"You're telling me there are vampires in this city? Like in the movies—only come out at night and drink blood?"
George Stacy looked at the suspect in the interrogation room.
The morning after the mobsters two nights ago and the Squid-Man yesterday, another group of trussed-up criminals had been found at the precinct door. Every one of them was injured—at the light end, broken hands, feet, or ribs; at the severe end, fractured spines and twisted necks.
Whoever did it clearly understood the human body: the gangsters—each with a record—were rendered completely unable to fight, yet left barely breathing.
"Yes, a vampire! I saw him with my own eyes!"
Handcuffed, Paul shouted in despair. No matter how he explained, no one in the station believed "vampires" were real.
"He was probably beaten senseless by that unknown vigilante. Have the doctor sedate him."
George Stacy shook his head and turned away from the small-time thug named Paul. He called his assistant, Aug.
"Are the identities of the Squid-Man's victims all confirmed? The hearing's tomorrow. If the evidence is airtight, he's looking at the death penalty.
"And coordinate with the other precincts—step up night patrols."
Aug nodded and hurried back to his desk—only to find the victims list he'd spent a day and night compiling had vanished.
Thanks to tips from the mystery man who delivered the Squid-Man, the precinct had saved a lot of legwork; if the list was gone, they'd be back to square one.
"Who took my list?" he shouted to his coworkers.
Everyone shook their heads.
"Damn it, I know I left it right here."
Baffled, Aug bent to search. Nothing. When he looked back up, the list lay neatly on his blotter.
Instinctively he glanced toward the front door, just in time to see a black-clad, hat-brimmed figure stride out.
"Hey! Stop!"
Aug bolted after him, other officers grabbing their sidearms and following without knowing why.
"Aug! What's gotten into you?" Chief George Stacy ran out too, finding Aug minus a target.
"Someone just stole my report—well, not stole it. He put it back," Aug said, still confused. "It's all victim data. What is he trying to do?"
"Whatever he's doing, assign protection to those victims for the next few days." Stacy clapped his assistant on the shoulder.
Three corners away, Batman ditched the black clothes and hat into a trash can and walked the Manhattan streets in a plaid shirt and casual pants.
"Hired by gangs—the Squid-Man took money for eight contract kills. Seven targets were members of various New York crews…"
He replayed the list from the station and fell silent. The only non-gang target… was Batman himself.
He bought a Daily Bugle from a corner stand but didn't read it yet—he headed back to the abandoned shipyard.
There he worked out with the derelict machinery and stacks of counterweights while thinking through next steps.
The original plan was to pour the $7.6 million from the Squid-Man's stash into gear and keep hitting the mobs—especially Kingpin—to build more capital.
But the suit problem was patched via the Spider-Slayer; that could wait.
So: keep smashing gangs, keep stacking cash, and watch for market opportunities to double the pot. Between nights as Batman in Gotham, he was always also Bruce Wayne the investor; moving money was second nature.
"When the war chest is big enough, form a company and take a stake in Dr. Octavius's fusion project."
Thud. He dropped a 25-ton stack of plates—Peter Parker's current strength limit—onto the floor.
Training wasn't just to learn this body; it was insurance against the day—however unlikely—when Peter's mutated physiology failed and the strength disappeared. If that happened, conditioning plus a specialized suit could still keep him formidable.
—But that kind of suit costs eight figures a set. Without a business empire, it's fantasy.
"'Oscorp announces a major breakthrough in Dr. Octavius's fusion energy program; outside investment now open.'"
Post-workout, he picked up the Bugle. The front-page headline made him rub his chin.
"Fake. Yesterday Norman Osborn froze every project—including Octavius's—to focus on the super-soldier serum…
"Is this a signal to mislead outsiders? Use fusion as bait, then divert the funds?
"No one's that gullible. Osborn's just flailing."
He stacked the paper with the others, made his token appearance at Peter Parker's apartment, then headed straight for Octavius's lab.
The Bugle headline might be a smokescreen, but fusion energy was very real—and central to his plan.
"Here's hoping nothing's gone wrong for Dr. Octavius."
The lab, in Brooklyn, was about an hour's walk from Peter's place.
"I could throw on the Spider-Man suit and swing there in minutes…"
He killed the thought, stepped to the curb, and flagged a cab.
"Peter."
In the lab, the man who'd been buoyant days ago now looked drained. He managed only a weak greeting. The instruments were powered down; Octavius slumped in a chair, staring blankly.
He'd found the problem in his fusion setup; with time, he could troubleshoot it step by step and finish the work. But yesterday Oscorp had cut his funding. Everything ground to a halt.
"What's your plan, Doctor?" Batman sat beside him.
"I thought I'd seek new sponsors, but look at this." Octavius handed him the day's Bugle. "Oscorp just slammed that door on me."
It was the same fake headline. Batman accepted the paper and pretended to read.
His eyes, though, were on something new in the lab since his last visit—four metal tentacles, very much like the ones behind the Squid-Man he'd personally delivered to the police.