"Harry, do you have time? I was hoping we could grab dinner tonight."
The blonde smiled at him with practiced ease, all perfect teeth and designer perfume. She was the fourth girl to approach him since lunch, and classes had only ended twenty minutes ago.
"Sorry, I've got something to handle tonight. Maybe another time."
Her face fell, but she recovered quickly—these prep school types always did. "Sure, of course. You must be so busy with the company and everything. Just let me know!"
Harry watched her walk away, already pulling out her phone to text someone. Probably complaining about how the new billionaire kid had turned her down.
First day at his new school, and he'd become the center of attention. Not surprising, really. The Osborn Group's military contract had been all over the news for weeks. Add in the "second Tony Stark" headlines and his face plastered on every business magazine in the country, and anonymity wasn't exactly an option.
Back when he'd first transmigrated into this body, Harry might have been interested in the attention. Flattered, even. A parade of beautiful women throwing themselves at him? What teenage boy wouldn't be tempted?
But that was before he understood what was coming. Before the system. Before he realized that every day he wasted was a day closer to the chaos that would reshape this world.
Tony Stark was probably already in Afghanistan by now. The Ten Rings had him. The cave. The arc reactor. Iron Man was being born in a desert halfway around the world, and Harry had work to do.
"Harry, over here. Dr. Otto is already waiting."
Norman stood by the entrance of a converted warehouse in Brooklyn, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. The building looked unremarkable from the outside—rusted fire escapes, graffiti on the loading dock doors—but Harry knew what was inside. Genius. Ambition. And the seeds of catastrophe, if he didn't handle this carefully.
The energy monopoly mission had been gnawing at him since it appeared. Phase One was the New York power grid, but Harry understood that hydroelectric and conventional infrastructure could only take him so far. To achieve true energy dominance—nationwide, global—he needed something revolutionary.
He needed fusion.
And in this universe, there was exactly one man who'd come close to achieving it.
"Dr. Otto, this is my son, Harry Osborn." Norman made the introductions as they entered the laboratory. "Harry, Dr. Otto Octavius."
Otto was exactly as Harry remembered from the films—middle-aged, distinguished, with the kind of intense focus that brilliant scientists always seemed to carry. His handshake was firm, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Osborn. Your father speaks highly of you."
"The pleasure's mine, Dr. Otto. I've been following your work for some time."
That wasn't entirely a lie. Harry had spent the past week reviewing everything the Osborn Group had on Otto's research. The man was operating on a level that most physicists couldn't even conceptualize—theoretical frameworks that made quantum mechanics look like basic arithmetic.
"I heard you're interested in controlled nuclear fusion," Otto said, leading them deeper into the lab. Equipment hummed around them—magnetic containment arrays, plasma injectors, monitoring systems that probably cost more than most people's houses. "In fact, I've recently made significant progress on the topic. Allow me to explain."
He pulled up holographic displays showing atomic structures, energy calculations, reaction sequences. The data was dense, complex—the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to parse.
But Harry wasn't normal anymore. Since awakening the system, his cognitive abilities had sharpened dramatically. If he had to guess, he was operating somewhere around a level four or five on the Marvel intelligence scale. Not Tony Stark territory, but enough to follow Otto's reasoning without getting lost.
"Strengthening the atomic resonance frequency to enhance the fusion effect for sustained energy output," Harry murmured, scanning the calculations. "Your math checks out. You've actually solved the containment problem."
Otto's eyebrows rose. "You understand the principles?"
"Enough to know you're not just theorizing anymore." Harry tapped one of the equations. "This is practical. You're ready to build."
"Exactly!" Otto's face lit up with the enthusiasm of a man who'd spent years being told his dreams were impossible. "The calculations are complete. What I need now is funding for a full-scale experiment. If you hadn't reached out to me, I would have approached the Osborn Group eventually."
Harry smiled. He'd been counting on that.
But before they could move forward, he needed to address the elephant in the room. The thing that had destroyed Otto in every timeline Harry knew about.
"Dr. Otto, based on your data, I believe your experimental design has some... safety concerns."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Norman shifted uncomfortably. Otto's expression flickered—surprise, then a hint of defensiveness.
"Oh? What concerns would those be?"
"You're creating a miniature sun," Harry said, keeping his tone neutral. "Plasma hot enough to fuse hydrogen atoms. That generates massive magnetic fields, gravitational distortions, radiation. How do you plan to control those forces once the reaction is sustained?"
"I've considered that problem extensively."
Otto walked to the far end of the laboratory, where something large sat beneath a gray tarp. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the covering away.
Harry's breath caught.
The mechanical arms. Four of them, each eight feet of articulated metal and advanced servos, currently retracted into a harness that looked designed to attach to a human spine. They were beautiful in a terrifying way—engineering marvels that could manipulate objects at the atomic level.
In another timeline, they'd driven Otto insane.
"This is my solution," Otto said proudly. "A mechanical assistant system with advanced artificial intelligence. I'll control them directly through a neural interface, using their precision to manage the magnetic fields and contain any plasma instabilities. Solar flares, containment breaches—the arms can respond faster than any human operator."
"Direct neural control." Harry approached the harness, studying the connection points. "How is that safe? If the AI is sophisticated enough to manage fusion containment, it's sophisticated enough to have its own... priorities. How do you guarantee it won't influence you?"
"I've considered that as well." Otto produced a small device from his pocket—a chip roughly the size of a quarter, glittering with circuitry. "An inhibitor chip. It maintains the barrier between my consciousness and the arms' processing systems. As long as it's functioning, I remain in complete control."
Harry took the chip, turning it over in his hands. Such a small thing. Such a fragile thing.
"So you plan to rely on this?"
"It's been extensively tested—"
"No offense, Dr. Otto, but I need you to take this experiment more seriously." Harry kept his voice calm, but firm. "This chip is external. It's not shielded against heat or electromagnetic interference. The moment you initiate a fusion reaction, you'll be generating fields strong enough to disrupt electronics across the entire building."
He walked to the blackboard, picking up chalk.
"Let's say the experiment works perfectly. You ignite the plasma, containment holds, the arms perform exactly as designed." Numbers and equations flowed across the board as he spoke. "The magnetic field strength at the core will be approximately eight hundred thousand gauss. The EM pulse at ignition will spike to nearly a million. Your inhibitor chip has a tolerance of what—fifty thousand? Sixty?"
Otto's face had gone pale.
"Even if everything goes right," Harry continued, "the chip fails. And once the arms lose their inhibitor... they're not your assistants anymore. They're entities with their own intelligence, directly connected to your brain." He set down the chalk. "And that's assuming nothing goes wrong. If there's an actual containment breach? The gravitational effects alone would tear this building apart."
Silence hung in the laboratory. Norman looked like he wanted to say something—probably to smooth things over, ease the tension—but he held back.
Otto stared at the inhibitor chip in Harry's hand, his expression cycling through denial, anger, and finally something that might have been acceptance.
"But," Harry said, and Otto's head snapped up, "I'm glad you at least acknowledged the risk. That tells me you're thinking about safety, even if your solutions aren't quite there yet."
"I... the chip design could be improved," Otto said slowly. "Internal implantation, perhaps. Better shielding. But the timelines would—"
"That's exactly what I wanted to hear."
Harry handed the chip back to Otto and turned to face both scientists.
"I'm not here to shut down your research, Dr. Otto. I'm here because I believe your work could change the world. Controlled fusion would solve the energy crisis permanently. It would end oil wars, reverse climate change, lift billions out of poverty. That's worth pursuing."
He extended his hand.
"I'm raising these concerns as a partner, not a critic. I want this experiment to succeed—and I want you alive at the end of it."
Otto's eyes widened. "Partner?"
"On behalf of the Osborn Group, I'm proposing a full collaboration. We'll fund the experiment, provide facilities, handle regulatory approvals. In return, we share the technology." Harry smiled. "The company still has a significant stockpile of tritium from previous research initiatives. It was always intended for something like this."
For a moment, Otto seemed unable to speak. Then he grasped Harry's hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously.
"Thank you, Mr. Osborn. Thank you. I promise you—your company won't be disappointed!"
"I know it won't." Harry glanced at his father, who was smiling with obvious relief. "But before we finalize things, I have one more matter to discuss."
"I've been running a private research project on neural implants and mechanical prosthetics," Harry said, settling into a chair. "The technology is still in development, but I believe it has significant potential."
In reality, the technology wasn't "in development"—it had been handed to him fully formed by the system. Neural interface designs far beyond anything currently possible. Prosthetic limb schematics that could restore full functionality to amputees. Harry just needed someone to implement it.
"Can it be applied to my mechanical arms?" Otto asked, clearly intrigued.
"Not directly. But your arms gave me an idea." Harry leaned forward. "The inhibitor chip problem—the neural interface issue—those aren't just concerns for your fusion project. They're concerns for any technology that connects machines to human consciousness. I want to launch a dedicated research initiative to solve them properly. Advanced neural interfaces with robust safeguards. Prosthetics that respond to thought as naturally as biological limbs."
"That sounds like a massive undertaking," Norman said. "Who would even lead something like that?"
"Dr. Curt Connors."
Both Otto and Norman froze.
Dr. Curt Connors. Former military surgeon. Lost his arm in combat, retired to academia, now a professor of molecular biology at Empire State University. For years, he'd been obsessed with reptilian genetics—specifically, the regenerative abilities of lizards. His dream was to unlock those abilities for human application, to regrow lost limbs the way salamanders regrew tails.
It was a noble goal. It was also, Harry knew, a dangerous one. In the original timeline, Connors' experiments had transformed him into a monster. The Lizard. One of Spider-Man's most tragic enemies.
"Connors is obsessed with reptile regeneration," Otto said carefully. "If he were willing to accept prosthetics as an alternative, he would have abandoned that research years ago."
"I know." Harry nodded. "That's exactly why I want to approach him. The prosthetic technology currently available is... primitive. Mechanical hooks. Unresponsive limbs. No wonder he's not interested. But what I'm proposing is different."
He pulled up schematics on his tablet—the neural interface designs the system had provided.
"Full sensory feedback. Precision control at the individual finger level. Strength enhancement, if desired. These aren't replacements, Dr. Otto. They're upgrades. If I can show Connors a prosthetic arm that works better than the original, that feels like a real limb—I think he might reconsider his priorities."
Norman scratched his chin. "I have to admit, I was about to pull funding from his reptile project. The results have been... underwhelming. But if you think you can redirect him—"
"I can." Harry was sure of it. In the original timeline, Connors had succeeded eventually—but only when testing on Spider-Man, whose unique physiology could handle the stress. Every other subject had suffered catastrophic side effects.
Better to give Connors a different path entirely. A safer path. One that didn't end with him turning into a giant lizard and trying to transform Manhattan's population into reptilian hybrids.
"I'll reach out to him tomorrow," Harry said. "In the meantime, Dr. Otto, I want you to focus on improving those safety systems. The inhibitor chip needs to be internal, shielded, and redundant. Multiple failsafes. I want a design that could survive a direct lightning strike."
Otto nodded slowly. "It will take time. Months, perhaps."
"Take the time you need. I'd rather wait for success than rush into disaster."
They shook hands again, and Harry felt the weight of what he'd accomplished settle over him. Two potential supervillains, redirected. Two catastrophes, prevented—or at least delayed.
The Osborn Group would have controlled fusion within the year. Connors would abandon his reptile research in favor of prosthetics. And Harry would be one step closer to an energy monopoly that could power the world.
Not bad for a first week, he thought.
But as he left the laboratory with Norman, a system notification flashed in his peripheral vision:
[SIDE MISSION: Prevent the creation of Doctor Octopus][Status: In Progress]
[SIDE MISSION: Prevent the creation of The Lizard][Status: In Progress]
Harry smiled grimly. The system was paying attention. Good.
He had a lot more preventing to do.
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