33
SPIDER-MAN
VS
THE LIZARD
BATTLE FOR NEW YORK
Last Time
Dr. Curt Connors, desperate to appease his boss Norman Osborn, and justify his radical experiments, has tested a regenerative agent on himself. A formula developed from the DNA of Godzilla, Regen-98.
In the wake of Mysterio using a fake kaiju attack to rob a jewelry store, aspiring reporter Mary-Jane Watson has set herself to uncover a criminal conspiracy surrounding an unknown figure who wants the investigation buried. But getting the answers she wants lead her into uncomfortable places, and may very well draw dangerous attention to herself.
As rain continues to drench the City that Never Sleeps, a reptilian creature has escaped from OSCORP, doing battle with Spider-Man on the side of the skyscraper and on the street. After demolishing the car of NYPD Captain George Stacey, the Lizard has escaped into the sewers…
Morning…
The thunderhead of the previous night had passed, leaving behind grey, drizzling clouds. An array of seagulls waddling along the Hudson River pecked at the ground, oblivious to the inconvenience of the rain beyond the occasional ruffling of their feathers. Not even when they came across the cold, naked body of a man laying face down on the rocks did they do more than tilt their heads and peck at his shoulder.
Curt Connors coughed up a mouthful of saltwater as he came to consciousness at the birds prodding, scaring them away with a number of wailing squawks. Before he even knew where he was, he was shivering, skin cold and clammy. Reflexively curling into a fetal position to warm his vital organs, he opened his eyes painfully, the rain pelting his face as he turned upwards. Lips blue with hypothermia, he reached out with his sole hand and started grasping for anything to help draw him to his feet, finding only the slick rocks. Drawing on every ounce of constitution left in his body, Curt managed to struggle his way to level ground.
A naked man shambling through Hudson River Park drew the attention of two homeless men camped by a bench in a ramshackle hut of asymmetrical cardboard.
"Rough night?" One of them shouted, the two shabby men gawking at him with a mix of humor and unease.
Using his hand to cover his genitals, Curt shrugged, "I thhhhink so."
"Here," The hobos tossed out one of their shelter-given blanket, which he snatched up eagerly and tossed over his back.
"Thank you." Curt started to walk on, but hesitated. "I don't suppose either of you guys have a phone I could use?"
OSCORP
"How are you feeling, Mr. Osborn?"
Coming to with a long inhalation, Norman Osborn awoke in the medical bed with a sharp migraine. He blinked his eyes open to find a man standing at the foot of his bed dressed in a white lab coat. The medium-length black hair and handsome Mediterranean features of Dr. Michael Morbius stared back at him with polite interest.
"I'm sorry," The doctor apologized, scribbling a note onto a clipboard. "I saw you stirring and wanted to get your immediate feedback."
"I do appreciate the efficiency." Norman had to admit, grimacing. "It feels like my head's about to split open."
"Hmm." Raising a curious brow, Morbius stepped in close to apply a penlight to Osborn's pupil. He maintained a flat expression when it contracted vertically.
"Are you feeling discomfort in any other part of your body?"
"Just here." Norman held up his bandaged left forearm, turning it over. "A lot less than last night though.
"Why don't we take a look…" Unwrapping the cloth carefully, the doctor examined the wound with a pleasant surprise.
Where a nasty gash from the creature's claw had been gouged into the muscle, was now a still ugly but far less grievous laceration.
"Interesting." Michael muttered. Running a finger along the already scabbed tissue. "I know Connors was working on a regenerative compound, apparently some of it got into your wound."
"You mean I'm infected with his experiment?" Osborn sneered. "I'm nobody's guinea pig, Morbius. What can you do about it?"
The scientist smiled slightly, "Nothing without treating you like a guinea pig I'm afraid, Sir. Unless I run some tests, I won't know how to treat you. Though it doesn't seem to have done you any harm thusfar, quite the opposite."
Norman inspected the lesion himself, reluctantly impressed by the effects the formula had.
"Yeah, well, until we find Connors I'm giving you access to his material. See what you can find out."
Morbius stepped back, glancing out the window to the dreary day. "There could be something useful in it to my own research."
"If it can heal a gash like the one I had, maybe it can do something for that blood condition of yours." Norman mused as he swung himself out of bed. "It would be a big boost for our pharmaceutical division."
It was while Norman was buttoning his dress shirt that an OSCORP employee burst in the room.
"Sir! We've located Dr. Connors!"
Elsewhere in the City…
The manhole cover was pushed aside with a grind as Spider-Man hefted himself out of the sewer.
Yuck! I hope I don't have to burn this suit!
He replaced the metal plate and looked round to find himself in an otherwise empty alleyway.
"Ah great! Spent all night looking for that thing, and now I gotta rush home or be late for school!"
With a yawn and an outstretched hand, Spider-Man cast a high web-line and yanked himself upwards.
"I still don't know what the deal is with that lizard-monster, or why it was crawling around OSCORP. But I'll have to save those questions for after school, and [yawn] get a few hours nap in me."
Sliding into his bedroom window, Peter Parker had just finished stripping out of the red-and-blue, stuffing it in a black bag when the door swung open.
"Oh! Good morning, Peter!" Aunt May laughed as she recoiled from the sight of her nephew in his underwear. "It was so quiet up here, I was beginning to think you were still sleeping."
"Tempting thought May." Peter said through a long yawn and tired eyes. "You know how us teenagers are."
"Well you're running a bit behind…" She started to close the door when a loud sniff made her scowl. "But make sure you get a shower in first."
"Will do."
His hair still damp from the shower, Peter hurried down the stairs in his clothes for the day.
On top of being exhausted, I gotta skip breakfast if I wanna get to homeroom on time!
"Peter, take a toaster strudel or something." May called out from an adjacent room as he donned his raincoat.
Ooh, toaster strudel…
Checking to make sure his aunt couldn't see him, Peter cast a web-line into the kitchen and snagged a box of the rectangular pastries off the countertop, stuffing two packs into his jacket pockets before trashing the box.
I'll have to use the extra spidey-suit I have stashed at school until I can get the stank out of my regular. I just have to remember to pick up some tomato sauce on the way home.
"Later, May!" He called over his shoulder, opening the front door.
"See you later, Peter." He heard.
Flipping over the hood of his coat as he stepped into the rain, he slid it back slightly, allowing him to see the girl standing at the foot of his stairs under an umbrella.
"Morning, Pete." Gwen Stacey chirped eagerly, despite the otherwise dreary morning. "Thought you'd never get out here."
"Sorry," He apologized through a yawn on his way down. "Didn't get much sleep."
She held the umbrella a little higher to accommodate him, and the pair set off.
"Restless night?" She asked.
Peter shrugged, "Pretty much, you know with the thunderstorm and all…"
"That wasn't the only thing going off last night, some new monster was fighting Spider-Man on the side of OSCORP tower. My dad says it came from inside the building!"
"Really?" One of Osborn's projects gone wrong?
"Yeah, it would have hurt him too if Spider-Man hadn't chased it off."
More like lost it, but I'm not going to quibble over technicalities.
"Is your dad alright?"
"He's fine, a little bruised but he never lets that slow him down."
"He's a tough guy." Peter did admire Captain Stacey, even if the mask was a point of contention between them. He was an honest man and a good cop in a city where corruption was all too profitable an alternative.
Arriving at the bus stop, they could already see the orange curve down the street. Among the small crowd of others in wait, Parker set his gaze in the direction of the OSCORP tower. Gwen however tilted her head forward to see Peter's face, his mind a mile away as usual. Glancing down, she saw that his left hand happened to be idling, just hanging at his side. Her right hand tensed to slip out and grasp it, a temptation she'd considered many times. She bit the corner of her lip, hoping that Peter would suddenly turn and look at her the way she'd always wanted.
The bus arrived with a squeal of wet brakes, the waiting students boarding in yet another tedious daily ritual. There weren't any empty seats together, so Gwen took a seat beside an acquaintance, Peter two rows behind in another isle seat.
I need to figure out what happened to that monster. He mulled to himself, staring out the droplet-covered window. If my luck holds its usual grudge against me, it'll be back, and an even bigger headache than before.
The Daily Bugle
"Masked-Menace Grapples with Reptilian Terror!"
J. Jonah Jameson proclaimed the headline with flashy hand gestures, as if he could see the title not as an above-the-fold bold print, but a Broadway marquee.
"Seems kinda long, Jonah." His junior editor Robbie Robertson told him frankly. "Especially if you want room for any of these on the front page with it."
Robbie pointed to an array of print-out photos laid out on his boss's desk, a collection of stills of the fight between Spider-Man and the monster taken from traffic cameras and police dash-cams. One particular shot captured from an officer's body cam was enhanced to feature their battle on the side of the building. Others of the encounter by the intersection were closer and clearer.
Jonah swiveled the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other in ponderation.
"Okay, something a bit more concise…" Again Jameson waved his palm from left to right. "Spider-Man vs. The Lizard."
"Eye catching," Robbie nodded. "Like a B-movie"
"Yeah…" selecting a photo that showed the wall-crawler and the creature in close combat. It reminded him of classic movie posters.
"How 'about the mayoral race? Anything newsworthy with Seinfeld?"
Robertson produced a scratchpad and raised an eyebrow. "He's got a statement to the press scheduled for this afternoon, announced a rally on the steps of Federal Hall in a couple days. I say we send a guy to cover it."
"Fine." Jonah puffed on his stogie a few times, still appraising the pictures. There was one of Spider-Man helping Captain Stacey out of his damaged car. Normally a puff-piece on civilians helping out law enforcement was a solid article, but the thought of doing Spider-Man any favors made him taste bile.
"Maybe Kramer and Elaine will show up for a cockamamy scheme while they're at it."
Robbie chuckled. "Seinfeld for mayor, who's next? Sidney Poitier?"
"Well, at least then we'd have an elected official with some taste."
The junior editor reigned in his humor and prepared for a more difficult question.
"You know at first, I was a little perplexed that you chased away that Watson girl yesterday. From what Betty told me, she might have had an interesting lead."
"She didn't have a goddamn thing!" Jonah barked back, flinging the pictures with such sudden anger they scattered to the floor. "Nothing but a rumor from a source we haven't vetted."
"But then," Robbie continued calmly, defusing the outburst. "I thought a little bit, and it made sense. Besides, we wouldn't want a nice girl like her making the kind of mistakes we made in our impetuous youth."
Jameson chewed on the cigar a moment, allowing his blood pressure to settle.
"No… no we wouldn't."
He'd been too reckless, too naïve, too brazen. And his wife had paid the price. His 'pretty little wife', the voice on the other end of the call had mentioned.
"Well, I got work to do." Robbie said, breaking the tension. "Got a weird tip about a naked guy in Hudson Park this morning."
This did seem to snap Jonah out of his thoughts, the cigar whipping across his mouth.
"Goddamn perverts! The city oughta' toss 'em all in the drink!"
OSCORP
Curt Connors sat on the side of the medical bed as the team in scrubs fussed around the same room Norman had been in earlier. Having gotten some clothes on his back and a hot breakfast in a famished stomach, his mind was lost in a seemingly infinite loop of questions and 'what do I do's?'. He held a white cup in his hand with steam rising from it.
"Have you had a chance to call your wife, Curt?" Michael Morbius asked, sitting across from him in a folding chair. As before he was scribbling away on a notepad.
"Right after I called here." Curt muttered. "I told her there was an accident in the lab and I had to stay overnight to help clean it up. It sounded like she agreed to believe it, but I don't know how long it's gonna hold up."
"Well, if you need me to vouch for you, I'm your wingman." The attempt at humor was a fleeting smirk, but Michael knew this was quite a serious matter. "Call it a professional courtesy."
Curt glanced at him wearily, "I feel like a dead battery, Morbius. I've never felt this drained."
"And you really can't remember anything from last night?"
"No I… I remember I was in the lab, I was working on the Regen. Then I…"
A collage memory flashed in his mind's eye: staring into a camera, gripping his arm, laying on the floor, seeing his reflection in the video feed, then….
"I did something…"
Morbius looked up from his paperwork, noticing the far-away destination of Connors' gaze. An observant man, he could tell thoughts were turning in his colleague's head that were not being shared aloud.
Rubbing the back of his hand over the stubble of his chin, Curt looked down at the stump of his right arm. Other glimpses came to him, shadows of memories. A throaty breath made its way out between his teeth.
"You should know, Curt, that Mr. Osborn has authorized me to secure your research in my lab."
"What?" Surprised, Connors lurched but wilted back down to his seat. "What do you mean?"
Michael looked down and sighed. "Your lab was heavily damaged in… whatever happened. So for the time being, I'll be looking after your materials."
It was being taken from him, again…
"My… my work…"
"Oh, and your reptiles are being kept in the heat lab downstairs. They'll be cared for."
His head was swimming. "I need to see my lab, I need to see what's left." Curt begged.
"My friend, we all think it's best that you take some time to recover. I understand you've been pushing yourself quite hard lately."
"I was so close!" Curt stood and tossed his cup aside, startling the assistants. His lip curled back, and his gaze fixed on a phantom limb. "I know I felt it!"
Again, Morbius could only silently appraise the man before him, one he had a great deal of respect for, but clearly one who was not in full control of himself. He put aside the clipboard and stood to embrace Curt with hands on either shoulder.
"Go home, Curt. Get some rest, come back to work with a clear mind and we'll figure all this out."
Another shiver shot through Connors, like his soul being shunted back into its corporeal vessel. His features softened, and he found an anchor of focus in Dr. Morbius.
"Yeah… I should uh, I should get home." He looked down at his clothes, realizing that he'd be showing up to his wife in a different set of clothes than he'd left in.
"We found your personal items…" Morbius moved to a clear plastic tub set on a nearby table, and produced a plastic zip-lock bag containing a wallet, set of keys, OSCORP passcard, and a cellphone with a cracked screen.
"Your clothes, unfortunately, were in… disrepair."
Curt pocketed the items and ran a hand through his hair.
"How uh, how is Mr. Osborn taking this?"
"Surprisingly pragmatic." Michael assured him as they walked towards the door. "In fact, I'd say he's more invested in your work than ever."
"Show me."
Sitting in his darkened office, Norman Osborn reclined back in the lush chair with interlocked fingers, staring at the computer monitor on his desk.
On screen, a window appeared of a candid video feed inside Curt Connors' lab, the still image showing the scientist at work over a microscope.
"Begin playback, one-point-five speed."
Captured the previous night on the private server fed by every camera in the building, Norman watched intently as the scientist went about his work. Over the course of the video, his gaze alternately narrowed and arched in reaction to the boldness of Curt's decisions.
Then his eyes widened and he leaned forward, the audio of the transpiring event turning from screams into feral snarls.
Well now, isn't that something?
Norman's lip ticked to hear the voice in his head again.
Not every day an employee decides to try on a new species! Ha!
What played out on the screen completed the picture of what he'd walked into last night. After tearing free of garmental constrictions, a beast all scales and muscle proceeded to trash the lab. He watched until the entrance of his guards before tapping a button on the keyboard to pause the playback while he sunk into the cushions.
Kinda makes you wonder what that means for you… nuhuhuhuh
The laceration did tingle, and he ran a hand over his forearm. He flexed his fist open and closed, feeling the muscles tighten with a curious new strength.
If you ask me… I think it could be a lotta fun!
Later…
The bellowing of the storm might have passed, but the grey remained unbroken. There seemed no end to the rain, as if the biblical firmament itself had been pierced to spill loose the outer waters.
But it did not deter Mary-Jane from her ambition. After her meeting with Detective Brock, she'd researched any attorneys in the metro area named 'Donovan' and found a Benjamin Donovan of 'Donovan & Partners'. The firm was notorious for representing high-profile criminals; from supervillains to mafioso. Key-word being 'high' profile. Mysterio seemed a little vulgar for their choice of clientele, a curious thing in itself. Benjamin himself notable for the white streak in his black hair, and imposing himself with a height of six-foot-five in expensive three-piece suits.
Within sight of the law firm's office block, she had taken up an observation post from inside the fast-food restaurant where she could maintain a view of who came and went through the stone and brass adorned entrance. She'd raced here after school, hoping to catch a dubious pair of dark SUVs coming or going. With luck, Donovan might lead her somewhere interesting. Either way, it was something to do beside going home.
She had a small collection of cables and devices on the table, cluttering the space beside the plate of food and glass of juice. A camera sat behind the napkin dispenser attached by cable to her phone, pointed towards the office. Another cable linked her devices to a portable power-block, one she hoped would last long enough to capture something useful.
Jameson's not gonna take me seriously until I have something concrete to show him.
Checking through the window, she took a sip of her drink and made sure the hood of her jacket was as pulled-over as reasonable without drawing too much attention inside the restaurant.
There!
A duo of very expensive suburbans with impenetrably tinted windows pulled up to the entrance and waited for the gate to open. Watson zoomed in on the license plates, snapping pictures of each. A minute later, Donovan himself emerged from the doors under an umbrella, flanked by a pair of subordinates who suffered the rain long enough to make sure Benjamin entered the vehicle dry.
MJ hastily stuffed her things into a plastic bag and sacked it in her backpack; and throwing down payment for the meal, hurried to leave before the SUV's got away from her. Outside, her bicycle was secured to a streetlight, which she unlocked and mounted just as the vehicles were pulling away. She was banking on the inconspicuousness of a bike on the streets of New York to keep close enough without being too noticeable, appearing as just another courier under the hood.
Despite the rain, or perhaps because of it, traffic flowed easily enough and before long both parties arrived at the corner of West 38th and 5th Ave. A nondescript tower just over two dozen stories tall.
She breezed past on the opposite sidewalk as Donovan's convoy entered through an automated gate at the base of the building.
"Shit." Watson cursed, realizing the wall she'd run into. She halted for a bit, letting the rain pelt her as she pondered a way around this problem.
What would a great investigator do?
Unbeknownst to Mary-Jane, a camera on the corner of the building subtly disguised as décor focused in on her.
Elsewhere…
"I ever mention how much I hate skyscrapers in the rain?"
Tearing aside the opaque blue tarp sealing the laboratory from the outside, Spider-Man crept into the space, escaping the wet evening.
"Buhh, all this waterlogging is gonna get me sick." Entering from above to crawl along the ceiling. He spied a security camera in one of the upper corners, and quickly covered it with a gob of webbing.
"Yeesh, what happened in here?" Though the lab had been somewhat repaired from the raw demolition, it was still clear that something had wreaked havoc.
"Alright, so unless OSCORP started hiring unstable lizard-monsters as overnight janitorial staff, this must be where the creature came from."
He dropped down to the floor, landing in a defensive crouch, scanning his surroundings. Most of the loose debris had been collected into piles to clear the greater floorspace, exposed wiring and utility pipes cut off and hanging like dead flora. What drew his attention was the refrigeration unit laying on it side, door open. A series of slashes were gouged into the box, the dimensions of its case warped outwards.
"Wonder what he was after in here?"
There was nothing left inside, so he skulked about, activating a flashlight on his beltline to help him see.
"Hope that thing doesn't nest in here…"
The light found a small scattering of thin glass partially hidden under a chair, and spread over a semi-dried wet stain on the floor. Whatever elements in the fluid that hadn't evaporated now left behind a dark greenish sludge.
"Now what could this have been?"
Grabbing a broken piece of ceiling frame, Spider-Man prodded the goo, lifting a measure of it up for inspection. It drooped like molasses with a dense viscosity, and as radiant light shone through it, there was some strange… structure to be seen in it. Like a transparent membrane.
"I'd bet my web-shooters this has something to do with the Lizard, I'll have to get it analyzed somewhere."
Producing a small ziplock baggie from his hidden utility belt, he used the tool to stuff some of the material into the bag before securing it shut.
It was then he heard the soft ding of an elevator.
Two suited men entered the lab, a blue plastic box with interlocking covers in the hands of one.
"Look for anything related to Doc Connors' project." Said the one not carrying the box.
"Why couldn't they just tell me that downstairs?" The other asked.
"Mr. Osborn doesn't want anybody talking about this in the open."
"If you say so."
One man knelt down to a toppled terrarium and shifted through the debris while the other set the box down and set about examining a stack of half-torn papers.
In a darkened ceiling corner of the room, Spider-Man moved ever so silently to keep himself behind the men as they searched.
Doc Connors? So this was his lab…
Waiting until they had moved with their back to the broken window, he slipped by and found the same tear he'd entered through.
Springing off the side of the building, Spider-Man slung a line to an adjacent high-rise, aiming to swing himself towards the cover of a billboard. Water on the window pane however refused contact, and the line failed.
"I hate slinging in the rain."
He shot another line, and this time fortunately the fingers found a stretch of concrete to adhere to instead of the slick glass, and he felt the web go taut. The platform of the billboard was wide enough for him to crawl among the framework underneath.
"So who'd be willing to help out their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man at this hour and just so happens to have a molecular analysis machine?"
He thought a moment then snapped his fingers.
"Reed Richards, obviously."
The Connors Household
"You're still hungry?"
Martha Connors stood in the threshold of the kitchen, watching her husband forage in the refrigerator for what seemed like the tenth-time since he got home.
Curt had changed into his own comfort clothes to slum around the house, exhausted after having to work so late after the accident. Though he couldn't spare her the details due to the project's confidentiality, Mr. Osborn, her husband told her, was gracious enough to give Curt the rest of the day off to recover.
"I'm not sure what's left in there." She said, approaching his side and putting an arm around his back.
"I didn't really eat much yesterday," He began, reaching into the depths of the bottom draws. "I'm famished."
"Clearly."
It had tugged at her ever since he got home, dropped off in a corporate car, but she took the opportunity to grasp his right bicep and triceps.
"Have you been working out at the office?"
The muscles, formerly slim from atrophy were now firm with noticeably more mass than she recalled. Curt had never been much disposed towards fitness, but as she held him, he felt heavier, more muscled, even seemed an inch or two taller. Maybe she simply hadn't noticed?
The question drew a hesitation from Curt, as he followed her gaze to his halved limb and the flexing tissue under the skin.
"A little bit," He admitted. "There's a… gym in the building." There was in fact an employee rec-center in OSCORP, so that part at least he could say honestly.
"Maybe that's where all my metabolism is going."
Accelerated metabolism, increase in muscle mass… What the hell did I do to myself?
"Well," Martha ran a soothing hand over his chest and stomach. "You look good."
"Thank you." Curt leaned over to give her a kiss, and they both enjoyed it for a few moments.
She left him in the kitchen, where he finally settled on a bowl of pasta that had somehow migrated to the lower regions of the refrigerator and hidden itself behind a head of lettuce. While he placed it in the microwave, he marveled at the muscle fibers flexing and contracting.
Incredible
He set the microwave to cook and poured himself a glass of water, which he downed with a rapacious thirst. But while he drank, he felt an odd pull prickling at his skin, something that made his throat tighten and pulse pound. His eyes shifted to the side, leading the rest of his head in the direction of the draw and fell on the microwave. The more he focused on it, the more alluring it became.
Curt approached, feeling the warmth increasing. For the first time today, he actually began to feel contented.
The radiation…
Godzilla, he remembered, was a product of nuclear energy, both sustained by it and attuned to its concentration. Elements of this titan now flowed in his own veins. And perhaps…
Standing in front of the appliance, he lifted the stump of his right arm and pointed it at the window. And he did feel something, a tingling in the dermis, an ache in the bone. Moreso, the prickling grew into an urge, the urge into a hunger.
He glanced over to the next room, checking if Martha was within sight.
He opened the microwave door with the press of a button.
He bent over, traded out the pasta, positioning his stump within the box.
Crossing his left arm underneath, he swallowed a lump of nerve and pressed the start button.
The effect was immediate. As soon as the electromagnetic waves began penetrating his cells he felt an invigoration, like getting doused with icewater while being shocked by a thousand volts. His heart nearly came apart with every beat, and a rush of adrenaline surged through his body. The hand gripping the door clenched, pinching in the plastic, fingernails stretching to points.
Curt regained his senses with a gasp, pulling his arm away after a few seconds. He looked down at the stump, and found another centimeter of limb had regenerated, pink and smooth.
Radiation triggers the cells, fuels the growth.
He cupped the flesh to test its sensitivity: hot and tender.
But then why doesn't it last? It must be unstable…
Taking a deep breath, he shut the microwave. Curt sat down at the kitchen table, the partially heated bowl of pasta suddenly far less appetizing.
He thought of all the technological resources at OSCORP.
I need more.
BAXTER BUILDING
"Out of Town?"
Hanging upside-down from a ledge, Spider-man tilted his head at the handwritten sign posted on the glass door to the balcony area. Since many of the Fantastic Four's guests preferred to bypass going through the tower itself, a notice left at their personal floor tended to serve better.
"Well if I try to break in, I'll probably get de-atomized by a security laser. Best not to invade the lair of a supergenius."
He flipped over to land on his feet, taking shelter from the rain under the overhang. Producing the sample bag from a belt compartment, he held it up to inspect.
"The X-Men would be too long a trip… I could try to find out where they're hiding Bruce Banner, he'd know what to do with this… Iron Man? I think he might be a little paranoid about late-night drop-ins after that Chinese guy with the rings."
Spidey sighed, looking out to see a flash of lightning from somewhere up in the thunderclouds.
"Thor?... nah."
He pocketed the bag and approached the ledge of the balcony, squatting on the wall. "I'll just have to find this Dr. Connors and ask him what this goop has to do with the Lizard."
Leaping from the ledge, he slung a line into the night rain.
Elsewhere…
Mary-Jane Watson, with her hood pulled down low, had located a very tight alley where the property Donovan had entered bordered another. Whereas the block was protected by a positively medieval rampart, there was a section of narrow allowance for access to sub-street utilities. Putting her athletic skill to the test in combination with her imagination of adventure stories, she was in the process of wedging her body between the walls and inching her way up.
"What the hell are you doing here?!"
New York Police Detective Eddie Brock reached up with a leap and yanked the dangling leg from where Mary-Jane was bracing her hands and foot against the walls. Unable to refuse his strength and gravity, she fell into his arms roughly and reflexively pushed away from him.
"Get off me!"
The sudden and forceful rejection caught him off guard, and the two stared at one another a moment before she calmed her breath and adjusted her hood.
Brock, unprotected with rain dripping from his hair and eyebrows swallowed his indignation and set his jaw.
"Do you have any idea who's backyard you're trying to climb into?"
"No." MJ tilted her head, "Care to share any insight?"
Eddie craned his neck to the tower's height, seething through his teeth.
"Not if I wanna see the end of the week."
She narrowed her eyes at him, "So what are you doing here then?"
He held his tongue for a moment, "You know you're lucky I was driving by and caught your stupid-ass. This is a dangerous neighborhood."
Watson rallied her nerve and took a step closer to speak at a more secretive volume.
"I followed that lawyer Donovan here from his office, I know it's not where he lives."
Whatever thoughts were running through the detective's mind, he compacted them into something manageable and took a breath.
"Listen Watson," Brock squared up with her, matching her surreptitious conversation. "Your little reporter shtick is cute, and I enjoy being your secret informant. But this is actual, serious shit."
"Yeah, I figured." A rumble of thunder signaled the approach of yet another storm. "It's more than some cub reporter fluff that-"
"If I see you skulking around here again…" This time there was no coy playfulness in his words, only the iron tone of a warning. "I will arrest you myself."
MJ scowled, but didn't argue, the rain coming down a bit thicker.
But Brock softened, rubbing a hand over his cheeks to massage out tension.
"I'm parked around the corner, I'll take you home."
The thought of getting into an even more confined space with Eddie Brock under his control caused her hands to tighten.
"I got my bike."
She had turned to leave him in the alley, but stopped.
"Hey… any word on that Lizard creature Spider-Man was dealing with? Sounds like monsters are safer to deal with in this town."
The question was a visible relief to Eddie, "Not much," He shrugged. "Something attacked OSCORP, wall-crawler caught wind of it. Saved the Captain before it disappeared. Nobody knows more than that."
"Thank you." Watson nodded and exited, leaving him with an increasingly waterlogged overcoat.
Almost immediately his phone began ringing. He knew who it was before he put it to his ear.
"Sir?"
… …
"Yeah she got the message, thank you for letting me handle it."
… … …
He gulped, keeping his gaze level. "I understand."
Eddie hung up and stuffed the phone away. He took a deep breath and punched the wall.
Connors' Household
As Martha slept in bed, Curt stood by the window, gazing out over the East River. He was still hungry, he could feel the churning in his gut. His body was demanding to create more mass but unless it consumed his own organs like a man in starvation, it would just continue to gnaw at him until a craze took hold.
I know I felt it
Not only had he felt his right fist tighten once again, but now felt a strength in his body like he'd never experienced, even despite the famishing effect. It was intoxicating.
But there was one problem.
The news report of the reptilian creature at OSCORP hadn't escaped him, it was a ready conclusion to make of what happened to him, how he wound up naked in the Hudson River. Whether Mr. Osborn or anybody else was savvy to the truth he could only suspect. If they did, they were keeping their interest in the matter close to the chest.
Was the transformation a one-time reaction? How could he possibly tell without further testing? What other effects might Regen-98 have on a human?
There was only one way to find out.
Hell's Kitchen
A lone figure stood in the rain atop the apartment building, unaffected by the ceaseless downpour. In fact, it only aided the Man Without Fear to perceive the world around him.
Until he turned his head.
"Spider-Man,"
Crawling down the side of the adjacent building's fire escape some twenty feet away, Spidey silently cursed.
"You know you're the one person I can never sneak up on. I kinda hate it."
Daredevil knew he meant it in good humor, and he smiled. "What brings you to the kitchen?"
Spider-Man leapt from his spot, flipping in the air before he touched down beside the crimson-cowled hero.
"Oh, you know, ran out of quarters for the laundromat; thought I'd take the suit out for a wash."
The two shook hands. "The weather has been a bit Biblical lately." Daredevil mused.
"Yeah, this keeps up were gonna need a few cuberts of wood."
"It's 'cubits', but sure."
"Hey, so I was working this case downtown, I could use your help on something."
"That 'Lizard' thing? I heard."
"So, you know people who can do background checks, right? I was wondering if you could look someone up for me."
Daredevil cocked his head at the proposition, "I know a few people. Might I inquire as to the nature of this check?"
"It's a Doctor Connors, works for OSCORP. The monster is connected to his lab somehow, which I don't think will be open for a while. I just need to know where I can find him to ask a few questions."
Daredevil measured the request a few moments. "Let me see what I can do. Come find me tomorrow night."
"Thanks man, and hey: if you're ever in Queens, look me up."
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen smirked, "Will do."
The Next Day
Saturday
"Are you sure about this, Mr. Osborn?"
Alistair Smythe Stood at a distance from where the boss was affixing himself into the footholds of the glider prototype.
They had moved the apparatus to the test hanger, a large empty space the size of a running track where devices that required a good deal of room could be operated safely. Norman wore the same bodysuit that test-pilot Jason Macendale had used, though he didn't fill it nearly as powerfully.
"What good is funding all this technology if you can't have a bit of fun with it, Alistair?"
The scientist blew a mouthful of air through tight lips and capitulated to his employer's whims, marking things off on his clipboard.
As Norman felt the magnetic nodes in the boots lock in place to their counterparts on the craft, his sense of balance was perceptibly more acute, his calf muscles contracting into a ball.
Yes… I could get used to this…
Examining the device affixed to his left forearm, Norman could monitor the glider's information; like its power level, speed, elevation. With a finger tap on the screen, he detached the charging cable, freeing the craft from its cradle-mount and allowing him to float freely. He slid the streamlined protective goggles over his face.
"Alright Sir, now you just-"
Smythe's advice was interrupted by Osborn shooting forward in a blink. Norman then proceeded to execute a series of deft maneuvers around the space with a stunning degree of finess. Alistair gawked, letting his notes hang at his hip.
For his part, a taut smile spread across Norman's face as he banked and dipped. An exhilaration in his breast to exercise such capability was insurpressable, and he spun back around to hover in place.
"What else have you been working on?"
OSCORP
The pretty young receptionist manning the lobby desk at OSCORP looked up with a mixture of surprise and confusion to see Curt Connors enter the building carrying a slim leather briefcase. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something different about him today. It was also odd to see him this late.
"Good evening Dr. Connors," she greeted.
"Good evening, Emily." He said after swallowing a bite of the long sandwich he'd purchased on the way. Pressing his ID-card to the turnstyle, he proceeded through at the signaling of the green light. Entering the elevator, he tugged at the sleeve of his now ill-fitting raincoat.
He wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation with the custodial worker he was sharing the car with, sparing him a polite nod before taking another bite of his food.
Curt knew his office would be useless until it could be repaired. He also knew that he couldn't rely on help from Morbius if he wanted to be unobstructed.
Instead, he exited the elevator at the radiological studies lab. Waving 'hello' to a few of the familiar staff, Connors made his way to through the facility. The department was comprised of several workrooms, each shielded to protect against the release of harmful particles. Otherwise, there were a number of black worktables complemented with sinks and other laboratory equipment. Most beneficial, was that the radiological lab was a utilitarian facility, not dedicated to any particular project or individual.
"Hey, Curt, heard you had an accident upstairs?" An acquaintance asked, a guy he'd spoken to in passing a time or two.
But Connors played down the trouble, gleaming that not much information about the incident had been allowed to disseminate among the other employees. Beyond of course, what had been reported in the news.
"Oh, nothing too serious." He said without breaking stride.
"Huh…" The man nodded, returning to his own work.
Curt found the workroom he wanted and was excited to find it was available. He passed himself in with his access card and shut the door behind him, flicking on the 'in use' sign that would indicate outside. A row of lights above came alive, and he locked the door.
Another benefit of the lab; was that due to the materials handled here, it only had a few security cameras in the main area.
In the room was a type of miniature reactor set on a concrete block and encased in a solid container within a sturdy glovebox; its control rods the size of sewing needles compared to their industrial counterparts. Designed to be used for experimentation rather than actual power generation, it utilized beta radiation and was a relatively safe and convenient piece of equipment.
The space was lined with lead plating, and the second he turned and set his eyes upon the reactor, he felt a shiver of warmth wriggle down his neck and elicit a gasp of desire. Even through all the protections he could feel the energy. It wasn't like feeling heat or catching a scent, it was an entirely new perception. A far more potent grade of radiation than the microwave, part of him wanted to simply wrap his arms around the reactor and bask in its warmth like a sunning reptile.
But Curt would have to restrain himself for now to his intended goal. He set his briefcase on a side table and opened it, revealing a plastic icepack that had been opened and emptied, and a few sheets of paper towels. Packed separately, were a trio of small, screw-cap vials, which he unfastened from the tape keeping them together. Also, a stand for the vials.
With a growing eagerness, he unlatched the side of the glovebox and placed the vials inside. He spent a few seconds staring at the plastic blue suit hanging on the wall before deciding it wouldn't be necessary. He closed the glovebox.
Affixing his arm into the glove sleeve, he unscrewed the caps on the vials and placed each in the rack. Then, he took a deep breath and set to his work. It would be quick, and shouldn't raise much of any alarm. Any of the miniature fuel rods going missing would provoke a very serious investigation; not just within the company but also federally. A few ounces of irradiated water however…
Atop the reactor were pipes for water to feed into the device and vent steam, and at the bottom, just as an emergency precaution was a spigot to drain water in the tank. As long as nothing else was fiddled with, any water drained off would be back-filled by the automated system.
Aligning the first vial directly underneath the spigot, he turned the handle and watched carefully as the trickle of water filled the tube, cutting it off when it was full. He repeated the process with the other two vials, filling them each in turn.
When he was done, he wrapped the individual vials in paper towels and stowed them into the ice pack. Making sure that everything was restored to their proper status, he closed up his briefcase and shut the lights off. The prospect of another incident at OSCORP was intolerable, which meant he needed to find a more secure place to see this through.
He had an idea.
Elsewhere…
"I'll have to find some way to return the favor to Daredevil," Spider-Man said, slinging his way through his home borough. "Maybe I'll treat him to a movie or something."
Stopping to rest atop the corner of an office building, the night air had settled in and he took a moment to watch the foot and road traffic as the rain continued still to come down.
"Pretty convenient of Dr. Connors to live in Queens. Maybe I'll get home at a decent hour tonight."
Some minutes later, and Spidey had entered the neighborhood of the address he'd received from his masked-comrade. Rows of residential middle-class housing of humble but comfortable lifestyles.
"Here's the one." Locating the sought-out address, he landed on the roof and made his way down to the back door. Anchoring a webline, he suspended himself upsidedown.
"I don't usually like to make house calls like this, people might have a negative reaction to a guy in a mask knocking at their door. Buuuuut as long as I'm polite and don't make any sudden movements it should go… okay."
Using a bit of dangling momentum, he used one hand to adhere himself to the wall, and the other to knock on the door. A few moments of silence passed, and he knocked a second time, letting go of his grip.
Eventually there was the telltale sound of footsteps approaching, and a blur of light-blonde hair in one of the wedge-shaped windows. Another few seconds passed until the door opened slowly, a cautious Martha Connors appraising the infamous figure as he dangled before her.
"Spider-Man?" She asked, unsure of what to make of his visit.
"Martha Connors, I'm… yeah. Sorry to bother you at your home but I was wondering if your husband had a minute to talk?"
"Curt's not home." She clarified, opening the door a bit more. "This is about the Lizard, right?"
Flipping over sideways, Spider-Man put his feet on the ground. "Unfortunately. I just want to ask if he knows what it was doing at his lab at OSCORP. Maybe he could help me find this thing before it hurts anybody."
She hesitated before speaking, her focus drifting to the side. "Curt didn't tell me that monster was in his lab."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to, uh.."
While Spider-Man fumbled to apologize for eliciting the marital drama, she brought her anxious gaze back to him.
"Curt told me he was feeling restless about his work, that he was going to OSCORP to…" Her hand tightened. "Can you find him please, make sure he's okay?"
I know I shouldn't make guarantees, but I can at least offer a little hope…
"If I find him, I'll bring him home."
"Thank you, Spider-Man."
Martha was closing the door, Spider-Man about to sling away when she thrust it wide again,
"Hey!"
He paused, hand upraised with fingers about to press down on the web-shooter.
"Do you think this has anything to do with the work he did with Reed Richards?" She asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh, I thought you super-hero types… networked or something." Some notion seemed to tug at her mind, but a discretion prevailed on her, and she quelled the worried tone with a fragile smile. "Nevermind." She closed the door.
Spider-Man leapt away into the night.
I wonder what that was about? Doc Connors just gets more and more interesting.
Elsewhere…
After the blight of the Hedorah infestation, the city had done a lot to increase the efficiency of the sewer system. This meant that even in such a rainstorm as persisted over the region, the system was not overwhelmed to flooding.
It was into this damp and private subterra that Curt Connors descended like Orpheus, going down into the labyrinth of brick and iron to find for himself a dark cove wherein he might satisfy his secret urge. With his briefcase's strap slung over his shoulder, he bore a flashlight against the shadow and journeyed along the forgotten rail tracks in search of a suitable den. He reasoned that if another transformation were triggered, he would do much less damage down here in the relative confinement.
His drive pushed him to slog through the knee-high waters, like a man whose hunger pushes him onward with the thought of something to eat just beyond his reach. He shivered from a mixture of stress, chill, and what was becoming an aching denial of the impending placation. Though it took the better part of nearly an hour, he did locate a space off in a branch of the tunnels, a patch of cobblestone and brick elevated above the river. He surmounted the platform and found an unoccupied corner, its original purpose not apparent.
"This should do."
He knelt down on both knees, opening the briefcase and grabbing the ice pack of contraband. His mouth dried, the back of his throat swallowing involuntarily. He set the flashlight down in such a way that its light shone over the case. Unfastening the cap of the pack, he shook loose the vials into the bed of the case, inspecting them to make sure they hadn't been cracked or leaking. The water had cooled significantly since being taken, bringing them just within non-burning temperature. As he handled them, unthinking, he took one in hand and made to unscrew its cap.
He took a breath, thought of his wife.
Without further hesitation, he twisted the cap and downed the water. As soon as the drink was down his throat he felt his body convulse, his shoulders flexing to their physical limitation, a fire roaring in his belly.
Tossing the empty ampule he seized the next, downing it like whiskey, quickly and with a subsequent grimace. Curt collapsed onto his hand, already his mass was expanding, filling his clothes to the point of bursting. He looked and saw his amputation once more regenerating, sensitive to each new nerve ending spawned. With each inch that returned, the dermis was a layer of grey reptilian scales, even unto the fingers.
Connors threw his head back and loosed a hoarse shriek, his shadow passing behind the light cast on the wall, before falling forward again, with new dimensions.
A hand with curved black nails clutched the third vial, carried it up, then crushed it, the water spilling through the cracked plastic to drop downwards.
He clutched both hands to the side of his head, his cries deteriorating into guttural snarls. The sound of fabric tearing and hard scraping on stone twisted away from the light and into the darkness, then a crash of water. Then rapid splashing steps.
Elsewhere…
She didn't want to go home. She didn't want to endure another night of angry shouting. So Mary-Jane decided to spend her evening as a wanderer, walking her bike instead of riding it down the avenue. She was soaked but she didn't care, her mind was trying to parse itself through her frustrations at being shut down. The last thing she needed to deal with tonight was troubles at home. Those would be waiting for her all the same, so she'd spent the day seeking out a new story.
But it was late; and a passing pair of police cars reminded her that a pretty young girl out on her own was the basis of many a tragic tale. Fortunately, she was near a bus stop of a number that went by her neighborhood. She didn't know what time the next one came, but she wasn't in a hurry. Guiding her bike under the shelter, she sat on the bench and began toying with her phone.
Some small time had passed when her nose pricked to the smell of fish; she glanced up to see a white boxtruck bearing the logo of a seafood distributor stopped at the near intersection. She blew a breath of air past her nose and went back to her phone.
Something made the ground tremble, an impact reverberating through asphalt and concrete, into the bench she sat on. MJ looked around, and noted a handful of pedestrians who also seemed to experience the quake. Nothing she could see or hear overtly stuck out as the cause.
Then came a different vibration, a long and sonorous sound that trailed off into a pained wail.
Mary-Jane stood alarmed, her breast pounding.
The street in the intersection erupted with a terrible breaking cacophony, a breaching giant surfacing like a whale, sending rubble and rain cascading down around it. Vehicles passing through tried to halt, their brakes screaming amidst blasting horns and the clamor of rear-ending impacts.
Watson fell back on the bench, astonished.
The Lizard!
The saurian creature brought its forelimbs up to assist its climb, greatly surpassing the size it had been previously. Its arms were longer, more muscled, head more predatory, and a collection of triangular, curving dorsal plates ran down its back in parallel rows with smaller bony protrusions in between. The largest two sprouting from above its shoulders tore cables and pipes from the ground as it continued to rise.
The white boxtruck went into reverse with a screech, recklessly colliding into the taxi cab that had been waiting behind it.
The Lizard opened a wide mouth and loosed a roar that blew-out the truck's windshield, before climbing out on muscled legs and seizing it with both arms on either side of the cab, overpowering the engine.
Mary-Jane gasped, remembering that she had a phone, and brought it up to record the event. Her hand fumbled for the button, but she managed to frame the monster and press the red circle. The thing had to be a hundred-feet long from snout to tail-tip, fifty-five at the shoulders, the counterbalancing limb one of sinewy muscle tapering to a whip.
Those cars that could flee the area did, those disabled by collision or cast debris were abandoned by their occupants who bolted in every direction away. One surly driver however cursed something unintelligible before stomping on the gas and weaving his way through the intersection.
Leveraging its size and power, Lizard hefted the cab and toppled the truck, throwing it on its side. There it came around and ripped into the thin metal of the cargo box without difficulty and plunged its head inside with a hungry yowl.
Disregarding her own safety, Watson held the phone up as she ran to the front of the truck, finding the driver unconscious with a bloody laceration carved across his forehead. She pocketed the phone, and despite the jostling of the truck as the monster foraged, used her sleeves to help drag away the fractured sheet of flexible glass.
"Sir, can you hear me?!" She shouted, grasping him by the front of his jacket. A fellow bystander, a middle-aged man was at her side in the next second, and together they collected the driver and extracted him to safety.
A blaring NYPD car skid to a sideways halt at the perimeter of the heavy rubble, barking a report into his shoulder-clipped microphone. He took a defensive position on the far side of the engine, producing his sidearm and using the hood to rest his elbows and steady his aim. An entire magazine was emptied into the monster's flank, but drew no blood or other sign of injury from the scutella-armored hide.
But it did rouse the monster's attention. The Lizard pulled its head back from the truck, fish still clenched between its teeth. With a swing of its hips, the tail cut through the air with a whine before slamming down the middle of the cruiser, warping the car into a V-shape. Forced to throw himself to the side, the officer sprawled on his back, his eyes wide and fearful.
The Lizard threw the last of its pillaged food back into its gullet, and levied a tilted gaze at the onlookers. Turning away from the truck, its posture stooped to balance, arms folding in close.
With the driver safely in the care of a group of others who had coalesced around him, Mary-Jane got her phone back out and dashed to get in the best position to capture her footage.
Jameson will beg me for this! She thought.
The motion in its peripheral caught the creature's attention, and the Lizard's face shot to her. Emitting a low roar, it tread closer with a wary saunter leaving three-toed impressions in the road.
She stood stone-still, primeval survival instinct pinning her in place so as not to provoke it into a hostile reaction.
I hope this thing's vision is based on movement…
The police officer, having regained himself, was slowly skulking his way in a circular route around to where MJ was. Her arm already stiff down at her side, she delicately raised a palm to halt him, waving him away from approaching. He stopped, crouched behind a parked car, confused. But her warding palm turned into a wagging finger, and he caught-on to the idea.
The Lizard lowered itself until its back was level with its knees, bringing its snout within arms' reach of the girl, sniffing her with two long drags. A soft groan came from somewhere deep in the vocal chords of the beast and it rolled its head at an angle to inspect her.
A tingle danced down Watson's back, a waltz of excitement and awe, she stared back into the amber eyes, catching a light green shimmer in the pupil. For a moment she wanted to reach out and lay her hand on it.
But the Lizard reared back and issued a saurian bellow, lifting itself away from her and lumbering past to the intersection with ponderous steps.
She spun to watch after it, walking stuntedly to keep the phone in line of sight. Her astonishment was only broken by the noise of low-flying helicopters overhead. Mary-Jane Watson snapped up in time to see the white eagle of SHIELD printed on the side.
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