"Good afternoon, Peter. It's been quite a while."
"Not long enough, Mr. Osborn," Peter replied, crossing his arms over the white spider emblem on his chest. "How is Dr. Connors doing?"
Peter's question wasn't polite small talk; it was a thinly veiled accusation.
Gwen's recent intelligence reports painted a damning picture. Norman had intentionally allowed Otto Octavius to infiltrate Oscorp as part of a calculated play to secure a better price from the Millitary. Norman knew Otto wanted to dismantle Oscorp, so he simply laid a trap. Dr. Curtis Connors ended up as collateral damage, forcibly injected with the Lizard serum and turned into a monster. Norman could have stopped it. Instead, he just stood back and watched the chess pieces move.
Norman didn't even flinch. He just offered a warm, perfectly tailored billionaire smile.
"Dr. Connors is recovering quite well, thank you. Project Savage Force still requires his brilliant leadership. In fact, despite our recent... unexpected setbacks, his research is significantly ahead of schedule. Furthermore, our lab security has been completely overhauled. You're perfectly safe here."
Peter narrowed his eyes behind his white lenses. Shamelessness really was a corporate superpower. He decided to drop it. As long as Norman wasn't actively riding a glider and throwing bombs, combating his boardroom ruthlessness was a job for Tony Stark. If Tony ever managed a hostile takeover of Oscorp, the world would be a much simpler place.
"While I never physically opened the temporal sphere I received," Norman continued, leading Peter down a pristine white corridor, "your description of the blast site was highly detailed. I cross-referenced the telemetry and managed a rough reconstruction of this so-called 'pumpkin bomb'."
"I thought Oscorp already developed pumpkin-shaped bpmb," Peter noted, keeping pace.
"We prototyped two earlier iterations," Norman admitted freely. "But neither achieved that level of localized blast containment. I only conceptualized this specific manufacturing method after you explained the restaurant incident. To be precise, these aren't traditional bombs. They are incinerators."
Norman keyed open a set of reinforced sliding doors. The laboratory inside was lined with high-end 3D printers and several freshly manufactured orange spheres.
Norman grabbed a pair of protective goggles from a rack and tossed a set to Peter. He tapped a command onto a tablet. A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, picking up a pumpkin bomb and placing it gently in the center of a heavily reinforced glass testing chamber.
"We'll detonate it with a high-intensity laser," Norman said, stepping up to the glass. "Watch closely."
Peter locked his gaze on the orange sphere.
The laser struck the casing. The bomb flashed a blinding, sickly green. A perfectly spherical shockwave rippled outward, capping at exactly a three-meter diameter.
Then, the fire erupted.
But the flames didn't billow outward. They violently contracted inward, sucking all the oxygen and thermal energy back toward the epicenter until they vanished completely. A split-second later, a silent, concussive wave slammed against the testing chamber glass.
"What the hell was that?" Peter whispered.
"It utilizes a classified Oscorp high-performance polymer," Norman explained, clasping his hands behind his back. "Designed specifically for surgical counter-terrorism operations. It limits the blast radius to a confined area, instantly spiking the ambient temperature within that sphere to lethal levels. Theoretically, it completely carbonizes organic matter."
Peter's jaw tightened. Carbonizes organic matter. A direct hit was an instant death sentence for a normal human. He ran the durability math in his head. Even with the Venom symbiote heavily augmenting his body, the extreme thermal shock would be devastating.
Venom could probably tank three direct hits before we're cooked, Peter calculated. That's our absolute limit. The only upside is the tiny blast radius. Dodging is mandatory.
"This was a brand-new, theoretical patent," Norman sighed, shaking his head with genuine frustration. "Oscorp hasn't even built the assembly lines yet. But this time-traveling lunatic bypassed our R&D phase and just handed out the mass-produced hardware." Norman rubbed his chin. "And since the Avengers refuse to publicly disclose Kang's temporal interference, Oscorp's stock is taking the collateral damage."
Peter didn't care about Norman's stock portfolio. "Does this thing have a design flaw?"
"Ironically, the explosive compound is almost too stable," Norman said. "It's incredibly difficult to trigger a premature detonation. The chemical fuse requires a set duration. If one is thrown at you, you have a brief window to throw it back or web it away." Norman paused, his brow furrowing. "However, the wielder could manually alter the fuse timers. Or utilize a remote detonator."
Peter nodded slowly. His spider-sense would give him the exact microsecond timing he needed to catch and return a live bomb, but the remote detonation was a major wild card.
"I'll upload the structural data for the glider and the exoskeleton armor directly to your suit's mainframe," Norman offered, tapping his tablet. "But those might be the least of our concerns."
Peter looked at the older man. He knew exactly what Norman was really worried about. Norman had a violent, buried split personality. With a Goblin running around Manhattan throwing Oscorp bombs, Norman was terrified that he was blacking out at night and committing the crimes himself.
"We'll figure this out, Mr. Osborn," Peter said softly, stepping away from the glass. "Right now, your priority needs to be your own mental health. Keep it together. Harry doesn't exactly think you are winning 'Dad of the Year' right now. You still have time to salvage that relationship."
Norman offered a stiff, tight nod. "I will make the effort. It appears I am due for some time off anyway."
Peter turned and walked out of the lab. He needed to sync Norman's bomb data with the backdoor tracking feed he had planted on Ned Leeds' exoskeleton.
Norman Osborn stood alone in the sterile testing chamber, watching the sliding doors close behind the young hero. He could hear the cold reproach in Peter's voice. He didn't particularly care.
He just thought about Peter's parting words regarding his son.
Norman sighed, adjusting his expensive cuffs. "If Harry were half as capable as you, Peter... I would be an exceptional father."
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