The Baxter Building's service entrance at this hour was quiet.
He came in through a maintenance access point, changed in a utility room on the third floor, packed the suit into a black bag, and walked the rest of the way to his lab via the back corridor.
He passed Reed Richards' laboratory.
Reed was at his computer, scratching his head at a set of reports that appeared to be giving him trouble.
He did not look up.
Peter went to his own lab, closed the door, and set the bag on the workbench.
"Cortana."
She materialized fully in approximately two seconds. She looked at the black bag.
"Do an analysis on this," he said, removing the object from the bag and placing it in the glass containment box he had prepared.
He moved to the specimen shelf and began separating the seven spider jars into their individual positions.
"And tell me whether a camouflage function is feasible for the suit."
"The cloaking function is possible," she said, studying the containment box.
"However, effective duration would be approximately seven minutes under ideal conditions, meaning minimal movement and no impacts.
During significant movement, the suit fabric stretches and the cloaking units cannot maintain coverage across the gaps. The projected image would also deteriorate because the units cannot relay data to each other across stretched surfaces."
"Understood. I will look at it later." He finished placing the last jar and looked at them. "There they are..... Fascinating, are they not?"
"Analysis complete," Cortana said.
He crossed to the containment box.
"Your assumption is correct, Peter," she said. "These are nanobots..... Prototypes, but nanobots nonetheless."
He stared at the black mass in the box for a long moment.
"Cortana," he said quietly. "This changes everything."
He took a breath. "How someone like Norman has access to nanotechnology at this stage is a question for another day.
I want everything you can find in the stolen Oscorp data and the Baxter files on nanotechnology.
Compile it on my private server. If necessary, corrupt any files at either institution that would allow someone else to reproduce this."
"Understood." She paused. "It will be ready shortly."
"Perfect." He moved to his main workstation and prepared the sample container from the serum vial.
"Run a simultaneous analysis on the serum. Is it ready for human trials?"
"No," Cortana said, with the specific tone of someone who has looked at something carefully and found it wanting.
"Not remotely.... How those researchers believed it was approaching readiness is genuinely difficult to explain. The formula is substantially incomplete. Human trials at this stage would produce catastrophic results."
"I see. Thank you." He sat down. "Cortana. On my private server, sub-shelf B-19."
"Already located. A formula with genetic alteration capabilities and reptile DNA regeneration properties, created by Richard Parker..... Used as the basis for the cancer treatment and developed further with stem cells."
"Correct. Cross-reference that with everything we have on Connors' current Oscorp research. Then create three master files on my private server. One for nanotechnology, one for the genetically modified spider specimens, one for the serum."
"Understood."
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.
"There is a great deal of work to do," he said.
"Always is," Cortana said.
----------------
Norman Osborn's office, Oscorp Tower.
Later that same night.
Alexander Pierce was standing in the middle of it.
He was the kind of man who looked comfortable in expensive rooms, which was the look of someone who has spent a long time in rooms like that and has stopped noticing the quality of the furnishings because the quality of the furnishings is simply a baseline assumption.
He was wearing a suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent, and the expression on his face was the expression of a man who has expected a certain standard of performance and has been told, again, that the standard has not been met.
He looked like Robert Redford.
He had the specific quality of someone whose trustworthy face had been put to work doing the opposite of what trustworthy faces are typically associated with.
Norman gritted his teeth and recounted the evening.
What had been taken.
What had been destroyed.
What the losses meant in terms of the timeline.
Pierce listened to all of it, and with each item his composure deteriorated in the specific way of someone who is very controlled losing the ability to be very controlled.
"Oh," Pierce said when Norman finished. "So that is what happened."
"Yes."
"Norman." Pierce rubbed his temples.
The frustration of a man who does not usually allow frustration to be visible was visible. "I pay you to produce results and to keep things quiet. I do not ask how. I gave you immunity from any investigation. I gave you personnel.
My best people. All of this for the benefit of what we are building together."
"You did it to keep an eye on me," Norman said.
"I did it to keep things functional for both of us, and until tonight that arrangement has been working."
"You infected my organization with your spies." Norman's voice had an edge that the evening's events had sharpened.
"You do not actually work for SHIELD, do you?"
"Watch what you say very carefully, Osborne."
The men in the corners of the room moved slightly.
"Who I work for is not your concern. I pay you because your intelligence and your tools are useful to me.
You have let me down again tonight. Give me one reason not to simplify this situation."
"Because I am the only one who can produce the formula you need," Norman said, and his voice had the flat certainty of someone stating a fact rather than making an argument.
"It is not very...."
"Richards refused you," Norman said.
"So you had him dealt with. Reed Richards also refused, and you are powerless against him because of what refusing him would cost you publicly.
Stark told you exactly where to send your request and used language that I imagine you found colorful.
Strucker and Trask can produce physical results but not the formula..... You need me, Pierce." He held eye contact. "Because only I can give you the serum you actually need. You need me, you piece of...."
Pierce's fist connected with Norman's face.
Norman went off his desk and hit the floor.
Pierce straightened his jacket.
"I genuinely hope," he said, his voice recovered to its normal register, "that your confidence in that position is correctly placed."
He crouched down in front of Norman, took a handful of his hair, and turned his face up.
"You have one week. Results I can use. You understand what happens if you do not produce them."
He released him, stood, smoothed the front of his jacket again, and looked at the room.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, nodded to the assembled staff, and left with his people.
Silence.
A man with round glasses moved toward Norman from the far side of the room.
"Mr. Osborn, are you...."
Norman shoved him aside without looking at him and came off the floor.
"DAMN IT!" He picked up the nearest chair and put it through the desk surface.
"DAMN YOU, SPIDER-MAN!" He hit it again.
A guard moved to intervene and received the leg of the chair across the face for the effort. "SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
He continued, and the sound was of someone releasing three months of controlled rage in approximately ninety seconds, and the room absorbed it.
Eventually the sound stopped.
Norman stood in the wreckage of his immediate workspace and breathed.
"Ha." He wiped blood from his face.
He straightened his tie.
He looked at the room.
Two men stood apart from the destruction. One had said nothing throughout. The other had tried to speak once and had been stopped.
"Otto," Norman said. "Connors." He adjusted his tie one more time.
"Come on. We have a great deal of work to do."
Otto said nothing. He looked away from the scene and began walking.
Connors opened his mouth, caught Otto's slight headshake, and closed it again.
They followed Norman out.