Dense layers of black webbing—inside and out—had cocooned Doctor Octopus into a near-perfect sphere.
Batman didn't dump the tranquilized Doc Ock at the precinct door. He hauled him back to the abandoned shipyard.
He planned to repair the damaged control chip overnight so Octavius wouldn't go berserk again once he was in police custody.
The job wasn't hard. He pulled the broken unit, spent half an hour reverse-engineering it, then another hour to fully fix it. The real delay was the lack of proper tools at the shipyard—he made do with whatever was on hand—and he added a failsafe so a future failure wouldn't send Octavius out of control again.
"Let me go, you—" As the sedative wore off, Doc Ock glared at the sharp ears above Batman's cowl. "—you vampire!"
Batman glanced over, kept working, and tossed back, "Be glad I don't have an operating table here."
"Operating table? What are you going to do?" Octavius demanded.
"Take those arms off you."
At that, he exploded. "They're part of me! When I get out of these black threads, you'd better pray I don't tear you to pieces!"
The revamped web—ten centimeters thick, black and tacky—left him thrashing uselessly.
"Done."
Moments later, Batman pinched the chip between his fingers, pressed Octavius's head forward to bare the nape, and—
"Don't touch me! When I get free, I swear—"
Before he finished, the repaired chip clicked into the junction where spine met tentacle. His head sagged.
Electronic signals took over from raw neural impulses, reclaiming control of the arms.
"Haah!"
Octavius drew a deep breath. The twisted mask he'd worn under the arms' control eased back into the face of a brilliant scientist. His hand flew to the chip; relief and lingering fear crossed his features.
"The arms were controlling me… My head was full of mechanical static every second. Now it's quiet…"
He looked at the man who had beaten him at his worst—and then rescued him from being a puppet. "Who are you? How can I thank you?"
"I'm Batman," came the reply—and the moment Octavius's face hinted at a smile, Batman stepped in and chopped him on the back of the head.
He wanted Octavius back on fusion research, but he couldn't make decisions for the thirty-plus dead officers.
He left Octavius on the precinct steps with a note explaining the tentacle situation. This time he didn't immediately disappear; he waited in the shadows.
By dawn, a crowd had gathered, snapping photos of the tightly bundled Octavius until George Stacy arrived and cleared them out. Only after Batman watched Stacy read the note and carefully escort Octavius to a holding cell did he leave.
"Squid-Man gets the death penalty. As for Dr. Octavius…"
Back at the shipyard, Batman shed the suit and hit his daily training—strength, agility, muscle memory, conditioned reflexes, danger sense.
"Octavius killed 30+ officers—while under the arms' control."
Batman wouldn't meddle in the courts. He'd never claimed to be the law. On the facts, Octavius might face a fixed term or life, maybe even get lab access in custody—he was still one of the world's top nuclear physicists.
That meant Batman's plan to fund Octavius's fusion work was likely finished—unless he could find another physicist of the same caliber.
"…Like Bruce Banner?" The thought sparked. "Silver Sable's company went hunting the Hulk to pull Ross's protection from Oscorp."
"But now that everything at Oscorp is exposed, finding the Hulk doesn't matter much—and I'm not stealing Octavius's work."
"I need another way to raise capital."
After training, he checked in at Peter Parker's apartment and bought the Daily Bugle. According to NYPD records he'd hacked earlier, the lease had less than two weeks left; he wouldn't renew.
With Octavius likely headed to prison and no better investments on deck, Batman decided to allocate some cash to build his own Batcave.
But first, not the cave—the Osborns.
He hadn't forgotten what he and Black Cat found in B3: the prime suspects were father and son.
"Queens. Osborn manor."
He flagged a cab, leaned back, and snatched a rare moment's sleep.
"Maybe it's time to put the Batmobile on the list…"
The thought flashed—and he was out. He was exhausted.
Meanwhile, on a New York street, a black-haired man in a suit was giving a sidewalk speech; at its peak he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.
"I'm Martin Li. Before I became a successful businessman, I lived on the streets. Every good soul I met helped me become who I am."
"Friends, we were all thrown away like trash. And now someone uses our lives as experiments! Do those white-coated devils think no one cares if the homeless die?"
"Today I say: enough!"
"When the 50 bodies from Oscorp's Sublevel B2 were revealed, I made a decision."
"I will provide food, shelter, emergency aid, and job training to the homeless and unemployed—so you are no longer society's castoffs!"
"Here there are no experiments—only hot soup and clean beds. No lies—only family helping family. We will build our own shelters so every homeless person remembers: your life is worth more than any experiment!"
"I hereby announce FEAST—the 'Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter & Training' center—opens today!"
Clapclapclap—
Thunderous applause. Martin Li looked out at the cheering, tear-streaked faces of the homeless and beggars around him.