Chapter 6: Upgrading the Web Shooters
Batman dumping Black Cat and those seven or eight gang members at the Manhattan police station wasn't meaningless.
"If Black Cat doesn't escape and gets held at the station, with no criminal record she'll naturally be released. Same for those members."
"If by chance she's truly wicked with an extensive record, then she was never suitable for cooperating with me in the first place."
"And if she can break free from the restraints without ever entering the station, I'll proceed to the next step of the plan."
Batman set down the Daily Bugle. The front-page photo of Squid-Man was, unsurprisingly, taken by that young couple last night.
"From her microexpressions during our communication last night, she hasn't completely placed her hopes for revenge on me."
"So assuming Black Cat broke free, she must meet with Kingpin to tell him what happened last night. Only this way can she earn his trust."
"And Squid-Man... last night after Joseph was shot, he showed no desire to fight whatsoever. He never engaged with me in combat, so neither Black Cat nor Kingpin have any direct sense of my capabilities."
"But Kingpin will see me as an obstacle and try to eliminate me. Since I demonstrated lifting a five-ton steel beam into the ground in front of Black Cat, Kingpin won't send gang members to fight me. Instead, he'll hire Squid-Man to kill me."
"That suits me perfectly."
Batman neatly placed the newspaper aside, then opened a wooden crate at his feet and extracted a revolver.
Placing the revolver on the table, Batman removed the web shooters from his wrists.
"I need to combine the grappling gun I used before with these web shooters."
While thinking, Batman rapidly disassembled the revolver. Within seconds, a perfectly good revolver became components.
After dumping Black Cat's group at the police station last night, he'd returned to inventory his "spoils of war." Five wooden crates of firearms total—from revolvers to submachine guns, five or six types, forty-two weapons in all.
Besides the firearms was that briefcase of cash. Fifteen thousand dollars.
The web shooters' firing speed needed acceleration. This could reference the air compression principle of grappling guns.
The high-strength rope originally used in grappling guns could be replaced with web fluid.
"The webbing's adhesion needs significant improvement to achieve the effect of sticking firmly to any surface..."
Batman wasn't rigidly stubborn. Web shooters were simply tools to him. Not using available tools was wasted effort.
The redesigned combination of grappling gun and web shooters would remain compact, wearable directly on both wrists, using compressed inert gas to launch at higher speeds.
However, this was just design. Batman lacked the capability to hand-build one in a single morning. After all, virtually all equipment in the abandoned shipyard had rusted and corroded beyond use.
"The optimal inert gas is nitrogen. The previous grappling gun didn't need to consider compressed volume, so there's one technology I never applied to it."
"But combining with web shooters, pursuing small volume and high kinetic energy, this technology is an excellent choice."
"The technology is called: nitrogen gas springs."
Batman immediately set out, planning to head near the Williamsburg Bridge between Manhattan and Brooklyn.
There was an illegal factory there. Bullets for many New York gangs were produced there.
Batman intended to process and manufacture the nitrogen gas springs he needed there.
However, on the route to the Williamsburg Bridge, Batman took a detour, stopping by Peter's rented apartment in Lower Manhattan.
Batman had seen videos of Peter swinging on webs in broad daylight across New York City. In his view, this flamboyance rivaled Superman running around the world in a red cape.
Although each time Peter stopped his Spider-Man roleplay and reverted to that plaid-shirt-wearing, honest, wooden engineering student, he tried choosing corners where no one would notice.
But Batman still wasn't reassured. He worried someone with intention might track Spider-Man's movements and eventually lock onto "Peter Parker is Spider-Man."
He needed to hack into the local New York police system and delete all videos that might expose Spider-Man's movements, voice, or body type, preserving only portions where features couldn't be distinguished.
But before that, Batman had to do something else—pack up and hide all evidence related to Spider-Man in the apartment.
Nothing else mattered, but at minimum the red-and-blue Spider-Man suit and that notebook filled with everything from costume design to web shooters to spider-sense.
Both items would expose Batman—the former Peter's identity.
Closing the door tight and drawing the curtains, Batman rapidly packed everything into Peter's backpack. After finishing, he stood before the mirror.
High nose bridge, thick lips, prominent cheekbones on both cheeks with obvious shadows, distinct sideburns near both ears, brown-black hair swept back—typical white American features.
Vaguely, Batman discovered Peter actually resembled himself somewhat, just shorter. Only 5 feet 10 inches—one meter seventy-eight.
A full head shorter than Batman's human form Bruce Wayne at 6 feet 2 inches—one meter eighty-eight.
"Different body. Using combat techniques from memory will produce subtle variations. I must adapt quickly."
Batman grabbed the backpack to leave, planning to process the nitrogen gas springs at the illegal factory before returning to the abandoned shipyard to continue training.
Urgent knocking interrupted Batman's plan:
"Peter? Peter!"
"Who is it?"
"Me, Harry."
Harry Osborn. According to Peter's records at Empire State University, he and Peter were practically inseparable—best friends among best friends.
He was also the Oscorp heir. Oscorp—a multinational biotech enterprise founded and operated by his father Norman Osborn.
Someone lacking neither money nor technology—Batman instinctively didn't want contact with him.
He hadn't inherited any of Peter's memories. Before a once-inseparable partner like Harry, exposure would come very easily.
Batman had considered this when searching for Peter's information at Otto's lab. His coping method was simple: feign illness.
Fortunately, after playing the playboy for over a decade without anyone detecting he was Batman, he possessed sufficiently superb acting skills.
So when Harry opened the door and before he could speak, Batman had already spread his arms and hugged him tightly.
Then Batman said nothing, waiting with a face full of melancholy and sorrow for Harry to speak first.
Harry had come to call him out. His friend Peter hadn't attended school for three days, leaving Harry without anyone to talk to.
But seeing his friend's distressed face now, the rebuke on Harry's lips wouldn't come out. He could only gently pat his back, offering comfort:
"It's alright, Peter. Whatever's happened, I'll always stand firmly by your side."