"The Osborn Group is pulling funding from my project?"
Dr. Curt Connors stared at Harry like a man watching his house burn down. His remaining hand gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white against the wood.
"That's correct, Dr. Connors."
Harry kept his voice steady, professional. This wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation, but it was a necessary one. In the corner of his vision, he could see the terrarium where Connors kept his research subjects—a dozen lizards basking under heat lamps, their tails whole and perfect despite having been severed weeks ago.
Regeneration. It was all Connors thought about. All he dreamed about.
Harry understood the obsession. Connors had lost his arm in combat, serving his country as a military surgeon. He'd spent years afterward watching soldiers—kids, really—come back from the battlefield missing pieces of themselves. Legs. Arms. Hands. And he'd thought: What if we could fix that? What if we could grow it all back?
Noble intentions. Dangerous methods.
"Mr. Osborn, you have to understand—" Connors started.
"I understand perfectly, Doctor. I've reviewed your research extensively." Harry pulled up a holographic display showing Connors' latest experimental data. "The cross-species genetics approach. Splicing lizard DNA with human subjects to unlock regenerative capabilities."
"It could work. It will work, if you just give me more time—"
"It won't work." Harry's voice was flat. "Not the way you're doing it. The human body isn't designed to integrate reptilian DNA. Every simulation, every test model, every projection shows the same result: catastrophic cellular mutation. The subjects don't just grow back limbs, Dr. Connors. They change."
Connors fell silent. His jaw worked, but no words came out.
"I've seen your internal notes," Harry continued. "The ones you didn't include in the official reports. You know there's a problem. You've known for months. But you keep pushing forward because you want this so badly that you're willing to ignore the warning signs."
"The side effects can be managed—"
"The side effects include complete genetic restructuring. Loss of higher brain function. Violent psychotic episodes." Harry leaned forward. "In plain English? Your serum turns people into monsters."
The word hung in the air between them. Connors' face had gone pale.
"Everyone involved in this project knows it," Harry said, softer now. "My father knew it. The board knew it. They kept funding you because they hoped you'd figure it out eventually, but we both know you're not any closer to a solution than you were three years ago."
Connors seemed to deflate. All the fight went out of him at once, and he sank into his chair like a man who'd just received a terminal diagnosis.
"Fine," he said quietly. "I understand."
Harry watched him for a moment. In the original timeline—the one Harry remembered from movies and comics—this was where things went wrong. Connors, desperate and alone, would continue his experiments in secret. He'd test the serum on himself, hoping that his brilliant mind could overcome the side effects through sheer force of will.
It wouldn't work. He'd become the Lizard. People would die.
But that didn't have to happen. Not if Harry gave him something else to believe in.
"I'm not here to crush your dreams, Doctor." Harry stood and walked to the laboratory's main display screen. "I'm here to show you a better path."
He activated the screen. Images began cycling through—amputees, veterans, accident victims. People missing arms, legs, hands. But in each image, they were smiling. Moving. Living.
Because of the prosthetics they wore.
Connors watched with a bitter smile. "So that's your solution? Give up on regeneration and just... put on a fake arm?"
"Look closer."
The images shifted. Now they showed technical schematics, neural interface diagrams, sensor arrays so sophisticated they made current prosthetic technology look like wooden pegs.
"These aren't fake arms, Dr. Connors. These are upgrades."
Harry walked him through the specifications. Neural reconstruction protocols that could interface directly with the brain's motor cortex. Superconducting bio-fiber networks that transmitted sensation—real sensation, not approximations—from artificial fingertips to organic neurons. Modular organ reconstruction frameworks that could replace damaged tissue with synthetic equivalents indistinguishable from the original.
As the presentation continued, Harry watched Connors' expression change. The bitterness faded. Skepticism crept in, then curiosity, then something that looked almost like wonder.
"These response times," Connors murmured, leaning closer to the display. "The neural synchronization is nearly instantaneous. How is that possible? The signal degradation alone should—"
"Should make it impossible with current technology," Harry agreed. "But this isn't current technology."
"Have you built prototypes? Conducted trials?"
"Not yet. That's where you come in."
Connors turned to face him fully. His eyes were bright now, the despair of moments ago replaced by the sharp focus of a scientist encountering a genuine breakthrough.
"You want me to develop this?"
"I want you to lead the project. Full funding, full resources, full autonomy over the research direction." Harry smiled. "The Osborn Group will sponsor everything. We'll build you a new lab—state of the art, whatever you need. And when we succeed, your name will be on the patents."
"I..." Connors' voice caught. He looked at the display again, then back at Harry. "This technology is incredible. But I don't understand—if you already have this much data, this level of detail... it looks like the research is already complete. Like someone already solved these problems."
Because someone did, Harry thought. A system from another dimension just handed me technology that won't exist naturally for decades.
Out loud, he said: "Call it a genius's sudden inspiration. You know how it works—sometimes the pieces just fall into place."
Connors didn't look entirely convinced, but he was too excited to push the issue. "And you're sure you want me for this? After everything with the lizard research—"
"Your methodology was flawed, not your brilliance." Harry switched the display to show a new image: Dr. Otto's mechanical arms, gleaming under laboratory lights. "This is your first assignment. These were developed by Dr. Otto Octavius for his fusion project. They're controlled through a direct neural interface—same basic principle as the prosthetics we're developing."
"Otto's arms?" Connors studied the design with professional interest. "I've heard about these. The inhibitor chip system, correct? To prevent the AI from influencing the user's cognition?"
"Exactly. Otto's current design has some vulnerabilities we need to address. The chip needs to be internal, shielded, redundant. I want you and Otto working together on this—his engineering expertise combined with your knowledge of neuroscience and biology."
"A collaborative project." Connors nodded slowly. "That could work. Otto and I have known each other for years—we've discussed joint research before, but the funding was never there."
"Now it is." Harry extended his hand. "Do we have a deal, Dr. Connors?"
Connors looked at the hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spread across his face—the first Harry had seen from him all day.
"Yes, Mr. Osborn. I think we do."
Twenty minutes later, Harry stood outside the laboratory while Otto and Connors said their goodbyes. The two scientists were already deep in conversation, gesturing at holographic schematics and talking over each other in their excitement.
Good. If they kept each other busy with legitimate research, neither of them would have time to pursue the projects that had destroyed them in other timelines.
"You two should communicate frequently," Harry called out as he walked toward his waiting limousine. "I'm leaving these era-defining projects in your hands."
"Yes, yes, leave all the hard work to us while you go off and enjoy yourself, young billionaire!" Connors shot back, grinning.
Otto laughed. "The life of a seventeen-year-old CEO. It must be so difficult."
"Doctors, I am running a trillion-dollar technology company!" Harry climbed into the car, Victoria Hurley sliding in beside him. "Goodbye, you two!"
He closed the window as the limousine pulled away from the curb, leaving the two scientists waving behind them.
The moment they were out of sight, Harry's smile faded. He pulled a black USB drive from his pocket and turned it over in his hands.
The Lizard Serum data. Connors' complete research files. Everything the man had spent years developing—including all the parts that had gone wrong.
"This world really is drowning in enhancement serums," Harry murmured.
Hurley glanced at him. "Sir?"
"Nothing. Just thinking out loud." He pocketed the USB drive. "That's two now. The Lizard Serum and the Green Goblin formula. Two different approaches to human enhancement, both with catastrophic side effects."
His father's near-transformation into the Green Goblin had been a close call. Harry had intervened just in time, using system-provided knowledge to stabilize the serum and prevent the psychotic break that would have turned Norman into a cackling monster. But the formula still existed in Osborn's archives, complete and functional—if you didn't mind the whole "losing your sanity" part.
Now he had the Lizard Serum too. Another enhancement technology. Another path to superhuman abilities.
Another weapon that could destroy its user.
And then the system notification appeared:
[Host detected to possess two human enhancement technologies][Human Enhancement Questline initiated]
[QUEST: Acquire at least three different human enhancement technologies][Reward: Spartan Program Phase II Bio-Modification Technology][Progress: 2/3]
Harry sat bolt upright so fast that the driver nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.
"Mr. Osborn!" The bodyguard in the front seat spun around, hand going to his weapon. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine! Everything's fine!" Harry waved them off, his heart pounding. "I just... had a sudden inspiration."
The Spartan Program. The Spartan Program.
He knew that name. In his previous life, it had been fiction—part of the Halo video game franchise. The UNSC's project to create supersoldiers for interstellar warfare. Faster, stronger, tougher than any normal human. Soldiers who could fight aliens and win.
The system was offering him that.
Not the full program—the notification specified "Phase II Bio-Modification," which meant he wouldn't get the powered armor or the cybernetic enhancements. But the biological upgrades alone were incredible. Enhanced bone density. Improved muscle mass. Faster reflexes. Better healing.
A foundation for becoming genuinely superhuman, without the psychosis of the Goblin serum or the mutation of the Lizard formula.
All he needed was one more enhancement technology.
Harry's mind raced through the possibilities. The Super Soldier Serum was out of reach—whatever remained of Dr. Erskine's formula was buried deep in government black sites, and recreating it had proven impossible even for geniuses like Banner. The Extremis virus was years away from development. The Infinity Stones were cosmic artifacts beyond his current scope.
But there was something else. Something closer to home.
His thoughts drifted to a genetically engineered spider that had gone missing from an Oscorp laboratory several months ago. At the time, Harry had dismissed it as unimportant—a minor research specimen, nothing to worry about.
He knew better now.
That spider had bitten someone. A high school student from Queens. A kid who was, even now, probably swinging between buildings in a homemade costume, learning to be a hero.
Peter Parker. Spider-Man.
"Hurley." Harry's voice was suddenly businesslike. "I need you to pull the files on that spider specimen we lost a few months back. The genetically modified one from the cross-species program."
Hurley blinked. "Sir? I thought you said not to worry about that. You specifically told the security team to drop the investigation."
Harry remembered. At the time, he'd figured more heroes were a good thing. Let Spider-Man do his thing. Let the Avengers assemble. He'd focus on building his business empire and let the costumed vigilantes handle the alien invasions and supervillains.
But the situation had changed. The system was offering him something too valuable to ignore. And to get it, he needed one more enhancement technology.
Spider-Man's blood could provide that.
The production of the Lizard Serum was crude by sophisticated standards—essentially just genetic material suspended in a chemical carrier. With the right DNA source, you could theoretically create a serum with similar properties. Spider DNA. Spider abilities.
A Spider Serum would almost certainly have side effects, just like the others. But it would complete the quest. And the Spartan bio-modifications—those were military-grade enhancements, designed to be safe and stable. Worth the risk of acquiring them.
"Find the files," Harry said. "I've decided that spider is more important than I originally thought."
"Yes, sir." Hurley was already pulling out her tablet, making notes.
Harry leaned back in his seat, watching the Manhattan skyline roll past the window.
Time to get in touch with Peter Parker, he thought.
The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was about to meet the future of Osborn Industries.