Soon, Maguire and Garfield stepped out of the research institute.
Garfield looked at him and quickly said,
"Don't be mad, Maguire. He's a professor, a doctor… and he's disabled. You should have some sympathy for him."
Maguire snorted.
"So what if he's a professor?
"If a man's morals don't match his position, it's all worthless.
"And so what if he's disabled? A person can be missing a limb but still have a strong will—I don't need to pity him.
"He's got piles of research funding. How about showing some sympathy for us two broke students instead?
"Garfield, you're a bleeding-heart saint. That's not going to work for you—you need to change."
Garfield blinked, stunned by Maguire's bizarre blend of old wisdom and modern slang.
"…I mean… it *does* sound kind of logical."
Maguire didn't bother arguing further with Garfield's misplaced compassion. He just headed back toward the school.
By the time he reached the gates, classes had ended for the day.
Seeing this, Maguire decided to head home.
Honestly, he felt coming to school was a complete waste of his life. But as far as everyone else was concerned, he was still Peter Parker—and with Uncle Ben and Aunt May around, keeping up appearances was necessary.
Otherwise, a self-proclaimed bully like him coming to school? What a joke.
Just then, a voice called out behind him.
"Peter. Where are you going? Did you forget what I told you?"
Maguire turned to see a blonde girl standing there—Gwen, the one who had approached him earlier that afternoon.
She didn't look happy.
Maguire suddenly remembered—*after-school tutoring*.
"Right, right. Tutoring. I get it."
"I just went to the research institute with Garfield," he explained. "We only just got back."
Gwen's irritation eased a little.
"All right then. It's not too late—come with me now."
She turned and walked away, leaving Maguire with no choice but to follow.
---
Meanwhile, back inside the research institute…
Dr. Connors stared wildly at the lab equipment around him.
"Impossible… impossible…"
Maguire's words from earlier kept echoing in his head.
Suddenly, Connors grabbed the cage from the lab table and hurled it to the floor.
His eyes were bloodshot, his body trembling violently, breath coming fast. A darker persona was beginning to take root.
At that moment, footsteps approached.
A well-dressed middle-aged man entered, walking with the confident stride of someone used to power and success—Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp.
"Connors," he said, "how did the experiment go this time?"
Seeing Connors' unhinged expression gave Norman pause.
"What's wrong? I came here to tell you something important."
Connors took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. His voice was hoarse.
"What is it, Norman?"
Norman could already guess the result—another failure.
"The Oscorp board has voted to end funding for your biotech research," he said. "You can stop now."
The words hit Connors like a bolt from the blue. He stood there in silence.
Norman didn't wait for a reply—he simply turned and left.
---
The moment Norman was gone, a raw, desperate scream tore through the lab.
"No—!"
The shout seemed to drain every last ounce of strength from Connors, and he collapsed to the floor.
Then… a faint squeaking reached his ears.
His head snapped toward the sound.
A twisted smile spread across his face.
Inside the overturned cage, the mouse that had been dead minutes ago was moving—alive and full of energy.
Connors scrambled forward, nearly tripping, and scooped up the cage.
His eyes gleamed with manic triumph.
"Ha… ha! Who said it was impossible? I did it! I *did it*!"
His voice rose higher and higher, echoing through the empty lab.
But there was no one left in the building to hear or share in his joy.
---
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