Chapter 39: Blood Plasma Band-Aids
Nathan stared at the monitor in silence, watching the dwindling numbers in his financial account. His once-strong $20 million balance had nearly evaporated, swallowed by his aggressive acquisition of Oscorp stock.
He had no money left.
But that didn't mean the game was over.
He just had to get creative.
"I don't need money to win the last 20%," he murmured, leaning back in his chair. "I need persuasion. A vision."
What he needed was a pie.
Not a literal one, but the business kind—a compelling vision, a promise of future profits. He would dangle the hope of Oscorp's rebirth like a delicious, tangible reward.
"I'll offer the final shareholder future gains in exchange for present control," he said, already piecing the idea together. "I'll promise them dividends from a revived Oscorp as compensation for handing over their shares."
It was risky. Idealistic. Even delusional under normal circumstances.
But things weren't normal now.
Oscorp was sinking fast. The public had lost faith. The market had all but declared the company dead. Worse, anyone holding significant shares was now marked—targets of mysterious deaths and hostile takeovers.
To the last remaining major shareholder, those stocks were now a liability. A time bomb.
If Nathan could convince them that he was the solution—the one who could reverse Oscorp's free fall—they might accept his deal.
"All I need is for them to believe in my vision. Believe I can make Oscorp profitable again."
And to do that?
He needed a revolutionary product. A proof of concept. A glimpse into Oscorp's future.
But that posed a problem.
Most of the tech in his possession was unusable.
Some came from HYDRA, steeped in dark secrets and traceable histories. Others were too personal, tied to his identity or too dangerous to be commercialized. Still others were too advanced or too experimental to be trusted.
So Nathan looked outward.
And there, he found a spark.
In the disorganized archives of Oscorp's projects, one file stood out.
"Kurt Connors… plasma regeneration?"
Nathan's lips curved upward.
Kurt Connors—a brilliant biologist, war veteran, and the future Lizard, one of Spider-Man's most infamous foes.
His story was tragic. A medical officer in the Vietnam War, he'd lost his arm in a catastrophic explosion. The amputation saved his life, but it shattered his spirit.
That loss became an obsession.
He devoted years to studying the regenerative biology of reptiles, diving deep into lizard DNA and stem cell research, seeking to unlock the secrets of limb regrowth.
Eventually, he succeeded.
His plasma serum, derived from reptilian genomes, stimulated accelerated regeneration. In tests, he had restored mobility to paralyzed rabbits—and was rumored to be close to regrowing full limbs.
But there was a catch.
A horrific one.
The same serum that promised healing also rewrote biology in unstable ways. The side effects were brutal. Connors himself would soon become a monstrous lizard hybrid, his humanity twisted by the very serum meant to restore it.
Nathan tapped the keyboard, studying the research logs.
"Too dangerous in its current state. But… what if I dilute it?"
He pulled up his own data. Over the last few days, he'd conducted simulations, dosage breakdowns, immune system modeling.
And he had an idea.
"If I significantly weaken the plasma formula, I can reduce the regenerative effects just enough to avoid mutation."
The result?
A safe, over-the-counter medical product.
Plasma-infused bandages.
Think of it: an adhesive bandage that accelerated natural healing by 300%. Not Wolverine-level, but more than enough to impress shareholders, military contractors, and hospitals.
"It's simple, affordable, and scalable."
The plasma could be extracted cheaply from reptiles. Manufacturing costs were manageable. The healing acceleration was safe, and unlike the full serum, there were no grotesque side effects.
"This is the product that will revive Oscorp."
He envisioned it: a consumer line of plasma band-aids, available in pharmacies, hospitals, and emergency kits across the country.
Wounds would heal three times faster.
Doctors would love it. Soldiers would need it. Parents would demand it.
And Nathan would make billions.
"All I need is the original formula."
He checked the clock.
"Time to visit Dr. Connors."
Because if Connors completed the serum and tested it on himself, there would be no coming back. Nathan had to stop him before he turned into the Lizard.
More importantly, Connors—while still human—could be a valuable asset. A loyal researcher. A genius with untapped potential.
Oscorp didn't just need a miracle product. It needed people like Kurt Connors.
With a final bite of his bland dinner, Nathan stood.
"The food keeps me alive, but that's about it. Claude's cooking was better." He chuckled, shaking his head at his own culinary failure.
He wiped down the table, cleaned his dishes, and began preparing for the trip.
Before leaving, he pulled out a disguise kit. Fake beard. Fisherman's hat. Tinted sunglasses. Within minutes, he was unrecognizable—just another face in the crowd.
He slipped into the driver's seat of a nondescript sedan and drove toward the Oscorp campus.
---
Oscorp Tower.
Once a symbol of power and innovation, now a ghost of its former self.
The air was heavy with despair. Workers moved slowly through the lobby, heads down, avoiding eye contact. Entire departments had been dissolved. Budgets slashed. Projects abandoned.
Oscorp was a sinking ship.
Nathan stepped through the rotating doors and approached the front desk.
"Hello. I'm looking for Dr. Kurt Connors."
The receptionist barely looked up.
"Not here anymore."
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
She sighed, pulling up a file. "Fired. Last week. Spent more time with reptiles than he did on company projects. The board lost patience. Budget cuts, you know?"
Nathan's eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
Too late.
"Where did he go?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
She shrugged. "No clue. Maybe back to that private lab he kept talking about. Some old university connection."
Nathan turned and walked away, mind racing.
He was running out of time.
---
Meanwhile, across the city…
Norman Osborn stood before a mirror, inspecting his reflection as he fastened the last piece of his Green Goblin armor.
He knew someone was coming.
He knew the final 20% of Oscorp was within reach—for both of them.
And he would kill to get there first.
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