The Manhattan Police Department, ravaged by an unknown bomber, had relocated to a new precinct, its files and officers in tow. Inside this unfamiliar station, Batman—disguised as Peter Parker—stood before Dr. Otto Octavius's detention cell.
Next to Dr. Otto's cell was the one holding Kingpin, but Batman didn't spare the crime lord a glance. His focus was on Dr. Otto, who sat with his head bowed, lost in thought.
"Peter?" Dr. Otto's voice broke the silence as he looked up, startled. His face softened into a genuine smile upon seeing the young man he believed to be Peter Parker.
After Norman Osborn had abruptly terminated his nuclear fusion research, Peter had been the first to visit him in the lab. Now, locked behind bars, Dr. Otto found it fitting that, aside from S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Peter Parker was the first to come see him.
"I heard about the bombing at the old precinct," Batman said, his tone measured but warm, as if he were merely a concerned student. "Thanks to you, they pulled someone out of the rubble alive. The police just released him—cleared of all charges."
Dr. Otto's gaze dropped briefly. "I saved one person," he said quietly. "But it's not enough."
He wasn't wallowing in self-condemnation anymore. After his talks with S.H.I.E.L.D., Dr. Otto had found clarity about his path forward. "Peter, you might not know yet, but in a few days, once I get these tentacles off my back, I'll have a measure of freedom again." His voice carried a spark of determination. "I'm going to restart my nuclear fusion project. And I've figured out how to fund it."
The iron bars of the cell separated Batman from Dr. Otto. As Peter Parker—chairman of Parker Industries and a student at Empire State University—he lacked the authority to have the bars opened for a face-to-face talk. Still, he leaned in, letting curiosity color his expression, channeling Bruce Wayne's polished acting skills. "Really?" he asked, his voice bright with intrigue.
"Exactly," Dr. Otto replied, gesturing to the mechanical tentacles coiled behind him. "Before the bombing, some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent tried to recruit me. When I turned him down, he demanded my tentacles." He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I was so obsessed with fusion energy that I overlooked the tech in these things. I built them almost on a whim, you know. There's nothing else in the world that can link to nerves and move like a real limb."
He paused, his eyes lighting up with purpose. "I should refine this technology—not as tentacles, but as prosthetics."
Batman nodded, his expression thoughtful. In Peter Parker's youthful tone, he said, "If we could make prosthetics that let people with disabilities move as freely as anyone else, that'd be worth pursuing."
The mention of technology set Dr. Otto off, his words tumbling out with rare enthusiasm. He hadn't spoken this much since giving statements to the police. "The challenge is preventing the mechanical systems from overriding the brain," he explained. "Maybe the solution is 'reading' neural signals instead of hardwiring a connection like mine." He leaned forward, his voice dropping with conviction. "I'd price the prosthetics just above cost. There are tens of millions of people with disabilities worldwide—a massive market. The profits could fund my fusion research and change the world."
He straightened, his gaze resolute. "I'll do something meaningful, something to ease my conscience."
Even with S.H.I.E.L.D. pulling strings to fast-track his legal proceedings and grant him limited freedom, Dr. Otto hadn't forgiven himself. He carried the weight of the thirty-one police officers killed when his tentacles—under their own control—had driven him to madness. Changing the world was his penance.
Batman studied the brilliant scientist in silence. In Gotham, technology had long surpassed this world's capabilities; both nuclear fusion and advanced prosthetics were within reach. Yet here, in this less advanced era, Dr. Otto was a single formula away from cracking fusion. Even his ideas for prosthetic control echoed methods already proven in Gotham's future.
After a moment of thought, Batman spoke, his voice steady. "Dr. Otto, I stumbled onto something during a school experiment—a new type of material."
As Peter Parker, the unassuming university student, he wove a careful lie, framing the secondary material of the Batcape as a serendipitous discovery. "I raised some funds recently by offering tech services to big companies. With that, I bought a factory to produce this material."
Dr. Otto's eyes gleamed with interest. He studied Peter, whose plaid shirt and unshaven chin gave him the look of a scrappy young genius. "Peter," he said, admiration clear in his voice, "you're sharper than I was at your age."
"With a factory, your business will take off," Dr. Otto continued. "I can offer you the space, funding, and equipment you need. I want to work with you, Dr. Otto."
Batman's true purpose for the visit slipped out, measured and deliberate.
"Prosthetics, new materials, nuclear fusion…" Dr. Otto murmured, his eyes alight with possibility. If not for the bars between them, he might have pulled Peter into a bear hug. He could already see it—a future where energy was limitless, new materials revolutionized industries, and people with disabilities ran free.
On the twentieth floor of the Osborn Group's headquarters, in a sterile laboratory, Professor Curtis Connors let out a heavy sigh. He stared at the lifeless white mouse in a beaker, its failed regeneration a stark reminder of his own limitations. The empty sleeve of his right arm swayed slightly as he exhaled.
As a lead scientist and shareholder at the Osborn Group, Curt Connors was no ordinary researcher. He was a reptilian biologist, driven by a singular obsession. Years ago, as a military doctor, he'd saved countless lives on the battlefield, only to lose his right arm to injury. The amputation ended his surgical career, pushing him to study the regenerative abilities of reptiles with relentless fervor.
But progress had stalled. The Osborn Group was in disarray, its experiments halted by internal chaos. The brief resumption of his research came at a steep cost: the disappearance of his friend, Norman Osborn. Just this morning, a boardroom clash between Batman and Hell's Kitchen's crime lord, Kingpin, had thrown the company into further turmoil.
Now, another failed experiment tested Connors's fraying patience. He adjusted his glasses with his left hand, forcing himself to refocus. "Prosthetics are a stopgap, not a solution," he muttered. "Not just for me, but for everyone like me. I have to perfect limb regeneration."
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