Back in Gotham City, Batman had once chosen to shut down an entire nuclear fusion project—sacrificing hundreds of millions in sunk costs—rather than allow it to fall into Bane's hands.
At the time, it had been the only rational decision.
He hadn't yet mastered nuclear physics. The unknown always carried unacceptable risk.
But after years of self-study and hands-on research, Batman had overturned his former conclusions.
Whether it was magnetic confinement fusion or a tokamak-based reactor, the fundamental truth remained the same:
these systems were massive.
To weaponize a fusion reactor, one would need to convert it into nuclear fission—a process that was not only impractical but outright impossible under controlled fusion parameters.
Even if criminals managed to steal such a device, Batman could destroy it effortlessly. Conventional explosives. Firearms. Structural sabotage.
None of it would trigger a fusion reaction.
Controlled nuclear fusion was, by nature, clean and safe.
That realization changed everything.
Which was why, over the past three days, Batman hadn't interfered with Otto Octavius's experiments.
Instead, he had quietly woven them into his long-term strategy.
---
"It's 2006," Batman calculated calmly.
"If I invest early and assist Dr. Octavius in perfecting fusion technology, I can complete capital accumulation within two years."
Two years to build influence.
Two years to secure resources.
Two years to construct an instrument capable of locating his original world.
But Batman never relied on a single path.
"Before that," he continued silently, "I need a Plan B."
His gaze shifted from the massive map of New York City pinned across the warehouse wall to the small computer on the table beside him.
It was a heavily modified version of Peter Parker's crude homemade machine—rewired, reinforced, optimized.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Batman intended to hack into the deepest classified networks of this country to determine whether supernatural forces existed in this world.
Reality-altering entities. Dimensional anomalies. Cosmic variables.
This computer couldn't handle that workload.
Which meant one thing.
Batman needed money.
Immediately.
---
The abandoned shipyard lay in the eastern section of Lower Manhattan.
It wasn't vast, but it was dense—discarded industrial equipment, rusted ships, collapsed cranes, and piles of metal debris created a maze of steel and shadows.
No homeless people stayed here overnight.
The scrap weighed several tons—impossible to move for shelter. Rusted edges lurked everywhere.
One cut could mean tetanus.
And tetanus meant death.
But despite its desolation, the shipyard was never truly empty.
Some came to train.
Some came to hide.
And some came to trade in blood and steel.
---
Caw—caw.
As the last ember of dusk vanished, night swallowed the shipyard whole.
A crow perched atop the massive gantry crane, cawed twice, then took flight—unaware that Batman, clad in black stealth gear, was concealed less than two meters from its perch.
Aside from a towering ship's keel, this crane was the highest point in the yard.
From here, Batman had complete visual dominance.
---
Three vans rolled to a stop outside the shipyard wall.
Seven or eight men stepped out.
They wore ordinary clothes—mostly black—but their bulging waistlines betrayed concealed weapons.
Their leader, however, stood apart.
A woman.
She wore a black leather outfit with a deep V neckline, her figure sharply defined. Pale skin contrasted violently with the darkness around her, almost glowing beneath the shipyard lights.
A white fur collar framed her shoulders.
Her long, snow-white hair cascaded freely, giving her an untamed, dangerous elegance.
Each step she took caused subtle movement—deliberate, confident, predatory.
In Gotham, such attire would have marked her as a special case.
Batman's focus sharpened instantly.
---
"Search everything," she ordered coolly.
"I want confirmation that nothing's been touched."
"Yes, Ms. Black Cat."
Her subordinates moved in silence, spreading through the accessible sections of the shipyard with professional efficiency.
Batman remained still.
He wasn't concerned.
The warehouse he had converted into a temporary base was expertly disguised. Unless someone entered it deliberately, nothing would appear out of place.
His training traces from the past three days had been erased completely.
No one would ever know that multi-ton counterweights had been lifted—or that a predator had been sharpening his claws here.
---
"Everything's clean, Ms. Black Cat."
A muscular man with close-cropped hair stepped forward and reported, bowing slightly.
Black Cat nodded, satisfied.
Batman crouched above them, already anticipating the next phase.
He knew why they were here.
During the day, while gathering intelligence across New York, Batman had intercepted chatter about an arms transaction scheduled for tonight.
One party had arrived.
The other—
---
An ice cream truck rolled slowly into view.
"🎵 Ding-ding-dong~ 🎵"
The cheerful melody echoed through the dead shipyard.
Five or six burly men stepped out, faces hard, eyes sharp.
Compared to Black Cat's disciplined subordinates, these men looked exactly like what civilians imagined when they heard the word gang.
"You're punctual, Mr. Joseph," Black Cat said with a smile.
"Always," Joseph replied, lifting the brim of his baseball cap slightly.
"And I must say—you arrived early enough to steal any man's heart."
"I wouldn't date someone like you," Black Cat replied smoothly, her smile sharp as glass.
Her glance sent Joseph's subordinates into visible distraction.
Black Cat noticed.
Disgust flickered briefly in her eyes.
"Enough flirting," Joseph said flatly.
"Where's the merchandise?"
At her signal, Black Cat's men unloaded wooden crates from the vans.
Heavy ones.
"The goods are here," she said, stepping onto a crate and looking down at Joseph.
"Where's the money?"
Joseph murmured to his men.
A briefcase was handed over.
He opened it.
Stacks of cash.
Black Cat caught the case when he tossed it and inhaled faintly.
Ink. Paper. Weight.
Real.
"Reliable," she said sweetly.
"But one last question."
Joseph frowned.
"You brought only one vehicle," Black Cat continued.
"How do you plan to move all this?"
As she spoke—
She drew a handgun.
The muzzle aligned perfectly with Joseph's chest.
"You were planning to kill us," she said calmly, "and drive away with our vehicles. Wasn't that the plan?"
---
Above them, unseen—
Batman's eyes narrowed.
The hunt had begun.