"What's wrong?" Hawk asked, picking up on the subtle shift in Gwen's tone, the undercurrent of worry beneath her usually bright demeanor.
Gwen glanced around the bustling cafeteria, instinctively lowering her voice. "Well, you know I went back to the lab yesterday morning, right?"
"Mm-hmm," Hawk nodded, recalling their conversation before heading to the library.
"The experiment didn't go wrong," she continued, leaning closer, "but the funding did. You know Dr. Connors's project is a joint venture between Oscorp and the military?"
"You mentioned it."
"The military pulled their funding," Gwen whispered, her expression grim. "Officially, it's 'temporary due to budget reallocation,' and they 'intend to reinvest when funds become available.' But everyone knows what that really means. And Dr. Connors… his project hasn't produced any marketable results in nearly two years. The higher-ups at Oscorp are losing patience."
Capital, Hawk knew, was a cold, pragmatic beast. It invested based on promises, providing resources and infrastructure in exchange for the expectation of future returns. But the moment those returns failed to materialize, the moment the projected profit curve flattened, capital cut its losses without hesitation or sentiment. It was a compulsory course in the brutal economics of survival.
Dr. Connors's dream of regeneration was now caught in that unforgiving meat grinder. The military's withdrawal was a body blow, leaving Oscorp to shoulder the entire, massive cost of his research.
"And it gets worse," Gwen continued, her voice tight. "Oscorp itself is… unstable right now. You've heard the rumors about Norman Osborn?"
Hawk nodded. Whispers had been circulating for months about the reclusive founder's failing health, some strange, degenerative illness that kept him confined to his estate.
"It's not just rumors," Gwen confirmed. "Harry being back, getting involved in company affairs with Felicia Hardy pulling his strings… it's a clear signal. The old king is dying, and the vultures are circling." While the Osborn family still held controlling shares, a power vacuum was forming. Factions within the board were maneuvering, jockeying for position, eager to carve out their own empires in the coming succession.
"And what happens when there's a shift in power?" Gwen asked rhetorically. "The new bosses want to make their mark. They start looking for dead weight to cut. Someone proposed streamlining the labs, shutting down projects that aren't showing immediate results. And Dr. Connors's lab, already wounded by the military pulling out, was the first target."
Oscorp hadn't officially pulled the plug yet. There was still some residual funding. But the writing was on the wall.
"They streamlined the staff yesterday," Gwen said, her voice dropping lower. "Five researchers were let go. I was almost one of them."
Hawk looked at her sharply.
She gave a small, weary shrug. "Apparently, my part-time student salary wasn't high enough to make the cut list. Lucky me." She paused, then added, "But when I saw Dr. Connors yesterday, he wasn't happy like you described. He looked… haunted. That's why I was surprised when you said he sounded cheerful."
Hawk, who had listened with his usual detached focus, simply shrugged after she finished. He genuinely didn't care if Connors succeeded or failed. His interest had only ever been in the potential link to Gammanian. "Well, that's what he said on the phone," he replied. "Who knows if it'll actually work out."
"I hope it does," Gwen said quietly. "For his sake."
The conversation drifted, the topic concluded. They finished their lunch, cleared their trays, and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving the fate of Dr. Connors behind them.
But while Hawk and Gwen could move on, Dr. Curt Connors could not. At that very moment, he sat numbly in his state-of-the-art office, facing the man who represented the cold, hard reality that was about to crush him. A middle-aged executive, impeccably dressed, with the predatory smile and empty eyes of corporate power.
"Doctor," the executive said, his tone smooth as polished glass. "Have you reached a decision?"
"I don't understand," Connors replied, his voice hoarse.
"Doctor, you're an intelligent man. Of course you understand," the executive countered, his smile never wavering. "The military has withdrawn funding. 'Temporary,' they say, but we both know the truth. The board was ready to shut you down completely. Your recent… progress… with the rodent subject bought you a reprieve. A temporary stay of execution."
The single, miraculously regenerated mouse. A glimmer of hope in two years of failures. But only a glimmer.
Connors frowned, his one hand clenching into a fist. "So what is the board demanding now?"
"Human trials," the executive stated flatly.
"What?" Connors recoiled as if struck. "That's madness! We've barely extracted a viable serum sample from a single mutated specimen! We haven't verified its stability, its long-term effects! To jump straight to human trials is reckless! Unethical! And where would we even find willing subjects?"
The executive shrugged, a gesture of profound indifference. "The military hospitals are full of subjects. Wounded soldiers, veterans with missing limbs. Frame it as a new vaccine trial, an experimental therapy. Standard procedure."
He spoke of using broken men as lab rats with the casual ease of ordering office supplies. Capital maximized profit and minimized cost. Human lives, especially those of the lower classes, were just another variable in the equation.
"No," Connors said, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and horror. "I won't agree to that. It's monstrous."
"Time waits for no one, Doctor," the executive replied, his smile finally fading, replaced by a look of cold impatience. "You are out of time. And so are we." He leaned forward slightly. "Certain parties have a vested interest in seeing your research yield results. Immediately. This isn't just about Oscorp's bottom line anymore."
Connors understood the implication. Norman Osborn.
"Consider this a kindness, Doctor," the executive continued, standing up. "Someone will be assigned to oversee the trials. If they succeed, you're a hero. If they fail… you can maintain plausible deniability. You knew nothing." He walked towards the door. "I wasn't here to negotiate, Doctor. This is a notification."
He left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Connors alone in the sterile silence of his office. He sat motionless, trapped between the promise of his life's work and the monstrous act required to achieve it. The weight of the impossible choice pressed down on him, crushing the air from his lungs. He didn't move. He couldn't.