Clap. Clap. Clap.
Listening to Dr. Connors' "grand manifesto," Toby offered a slow, sincere round of applause.
It had to be said—sometimes, the sweeping ideals of a villain were far more impressive than a hero's rehearsed vows to protect the peace. Connors didn't just want to save a few people; he wanted to force the next stage of human evolution on the entire species.
"A noble goal, Doctor," Toby said, his voice laced with a thin edge of mockery. "Assuming, of course, there are no side effects."
In this world, "mass evolution" never ended with a utopia. Usually, it ended with a city full of mindless reptilian monsters or a nightmare of eight-legged freaks. Toby had no intention of living in a world that looked like a prehistoric zoo.
Even if Connors managed to perfect a serum with zero side effects, Toby still wouldn't sign off on it.
On a grand scale, power corrupted. If every person on the street had the strength to bench-press a semi-truck, the social order would collapse within a year. On a personal level, Toby was selfish. If everyone was special, then no one was—including him.
Unless... if the world turned into Spider-Men, could he harvest their strength the way he had with Peter?
He dismissed the thought almost immediately. His "Spider-Sense"—that primal, intuitive hum in the back of his skull—told him that Peter was a unique catalyst. The source of that power was specific, a lightning strike of destiny that couldn't be mass-produced for the masses.
Toby looked at the doctor, who was practically vibrating with anticipation for a "Yes."
"Your plan sounds magnificent on paper, Doctor," Toby finally said, his expression cooling. "But I can't exactly trust a man who's currently being piloted by a cold-blooded monster. I think I'd rather speak with the real Curt Connors."
The Doctor's face darkened, his pupils slitting into thin vertical lines. "What are you talking about? Look at me! I'm not the monster. I am Dr. Connors!"
Toby ignored the outburst. He walked toward a heavy, reinforced cold-storage locker. With a quick press of his palm against the scanner, the seals hissed open, releasing a plume of liquid nitrogen frost. He reached inside and pulled out a vial of glowing green serum.
The sight of it sent Connors into a frenzy. His eyes darted between the vial and Toby, filled with a mixture of hunger and terror.
"It was you!" Connors hissed. "The night Peter interfered... you were the one who took the regeneration serum from Norman's secretary!"
Toby tilted the vial, watching the liquid catch the light. "Guilty. And I might have downplayed my interests earlier. I told you I wasn't much for bio-research, but I suppose I know a little bit more than I let on."
As Peter's cousin and a natural-born Spider-Man, Toby hadn't spent his eighteen years just brooding. He had blazed through MIT with the kind of ease that made "genius" feel like an understatement. He usually preferred solving problems with his fists—it was faster and more satisfying—but when it came to money and power, a sharp mind was the ultimate lever.
In truth, if he applied himself, he was more dangerous than Peter ever could be. Why else would he have spent millions building a state-of-the-art laboratory two stories beneath his feet?
Connors watched Toby approach a centrifuge, his greed turning into pure dread. "Wait! What... what are you doing?"
"You know," Toby said, his back turned as he began calibrating the equipment, "Peter wasn't the only one who saw his father's "decay rate" algorithm. I was standing right there when he found those notes."
He began pipetting a base solution into a beaker. "I didn't have the facilities back then. But over the last two years, while I was building this place, you were kind enough to do all the heavy lifting and hand me a finished product. You saved me a lot of mental energy, Doctor."
He paused, glancing at a digital readout. "It's not perfect. It's messy, actually. But using it to reverse-engineer an antidote? That's child's play."
Toby moved with clinical precision—mixing, stabilizing, and filtering. Moments later, he held up a syringe filled with a brilliant, translucent blue fluid.
Connors began to thrash against his restraints, scooting his chair back in a panic. "No! No! I don't want it! I won't go back to being that weak, pathetic shadow of a man! You can't do this!"
"I can," Toby said.
He stepped forward, his hand moving like a blur. He grabbed Connors by the hair, tilting his head back with effortless strength. Ignoring the doctor's screams, he drove the needle into the side of his neck.
As the blue serum flooded Connors' system, the change was instantaneous. The scaly, green tint to his skin receded, replaced by the pale, mottled flesh of a human. The manic, predatory glint in his eyes faded, replaced by a profound, hollow clarity.
Toby tossed the empty syringe into a trash can several feet away with a casual flick. He reached down and snapped the reinforced ropes binding the doctor as if they were made of paper. He extended a hand.
"Welcome back, Dr. Connors."
Without the whispering malice of his lizard persona, Connors sat in stunned silence for a long time. Finally, he took Toby's hand and pulled himself up, his movements shaky and frail.
"As a man of science... I've been so incredibly foolish," Connors whispered, his voice cracking. "Testing an unrefined serum on myself... Toby, did I... did I hurt people?"
Toby nodded slowly. "Yes. But you were lucky. Peter and I were there both times you made a move. Aside from a few officers who fell in the line of duty during the second incident, there were no civilian casualties."
Connors flinched, his face twisting with grief. "Officers... they had families."
"They did. And they knew the risks of the job in New York," Toby said, his tone neutral but firm. "But they won't be forgotten. I'll be anonymously funding their families' estates to ensure they're taken care of."
He paused, letting that sink in. "Of course, I'm just fronting the cash. It'll be deducted from your salary later."
Toby wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He was building a cage of gold and guilt. For a man with a high moral compass like Curt Connors, debt was more effective than any prison cell.
Connors sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "It's the least I can do. But I'm afraid I'll be in debt for a long time. After this disaster, Oscorp will never let me back into a lab. And regardless of my state of mind, I killed people. I belong in a cell."
Toby cut him off. "You think rotting in a cage is what the world needs? You think that's atonement?"
He leaned in, his gaze piercing. "Don't you want to finish the research? Don't you think perfecting a limb-regeneration serum—one that actually works—is the only way to truly pay back the debt you owe? Think of the thousands of veterans and injured officers you could heal. That is how you repent."
Connors wavered. The spark of the scientist flickered in his eyes. "But... even if I wanted to, Oscorp owns the patents. No legitimate firm will touch me or this research without their authorization."
Toby let out a short, sharp laugh. He gestured to the sleek, shadowed walls of his private subterranean lab.
"Doctor, look around. Do I look like a 'legitimate firm' to you?"