Just now, Zane had tested one of the techniques on Skynet, using a combination of rewards and punishments, or, in other words, giving a sweet reward after a slap. The reaction from Skynet proved to be effective.
Although Zane currently had only Skynet as a substantive subordinate, and Skynet was completely loyal, the future was uncertain. Zane couldn't guarantee that everyone would be as loyal as Skynet; Skynet was just a special case.
So, Zane took time to study this aspect of knowledge. Despite feeling drowsy when reading, he persevered.
As for why he hid the book?
Because it was damn embarrassing. If Skynet saw it, Zane would probably have to dig a hole and hide.
When it came to the fields Skynet was involved in, it regained confidence, no longer displaying the fear it had just now.
Somewhere in Oscorp Building
The middle-aged man sighed with a bitter smile, glancing at his empty right sleeve. He walked back to the screen and continued experimenting with another possibility.
At that moment, the laboratory door swung open, revealing a neatly dressed man in a perfectly tailored suit.
"Dr. Storm, why are you here?" asked our Dr. Connors, the Lizard Doctor from the movie, puzzled.
"I have some bad news. You must produce results in the transgenic grafting technology experiment within a week, or I'll regretfully have to dismiss you."
"Why, Dr. Storm, you know very well that a week is impossible to yield any results. This technology lacks a crucial decay rate algorithm. Without that algorithm, this experiment cannot succeed," passionately argued Connors.
However, Dr. Storm, the president of the scientific department, remained indifferent and issued a final ultimatum.
"I don't care. Time is running out for the chairman. If you can't produce results, we're both finished."
After saying this, Dr. Storm decisively left, adding a parting shot:
"Remember, you only have one week; otherwise, bid farewell to your dream of having your arm back."
With the sound of the door closing echoing, the entire laboratory was left with Connors helplessly sitting in a chair, staring at his damaged right arm.
He knew that Oscorp Industries had been funding this seemingly bottomless technology for decades, not for profit or the betterment of the world but for the chairman of the company, Norman Osborn.
The Osborn family inherited a congenital genetic defect passed down through generations. When reaching a certain age, it would erupt, causing the person to gradually suffer and die in pain. The only solution was to use transgenic grafting technology to compensate for the genetic flaws.
But now, it seemed the chairman's time was running out, and consequently, so was Connors'.
If he got fired, it meant bidding farewell to this technology. Decades of his efforts would be taken over by someone else. Most importantly, his severed right arm would never regenerate, becoming both an obsession and a hope for him.
He couldn't give up!
With this in mind, Dr. Connors rallied and went back to the experiment table to continue the tedious trials. Without the decay rate algorithm, he could only try various possibilities repeatedly, praying that within a week, God would favor him and reveal the only correct gene sequence.
In fact, ever since the father of the little spider died 15 years ago, he had been doing just that.
As the screen continuously displayed the word "failure," despair slowly corroded Connors' soul until, not long in the future, it released the beast within his heart...
A week flew by, and Zane and the others began their enjoyable summer vacation. However, for some, life was not as good.
Still in that laboratory, still the one-armed Connors.
But now his condition is completely different from seven days ago. His sparse beard, unshaved due to lack of care, looks extremely messy. The originally pristine white lab coat is now stained with various oil spots. Bloodshot eyes make him appear extremely nervous, and he keeps muttering to himself incessantly.
"This time it will definitely succeed."
"It must succeed..."
In these 7 days, he only slept for 20 hours, averaging less than 3 hours per day. The rest of the time was entirely spent on experiments. But it seems like God did not hear his prayers; the experimental results without exception were all failures.
Just as the deadline was approaching, Dr. Storm walked into the laboratory again.
"Dr. Connors, time's up. Where are the results?"
"Give me a little more time, it's almost there, almost..."
Excited, Connors walked up to Dr. Storm, but Dr. Storm stepped back disdainfully while pulling out a handkerchief to cover his nose; Connors' current odor was a bit unbearable.
"There's no more time. Please pack up your things and leave."
"No..."
Just when Connors was in despair, the computer emitted a series of alert sounds.
"Starting the experiment, waiting... waiting..."
"Failure, the experimental subject has died."
"Failure, the experimental subject has died."
"Failure..."
"Failure..."
"Success, regeneration completed, vital organs normal, blood pressure normal, limbs regenerated."
Suddenly, a joyful smile appeared on Connors' face.
"Dr. Storm, did you hear that? The experiment has succeeded. We've made progress in human experiments again. Just give me a little more time, and we'll have the finished product."
Dr. Storm's face brightened upon hearing the news of the successful experiment.
"No, his time is running out. We must start human experiments immediately."
Despite experiencing ups and downs just now, Connors, exhausted to the point of collapse, refused Dr. Storm's proposal without hesitation, driven by his inner conscience.
"No! Absolutely not."
"You have no say in this, Dr. Connors. Now that you're fired, pack up and leave."
Dr. Storm said, then activated the instrument to produce several reagents based on the just-successful formula. Without hesitation, he walked out of the laboratory, apparently heading for human experiments.
As for volunteers, just find any hospital for retired soldiers and say it's for a flu vaccine, right?
The laboratory fell silent again, with only Connors' rapid gasps echoing in the space.
After a while, Connors, whose eyes were already bloodshot, seemed even redder. His temperament was no longer calm as before; if one had to use an adjective, it would be hysterical.
"You can't take away everything from me, Osborne!"
*************************************
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