"General Ross."
Wearing a white lab coat and blending in like a real Oscorp employee, Batman trailed behind Norman Osborn as the CEO greeted the visitor.
Several other researchers in lab coats stood nearby. With Batman in their midst, no one suspected a thing; all eyes were on General Ross.
"Welcome—so glad you could come…"
Norman beamed as he shook the gray-haired general's hand, but Ross wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.
"I want to see how far along the super-soldier program is."
Smiling, Norman led Ross and the military delegation—not to the B2 human-experimentation lab, but to another facility.
It was a wide open space where seven or eight athletic young men wobbled through the air on winged devices that looked like devil's wings. Researchers crowded around them, recording data.
"That's the glider mentioned in the 'Spider-Slayer' plan?" Batman followed silently at the back. Yesterday he hadn't finished reading the file; all he knew was that it was meant to target "Spider-Man."
"We've solved the issues of level glide and gravity balance and produced a first-generation prototype…" Norman explained.
Ross's face didn't change. "We saw the glider last time. That's not why I'm here."
He stepped off without waiting for Norman to lead and headed straight for the B2 lab. The military clearly took their cues from Ross; the others hurried after him. Norman's expression flickered, but he quickened his pace to walk beside Ross.
They stopped before a transparent tank. The person inside had been dead for some time. Neither Ross's party nor Oscorp's researchers looked surprised—as if they already knew exactly what kind of work was being done here.
"How's the progress?" Ross asked.
"The experiments are ongoing—moving very quickly," Norman hedged, avoiding a direct answer.
But the fifty tanks, each holding a deformed human body, told the real story: failure.
Ross halted and stared at Norman for several seconds, stone-faced.
"A serum we succeeded with sixty years ago—and now, with higher technology and better infrastructure, you still can't replicate it.
"Mr. Osborn, I'll give you two more weeks. If you still can't produce a working super-soldier serum, I'll have to withdraw the military's funding."
Withdraw.
The word hit Norman Osborn like a hammer to the chest.
Ever since Ross, on behalf of the military, invested in Oscorp and promised long-term contracts if they could recreate the serum, Oscorp had poured most of its capital into the project. Continued appropriations from the military pushed Norman to go all-in—despite shareholder grumbling. With the super-soldier program in one hand and Dr. Octavius's fusion project in the other, he had never truly doubted success.
But now the serum still wasn't working, Ross was threatening to pull out, and Octavius's fusion was stalled at a critical point.
"General Ross, I don't understand why—an Air Force lieutenant general—you're fixated on super-soldiers instead of the glider and individual combat suit, which could clearly revolutionize air warfare."
Norman clenched his jaw as he challenged him.
Ross wasn't fooled by the shift in tone. Seeing Norman glare, he snapped too.
"You want to know why?
"You want to hear about the kind of failure I've lived with?
"Three years ago I deployed a whole division—more than twenty tanks and seven aircraft—to surround a monster.
"You know how that ended? Failure. Utter failure. Do you know how many wives and children waited at home, only to receive a corpse?
"Those were living, breathing lives. Those were my men!"
Flushed from neck to crown, he all but spat the words in Norman's face.
"If I'd had a super-soldier army, none of that would have happened. Now you see why I'm not interested in your glider?"
Norman, flecked with spittle, lowered his eyes and said nothing, enduring the pressure in silence. Some of the researchers behind him even looked pained.
"2003—the Hulk fought the military, then disappeared…" Batman connected Ross's "monster" with the CIA file the moment he heard it.
"Someone sent the Daily Bugle an email today—human-experiment footage. One segment from security cameras, one hand-shot," Ross said, fixing Norman with a stare. "If your company can't replicate the serum in two weeks, the military won't cover for you anymore. We'll pull funding and let the exposure stand."
With that he waved his hand and led the delegation out, leaving Norman Osborn standing there, face dark and shifting.
"Mr. Osborn…" someone ventured.
Norman ignored them, returning alone to his 60th-floor office. He barely glanced at the ransacked drawers and scattered papers; he wasn't in the mood for trifles.
After a long moment, he summoned his secretary.
"Freeze every Oscorp-funded project. Put all the money into the super-soldier serum.
"And release the Spider-Slayers. I want to see Spider-Man before sundown."
His secretary—a capable woman in her thirties with brown hair pinned up—hesitated.
"Are you sure, sir? The other shareholders could vote you out…"
"I have a fallback. I've got allies on the board. Do as I say," Norman snapped.
"And… Dr. Octavius's fusion research as well?" she asked carefully.
"Stop it. Stop all of it!!"