"Kill me. Sentence me to death!"
In the precinct holding cell, Dr. Octavius's arms were shackled to the corner. Head drooping, he sobbed—remorse and regret flooding him.
When Batman knocked him out, he woke up here. After a moment of dazed relief that he was "normal" again, the memories of his rampage crashed back in.
Arms. Lab. Sewers. Police. Cables. Batman…
"Doctor, we'll arrange for New York's top surgeons to remove your arms. Before that, you need to understand what you've done."
Officer Aug stood outside the bars, watching him.
"You removed equipment worth hundreds of millions from your lab without authorization, illegally tapped the city's underground power lines… and electrocuted thirty-one officers."
More than half of the dead were Aug's Major Crimes colleagues; the rest were Brooklyn Special Operations. He kept himself steady, but when he said "thirty-one," his voice still shook.
A numb buzz went through Octavius's brain. He stared at his hands—hands that had taken thirty-one lives.
To Aug, the world-class physicist before him looked like a pitiful, hateful man.
"You can request counsel. You also have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used in court."
"No," Octavius lifted his head. "I refuse any defense… Give me the death penalty. Let me atone for those who died by my hands."
"That's not how this will go." Aug shook his head, turned, and waved two officers over. "Watch him. Don't let him kill himself."
Tears streamed down Octavius's face. He couldn't accept that the man who devoted himself to fusion—to ending energy scarcity, to ending the cycle of overworked men taking their frustration out on their families—had killed thirty-one people before his dream could be realized.
"If I hadn't rushed it… If I'd listened to Peter… If I'd protected the control chip…" His heart twisted.
A few rooms away, in an office, Chief George Stacy met a man with a mouthful of an agency title.
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division… Why have I never heard of you? Give me a moment to verify."
Agent Phil Coulson seemed prepared for that. "This is a letter signed by the Secretary of Defense," he said, handing it over.
Stacy read it carefully—authentic. He looked up. "Alright, Agent Coulson. What do you want?"
"Per our information, Dr. Octavius did not intentionally commit murder. The chip that mediated control between his brain and the arms was destroyed, causing loss of control," Coulson said. "And the chip's destruction was triggered by your officers' taser rounds."
Stacy met Coulson's stare, unblinking. "Are you saying your organization wants him released?"
"No. I'm saying that instead of life or death, we can offer him a better path—one that lets his talents save far more lives than were lost," Coulson replied.
Stacy said nothing.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. will care for the victims' families. Dr. Octavius will disappear from public view. We'll handle this with sensitivity," Coulson added.
"You should change that name," Stacy muttered, dropping the Octavius topic.
"We'll consider it," Coulson smiled, then walked toward Octavius's cell.
…
"The 'Tesseract' is in the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D.—a secret, multinational outfit."
Batman walked Manhattan's streets instead of taking a cab, unhurried, stopping and starting. Tony Stark knew little beyond this: HYDRA found it; after the war, Howard Stark dredged it up from the Arctic.
"I need to build a business empire—and a science division—to join their research on the Tesseract."
He wouldn't steal it. That would do more harm than good. For the long goal—returning to Gotham—he had to think long-term.
Which meant a Batcave: a private hub with surveillance, forensics, workshop, armory, Batmobile bay, Batwing platform, med bay, training zone…
He chose to walk for another reason: site survey. One candidate was the City Hall station in central Brooklyn.
Built in 1904 and long closed, the abandoned station was ornate even by modern standards—brass chandeliers, cut amethyst skylights, bronze plaques—like a pocket museum.
Batman didn't linger on the finery. He cared about secrecy and buildable volume.
"One level only—I'll need to dig down or laterally. Plan space for the Batmobile, Batwing, and future big servers and generators.
"I need to buy the surrounding parcels to keep it secure and to mask construction noise."
With deep engineering chops and experience designing more than fifty Batcaves in Gotham, he needed little time to decide: this forgotten City Hall station was one of the best candidates.
~~~
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