AFRICA, 1997
A jeep, open-topped and faded olive drab under the rust spots, bounced violently over the dry grassland terrain, its shocks too worn from abusive driving to do much good. Standing straddled over the median was a rough looking man, ebony skin, a coarse beard, and sporting a pair of sunglasses under a red beret. He wore a camouflage military uniform accented by a thick green pistol belt from which hung a set of holsters on each side. Ivory handled .45 revolvers sticking out.
Aside from the driver, there were three other men packed into the back seat, all wearing uniforms that while not exact matches, were similar to the one standing. AK-47's clutched in their hands. The apparent leader pointed off to the right of the jeep's current path, issuing a command in their native tongue and the driver spun the wheel accordingly. Behind them, three more jeeps with more armed men followed in the dust trail.
IN a large tent in the center of a small village, yellowed with dust, the door flaps of one end hung open, inside a cluster of humanity waited, huddled on cheap plastic chairs. Locals dressed in loose clothing, their limbs scrawny and faces hopeful for the reward of their participation waiting for their turn to be examined by the medical team. Most of them missing some degree of limb; a leg here, arm there, a portion of their torso. The seats were arraigned on either side, with a line formed down the middle, at the front was a pair of white people with clipboards.
"Can I get another one of those-yeah." Reaching for an alcohol wipe, a man in his early 20's received one in his upturned palm from a female associate, similarly dressed in jeans and a white coat. Squatting on a small folding seat, the man sat in front of a dark-skinned woman with her head wrapped in a purple cloth with yellow and white stripes.
"Infection?" The associate asked, tugging on her sterile gloves. She was of a comparable age, with her auburn hair fixed back in a ponytail.
"No surprise there…" He muttered, tearing open the small white packet and applying the wipe to the shoulder joint of an emaciated woman. Where her left arm should have been was a jagged section of humerus sticking out from a very rough-looking mass of muscle. Black bits of flesh dotted the surface, rotted and attracting flies.
The woman sucked a breath through clenched teeth at the sting of the alcohol, recoiling slightly but suffering the pain nonetheless.
Leaning down, the female doctor tilted her head to examine the wound. "This is a bad one, Curt." She muttered. "She needs surgery, that's all necrotic."
"I know, but we don't have the equipment here, and I'm not about to butcher her with a pocketknife. Besides…" Glancing over his shoulder to the rest of the patient onlookers, he let out a dispirited sigh. "If we did, we'd be here all day."
The woman in the chair spoke up in strained English. "Can you help me? Dr. Connors?"
"It's not much." Curt rubbed the side of his head. "But I can try to clear the infection as much as I can and give you a wrapping to keep it clean for a while."
A small smile broke across her face. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Yeah… Gabby, can you grab the precision kit? I put it over by the…"
A commotion outside stirred the people waiting near the opposite side of the tent, voices excited in fear became drowned-out by the sound of a vehicle engine.
"Shit…" Curt paused, turning in his seat to stare in the direction of the noise.
Outside, the squad of olive-drab jeeps came to a halt in no particular coordination. The man in the red beret remained standing where he was as his troops deployed, shouting commands at the frightened villagers in their native tongue. With their weapons drawn they quickly herded men, women, and children alike in the center of the village, shoving and threatening. One man took a butt-stroke to the back of his head as he tried to shield his wife and child, forcing him to stumble face-first into the dust.
But the man in the red beret was hardly concerned with the discomfort of the villagers. Rather he fixed his attention on the medical tent. He watched as two of his men cleared the locals, waiting to see what kind of foreigners would be rousted from inside.
Sure enough, two white people were eventually driven out, gloved hands raised, medical coats indicating their purpose. The man in the red beret stepped out of the jeep, and sticking his thumbs into his pistol belt, sauntered over to the activity.
Curt and Gabby were herded among the others, though a pair of troops did hover near them. For about a minute, the man in the red beret paced around the villagers, his scowling gunmen keeping heads down and compliant. Though hushed voices murmured among them, none dared make a show of defiance.
On his third time around, the red beret stopped a few paces behind Curt and Gabby, spending a further few moments examining them with pursed lips from behind his sunglasses.
"What… are you doing 'ere?" He asked, his francophone accent thick.
"We're doctors." Making sure to avoid direct eye contact, Curt had heard about the militia general, hoping that the assurances from the peacekeepers were true that he had agreed to refrain from raiding villages long enough for Doctors Without Borders to make a few rounds. Evidently not. "We're just trying to provide some care here, collect some information on what kind of medical needs this region has."
"So you can send more foreigners?" The man in the red beret leaned down to scrutinize Curt further. "More spies?"
"You know this area is infested with landmines." He was trying to remain calm, but the man's paranoia seemed to defy the obvious. "These people are in desperate need-"
"D'ese people-" The man barked. "Do not know what d'ey need. They still live in mud 'uts and shit like animals."
Nearby, the man who had been struck in the head, a trail of crimson trickling down behind his ear, began to waver.
Gabby's attention was drawn when she heard someone collapse, glancing to her left, she saw a man in a short-sleeved yellow shirt face down in the dirt and convulsing violently, a woman beside him panicking as she tried to hold him still. Instinctively, Gabby surged off her knees and rushed over to help stabilize him.
Just as quick, the soldiers were shouting and racing to grab hold of her. The closest one hesitated, realizing what was happening, but the next one took her by the ponytail and threw her to the ground. The uncompromising guard pressed the flash-suppresser of his rife against her cheek and forced her head into the dust. Gabby yelped at first, but stifled her fear, clenching her eyes shut and whimpering through her teeth.
"Stop! Stop!" Keeping his hands raised, a tense Curt Connors gestured with a forward palm towards the man looming over his partner. "She can try to save that man!"
Red beret glanced back and forth between the parties, then with a flicking of his wrist called off the soldiers. With hesitation, Gabby got to her knees and made her way to the convulsing man and began attempting stabilization.
"I will need all da men I can get." Red beret roved his hidden gaze over the crowd. "I am 'ere to recruit."
Snapping his fingers and pointing to the assembled villagers, his men converged on them, yanking out any of the males who looked healthy enough to fight. They seized boys judged big enough to hold a rifle, ripping a few of them away from their screaming mother's arms.
It was a nightmare, but there simply wasn't anything Curt could do about it. He was a doctor, not a hero. Maybe if he had powers like the X-Men he could do something but pissing these guys off would likely just make things a whole lot worse for the innocent villagers. He caught the eye of a boy who couldn't have been older than 11, face twisted in fear being dragged by his arm away from a woman desperately holding onto his other hand. The woman with one arm he had been treating minutes ago.
"Please, General, this village has suffered enough. If you take all their healthy men, you're damning them to starvation."
"D'ey live on little more d'an dirt and water as it is." Red beret remarked without a hint of empathy. "At least now d'ere will be more to go around."
Curt breathed heavily through his mouth as it hung open in dread, aghast at the inhumanity of the situation.
The convulsing man now laid on his right side, finally stilled, eyes staring outward blankly. Gabby took her hands away, sullenly accepting she simply wasn't equipped to provide the kind of emergency care this injury would require. Having done little more than use his wife's headscarf to wrap the wound and stem the bleeding.
Declining to meet the wife's watering eyes, she raised her hands slightly. "I'm sorry, he… He needs a hospital."
The sound of approaching boots stopped a few feet away. Gabby and the wife looked up to see the man in the red beret staring down at them. He spoke something in the native tongue, then drew one of his revolvers. Before either woman could effectively react, the gun went off, and the man on the ground jerked one last time as the blood and gore of his head was splattered on them both.
A shriek of terror went up among the people, Gabby, her mouth agape in shock blinked a few times. It took a moment, but she felt the droplets of crimson on her face, reaching up with a trembling hand to wipe it away.
"Now 'e will suffer no more." Came the voice of the red beret. "Consider it a mercy."
Hearing that, Gabby transformed from stupefied to enraged, and in her fury, she lashed out. Curt watched in horror as she lunged at the militia leader like a feral cat, pushing past his weapon to claw at his face.
"YOU SON OF A-!"
Instinctively, he too leapt to his feet, wrapping his arms around her and lifted Gabby off her feet, twisting away from the red beret. The soldiers were back to shouting and gesturing with the barrels of their weapons, but a sharp bark from the general silenced them.
The man in the red beret put a hand to his face. Just under his askew sunglasses was a nasty scrape where fingernails had dug into his cheek below the eye, bleeding down to his jaw.
Neither Curt nor Gabby said anything, both realizing what her recklessness could incur, fearing what severity of punishment was about to be inflicted.
A few words in the native language and a pair of soldiers converged on the doctors, attempting to tear the two apart. Red beret leveled his revolver once more, tracking Gabby as she was steadily being separated.
"DON'T! PLEASE!" Curt cried, fighting against them to keep her in his embrace. When he saw what the general was preparing to do, time seemed to slow, and the palpitation of his heartbeat felt like it would burst from his chest. Without thinking, Curt pivoted his body around to place it between her and the gun, extending his right arm with a forward palm.
The man in the red beret fired.
PRESENT DAY
He shot up in bed, breath rapid and a layer of cold sweat over his forehead and cheeks. Without thinking he reached to scratch an itch on his right arm but found only empty space.
Dr. Curt Connors flinched to remember that there was no right arm below the elbow, merely the stump that resembled the pinched end of a hotdog.
With an exhalation of relief, he glanced down to his left and saw his wife Martha still asleep on her side facing away from him, her chest gently rising and falling under the comforter. For a few moments he stared at her, meditating on how different his life was now compared to back then. Running a hand through his unkempt hair, he huffed again and swung his legs out of bed.
Passing by a pile of unopened boxes labeled for the kitchen and living room, the shirtless Curt opened the refrigerator door and took hold of a half-gallon of milk. Coming to the counter he found a glass in the rack beside the sink and poured himself a drink.
After putting the milk back, he shuffled over to the window that looked out towards the city. The lights of Manhattan blinking at him in a night of artificial constellations. He downed half the glass.
I wouldn't have come back here if I wasn't so desperate. I didn't particularly want to after Reed's humanitarian mission went all to shit. But… it was the only way to continue my research. Living in Coral Gables had been a nice life though…
Finishing the milk with another gulp he set the glass aside and leaned on the window frame letting his head rest on the pane.
I just need a little more time, I'm so close to a breakthrough. Why couldn't the university just… look the other way for just a little longer? At least they didn't confiscate my research. God knows how they would have reacted if they knew what I was working with.
Curt spent a few minutes thinking in front of the window, his mind always circling back to the project.
At least now I don't have to treat my work like a terrible secret, and the funding is more than I could have dreamed of.
Backing away from the window with a final pat on the frame, Curt checked the digital clock on the stove, seeing that it was already quarter-past five.
"Might as well put some coffee on."
A BIT LATER
The sunrise through the cityscape of Queens was like a giant forest, with the golden rays streaming around the buildings to create an almost mythical panorama.
"Frosted Flakes are moooore than good!"
Swinging between the skyscrapers, a figure in red & blue wearing a brown backpack threw his arms out to the side before going into a graceful backflip. Spider-Man landed beside the flagpole of a building that overlooked the eastern horizon, the warmth of the sun penetrating his suit comfortably.
"THEY'RE GRRREAT!" He exclaimed out loud, pumping his fists in the air. Spidey exhaled with an audible tone of joy, setting his hands on his hips to take in the golden view.
"All it took was one commercial and now I can't get that jingle out of my head. Guess that's why they're so successful." Squatting down, he scanned the streets below for anything that might interest him.
"Gotta be glad criminals don't tend to be morning people, makes my swing to school nice and relaxing."
That was when something caught his eye down on the sidewalk, a steady bob of red hair coming to a pause at the edge of a crosswalk.
"Good morning MJ, what a coincidence, I'm totally not stalking you, we just happened to cross paths on my commute. I'm Spider-Man by the way."
He watched her make her way across the street amongst a crowd of other morning pedestrians, a few notebooks couched under her arm, a Smartphone in hand.
"Can't let the news cycle pass you by huh?"
Mary-Jane Watson reached the other side and stopped suddenly to simultaneously move her face and phone closer to one another before striding onward at a renewed pace.
"Breaking Headlines: Spider-Man is the newest hero to join the Avengers; Wilson Fisk trapped in bathtub."
Once she had passed out of sight, Spider-Man turned his attention elsewhere, namely the sight of the Triskelion reconstruction out on the bay.
"They're making a ton of progress over there, considering it was a pile of radioactive rubble eight months ago."
His focus shifted again, this time to where the World Trade Towers had once stood. While he had been very young when Magneto's Brotherhood took them down, he had of course seen footage of the disarray and horror. The destruction wrought by Godzilla and the other Kaiju while greater, felt less personal than the malice that struck down the towers. Having a community of superheroes, one might have thought the city was well protected.
"Mental note, make a stop by the SHIELD memorial when they get around to building it."
With a few lunging steps Spider-Man flung himself off the side of the rooftop and, casting a web-line, dove feet-first into the air.
"Good morning Salamini's Deli." He waved as the sites whizzed past him. "Good morning Officer Stevens." The NYPD officer leaning on his vehicle at the intersection looked up and waved back with a polite smile.
"Good morning continuously mounting pile of trash bags. Good morning methadone clinic. Good morning giant crab-monster- WAIT WHAT?"
For just a brief instant as he passed by the gap between two buildings, he caught a glimpse of an upright creature about 10 stories tall, some kind of grey-colored crustacean-like entity.
His body reacting before his mind fully processed, he let go of the web line he'd been gripping, and for a few seconds, Spidey was in free-fall.
But just as quick, he reached over with his left arm and cast a new line in the direction of the monster. A screaming trill gave further proof that he hadn't just been seeing things, an oddly gentle sounding call compared to the bellow of other behemoths. The shrieks of people beginning to rise and spread in response.
Spider-Man landed on a wall of mirrored windows, crawling around the side to peek at what was going on. There, rampaging down the avenue on four-exoskeleton legs, was what he could only describe as a crab monster, towers of chitin armor on either side of its head, the many parts of its mouth gnashing and chewing as it cried out. Two heavy claws snapping as they swung back and forth over the heads of those fleeing its path.
"Okay… So I'm gonna need one of three things: The Avengers, The Fantastic Four, and a few tons of melted butter. Well, definitely the butter."
The monster swung up and over with its left claw and brought it hammering down on the roof of a storefront, sending debris flying amidst a cloud of dust.
"I'm sure they'll get here soon enough. For now, it's up to you Spidey. Think… think…"
Past experience had taught him that when dealing with a clearly stronger foe, he had to have the right plan.
"There!" The legs, it occurred to him, were spread out like a table. Take one out, and it would likely topple. Which would present its own problem, but that was another bridge to cross.
"Alright… One web-bomb to stick one of its legs, and another to cradle it from destroying too much on its way down. Sounds easy enough."
He removed a webbing capsule from the slit on his beltline where he kept the refills for his shooters, and clicked a button on one end, causing a light on the side of it to start blinking red. Leg muscles possessing super-human strength uncoiled, and Spider-Man launched himself forward in the monster's direction.
"One Spidey-special curve ball!" Pitching the capsule with a sidearm technique, he aimed it to go off in the crevice of a joint, hoping to cause the leg to fold underneath the beast mid-stride. The capsule however, sailed right through the monster's leg, exploding harmlessly on the other side. Landing on the hood of an abandoned Volkswagen, his eyes widened in bewilderment.
"Oh… okay… he's got some Kitty Pryde thing going on, that's… very terrible."
The monster didn't seem to notice Spider-Man, continuing to bellow and flail as it had before. In fact, for all the fight and fury, it seemed to be surprisingly little damage.
"Wait a minute…" Focusing his attention downwards this time, he noticed something odd about how pavement broke under the weight of its footfalls. Then he saw it. One of the bits of concrete rubble from the smashed building was sitting about a foot and a half above the bottom of the crater.
Police had begun arriving on the opposite side, their squad cars screeching to a halt a few dozen meters away to create a perimeter, taking stances behind car doors with weapons raised. Leading the charge was an older man with sandy-blonde hair wearing grey slacks and a white dress shirt underneath a bulletproof vest.
"Where'd the hell this thing come from?!" He barked, striding out of his car with a sense of urgency, assessing how best to deploy his men. "Get those goddamn bystanders out of that alley!"
"Captain Stacy out in front as usual. But let's give King Crab one last poke for good measure." Spying a knocked-over trash can, Spider-Man snatched it with a web line and slung it at the creature's body. He stood straight up as he watched it disappear into the body.
"Yup, I knew it. Hologram. Which must mean…" Quickly he scanned the other rooftops, crevices, any good place to stash a thing or two.
As is typical following an amount of catastrophe, someone with a keen eye will see opportunity in the chaos. Stepping through the rubble of the jewelry shop was an unkempt man, dark scraggly hair, stubbled chin in a dirty jacket and jeans carrying a plastic shopping bag, glancing over his shoulder. With a wry grin he approached the shop's vault where the heavy door hung open and partially bent outwards from the force of devastation.
"Too perfect."
He laid a hand on the door to steady himself as he walked over a fallen hunk of masonry but jerked back when he felt something attach itself to his skin and pin it to the metal.
"Using a monster attack to cover a robbery..." Spider-Man said from the wreckage of the storefront. "Ingenious, if not wildly over the top."
Alarmed, the stranger tried to yank his hand away. "Can't-ugh! Can't put one over on you!"
"It was a nice try, Quentin, just in really poor taste." Spider-Man shot a gob of webbing to entrap him, but just as quick, the man's whole body burst with a blinding light, causing the line to go wide at the last second.
"You know I always try to put on a good show, Spider-Man!" Came the voice, now with an amplified resonance. "I'm just trying to stay contemporary!"
When the light had cleared, the figure of the man had been replaced by the ostentatious attire of the villain Mysterio. "Call it a reboot!"
"More like the Netflix version!" Casting twin web lines on either side of Mysterio, Spider-Man sling-shot himself forward, intending to drive him into the vault where he could be contained.
But Mysterio waved his free hand, releasing a cacophony of fireworks that exploded with bright colors and deafening crackles. Forced to shield his face, Spider-Man lost sight of where his target was. There was a loud OOF! sound however, when he felt a body collide with his crotch.
Together, Mysterio and Spider-Man tumbled into the vault as a tangle of limbs and complaints, rolling to a stop on their sides.
"GET OFF ME!" The infamous illusionist snarled, using his legs to shove Spidey away from him. With a practiced sleight of hand technique, Mysterio activated the button on his belt to envelope himself in a cloud of grey smoke.
"No!" Knowing how slippery Quentin Beck could be, Spider-Man decided to cut his retreat off at the pass. Casting a web line to the vault door, he heaving it closed with a groan of screeching steel. "There's no exit stage left today!"
Out of the obscuration came a cloth sack become missile which, Spider-Man swerved his head to deftly avoid. The sack impacted the opposite wall of security boxes with a smash that reveled how full of coins it had been, sending a few gold bits scattering out of the top.
"I thought those only existed in cartoons!" With the only exit blocked, he allowed the smoke to surround him, his chin slightly lowered, listening, tensing his body to react in an instant.
Another object came sailing through the mist, a sense of alarm causing him to reflexively dodge in time to feel the edge of something whizz by. Now possessing a direction of attack, Spider-Man shot a web line and lunged into the haze.
On the outside, the crab-monster had held its position, surrounded by a small army of police.
"Nobody fire at it!" Captain Stacy yelled from behind the cover of a streetlight pole. "You'll just end-up pissing that thing off!"
Suddenly however, the visage of the monster began to blink in and out, its roar breaking up into intermittent shrieks. A wave of bewildered murmurs went through the blue ranks as the ruse began to be realized. After a few moments the image altogether failed and vanishing with it the craters on the street. Hovering in its place was a drone sporting several optical and audio projection devices.
Stacy dropped his arms, mortified by the deception and holstered his weapon. "Shit…" He grabbed his dress jacket from the passenger seat of his vehicle and walked out to stand underneath the machine.
"Thompson! Wing it!" He called out. One of the officers who had selected a rifle from their car steadied a forearm on the door, stared down the sights and took a deliberate shot at one of the propellers.
With a single CRACK! The drone fell from the sky as one of its corners was shattered, sending it spiraling down to Captain Stacy who danced a bit before catching it in his jacket.
The vault door swung open in a burst, begrudgingly pushed halfway before grinding to a halt. Spider-Man walked through the threshold dragging an unconscious Mysterio in his right hand. Arms pinned to his body under a sleeve of webbing, the villain's glass dome was partially shattered, his head lolling downwards.
"Spider-Man: 3, Bubble-Head: zero."
Exiting the shop, Spider-Man approached the officers. "Here's your man, Captain!". Putting Mysterio down at the feet of Captain Stacy and two other officers, he grabbed one of the ornate wrist gauntlets, removed it, and opened one of the side panels.
"He usually hides his gadget controls in these." Inside, Spidey pointed to an oscillating transmitter meter. Tapping it with a finger, they suddenly found themselves standing inside half the projection of the crab-monster, the other half blocked by being snuggled in the jacket.
The surrounding officers recoiled back, surprised to find themselves standing in a kaleidoscope experience of thrashing limbs and warbled noises. Quickly, Captain Stacy wrapped the drone completely to cut off the projection.
With another tap Spider-Man shut the device off. "Help us Captain Stacy, you're my only hope."
"You can help me by handing over that evidence." Passing off the drone to another officer, George held out his hand for the gauntlet.
"Seems like the programming was on this SSD card." Spider-Man said as he held it out, pointing to a small port in the device.
"I'll have our tech guys go over it." After giving the gauntlet a brief look, the captain noticed that Spider-Man was wearing a backpack. "You uh, you bring your extra onesie in there or something?"
My backpack? School! I completely lost track of time!
Catching sight of the time on Captain Stacy's wristwatch, Spidey turned and began running. "Sorry! Gotta run!"
As Spider-Man leaped into the air and swung away on a web line, George Stacy paid close attention to the backpack.
Not far away from the center of police activity, Dr. Curt Connors readjusted the shoulder strap of his leather satchel, having paused to glance in the direction of all the commotion. The glimpse of a figure in red & blue dashed through the space between buildings a few blocks away before disappearing from sight.
"Never dull in this city." Curt muttered before turning away and entered the shadow of a building that spanned the entire city block. He pushed his way through the revolving door, taking a moment to pull out an ID card and clip it to the lapel of his shirt.
"Good morning, Dr. Connors." The female receptionist greeted cordially from behind the massive lobby desk.
"Good Morning, Abby." He returned while the guard at the security gate scanned his ID with a barcode reader. Curt gave the guard a polite nod when he was done and proceeded on to the elevator. Selecting his floor, he couldn't help as he looked out to stare at the man-sized letters of the corporate logo hanging above the entrance.
OSCORP
A soft ding welcomed Connors to his floor, a long hallway in front of him with doors on either side to other labs, his at the opposite end. There were no windows in the hall, day or night making no difference under the artificial lighting. Aside from a few typical pictures hanging on the walls of nature and motivational themes, there was no decoration along the off-white surfaces and grey carpeting.
Sliding his card over the security panel, the light changed from red to green and he pushed his way in. While the room was decently lit from the daylight, he flicked on the overhead lights. The first thing that always took his notice when entering the lab was the terrarium on the south wall. Ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide, it housed a number of different reptiles partitioned by mesh wire to keep them from attacking each other. A few common lizards scurrying around in one, a chameleon in another. In the lowermost section half filled with water was a marine iguana.
"Good morning guys and girls." Curt said, shouldering off his bag onto a desk and approaching the glass. "Time for a little breakfast."
Dr. Connors was just getting around to the bottom of the case, a plastic container of food flakes procured for the iguana when the door to the lab opened again.
"Connors! Early again I see." Entering the room was a man with a stout chest and flanked by a pair of men in noticeably cheaper but still nice suits. His demeanor was friendly, his light brown hair styled in the distinctive wavy fashion from front to back.
"Mr. Osborn, to what do I owe the pleasure this morning?" Sprinkling a handful of flakes through the hatch on the side of the tank, Connors wiped his hand against the side of his coat and received the mogul with a handshake.
"Just stopping by to see how things are progressing, there's a lot riding on your work you know." Norman Osborn hesitated a moment before putting on a small smile and accepting the gesture. "There's going to be a lot of humble pie to eat down in Miami when your former colleagues see what you've accomplished."
"The university had their reasons, and I can't fault them too much… considering." Curt rubbed the back of his neck, visibly regretful about how things at the university had ended. "How could I have expected any other reaction?"
"Yes well, they have their own priorities. That's why I hired you to continue your project here, where you won't have to concern yourself with such… restraints." For a moment Norman Osborn caught his reflection in the glass of the reptile habitat and seeing the focus of yellowed eyes staring back at him, sharply turned away with a practiced tight-lipped smile. "Would you ah… would you mind if I looked at it again? These uh.." Gesturing to the two guests. "This is Mike and Jim, they're investors from Silicon Valley, big tech firm looking to expand their portfolio."
"Sure." Guiding the others across the lab to the cold storage locker, two feet tall and supported at chest-height by a stainless-steel column. Connors simultaneously placed his palm against a small glass panel and positioned his eyes in front of a retinal scan. With a pair of positive-sounding digital tones the door to the freezer parted from the frame with a hiss of compressed atmosphere.
"Extreme cold seems to render the cells inert. They don't deteriorate but they don't multiply either. Effectively, they're in hibernation." The space inside was not large and partitioned by two grated shelves. On the bottom were several vials in a stand containing viscous crimson liquids in a gradation of thin at the top and dark at the base.
On the shelf above sat the white ceramic dish set, shaped like a capsule with a lateral partition through the middle. No larger than if it contained a stick of butter, Dr. Connors handled it like a holy relic as he removed it. He used his stump to close the freezer and carried the dish over to a translucent box that stood atop a nearby table.
"Is all this precaution really necessary for such a small sample?" One of Osborn's guests asked.
Curt slid the dish in through a door on the side and locked it behind. "When the reactor at Chernobyl exploded, it sent fragments of the graphite used to contain the fuel rods all over the site, some no bigger than a regular old brick. Those pieces held enough radiation as 4 million chest x-rays, all contained in the palm of your hand. So… don't let the size fool you."
"So uh…" The other aide gulped, gazing eerily at the ceramic container. "How many X-rays is that thing giving off?"
"Well that's where it gets interesting."
Osborn couldn't help but let a smirk creep across his face.
"Normally-" Curt began. "Elements that we think of as 'radioactive' in the dangerous sense, are unstable elements, like Uranium 235 used in Chernobyl. They have too many neutrons in their atomic structure which are ejected in all directions, hence the radial aspect. This tissue however…"
Slipping his arm into the protective sleeve affixed to the side of the box, and flexing his fingers into the glove, Curt removed the lid of the dish and revealed a rough-textured bit of tissue inside. Dark grey-greenish colored scutella on one half, and pinkish flesh on the other.
"-kinda does the opposite. Instead of emitting the poisonous atoms, the cells retain them, horde them if you will. This hunk of Godzilla flesh is several weeks old but looks as fresh as the day it was blown off his hide. This is because the cells are directly powered by the radiation, healing what's damaged and multiplying. Under normal circumstance this flesh would be lethal enough to kill us in a week, but the cells simply don't give off the radiation. At least not as long as they think they need it to heal."
"So you're saying it's still alive? That tissue?"
"Quite alive, yes." Norman answered, staring down at the sample. "And given a stable environment with enough radiation, it's basically immortal."
For a few moments the room was quiet, the two men gaping at one another.
Connors tilted his head. "In a controlled environment, yes. From what we know about Godzilla is that his internal radiation levels fluctuate all the time and need to be replenished every so often. Immortality may be beyond even hm."
"Emphasis on the 'may'." A chuckling Norman patted Curt on the shoulder. "Harnessing the secrets of Godzilla's incredible regenerative power could usher in the next quantum leap in bio-medical technology. And Dr. Connors here is the one making it happen!"
Mike and Jim exchange impressed glances.
As Curt was restoring the shard of Gojiran flesh to the freezer, Norman was escorting the investors to the door, the two men speaking so excitedly he could do little more than nod his head and say: "yes" and "very good" over again.
"-Alright, I'll meet up with you down in the cafeteria, I've got my best cook in today from Brazil." Once the door had closed behind the guests, Osborn spun back around with a wide grin. "Hook, line, and sinker, Connors! Pretty soon OSCORP pharmaceuticals is gonna be all over their social media site, or smart phone, or whatever they hell those kids make."
"Rising tide lifts all ships." Trading the ceramic dish for the collection of vials, Curt's own outlook was positive. "We can do a lot of good with this research."
"We sure can, Connors. So, no bullshit: How close are we to a real breakthrough?" Crossing his arms, the subtleties of Norman's expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious.
"There's basically one last major hurdle to figure out." Setting the pack down, he selected one, holding it up to eye level. "Crossing the species barrier. I've been using the DNA of the reptiles as a sort of catalyst towards blending with something more manageable. From there I can move onto mammalian tests."
"Translate that into a timeframe."
Connors paused, part of him was honestly deliberating the likely length of time required to do everything safely and with the comfortable amount of testing. The other part of him was considering what answer Mr. Osborn wanted to hear. "I'd say a year at the earliest."
Norman didn't respond immediately, rather he seemed to stare past Curt, thoughts seething just behind the eyes.
"Curt… obviously I would never want you to do anything dangerous, or something that puts the company at risk. But when I said there's a lot riding on your success here, I meant millions, with potential billions. And don't think that SHIELD won't eventually find out, they've got eyes and ears in places I can't imagine. And they won't be very happy when they do."
Curt Connors thought very hard before he answered. "I know you've invested a lot in my work, Mr. Osborn, and I'm very grateful you've taken this chance on me. I will do the best I can, you will not be disappointed."
Once more his demeanor shifted like sand, Osborn's hard visage softening. "I know you will, Curt. I know how… personally invested you are in seeing this through."
When the CEO turned to leave, Curt felt a weight dissolve off his shoulders. He may have more money and liberty to pursue his project, but there was no misconception that had also traded for a more demanding master.
"Besides…" Norman called over his shoulder as he opened the door. "You and your wife have settled into a very nice life here. I hope you can ensure it stays that way."
Connors stood in place, letting the words resonate with him.
The impact of the door shutting drew the attention of the animals, a gecko clung to the glass pivoting its head towards the sound.
Entering the elevator by himself, Osborn selected a floor and took out his phone to check for any messages, finding one from 'Harry' and dismissing it. But he did click on the call button for a message from 'Alistair'.
"Mr. Smythe, you have something for me? …
Yes, the military contract is still ours, we outbid RAND and that HAMMER bitch….
Well I don't care if you have to invent cold-fusion, if that glider doesn't fly, they'll just turn to Stark and his god-damn repulsor tech!...
Fine, do what you have to."
Norman ended the call with an angry flick of the wrist, applying both hands to navigate the phone's menus.
You're so tense, Norman. You really shouldn't hold all that anger in… hehe...
Looking up, he once again caught his reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. The disembodied voice continuing to cackle in a sinister joy.
It's not healthy for your nerves, you could snap! Hahaha!
As Norman stood transfixed by his reflection, wraithlike yellow eyes stared back into him, laughing.
MIDTOWN HIGH SCHOOL
"Mr. Parker, focus please."
His head snapping around to the beckon of the female teacher at the head of the class, Peter Parker stammered for a moment, using the delay to glance over the information on the whiteboard. It was history class, and the lesson was on the repercussions of the nuclear tests done in French Polynesia.
"I-I'm sorry, I was just… trying to imagine what kind of devastation ten megatons of nuclear fission does to the ecosystem of a tropical island group."
For a few second the teacher regarded Peter curiously. "Well that's what we're discussing today."
Reluctantly the teacher resumed her lecture, gesturing towards the whiteboard. Her voice absorbed into the ambient muffle of a high school classroom as Peter Parker once again shot a side glance over to the redhead sitting two rows to his right. Mary-Jane for her part was frequently dropping her attention down to her lap, where her phone was still on.
"Psst! Hey Pete!" The voice was barely above a whisper. Sitting to his left, the face of Gwen Stacy framed under ash blonde hair gave him a quick smile. "D'you hear about the fight downtown this morning?"
"Fight?" He asked, making sure the teacher's attention was elsewhere. "What fight?"
"Between Spider-Man and Mysterio!" She scolded playfully. "It' huge news!"
"Wh-What are people saying? I-I'm not really on social media."
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Right…"
The period bell rang, and the students began collecting their things and exiting as the teacher spoke above the noise to assign homework. Mary-Jane almost jumped out of her seat at the sound of the bell, scooping up her books, her attention never diverted from her digital screen.
Gwen noticed that Peter's gaze had shifted again, following MJ out of the room as he slowly packed his own books. She brushed back a bang of hair and cleared her throat to recapture his notice. "Talked to my dad after it happened. He says Spider-Man foiled a robbery where Mysterio was using a hologram of a giant monster to mask his crime."
"Sounds pretty clever. That Spider-Man must be super-smart to figure him out." Entering the hall and plunging into a river of student bodies, the sounds of chatter and slamming lockers, they walked together.
"Or he has some kind of x-ray power to see though things." She teased.
"Well he can leap pretty high in a single bound…" He returned.
"Anyways… everybody is proclaiming Spider-Man as New York's resident monster hunter. Well, everybody except-"
"J. Jonah Jameson?" Peter finished the thought for her. More like 'J. Jonah Jerk-off' He thought to himself.
"I just don't get it, Pete. That guy has some vendetta against Spider-Man. Despite everything he's done and all the people he's helped." Reaching her locker Gwen turned to him, her face scrunched in thought. "What do you suppose drives somebody like that?"
As Pater Parker stood there, he felt a tingle go down his spine, an uncanny sensation that something unpleasant was about to happen. Out of the corner of his eye, his perception seeming to slow time, he spied a paper meteor on trajectory to impact the right side of his head.
Let it happen. Just let it happen. He told himself, mindful not to put his superior reflexes on display for everyone.
Indeed, he allowed the harmless comet to strike him on the cranium, intentionally swatting at it a second too late. "Nice reaction time, Parker!" He heard the boisterous voice of Flash Thompson call out as it moved down the hall.
"Some people are just jerks." He said with deadpan.
Gwen had to cover her mouth to stifle a chuckle and turned into her locker to trade one pair of books for another. "Hopefully our new mayoral candidate will take a positive position on our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
"Who?"
ON THE STEPS OF THE NEW YORK STATE SUPREME COURT
A crowd of hundreds gathered around the front of the classical columns of the courthouse, some with signs, many with their cameras, most just curious to see if what was announced this morning was really true.
'HEY JERRY!' A few posters said in bold letters
'NO GODZILLA FOR YOU, 1 YEAR!' Proclaimed another.
"Good morning everyone, thanks for coming out." Mid-way up the white stone steps, Jerry Seinfeld stood behind a podium, a dozen different microphones sprouting from the top. He wore a steel-blue suit with a black tie and standing behind him was a collection of happy onlookers clapping as he began to address the crowd.
"You know, for a lot of years I've been asking 'What's the deal?'. What's the deal with airline food? What's the deal with the RMV? What's the deal with the Knicks?"
A small murmur of chuckles from the crowd.
"Over the past several months however, I've been asking myself: 'What's the deal high property taxes in a city that gets destroyed all the time? What's the deal with a sewage system that spawns horrible smog monsters? What's the deal… with our superheroes opening portals to dimensions with giant monsters, that come over here, and level our cities?"
The audience quieted, now paying sober attention.
Jerry gauged the crowd, took a breath, and continued. "Eight months ago, our local super-powered social workers decided to play with the fabric of reality. Now I understand their intentions were noble, but when you or I make an honest mistake, it generally doesn't result in destruction and death. My last attempt to cut my own hair notwithstanding."
With a brief rise of laughter some of the spectators nodded their heads, muttering agreements.
"But I'm not here to blame them for things beyond their control. It's said that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. Unfortunately, it's not just musicians and entrepreneurs that take that challenge to greatness to heart. We also have more than our fair share of criminals and villains who do their best, to do their worst.
In fact, if not for the superhero community, the Fantastic Four, Avengers, Daredevil, Luke Cage down in Harlem, even our feisty little Spider-Man, we might be uh... I don't know… trapped in stone, turned into mindless slaves, wiped out by a giant space laser."
"Invaded by aliens!" Someone called out.
"Yeah, we had a few of those." Jerry acknowledged. "We've also had a lot of our property destroyed, cars, businesses. 'Oh, there's a super villain? Let me pick up this person's twenty-thousand-dollar car that they haven't paid off yet, and need to get to work, and smash it over their head."
More than a few people pumped their fist and shouted.
"Look over here, a small business that someone poured their life's savings into and have to rely on employing family members to keep operating expenses down. Here, let me toss my arch-enemy into it and blow it up!"
"Yeah!"
"How many people here have gotten an I.O.U. from Tony Stark or Reed Richards for whatever they destroyed? Or spent months trying to file an insurance claim with SHIELD just to make sure you didn't wind-up broke?"
Now a rally of raised arms and shouts answered him, the crowd having grown with more and more coming around.
"Clearly… Clearly, we need the superheroes to face dangers that are beyond the capacity of law enforcement or even SHIELD to handle. But that doesn't mean we have to continue in this chaotic relationship!"
The crowd cheered.
"It doesn't mean that we have to keep footing the bill every time a building gets knocked over or a subway torn up!"
By now the crowd had more than doubled its original size, and it was roiling with applause.
"You've all heard this morning that I have announced my candidacy for Mayor of New York City. As mayor, I pledge to bring accountability to this cycle of destruction! Both heroes and villains will be held to account for the damage they cause! And believe me, they've got the money!
Well, maybe not Spider-Man, but definitely the likes of Iron Man and Victor Von Doom!"
"Jerry! Jerry!" The people had begun to chant, Seinfeld gesturing to his left to beckon one of the men standing behind him forth. A shorter man stepped forward, the top of his head bald with closely shaven sides and a pair of glasses.
"My campaign manager!" Jerry announced. "Mr. Jason Alexander!"
The former 'George Costanza' gave the crowd a nervous smile, a quick royal wave, and tried to retreat back.
"Ah, don't be so shy, Jason. Give 'em a better wave." Seinfeld said, patting him on the back to keep him in place.
"I'm just nervous in front of crowds man." Jason turned back once more to the cheers and spared them another nervous smile and raised hand.
"What do you mean? You've been in front of plenty of crowds."
"It's been a while, I'm just nervous."
"Well just stand with me here for a minute. Afterwards we'll go get a coffee."
"What kinda coffee?"
"I don't know, whatever kind you like."
THE DAILY BUGLE
AFTERNOON
"Tomorrow's headline: Masked Menace Stages Monster Sized Robbery?"
Shaking his head in the office doorway, editor Joseph 'Robbie' Robertson shook his head. "Jonah, you know Mysterio was arrested at the scene. Police reports confirm it!"
Swiveling around in his chair, the editor-in-chief J. Jonah Jameson gave his junior editor a quizzical look, taking a moment to remove the cigar stub from between his teeth. "Hence the question mark, we don't know if Spider-Man didn't set the whole thing up! Him and that fish-bowl wearing freak working in cahoots!"
"That's a hell of a stretch, Jonah, even for you." Hands on his hips, Robbie couldn't believe the cognitive dissonance on display from his boss. "You sure you don't wanna run with the Seinfeld story for the cover?"
Jameson waved his hand, replacing the stogie. He had a manila folder in his other hand, and clapping it shut threw it on the desk. "For what? Some washed-up TV star wants to run for office? Like that'll ever win any election. Put it below the fold."
As Robertson sighed with resignation, he abandoned the threshold of his boss' office, contemplating how to make sure the article only insinuated some nefarious action on Spider-Man's part that didn't misrepresent the police reports.
Stationed just outside Jameson's office behind a desk stacked with papers and enough sticky notes to tile a roof, a black-haired woman sat filing her nails, glancing to her computer screen every few seconds.
"Betty! Hey!"
The brunette looked up to see an anxious Mary-Jane Watson striding up to her desk, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"'Sup kid." Betty Brant said, putting down her file and giving the teen a pleasant smile. "Dig up any hot leads today?"
MJ knelt beside the desk, fetching her phone from a pocket inside her jacket. "I think I've got a thread to something, I'm just not sure what. Check this out…"
Placing the phone on the desk, Watson swiped through a few pictures, pausing at one that seemingly showed nothing of particular interest.
"Ok, so you know how Mysterio used a hologram this morning to cover his robbery?" The teen said in a conspiratorial tone, hushed so as to not be overheard. "Here's the drone, there." Using her fingers to enlarge an upper section of the photo, the hovering craft became discernible amidst the background.
"I took this picture when it was still showing the monster. I don't know why but the optics was able to see through the illusion."
Betty twitched her lip. "Alright, so you've got a picture of a drone."
"Now check this one out." A few slides more, and the new picture was of the front of the jewelry store mid-explosion, the blast clearly coming from inside the building. "The explosion is definitely coming from inside, the monster attack just making it look like it got smashed."
"So the police report said." Brant was unsure where Watson was going with this, but the teen gave her a clever squint. "But you're just setting up the punch line, aren't you?"
"Since the bomb was already inside the vault, you'd think the investigation would inquire as to how Mysterio got it in there, but that's not the case. My… source in the police-" The last few words were spoken with a bit of discomfort, MJ brushing back a lock of hair as a physical tick. "He tells me that the investigation into the jewelry store is being quietly swept under the rug."
"Why would they do that?" Brant realized that this was getting somewhere and crouched down over folded arms to come level with Watson.
"That's the mystery." Concluding with a smirk, the redhead bit her lip. "This could be it Betty, this could be my big break!"
Betty Brant leaned back in her chair, contemplating a moment. "Let me talk to Mr. Jameson for a second."
MJ's jaw practically fell off its hinges as she watched her friend get up and go into the office of the Editor-in-Chief. Quickly, she brushed back her hair and made sure her clothes were straight, wanting to look presentable. For close to a minutes she waited, glancing around at the office at all the people bustling about, imagining having a spot among them.
Finally, Brant re-emerged, the eager expression she had worn going in, was now replaced by one of sobriety. She stood in the doorway, an arm holding the door open behind her. "Mr. Jameson would like to speak with you a minute."
Off-put by the change in demeanor, Mary-Jane hesitated before walking in, taking a second to gather her nerves before boldly going forward.
Leaning back in his chair parallel to the desk, Jonah was thumbing through a wire-bound notebook, his stogie resting in the ashtray on the corner of his desk.
"Hello, Mr. James-"
"-Sit down kid." Jonah cut her off with a flick of the wrist towards the swivel chair on the opposite side. "Betty tells me you think you've got a story."
"Ah, yes sir." Producing her phone, MJ swiped to the photo of the jewelry store explosion. "It started here and-"
"And according to your 'source', there might be a conspiracy to suppress the investigation." He looked at the picture briefly then pushed the phone away from him. "Tell me you've got something more than information we already know and information that you can't corroborate.". His volume rose with each word, the last one with a harsh sting.
Watson couldn't speak for a moment, not having anticipated the sudden hostility. "I uh… I just thought I could-"
"That you could what? Come in here with a potentially libelous story with nothing solid to back it up? You got a few things to learn about being an investigator kid."
Jonah swiveled to face her placing both hands on the desk, his stare boring into her. "You got moxie sweetheart but do yourself a favor and forget about this story, cover something you can substantiate. You look well dressed, go do a fashion show."
MJ said nothing. Instead, she kept her face down as she hastily pocketed her phone and swept out of the office. Jameson watched her leave and head towards the exit. Betty Brant appeared at the doorway a second after, fixing her boss with a look of abhorrence.
"I know her lead was thin, Jonah, but you didn't have to be such an asshole about it!"
"Trust me Betty, I'm doing that girl a favor." Picking the folder back up from where he had tossed it, Jonah went back to the reclining position and flipped through the contents. "Going after a story like that could get her killed." He stuck the smoldering cigar back in his teeth and ignored the frustrated huff of his secretary going back to her duties.
Looking down at the photo prints among the hand-written sheets, Jonah stopped on one that showed a crime scene. A single arm poking out from underneath a white sheet, a small black bag on the asphalt a few inches from the outstretched hand, and several mixed jewels scattered between.
OSCORP
Hunched over his microscope in the dimmed laboratory, Dr. Curt Connors manipulated the focus dials and tools below with all the methodical precision of someone defusing a bomb. The view of Manhattan beyond the windows a topography of lights and towers in the city that never sleeps.
"Preliminary trial H-zero-five…" Speaking aloud, a digital voice recorder on the table next to him, he adjusted his face in the apparatus. "-Results are stable, hybridization has proven a key element in the transmission process. However, bonding in the final stage has yet to-"
Down in the dish, he watched a red blood cell and a greenish-translucent cell go from crammed beside each other, to merging with a final surrender. Connors gasped, his hand shaking as it moved away from the microscope's platform. "Bonding trial H-Zero-Five… Successful."
The white mouse in the center of the glass case squirmed as it was held by the padded vice, tight enough to hold it but not harmfully. Its tail was missing at the base, a pink stump that twitched like a second nose, a patch of its rump shaved clean.
Connors approached the box, syringe in hand half-filled with a dark reddish liquid. "Alright little guy let's see if we can make you whole again." Reaching in through the left side, he gently pierced the exposed portion of skin and injected a few milliliters of the serum. Pulling back and locking the door to the case, he braced himself on the desk and waited.
Curt could feel his heart beating in his chest, anticipation tightening his throat.
When his phone started to ring, his knees locked so quickly he almost lost balance. Taking a moment to let his heart stop racing, he looked over to where it lay on the next table and saw his wife's name on the screen.
"Honey…" He began apologetically. "I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I've been so absorbed today."
"I figured." She answered. "I was just making sure. You can never be too careful in this city."
As Martha Connors continued to speak, Curt brought his attention back to the mouse, the adrenaline steadily wearing down.
"-how much this means to you, but I don't want-"
As he listened, the words faded to background noise as the stub of appendage started to elongate, raw pinkish flesh sprouting like a plant in a time-lapse video. Mouth hanging open and eyes widened, Curt didn't even breath, too gripped to tear his gaze away as the newly formed tail tapered to a point, the skin aging to match the base.
"Honey…". Curt muttered.
Martha stopped mid-sentence, immediately detecting the presence of something new in her husband's vice. "Yes? Is everything alright?"
"I think so." An irrepressible smile on Curt's face, a happy tear accumulating in the corner of his eye. "Yeah, I think we're gonna be great."
Somewhere in the distant moonlit horizon, a flash of lighting preceded the thunder.