Chapter 17: Lizard!
Time inside the lab moved differently.
What began as an after-school project had quietly stretched into weeks of steady, relentless work. Days blurred into nights under the soft glow of fluorescent lights and the low, constant hum of lab equipment. The scent of chemicals clung to the air—a sterile, sharp mixture of alcohol, metal, and something faintly organic that never seemed to fade.
Peter—Ark—barely noticed how much time had slipped by.
He sat at the same workstation every afternoon and often into the evenings, sleeves rolled up, eyes steady, hands moving with quiet precision. Across from him, Dr. Curt Connors mirrored his dedication, though his movements grew more restless with every passing day.
No matter what they tried, the serum wouldn't stabilize.
One trial showed promise, only for the regenerative proteins to unravel in minutes. Another restored damaged tissue briefly but triggered dangerous mutations shortly after. Again and again, their experiments ended in disappointment.
"You've been adapting fast," Connors muttered one afternoon, watching Ark make adjustments to their latest model with practiced ease.
Ark's gaze remained on the swirling molecular diagram on the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I guess it's starting to make sense."
Connors gave a thin smile, though it looked more tired than amused. "You're not like the other students I've mentored. You're faster. Focused."
Ark didn't reply, simply saving another failed simulation before moving onto the next.
Outside their small corner of the lab, the world carried on.
Spider-Man's name had returned to the streets—though not in bold headlines or dramatic news stories. Instead, it was whispered in alleyways and muttered among startled criminals. A masked mugger webbed to a lamp post. A car thief left wrapped in silk, dangling upside down for the police to find. Petty crime had dropped sharply across the neighborhoods he patrolled.
But there were no major threats—not during these weeks.
No supervillains, no looming disasters.
Just the city's steady rhythm and the occasional small-time crook to keep Ark's reflexes sharp.
That quiet stretch gave him something rare: time to focus fully on the lab.
---
As the days wore on, Ark began to notice the shift in Connors.
At first, it was subtle—an extra cup of coffee here, a longer pause between notes there. Then the signs became harder to ignore.
Connors' hands lingered near the vials more often. He muttered to himself, barely audible phrases like, "so close… it has to work" and "just one more trial." His once meticulous notes grew sloppier, scribbled in uneven handwriting across scraps of paper.
"You should take a break," Ark advised one evening, setting down his pen after yet another failed test. "This isn't something you can rush."
Connors didn't look up. His jaw clenched tight, his voice clipped. "Breaks won't grow back my arm, Peter."
The words hit the air like a sharp crack.
Ark watched him for a long moment, uneasy.
There was something about the way Connors said it—like he wasn't talking to Peter anymore but to the empty space where his right arm should have been.
---
As the week dragged on, Connors only grew more distant.
He barely acknowledged Ark's presence some days, working in tense silence from morning until late at night. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks sunken, his skin pale beneath the harsh lab lighting.
Ark kept a careful eye on him.
Even with the fusion of his traits, even with all his sharpened senses, this wasn't something he could easily stop. Connors wasn't just exhausted—he was fraying at the edges, held together by stubbornness and desperation alone.
---
Then, late one night, Ark realized the inevitable was coming.
They had stayed late again—working, testing, failing.
It was well past midnight when Ark finally pushed back from the table, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the clock. The city outside the window was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft orange glow of streetlights.
"I'm heading out," Ark said, packing his notes. His gaze lingered on Connors, who hadn't moved from his seat for over an hour.
"You should call it a night too, Dr. Connors. You're pushing too hard."
Connors' voice was hoarse, his eyes locked on the serum vial before him. "I'll stay a little longer."
There was no room for argument in his tone.
Ark's instincts stirred, quiet but persistent. Something was wrong.
Still, he knew pushing Connors here wouldn't work. He'd seen enough to understand when a man was past reasoning.
He offered a slow, reluctant nod. "Alright. Don't stay too late."
As Ark walked to the door, he paused and glanced back one last time.
Connors hadn't moved. His whole body seemed frozen in place, staring at that vial with a desperation that made Ark's chest tighten.
Something about the way Connors looked in that moment stayed with him as the door closed softly behind him.
---
Inside the lab, silence stretched long after Ark's footsteps had faded.
Connors remained seated, eyes locked on the serum vial in his trembling hands. His heart pounded against his ribs—too fast, too loud.
"I can't wait anymore," he muttered under his breath.
Everything he had sacrificed—his career, his reputation, his family—all for this.
The formula shimmered faintly under the lab lights, the liquid swirling like it was alive.
"It has to work," he whispered, almost pleading.
His hands moved automatically, drawing the serum into the syringe with a practiced, shaky precision. He barely noticed the sting as he plunged the needle into his arm and injected the full dose.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then it began.
Heat surged through his veins like wildfire, igniting every nerve. He gasped, stumbling back as pain ripped through his body, overwhelming everything else.
His heartbeat thundered, deafening in his ears.
His muscles seized, then bulged grotesquely as his skin began to twist and ripple.
Bones popped and cracked, reshaping.
Fingers stretched into claws. His skin took on a rough, scaly texture, thickening as it darkened to a sickly green hue.
He fell to the floor, convulsing violently, his breathing ragged and wet.
Through it all, his mind started to slip away—sinking beneath the primal, monstrous instinct clawing its way to the surface.
A low, guttural growl built in his throat, growing deeper and more inhuman with every passing second.
The transformation was complete.
Dr. Curt Connors was gone.
And something else had taken his place.
---
Far across the city, Ark swung through the cool night air, cutting across the skyline with smooth, practiced movements.
Another quiet patrol.
But suddenly, a sharp, cold pulse shot through his mind—the familiar, mechanical chime echoing in his head.
> [Trait System Mission Alert]
Mission Type: Emergency
Objective: Investigate Unstable Mutagenic Signature Detected Nearby
Priority Level: High
Reward: 3 Trait Tokens + 1 Random Trait
Note: Proceed with extreme caution. Threat Level Unknown.
Remaining Trait Tokens: 2
Ark's heart sank.
Unstable mutagenic signature.
There was only one person that could mean.
"Dr. Connors…"
Without hesitation, he fired a webline toward the nearest rooftop and launched himself forward, every muscle tense as he raced toward the lab—toward the danger that had just been unleashed.
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[End of Chapter ]
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