Chapter 40: I Will Succeed This Time!

Nathan was stunned when he heard the news.

Kurt Connors had been fired.

For a moment, he stood in silence at the reception desk of Oscorp, processing the information. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The company was collapsing—staff cuts were inevitable.

And Kurt, for all his genius, had become consumed by his work on plasma regeneration. It was only a matter of time before his distractions caught up to him.

Still, it complicated Nathan's plan.

"Do you have his address?" he asked casually, adjusting the brim of his hat.

The receptionist scoffed. "You think I'd just give you that?"

Nathan reached into his coat, pulled out a couple of folded bills—two crisp hundred-dollar notes—and slid them across the counter.

A pause. A smirk. The receptionist took the cash and scribbled down an address on a post-it note.

Without another word, Nathan turned and walked out, the note clenched in his hand.

Back in his car, he punched the gas pedal.

"If Kurt's been fired, his life is falling apart. Which means… he might try to inject the plasma. I can't let that happen."

The car roared down the road. Nathan's foot pressed harder against the accelerator as he pictured the worst-case scenario.

If Kurt went through with the injection, he wouldn't just lose his arm.

He'd lose his humanity.

---

The apartment complex was a faded relic of the 1980s—cracked walls, peeling plaster, and graffiti half-scrubbed from the stairwell corners.

Nathan climbed the dimly lit staircase, each footstep echoing through the empty hall.

The overhead lights flickered erratically. Some were burned out completely. The handrail felt loose. Every inch of the place radiated neglect.

From one of the doors down the hallway, he could hear raised voices.

He moved closer.

---

Inside the small apartment, chaos ruled.

The kitchen faucet sprayed uncontrollably from a fractured joint, drenching the tiled floor. A woman in worn slippers rushed in, wrapping a towel around the leak.

"Kurt! The faucet's busted again!" she shouted over the sound of splashing water.

Her name was Martha, Kurt Connors' wife.

The light above her flickered as she turned her face toward the ceiling. "The damn light's been broken for a week too. Kurt, we need to fix this!"

In frustration, she opened the refrigerator. Empty shelves stared back.

She sighed and closed it gently.

Then, she walked into the cramped living room, brushing water from her face and her well-worn apron. The sofa was torn, exposing the yellow foam beneath.

Seated on that couch, Kurt Connors stared at the floor. His posture was slumped, his head hung low. His one arm rested uselessly on his lap.

"Martha… I've been fired."

The words escaped his lips like air from a balloon—soft, defeated.

Martha froze. The towel in her hands dropped.

"What? What did you say?"

Kurt slowly raised his eyes. "Oscorp called me this morning. They terminated me. Said not to come back."

Martha sank down next to him. "But… what about our expenses? What about the rent? The food?"

"I don't know." Kurt whispered, the shame heavy in his voice. "We've got nothing left. I'm disabled. I haven't worked a normal job in years. I'm… out of touch."

The room went silent.

The weight of their midlife crisis hung thick in the air.

Kurt clenched his fist, trembling. "It's my fault. If I wasn't so obsessed with regenerating my arm… if I hadn't fallen behind at work, I wouldn't have been fired. If I were a normal man, I'd have options. But I'm not. I'm broken. I've ruined everything."

"You haven't ruined anything," Martha said, grabbing his leg. "We'll figure this out together. I can… I can ask my parents for help."

Her voice wavered.

They hadn't spoken to her parents in years. They disapproved of Kurt. Mocked him. Called him a cripple, a dreamer.

She never wanted to go back to them.

But desperation was a powerful thing.

Kurt's eyes filled with regret. "You shouldn't have to do that."

Still, Martha walked to the phone and dialed the number.

Seconds later, her mother's voice rang out through the receiver—sharp, bitter, smug.

"Well, well. Must be something serious if you're calling. What's wrong? He finally lost his job? Or are you just out of groceries?"

"Mom, please—"

"Didn't I tell you not to marry him? A one-armed man with no money and his head in the clouds? You picked a loser, and now you're facing the consequences."

Martha tried to speak again.

But the barrage didn't stop.

"He's a useless waste of space. You would've been better off marrying the mailman. Or the guy who shines shoes outside the corner store. At least they work."

Tears welled in Martha's eyes.

Kurt stood up, walked over, and gently ended the call.

She looked up. "What are you doing? I was trying to—"

"I'll handle this."

His eyes drifted to a cluttered coffee table. On it sat a glass vial filled with deep red liquid, its contents shimmering ominously in the room's pale light.

Kurt's voice was firm. "I have one last chance. My plasma has worked on test subjects. It regenerated a crippled rabbit's leg. It will work on me too."

He took a deep breath. "If I can restore my arm, I can take any job. Construction, delivery, anything. We'll survive. We'll bounce back."

He stepped forward and reached for the vial.

"No!" Martha cried, grabbing his wrist. "You're a scientist. You know better. One success doesn't guarantee safety. That serum could destroy you."

Kurt gritted his teeth.

"I don't have time to keep experimenting. I've lost my lab, my equipment. Everything. This is all I have."

He shook off her grip.

"Let me do this. Let me fix this. Let me fix myself."

Tears glistened in his eyes.

"I will succeed this time!"

He lunged for the vial.

BANG!

The door burst open.

A calm but commanding voice cut through the tension. "Hold it right there."

Kurt spun around.

Nathan stood in the doorway, dressed in casual clothes and dark sunglasses. His tone was calm, but his presence filled the room like a tidal wave.

"Step away from the vial, Dr. Connors."

Kurt's hand trembled, the vial only inches away.

"Who are you?" he asked, still frozen.

"Someone who doesn't want to see you become a lizard."

Kurt blinked. "What? How—"

Nathan stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "I know what your plasma does. I know what it will do to you. You'll regenerate your arm—but lose your mind. You'll become a monster."

Martha stared in shock. "What are you talking about?"

Nathan held up a small flash drive. "I've been studying your research for weeks. Your formula works—but its stability is a nightmare. On a cellular level, the mutation rate exceeds 90%. You've unlocked regeneration, yes. But the cost is transformation."

Kurt staggered back.

"So what? I just give up?" he shouted. "Let my family fall apart? Just because I'm afraid of the risks?"

Nathan stepped forward. "No. You let me help you stabilize it. Together, we can refine your work into something safe. Something valuable. Something that can change medicine."

He paused.

"I'll get you a new lab. New funding. A fresh start. But you have to trust me. Don't take that vial. Don't throw away your mind in desperation."

Kurt looked at Martha.

She was crying silently now.

Torn between fear and hope.

He looked down at the vial in his hand.

Then, slowly, he placed it back on the table.

Nathan exhaled. "Good. Let's save your life first. Then we'll save your family."

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