"Peter, I really owe you a proper feast for bringing Professor Miles Warren to be Oscorp's chief scientist," Harry Osborn said with a smile on his face, addressing Batman beneath the towering Oscorp building.
As the sun rose, Batman—having completed his routine, intensive training tailored to Peter Parker's physique—arrived at the Oscorp skyscraper, which was still under repair.
September in New York brought chilly mornings, with temperatures dipping into the low teens Celsius. Though it was daytime, pedestrians on the streets had already donned light jackets or coats. Batman, dressed in a seasonal trench coat, had slicked his hair back to ensure no one could tell it had been flattened from wearing the Batcowl all night.
Compared to a few days ago—when Harry Osborn had been weighed down by exhaustion and despair due to his father Norman Osborn's imprisonment, Oscorp's entanglement in multiple manslaughter cases, and General Ross's military oversight—Harry now appeared physically frail but in better spirits.
Batman paused silently for two seconds, ultimately deciding not to tell Harry that General Ross had taken Norman Osborn to an unknown location. This wasn't something Peter Parker, his current identity, should know. But Batman wouldn't keep it hidden forever. Once Oscorp was back on track, he planned to subtly guide Harry toward discovering the truth himself.
With Batman's investigations and Harry's ability to wield Oscorp's financial influence to apply targeted pressure and shape public opinion, there was a strong chance they could free Norman from Ross's control. But not now. Oscorp had only just returned to Harry's leadership. Even if Harry learned the truth about his father's whereabouts, he'd be powerless to act.
Moreover, Batman's own investigation had hit a wall. Even he didn't know where Norman Osborn was being held.
"Mr. Parker," Professor Miles Warren said, holding a stack of documents and extending a hand to shake Batman's. "Good to see you again."
In his current guise as Peter Parker—Harry Osborn's friend, Empire State University student, and chairman of Parker Industries—Batman didn't keep a stoic face. Instead, he smiled and shook Warren's hand warmly.
Professor Warren handed over the stack of documents and said, "These are the materials I brought. They concern the patent for the memory fiber you applied for."
"Congratulations, Mr. Parker. And thank you for recommending me to be Oscorp's chief scientist."
Batman had helped Professor Warren by passing a message through Harry to Professor Connors, warning him to be cautious of General Ross. He'd even risked infiltrating Oscorp himself. In return, Warren had closely overseen the memory fiber patent's progress, securing its approval in just three days.
A favor for a favor. Since Professor Connors had made it clear he wouldn't return to Oscorp due to the constant risk of transforming into the Lizard, Batman had recommended Professor Warren, whom he found impressive, to Harry. The result was a win-win: Warren eagerly accepted the role of Oscorp's chief scientist, gaining access to resources far beyond what he'd had as an Empire State University professor.
Harry, too, was delighted. While Connors's departure was a loss, Warren's expertise in a different field was equally top-tier. Barring any surprises, this would be a mutually beneficial partnership for Oscorp and Professor Warren.
"You two are hands-down the most brilliant students I've seen in all my years at Empire State University," Warren said, looking at Batman and Harry with admiration. "One running a multinational biotech corporation, the other blazing a trail in cutting-edge materials…"
"You're too kind, Professor," Batman replied with a modest smile.
He didn't plan to linger and chat with Harry and Warren. His visit to Oscorp was just a stopover. Batman's real destination was Rikers Island in Queens, specifically Rikers Prison, to meet Wilson Fisk—the Kingpin—face-to-face.
A year ago, Fisk had risen from Hell's Kitchen to dominate its underworld, with ambitions to expand further. Now, the crime lord was locked away in Rikers. The evidence against him was ironclad, and the lawyers he'd hired couldn't save him. The Kingpin was sentenced to life imprisonment.
During last night's interrogation of Shocker, Batman had confirmed that Shocker didn't know where Fisk had sourced Stark Industries weapons. Shocker's role was limited to modifying the firearms, not handling their supply chain.
Batman needed to confront the underworld emperor in his cage to see if he could extract any useful information.
"The supply chain for Stark Industries weapons flooding the market, the mysterious force that took Norman Osborn, and Mr. Negative with his mastery of negative energy…" Batman mused, sensing a thread connecting these three.
"Peter, at seven tonight, Professor Warren and I will be waiting for you at the Plaza Hotel across from Central Park," Harry said quickly, noticing Batman preparing to leave.
"Sorry, Harry, but I've got to help Aunt May move tonight," Batman said apologetically. "You wouldn't want an old lady to have to move all by herself when she's got a nephew, would you?"
Through trusts and funds, Batman had purchased a house in a middle-class neighborhood in Westchester County, New York, for Aunt May. He planned to relocate her there, where he'd already set up an intricate security network. Any threat to her safety would be detected immediately.
"Fair enough," Harry said, not pressing the issue. He clapped Batman on the shoulder. "Give my regards to Aunt May. Need me to hire a moving company… oh, wait, I forgot you've got Parker Industries now. You're not that nerdy Peter anymore."
Rikers Island lay southeast of South Brother Island, which Batman had bought for twenty dollars. Before he owned aquatic gear, he'd traveled to and from the island by leaping into the air and gliding with his cape.
Inside Rikers Prison, the man who once always wore a white suit and carried a cane—Wilson Fisk, the benevolent father figure of the underworld—now sat in a wheelchair, clad in an orange jumpsuit.
Batman had broken forty-five of his bones, confining him to the wheelchair for life.
Yet, despite his circumstances, Fisk showed no trace of a prisoner's desperation. His expression remained calm, almost gentle. Were it not for his gaunt but still imposing frame, he'd seem more like an affable middle-aged man than a crime lord.
Clang, clang, clang!
A guard rapped his baton against the prison bars.
"Get up, you scum! Press your heads against the wall like the filthy pigs you are, hands behind your backs!"
"You don't have names here, only numbers! When I hit your window, you shout your number loud enough for me to know you're still alive, you worthless trash!"
The guards hurled crude insults, their batons clanging as they moved down the row. Most prisoners reacted with numbness or suppressed anger, but Fisk's expression didn't waver. He calmly maneuvered his wheelchair to the wall, resting his head against it as ordered.
The next moment, the prison's bright fluorescent lights flickered with a crackling sound, plunging the cell into intermittent darkness.
Ding, clang… A faint metallic clink followed, and a dark figure appeared behind Fisk. The white lights snapped off completely.
Fisk's expression remained steady. He slowly turned his wheelchair around as the prison's lighting shifted to a dim, ominous red glow, signaling an alert.
The cell door was open, but Fisk showed no hint of excitement. Instead, his calm demeanor faltered slightly.
In the faint red light, a figure stood blocking the exit—his face hidden in shadow, with only two sharp ears visible against the crimson glow.