Gotham was always shrouded in rain.
Batman melted into the darkness, standing expressionless atop a gargoyle as he surveyed rain-drenched Gotham below. This was what he did three hundred and sixty out of three hundred and sixty-five days a year, but today something unexpected happened.
Without warning, the world around him spun like a kaleidoscope. Scene after scene flashed before Batman's eyes like a reel of memories.
Catwoman, Harley, Zatanna, Wonder Woman, Talia... hours or entire nights spent with them across different times and places.
Corrupt judges taking bribes, bought-off psychiatrists, cops looking the other way, officials in bed with the mob.
The Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, Scarecrow... criminals trapped in their endless cycle of crime, capture, and escape.
Though his head spun from the rapid succession of images, Batman remained motionless, simply heightening his vigilance.
The scene shifted again. In a cramped, rundown apartment, an unfamiliar old man spoke to Batman with stern authority:
"If you have the ability to help others, then you have the moral responsibility to help them. This isn't a choice—it's responsibility. With great power comes great responsibility!"
But in the blink of an eye came a gunshot, and the serious old man collapsed in a pool of blood, weakly grasping Batman's hand:
"Peter..."
"Peter!"
A shout pulled Batman back to reality. Though the name wasn't his, he instinctively looked toward the voice.
There stood a middle-aged man in a lab coat, slightly overweight, looking at Batman with concern and worry in his eyes:
"Peter Parker, are you alright?"
Peter Parker?
Batman quickly sized up the middle-aged man, his sharp vision catching the name on the lab coat's ID badge:
Otto Günther Octavius.
Who was he?
Question after question rose in Batman's mind. Looking down at himself, he found he wasn't wearing his Kevlar and titanium suit—just an ordinary plaid shirt.
This wasn't the rain-soaked outdoors either, but a brightly lit laboratory.
"Scarecrow's fear toxin? Or Mad Hatter's mind control?"
Batman didn't panic at finding himself in unfamiliar surroundings. He quickly surveyed everything around him:
A clean, bright lab with portraits of scientific luminaries on the walls, including the Otto Günther Octavius standing before him.
Batman recognized some of the other scientists—Einstein, Newton—but there were several he'd never heard of: Bruce Banner, Hank Pym, and others.
Various experimental equipment lined both sides of the lab, with a large device resembling an inverted octopus at the front, next to a whiteboard covered in calculations.
"Otto, the world-renowned nuclear physicist? Is that a tokamak reactor?"
Batman ignored Dr. Otto, rapidly processing the situation as he studied the formulas on the whiteboard.
Wayne Enterprises had once attempted to develop fusion energy to benefit Gotham. Unlike Otto's small tokamak device, Wayne had used magnetic confinement fusion—completely different scientific principles.
After shutting down the fusion project, Batman had studied it independently for a time and was quite familiar with tokamak-based fusion. He spotted an inconspicuous parameter error on the whiteboard, though everything else was correct.
While the error skewed the final calculations, the very existence of these formulas ruled out the possibility he was trapped in an illusion. Neither Scarecrow nor Mad Hatter possessed the ability to create knowledge in their illusions that they themselves didn't possess.
"Peter, you seem a bit off. I suggest you go home and get a good night's rest. Come back another day."
Seeing the young man continue to ignore him, Dr. Otto frowned, finding him rather unreliable. If not for Harry Osborn—heir to Oscorp—personally recommending him, Otto would have kicked him out of the lab already.
Before Batman could respond, sharp pain shot through the back of his neck—like being stabbed with an ice-cold needle. The chill instantly exploded, racing down his spine throughout his entire body.
The world around him seemed to freeze and stretch. Every minute sound amplified dramatically: fabric rustling, equipment shifting slightly, even his own heartbeat.
Each sound suddenly magnified and distorted in his ears. The chill in his chest pointed toward the tokamak device, as if it were the source.
Alarms suddenly blared through the lab as the white lights switched to flashing red warning lights.
Dr. Otto quickly turned to the control panel beside the tokamak, working frantically. Within two minutes, the lab lighting returned to normal and the alarms ceased.
"As you can see, my fusion experiment isn't successful yet. I need to re-examine the procedure to find what went wrong."
Dr. Otto smiled at Batman, showing no sign of discouragement from the failure. Experiments always involved failure—each setback provided valuable experience, and Otto wasn't deterred.
"That sensation seemed like an instinctive reaction to approaching danger..."
Batman looked at Dr. Otto:
"Doctor, I'd like to borrow your computer."
He didn't explain his purpose, and Dr. Otto didn't mind. Busy investigating the cause of the experiment's failure, he readily agreed:
"No problem."
With Otto's permission, Batman immediately sat at an idle computer and began typing rapidly. Whether he was trapped in an illusion or something else had occurred, gathering information about his current identity was the first priority. He immediately hacked into the local police system to search for "Peter Parker."
This included identity information, housing records, and school details.
"So this is my identity? A junior at Empire State University in New York, an orphan raised by his Uncle Ben?"
Batman closed the browser emotionlessly, cleared all traces of his activity, stood up, and bid Dr. Otto farewell.
Following the address from the police housing records, Batman walked nearly an hour to reach the apartment.
He locked the door, drew the curtains, and sat cross-legged in the living room with his eyes closed.
During that hour-long journey, the crowds and buildings had convinced Batman with ninety-nine percent certainty that this wasn't an illusion, but he needed to make one final test—meditation.
He'd learned meditation from Zatanna to resist psychic attacks, and it had some effect against hallucinations too.
Three full hours passed. Night had fallen, and in the dark apartment, Batman's eyes suddenly opened.
"Not an illusion. But I can't rule out Barry Allen doing something that caused timeline changes with cascading effects."
"I need to find out why my consciousness appeared in this strange young man's body, and figure out how to get back to Gotham."