"Tell me, where do the weapons from Stark Industries come from?"
In the dim glow of red warning lights, Batman's low, gravelly voice cut through the silence.
His face was completely shrouded in darkness, only a black silhouette blocking the exit of Wilson Fisk's cell.
Fisk's expression soured the moment he recognized Batman by the pointed ears, but at the question, a faint smirk curled his lips. In his usual calm, measured tone, he replied, "You want answers? I thought you were omniscient, omnipotent… but it seems there's still plenty you don't know."
"Beg me," Fisk continued, "or do what you did at Oscorp—punch me through the wall."
Using a brief but potent dose of knockout gas, Batman had put the guards and other inmates into a deep sleep while simultaneously disabling the prison's surveillance systems, ensuring his infiltration would go unnoticed.
Time was short, and Batman had no intention of wasting it on Fisk's taunts.
Since the man wasn't willing to talk, Batman didn't mind using other methods to loosen his tongue. He stepped forward slowly, his shadowed eyes fixed on Fisk.
"Come on, Batman, use your fists," Fisk goaded.
As Batman approached, the crime lord, seated in his wheelchair and regaining his composed demeanor, smiled mildly. "My wounds will heal, my bones will mend, but the answers you want? They'll rot in my heart forever."
Batman didn't resort to violence. Before coming to Rikers Island to confront Fisk, he had already prepared for the likelihood that the man wouldn't talk easily.
Standing before Fisk, Batman loomed over his defeated foe and extended two photographs.
Fisk took them with a puzzled frown, but his face contorted the moment he saw them. His muscles twisted, and his eyes glared at Batman with venom, as though the man before him wasn't just the one who'd put him behind bars, but an enemy who'd wiped out his entire family.
"Vanessa Fisk. Richard Fisk," Batman said, his voice still low and steady. "Your efforts to protect your family are meaningless against me."
"What are you going to do?! Damn you, Bat! What have you done to them?!" Fisk clutched the photos tightly, struggling to swing a fist at Batman.
The photos showed a woman and a boy—Fisk's wife and son, whom he would protect at any cost.
From his wheelchair, Fisk's punch posed no threat. Batman caught it with one hand.
Crash!
The force of the blow caused the wheelchair to buckle, its metal frame bending as Fisk collapsed to the floor.
"I haven't done anything," Batman said, his voice unwavering. "I'm reminding you that your methods of protecting your family are too simple. I could easily dig up their information from your past records."
"And so could others—especially those you've wronged."
"Tell me the source of Stark Industries' weapons, and in exchange, I'll ensure your wife and son's information is completely hidden. No one will be able to trace them."
Threatening an enemy's family was never something Batman would do.
As he'd said, he hadn't touched Fisk's wife or son. He'd only investigated their records, confirmed they weren't involved in Fisk's crimes, and left them alone.
Batman didn't punish the innocent for the sins of the guilty.
"You think I'd trust you?" Fisk, sprawled on the floor, looked up at the figure whose face remained cloaked in darkness.
"You have no choice. You must trust me," Batman replied.
Fisk fell silent, his breathing slightly labored, clearly wrestling with his thoughts.
After a moment, he seemed to reach a decision and spoke, naming three companies: "Throne, Scepter, Crown. Those are the shell companies I registered. I used them to pay for the Stark Industries firearms."
"The funds were ultimately transferred to a trust fund in the Cayman Islands."
"That's everything I know about the pipeline."
Batman studied Fisk's expression, while the sensors in his Arkham suit analyzed the fluctuations in his voice, confirming the crime lord wasn't lying.
"How were the weapons delivered to you?" Batman pressed.
Fisk gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "If I said they were air-dropped, would you believe me? All the parachutes, packaging—none of it had any markings. And I've already destroyed them."
Fisk waited for a response, but none came.
He looked up to find the dim red lights had returned to normal. Outside, inmates were shouting their cell numbers intermittently.
Everything seemed as it had been before Batman's arrival, as if the encounter had been a hallucination.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A guard appeared outside Fisk's cell, banging his baton against the iron door without hesitation. "Back against the wall, head on the wall, now!"
"What the hell, you filthy pig! Broke your wheelchair?"
"Hands behind your head! I'm coming in to cuff you!"
Fisk glanced at the crumpled wheelchair with the corner of his eye, proof that the encounter hadn't been a dream—Batman had indeed been here.
He didn't resist or react to the guard's insults. He simply raised his hands slowly and placed them behind his head.
On the west shore of Rikers Island, the lush forests of North Brother Island were clearly visible.
Deep within those woods, a former summer estate had been converted into a hidden research and living facility.
Batman bent his knees slightly, then launched himself into the air. At the peak of his jump, he spread his cape and glided toward North Brother Island.
With a soft thud, he landed smoothly.
This place would serve as Batman's most critical research base outside the City Hall subway station. Three top scientists from different fields were gathered here.
But before any experiments or research could proceed, the most pressing issue was Professor Connors.
Unlike Dr. Banner, who could control his transformation into the Hulk, Professor Connors neither understood how to manage his transformation into a giant lizard nor knew whether his mind would be affected by the process.
When Batman arrived, clad in his Arkham suit, Dr. Banner and Dr. Octavius were securing Professor Connors to a large metal frame, using various instruments to monitor him.
"Professor Connors, don't be nervous," Dr. Banner said reassuringly.
Strapped tightly to the frame, Connors nodded. With a tongue depressor in his mouth, he gave Dr. Banner a thumbs-up, signaling he was fine.
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