As soon as George Stacy left, Norman Osborn arrived at the police station.
As the chairman of Oscorp, Norman had no trouble making his way to the detention cell where Spencer Smythe, the so-called Spider-Slayer, was being held. He stood outside the iron bars and coughed twice.
"Norman!"
At the sound, Spencer, handcuffed and frantic, scrambled to the cell door, gripping the bars with both hands as if he could squeeze his head through the gaps.
"It's not a spider—it's a bat!"
"A bat?" Norman Osborn's brow furrowed. "Tell me exactly what happened that day."
Spencer didn't hesitate, recounting how he'd tracked "Spider-Man" heading toward Central Park, only to discover it wasn't Spider-Man at all but some figure marked by a bat symbol. He spilled every detail to Norman, concluding with a plea:
"Norman, I still have a chance, don't I? Get me out of here, and I can still create value for you!"
"I've got kids at home who need their father. I can't stay locked up here forever!"
Though Spencer's current charge was "destruction of protected flora and fauna," the law still meant a three-to-five-year sentence.
"You said his attacks were more ruthless, more violent?" Norman asked, his tone pensive.
Spencer nodded vigorously, unable to forget how, despite his arsenal of techniques, he'd been taken down by lime powder, electric shocks, and explosions.
"Norman, I swear, next time I'll capture him alive. Just get me out of here!"
Whoosh!
In a flash, Norman Osborn's hand shot through the bars, seizing Spencer's throat in a vise-like grip. His expression twisted into something menacing.
"Next time? No. You've already failed once. I won't keep wasting money on you."
Despite being in his fifties, on the cusp of old age, Norman lifted Spencer off the ground with one hand as effortlessly as an eagle's talon.
"As a core member of Oscorp, you know too many secrets. I need you to take your own life by midnight tonight…"
"Or else your children, your family, your friends… they'll die one by one because of you."
Thud.
Norman released his grip, letting Spencer collapse to the floor. As he turned to leave, the twisted expression vanished, replaced by a somber look of concern over Oscorp's recent murder case.
"Father."
Harry Osborn had stayed in the car, not accompanying his father into the station.
Seeing Norman emerge with a troubled expression, Harry quickly got out, opened the passenger door for him, and slid back into the driver's seat.
"Do we know who the killer is? What did Spencer say?"
Norman shook his head, his face heavy with disappointment.
"No. He doesn't even know what the killer looks like. And because of some 'bat,' he's been charged with deliberately destroying protected plants or animals or some nonsense. He won't be out for years."
Harry floored the accelerator, merging the car into the congested flow of New York traffic.
"I remember Spencer has a paralyzed son, about my age, right?"
Norman's expression remained grim.
"That's right, Harry. Tomorrow, visit Spencer's family. Leave them enough money to get by. It's the least Oscorp can do to compensate them."
Harry nodded repeatedly, honking impatiently at the snarled traffic ahead.
"What's with all these cars from Brooklyn heading to Manhattan? Is today some kind of holiday?"
"Chief Stacy, I'm Captain Feck, special operations leader from the Brooklyn precinct, assigned to assist you. All residents near the suspected location of Dr. Octavius have been evacuated to surrounding areas. We're ready to move."
At a Brooklyn intersection, Chief George Stacy shook hands with Captain Feck of the Brooklyn precinct's special operations team.
Based on information from the New York Power Authority and the Brooklyn precinct, an abnormal spike in electricity usage had occurred shortly after Dr. Octavius's disappearance yesterday, suggesting a clear connection.
The area with the unusual power activity was this very intersection, spanning roughly a one-kilometer radius.
"Thank you, Captain Feck," Stacy said courteously before issuing orders. "Teams One, Two, and Three, enter the sewers from three directions and search for any suspicious signs."
"Captain Feck, you lead your team into the sewers from the remaining direction."
Feck saluted and immediately began rallying his team to move alongside the Manhattan precinct officers.
Meanwhile, Batman slipped past the police and entered Dr. Octavius's laboratory.
The room, once filled with a dozen large and small experimental devices, now stood empty, save for claw-like marks the size of motorcycle helmets etched into the floor and walls.
"Those four metal tentacles…" Batman muttered. "Inspired by the Squid Man, designed to assist with his nuclear fusion experiments."
"He attached them to his back and moved all the equipment."
Batman let out a silent sigh.
Peter Parker was too poor to risk suspicion, even if Batman pulled out ten thousand dollars in cash. Because of this, Batman had never told Dr. Octavius he was working to secure funding for his experiments.
He'd planned to raise thirty million dollars in three days, even rushing to register a company to funnel the money to Octavius.
But he was too late. Dr. Octavius's obsession with achieving clean nuclear fusion had outpaced Batman's expectations.
"I can't go into the sewers now. Without the Batsuit, confronting the police or searching for Octavius would expose me completely."
"Even with the Batsuit, I haven't built a working relationship with the NYPD. They'd shoot and arrest me before handing Octavius over."
Batman's grasp of the situation was crystal clear. He didn't linger in the lab, instead heading back to Manhattan.
He needed to keep searching for a lawyer. With Oscorp now embroiled in scandals involving human experimentation and a murder case, its stock prices were sure to plummet.
Before, his goal was to stop Kingpin from successfully laundering his dirty money. Now, it was to ensure Kingpin couldn't walk away unscathed.
In either case, Batman needed a reliable lawyer to bring Kingpin to justice—unless, of course, he found Kingpin himself first.
If he could locate Kingpin and secure evidence of his crimes, Batman could send him straight to prison without the hassle of involving a lawyer.
Meanwhile, in a lavish Manhattan mansion, one of Oscorp's shareholders, Valentin, sat trembling, his legs shaking as the acrid stench of urine made those around him hold their breath.
"You see, Oscorp will be reeling for months, maybe years, from your human experiments and that underground massacre. Yet I'm still willing to buy your shares at a premium."
"As a businessman, I believe no one is more generous than me. Sign this agreement, and you'll be my friend. Otherwise…"
Valentin kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on a pair of polished dress shoes and crisp white suit pants.
He didn't dare look up, not with a sharp pair of scissors pressed against his ear, ready to pierce with the slightest pressure.
"I voluntarily transfer my fifteen percent stake to you, Mr. Wilson Fisk," Valentin said cautiously.
Standing before him, refusing to sell his shares despite Oscorp's crisis and instead forcing acquisitions, was none other than "Kingpin" Wilson Fisk.
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