"Doctor, how much funding do you need to keep the experiment going?"
Batman set down the Daily Bugle and asked.
"That's the problem," Dr. Octavius said, frowning. "I'm in the final phase. All I really need now are maintenance costs and electricity. Compared to the hundreds of millions we spent up front, it's negligible."
"But it's exactly this 'negligible' part that's become my unsolvable headache… Thirty million. With another thirty million dollars, I can finish my fusion research!"
Batman currently had only $7.6 million—barely half of what Octavius needed.
Octavius wasn't pinning hopes on the young man in front of him; he was just venting about Oscorp yanking the funding on a whim.
"Thirty million…" Batman did the math in his head.
In Gotham he'd spent far more than that on a single Batmobile, but here in New York, he couldn't produce it himself.
"Give me three days. I'm confident I can turn seven million into thirty. And Oscorp pulling your funding might be my best chance to get a stake," he thought, then said aloud:
"Doctor, I have an idea… can I see the contract you signed with Oscorp before the project started?"
"You want to go the legal route? It won't work." Octavius shook his head, but still stood and handed over the paper contract. "Even if Oscorp breaches, all I get is five years' usage rights to the equipment."
Batman said nothing, reading carefully.
Just as Octavius had said: even if Oscorp withdrew its investment for subjective reasons, the fusion lab wouldn't become Octavius's personal property. He had the right to use the equipment, not dispose of it—and he was obligated to maintain it. If Oscorp restored funding and the machines had problems, Octavius would still be responsible.
Batman didn't waste time nitpicking clauses. He returned the contract. "Doctor, you should hire an attorney to analyze this professionally—see if there's any path to fully spin your lab out from Oscorp."
"I can't even afford a lawyer right now," Octavius said with a wry smile. "I should focus on finding money."
Batman put on a suitably troubled look, then drifted over to the four metal tentacles. "What are these?"
"Assistive gear for the experiment. With the project on hold, they're scrap," Octavius said, glancing at them.
He didn't linger. Out on a Brooklyn street, Batman flagged a cab. "Lower Manhattan."
He planned to find a lawyer for Octavius himself—and Black Cat needed one, too, to go after Fisk for money laundering. Maybe he could handle both at once.
He couldn't meet Black Cat as Peter Parker, so he'd change into the Batsuit in Manhattan, then head to Hell's Kitchen.
After Batman left, in Octavius's lab—
"Thirty million… just thirty million and I can finish. Where am I supposed to get it?"
He frowned, coming up empty.
"Robbery? No—that's out of the question. Unless I rob a bank, who walks around with that kind of cash? And stolen money can't be spent."
He batted the thought away.
"No—maybe there's a way… If I ignore maintenance, what I really need is the electricity to run the experiment."
"Perhaps I could tap into the underground power lines?"
"No. I can't."
He wavered. Images flashed—his father beating him as a child. His father had worked at a power plant: grueling, dangerous labor for meager pay, barely enough to feed the family. He drank, too, making everything worse. He treated his wife and Otto as burdens and lashed out at them.
Back then Otto had sworn he'd never be like his father. He would become a physicist—a nuclear physicist. He would free the world from energy scarcity, so no power plant worker would come home so broken he'd hit his family.
"What I'm doing benefits all humanity. Given the situation, tapping those lines is my only option."
If he did, the police would come. He'd have to move all the equipment to a safer location.
He made up his mind. His gaze swept the lab and settled on the four metal tentacles.
His eyes steadied; his expression firmed. Aside from his hair, mussed from frustration, he looked energized again. He stood before the tentacles and felt the neural interfaces slide, inch by inch, into his spine.
"Did the idea for Otto's metal arms come from the Squid-Man? I need to check on him regularly these days—but I mustn't provoke him," Batman thought.
In the shipyard's deepest bay, he donned a Batsuit rebuilt from the Spider-Slayer's armor.
Compared to his most-used suit in Gotham, this one had sharper lines. It was mostly charcoal and black, with visible seams and combat scuffs. The chest emblem—the bat—was fashioned from the four armpit claws of the Spider-Slayer, and could double as a weapon if needed.
The arm-blades had been removed and replaced with three independently deployable blades; the forearm housed the Bat-Claw—a hybrid of web-shooter and grapnel.
No cape. He'd completely disassembled the glider, mounting parts of the armor and thrusters on the back. Folded, they sat like a carapace; spread, they allowed gliding—no true flight.
Given time, he could refine the new glider into a proper flyer, but it wasn't essential.
The boots were standard combat boots; the belt a plain black duty belt—bought from a surplus shop.
Compared to the dozens of suits in Gotham's Batcave, the whole ensemble looked a bit bare-bones. But only for now.