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Thick, pitch-black spider silk wrapped tightly around Doctor Octopus—three layers inside, three layers outside—compressing him into an immobile cocoon. The silk wasn't ordinary. Batman had altered its formula himself, reinforcing its tensile strength and elasticity until even mechanical tentacles couldn't tear it apart.
Batman did not dump the unconscious Doctor Octopus at the entrance of a police station.
Instead, he brought him back to the Abandoned Shipyard.
This wasn't mercy.
It was caution.
If Doctor Otto were sent directly to the police while his control chip remained damaged, there was a real risk that the tentacles would regain control—and another massacre would follow. Batman wouldn't allow that.
He worked through the night.
First, he carefully removed the destroyed chip at the base of Otto's spine. Then he spent half an hour studying its structure, signal flow, and failure points. Another full hour went into repairing and reinforcing it.
The biggest problem wasn't skill—it was equipment.
The shipyard lacked precision tools, so Batman improvised. Welding parts meant for cranes. Micro-adjustments done by hand. He added an extra protective layer to the chip, designed to prevent total neural takeover even if it suffered partial damage again.
As the anesthetic wore off, Doctor Octopus stirred.
"Let go of me, you—!" Otto snarled, staring at Batman's pointed-eared silhouette. "You vampire!"
Batman didn't look up from his work.
"You should be grateful," he said calmly, "that I don't have an operating table here."
Otto froze. "An operating table? What are you planning to do?"
"Remove your tentacles."
The reaction was immediate.
"These tentacles are part of me!" Otto roared, struggling violently. "When I break free from these black threads, you'd better pray I don't tear you apart!"
The spider silk—nearly ten centimeters thick—didn't budge. Otto could only thrash uselessly.
"Repair complete."
Batman stood, holding the restored chip. He approached Otto, secured his head, and exposed the nape of his neck.
"Don't touch me!" Otto shouted. "When I get free, I swear—"
Too late.
The chip was reconnected.
The moment it locked into place, Otto's body went limp.
Electronic signals replaced direct neural control. The tentacles fell silent.
"Hoh—!"
Otto inhaled sharply, his chest heaving. The madness drained from his expression, replaced by shock… and clarity.
He reached back instinctively, touching the chip.
"They're quiet," he whispered. "The noise… the constant screaming in my head—it's gone."
He looked up at Batman, eyes filled with fear, relief, and disbelief.
"You defeated me… and saved me," Otto said. "Who are you?"
"I am Batman."
For a brief moment, Otto smiled.
Batman immediately stepped forward and smacked him on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious again.
He wanted Otto alive.
He wanted Otto sane.
But Batman would not decide justice on behalf of the thirty-plus police officers who were dead.
Later that night, Batman placed Doctor Otto—still wrapped in spider silk—at the entrance of the police station, along with a detailed note explaining the condition of the tentacles and the repaired chip.
This time, Batman didn't disappear immediately.
He stayed in the shadows.
At dawn, crowds gathered, snapping photos of the infamous "Squid Man." Police struggled to maintain order until Captain George Stacy arrived.
Batman watched silently as George Stacy found the note, read it carefully, and personally escorted Doctor Otto into detention.
Only then did Batman leave.
---
Back at the Abandoned Shipyard, Batman removed his suit and began his daily mandatory training.
Not just strength.
Not just speed.
Muscle memory. Conditioned reflexes. Danger perception.
Every movement drilled until instinct replaced thought.
"Doctor Otto killed over thirty police officers," Batman reflected, striking a heavy bag. "But he did so while under the control of the tentacles."
Batman had no intention of interfering with the legal system.
He was not the law.
Objectively speaking, Otto might receive life imprisonment—or even a reduced sentence. Governments had a habit of protecting geniuses. With his status as one of the world's top nuclear physicists, Otto could easily end up continuing research under state supervision.
That posed a problem.
Batman's original plan—to invest in Otto's nuclear fusion research—was now unlikely.
"Unless I find another top-level physicist…"
A name surfaced.
"…Bruce Banner."
Batman paused.
"Silver Sable's company is already hunting the Hulk to block General Ross from protecting Osborn," he thought. "But with Osborn's crimes now exposed, pursuing Banner has little value."
He exhaled.
"And I won't steal another man's achievements."
Funding had to come from elsewhere.
After training, Batman followed his routine—stopping by Peter Parker's apartment and buying a copy of the Daily Bugle.
According to police records he'd hacked earlier, the apartment lease would expire in less than half a month.
Batman had no intention of renewing it.
With Otto imprisoned and no immediate investment opportunities, he decided to allocate funds toward something long overdue:
The Batcave.
Still, that wasn't the most urgent matter.
Batman hadn't forgotten what he and Black Cat uncovered in the third basement of the Osborn Building.
The prime suspects remained clear.
Norman Osborn.
Harry Osborn.
"Queens. Osborn Manor."
Batman hailed a taxi, leaned back against the seat, and allowed himself a rare moment of rest.
"…It might be time to put the Batmobile on the agenda too."
The thought barely finished forming before exhaustion claimed him.
He fell asleep.
---
At the same time, on the streets of New York, a black-haired man in a neat suit stood before a crowd.
His voice trembled with emotion.
"I am Martin Li," he said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. "Before I became a businessman, I was once homeless too."
"It was the kindness of strangers that saved me."
The crowd listened, silent.
"Some people treat the homeless like trash," Martin Li continued. "Now we know the truth—they were treated like laboratory materials."
"Do those white-coated devils think no one notices when a homeless person dies?"
His voice hardened.
"Today, I say—Enough!"
"After the discovery of fifty homeless corpses beneath the Osborn Group, I made my decision."
"I will provide food, shelter, emergency aid, and job training."
"No experiments. Only hot soup and clean beds."
"No lies. Only people supporting each other."
"We will build shelters with our own hands—so every homeless person remembers this truth:"
"Your life is more precious than any experiment in the world."
He raised his hands.
"I hereby announce the establishment of FEAST—the Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter, and Training Center!"
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Thunderous applause erupted.
Tears streamed down faces hardened by years of hunger and cold.
Hope had returned to the streets.