"The neural interface technology has been fully recovered—Rhino's armor is almost assembled, thanks for the energy you provided."
"Yes, let me show you the perfect coordination between ground and air weapons, Oscorp's original creation."
Norman hung up the phone.
Recovering the research from Dr. Otto had gone through a lengthy process. Normally, such procedures would take more than half a year to complete.
But thanks to the mutual help between club members, Norman managed to complete it in less than two days.
Now, he had his sights on another scientist: Adrian Toomes.
Toomes was a true master in the field of electronics, though quite advanced in age.
With multiple patents and inventions, he should have been a millionaire—or at least not struggling financially.
But the doctor had a peculiar quirk: since childhood, he dreamed of flying like a bird—not in an airplane, but with wings attached to his own body, soaring into the sky.
This was his secret. Yet, due to a lack of funds, he took on many projects, one of which was Oscorp's municipal power grid project.
After multiple collaborations, Toomes showed Norman a remarkable machine:
A piece of personal armor that allowed a person to fly freely through the sky.
Norman fell in love with the design at first sight—it was a perfect piece of equipment for a soldier.
Toomes stared blankly at the American soldiers and agents outside his house, with Norman leading the way.
"Norman? What's going on?"
"Dr. Toomes, I'm sorry, can we talk inside?"
Adrian felt uneasy, but he'd rather face Norman than the intimidating men outside his door.
They entered the house. Norman sighed deeply, as if gathering his thoughts and emotions.
"Dr. Toomes, you know the country is at war, don't you?"
"So what?" Toomes began, but then his expression changed as if realizing something. "My invention isn't a military weapon, what are you trying to do?"
"But it has the potential to be a weapon. I'm sorry, old friend, but duty calls.
This isn't a bad thing—you need funding, don't you? The military will sponsor your research fully. We even have new technologies that could solve the final issues with your machine.
And it's already been tested! It works!"
"No, no, no—Norman, I trusted you, shared my secret with you as a friend, and now you're selling me out?!"
The 60-year-old man angrily questioned, his wrinkled face bunching up in rage.
He was a brilliant scientist, a dreamer, fully aware of the potential his invention held.
But all he wanted was to fly freely, not to see his invention used for war.
Norman, the charismatic businessman, could easily gain people's trust—he knew how to read them well.
But trusting a devil has its cost, and now it was Toomes' turn to pay.
"This isn't a betrayal! Look outside, our country is at war! Our boys are dying on the battlefield, the economy is collapsing, terrorism is rampant in the world..."
"Enough! I'm not a child!" Toomes snapped, shaking with fury. "You're nothing but a son of a bitch! I thought you were an inventor like me, but you're just here to steal my invention for war?!"
Norman's expression turned cold. "It's already been decided. You can either hand it over and join the project for the war effort.
Or the soldiers outside will arrest you right now—for the crime of secretly developing a weapon."
Unlike the Lizard serum, Toomes' research had no formal approval process; it was purely an underground project.
Interest? Once Norman had the invention in hand, it was no longer about interest, but about dangerous illegal experimentation.
The feeling of power was intoxicating—Norman thought. With the right connections, he could take whatever he wanted.
He spoke into his intercom: "Begin the search."
Boom!
The door was violently broken open. Nick Fury entered with a team of agents, taking control of the scene.
Toomes' face flushed red. He wanted to protest, but saw an agent already pointing a gun at him.
"So, you can either choose to wake up in a prison cell," Norman said coldly, "or, Dr. Toomes, accept the fact that you'll never fly again in your life."
"Enough!"
Toomes yelled, standing in place, while Norman signaled for the agent to lower his gun.
"...But I can't solve the last issue with the machine."
"Don't worry, I can." Norman beamed with joy and motioned for the soldiers to bring in the equipment.
With the data gathered from Scorpion's suit, Norman felt confident that he could fine-tune the balance between the active bio-monitoring system and the human body.
Norman skillfully accessed Toomes' basement and, using a special device, quickly hacked into the security lock Toomes had set up.
"It's good to have powerful friends," Norman thought, while Toomes was consumed by humiliation.
Norman then entered the basement and found the apparatus.
Just as Toomes had described, it was a lightweight device, designed to allow a person to fly like a bird, without the need for a cockpit.
But it was obvious—humans don't have wings. How would they control them?
It was time for some technological integration.
Norman began connecting his equipment to Toomes' device.
"Dr. Toomes, you'll be glad you made this choice—we truly have the technology to make you feel the wings."
"Brain-computer interface?" Dr. Toomes immediately recognized the component Norman had added to the suit.
"Exactly, a neural interface that links directly to your nervous system. Imagine feeling the wind rushing past your wings, lifting you into the sky...
Only Oscorp has this technology. Now you can enjoy it."
"But... humans don't have wings. Even if you link it to the nervous system, how do you learn to control it?"
"Well, we had a brave test subject who provided us with perfect data."
Dr. Otto had argued for using AI to control the suit, which led to the Scorpion armor being designed that way as well.
That unfortunate test subject was practically forced to operate the suit, with his mind constantly battling the AI for control of his own body.
His senses were distorted under the bio-monitoring system's control, and manipulated into performing certain actions.
The system wasn't perfect, though—intense external shocks could still cause him to lose focus.
Norman made some adjustments. The new design allowed for more autonomy in operating the suit, while reducing the amount of injected gene-altering drugs and modifying the hormonal balance.
He also enhanced the weapon systems. In fact, to accommodate more weaponry, he added his own designed turbine power unit—
"This is an exclusive Oscorp invention, my own design. It works perfectly with the biomechanical wings, making them faster, stronger.
I originally planned to use it for another project, but since you're using it first, no need to thank me, Doctor."
Toomes watched in growing fear as the integration process unfolded, even helping Norman make some modifications to the wings.
He became more and more terrified—
This method of integrating the system into the body... was far too dangerous.
"...How do you know this will work?"
"We've already tested it."
The mechanical wings were modified in real-time, and Toomes' once lightweight and elegant biomechanical wings transformed into deadly, steel-sharpened blades.
Turbojet devices were added to each side, and the once agile armor expanded to cover the entire body, now equipped with miniature missiles and grenade launchers.
Toomes' dream machine, meant to soar through the skies, was now turning into a ruthless and cold killing machine before his very eyes.
Whether in the sky or in the sea, once they were wrapped in the cold steel structures Norman had brought, these machines all transformed into the same thing:
Weapons of death.
"Mm! Mmm—!"
A young man was pushed into the basement, glancing around in terror. Toomes instantly understood what Norman meant by "tested."
"Our brave volunteer, a refugee from that poor place, Latveria. He joined the experiment for the chance to get a U.S. green card.
Let's take a picture—"
"...What happened to the last test subject?"
"Oh, there was a small accident during the experiment, but the country will provide him with a grand funeral, honoring his sacrifice for America's cause, I heard they'll even give him a medal."
Soldiers took out their cameras, but the man tied to the bed was furious—apparently, Norman wasn't telling the truth.
The young man was slowly placed into the modification chamber, his fury suppressed by the cold machines. Humans seemed so small in the face of such technology.
Toomes stood motionless, staring at the small underground lab where he had once toiled day and night.
He had dreamed countless times of the moment his invention would be completed: in that vision, he would don the suit with joy, spread his wings, and soar into the sky.
People would marvel at him, join him, and together they'd revel in the fusion of technology and childhood dreams...
And the breathtaking views from high above.
But now, this device was going to kill a living young man—the same age as Toomes when he had started his own career, full of youthful energy.
This young man would be trapped inside the machine, the sharp wings slashing through the throats of victims, missiles and bullets raining down on the panicked crowds, blood painting the blue sky red...
This was his invention. And his sin.
At over sixty years old, Adrian suddenly pushed past the agents and rushed to the operating table, screaming in a frenzy:
"This is my invention!"
"Put it on me!"
Slash!
The scalpel cut into his body.
Everyone nearby was stunned, including Norman. But he quickly regained his composure.
"Anyway, we have what we need. If he wants to try it, let him."
So thus the Vulture was born.