Hobgoblin Appears

I returned to the institute on time (although I had to make a couple of stops along the way) - Curt hadn't arrived yet, and the laboratory was completely at my disposal. The past day was simply splendid - the positive energy would last for a long time. And now it was time to thank Connor. I placed a human hand (right hand) on the worktable and began to examine it closely.

"What? Where did I get this hand, you ask? Well, it's simple - I stopped by the morgue. In such a huge city, dozens, if not hundreds, of people die every day, so obtaining fresh bodies is not a problem if you approach it creatively. Taking out the hand wasn't too difficult either (oh, I wouldn't want to be in the shoes of that pathologist trying to explain to the deceased's relatives what happened to the corpse's hand). Although I didn't like this option (a "fresh" limb would have been better), something told me that Doc wouldn't be pleased with an alternative (I could have just taken the hand from some local thug, but Connor is too kind for that). So I had to work with what I had.

Well, it's a tough job. Some cells were already dead, and the remaining ones weren't far from that fate (ah, I should have taken a couple more, why didn't I think of that?). Once again, I resisted the temptation to use a more high-quality material (if the professor finds out where this "more high-quality material" came from, I'm afraid our friendship would end, and I wasn't confident that I could get rid of all the evidence and avoid raising Curt's suspicions, so I decided not to take the risk. Besides, I needed to train in mastering my abilities too), I sighed heavily and got to work.

Establishing a connection through myself - the symbiote - between me - the host and the hand lying on the table, I began the restoration process, using my own hand as a reference.

Firstly, I removed the decomposition products and dead cells - a sticky, foul-smelling sweat appeared on the limb, so I had to interrupt and wash it off in a special basin (and ventilate the room as well). The next step was to infuse this piece of flesh with nutrients, forcing the cells to divide, and replacing the DNA of an unknown donor with Connor's genetic material - I didn't want any rejection issues. It was my first attempt to control an organism on such a deep level without fusion. It wasn't easy, and I was very tired, physically this time too (well, at least I found an activity that could actually tire me), but I succeeded. After two hours of effort horribly hungry and tired me (I had to feed myself directly, I hadn't thought of using an IV with a saline solution, sadly), lay a whole and clean hand, by all indications (except for fingerprints, I suppose, but even then - I'm not sure), belonging to Doctor Connor (yes, as if it had just been severed). There was still about half an hour left before Doc's arrival, which was enough time to replenish my strength and conduct a nervous system test.

Dining alone on yet another variation of instant noodles, after the wonderful dinner with Felicia, felt particularly sad, but there was nothing I could do about it.

It was a bit eerie to watch the fingers move and the muscles twitch on the limb lying on the table, connected to me only by the thin threads of the symbiote, but I was reassured - the hand was fully functional.

But then, I heard the key turn in the lock. I'll surprise Curt. With these thoughts in mind, I grabbed the pre-prepared syringe with the tranquilizer and went to meet the professor.

Curt Connors returned to work. Various thoughts were swirling in his head, mostly about his new assistant, Walter. The young man was learning at an incredible speed (Doc mentally smiled and felt proud of himself for a couple of minutes - after all, he had a significant part in it too). Walter was ironic and somewhat mischievous, sometimes to the point of being inappropriate ("Mengele," I'll remind you of that, Mayer!). However, the doctor himself also enjoyed a sharp word and a good joke (some assistants became even sadder because of it, but well, they had to toughen up). Walter also raised some questions - in a month of constant interaction, the guy never showed any difficulties in daily life and demonstrated decent knowledge of technology (Curt had to admit that in some areas, Walter was quite good). Most likely, the young man was hiding something, although it wasn't for Curt to judge - he had a monster inside himself that he tried not to enlighten others about, and he felt a bit melancholic about it. Although, with Mayer's abilities, he probably already knew about it... Returning to the topic of monsters... sometimes Curt felt that Walter was about to explode - there was something indifferent and occasionally dangerous in his gaze, but it always passed. So, when the apprentice requested a day off, Curt let him go with a calm mind (well, not entirely calm).

After carefully studying the morning newspaper, Doc concluded that nothing terrible had happened - the city remained intact, which couldn't help but please him. The only strange event reported was a case that occurred last night at the morgue, sparking quite a scandal. Either the pathologists made a mistake, or some other unpleasantness happened, but the body of a man who died in a car accident was mistakenly subjected to cremation, which caused great dissatisfaction among the deceased's relatives (as it later turned out, the doctors wisely calculated that they would get into trouble regardless, but the mistake in the documents was one thing, and mocking a corpse was a completely different matter - a criminal one, and they quickly incinerated the body).

Curt approached the laboratory and opened the door - even though the assistant had his own key, the guy deliberately avoided using the door, muttering something about stairs (what did stairs have to do with it? Curt wondered)... and he rarely left the room. When Curt entered, he felt a prick in his neck, and the world began to envelop in mist. The last thing the doctor saw was his assistant's ever-light smile and an empty syringe in his hand, and then he simply fell asleep.

Curt woke up with a terrible headache on the couch in the corner of the laboratory. Groaning and muttering profanities, he grabbed his head with both hands.

"Mayer, moth... uh," the professor ended somewhat uncertainly when he realized he was holding his head with both hands.

"Yeah-yeah, I love and respect you too," the mentioned scum cheerfully replied, entering the laboratory (through the door!) with a large box of pizza in his hands.

Curt rolled his eyes in anguish. On the one hand, he wanted to hug this loathsome guy for such a gift, but on the other... he really wanted to strangle him for such jokes. But then, the smell of food reached Curt's nose, and something demanded food in his stomach, so he reached for the pizza, already laid out by the assistant on a table near the couch. Mmm... yum, okay, choking can wait for an indefinite period. Finally, when the first hunger was satisfied, Curt blissfully leaned back and started interrogating, constantly squeezing and releasing his newly restored limb - the hand still wasn't fully cooperating, but the body was gradually getting used to it.

"Tell me!"

*Walter Mayer*

I picked up the collapsing body and carried the Doc to the couch, where I removed his lab coat and shirt.

"Mm, the war left its marks on him... almost his entire torso is covered in scars, and the stump of his right arm looks horrifying," I thought to myself.

"Alright, let's get started," I said into thin air as I placed my hand on the stump. And then followed about 12 hours of intricate work. I had to forcibly keep Curt in a sleep state (thankfully, my training on vagrants came in handy, or it would have been quite messy). Why did I go through all this trouble with the sedative? Several reasons. Firstly, with my current knowledge, I could already assume that connecting the nervous system would cause excruciating pain (and judging by the nerve impulses currently running through the doctor's body, my initial estimation was an understatement). However, blocking the pain was not an option – the body needed to connect and test the new nerves. Moreover, warning Curt in advance would only lead to unnecessary anxiety and create more problems – putting an excited body to sleep was challenging (and besides, I had used the sedative quite extensively, not to mention that his excitable reptilian friend might wake him up). So, I sat beside the Doc, first removing and cutting out large pieces from his arm stump, and then attaching and fastening new segments. In my opinion, it turned out quite well. But just to be safe, I left about a hundred of my cells inside his body. Dividing my organism was difficult, but it allowed me to feel his condition better with each passing day.

And so, I killed several birds with one stone – I could monitor his condition from within (but only in close proximity), and in case of trouble, I could track it. Additionally, it was a way for me to train my sensitivity (the fewer cells, the harder they were to sense, and in the case of the Doc, I left the bare minimum).

When Connor woke up, his first words were a heartfelt thank you, expressed with some colorful language (well, let's just say it was quite a profane thank you, and I'm sure you can imagine). But after I offered him a piece of pizza (we were both starving after 12 hours without food, and I hadn't only used my own resources to grow his new arm, so we were famished), the fierce deity relented and demanded a report on the work I had done, starting from where I acquired the new arm. After receiving the required report, the professor hugged me tightly and tried to kill me by squeezing me, while at the same time shedding tears and showering me with words of gratitude. It made me feel uneasy; I don't like being thanked... it just doesn't sit right with me. I managed to get out of the situation quite easily by pointing at the clock (it was already eleven in the evening) and subtly hinting that his family might be getting worried, and it would be good to show them the new limb.

Curt nodded and immediately tried to run home.

"Put on your shirt, you fool," I reminded the bewildered professor. After thanking me again, he hurried off.

"The main thing now is to convince him not to expose this to the press; otherwise, we'll have to deal with some very unpleasant questions," I said thoughtfully, watching the small figure of Connor heading towards his home.

Gradually, we returned to our mundane routines (though I had to attend a family dinner at Curt's, where I was once again smothered with tears and hugs, this time from the doctor's wife). Curt started to disappear less at work and spent more time with his family. I slowly worked on my studies, dealt with the paperwork related to my "transfer" (aside from our people's fondness for freebies, I discovered another similarity between any worlds - bureaucracy), and prepared for my bachelor's degree defense (Curt somehow managed to organize that as well, so my diploma will be completely genuine... though studying was still a serious business). Besides all of this, I needed to find accommodation - staying in the lab after the semester began would be impossible. And I wanted a place to call home (and to bring my future girlfriend, Felicia). Since I considered Felicia my girlfriend (even if it was just in the future), the accommodation had to be fitting. The apartment prices shocked me. Something reasonably decent was around 600,000, but the penthouse I liked on the 26th floor, nearly in the center, was three times more expensive! While getting the money wasn't such a big problem (quietly robbing Kingpin, the main thing was not leaving witnesses), the real challenge was how to legitimize it. Even in our country, nosy folks came knocking on the door asking where you got such money. But the answer came to me (the Doc dropped in with another lecture, this time on the influence of radiation on the genetic code). If he had friends capable of creating documents for a person from nowhere, they could also help legitimize some amounts (though a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, I knew that much). With those thoughts, I approached Connor. I won't say he was thrilled, but I managed to persuade him that the money obtained from selling drugs and weapons would look much better in our pockets than in the hands of those dealing with those dangerous items. The professor reluctantly agreed. After discussing all the details with Curt's friends, the plan was this: they would make me a well-off, terminally ill uncle who bequeathed his entire estate to me (around 10 million), and now I had to provide the gentlemen officers (I was right - they were mostly ex-military) with these very 10 million and an extra two for not asking any questions. The only problem left was where to get these millions. Petty gangs wouldn't do... but they could lead me to a bigger fish (I didn't even consider going straight to Fisk - getting problems instead of money from him would be too easy).

For two days, I roamed the places with a bad reputation (there were also a few rumors about the vampire). According to my informant (just a smile with all 142 teeth showing was enough, and the thermo-rectal cryptometer was unnecessary this time), there was around 15 million at one of the money transfer points. The task was simple: just walk in and take it. But how? Quietly and unnoticed - possible, but then they would search for the thief. Carrying everything away - also possible, but even if I eliminate all witnesses, how can I be sure there are no surveillance cameras? That left the third option - to work "undercover" for someone else. From all the characters in the series, I chose the "homeless man" - he was supposed to make an appearance soon, and he indeed targeted Fisk. Moreover, he worked with lots of explosions and smoke, wearing a hooded cloak, albeit yellow-orange in color. Even if the cameras captured something, they would be looking for him. I "borrowed" grenades from the arsenal of the local "guards," located nearby, repainted and slightly altered the hooded cloak, and wore a mask that resembled one of Sauron's orcs (though a sickly yellowish one, but that was just a minor detail).

With wild cries and maniacal laughter, I burst into the building, accompanied by smoke grenades (one right at the entrance) and throwing grenades in all directions. Amidst the chaos and confusion, it was easy to make my way to the room with the money. The entire operation took less than five minutes, after which I disappeared into the darkness of the night, satisfied, with a heap of bags (a regular person couldn't carry it all without a trolley).

"Indeed... Deidara-senpai was right... art is an explosion," I murmured, feeling like a cat that had just licked a whole bowl of cream. Explosions, screams, chaos, and the thrill of danger - how delightful... it seemed I had indeed become an adrenaline junkie.

The officers kept their word - within a day, I was officially recognized as the rightful inheritor, and now it had been a year. My account held even more than 10 million, and Dr. Connors received a million-dollar grant for some genetics research (the topic was so intricately twisted that I didn't even bother to try to understand it).

Now I could arrange for the apartment and even have some left for renovation (well, a little). And just two days later, a series of events unfolded: Felicia called me, Richard Fisk attempted to ceremoniously inaugurate the restoration of the factory that was wrecked by Spider-Man and Black Widow during their skirmish (or, to put it simply, by John Jonah Jameson, who had a fiery love and adoration for Spider-Man), where he was nearly killed by a man on a flying tray wearing a yellow-orange cloak and a mask resembling a sickly yellowish orc. But let me tell you more about it...