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*****
Osborn Industries.
Inside a laboratory located on the upper floors of the corporate tower, a series of crashing sounds echoed. The lab technicians stood frozen, silent as cicadas in winter.
"Didn't you say the success rate had improved?"
"Were you lying to me?"
"No, no, sir!"
"Then explain this!"
Facing Norman Osborn's piercing gaze, the lead researcher wiped cold sweat from his forehead. "The success rate has increased from five percent to thirteen percent. That is already a significant improvement."
"Thirteen percent!?" Norman Osborn said coldly. "That is not the data I wanted!"
In his projections, the rate needed to reach at least forty percent. Furthermore, their experiments had not yet moved to human trials; they were still testing on animals. If applied to humans, that pathetic success rate would likely drop even further.
Most importantly, he needed more time to refine the enhancement formula.
Time...
The military wouldn't give him any more time. From the beginning, they had been skeptical of the project, viewing it as a waste of resources. They had already issued a final ultimatum.
If Osborn Industries couldn't produce results within three days, the military would withdraw all subsequent funding. For Osborn, who had poured massive resources into this project, this would be a catastrophic blow—one that might lead to the company's total collapse.
He had gambled everything on this project as Osborn's chance to reclaim its glory. He absolutely could not allow it to fail.
But three days...
Norman's eyes darkened. What could he possibly deliver? He asked himself, a flash of madness crossing his features. If success remained elusive by the deadline, he would have no choice but to start human trials regardless of the cost.
Thinking of this, he turned a cold gaze toward the researchers. "This is our final window. If we don't succeed, the project is over, and you will all lose your jobs. Therefore, everyone is working overtime tonight!"
The staff's faces fell. They had been working consecutive overtime shifts for a long time; they were physically and mentally exhausted. While Osborn never skimped on their pay, they were at their breaking point.
"Three days. Within three days, I want to see the success rate double!" Norman said icily before turning and sweeping out of the lab.
Several hours later.
It was late into the night, but Norman Osborn remained in his office, staring blankly at the experimental data. As a scientist himself, he understood the difficulty of the task. But he was truly out of options.
"I need to go back to the lab. I have a new idea," Norman muttered to himself.
Just then, the shrill, piercing scream of an alarm suddenly rang out.
A fire?
Norman's heart tightened. A premonition of disaster loomed over him like a dark cloud.
"No, it can't be!" He rushed out of his office, heading for the private elevator and racing toward the laboratory floor.
Ding!
The elevator stopped. Before the doors had even fully retracted, he let out a roar and charged out.
"No! NO!"
Seeing the flames licking out from the laboratory, Norman Osborn ran forward like a madman. "What happened? What's going on?" He grabbed the lead researcher, who was fleeing the lab, and demanded an answer hysterically.
The lead researcher panted, "We were too tired... one of the techs made a mistake..."
"Damn it!" Norman cursed. "Where are the files and the samples?"
"The fire spread too fast, we didn't have time to—" The researcher looked at the billowing smoke and the growing inferno. "We've called the fire department, Mr. Osborn. We have to go, now!"
Even though the overhead sprinklers had triggered, they were doing little to stop the spread.
"Go?" Norman took a deep breath. "I cannot let this fire destroy our life's work!"
This was Osborn's only hope. He would not let it be swallowed by these flames. Ignoring the fleeing crowd, Norman charged toward the inferno.
"Mr. Osborn!" the researcher cried out, but Norman didn't hesitate for a second as he plunged into the fire-ravaged laboratory.
"Madness! Total madness!" the researcher yelled, continuing his escape with the others.
Inside the lab, Norman's white coat was already scorched. "I won't let it be destroyed!" He couldn't leave Harry a broken, bankrupt company.
He ran straight toward the storage area for the data and samples. Everywhere he looked was a sea of orange; the blistering heat felt as though it were evaporating every drop of moisture in his body. In mere seconds, he was drenched in sweat.
Yet he did not retreat. Even as the flames licked his palms and ignited his coat, he simply tore the garment off and pushed forward.
Thick smoke swirled... Norman coughed violently, his lungs feeling as though they were on fire. Tears blurred his vision until he could barely see the path ahead. Relying on his intimate knowledge of the lab's layout, he finally reached the storage vault.
"Thank God!" Seeing the crate containing the enhancement serums just inches from the encroaching fire, he felt a momentary relief before his vision blacked out.
Oxygen deprivation? Norman shook his head, fighting the searing heat in his lungs. He mustered every ounce of strength to grab the crate and turn toward the exit. He forced his body to move, his eyes fixed on the lab doors with an intensity hotter than the fire itself.
But then...
CRASH!
A section of the ceiling collapsed, pinning Norman Osborn to the floor. Everything went dark. The fire continued to bake him—and the crate clutched in his arms.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
The pleasant ringtone of a phone pulled Gwen from a deep sleep. Who would call in the middle of the night? she grumbled, reaching for her phone.
"Huh? Harry?" Gwen answered, confused. "Harry? What's wrong? Why are you—"
"Gwen! Help me!" Harry's frantic voice came through the line.
"What happened? Take a breath!"
"Please, save my father! He's been burned... he's in the emergency room right now."
Gwen bolted upright, snapping on her suit's wristband. "Where are you? I'm coming!"
"Dorf-Yale Hospital, Emergency Room."
"Wait for me! I'm on my way!"
Gwen's thoughts shifted as her suit materialized over her body. At the same time, blue flames erupted from her form. Transformed, Gwen grabbed the heavy iron chain hanging on her wall and leaped out of the window with practiced agility.
In the backyard, the ground opened up, and her mount—the Nighthawk—shot out. Gwen swung her chain, hooking onto the vehicle, and vaulted onto it. Like a rocket, she turned into a streak of blue fire across the night sky.
Meanwhile, at Dorf-Yale Hospital.
Inside the emergency room, machines beeped and hummed rhythmically. A charred, blackened Norman Osborn was undergoing surgery. But in truth, the doctors were at a loss. To them, the fact that he was still alive was a medical miracle. They couldn't even fathom how he had survived being pulled from that inferno. They were doing everything they could, but hope was paper-thin.
Outside the operating room, Harry sat on a plastic chair, his face a mask of anxiety and loss. If his father...
"No, there is no 'if.' Gwen is coming. Once she gets here, everything will be fine," Harry whispered, trying to steady his heart.
Just then, several of the company's board members arrived. Seeing Harry, they quickly masked their opportunism with expressions of profound grief as they approached. Harry looked up and greeted them politely; he knew these faces well.
"Harry, you must stay strong," a man in a tailored suit said, patting his shoulder.
"Yes! We will do everything we can to help you with the company from now on," another man added. His voice was somber, but his eyes betrayed a hidden glee.
With Norman Osborn down, they could do whatever they wanted with a kid this young. The thought of taking control of Osborn Industries filled them with secret delight. No matter how well they performed their grief, Harry could sense their true intentions.
He swept a cold gaze over them. "My father will be fine," he said icily.
Fine? the men thought. The man is a lump of charcoal. How could he be fine? They had already gathered the details before arriving. The moment Norman died, the news would break, and they would move to take "temporary" control of the company due to Harry's youth.
The men exchanged glances, seeing the same ambition reflected in each other's eyes.
Disgusting, Harry thought, snorting coldly. He ignored them. Once his father woke up, he would make these vultures pay. For now, he had neither the time nor the energy to deal with these clowns.
The board members smiled inwardly and waited nearby in silence.
Time ticked by. Suddenly, the operating room doors swung open, and a doctor stepped out. Harry rushed forward, but the board members were faster, surrounding the doctor instantly.
"How is he?"
"Is Mr. Osborn alright?"
"Does he need any special medication? Osborn Industries can provide anything!"
Their eyes were intense. While their words were comforting, the doctor heard the underlying urgency in their voices. He gave Harry a pitying look, shook his head, and said, "We are doing our best, but... you should prepare yourselves."
Prepare yourselves! Upon hearing this, the board members felt a surge of joy, yet they quickly feigned distress. "Doctor, you must do everything possible!"
The doctor nodded, but in his mind, he had already signed Norman's death warrant. If there were hope, he would be inside operating, not standing out here.
Harry glared at the performers, wishing he could kick them all out of the hospital.
"Son, do you want to see your father?" the doctor asked, turning to Harry.
Harry bit his lip and nodded, knowing what the doctor meant. The final goodbye. "The sight might be distressing. You need to be prepared."
"I am," Harry said firmly.
"Follow me." The doctor led Harry away, had him change into surgical scrubs, and brought him into the room.
Thud!
The doors closed again. Outside, the board members' expressions instantly shifted to smirks and excitement.
Inside the room, the moment Harry saw his father, his mind went numb. Tears flowed uncontrollably. He couldn't imagine how much pain his father was in, or how he was still hanging on.
"Son, do you have any other family?" the doctor asked softly, sighing at the sight of the boy.
"No," Harry shook his head. He looked at the doctor through a veil of tears. "Please, save him! Even if you can't cure him, just keep him alive a little longer. Just let him hold on!"
Hold on, Gwen is almost here.
"We'll try," the doctor replied.
But as he spoke, a series of rapid alarms went off. "Patient's blood oxygen levels are plummeting. Heart rate is failing..."
The doctors scrambled to begin resuscitation, but Harry looked desperately toward the window. Please, Gwen! Faster!
Just as the room fell into chaos and the doctors were about to call the time of death, a streak of blue fire appeared in Harry's field of vision. His eyes widened with hope.
The next second, the blue fire crashed through the surgery room.
BOOM!
The window shattered instantly. Shards of glass flew everywhere as a flaming skeleton dropped into the room. Screams erupted from the medical staff.
Gwen tilted her skull, watching the numbers on the life monitor drop. She let out a mental sigh of relief. Just in time.
A ball of blue fire ignited in her hand.
"Gah-hah!" With a raspy, monstrous laugh, Gwen threw the fireball directly at Norman Osborn.
The doctors and nurses huddled in a corner, terrified, while the board members outside burst into the room. Everyone stared in horror at the burning skeleton—everyone except Harry, whose face was full of joy.
No one noticed that as the blue fire washed over Norman, his vitals began to stabilize. The charred, dead skin began to slough off, replaced by a layer of fresh, new tissue.
He should be fine now.
Gwen glanced over, gave Harry a subtle nod, and leaped back out of the shattered window with another cackle.
"Today is your lucky day! Hahaha!"
(End of Chapter)