If he chose to unleash his full strength, Batman knew these fifty security guards would not last even half a minute.
His body remembered how to strike harder, faster, and with lethal precision. Every nerve, every muscle, was capable of crushing bone and shattering organs. But he deliberately suppressed that instinct.
He did not come here to kill.
Relying on the intense training of the past few days, Batman carefully controlled every punch, every kick, every throw. He forced his strength down—kept it close to the limits of the Batman that this world remembered. Controlled. Calculated. Non-lethal.
Even so, the difference between him and ordinary men was overwhelming.
Security guards rushed him in groups, stun batons crackling, firearms raised. Batman stepped forward calmly, his movements fluid and sharp. A wrist twist sent one man crashing into the wall. A low sweep took another off his feet. An elbow strike landed precisely at a nerve cluster, and another body collapsed unconscious before it hit the floor.
One by one, they fell.
Some were thrown across the corridor. Some were knocked out mid-charge. Others barely understood what had happened before darkness swallowed them whole.
Within moments, the floor was littered with unmoving bodies.
That was when a sharp, interested gaze locked onto him.
Silver Sable stood several meters away, arms crossed, watching the entire exchange with undisguised curiosity. Her silver hair reflected the cold laboratory lights, and the tight combat suit clung to her athletic frame, every line of her posture speaking of experience and confidence.
A faint smile curved her lips.
"Interesting," she said. "Taking down seven or eight men bare-handed… and holding back while doing it."
Her eyes gleamed with eagerness.
"Who are you?" she asked. "How about sparring with me for a bit?"
Batman didn't even turn fully toward her.
"No interest."
Two cold words.
He vaulted toward the sealed laboratory door, raised his arm, and a strand of Spider-Silk shot forward, anchoring itself securely. In the next instant, his body vanished upward, disappearing through the exit like a shadow pulled into the ceiling.
Silver Sable didn't chase him.
She stood still, hands resting on her multi-functional utility belt, the material tightly cinching her waist and accentuating her figure. Her eyes lingered on the direction he'd left, thoughtful rather than frustrated.
"He was holding back everywhere…" she murmured. "That means he wasn't here to slaughter anyone."
Her gaze shifted toward the rows of transparent tanks lining the lab.
"Did he find out about Osborn's human experiments?" she wondered. "Did he come here for evidence?"
She didn't dwell on it.
Instead, she pulled out her phone and resumed her work, taking photo after photo of the experimental subjects—emaciated bodies, twisted limbs, faces frozen between pain and death. Each image was damning.
By dawn, all of this would be sent to the New York Police Department.
She intended to make sure this place would never operate in the shadows again.
---
Batman didn't leave the Osborn Group building.
After exiting the laboratory on the second basement level, he shot another strand of Spider-Silk and climbed along the building's exterior, boots clinging effortlessly to the smooth surface. Wind rushed past him as he ascended floor by floor.
His destination was higher.
Much higher.
According to Peter Parker's diary, the spider that changed everything had been located on the upper floors—specifically, the genetically mutated spider cultivation area.
The bite had occurred on the twenty-first floor.
A biotech company this large would never operate without detailed records. Every specimen would have a serial number. Every experiment would leave a paper trail.
"I don't need to find the spider," Batman thought. "I just need to find when it went missing."
If the disappearance aligned with the diary, it would confirm one crucial truth:
Peter Parker's abilities came from genetic mutation—not human experimentation.
From Batman's perspective, neither possibility was acceptable.
But if forced to choose, genetic mutation was far preferable to experiments that sacrificed dozens of human lives.
He entered the building again on the twentieth floor and began searching.
One hour passed.
Then two.
Batman moved nonstop, scanning databases, breaking encryption, searching file after file. He moved upward—from the twentieth floor to the thirtieth—methodical and relentless.
Nothing.
No missing spider.
No irregularities.
The night deepened. Outside, the sky began to pale, faint streaks of white appearing on the horizon.
Still, Batman pressed on.
He reached the thirty-first floor.
"Nothing," he muttered, tossing aside another thick stack of documents. His brows tightened in frustration. "Still nothing."
Continuing like this would lead nowhere. He needed another angle.
That was when he noticed the building's floor map mounted near the stairwell.
His eyes sharpened.
The first ten floors: public areas.
Floors ten through twenty: standard laboratories.
Floors twenty through fifty-three: core biotechnology research zones.
And above that—
From the fifty-third floor to the sixtieth floor—
Private territory.
The personal domain of Norman Osborn, founder and chairman of the Osborn Group.
His office occupied the entire top floor—more than half the space of the sixtieth level.
Batman's mind clicked into place.
"If a genetically mutated spider went missing," he reasoned, "the report wouldn't stay buried in lower-level archives."
"It would go up."
Either to the executive in charge—or straight to Osborn himself.
Decision made, Batman wasted no time.
He flipped back onto the exterior wall and ascended rapidly.
---
Sixtieth floor.
Batman emerged silently from a ventilation shaft, scanning the area in a single fluid motion. No guards. No alarms.
But before he could take another step—
He froze.
Someone else was here.
Not a guard.
Not a scientist.
A woman.
Snow-white hair spilled over a tight black leather suit as she knelt in front of a cabinet, rummaging through its contents with practiced ease. Her movements were smooth, confident, and completely unbothered by the fact that she was committing a crime inside one of the most powerful offices in New York.
Black Cat.
Because of his angle—and without the full support of his original Detective Mode—Batman hadn't noticed her before landing.
Peter Parker's Spider-Sense stirred faintly.
Batman noted the detail mentally.
"Spider-Sense detects danger," he thought. "But it doesn't react to someone without hostile intent."
He watched quietly as Black Cat continued searching, unaware of his presence.
When she bent lower to check the bottom shelf, Batman finally spoke.
"You seem busy."
The sudden voice shattered the silence.
Black Cat sprang to her feet in an instant, hands raised in a claw-like stance, eyes sharp and alert.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Batman didn't move.
"Who are you?" he replied evenly.
Her eyes darted, calculating.
"I'm Kingpin," she said fiercely. "The underground emperor of New York. I suggest you leave—now."
Silence.
Batman stared at her.
"…?"
For a moment, he genuinely didn't know how to respond.
Then something in his presence—his stillness, the weight in his voice—made Black Cat hesitate. Her posture softened. Her eyes widened.
"…Batman?"
Recognition bloomed across her face.
Batman stepped out of the shadows.
"Yes."
Her tension melted instantly.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprise and relief mixing in her voice. "And—wait—you know Kingpin hired Squid Man to kill you, right?"
She circled him, studying the black stealth suit that covered him head to toe.
"I always thought you were some kind of monster," she added. "Didn't expect you to be… human."
"Not the same," Batman replied quietly.
He shook his head slightly.
"What are you doing here?"
"My soul doesn't belong to this world," he thought silently. "I'm not the same kind of human at all."
Black Cat shrugged and returned to the cabinets.
"Kingpin owns shares in Osborn Group," she said. "I wanted proof. I don't want his gang getting stronger."
She glanced at him.
"What about you?"
"I'm looking for information related to Osborn's biotechnology."
"Oh?" she said casually. "That stuff?"
She pointed toward a pile of documents she'd already discarded.
Batman moved instantly.
He picked them up—and his eyes locked onto the data.
There it was.
The genetically mutated spider.
The serial number.
The incident report.
The date of disappearance and discovery of its corpse—
—matched exactly with the day Peter Parker visited Osborn Group.
For a brief moment, Batman exhaled deeply.
Relief.
Then tension returned just as quickly.
Because one truth had been confirmed—
And another had become far more terrifying.
Kingpin's investment in a multinational giant like Osborn Group meant one thing:
The ruler of New York's underworld possessed enormous capital.
And a criminal organization backed by that level of money—
Was far more dangerous than guns alone.
---------------------------------------------
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