In Dr. Octavius's lab, the world-famous nuclear physicist was staring intently at the Squid-Man photo on the front page of the Daily Bugle.
From school to his career, Dr. Otto had always been the best of the best—so talented he'd developed an "intolerance for stupidity," unable to stand clumsy coworkers. Even though anyone who could qualify as his assistant was one in a hundred, he still found them lacking, to the point that when he focused on cracking clean fusion energy, there wasn't a single person left in the lab.
His only daily "help" came from a few industrial robotic arms on wheeled bases—the kind you'd find on a factory floor.
To Otto, they barely met the bar and were nowhere near as responsive as a limb under one's own control.
The Bugle's front-page Squid-Man was a godsend, a perfect prompt for Otto's next step.
"If I had four mechanical arms mounted to my body and driven by my own nervous system, my experiment wouldn't have to halt whenever an alarm goes off. I could troubleshoot faults immediately and keep running!"
His eyes grew brighter the longer he looked. He snatched up pen and paper and began sketching. Soon, behind a little figure representing himself, four telescoping, radiation-resistant, multi-function arms were on the page.
"Mechanical arms" didn't quite capture it; they were more like octopus tentacles.
To address the load those arms—and their work—would place on his body, he added a simple but sturdy support harness across the back, waist, and legs.
It was only a draft, with lots left to refine, but Otto still couldn't help laughing out loud when he looked at it.
The smile hadn't lasted more than a few seconds when a knock cut in. Harry Osborn pushed the door open, a young man Otto vaguely recognized at his back.
"I remember you—Peter… Parker, right?"
Otto quickly placed the plaid-shirted kid and gave him a friendly smile.
So long as you didn't disrupt the experiment, Otto wasn't hard to get along with.
"Yeah—Peter, my best buddy," Harry said, slinging an arm around him.
"I can't abandon the Peter Parker identity. I need it to do things Batman can't—just like the Bruce Wayne identity," Batman thought. "Which means I can't drop Peter's relationships. I even have to maintain them proactively—like with Dr. Octavius—so when I later 'improve' the fusion equations as Peter Parker and profit from it, it won't look out of place."
With that in mind, he managed a slightly forced smile and greeted Otto.
Otto returned the kindness with a nod. "You've both been here before. As long as you don't interfere with the experiments, do as you like."
He then drew Harry aside and murmured, "Peter's mood seems off. Three days ago he suddenly looked… like he'd lost his soul in here. He still hasn't bounced back."
Harry lowered his voice too. "About a month ago, Peter lost one of the people who loved him most."
A month ago was when Ben Parker was killed. As far as Harry could tell, that was the only thing that could explain the change.
Otto was a little surprised, and the forced smile on the young man's face made sense. "As his friend, Harry, you need to support him. Peter's a good kid. He has to pull himself together and move forward."
"That's why I brought him back—to get his mind on something else," Harry said.
Otto didn't mind. As a child he and his mother had often been beaten by his father; his mother would always shield him with her own body. When she died, Otto's mental state had been worse than Peter's was now. His gaze softened.
"Looks like Peter's very interested in nuclear physics."
Batman was already standing before an instrument, studying the readouts with intense focus. Taking advantage of Harry and Otto's conversation, he spoke up as if he'd just spotted something:
"Dr. Octavius, I found the error that triggered the lab alarm last time."
Both Otto and Harry hurried over. That alarm had even set off Spider-Sense; Batman took the chance to resolve it now and lay groundwork for future equation fixes.
"I told you Peter's a genius," Harry said, trading a smile with Otto.
They didn't linger. Soon Harry and Batman left together.
"Peter, I know you miss Uncle Ben," Harry said on the sidewalk. "I do too. But you can't stay like this. You still have Aunt May—and me. You have to live well, carrying what Uncle Ben hoped for."
"I will," Batman said.
Harry said no more, climbed into a plain-looking Cadillac that Batman could tell at a glance cost a small fortune, and drove off.
"Time to hit the illegal shop, build the nitrogen gas springs, and finish my first piece of gear."
Watching the Cadillac disappear around the corner, Batman turned toward the Williamsburg Bridge.
Under an unremarkable old building near the bridge, several basements had been knocked together into a small factory. The stink of metal shavings mixed with machine oil and sweat made Batman wrinkle his nose the moment he stepped inside.
"Hey! Who are you? Beat—"
A Black man—his clothes smeared so dark they looked the same color as his skin, making him seem shirtless at first glance—bared bright white teeth and hefted a crowbar to throw Batman out.
He didn't finish the sentence. Batman's fist added a splash of red to his face.
"Goddammit—lunatic!" he yelped. In a clatter of footsteps, several other workers rushed over, brandishing ugly but undoubtedly lethal guns.
"Five thousand dollars. I use the shop for one hour."
Before they could speak, Batman tossed a wad of cash and shut them up.
Unlike ordinary nitrogen gas springs, which are cylindrical, the ones he needed were flat and slightly curved—like a military canteen.
An hour later, Batman slipped away with three completed nitrogen gas springs, filled them with high-pressure nitrogen at another shop, and returned to the abandoned shipyard.
All that remained was to marry the web-shooters to the nitrogen springs. Once assembled, his first piece of equipment would be done.