If you think about it, such an outcome could probably have been predicted. After all, comics are comics precisely because experiments in them fail or don't go according to plan. If I'm not mistaken, Connors himself became the Lizard solely because he miscalculated some complex variable, ultimately providing himself with only temporary regeneration of dubious quality and a tail to boot. Ha, loser.
However, I'm not far behind him myself.
I'd like to say that my memory is crystal clear, but that would be a lie, because I do remember some fragments perfectly. As soon as the serum composition, created based on all those tests and studies conducted on me before, was injected into me at the final stage of the experiment, things went sharply off the rails. I remember that no one paid attention to my wheezing, and the first deviation was noticed only when I started trembling.
I was trembling so much that the vibrations of my body made the huge metal structure shake. The steel shackles used to completely deprive me of mobility creaked and groaned as if they were made not of steel but of rotten planks. Nevertheless, the defining moment was the beginning of the transformation, which I remember very vaguely.
It hurt. At least, I'd already gotten used to pain in this world, and it didn't surprise me much then, unlike the sharply accelerated heart rate and the cracking of bones turning into something completely different. I was still on the verge of fainting at that point, so I don't remember the exact moment when my new body broke free from the shackles and escaped captivity, but I do remember perfectly the instant when I noticed the stunned crowd rapidly running out into the corridor.
I don't know if such a reaction can be called instinctive, but my first move was to lunge toward them, feeling my claws on my paws lengthening. I was at least one and a half times taller than an ordinary human, so you can imagine the size: a sort of bipedal alligator with huge claws on its front paws. The fate of those remaining in the room was sealed. As soon as I reached them, the most efficient mass murder of my career happened. I don't know how many seconds it took me to deal with a couple dozen "guests," but I was engrossed in the activity and even felt some regret when I realized that the last person had just been sliced in half.
Letting out a roar somewhat like the growling of dinosaurs from the Jurassic Park movie, I knocked out the door frame with one blow and burst into the corridor, where the security that had rushed to the lab was already waiting for me. I don't know if they had a direct prohibition on killing the subject, but they were stunned upon seeing me and only started shooting when the one closest to me turned into mince. The claws were so sharp, as if honed on a whetstone by some professional sushi chef, so I wasn't even surprised to notice marks on the steel plate that reinforced the walls in the complex.
Meanwhile, the armed guards continued shooting at me, and it could hardly be called a problem: I felt every bullet, saw endless flashes, but at the same time, I felt no pain and had no intention of stopping. I don't know what they were counting on, but in a few seconds, not a single whole piece remained of the entire squad. One poor guy was the unluckiest, and I not only tore off his arms but also slammed him into the wall with a powerful tail strike.
The juicy crunch of bones was a pleasant conclusion to this combo attack, allowing me to move on.
Although the story seems extremely detailed, don't forget that all this happened at an incredible pace by the standards of such battles. A few seconds for those doctors in the lab, a few more seconds for an entire security squad, and I dashed further, not knowing for sure where the exit was. However, the exit itself hardly interested me, because instincts were literally screaming about the need to get to Powell.
I don't know if killing the one responsible for my transformation can be considered a good idea, but at that time, all logical chains in my mind weren't working, handing the thinking process over to a vengeful giant lizard. Pretty quickly, I reached the doctors fleeing toward the elevators and stairs, arranging a real slaughter on the floor where the final experiment took place. Screams, flashes, ridiculous attempts to resist... Release a hungry wild ferret into a chicken coop, and you'll quickly understand what it all resembled. Only instead of a ferret, it was me, and I stopped only when I noticed the deathly frightened Powell, who had slipped in a puddle of someone's blood and was now trying to crawl away from me. Unsuccessfully, however, because I froze as soon as I noticed it.
"Doc-tor..." there was no hissing in my voice, but the sensation was so strange, as if I was speaking, but not me. "It see-ms everything didn't go according to plan."
"I... We..." Powell began stuttering, but his excuses weren't very interesting to me. One paw strike was enough for the doctor to pass into the other world, and as soon as the claws ground him to dust, I glanced once more at the head that had flown aside and moved to the closed elevator, next to which the number three with a minus sign in front shone.
Hitting the metal doors with all my might, I literally broke through them but immediately regretted it, because the elevator shaft inside wasn't much like what it should have been. Apparently, this really was the minus third floor, underground, and therefore there were no windows or doors anywhere. There was only a staircase leading up next to the elevator. Deciding not to waste time climbing the surprisingly smooth metal walls of the shaft, I dashed toward the stairs and didn't regret it. Having climbed two flights and ended up on the minus second floor, I immediately encountered part of that very group of spectators who had managed to escape the lab. You understand, I had no pity for them. The same thing repeated on the next floor, where I again saw the same metal walls and the same panicking doctors.
The fourth floor turned out to be the first above-ground one. Having navigated several turns, I thinned out a group of guards who were clearly preparing for my appearance, after which I found myself outside. Honestly, I don't remember exactly what thoughts were wandering in my head then, but the shoreline was quite close, and the next vivid memory is my desperate jump. Pushing off the concrete barrier with powerful paws, I hurtled into the water at bullet speed, realizing with delay that it was salty, and I didn't resemble a fish much.
Nevertheless, my speed of movement underwater was truly phenomenal, incomparable to human under any circumstances. Holding my breath, I snapped my toothy jaw and dove, immediately starting to work not only with my paws and tail but also with my body itself, which, as it turned out, had a very streamlined shape despite all the spikes and growths.
I have no idea how much time passed while I swiftly swam along the restless coast, but I fully came to my senses only after I began turning back into a human. Taking a whole gulp of the nasty water, which for some reason turned out to be fresh, I somehow managed to surface and grabbed onto some incomprehensible thing sticking out of the water. Well, I didn't drown; that already seemed like good news.
***
Treat others as you would like to be treated. A truism I never followed. Despite all this surreal story with death, reincarnation, and a new world inspired by comics or even directly related to them, I still remained an adherent of a completely different approach. Destructive, somewhat unpleasant, but insanely effective: regardless of intentions, make sure you don't leave survivors capable of harming your further existence.
Before, this related to eliminating dangerous witnesses whose death wasn't stipulated in the contract but wasn't condemned. Now, it's about inflicting such damage on Oscorp's research complex that it won't recover soon. Regardless of what happens next, I'll become their target, and I need to ensure that damage control distracts them for a period after which I can blend into the crowd. At least, it's gratifying that the transformation turned out to be temporary, because blending into the crowd in the form of a skinny Godzilla at least two and a half meters tall would be very difficult.
Grimacing, I still lost balance and fell to my knees, miraculously not tumbling off the pier I had climbed onto. Damn, why is it so cold?
Bravely holding out for a few seconds, I gave up just when I heard a police siren somewhere nearby. Closing my eyes, I vomited into the river everything that was in my stomach, namely nothing except that accidentally swallowed water. Damn, how bad everything is... Even the worst hangover in my life wasn't this nasty, and in this world, I'm ten years younger than my previous self; the body should behave completely differently! Wait, how should a body behave after an incomprehensible serum that turned me into a mutant lizard for a few hours?
Unable to stand, I finally succumbed to fatigue, slowly bending and rolling onto my side. The cold concrete seemed so cozy and soft, as if I had chosen for sleep not a sketchy deserted pier but a bed in the best room at the Plaza Hotel. Nevertheless, I couldn't lie there. No matter how much I wanted to rest after a stressful day that ended with a bloody massacre and a multi-kilometer swim, I wasn't ready to surrender to the authorities if some random cop saw me and decided to drag me to the station.
Fortunately, the night was moonless, and the pier, despite the lights of the metropolis, was in a sort of "shadow pocket," illuminated only by reflections of light from the restless water. Where am I? Well, if I'm not mistaken with the "urban landscape," then in New York. Based on this logic, the river a meter away from me is the Hudson, and on the other shore, New Jersey twinkles with night lights, the calm and unnoticeable second cousin of New York. Well, not the worst setup for someone who wants to "blend in." It's much easier to do this in a metropolis than in an open field, and I'm not exaggerating.
Believe me, someone who has gone through dirty alleys too—a large and heterogeneous city, especially in the West, is the ideal place for hide-and-seek. Who will come out the winner in this game is a difficult question, but the starting conditions here are definitely excellent. Now I just need to pull myself together, get up, and...
"Hey, what are you doing there? Alive?"
Hearing someone's concerned voice, I immediately closed my eyes, and just in time: the unknown person directed a beam from a dim but still working flashlight toward me. Freezing, I continued to lie motionless, clearly distinguishing each of his cautious steps. I don't know what that asshole Powell did to me, but something very strange definitely happened to my senses. At least, I can definitely say that in my previous life, I could never have felt the heavy breathing of a random stranger under such conditions, and at a distance of twenty meters from him.
Apparently, this was a security guard for the port infrastructure, of which there was plenty on this side of the Hudson. After all, supplying Manhattan using only bridges is a crazy idea, so the state authorities invested heavily in river and sea transportation. And if he really is a guard and not a cop, then I even have options.
So, the dilemma: neutralize him, take his clothes (as you understand, during the experiment I was naked, and turning into a lizard didn't help with finding clothes), or pretend to be a lost teenager and ingratiate myself. The man who approached me was a plump guy of about forty-five to fifty, and he didn't even have time to recoil, while I was already behind him and applied a chokehold.
Five, six, seven... On the twelfth second, his feeble attempts at resistance stopped, and I began to loosen my grip but didn't release him from my hands right away. First, that threatened damage to the trachea or vocal cords, and second, our trainer in "street judo," as he called it, with Mike, always taught us that the transition between a choke and other holds should be smooth to prolong the effect.
Yes, I acted a bit strangely, I admit. Probably, under different circumstances, it would have been much simpler and, let's be honest, more polite to try asking for help. Surely he would have helped me with clothes, but...
Now, of all times, understand the problem, right? I was not only officially dead in this world but also couldn't use the name of the person I reincarnated into. That's why... Andrew Miller resurrected from the dead for a while.
That two-minute story with the chokehold and finding clothes invigorated me, because the options for further developments suddenly multiplied. Slipping my hand into his wallet, I swiped two twenties but didn't touch the cards or the rest of the money. Even without thinking about the origins of such strength, I easily lifted him off the concrete, having checked his pulse beforehand, and headed toward the docks.
Since there were plenty of surveillance cameras there, I didn't get too close. Returning him to the ground not far from the guard booth, I slapped his cheeks and stood for a couple of seconds, watching as he slowly came to. Since stealing his gun would put the guy under a huge pile of problems, I dashed from the spot as soon as I made sure he was alive and unharmed. Vaulting over the metal mesh fence and almost catching the protruding wire with the spacious jacket, the risky move ended with a soft landing, after which I took off.
Even running felt completely different. First, I knew for sure that no human could run after several weeks spent in bed without moving. Second, where did the muscles come from in this scrawny body anyway? Chris Russell, in all eighteen years of his worthless life, didn't spend a single minute on physical exercises. I remember perfectly the moment when I realized I could encircle my forearm with two fingers, it was so thin.
I can't say that's bad: quite possibly, if life doesn't require otherwise from you, such a form is the best option, yes, but I'm used to completely different conditions. And right now, I was slowly starting to realize all the changes that had happened to my new body in the last twenty-four hours. Despite still remaining skinny, the effect was painfully similar to that very scene from the Spider-Man movie with Tobey Maguire...
Realizing that I'd been running for five minutes straight without a hint of fatigue, I began to slowly reduce the pace until I switched to a walk and finally stopped. Taking a deep breath, I suddenly understood that I wasn't even out of breath or sweaty. It's September outside, and I ran at least a kilometer and a half, if not more, in a light jacket and pants. Speed, superhuman strength, endurance, changed body... I bent my arm and folded two fingers, extending it forward.
Unfortunately, no web.
Suppressing disappointment, I realized that I probably couldn't climb walls either. After all, I wasn't bitten by a spider; they poured some unknown crap into me, which turned me into a lizard for a few hours. At least, there remained hope that without new injections, this wouldn't happen again. I'd even easily let go of all those instantaneous enhancements that the serum so generously rewarded me with, compensating for the inconveniences, if they guaranteed me no transformations in the future.
Like it or not, but the human body appealed to me much more, and I didn't develop a stupid desire to turn everyone around into lizards. Probably, Connors was just inherently fucked up, since he decided that...
The thinking process hit a wall as soon as I realized that Connors isn't just a comic book character I can discuss like that. He exists in this world, and his developments were used to create that very serum... I wonder how he'd react if I showed up to him? That would be extremely irresponsible on my part, of course, since he's under Oscorp's thumb, and the corporate assholes not only fund his research but also have access to all his developments in real time.
Who knows, maybe he even collaborates with them? Powell had no reason to tell me the whole truth, right? I wouldn't reveal sensitive secrets even on my deathbed, and that's exactly what our last conversation with the doctor was. So, Connors is out. At least for the near future, definitely. I can't risk it, and therefore going underground is the best option.
Unfortunately, empty pockets hindered me from making long-term plans. You know what Peter Parker taught us? That it's impossible to balance superhero activities and a successful career unless you're a billionaire from the start. Why did I recall that? Honestly, I have no idea.
In this world, Peter Parker is dead, that billionaire hasn't become a superhero yet, and I was as far from such a title as possible. Nevertheless, money is a priority. Since Oscorp will surely involve government services and the military in my capture, Hell's Kitchen is a good choice for the first few days.
At least, in this New York neighborhood, no one will be surprised by a couple or three sudden robberies or something similar. After all, if you know how to do something, it would be foolish to do it for free. Since the spectrum of my life skills ranged from petty thefts to full-scale robberies with combat support, that's exactly what I was going to do.
***
"So many chemicals..." I whispered, examining the ingredients on the cereal box.
How do Americans even eat this crap? They've convinced an entire nation that breakfast should consist of milk and a whole bowl of sweet sawdust with a huge amount of sugar. Though, no, sawdust is much healthier. Putting the box back on the shelf, I looked at the gradually filling cart and realized that this supply would last for several days anyway. Considering that in the worst case, I could go out for groceries again, there was no point in stocking up a whole warehouse.
Shelling out three and a half hundred for a bunch of food, I easily lifted the heavy bags and headed to the store exit, leaving the change at the checkout. At least, despite five days having passed since the experiment, the strength acquired after the serum injection hadn't gone anywhere. Chris Russell could never have dragged five bags of food and several bottles of water through three blocks, but I managed it without a hitch.
You know what's especially good about Hell's Kitchen? That in the most crime-ridden neighborhood of New York, you can rent an apartment without documents without much trouble. Now, understand the problem, right? I was not only officially dead in this world but also couldn't use the name of the person I reincarnated into. That's why... Andrew Miller resurrected from the dead for a while.