CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ONE YEAR AGO. LEX-STARK INTERNATIONAL, LEVEL 33.1.
Lex Luthor walked slowly and thoughtfully between the rows of tall, cylinder-shaped tanks that were scattered throughout the secret laboratory. The lab was kept so dark that the only light provided was the glowing blue hue that was emitted by each tank, which each contained a dormant, gestating clone. In the distance, Lex could hear classical music playing. He paused for a moment. Then, hands clasped behind his back, he rounded the corner to the next row of tanks.
At the end of this row was the tank that contained Subject 27, the clone of the late Chloe Elizabeth Sullivan. The slumbering body floating inside the tank of blue liquid was covered in electrodes. Two speakers were stationed right next to the tank. These speakers were the source of the classical music.
Doctor Hugo Strange stood facing the tank. In front of Hugo was a portable cart on wheels, covered almost to the tipping point with monitoring equipment that he was fiddling with and making adjustments to.
"Hugo, I trust that there's a reason you're serenading this unconscious clone with the music of Erik Satie?" Lex asked.
Hugo jumped, startled. "Oh! Mister Luthor!" he exclaimed, adjusting his glasses. "I was just about to come looking for you. And, yes, the post-hypnotic suggestions we implant in the clones tend to be more efficiently processed when layered subconsciously under classical music. Satie just happens to be a personal favorite of mine."
Lex nodded, apparently satisfied by the answer. "And you were going to come looking for me because…?"
"We're at a crucial stage in the clone's programming. If you want to build in a fail-safe word to kill the conditioning, now is the time to do so."
"Kill the conditioning?"
"Ah, if you want to…" Hugo waved a hand in the air, searching for the right words. "If you want to 'turn off' the post-hypnotic suggestion. To remove it. I can program in a word or phrase that essentially turns her 'back to normal' and ends the suggestion."
"The 'suggestion' I've asked you to program the clone with is to stop at nothing to kill Peter Parker. As you are well aware, Parker is in a holding cell in this very complex as we speak, being kept alive in case you and Warren need any additional samples of his DNA. I'm not exactly comfortable with that, considering how much of our operation he's seen. In the event the he escapes this facility, he's most likely going to try to take Chloe here with him, given his past association with her. If that happens, I need that loose end tied up. What possible reason would I have for reversing that programming and getting the clone to NOT kill Peter Parker?"
Hugo shrugged and stammered for a moment. "I… I don't know, Mister Luthor? I know you are a man who likes to prepare for any eventuality. Can you not envision any possible circumstance where Parker would be of further use to you? No scenario where it becomes advantageous to have him alive, and you need to prevent the clone from assassinating him? However unlikely it may be, if you do wish to program her with an 'off switch,' it's now or never, sir."
Lex rubbed his hand over his face thoughtfully. He hated to admit that Hugo had a point.
"All right," Lex conceded. "Let's say I do want a failsafe to undo her programming. How would that work?"
"You just need to come up with a word or short phrase to act as the trigger. It could be anything, a series of numbers even. Anything you could speak out loud to her that is not likely to come up in a normal conversation," Hugo explained.
Lex stared up at the sleeping Chloe Sullivan facsimile floating in the blue liquid.
"Five. Twenty. Oh-Three," Lex said finally.
Hugo began typing away on the keyboard. "Certainly, sir. And those numbers, is there some significance to them?"
Lex nodded. A slight smirk came across his lips. "May Twentieth, 2003, was my wedding day. To my first wife. Well, second, actually, I sometimes forget to count Desiree Atkins." He ran a finger along the glass of the tank thoughtfully. He turned and looked at Hugo, who was raising a surprised eyebrow at Lex's choice of secret code. "It's nothing so sentimental, Doctor," Lex said, off of Hugo's expression. "Helen Bryce was a homicidal bitch who would stop at nothing to get her way. It seems only appropriate."
Lex clapped a hand on Hugo's shoulder appreciatively as he passed by, then quietly continued walking down the corridor.
.
PRESENT DAY. CADMUS LABS.
Doctor Miles Warren awoke with a start. He had apparently dozed off at some point, his lack of sleep finally catching up with him. What had caused him to awaken was immediately obvious – a loud, long, droning "beeeeeeep" from the control banks in front of him. He jumped out of his chair and scrambled quickly to his feet, looking back and forth between the readings on the monitors and out through the bulletproof glass that separated the control room from the operating theater that held Nellie Bly.
The noise attracted the attention of Norman Osborn, who swept into the room with a scowl on his face.
"What's happening?" Norman demanded.
"The clone seems to have flatlined," Warren said, flipping through a series of outputs on the main monitor in front of him. "Her heart likely gave out under the stress of the Goblin formula combined with the mutant blood transfusion."
"Damn it!" Norman snapped, pounding his fist on the wall. "I'm continuing to deteriorate," he wheezed, gesturing dramatically at his wrinkled face and graying hair. "That little bitch could have been the answer I needed." He stood fuming, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. Then he barked at Doctor Warren, "Well, don't just stand there! I want a full autopsy. We could still learn something. Harvest her organs. Maybe there's something useful in there."
"Yes sir," Warren said glumly. He moved a stack of papers and various other clutter off of a nearby table to unearth a metal tray with a scalpel and some other ominous looking instruments on it. Then, he shuffled over to the door that separated the control room from the operating theater, fiddled with the knob while balancing the tray on his other hand, and then awkwardly pushed his way through the door and into the sterile white room.
He shook his head and tut-tutted to himself as he approached the body of Nellie Bly. Such a pity, he thought. He set the tray with the scalpel down near the foot of the gurney. He checked the IV. All of the mutant DNA had been transfused into Nellie's bloodstream. It hadn't been easy getting his hands on that. What a waste. He looked at the woman's body. He noted that some of the premature aging effects had apparently been reversed by the serum and blood transfusion. When they'd started the procedure, she had looked old and haggard. The induction of the formula and the DNA had taken years, maybe even a decade or two back off of her complexion.
Doctor Warren bent over Nellie's body and began undoing the buttons on her blouse, one at a time. He tried to fight the urge to stare at her breasts.
It was while he was averting his gaze from her bosom that he first noticed that several of the electronic leads were disconnected. Those leads were supposed to be connected to the EKG. How could they have come loose?
In following the cords, his eyes happened upon a second item that was incongruous with his expectations. Miss Bly's left wrist was jutting out at an odd angle, apparently broken.
It was also not strapped down to the gurney.
Warren gasped in surprised panic, the realization coming over him just a split second too late. Nellie Bly sat up suddenly, psychotic rage filling her eyes, and she grabbed Warren by the throat.
"Surprise, mother fucker!" she hissed. "I had to break my god damn wrist to get it free from the restraints. Then I ripped my electrodes off so the equipment would flatline and you'd think I was dead. Maybe if you'd checked my pulse instead of staring at my tits you would've figured that out!"
She threw Warren across the room like a rag doll. He slammed into the wall, then fell to the floor.
Nellie leapt off the operating table, knocking it over in her haste. She sprinted toward Doctor Warren and was upon him again in seconds. She grabbed him by the lapels of his lab coat and hoisted him up.
Warren, shaking like a leaf, dug his hands into the pockets of his coat. He pulled out an index card that had something written on it.
"F-f-five!" he stammered, reading off of the card. "T-twenty!" His hand was shaking so badly he couldn't read the last number. Nellie ripped the card out of his hand.
"What the hell is this?" she spat. She crumpled the card up and tossed it aside. Something on the floor caught her eye. The scalpel had fallen from the tray when she knocked over the gurney. An evil glint appeared in her eye. "Oooh… I know how we can have some fun, Doc!" Still holding him by the lapels, she dragged him away from the wall, then quickly scooped the scalpel up off of the floor.
"No!" Warren cried. "No, please! D-d-don't!"
The commotion had gotten the attention of Norman Osborn, who peered wide-eyed through the operating theater window. He went white as a ghost, then quickly disappeared from view.
Seconds later, the door to the operating theater flew open.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Osborn fired four shots with the handgun, blowing holes in Nelly's stomach, neck, and chest. She stagged backward, letting go of Warren and dropping the scalpel with a tink-tink-tink as it skittered across the floor. She fell to the ground in a pool of her own blood.
Warren fell to his knees. "Oh thank you," he wheezed. "Oh, thank God. Oh thank Christ. Oh my God, that lunatic was about to kill me. Oh my God." He was shaking and quivering uncontrollably, arms wrapped around himself.
Osborn walked slowly into the operating room, lowering the gun as he did.
"What in the world happened?" he asked, astonished.
"She… she was playing possum," Warren said. "She removed the electronic leads, that's why she flatlined. Oh God…"
Osborn stuck the gun back in his jacket. "Incredible," he marveled. Then, with barely a moment's hesitation, he added, "Proceed with the autopsy immediately. Damn, I hope we can preserve some of the major organs. I should've just made a clean headshot."
Warren looked up at Norman is disbelief. "Sir! I can't… look at me! I was almost killed!" He held up his hands, which were trembling like crazy. "I'm in no condition to…"
He trailed off as he heard a noise behind him. A shuffling, scraping noise. He noticed a look of horror coming over Norman Osborn's face.
Doctor Warren turned around to see Nellie Bly laboriously getting back up to her feet. The bullet holes in her body were closing up right before their eyes.
"That was some good shit you pumped into me, boys," she said, cracking her neck audibly. "Looks like you gave me a healing factor. Starting to regret that about now?"
Norman reached into his jacket and started fumbling for the gun again, then promptly changed his mind and bolted out the door of the room. Doctor Warren, too panicked to get to his feet, began speed-crawling toward the door.
Nellie felt a hot rush surge through her entire body, a prickling sensation of adrenaline and raw power. It was a feeling of strength that she had never known before. The Goblin formula. She effortlessly picked up the gurney, held it high over her head, then smashed it down brutally on Doctor Warren again and again and again as if utterly squashing a particularly offensive insect.
When she finally stopped, Doctor Warren was not moving at all. His arms and legs were poking out from beneath the gurney at extremely unnatural angles.
She picked up the scalpel again and quietly and calmly walked out of the operating room.
Norman Osborn had sprinted across the control room and run out into the dark, musty corridors of CADMUS Labs. He was looking back behind him every so often, brandishing the gun threateningly. Every so often he'd fire off a warning shot just for good measure.
He rounded a corner and came to what looked like a small garage door, as if connecting to a loading dock of some sort. Panting and gasping for breath, he pressed a large red button next to the door.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, as the door began slowly clanking open. "If I can just get to it…"
Nellie rounded the corner, holding the scalpel menacingly. She looked positively insane.
"Ahh!" Osborn cried. He pointed the gun at her. "Stay back! Stay back!"
Nellie laughed. "That's cute. Go ahead. Waste your bullets if you want to."
Osborn cracked. "I'll give you anything you want! I have money! Lots of it! I still have access to the entire Osborn fortune!"
"No you don't," Nellie said, shaking her head. "OSCORP was divided up and sold off. You don't have shit."
He fell to his knees. "Please… I'm begging you… I'm just an old man…"
Nellie shook her head again. "Don't try to appeal to my humanity, Mister Osborn. I'm not human. I'm just a laboratory experiment, remember?"
She jabbed the scalpel savagely into his throat. His eyes went wide in shock. Then she twisted the blade, causing an arterial spray like a geyser that shot huge spurts of red across the walls and all over Nellie's face. She smiled a gleeful smile, then ripped the blade across his neck and back out. Norman threw his hands over his throat, gasping and gurgling inhuman noises as he slumped forward onto the floor.
The garage door finally finished clickety-clacketing open.
Inside was a fully restored Green Goblin armor and glider.
"Well!" she said, her eyes going wide with delight. She playfully licked some blood off of her index finger, then cocked her head to the side as she admired the armor. "Green was never really my color… but I suppose I could make an exception!"