Inserted from Norman Osborn's personal log*
I woke up at my desk with my cell phone in my lap. My tie came undone and my hair was all over the place. My lab assistant Curtis Connors and I had worked all night on the project. We'd been developing gene splicing technology for years, and finally we'd come close to realizing our goal of creating the perfect specimen. I stood up putting my right foot forward, trying to keep the pressure off of my bad leg. I flicked the light switch.
The lights started flickering and then turned on one by one. As the darkness slowly disappeared and the light of the room revealed itself I was once again greeted with our run down working space. Lab coats on the floor, dead test subjects rotting away in a trash bag in the corner of the room, and Curtis sleeping on the floor with an iguana resting on his shoulder. This lab was an embarrassment to me, to the Osborn name. "I should be living in a mansion with no care in the world. I should be making my son proud." I thought.
I was beginning to lose hope in this childish dream. Years of work to seemingly no end. Curtis always reassured me, he was a good partner. I would've been lost without him. He always reassured me that the ends would justify the means. It felt like we were almost there, we were closer than ever to achieving our goal. Yet still stuck at a dead end of failed experiment after failed experiment.
I carefully walked over to the microscope, supporting myself with the objects in the room. I grabbed the metallic container under the microscope. "You're the key to my success, little guy. Because of you the Osborn name will go down in history." I said in my tired, old, scratchy voice as I opened the container to get one more good look at our spider.