Toby's heavy-handed reality check acted like a lead pipe to the back of the head, instantly shattering Peter's "Chuunibyou Detective" delusions.
Peter's deductions had started strong, but then he'd spiraled into some weird conspiracy theory where Toby was an international mastermind and Gwen was his femme fatale accomplice. Toby had to nip that in the bud.
Toby admitted to the parts Peter got right: yes, the super-spiders were Richard Parker's creation, and yes, Toby had intentionally placed one on Peter's neck.
But he "corrected" the rest with a blend of carefully curated facts.
First, he claimed he discovered the truth by secretly investigating Richard's belongings years ago (A lie).
Second, he revealed that Peter's parents didn't die in a random accident. Norman Osborn had wanted to weaponize the spiders for military contracts; Richard refused to let his life's work be used for slaughter, so Norman had them "removed." Toby burned the remaining spiders at OsCorp because they didn't belong to the company—they were stolen property (The truth).
Peter stood there, the weight of his family's blood raining down on his shoulders. The "gift" of his powers suddenly felt a lot heavier.
Toby gave him two choices.
"One: We kill Norman Osborn. We settle the debt in blood. You can do it, or I can do it for you."
"Two: We let the past stay dead. You accept the gift your father left you, forget the pain, and start a new life."
Peter didn't choose. He couldn't. He silently pulled off the suit, left the basement with slumped shoulders, and locked himself in his room.
Toby didn't follow him. He'd done his part. He'd given Peter the tools and the truth. Whether Peter became a hero or a demon was now up to the boy himself.
Regardless of Peter's choice, Toby had already marked Norman Osborn for death. He wasn't about to let a snake like Osborn linger in the grass, waiting to strike his family. The Green Goblin might not be the strongest villain in the Marvel pantheon, but his lethality toward Spider-Man's loved ones was legendary. Toby preferred to be proactive.
However, Toby had underestimated the speed of his own "Butterfly Effect." By burning the spiders, he hadn't just removed a weapon; he had snuffed out Norman Osborn's last flame of hope.
Norman, now in the final, agonizing stages of his hereditary disease, turned his desperation into a weapon. He leveled a brutal ultimatum at Dr. Connors: One week. If the regeneration serum wasn't finished in seven days, Connors would be fired and blacklisted.
For Connors, being fired wasn't the problem. A scientist of his caliber could find work anywhere. The problem was the intellectual property. If he was kicked out of OsCorp, his life's work—the Lizard Serum—would stay behind in Osborn's vault. He would never be able to use it to "fix" himself or the world.
With Peter absent due to his emotional breakdown and Gwen busy with school, Connors worked in a feverish, sleep-deprived haze. He pushed the biological limits of the serum, running tests day and night.
Finally, the breakthrough came. A lab mouse with a severed limb successfully regrew a perfect, functional leg within minutes of injection.
The news reached Norman Osborn's sickbed instantly. Driven by the fear of death, Norman sent his security team to seize the serum immediately, ignoring Connors' warnings that human trials were still weeks away.
Connors realized then why Richard Parker had run. Norman was a madman.
In a desperate, noble act to protect his research—and to prove the serum was safe before Norman could misuse it—Connors locked himself in the lab and injected the formula into his own veins.
At first, it was a miracle. His right shoulder began to itch, then burn, and then, with a sickening squelch of muscle and bone, his arm began to grow. Within seconds, he had two hands again.
But as he stared at his new limb, his joy turned to horror.
The skin wasn't human. It was a dull, mottled green. And it wasn't just the arm. Small, hard scales began to erupt along his bicep, spreading like a virus toward his chest and neck.
Connors looked into the mirror, watching his pupils slit into yellow reptilian ovals. His "miracle" hadn't just fixed his body. It was rewriting his soul.
The Lizard was no longer a theory. It was a heartbeat away.