Back in Gotham, Batman had preferred to shut down the fusion-energy project—eating the hundreds of millions already sunk—rather than let it fall into Bane's hands.
At the time he wasn't well-versed in nuclear physics. After self-study, he overturned his earlier view.
Whether magnetic-confinement fusion or a tokamak, the end result is a device of massive size.
Turning a fusion reactor into a weapon would be impossible—unless you somehow turned it into fission, which you can't.
Even if criminals stole the apparatus, Batman would only need to destroy it; bombs, guns, artillery—any of those could wreck it easily without triggering a fusion reaction.
Controlled fusion is an exceptionally safe, clean energy source. So over the last three days, instead of stopping Dr. Octavius's research, Batman folded it into his own plan.
"It's 2006. If I invest and help Dr. Octavius perfect fusion energy, I estimate two years to build up capital and construct a device that can locate my original world.
"But before that, I need a Plan B."
He tore his gaze from the New York map to the small computer in the warehouse—a further-modified version of Peter Parker's kit-built PC.
He intended to hack this country's core classified files to learn whether supernatural powers existed in this world. That machine wasn't up to the job.
In other words, he needed money.
The abandoned shipyard sat on the east side of Manhattan's Lower Town. It wasn't huge, but the maze of derelict industrial equipment and hulks made the terrain complicated.
Vagrants wouldn't sleep here: they couldn't shift the multi-ton scrap to make a windbreak, and they had to watch out for every rusted edge. For the homeless with no cash, a tetanus infection is almost a death sentence.
Still, the place wasn't always empty. People came for all kinds of reasons.
People like Batman. People like two gangs looking to do a deal.
Caw—caw—
As the last smear of sunset faded, inky night swallowed the shipyard.
A crow perched on the great gantry crane, cawed twice, then beat its wings and flew off—never noticing that right by its perch, Batman, dressed in black and masking every trace, lay hidden.
Aside from a ship's keel propped high, this was nearly the yard's tallest point, giving him an unobstructed view of the grounds.
"Shff."
Three box trucks pulled up outside the perimeter wall. Seven or eight men in plain, mostly black clothing climbed out. Their hands were empty, but their bulging waistbands left no doubt about the weapons.
By contrast, their leader was impossible to miss: a woman in a black deep-V leather jacket, curves threatening to burst the seams. Her bare skin was so pale it almost glowed, and the white fur collar at her neckline, paired with her snow-white long hair, lent her a feral look.
With each step, the high, proud lines of her figure trembled slightly.
In Gotham, anyone dressed like that is somebody. Batman focused almost all his attention on her.
"Search the place properly," she said. "I want good news: nobody's tampered with anything here."
"Understood, Ms. Black Cat."
Her men murmured assent, then fanned out to sweep every reachable corner of the shipyard, quick and silent.
Batman wasn't worried they'd discover the warehouse he'd cleared as a temporary staging site. With his camouflage, no one would notice unless they physically went inside. The traces of three days of training were covered as well; done right, no one would guess those multi-ton counterweights had ever been lifted.
"Ms. Black Cat, everything checks out."
A short-haired, heavily muscled man in a black suit consolidated the reports and stepped to her side, head bowed.
Black Cat nodded slightly, satisfied.
Crouched atop the gantry, Batman watched everything. He knew exactly what was about to go down.
During the day, while gathering intel on this world across New York's streets, he'd learned two gangs would be doing a weapons deal here tonight—right about now.
One side was in position. Where was the other?
Almost as the thought formed, an ice-cream truck rolled to a stop outside the wall.
"Ding-ding-dong~"
The cheerful jingle belied the five or six hard-faced bruisers who piled out.
Compared with Black Cat's disciplined crew, these guys were exactly what civilians pictured when they heard "gangster."
"You're punctual, Mr. Joseph," Black Cat said with a sunny smile, moving to meet the big man in the baseball cap.
"Always. Though I must say, Miss Black Cat, you arriving early—that'd win any man's heart on a date."
The man—Joseph—tipped the brim, revealing a square face with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I wouldn't date a man like you," Black Cat quipped, throwing him and his crew a flirtatious look.
Joseph ignored the wink; his men did not. One after another, they swallowed hard, eyes glued to her.
Black Cat gave a slight twist of her hips, slipping out of their line of sight.
"Reminder: this isn't a date, Miss Black Cat," Joseph said, glancing around. "Where's my merchandise?"
She beckoned to her silent subordinates. They moved at once, unloading wooden crates from the box trucks. From the way they hefted them, the crates were heavy.
"The goods are here. Where's the money?"
With a light spring she hopped atop a crate, looking down at him.
Joseph muttered to the men behind him. A briefcase was quickly placed in his hand.
From a distance, Batman watched him pop it open to reveal neat stacks of cash. Black Cat's smile turned sugary.
"Joseph, you know these crates weigh a ton. Even if we wanted to grab the cash and run, we couldn't take the goods with us."
"Besides, you should trust the Kingpin's reputation… so hand over the money first."
Joseph kept that same not-quite smile. "Don't play games, little Black Cat. The Kingpin's name doesn't scare me."
With a flick, he tossed the case. She caught it cleanly.
The smell of ink off the bills sweetened her grin as she checked the stacks. She looked up at him.
"Punctual and trustworthy. One last question, though."
"You only brought one vehicle. How exactly are you moving all this?"
As she spoke, she drew a pistol and leveled it at Joseph.
"My guess is you planned to kill us, then drive off in our trucks. Right?"