"Dr. Octavius."
After the Manhattan precinct was blown up by an unknown attacker, the police relocated to another station—moving the files and officers with them.
At the new precinct, Batman—wearing Peter Parker's face—stopped outside Octavius's holding cell.
Kingpin was in the neighboring cell, but Batman didn't spare him a glance. He looked instead at Octavius, head bowed, lost in thought.
"Peter?"
Hearing his name, Octavius looked up in surprise—and when he saw Batman, he smiled from the heart.
After Norman Osborn shut down his fusion project, Peter had been the first to visit the lab. Now that Octavius was locked up, aside from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Peter Parker was again the first to come.
"I heard the Manhattan precinct was bombed. Thanks to you, the people trapped under the rubble were saved," Batman said. "Today the police released the one you pulled out, saying his suspicion has been cleared."
"Yes, I saved one person—but it's not enough."
Octavius was no longer intent on condemning himself to death. After S.H.I.E.L.D.'s visit, his future was clearer:
"Peter, you may not know—once these arms are removed in a few days, I'll regain some freedom.
"I'm going to continue my fusion program. I've also figured out how to fund it."
Bars between them, "Peter" was only a university student and the chairman of Parker Industries—neither identity enough to get the door opened for a face-to-face. He let curiosity show, the way Bruce Wayne would—with polished surprise:
"Really?"
"That's right." Octavius tilted his head toward the mechanical arms. "Before the precinct was bombed, a man calling himself S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to recruit me. When I refused, he asked to take the arms.
"I was so focused on fusion that I ignored how advanced these 'casual' arms already are… Nothing like this exists—neural-linked prosthetics that move like flesh.
"I should develop this—but not as tentacles. As prosthetics."
Batman nodded slightly. He didn't lower his voice, answering in Peter's youthful tone:
"If we can give amputees prosthetics with true human function, the tech is absolutely worth scaling."
Talk of tech loosened Octavius's tongue. Other than answering police questions, he hadn't spoken this much since the arrest:
"But first I have to prevent the software from driving the brain… Maybe we 'read' neural signals, rather than direct taps like mine.
"I'd price the prosthetics only a bit above cost. There are tens of millions of amputees worldwide—massive demand. That revenue can fund fusion—change the world."
"I'll do something for the world—my way. It eases my conscience."
Even with S.H.I.E.L.D. fast-tracking his case and granting him limited freedom, he hadn't absolved himself. He wore the deaths of thirty-one officers—killed while the arms hijacked his mind—and chose to atone by changing the world.
Batman watched the brilliant mind in silence.
He came from Gotham, where tech was already decades ahead—fusion and perfect neuro-prosthetics were both solvable problems. Yet even here, behind the times, Octavius had been one corrected formula away from a fusion breakthrough—and was now independently proposing a proven path for prosthetic control.
After a beat of thought, Batman said:
"Doctor, once in a school lab I accidentally created a new material."
He spun a lie to fit Peter's engineering student persona, presenting the Bat-cape's second-tier fabric as a chance discovery:
"…By providing network services to large firms, I raised some capital and bought a factory. I'm preparing to manufacture this new material."
Octavius's eyes lit. He looked at the bearded, plaid-shirted Peter with real admiration.
"Peter, you're far beyond where I was at your age."
"With a factory, you'll scale fast. I can give you the space, funding, and equipment you need… I want us to work together, Doctor."
Batman put his true offer on the table.
"Prosthetics. New materials. Fusion…"
Octavius repeated the three themes, eyes shining. If not for the bars, he would have hugged Peter. He could already see it: the world they'd change—energy plentiful, advanced materials everywhere, amputees running free.
…
"Another failure. Where did the limb-regeneration experiment go wrong?"
Oscorp, 20th floor, in a lab.
Professor Curtis "Curt" Connors stared at the dead white mouse in the glass beaker and sighed. His empty right sleeve hung at his side, swaying as he exhaled.
He was not only an Oscorp scientist–director with shares, but a reptile biologist. As a combat surgeon, he'd once operated on the wounded at the front—until an explosion took his right arm.
He left surgery for reptiles, devoting himself to regeneration and reptilian biology.
Nothing had gone right lately. Oscorp fell into scandal; many projects were halted. Research had just resumed—at the cost of his friend Norman Osborn going missing. That morning's board meeting saw some "Batman" and the Hell's Kitchen kingpin brawling—plunging Oscorp into chaos again.
Now the experiment failed, too. The grind was wearing down his patience.
After a long moment, he adjusted his glasses with his remaining hand and threw himself back into reptilian regeneration genes.
"Prosthetics are only a stopgap. Not just for me—for everyone like me."
"I will crack limb regeneration."
~~~
Low readership = possible cancellation. If you want more, please read/comment/share this. Otherwise I'll end the series after the next announcement. Thank you!