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"What's wrong?"
"You know I was at the lab yesterday morning, right?"
"Yeah."
Hawk nodded. It had been right before they'd gone to the library. He had assumed she was just there to clear her summer work schedule with Dr. Connors.
But now?
"Is there a problem with the experiment?"
"Not with the experiment, but with the investors. You know Dr. Connors's project is a joint venture between Oscorp and the military, right?"
"You mentioned that."
"The military pulled their funding."
Gwen leaned in, lowering her voice. "And his research has been going on for almost two years with no results. The board at Oscorp is starting to get impatient."
Capital is a fickle beast.
It will back you, fund you, and give you everything you need based on the promises you make.
But if you fail to deliver the expected results, they will abandon you without a second thought.
Cutting losses is the first lesson in the corporate playbook.
And Dr. Connors's regeneration project was a prime example.
To make matters worse, the military had already pulled out last month, citing budget cuts.
They had said it was temporary, that they would reinvest once the next fiscal year's budget was approved, and had told Oscorp to just hold on.
But—
Things at Oscorp weren't exactly stable either.
Rumor was that Norman Osborn, who had been secluded in his mansion for the past year battling a mysterious illness, was on his last legs. His time was running out.
And it wasn't just an empty rumor.
The fact that Harry Osborn had returned from the UK this summer and was now being integrated into the company's affairs—with the help of Norman's own executive assistant, Felicia Hardy—was a clear signal.
The Osborn family might hold a majority stake in the company, but in this era of a dying king and a rising prince, there were always those looking to profit from the chaos of a changing of the guard.
And a new king always lights a few fires to announce his reign.
So, someone had proposed "streamlining" the research division, cutting any labs that weren't producing profitable results.
Dr. Connors's lab was first on the chopping block.
The military might have promised to restore funding once the Pentagon's next budget was approved, but who could guarantee that?
The Department of Defense wasn't exactly known for its reliability.
...
"They've downsized the lab."
"They laid off five researchers."
"And I was supposed to be on that list."
"I saw Dr. Connors at the lab, and he didn't seem happy. That's why I was so surprised when you said he sounded excited on the phone."
Gwen finished explaining the situation.
Hawk wasn't really invested in whether the experiment succeeded or not. He just listened, and when she was done, he shrugged. "Well, that's what he said on the phone. Who knows if it'll actually work."
Gwen nodded. "I hope it does."
The two of them continued their small talk.
But the conversation was over as quickly as it had begun. After Hawk finished his burger, they both stood up and cleared their trays.
The subject of Dr. Connors's lab was closed.
Others could move on, but Dr. Connors himself could not—
...
—Because at that very moment, Dr. Connors was living the reality of being abandoned by his investors.
He stared at the man standing in his office, the man who had just delivered the board's latest decision.
"Have you made your decision, Doctor?"
"I don't understand."
"Doctor, I think you do."
The man, a handsome, middle-aged executive in a tailored suit, smiled a warm, friendly smile. "The military has pulled its funding. They used the word 'temporarily,' but we both know what that means... The board's initial recommendation was to suspend all funding to your lab. But, Doctor, your latest results have bought you a reprieve. But only a reprieve."
Dr. Connors's latest breakthrough—a single lab mouse that had successfully regenerated a limb—had given the board a glimmer of hope.
But only a glimmer.
Dr. Connors frowned.
"So what is the board's decision?"
"Human trials."
"WHAT??"
Dr. Connors's eyes went wide. "I have only just extracted a potentially viable serum from that one mutated mouse. It hasn't even been properly tested yet. To move to human trials now is reckless. Besides, where would we even find volunteers?"
The executive shrugged. "The military hospitals are full of potential subjects. We'll just tell them it's a new vaccine."
He said it so casually...
After all, it was standard procedure.
Running human trials overseas cost money. But if you used your own underclass for experiments, you didn't have to pay them a dime.
Bottom line:
Are the poor even people?
No...
Capital chases profit. It demands maximum return for minimum cost.
But Dr. Connors was horrified. "I won't do it."
"Time is not on our side, Doctor. You're running out of it. We all are."
"...We?"
"You don't need to know the details. You just need to know that the board is doing this for your own good. We'll have someone else handle the... logistics. If it fails, you can just plead ignorance."
"I'm not here to negotiate with you, Doctor."
"This is a notification."
With that, the executive turned and walked out of Dr. Connors's lab.
The rumor among the higher-ups was that Norman Osborn didn't have long. And Connors's regeneration project had been started for one reason: to find a cure for Norman's illness.
The executive hadn't been lying. By pushing for human trials, they weren't just helping Dr. Connors; they were helping themselves.
After all, a new king means a new court.
Who knew what Harry Osborn would do once he took over?
Everyone knows capitalism craves stability. Only in a stable environment can it reliably generate profit.
But Dr. Connors was not a capitalist. He was a scientist.
After the executive left, he sat down heavily in his office chair.
And he didn't move for a very long time...
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