Chapter 214: Be On Guard
When Rikers Island erupted in chaos, external police reinforcements found themselves blocked two to three miles from the prison perimeter.
Couldn't get through.
Yet the prison's own guards had done absolutely nothing to stop the inmate riot.
Batman wouldn't take lives arbitrarily, but even he understood that legally, those guards had every right—arguably the responsibility—to shoot ringleaders among the prisoners. That was standard containment protocol, designed to demonstrate consequences and prevent escalation.
The guards hadn't fired a single shot. Instead, Daredevil had arrived to drive the inmates back toward their cells, only to find himself surrounded and outnumbered.
If the other "Batman" hadn't appeared when he did, Daredevil might not have survived.
The guards were compromised. And if the guards were compromised, so was the NYPD.
"Skin wrapped tight over bone. Virtually no muscle mass. Hands ending in claws. Hair past shoulder length. Mouth reeking of blood..."
Daredevil's voice was clinical as he described the other "Batman's" appearance:
"Carried the smell of stagnant water and rot, like something crawling out of the sewers. Based purely on physical characteristics, he actually resembles a bat more than you do."
Batman ignored the comparison. "What did he say to you?"
Daredevil considered the question. "He called himself 'Batman.' Beyond that? Nothing. But I have a theory."
Batman remained silent, waiting.
Daredevil didn't drag it out. "He's a newly turned vampire, still figuring out what he is. Testing out a new identity. Maybe he thinks you're fictional—an urban legend he can claim for himself. His appearance is closer to an actual bat, so he took the name."
The moment the words left his mouth, Daredevil turned and dropped off the rooftop's edge, vanishing into the night.
One of the rare occasions Daredevil had been first to leave.
"He's hiding something."
"Concluding 'vampire' solely from blood scent is premature. There's another factor driving that assessment."
"He refused to elaborate. Left immediately rather than risk exposure. Which means the information itself would reveal capabilities he wants concealed."
"Daredevil navigates like a sighted person. Not just through hearing and smell?"
Batman rapidly pieced together the situation. Their previous cooperation at Oscorp Tower had established trust—enough for Daredevil to offer assistance. But not enough to risk exposing the full extent of his abilities.
The analysis took seconds. Batman dropped from the rooftop, traveled several blocks through shadow, then descended into the sewers. He removed the armored suit and emerged topside as Peter Parker.
This time, his destination was Metro-General Hospital.
Professor Miles Warren's room resembled a medical convention. Any single doctor present could have sustained a private practice. Together, they represented the pinnacle of New York's medical establishment.
Their presence wasn't coincidental.
When Norman Osborn entered psychiatric care, New York's biology community had remained detached. Professionally uninvolved.
When Professor Connors disappeared, the biology community grew concerned. Uncertain.
When Professor Morbius vanished, the biology community erupted in alarm.
Now, watching renowned biologist, geneticist, and specialist Miles Warren become potentially the fourth scientist to die or disappear, New York's biological research establishment was approaching panic.
Their concern wasn't necessarily personal. They were stunned by what Oscorp might have developed—research so dangerous it had claimed four prominent scientists consecutively.
Corporate espionage hadn't yielded useful intelligence. So the community had unified, determined to save Warren at any cost.
Which explained why Warren occupied Metro-General's most protected room, attended by every relevant specialist simultaneously.
Even Dr. Strange was present—the notoriously aloof surgeon who typically avoided hospital politics and barely deigned to speak with administrators.
"Professor Warren's vitals have stabilized. The entire New York biology community is pressuring this hospital. We cannot afford failure. Warren must survive. At minimum, he needs to regain consciousness—"
The oversized private room buzzed with sterile-suited doctors and nurses, faces masked, only eyes visible.
When Batman reached the observation window, he immediately spotted Dr. Strange—the same surgeon who'd performed that excruciating symbiote extraction without anesthesia.
Different circumstances this time. Then, he'd been Batman. Now, he was Peter Parker.
Batman raised one hand in greeting anyway, then wrote "P.P." on the observation window with his fingertip.
Batman had met Strange in both identities. As Batman during the symbiote surgery. As Peter Parker once before.
Strange stood at the outer edge of the medical team, clearly irritated by administrative pressure. Spotting Peter through the glass provided an escape route.
"Someone's here for me," Strange muttered to a nearby nurse, then strode through the isolation barrier to the corridor.
"You're... Peter Parker?" Strange tilted his head, uncertain.
Batman nodded. "That's right, Doctor."
"I remember. You accompanied Dr. Octavius for surgery last time." Strange's expression sharpened. "How's his recovery?"
Before Batman could respond, Strange answered his own question: "Should be perfect. My surgery was perfect."
"It was," Batman confirmed, quickly redirecting. "How is Professor Warren?"
"Not good." Strange's tone carried disapproval at the abrupt subject change.
They regarded each other in silence.
Finally, Batman tried again. "What's happening in there?"
Strange explained the biology community's coordinated pressure campaign.
Insular professional politics. Massive implications within the field, but zero visibility to the outside world.
They walked the corridor together. Neither favored prolonged conversation. Several seconds of silence stretched between them.
Batman was mentally cataloging hospital surveillance gaps, planning where to position listening devices once Alfred AI became operational.
Then Strange pulled a private business card from his pocket and extended it.
Batman didn't immediately accept. He studied Strange carefully.
Reputation painted Strange as brilliantly talented but profoundly arrogant and self-serving. Offering his private card voluntarily was unprecedented behavior—unless he considered the recipient useful.
Batman rapidly assessed what value Peter Parker's identity might hold. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted the card. The number matched the one Dr. Octavius had once dialed.