials. Since he wants me to die, use him to test the serum. And those disabled comrades of his, I think they would make excellent subjects as well. I will arrange for others to go to the Veterans Hospital to take over the experiments."

Norman Osborn's voice turned raspy and cruel, followed by a burst of neurotic, manic laughter.

"You... no!"

The expression on Dr. Connors' face turned to one of horror and disbelief.

Unfortunately, no matter how he struggled, it was useless. His frail physique, accustomed to staying in the lab, was no match for the sturdy Black proxy.

Hearing Norman Osborn's order, the Black proxy grabbed Connors without a change in expression, picked up the injection gun from the side, and injected a full vial of lizard modification serum into Dr. Connors' body.

The Black proxy then ignored the struggling, agonizing Curt Connors on the floor, picked up the remaining serum and the backup experimental data, and pushed the door open to leave.

"No, Norman, you can't do this!"

Curled into a shrimp-like shape on the floor, Dr. Connors reached out a hand and roared in fury. He knew the consequences of injecting this serum better than anyone. Genetic collapse was the least of his worries; if a large number of mutated monsters were born due to genetic aberration, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Alas, his roar was powerless. The only response was the sound of the Black proxy's fading footsteps and Norman Osborn's neurotic, gleeful laughter.

"You can't do this... you can't..."

An intense wave of dizziness washed over him like a tide. Muttering unconsciously, Curt Connors' consciousness grew increasingly blurred until he finally sank into a deep sleep.