I was so eager to begin studying Wolverine's blood that I left my mansion the same evening I received it and spent almost the entire night analyzing it in Oscorp's research lab. I only managed about three hours of sleep in my penthouse at the top of the tower before sending the payment to Taskmaster from an anonymous account the next morning.
After a quick shower and breakfast, I headed to the research lab, where Dr. Stromm and the rest of the Oz Serum team were already hard at work. Seeing what they were doing, I realized they had reverted to earlier stages of the serum's development, just as Mendel had predicted.
I informed them that I wanted to work alone on an older version of the Oz Serum and retreated to a separate, smaller lab with access to the laboratory supercomputer.
Overnight, I gained a deeper appreciation for the uniqueness of Wolverine's blood. Even if I simply injected it into myself, it could delay my death from retroviral hyperplasia by a decade. My immediate goal was to somehow combine the Spider Serum with Wolverine's blood, and I had little time to waste. I focused intently and got to work.
During my previous research on the Spider Serum, I had realized how aggressive it was—it altered the recipient's DNA too rapidly. I theorized that combining the Spider Serum with Wolverine's blood would allow the body to endure the transformation without fatal damage, despite the immense strain.
But only after obtaining Logan's blood did I realize my theory was flawed. Simulations showed that while the survival rate increased twentyfold, in my case, it still only reached six percent. Worse, the risk of mutating into some indeterminate, likely spider-like monster skyrocketed.
But I was Norman Osborn, and I was a genius. In my mind, the Spider Serum and Wolverine's blood formed a puzzle, and I needed to assemble it correctly—discarding unnecessary pieces and adding new ones.
Eventually, I achieved an acceptable result, but it came at a cost. The final variant, which I named Oz Serum Plus, didn't grant the same superhuman abilities as the Spider Serum. Instead, it promised regeneration stronger than Spider-Man's, though not as powerful as Wolverine's.
My greatest achievement was slowing the serum's effects, reducing the strain on the recipient's body. If my calculations were correct, the transformation would occur gradually over weeks, perhaps even months.
One might think I had unlocked the secret to regeneration and invented a new super-soldier serum. But the reality was more complicated. I still couldn't isolate the specific part of Wolverine's DNA responsible for regeneration. To create Oz Serum Plus, I had to mix my modified Spider Serum with properly prepared and adapted Wolverine blood. Given the limited quantity of blood I possessed, I could only produce a small number of doses.
Developing Oz Serum Plus took more than a day. I became so absorbed in perfecting it that I slept in the Oscorp tower, never returning to the mansion. It was no surprise—I was working to save both my life and Harry's, and even the slightest error could have unimaginable consequences. Just as I initiated a comprehensive simulation and finally allowed myself to relax while the supercomputer crunched the numbers, I received an intriguing message from my source in the Defense Department.
Quest Aerospace had tested their exoskeleton under General Slocum's supervision, and he seemed impressed. The ministry was already drafting a contract with them, which likely meant they would soon terminate their agreement with Oscorp—unless Oscorp demonstrated extraordinary progress on the Oz Serum, which was highly unlikely. I doubted the company's major shareholders would be pleased.
But that wasn't my primary concern. I was more worried about a critical and complex conversation with someone who played a key role in my future plans. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time, too focused on saving my own life.
"Hello, Otto. I'd like to meet and discuss something with you."
...
"Dinner? Why not. I'll be at your place at seven."
...
"Ha-ha-ha. Yes, just like old times."
After calling Otto, I went to my office to tackle the mountain of work that had piled up during my absence in the lab. And it wasn't just a lot—it was an overwhelming amount.
"Thank you, Wanda. I don't know what I'd do without you," I said to my secretary, who had just delivered a towering stack of documents for my review and signature.
"It's my job, Mr. Osborn. And don't thank me yet—I haven't brought you the second half," she said, to my horror. Even with most documentation handled electronically, the physical pile was staggering.
I managed to clear the backlog before five o'clock. Sometimes, I marveled at the brilliance of the mind I had inherited from the original Norman Osborn. In my old body, I doubted I could have handled it in a week.
As I was heading to my car to finally return to the mansion, my phone rang.
"Where are you?" Arthur Stacy asked.
"I'm on my way to the car. I've finished for the day," I replied.
"I see. I almost missed you. I wanted to update you on the warehouse thefts," Arthur said.
"Any leads?" I asked, already settling into my limousine, my tone indifferent. With my current problems, this was low on my priority list.
"Yes, we identified the culprit: Jason Macendale—a con artist and fraudster. Six months ago, he somehow passed all the background checks—how, I'll definitely find out—and got a job in logistics. He learned a lot about Oscorp's internal operations and used that knowledge to pull off the thefts. He wasn't entirely careful, though, and we eventually traced it back to him," Arthur said with enthusiasm. He seemed to enjoy the investigation.
"Did you catch him?" I asked.
"No," he admitted, less cheerfully. "But now that we know who he is, it's only a matter of time."
"Good, Arthur. You did the right thing by calling me. Keep me posted," I said. "And if there's nothing else urgent..."
"No, nothing else critical. See you, Norman," Arthur said.
"See you, Arthur," I replied and ended the call.
Upon arriving at the mansion, I went straight to my room. I needed to take my medication—something I'd been skipping lately, and the strain of overwork was taking its toll. I hoped I'd soon be able to stop relying on them altogether.
After taking the pills, I went to the dressing room, where Bernard, already informed of my plans, was waiting with an outfit suitable for the evening's dinner.
"Sir, Harry was very eager to see you," my butler informed me.
"Oh? Strange that he didn't just call me," I replied.
"He did call, sir. Several times," Bernard said. Checking my phone, I saw he was right. While I was in the lab, all my calls had been forwarded to Wanda, who apparently didn't consider Harry's calls important enough to mention.
Well, I had a little time. I could visit Harry and talk to him.
"Is Harry in his room?" I asked Bernard.
"The young master is currently with Mr. Andersen in the gym," the butler replied.
"Andersen?" I asked, puzzled.
"Didn't you know the surname of the trainer you hired yourself?" Bernard responded. It seemed Taskmaster had chosen a pseudonym, which made sense.
"Bernard, he's a very unusual man, and I know him by another name," I said.
"I suspected as much, sir," the butler replied. After dressing in dinner-appropriate attire, I headed to the gym.
The gym was genuinely spacious and equipped with the latest technology—though its primary users were maids who came to dust. Now, it echoed with Taskmaster's shouts as he pushed Harry through a brutal workout. When Taskmaster saw me, he paused the "training," and Harry, relieved, immediately came over.
"Father, I can't take this anymore! This isn't training—it's torture!" Harry protested. "For example, today he woke me up at 5:30 AM, and despite my protests that I had school and needed sleep, he made me go for a run."
"Harry, you have to understand—this is for your own good. But if you really don't want it, I can cancel everything, and you can go back to partying like before. Just know I'll be disappointed in you," I said, pressing his sore spot. Harry craved his father's approval and feared disappointing him.
"No, Father, I'll manage... But can we at least find a more normal trainer?" he asked hopefully.
"Harry, this trainer is one of the best. You have no idea how much it cost to hire him. Appreciate the opportunity," I told him.
"But Dad—" he began, but I cut him off. "Enough. Go rest for a bit. Let me talk to your trainer."
Harry left and collapsed onto a nearby bench while I approached Taskmaster.
"What do you think of him?" I asked.
"Honestly? Nothing special. Completely raw material. He'll never be a professional—he started too late. But that's not the goal, is it?" Taskmaster asked.
"No, it's not. Right now, the priority is to strengthen his body as much as possible. Trust me, he'll surprise you later," I said.
"Hmm... We'll see. I'll wait for that surprise," he said, clearly skeptical.
"Alright, carry on. I have an important meeting tonight," I said, bidding farewell to Harry and Taskmaster before leaving the gym.
"Come in, Norman. Rosie has already set the table," Otto said, taking the bottle of wine I had brought. Norman's wine collection was truly impressive, and for good reason—his father had started it.
"Thanks, Otto. I'll just wash my hands and be right there," I replied.
The dinner began with the usual small talk. Rosie and I discussed literature and poetry—topics in which I, not Norman Osborn, was well-versed. Only toward the end of the meal did Rosie, ever perceptive, excuse herself to let us discuss business.
"Norman, what did you want to talk about? I don't think this is just a friendly visit," Otto began.
I'll start from a distance. As far as I know, now that you've finished work on the glider, you're completely free and not tied to any project obligations?" I asked.
"No, I'm pursuing my own theoretical research. I've been exploring ways to generate clean energy and have a few ideas on how to achieve it. But it's all still in the early stages, so I'm open to new projects," Otto replied.
"That's good. But that's not why I'm here, though we can discuss new projects later. Do you know what's happening with the company?" I asked.
"Only in broad strokes. I know the military wants to terminate their contract with Oscorp and that the company's stock has plummeted because of it. That's about it," Otto said with a shrug.
"Then the news will definitely surprise you. Oscorp is in the process of being acquired by another company, and I... I don't intend to interfere," I told him.
"But why, Norman? This company has always been your brainchild. I even thought you'd kill for it," Otto said, smiling—but his eyes suggested he wasn't entirely joking.
"Otto, I've realized that my ambition to expand the company led it astray. Yes, we produce everything from washing machines to phones now, but is that what I wanted when I founded it? Where's my desire to make the world better? It's too late to change course now—the company no longer belongs to me. So I've decided to let it go and create a new, more compact company that aligns with my vision," I said, clearly surprising him.
"A new company? What about your health? Judging by your appearance, things have only gotten worse," he said, shaking his head.
"You don't need to worry about that. I've already found a cure. Once the final tests are complete, my health problems will be a thing of the past," I said, smiling genuinely for the first time in a long while. I hadn't realized how much this issue had weighed on me.
"I see. And since you've come to me..." he trailed off, letting me finish.
"I want you to join me in my new company. No one else can offer the same level of funding I can," I said directly. "Plus, I have a few ideas that only you can bring to life. I truly need you, Otto," I added, meeting his gaze with complete seriousness.
"Norman, you didn't even need to ask. I came to work for you, not Oscorp. You promised me a certain level of funding and support for my projects, and you've kept your word. It doesn't matter which company I work for, as long as everything stays the same—though I won't refuse a little extra funding for my projects," Otto said with a smile.
The funniest part was that Otto seemed to consider Norman his friend, while Norman saw him merely as a tool for profit—one he supported primarily because he was effective. If Otto ever failed spectacularly, that support would vanish instantly. But I was different. I admired Otto Octavius and his ideas, and I hoped that by working together, we could achieve something truly extraordinary.
We talked for a long time, discussing the details of his role in the not-yet-formed company. He even shared his theory on creating an infinite energy source. The conversation might have continued indefinitely if I hadn't glanced at my watch and realized how late it had gotten.
It was time to go home.