Connors stood frozen for a moment, his eyes darting around the laboratory. Now that his mind was clear, he realized the sheer scale of the facility. The equipment surrounding him wasn't just adequate—it was state-of-the-art, matching or exceeding the top-tier gear he had used at Oscorp. These were the crown jewels of various biotech firms, hardware that would bankrup a private citizen just to maintain.
Does working for Fisk pay this well? Connors wondered. If I'd known, I would have applied there years ago.
The primary reason he had tethered himself to Norman Osborn for so long was the resources. Oscorp provided the world's best biological research environment for free. Yet, Toby's underground sanctuary didn't lose a step to the labs at the Tower.
If he continued his work here, perfecting the lizard regeneration serum wasn't just a dream—it was an inevitability.
Connors wasn't a fool. Seeing this level of preparation, he knew Toby hadn't brought him here out of the goodness of his heart.
"So," Connors said hesitantly, looking at Toby. "You want me to work for you? To perfect the serum?"
Toby didn't bother with a facade. "Exactly. I've had my eye on the regenerative properties of that serum for a long time. Whether for personal use or commercial application, its value is immeasurable. I want you to finish it."
"And in return?"
"In return," Toby said, "I solve your problems. I'll handle the legal fallout, the deaths of those officers, and I'll reclaim your research from Oscorp—including the rights to the serum itself. You'll have full access and recognition, but the ownership stays with me."
Connors fell silent, weighing the cost of his soul against the chance to finish his life's work. Finally, he gave a slow, somber nod. "Fine. I accept."
It wasn't that Connors wanted to hand his legacy to a teenager, but he had no other cards to play. He hadn't delivered the serum to Norman Osborn on time, and after the incident at the bridge, he was a wanted murderer. As Toby said, he didn't want to rot in a cell. He wanted to change the world.
Seeing the nod, Toby smiled. "A wise choice, Doctor."
"However," Toby continued, "I have to step out for a while. Until I return, you should stay here to let the heat die down. This lab has a complete life-support system, a living suite, and a gym on the floor above. Use whatever you need."
He checked his watch. "I'll have Peter come by after school every day to act as your assistant. If you need supplies, tell him."
Connors nodded silently, looking exhausted. Toby didn't push further. After registering Connors' biometric access into the system, he left the underground facility.
It was 9:00 PM. Time for a proper rest.
At 6:00 AM sharp, Toby woke up.
Aunt May wasn't awake yet, which gave Toby's taste buds a much-needed break. He whipped up a simple, high-protein breakfast for himself.
Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. One of Kingpin's associates handed Toby a folder containing a fresh passport and a plane ticket. The flight was leaving in less than two hours. Toby grabbed his pre-packed duffel bag and headed for the door.
While in the back of the black sedan, he sent a text to Peter: Helping a friend out of town for a bit. Go to the lab after school. Connors is there. Help him. Don't ask questions until I get back.
Then came the grueling hours of international travel and layovers. Toby flew out in the morning and didn't touch down in Afghanistan until the dead of night.
Kingpin's network was as formidable as advertised. Even in a war-torn desert, someone was waiting for him at the airstrip. They handed him the keys to a brand-new, rugged Jeep. Inside, the back seat was stocked with dry rations, water, heavy blankets, and windbreakers.
If you weren't his enemy, Wilson Fisk was a damn reliable friend.
Time was ticking. Every minute Tony Stark spent in a cave was a minute Toby's fifty-million-dollar bounty risked being "liquidated" by a stray bullet.
Toby climbed into the driver's seat and floored it.
The U.S. military had been scouring the desert for two months without finding a trace of Stark—an embarrassment of epic proportions. But Toby had the ultimate advantage: foresight.
The movies didn't give exact GPS coordinates, but they gave something better. A name.
The Ten Rings.
All he had to do was find someone to ask.
A day later, Toby had moved deep into the Kunar Province, far from the safety of the airport. This was a "grey zone"—a chaotic patchwork of Afghan military outposts, U.S. forward operating bases, and various insurgent strongholds. Somewhere in the middle of this mess was the Ten Rings' hideout.
Toby's method for finding directions was simple: he drove his expensive, shiny new Jeep through the most dangerous "no-go zones" he could find, acting like a lost tourist.
Predictably, it didn't take long for someone to take the bait.
Two battered Jeeps, bristling with spikes and mounted machine guns in a style that looked like a low-budget Mad Max, swerved out of the dunes to block his path.
Toby killed the engine and stepped out of the car, hands raised in a practiced gesture of surrender.
Seeing how "compliant" he was, the insurgents relaxed. They didn't even bother aiming the mounted guns. Aside from the drivers, three men hopped out carrying rusted AK-47s and approached him.
The leader, a man with a thick beard and a white turban, looked Toby up and down before eyeing the expensive vehicle behind him with naked greed.
"American?" the man barked.
Toby's eyebrows shot up. He was in luck—the first person he met spoke English.
Toby nodded, flashed a disarming smile, and pointed toward their battered vehicles. "Yeah. Hey, can we go talk over by your car? I really don't want to get blood on my new upholstery."
The bearded leader let out a gravelly laugh and nodded. "Oh, friend... of course. I don't want to get blood on my new car either."
Despite their very different plans for the afternoon, they had reached a startling agreement: Toby's Jeep was to remain spotless.