American comic book: Absolute Spider-Man

The top floor of the Osborne Building.

Connors stood in front of the weather control console, his thick, scaly fingers swiping across the touchscreen to complete the final calibration procedure.

The enormous circular launcher was already aimed at the sky, where clouds churned overhead.

He looked up at the clouds, which would turn into rain tomorrow, falling in Queens, in Manhattan, and in Brooklyn.

Every drop of rainwater contains the serum he concocted in the sewers, and millions of people will begin to mutate within hours, turning into lizards like him.

But he didn't see it as a disaster; he saw it as evolution.

Connors looked down at his right hand, the hand that he had waited more than a decade to grow back.

Green scales covered the backs of his fingers, his nails were sharp as knives, and his palms had pale, soft skin like the belly of a reptile.

He clenched his fist, then relaxed it, then clenched it again.

He can clench his fist, grasp things, and feel the touch from his fingertips. For the first time in over a decade, he's been using both hands to do things.

When the bestial instincts instilled by the serum faded and reason returned to this powerful body, he had a complete, self-consistent logic that propelled him forward: Lizards can regenerate limbs, humans cannot. Lizards can adapt to extreme environments, humans cannot. Lizard genes are more efficient, more stable, and more adapted to survival than human genes.

He wants to turn everyone into a perfect species like himself.

No one will suffer from the loss of a limb anymore, no one will be discriminated against because of a disability, and no one will wake up in the middle of the night like him, feel the empty sleeve on the right side, and lie there with their eyes open until dawn.

He picked up the glass ampoule filled with pale green serum and pushed it into the magazine.

Now, with just the press of the launch button, he will become the savior of this world.

The door to the rooftop, not far away, was suddenly opened.

Connors turned around abruptly, his green vertical pupils shrinking into thin slits.

Peter came out of the door, wearing a white lab coat.

Connors wore this coat year-round, and even in his final moments before transforming into a lizard, he was still wearing one.

He remembered the child; Peter had told him that he could go to him if he got into trouble, but he was too anxious and angry at the time, so he forgot Peter's words.

He looked at his right hand again, and thought, "This is fine too."

"Dr. Connors," Peter said to him.

Connors let out a low growl, like a lizard warning the intruder: "Don't come any closer, I won't stop."

“I knew you wouldn’t stop,” Peter took a step forward, “so I wasn’t going to stop you. I just came to show you something.”

He took out a few metal balls from his pocket and threw them on the ground. After the metal balls stabilized on the ground, they began to emit holographic projections.

That was surveillance footage from the Imperial State University laboratory. The voice of a military representative came through the screen: "If you don't agree, we'll replace you. Your research results belong to us, and you can get out."

Connors's vertical pupils dilated as he stared at himself in the image, the green claw moving away from the launch button and clenching into a fist.

The scene then shifts to him injecting himself with the serum, transforming him into a lizard.

Peter's voice rang out: "To protect those innocent people who were about to be deceived by the military and subjected to human experiments, you beat the military to it and experimented on yourself. You are a great man."

The holographic projection then switched to a document.

The document is tagged "Internal Investigation Committee of the U.S. Department of Defense" and titled "Investigation Report on Irregularities in the Lizard Serum Project at Imperial State University".

As you scroll down the page, names are highlighted in red—the military representative, his superior, the official who approved skipping animal testing.

The last page contains a large line of text: "The aforementioned individuals have been arrested and will be prosecuted for violating laws related to human experimentation."

Connors's vertical pupils contracted sharply: "This is fake."

“Really,” Peter said. “President Matthew Ellis personally signed the investigation order a few days ago. Those who pushed you to this point will pay for their actions.”

Peter said, "You are not the criminal, Dr. Connors. You are the victim."

The holographic projection is switching over for the last time. It is now playing an old video clip.

In the video, Connors stands on the stage of the auditorium at Imperial State University, wearing a white lab coat with the sleeve of his severed arm tucked into his pocket.

He looked much younger, his voice cheerful yet firm: "I study reptilian genes so that people like me who have lost limbs can stand up again. I met an 18-year-old soldier who stepped on a landmine in Afghanistan and lost both legs. The first thing he said when he woke up was, 'Can I still run?' I didn't know how to answer. But I knew that if my research succeeded, he could not only run, but also dance with his beloved girl again. That's why I go into the lab every day."

Connors in the video laughed, a shy, slightly embarrassed laugh: "Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it? A guy who's missing an arm, and he wants to change the world."

The image freezes on that smile.

Connors watched the video for a long time. Then he shook his head: "Too late."

Peter, with his hands behind his back, asked, "What's so late?"

Connors didn't answer, but looked down at his newly grown right hand, or claw: "This hand was given to me by the serum. Without the serum, I would still be a one-armed clown. Being bossed around in the lab, having my research results stolen, and being left to watch helplessly."

He looked up, his green vertical pupils fixed on Peter.

"I don't need you to do anything to those people; it means nothing to me anymore," Connors said hoarsely. "I need a new world. A world without disabilities, without the weak, without anyone needing protection. Only perfectly evolved life forms."

He turned around, raised his finger, and prepared to press the launch button.

"Peter, you're a good boy. So join this glorious evolution."

Peter sighed and raised his hand, which shimmered with a deep red light: "I'm sorry."

Crimson ribbons shot out from the space around Connors, wrapping around his wrist and preventing him from pressing the button.

Cytorak's Crimson Magic Belt!

Several more ribbons appeared out of thin air, binding Connors' limbs and tail.

He began to struggle with all his might, but the ribbon remained motionless.

"What is this..." Connors' voice was hoarse, filled with anger and a hint of fear that he himself was unaware of.

“Magic,” Peter said, walking toward Connors and patting his scaly chest. “You should rest.”

The spirit floated out of Connors' body, with a severed arm, a wrinkled white coat, and empty sleeves hanging down, its pale blue, semi-transparent outline swaying slightly in the wind.

Peter withdrew his finger, stood up, and glanced at the unconscious body bound by a deep red ribbon.

"Dr. Connors, wait for me." After Peter finished speaking, he gently flicked his finger, and the crimson ribbons slid off Connors's limbs and tail, turning into red particles of light and dissipating.

Connors' body slumped under the control panel, leaning against the metal cabinet, his head tilted to one side.

Peter raised his right hand, a portal opened, and Gwen stepped out.

"Gwen, help me move this," Peter said.

Connors was someone worth saving in his eyes, so he didn't use magic at first, but tried to influence him first.

Unfortunately, the ending was not as expected.

When faced with stubborn people, the weapon of criticism can never replace the criticism of weapons.

To stick to one's own path, both kindness and violence are indispensable.

Peter watched Gwen move Connors, and all the turmoil in his mind that night transformed into a lighthearted smile.

He put his hands into the pockets of his white coat: "Hiss~"

The pain from the bite came from the back of Peter's hand. He took his hand out and saw two small blood spots on the back of his hand.