The talkative raven in the world of American comics

Chapter 28: Spider-Man's label should include a succubus.

Peter, being a typical otaku, was certainly familiar with this term.

Peter's face turned bright red at Oz's suggestion, more so than any love letter.

"You...I...no...I knew you couldn't say anything nice!!!"

"Why are you so agitated? My method works perfectly, what's the problem?"

Peter laughed angrily, "What's the problem?"

This guy is willing to sell his body to make money and he doesn't even have a problem with that?!

"You're trampling on my dignity! My integrity! You're even bringing shame upon the Parker family!" Peter roared.

"It's not as serious as you make it out to be. You can wear a mask, right? You don't need to show your face, so you don't have to worry about Gwen finding out," Oz said.

"Gwen would laugh at me even more if she knew! I'm not going to do something like that!"

Peter turned his head and then realized that Oz was still standing on his shoulder, so he decided to slap him away.

But the slap landed on empty air.

Oz was still standing on his shoulders.

All I heard him say was, "So you want to make money standing up?"

"That's right!"

"I won't make any money."

"Why can't I make money? I have hands and feet, why would I do something like this?!"

"Then you'll have to kneel. You can make money if you have hands and feet, but that will interfere with your studies and your Spider-Man career."

Peter was speechless after being choked up, but he remained firm and refused to heed Oz's work suggestions.

"I certainly can't do that kind of thing," he said.

"What a pity. I thought you would be happy to provide the photos to the newspaper, since this kind of thing is rightfully yours."

Oz jumped off Peter's shoulder, and returned to the table with a sigh to continue eating the cheese slices he hadn't finished.

"Anyway... wait—what did you say?! The newspaper?"

Peter caught up with him and asked, "You mean I provided Spider-Man photos to the newspaper?"

"Otherwise what?" Oz retorted, then let out a long "Oh," "You want to go into the adult film industry?! Sure, I'd really like to see that. I used to watch cosplay videos all the time..."

Peter ignored the second half of Oz's sentence and continued speaking to himself:

"How could I not have thought of that! Those newspapers must be really interested in Spider-Man photos, especially since I beat Dara last night. The payout will be huge! That way, I can help ease Aunt May's burden a bit!"

As he spoke, he went to his room by himself, stuffed his camera, which he hadn't used in a long time, into his backpack, and prepared to take some Spider-Man photos of himself on his way to school.

Oz shrugged. Providing photos to the newspaper was simply an essential part of the Spider-Man story.

No wonder JJJ 'likes' Spider-Man so much.

This guy appears every day between the city's high-rise buildings, standing on the street, not selling anything, just making people drool.

No one could stand it.

Little sly spider!

......

......

......

Connors did not spend the night at the police station.

In fact, shortly after he was taken in for questioning by George, he was released on bail by a lawyer.

Despite some complaints from the police, they reluctantly let Connors go in the face of the iron fist of capital.

Because the people who came were from the Osborn Group.

Even though everyone knows that what happened last night is inextricably linked to the Osborn Group, without solid evidence, it cannot constitute a reasonable accusation.

Moreover, the elite lawyers at the Osborne Group were not to be trifled with; they blamed everything on the unfortunate Dara, completely distancing themselves from any connection with her.

It seems that from beginning to end, it was Dara who caused all the trouble.

......

Good morning, professor.

Connors had just poured himself a steaming cup of coffee when he heard a sound from behind him.

Connors didn't turn around immediately, but took a sip of his coffee first, and then said:

"If you're here to get lizard serum, I'm sorry, but it was all destroyed in the battle with Dara last night."

The man shook his head, seemingly not there for this matter, and said:

"Won't you get me a cup of coffee?"

"..."

Connors took a cup of coffee for the other person and handed it over.

The man took the coffee and, like Connors, took a sip before speaking.

He said, "Destroying the serum is not a problem. After all, the formula is stored in your brain. As long as your brain is not damaged, you can always create a new one."

Connors frowned. "But it has flaws."

"Are you the only scientist in the world?" the man retorted.

Connors sighed helplessly and said resignedly, "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

"What are you doing?"

A hoarse voice rang out, like the noise of fingernails sliding across a blackboard, making one want to cover their ears and not listen.

The man who had been talking to Connors suddenly picked up his cup and moved a step to the side, as if to make room for something to appear.

next second.

A figure in a wheelchair appeared behind the man.

The wheelchair is automatically controlled and does not require external assistance to push it; its appearance is also highly technological.

The man put down his coffee cup, came behind the wheelchair, and helped it up.

"Sir, the doctor said..."

"Rest as much as possible? McCann, I'm a dying man, sometimes it's always good to get some fresh air."

"Feel sorry."

Connors looked at the other person's face and couldn't help but compare it to how he looked when he saw him half a year ago.

It's like he's become a completely different person.

Norman Osborn used to have a healthy complexion and well-maintained skin, perfectly embodying the sophisticated look of a New York City tycoon.

But now...

Aged had become synonymous with his face, and his fingernails, sharp and terrifying, looked as if they had only grown from lizard serum.

"Norman."

"Kurt".

After a moment's hesitation, Connors finally asked the question that had been bothering him.

What do you want?

"To survive."

Norman Osborne, sitting in his wheelchair, removed the breathing mask from his face and took a deep breath of air in the Connors home, as if the air there was far better than the oxygen provided by the oxygen device in his wheelchair.

He said, "I need you to start a new genetic experiment. Once it's successful, you will gain unimaginable wealth and fame."

"Genetic experiments?" Connors shook his head. "I believe you've read today's newspaper. Genetic experiments are wrong; they are not something we can easily control at present."

"Really? Then what about Spider-Man?" Norman asked.

"He...maybe he's an exception," Connors said after a moment of silence.

Norman laughed a few times, a very unpleasant laugh. Even Connors, who was several steps away, couldn't help but clench his fists in annoyance.

He said, "It's alright, I'll let you start new genetic experiments, experiments related to him."

Spider-Man?

"right."

How could he possibly agree to your request?

In Connors' view, Peter would most likely share his opinion that genetic experiments are a flawed concept and would not accept new experiments being conducted.

unless......

The next moment, Connors heard Norman's voice.

He has to agree.

Norman's answer was firm, as if stating an established fact.

"I just didn't want to die so soon. He loved helping others so much, what's wrong with helping me?"

"All you need to do is prepare for the Spider-Man experiments."

"I'll send someone to handle the rest."

"..."

Connors wanted to ask for more details, but just then the phone rang in the room.

It's not his.

It's from the Norman side.

McCann glanced at the caller ID, then whispered something in Norman's ear.

"It's your son."

"Hang up... No, tell him I'm not dead yet, and not to worry about what happened to Osborn."

Norman seemed unconcerned about whether he had overheard their conversation.

But Connors felt that Norman was in a bad state.

Harry Osborn, Norman's biological son.

He had seen this boy before.

It wasn't as bad as Norman made it out to be.

Of course, he couldn't possibly know about other people's family matters, but he felt that Norman was currently...

Connors sighed and asked, "What if I said I refused?"

Norman glanced at him, maneuvered his wheelchair away, leaving the other man with his back turned, and then said.

You have no right to refuse.