Inside the main laboratory, the experiment was underway. The robotic arm held the milky-green stone over a centrifuge, and with a delicate motion, dropped it inside. The machine sealed and began to spin, its low hum escalating into a high-pitched whine as it subjected the strange object to immense G-forces. The goal, Hawk presumed, was to test its structural integrity or perhaps separate its components.
He watched, his entire being focused on the stone. The whine of the centrifuge reached its peak, and then—
A silent, emerald-green flash of light, visible only to Hawk's Cosmo-enhanced senses, erupted from within the machine. To everyone else in the lab, there was only the jarringly anticlimactic sound of something shattering inside the rapidly decelerating centrifuge.
But for Hawk, it was a moment of absolute, triumphant clarity. The pulse from his Cosmo was not a simple message; it was a feeling of profound resonance, of a lock finally finding its key. He now understood. Gammanian wasn't a separate element. It was living gamma radiation, a paradoxical substance where pure, chaotic energy had been forced into a stable, almost biological form by the unique, unrepeatable cosmic event of the Hulk's creation.
And its only known source was the epicenter of that blast. Quantico. His path was now crystal clear.
"Hawk?"
Gwen's voice pulled him from his reverie. She was looking at him with a deep, furrowed frown, her brow creased with genuine concern. "What were you just thinking about? You had this… look on your face."
The look, he knew, was not one of scientific curiosity. It was the look of a predator that had just found the scent of its legendary prey.
"You don't really want to become a monster like Abomination, do you?" she asked, her tone teasing but with an underlying thread of real worry. She felt that for a second, the quiet, intense boy beside her didn't intend to stay human anymore.
Hawk masterfully suppressed the thrill of his discovery and schooled his features into a thoughtful expression. He deflected, gesturing towards the now-stopped centrifuge. "How could that be? I was just wondering if this means Dr. Connors's experiment is about to succeed."
He had aimed his words perfectly.
"Scientific research is a path of continuous trial and error," a new voice interjected. "But indeed, I feel we are already on the path to success."
Dr. Curt Connors, his single arm tucked into the pocket of his white lab coat, walked towards them, a manic, hopeful energy behind his polite smile.
"Dr. Connors," Gwen greeted him respectfully.
"Curtis, please," he said, extending his left hand to Hawk. "And you are…?"
Hawk mirrored the gesture, taking the doctor's hand with his own left in a small but significant show of respect. "Hawk. I'm a summer intern in the Bio-Electric department. Gwen was kind enough to show me around. I apologize for the intrusion, Doctor."
Connors laughed, a hearty, booming sound. "Nonsense. I heard your comment. Do you truly believe my experiment can succeed?"
"I've read your papers, Doctor," Hawk replied smoothly. "It's clear that if your experiment succeeds, it will be a monumental benefit to humanity."
It was a carefully worded truth. A cure for physical disability would change the world. He just omitted the part about the high probability of it also turning people into giant, hyper-aggressive lizards. He internally dismissed that risk. The Dr. Connors of the movies was pushed over the edge by Spider-Man's warnings. This world's Spider-Man was currently learning the ropes of photojournalism at the Daily Bugle. The odds of a disaster seemed, for now, relatively low.
Connors, starved for validation in a scientific community that largely dismissed his work as fringe, beamed at the praise. "Gwen," he said as he turned to leave, "you can introduce our current progress to your classmate. It's refreshing to speak to a young mind with some vision."
After he left, Gwen leaned in and whispered, "Do you really think it can succeed?"
Hawk was watching the researcher open the broken centrifuge and begin collecting the shattered fragments of the gamma stone. He turned to Gwen, about to give her his honest, pessimistic opinion, when his senses screamed. He looked up.
The fluorescent light bulb directly above their heads flickered once, twice, then burst with a sharp pop.
The next moment, the entire laboratory was plunged into absolute, disorienting darkness.
BANG!
The sound of a larger explosion ripped through the dark, followed by the shriek of tortured metal and the panicked cries of the researchers. The centrifuge, its containment compromised, had just catastrophically failed.
In the pitch-black chaos, Hawk's senses were a crystal-clear map. He heard the tinkling of broken glass, the frantic, terrified breathing of the people around him. And he heard it—the high-pitched whistle of a piece of jagged, heavy shrapnel hurtling through the air on a direct, lethal trajectory… for Gwen.
There was no time to think, no time to push her. There was only instinct.
His right hand shot up, his Cosmo flaring for a microsecond to reinforce his palm into something harder than steel, and he intercepted the projectile.
PFFT!
The sound was a dull, wet, percussive thump. A sharp, searing pain lanced through his hand as the metal sliced deep into his flesh.
Just as quickly, the lab's emergency systems kicked in. Red lights bathed the scene in a hellish, strobing glow. The sight they revealed was gruesome. A female researcher, Mia, was slumped on the floor near the mangled remains of the centrifuge, clutching a catastrophic wound on her neck, blood bubbling through her fingers.
The lab erupted into chaos. Some screamed and ran for help. Others rushed towards their fallen colleague.
But in the middle of it all, Gwen's focus was entirely, unnaturally, fixed on Hawk. In the instant before the blackout, she had been looking right at him. In the dark, she had heard the impact, felt the rush of air, and seen something else in the split-second before the emergency lights came on.
"Hand. Out," she commanded, her voice low and intense.
"What?" Hawk asked, his right hand already hidden behind his back.
She didn't speak. She simply reached out, grabbed his arm with surprising strength, and pulled his right hand into the red light. She forced his fingers open.
And then she stared.
His palm was completely unharmed. There was no cut, no blood. There was only a small, strange mark in the center of his palm that looked exactly like a patch of fresh, newly grown skin.
Hawk forced a smile and withdrew his hand. "My hand isn't as pretty as yours."
But Gwen wasn't listening. Her gaze was distant, her mind racing. The sound of the impact. The feeling of something stopping right in front of her face. And one other detail…
Just then, Oscorp's medical and security teams burst in, adding to the chaos and beginning to clear the area. Hawk saw his chance. He grabbed a dazed and confused Max, who had been cowering by the door, and they slipped out of the lab.
Gwen remained, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She was certain. Just for a moment, in the strobing red light, she had seen it. A few dark droplets, arcing through the air after the impact, landing on the floor right where she had been standing.
Her eyes lit up with sudden, horrified realization. She walked back to the spot, ignoring the security personnel telling her to clear out. She looked down.
There, on the pristine white floor, were a few distinct, ruby-red drops of blood.
As she stared, a small, white lab mouse with a conspicuously broken tail scurried out from under a console. It sniffed at the drops, its nose twitching, and then, with a strange eagerness, it began to lap them up.
Shit!
Gwen's scientific mind, her father's detective instincts, and a new, terrifying intuition all collided at once. She snapped back to reality and ran back into the lab. "Somebody, catch that mouse! Now!"