Observe.
Observe this level of professional dedication.
Paying for the privilege to work.
A mindset a decade ahead of the curve.
Truly the pinnacle of biological expertise. The man's thinking was advanced, operating on a plane beyond mere compensation.
Of course, Aaron wasn't concerned with the money.(A phantom, pained whimper from Norman's office seemed to echo through the walls: "I am!")
"Later, you will provide a copy of your complete research archive. I have use for it," Aaron instructed. "Norman will allocate a primary-tier bioscience laboratory for you within the complex. You will serve as lead research director for the limb regeneration project. I expect a roadmap for reverse-engineering and mass production at the earliest possible juncture."
He spoke as if ordering lunch. The scale was irrelevant. Even a diminished Osborn was a leviathan. The headquarters alone housed over a hundred specialized laboratories, a vertical city of research humming behind sealed doors. Aaron hadn't toured them all; he didn't need to. They were tools in a shed, awaiting the right hand to wield them.
"Understood, sir. When do we begin?" Curt Connors asked, flexing his miraculous new hand, the wonder still bright in his eyes. The phantom stares, the whispered 'left-handed herpetologist' jokes that had dogged his career—they were ashes now. He had been made whole.
"Immediately. A relocation team will assist with your materials. Consider the Osborn campus your primary residence henceforth. Any objections?"
"None! The company is my home! I am… profoundly grateful!" Connors, vibrating with contained euphoria, gave a stiff, earnest nod and practically floated from the room, already mentally designing experiments.
Dr. Otto Octavius watched his friend's departure, a complex cocktail of emotions churning within him. He was genuinely happy for Curt, whose lifelong dream had been realized in the most spectacular fashion. But the casual, terrifying power on display here left him chilled.
Was this regenerative serum Aaron's own creation?
It would explain Norman Osborn's bewildering submission. The outside world saw a corporate coup and impending collapse. Medical rivals were already popping champagne, waiting to feast on the carcass. They had no idea the carcass was about to sprout wings and breathe fire.
This young man wasn't presiding over a decline. He was assembling the foundation for an empire that could dwarf even Stark Industries. An empire that could dictate the biological future of the species.
Octavius straightened his posture instinctively, his bearing becoming more formal, almost military.
"Dr. Octavius.""Sir."
"Your primary focus is the… miniature stellar ignition project. The fusion reactor.""Yes, sir. It's a magnetically contained deuterium-tritium fusion reaction, utilizing a proprietary resonance frequency to lower the Coulomb barrier and enhance the probability of fusion. The goal is a self-sustaining, miniaturized fusion core—a contained star—capable of providing limitless, clean energy. It would revolutionize—"
"It requires substantial capital," Aaron interjected, cutting off the technical treatise. He wasn't interested in the 'how' at this stage, only the 'what' and the 'who.'
"Immense capital," Otto admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "The primary hurdle is tritium. It's phenomenally rare and expensive to produce in the quantities required. The containment field generators, the superconducting magnets… the project is stranded at the theoretical stage due to funding."
"So, in essence, with sufficient tritium and capital, you could construct this reactor. The design is complete."
"In theory, yes. I have devoted my life to the schematics. The machine exists," Otto tapped his temple, "here. It needs only to be born."
"But you cannot guarantee its stability. Its safety."
Otto's face tightened. "I have run countless simulations. The safety protocols are integral—"
"I am familiar with the archetype, Doctor. The brilliant, obsessed visionary, certain of his calculations, until the moment the containment fails. There is currently only one man who has successfully miniaturized and stabilized an arc-reactor level power source."
"Tony Stark." The name was a bitter pill.
"Precisely. Stark has already captured the sun in a bottle. The market has a solution. A proven, elegant, profitable solution."
Otto deflated, the fight leaving him. "I understand, sir. Stark's arc reactor is a masterpiece. It makes my life's work seem… redundant."
"But I don't need his solution," Aaron stated, his voice calm.
Otto looked up, confused. "Sir? If Osborn wishes to compete in energy…"
"Why would I need to compete with Stark in energy to surpass him?" Aaron's question was rhetorical, almost dismissive. "Is a monopoly on limb regeneration not enough? A universal healing accelerant? A telomere stabilizer that reverses cellular aging? Stark sells power. I would sell health, longevity, and rebirth. Which market is larger? Which is more fundamental to human desire?"
The logic was merciless and undeniable. Otto could only nod, a profound sense of uselessness settling over him. "Then… why am I here, Mr. Aaron? Merely to witness my friend's triumph and be reminded of my own obsolescence?"
Aaron allowed the moment of despair to linger, then shifted in his chair, his demeanor changing from evaluator to patron. "Dr. Octavius, while Osborn Industries as a corporate entity may not require your fusion reactor, I personally value the intellect that conceived it. I am prepared to provide private, unrestricted funding to see your 'miniature sun' brought to fruition."
Otto's breath caught. "Private funding? But the cost, the risk—"
"The conditions are non-negotiable," Aaron continued, his gaze unwavering. "In exchange, you would enter my permanent, exclusive employ. Your intellect would be dedicated to my interests, not merely to building a reactor, but to realizing concepts that currently exist only on the pages of speculative fiction. Do you comprehend the distinction?"
It wasn't about the reactor. It was about the mind that could envision it. Otto's genius was the resource. In raw cognitive horsepower, he might not equal Tony Stark or his late father, Howard. But he was undeniably a first-tier intellect in a world of super-geniuses. Aaron needed such minds in his service. As for enhancing raw intellect itself… the Primal Furnace offered avenues for that too, in time.
Otto wrestled with the offer. He saw Curt's transformative joy. He recalled the casual, world-altering list of potions Aaron had rattled off. Most critically, he felt seen. Not as a fundraiser, but as a creator. Aaron was offering a blank check to build his dream, asking only for his lifetime's creativity in return. It was the Faustian bargain every true scientist secretly craved: unlimited resources for unlimited exploration.
He thought of his dwindling prospects, the closed doors, the laughter behind his back. He looked at Aaron, who held the power of biological miracles in one hand and the promise of limitless engineering potential in the other.
"Sir," Otto said, his voice firming with resolve. "I believe we can begin immediately."
"Excellent." Aaron nodded. "There is another matter. I understand you developed a set of intelligent, neurally-linked mechanical ancillary arms for handling fusion materials."
Otto brightened, the engineer overriding the supplicant. "The actuators! Yes! A quadruple set, constructed from a proprietary titanium alloy with integrated thermal and radiation shielding. They interface directly with the cerebellar cortex via a dorsal neural harness. The control is seamless, an extension of the user's own nervous system. I utilized microfiber neuro-synaptic webbing to—"
Aaron raised a hand. "Spare me the proprietary details. Upon receipt of initial funding, you will procure the necessary materials and fabricate a set for me. I want them."
"Of course, sir! I'll retrieve the prototypes and schematics at once!" Otto's enthusiasm was palpable. "However… a crucial warning. The neural interface is protected by an inhibitor chip. It must be shielded at all costs. Without it, the arms' AI, designed for autonomous precision tasks, can… overwhelm the host's consciousness. They are powerful, but they carry a significant risk of parasitic dominance."
"I am aware of the risk," Aaron said, his tone implying a knowledge deeper than Otto's own. "And I will not be the one wearing them."
He had no intention of becoming Doctor Octopus. The arms were not a tool for him, but a specimen. A complex synthesis of mechanics, AI, and neural integration. The Primal Furnace did not discriminate between organic and synthetic concepts. It could consume the principle of those arms just as easily as it had a spider. What would it synthesize? Direct technopathic control? The ability to generate psionic force constructs? The potential was a siren song.
Otto, misunderstanding, simply nodded, relieved his new patron wouldn't be recklessly endangering himself. "Very wise, sir. I shall begin at once."
As Otto left with a purposeful stride, Aaron leaned back. Two geniuses secured. One for the body, one for the machine. The foundation of his empire was no longer just capital and fear. It was now built on gratitude, ambition, and the irresistible lure of making the impossible real.