A cold, gripping fear seized Shulman's heart like a massive hand clamping down.
Instinctively, he clenched his fists, hoping to draw some sense of security from the "Shockwave" gauntlets, forcing his engineer's and inventor's mind to stay calm.
"Batman's been avoiding a direct confrontation with me… he's wary of my gauntlets!"
A flicker of triumph sparked in Shulman's chest. He immediately adjusted the regulator inside the "Shockwave" gauntlets, cranking the vibration output to its maximum.
He didn't dare hold back. Right out of the gate, he set the gauntlets to Level Five—the strongest attack mode, one he hadn't even had the chance to test since crafting the gauntlets.
As the gauntlets charged, Shulman kept his peripheral vision locked on Batman's reflection in the mirror. Then, with a sudden spin, he threw a punch!
Buzz!
The impact roared through the air like an earthquake.
But in that same moment, Shulman's body lurched, thrown off balance. A massive force yanked at his feet, pulling hard!
Still in the motion of his punch, Shulman lost his footing and crashed onto his back.
The Level Five-charged "Shockwave" gauntlets, still raised in his fists, flashed with black-and-white light. The vibration wave tore through the air, blasting upward, punching through the building's floors layer by layer until, with a tilt of his head, Shulman could see the dark night sky above.
There was no time to marvel at the sheer power of the Level Five shockwave. Shulman knew he was already as good as dead.
One missed punch, and Batman wouldn't give him a second chance.
Hanging upside down from the ceiling, Batman landed silently on the floor, his movements deceptively light. But then, a web shot out, yanking Shulman off the ground. A heavy fist—nothing like "light"—slammed into Shulman's stomach.
Uncontrollable pain flooded his brain, his body curling like a shrimp. His hands, still clad in the Shockwave gauntlets, instinctively clutched his abdomen.
Crack! Crack!
Two sharp sounds rang out as Batman twisted Shulman's arms behind his back, dislocating both shoulders. The Shockwave gauntlets were effortlessly stripped from his hands.
Then, several strands of black webbing shot out, pinning Shulman to the wall, his feet dangling off the ground.
"Huff… ugh…"
Shulman gasped, biting down hard to stifle a scream of agony. The Shockwave gauntlets were now in Batman's hands, and he himself was webbed to the wall in a cruciform pose.
He couldn't escape. He couldn't fight back.
Even speaking was nearly impossible, the pain from his dislocated shoulders and battered stomach making it hard to open his mouth.
Shulman waited in despair for Batman to pass judgment on his crimes, but Batman ignored him. Instead, he stood to the side, studying the Shockwave gauntlets he'd taken, his figure cloaked in darkness.
"Even for Batman, a weapon that harnesses energy for attacks must be something new, right?"
A glimmer of hope flared in Shulman's mind. He sensed a potential lifeline:
"If I offer to build him energy weapons…"
He hadn't yet mastered crafting energy weapons in a makeshift workshop. Neither the trio's firearms nor the Shockwave gauntlets in Batman's hands were powered by energy tech Shulman had developed himself.
He was just grasping for a chance to survive.
Crash! Clatter!
Before Shulman could finish his fleeting fantasy, Batman, as if intimately familiar with the gauntlets, dismantled them in a few swift motions, reducing them to scattered fragments on the floor.
Shulman's thoughts froze in shock. But then, Batman's low, gravelly voice echoed through the roofless room:
"Who's funding you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shulman replied.
He'd seen the terrifying figure of that "Mister." Batman, since appearing in New York, had never been known to kill. But that "Mister" had murdered living people right in front of Shulman.
He'd rather be sent to a police station by Batman than cross that "Mister."
Batman went silent for two seconds, then flicked his wrist. A batarang flew out, embedding itself into the wall between Shulman's legs with a ding.
It looked like a misfire, but a chilling premonition gripped Shulman:
"What are you doing? Hey! If I talk, can you guarantee my safety?"
This time, Batman didn't respond. He stepped forward slowly, methodically peeling the webbing off Shulman's body.
No words were needed. Shulman understood what this demon intended.
As the webbing was removed bit by bit, Shulman's suspended body would fall under gravity… straight onto the batarang embedded in the wall, which would slice him in two.
A quick cut might not bring much pain, but the problem was the height. He wasn't far enough from the ground for the batarang to cleave him cleanly in half. Instead, it would likely tear through only part of his body, leaving the rest grotesquely intact… a fate worse than being killed outright by that "Mister."
The phrase "a fate worse than death" was invented for this devil's methods!
Shulman's eyes widened in terror, his body tensing, neck straining as he shouted:
"I'll talk! I'll talk!" Batman paused.
"It's 'Mister Negative'!" Once he decided to spill, Shulman threw caution to the wind. "After Kingpin fell, I went to Queens to lie low…"
"But a guy calling himself Mister Negative found me. He wanted me to modify weapons for him!"
"To make me obey, he killed two people right in front of me. I didn't dare defy him!"
Batman's expression remained unreadable:
"Mister Negative tried to buy guns from Kingpin's gang. Was that connected to you?"
"Yes! That's right! It was me!" Shulman answered frantically, then realized his tone sounded almost proud. He quickly added, "But it wasn't my idea. Mister Negative needed a batch of guns, and Kingpin's leftover stock was perfect for me."
"Why?"
Shulman answered without hesitation, almost too eagerly:
"Because Mister Negative wanted me to turn regular guns into energy weapons… Buying new guns would've meant spending time scrubbing off serial numbers."
"Kingpin's leftover guns were already cleaned by me, ready to use. But Black Cat wouldn't sell! She teamed up with the cops to take down Kingpin's gang. I can't figure out why she wouldn't just sell those guns!"
Shulman even took a moment to gripe about Black Cat.
Batman stood in the darkness, his white-lensed eyes fixed on Shulman.
He wouldn't blindly trust that fear would make Shulman speak only the truth. Batman judged based on tone, expression, speech speed, even breathing and heart rate.
But so far, everything Shulman said rang true—even that complaint about Black Cat came from the heart.