Dr. Kurt Connors stepped into the lobby of Osborn Tower with a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with his missing arm.
The glass doors slid shut behind him, sealing out the city noise. But they couldn't shut out his thoughts.
The human enhancement project, the one Osborn Group had been pushing for years in partnership with the military, was on the brink of collapse. Endless trials, endless failures. Promising data here and there, but nothing stable enough to roll out.
And the military's patience was almost gone.
Connors had already heard the whispers from executives higher up the chain—half-covert, half-panicked:
> If the enhancement project doesn't make a clear breakthrough within three weeks, the military funding stops.
If that happened, Osborn Group would be in serious trouble.
And so would everyone tied to the project.
Including him.
He exhaled slowly and walked into the elevator, pressing the button for the 23rd floor, where his lab was located. As the doors began to slide shut, a voice called from outside.
"Wait, please! Hold the door!"
Connors instinctively reached out with his remaining arm and blocked the door.
A man rushed in—Black, slightly frazzled, clutching a rolled-up bundle of schematics and blueprints.
"Hey! Good morning!" the man said between breaths. "Dr. Connors, right? Nice to meet you!"
Connors blinked. "You know me?"
The man grinned. "Of course. I'm Max Dillon, from the power systems department on the seventy-fourth floor. I've seen your name on a lot of internal reports."
"Ah." Connors nodded politely. "Nice to meet you, Max."
They barely had time for small talk. A soft chime sounded and the elevator doors slid open on the 23rd floor.
"This is me," Connors said. "Have a good day."
"You too, Doctor!" Max answered, staying in the elevator as Connors stepped out.
The doors closed behind him.
---
The 23rd floor wasn't grand like the lobby. It was quieter, filled with labs and offices, the air carrying the faint scent of disinfectant and electronics.
Connors walked down the corridor, briefcase in hand, heading toward his bio-research lab. Before he even opened the door, he heard voices from inside.
"Did you see the news?" an intern whispered excitedly. "Vanderbuilt Technologies is getting slammed everywhere today."
"Yeah," another replied. "They're saying Vanderbuilt cooperated with the military to massacre civilians near the Moses border. That's insane."
"But the reports looked pretty serious…"
At that moment, a determined voice cut in sharply.
"That's nonsense," someone snapped. "That's definitely slander. I've met the President of Vanderbuilt Technologies. He would never do something like that."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
Connors frowned and pushed the lab door open.
His interns jumped to their feet immediately.
"Good morning, Doctor!"
He gave them a brief nod, then noticed something out of place.
A kid. A teenage boy. Skinny, messy hair, nervous eyes.
Connors narrowed his gaze.
He certainly hadn't authorized any outsiders in his lab.
Before he could say anything, the boy spoke up.
"Doctor, I… came in on my own," the kid admitted quickly. "The security downstairs is kind of loose if you know where to look."
Connors' expression darkened. He opened his mouth, ready to scold him and throw him out.
Then the boy said quietly:
"My name is Peter Parker. I'm… Richard Parker's son."
Connors froze.
"Parker…" he repeated.
Memories surfaced—late nights in the lab, heated debates, big dreams about rewriting what it meant to be human. Richard Parker had been brilliant. Stubborn. Idealistic.
And now his son was standing in front of him.
Connors exhaled.
"Come with me, Parker," he said at last.
He walked to the secure door of his internal lab and entered the password. The lock clicked open, and he stepped through. Peter followed, leaving behind a group of shocked interns who stared after them, whispering among themselves.
---
Inside, the biological simulator dominated the center of the room, surrounded by various instruments and monitors. Connors moved around with practiced familiarity, turning on equipment as the systems booted up.
Peter looked around, wide-eyed.
"Professor Connors," he began, "I actually came to ask you about my father."
Connors paused, then let out a heavy sigh.
"I figured you might," he said. "Peter… back then, your father and I were best friends. We left the university together. We joined Osborn together. He was the most talented man I've ever met."
He adjusted some settings on the simulator as he spoke.
"We created the concept of cross-species genetics together. Your father chose the spider genome. I chose the lizard genome."
He motioned for Peter to come closer.
"Most of the scientific community thought our theory was ridiculous. So, we came here, to prove them wrong."
Connors raised his remaining arm and began entering a series of commands into the control console.
A blue virtual lizard appeared within the simulator's holographic field, rotating slowly in three dimensions. Behind it, a complex strand of digital DNA sequences hovered like a luminous code.
"As you probably know," Connors said lightly, "lizards can regenerate lost tails. Some species can regenerate entire limbs. I've always envied that."
He lifted his stump of an arm, the empty sleeve folded and pinned neatly.
Peter shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond.
"I've been trying," Connors continued, "to transfer that regeneration ability into other organisms. If I can perfect that process, we could heal amputees. Restore limbs. Change the world."
He typed in another command.
A virtual white mouse appeared beside the lizard, missing one of its front legs. The DNA sequences shifted, showing overlapping points between lizard genes and mouse genes.
"Watch carefully," Connors said. "This is the usual process."
He selected a portion of the lizard's gene chain and isolated it. That portion condensed into a glowing "cell block," which he then dragged over and merged into the mouse's genetic sequence.
"Cross-species integration test. Replacement starts," the system announced.
Peter leaned in, his eyes fixed on the display.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then the mouse's body flared red.
"Verification failed. Subject collapsed."
The virtual mouse crumpled, its body failing under the unstable modification.
Connors cleared the simulation and tried again. He selected a different combination. Injected it. Waited.
"Verification failed. Subject collapsed."
Another failure.
He repeated the process several times in a row.
Every attempt ended in the same way—death, breakdown, rejection.
"This," Connors said quietly, massaging his temples, "has been the story of my work for years. Failure after failure. Compared with Richard, I am… not exactly the success story."
He glanced sideways at Peter and forced a little smile.
"Why don't you give it a try, Parker?"
"Me?" Peter yelped, surprised.
"Yes." Connors nodded. "It's just a simulation. We're not blowing up the building. And I've already failed thousands of times. One more won't hurt."
Peter hesitated.
Then he stepped forward.
"Okay," he said softly.
He stared at the rotating gene sequence of the lizard on the screen. Even though he was still just a high school student, Peter's mind was sharp. Numbers, patterns, ratios—they clicked together in his brain very quickly.
After a few careful seconds, one segment of the gene chain caught his eye. It didn't quite match the rhythm of the rest. It was… different. Denser. Stranger.
"Let's try this one," Peter said.
He selected that segment.
Both visually and structurally, it looked slightly off compared to the others—almost as if it had been tampered with.
Levi's "gift."
Peter condensed the chosen segment into a single cell unit and dragged it over to the mouse's genetic chain. The simulator accepted the command.
[Cell integrated. Replacement begins.]
[Waiting for verification…]
Peter clenched his fists nervously.
"Come on," he whispered. "Please work. Just once."
Connors watched with the weary eyes of someone who had seen the same failure repeat over and over.
He expected the usual.
Then the system chimed again.
[Match successful.]
[Subject regeneration activated.]
On the screen, the three-legged mouse twitched—
And grew a new leg.
The regenerated limb formed rapidly, stabilizing, then moving as if it had always been there.
Connors' mouth fell open.
"...God," he breathed.
"It worked."
Peter stared in disbelief.
"Wait—seriously? It worked?"
Not only had the mouse regenerated its missing leg, but it showed no signs of rejection or collapse.
Connors grabbed Peter in a sudden hug, unable to contain his excitement.
"Parker, you're a genius!" he exclaimed. "This is it! This is the breakthrough we needed!"
Peter laughed awkwardly, still stunned. He hadn't expected that. He'd just picked the segment that felt "off" and went with it.
"Uh… lucky click, I guess," he muttered. "Guess I'm… insanely lucky today."
Connors pulled back, still grinning like a madman.
"Thank you. Thank you. But I need to move fast."
He hurried to the console and began copying the data.
He recorded the gene sequence that Peter had chosen.
He saved the simulation logs.
He exported a backup.
Then he wrote down his home address and handed a note to Peter.
"Peter, if you have any questions—or if you want to know more about your father's work—come to my place. But right now, I have to report this. Immediately."
"I understand," Peter said, excitement shining in his eyes. "I'll definitely come by when you're free."
He waved and left the lab quickly.
As soon as the door closed, Connors finalized the data transfer, grabbed the copied files and experimental records, and rushed toward Norman Osborn's office.
He didn't notice the simulator behind him.
He didn't see what happened next.
On the holographic display, the regenerated mouse lifted its head.
Its eyes glowed with a faint, unnatural ferocity.
Suddenly, it lunged.
With a brutal leap, it slammed into the virtual lizard model, tearing it apart and devouring it savagely. Flesh, tail, bones—everything was shredded and consumed.
What Peter had chosen…
…was the very segment that Levi had modified with Amazons Cells.
The origin of something far more dangerous than ordinary cross-species genetics.
But Dr. Connors, in his excitement, remained completely unaware.
All he could think about was that, finally, he had something real to show Norman Osborn.
---
At that same moment, in Norman Osborn's office, a heated argument was reaching its peak.
A flickering projection floated above the desk—a secure call with a high-ranking, shadowy military contact.
"What did you just say?" Norman snarled, his voice trembling with rage. "You're telling me the military has no intention of canceling its contract with Vanderbuilt Technologies?"
"Yes, Norman," the distorted voice replied coolly. "The upper brass reviewed General Ross's report. They believe the Modia Units developed by Vanderbuilt have enormous potential. Public opinion will not affect the purchase order."
Norman's hand clenched into a fist.
"Then what about everything I've done?" he roared. "All the money, all the media, all the pressure I've applied to smear Vanderbuilt Technologies—it all meant nothing?!"
He swept his arm across the desk, sending files and devices crashing to the floor.
For days, Osborn had poured resources into targeted attacks, manipulated headlines, stirred public fear, and inflamed protests against Vanderbuilt's Modia Units.
And now he was being told it didn't change the military's decision at all.
"Norman," the voice continued, tone hardening, "your only chance now is the human enhancement program. If you want the military to keep funding Osborn Group, you must deliver clear results within three weeks. Otherwise, we are done. No more money. No more support."
The voice paused.
"And another thing. The oversight committees are starting to… question certain transactions between us. Things are too sensitive right now. We should cut contact for a while."
The projection flickered.
Then vanished.
Leaving Norman Osborn alone.
Seething.
Desperate.
On the other side of the building, racing down the corridor with a case full of new data, Dr. Connors thought he was bringing hope.
He had no idea he was also bringing the curse of the Amazons into Osborn's world.
And Levi, watching from afar, would be ready when that curse bloomed.
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