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Batman in Spiderman's World, Ch 5-8
🕑 Added 2025-09-29 21:40:26 +0000 UTCChapter 5: Step by Step into the Trap
Batman committed every scrap of CIA intel to memory as his hands worked nonstop, assembling new gear.
Tools for taking down Squid-Man—tools he’d perfected back in Gotham. Gel Bombs.
A blend of multiple chemical compounds, stable when sealed but hardening into an explosive solid the instant it hit open air.
They weren’t difficult to make. The only challenge was the formula. But for Batman, that was no obstacle at all.
Alongside them, he built a detonation system: half a dozen miniature signal receivers paired with ignition modules.
The receivers went in place first, each tuned to listen for a precise wireless signal. When triggered, they would activate their paired igniter. The igniter released a small current—enough to set off the Gel Bombs.
In Gotham, he’d made these so many times that tonight the process felt effortless.
Zzzzt…
Batman pressed a receiver and igniter against a steel beam, sprayed a coating of gel over it, then stepped back.
The remote was nothing more than a car key reengineered to his needs. He retreated twenty meters, took cover, and thumbed the switch.
Boom! The beam shuddered as the Gel Bomb went off.
The charge had been light. The blast wasn’t meant to level buildings, only to control space. Batman nodded. Enough for his purpose. More gel, more power. Simple as that.
His third piece of gear was done. The Bat-Claw. The upgraded computer. Now the Gel Bombs.
The fourth wasn’t truly complete—an improvised electrical weapon built from a modified stun baton. It could unleash a current strong enough to paralyze a man instantly.
Against Squid-Man, whose physiology far exceeded normal humans, Batman cranked the output higher. The price: the weapon became a one-use item.
Preparations finished, night fell. But Batman didn’t head straight for the sewers. First, he transformed the abandoned shipyard into a trap.
Zzzzt… zzzzt…
The faint sound whispered through the factory as Batman used the Bat-Claw’s agility to move from beam to beam, planting Gel Bombs and stringing lines of webbing dyed black.
Webs were nearly invisible at the best of times. Black made them vanish completely in the dark.
This was his fallback plan. If Squid-Man came to him, he’d be ready.
So far, no one had spoken of “Batman” in New York. If Squid-Man was working for Kingpin and wanted to find him, the shipyard would be the obvious place to look.
“The shipyard connects to four main sewer lines. More than twenty branches. Given his size, he’ll likely use one of the big four.”
Batman’s eyes locked on the same spot Squid-Man had clawed open last night. One of the main trunks.
He layered it heavily. Webbing and Gel Bombs woven into a waiting snare.
“If he’s not here by nine, then he’s hiding deeper in the sewers.”
With that, Batman dropped down into the tunnels, planting more traps around the intersections within a hundred meters of the yard.
When everything was ready, he took position atop the highest point of the yard—the raised keel of a rusted ship hanging from its rigging.
Now, he waited.
Minutes dragged. The yard was pitch black, save for a few weak streetlamps outside. Shadows of ships and machinery loomed like monsters waiting to devour the guilty.
A breeze stirred. Carried with it—a faint, unmistakable stench.
Batman didn’t move. He knew. Squid-Man was here.
The suit clung to him. The Bat-Claw hung ready at his wrist. Gel Bombs armed. The electrical device hidden in place. He fixed his gaze on the cracked sewer pipe.
Silently, a greenish tentacle slid through the gap. Then another. And another. Until eight writhed free.
Not the humanoid hybrid he’d seen last night. Tonight, Squid-Man emerged in full cephalopod form—a detail the CIA had never recorded.
I expected as much, Batman thought.
Squid-Man crept out of the sewer, cautiously scanning the area.
Batman pressed his trigger.
The explosion ripped through the far side of the yard—the exact opposite of the pipe.
Instinct took over. Squid-Man bolted forward, straight into the path Batman had carved for him—an old, rotting trawler.
Five meters. Ten meters. His speed was inhuman. Which only meant he hit the trap faster.
He realized something was wrong too late. Black webs snapped tight across his body.
Panic flared. He thrashed, slimy skin slipping through the strands. A tentacle tore free, pulling him toward the trawler.
The moment he touched the hull—another explosion. The Gel Bomb shattered the brittle wood. The trawler collapsed, dumping him into a net of webbing strung below.
The trap wouldn’t hold forever. His body was too slick. Given time, he’d wriggle free.
If only I had something sharp to cut this with… Squid-Man’s eyes darted wildly until they landed on a jagged metal frame still attached to the wreck.
He lunged, wrapping a tentacle around it.
And screamed.
A surge of current ripped through him. Every limb spasmed, body convulsing uncontrollably.
From start to finish, he never even saw Batman. Every step, every reaction, had been predicted, calculated, and used against him.
Fear, pain—sensations he hadn’t known in years—overwhelmed him.
Then, without warning, a low, demonic voice pressed against his ear.
“Tell me everything about the experiments OsCorp performed on you. I want it all.”
Beating Squid-Man hadn’t been Batman’s goal. His true target was Squid-Man’s employer—Kingpin—and uncovering the human experiments Osborn Corporation had conducted on him.
“I… hah… you’re Batman, right? You went through all this trouble, building these traps, just to ask me that? Come closer and I’ll tell you everything…”
Inside his body, Squid-Man’s organs contracted, preparing to unleash a blast of ink the moment Batman showed his face.
At the same time, he was stalling. The electric shock from earlier had left him nearly paralyzed. He needed time to recover his strength and tear free from the webs clinging to his body.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Then came the faint hiss of a line snapping through the air.
Before Squid-Man could react, one of his tentacles was seized in an iron grip.
He’d had women grab his tentacles before—he knew the feel of human hands well. But this touch… this didn’t feel human at all. It felt like a reptile’s claw clamping down on him.
The next second, that claw unleashed a surge of strength that hurled him through the air.
For a brief moment, Squid-Man’s spirits lifted. He twisted frantically in midair, hoping to finally shake off the webs. If he could just hit the ground, he might have a chance to escape.
“This guy isn’t human. Maybe he’s like me—an OsCorp experiment. Something turned him into a lizard or whatever…”
His thoughts raced as all eight tentacles tore at the webs binding him.
But hope quickly curdled into despair. Even as he flew, more webs shot from the shadows, each strand heavy and sticky, wrapping him tighter and tighter.
And the ground rushing up beneath him didn’t offer safety. A jagged slab of concrete waited below, rebar jutting upward like a cluster of spears ready to impale him.
Squid-Man could endure webs; given enough time, he could wriggle free. But steel through his body? That would cripple him—if it didn’t kill him outright.
“You’re a devil! A devil!”
His scream cracked, almost a sob. Batman didn’t flinch. He waited until Squid-Man was only inches from the steel before finally snapping a webline to catch him.
“Talk.”
Batman’s voice was low, harsh. He stripped the webbing from his own hand—makeshift friction gloves he’d wrapped on to grip the villain’s slimy skin.
Squid-Man’s eyes went glassy. Foam bubbled at his lips, but no words came.
“…”
Batman’s silence carried his frustration. He’d meant to frighten Squid-Man into talking, to pry out the information he needed. Instead, he’d broken him completely.
The man hadn’t even given Batman the chance to try any of his other interrogation methods.
“Batman… Batman…”
Squid-Man muttered the name in a dull, mindless loop. No matter how Batman pressed him, he couldn’t form another answer.
It unsettled Batman. In Gotham, criminals like this never broke so easily. They only behaved after being put through an entire arsenal of violent interrogations—and even then, they usually bounced back later, loud and defiant.
But New York was different. Here, the death penalty existed. And unlike Gotham’s rotten system, New York’s police force still had many who stood for justice, even if they were stretched thin against the endless tide of gangs.
One name stood out to Batman: George Stacy. A police captain known for his integrity, recently promoted to commissioner of Manhattan.
George Stacy had only just stepped into his new role as Manhattan’s police commissioner, and the promotion had left him drowning in work.
Even at eleven at night, he was still buried in case files, rubbing his tired eyes as he prepared to finally call it a day.
Then—BANG. Something heavy slammed against the pavement outside his window.
He rushed over, opened the glass, and peered out. In the distance, a shadow flitted between rooftops.
Below, a massive squid-like figure lay bound in black webs.
George Stacy grabbed his gun and hurried downstairs. He approached cautiously, weapon raised. The creature muttered “Batman… Batman…” over and over. Underneath its bulk lay a single sheet of paper.
The paper listed charge after charge, each one enough to warrant the death penalty.
Stacy stared between the paper and the villain, weighing it carefully, before pulling out his phone.
“Call Major Crimes. We’re working late tonight.”
The evidence was overwhelming. Still, as commissioner, Stacy had to follow procedure.
Up above, hidden in the shadows of a high-rise, Batman watched as Stacy and his officers locked Squid-Man in a steel cage. Only then did he turn away.
His work wasn’t finished. Not even close.
First, he dismantled the unused Gel Bombs and webs he’d planted in the sewers and shipyard. Then he unearthed the cache of guns he’d buried beneath the yard.
Last night, the words “Stark Industries” stamped on the crates had meant nothing to him. But today, after hacking into CIA files about the Cosmic Cube, a few names had stuck with him.
One of them was “Howard Stark.”
Click-clack…
In the deepest part of the abandoned shipyard, inside his makeshift command center, Batman’s fingers flew across a keyboard. Page after page opened, spilling information onto the screen.
“Howard Stark. American inventor, scientist, engineer, and industrialist. Founder and CEO of Stark Industries…”
“Only son: Tony Stark. Current chairman and CEO of Stark Industries. The richest man in the world…”
Batman erased every trace of his digital presence, shut the laptop, and slipped into the night. His destination: uptown Manhattan.
He planned to pay Tony Stark a visit—see if Iron Man knew anything about the Cosmic Cube.
But for now, Batman’s path veered not toward Stark Industries, but to its opposite: Osborn Corporation, the empire of Harry Osborn’s father, backer of Dr. Octavius’s fusion experiments.
The CIA had given him nothing concrete on Osborn’s human experiments. Squid-Man had been useless. That left only one option. Batman would investigate himself.
“Human experiments. Serum. Super soldier…”
Murmuring the words under his breath, Batman slipped into the shadows of Osborn Corporation’s towering headquarters.
Chapter 6: Experiment Codename "Spider-Man"
“Aaahhh!”
The faint but chilling screams echoing from the second basement floor of Osborn Corporation twisted the sterile white lab into something out of a nightmare.
Batman had slipped into the building, hacked a terminal, and pinpointed the lab’s location within minutes.
Security guards and locked doors barely slowed him down. Now he crouched in a blind spot of the cameras, watching the horror unfold.
In front of him stood a transparent tank. Inside, a ragged man, his body filthy and deformed, writhed in pain. His ribcage jutted grotesquely forward, warped into a birdlike chest.
There weren’t just one or two of these tanks. There were more than fifty. Each one held a person.
Most were already dead. The few still breathing were shells of humanity, their eyes clouded, their bodies twitching in agony. Machines kept their vital signs from failing entirely, but even if Batman wanted to free them, it was impossible.
Every subject looked the same—matted hair, dirty skin—like beggars pulled straight from the alleys and thrown into hell.
“Maybe that’s exactly what they are. Kidnapped off the streets and forced into human experiments by Osborn Corporation.”
“Theoretically, I should hand this to the NYPD. Let them investigate and shut Osborn down.”
“But if there’s government or military backing this… maybe the best move is to dump everything straight into the media.”
Dressed only in his stealth suit, stripped of the usual gadgets from his bat-armor, Batman slipped into the adjoining surveillance room. He packaged the lab’s live footage and sent it straight to the Daily Bugle’s inbox.
Only then did he turn back to the stacks of files in the lab, flipping through them at speed.
“Subject 05: enhanced strength. Recorded force level eight times that of an average human. Side effects: eight squid-like tentacles, full cephalopod traits. To date, the only successful experiment.”
“Provided new direction for Super Soldier Serum research. Subject 05 escaped and remains at large.”
Batman’s jaw tightened. Subject 05 was clearly Squid-Man.
Every other entry was stamped with failure. But at the bottom, he found one that broke the pattern.
“No number assigned. Possibly more successful than Subject 05. Codename: Spider-Man. Identity unknown. Presumed outsider who stole serum, ingested it, and gained powers.”
“Estimated abilities: super strength, super speed, enhanced reflexes, healing factor, web generation, danger precognition.”
The words hit Batman like a sledgehammer.
“Peter Parker… an Osborn experiment? Bought with dozens of human lives?”
The thought crushed him, a weight pressing down on his chest.
“No. That’s wrong.”
His willpower snapped him back to focus. He remembered every line of Peter’s diary: how he gained his powers during a tour of Osborn’s biotech labs—when a genetically altered spider bit him.
That wasn’t a lab-created subject. That was an accident.
“This could just be Osborn’s desperate spin. They’re experimenting with Super Soldier Serum, and Peter just happens to appear as Spider-Man during the same time.”
“Still… I need to check their biotech division for myself.”
Unlike the secret lab buried two floors down, Osborn’s biotech division operated openly, housed in the upper levels of Osborn Tower. Their crown jewel. Their public face.
Batman shoved the files aside, sat at a workstation, and hacked deeper into the company’s core network.
Most of it was legal research—biotech projects that had made Osborn a global giant. The dirty work was hidden, buried under layers of secrecy.
Then—beep-beep-beep.
The system detected the breach. Sirens wailed.
Batman pushed back his chair, ready to vanish, when a file name froze him in place.
“Spider-Slayer.”
He opened it.
“Codename: Spider-Man may hold the key to perfecting the Super Soldier Serum. Unlike Subject 05, Spider-Man appears in New York daily—making him an easier target for capture.”
“Spider-Slayer Project: modification of humanoid combat armor previously supplied to the military, incorporating glider systems. Purpose: eliminate Spider-Man…”
CLANG!
Boots thundered down the hall. A security door flew open, smashed off its hinges. The metallic rattle of weapons being cocked filled the room—fifty-one armed operatives, by his count.
“The system shows an intruder… damn it! Norman Osborn never told me he was running these grotesque human experiments! This is what I’ve been paid to protect?”
The voice cut sharp through the chaos—female, commanding, with a trace of fire beneath the coolness.
Batman shifted in the shadows, catching a glimpse: silver-gray hair cropped short, a white combat suit that hugged a lean, powerful frame, her movements precise and dangerous.
Silver Sable.
“Uh… Ms. Silver Sable, Norman only ordered us to guard the perimeter. With those security doors, we couldn’t even get inside.” One of the men spoke nervously.
Sable clenched her jaw. True—Norman had kept her out of the real secrets.
“So… Ms. Silver Sable, what do we do?” another asked cautiously.
“Simple,” she snapped. “We catch the intruder. Get our paycheck from Norman. Then we put him in prison and let the inmates have their fun.”
She gestured at the tanks. “And don’t fire. A few of these poor bastards are still alive.”
“I’ll handle the photos. The world’s gonna see what Osborn’s been hiding.”
In the shadows, Batman sprayed a thin line of gel on the floor. The sudden arrival of Silver Sable’s crew had wrecked his plan, but it hardly mattered. The more people who knew about Osborn’s crimes, the better.
And from her words, she wasn’t Osborn’s ally—just a contractor disgusted by what she’d uncovered.
“I can’t get caught. There’s too much left to do.”
Batman melted back into the dark, far enough from the trap he’d laid. With a soft click, the Gel Bomb detonated.
It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. Just to draw their attention.
Fifty against one. But the odds didn’t matter.
Batman stepped from the shadows, ready to strike first.
If he cut loose, Batman could’ve flattened all fifty guards in seconds.
But he didn’t. Days of harsh self-discipline had taught him to hold back, to rein in every strike, every kick—keeping himself roughly on par with the Batman of old.
Even so, the guards never stood a chance. One by one, they went down, tossed aside or knocked unconscious by a blur of martial techniques.
At last, Silver Sable’s sharp gaze settled on him, her lips curling with interest.
“Who are you? Dropping my men like that barehanded? How about a round with me?”
“No.” Batman’s reply was ice-cold, clipped. He vaulted out past the security doors and fired a webline, vanishing into the dark.
Sable didn’t chase. The silver belt cinched around her waist only accentuated the lean strength of her frame as she lowered her phone and kept snapping photos of the human test subjects.
“Pulling his punches. Doesn’t look like a villain. He probably came here after learning about Osborn’s experiments. Collecting evidence…”
She let him go. Come morning, she would deliver her pictures straight to the NYPD.
“Biotech division…”
Batman left the basement lab but not the tower. Scaling the outer walls with web and grip, he reached the twentieth floor.
According to Peter Parker’s diary, it was the twenty-first floor where the genetically altered spiders were kept—where the bite had happened.
“Every lab subject has a unique ID. I just need records of that one spider—when it disappeared. If the timeline matches Peter’s diary, then his powers came from mutation, not experiments.”
Neither origin sat well with him. But if he had to choose, mutation was better than powers bought with dozens of lives.
One hour. Two. Three.
Batman tore through files floor by floor, from the twentieth to the thirtieth, and found nothing.
Dawn was breaking, the sky paling, but he kept going, climbing to the thirty-first.
“Nothing. Still nothing…”
He dropped another stack of spider files onto the floor, scowling. Continuing like this would be a waste. He needed another angle.
That was when the building’s floor directory, bolted beside the stairs, caught his eye.
Floors 1–10: public spaces.
10–20: general labs.
20–53: biotech division.
Above that, floors 54–60: private property of Norman Osborn himself.
His personal office dominated the sixtieth floor.
“If that spider went missing, a scientist or staffer would’ve reported it up the chain. Which means the record will be in Norman Osborn’s office—or one of his executives’.”
Resolved, Batman climbed higher, scaling the glass walls to the very top.
Tap.
The sixtieth floor. After confirming the coast was clear, he slipped through a ventilation duct and dropped lightly inside.
He froze.
He wasn’t alone.
Kneeling in front of a cabinet, rifling through files, was a figure he hadn’t expected to see here—Black Cat.
Long white hair, skin-tight suit, her body low as she dug deeper, completely unaware of him until now. Without his old cowl’s detective systems, he’d missed her presence before landing.
“Peter’s Spider-Sense can analyze microscopic shifts in the environment and flag danger instantly. But if someone has no hostile intent, it won’t help him.”
Batman filed that detail away as he studied her. She was clearly after something in Osborn’s office, same as him.
“You look busy.”
The voice from the shadows made her jump, springing up like she’d been caught red-handed—which she had.
“Who are you?” Black Cat’s fingers curled into claws, ready to strike.
“Who are you?” Batman’s voice stayed low, unshaken.
“I’m Kingpin. Emperor of New York’s underworld. I suggest you leave. Now.” Her tone was sharp, but her bluff was obvious.
Batman stared, momentarily at a loss. This was the same woman he’d once thought of as a useful ally.
Something about his presence—the darkness, his voice—clicked for her. Her eyes widened.
“Batman?”
“What are you doing here?”
When she finally recognized him, he stepped forward into the light, and her stance eased.
“Did you know Kingpin hired Squid-Man to kill you? And for the record, I thought you were some kind of monster. Didn’t realize you were just… human. Like me.”
Her gaze swept over his black stealth suit, the masked face hidden like a ninja’s.
“Not the same.” He shook his head slightly. “Why are you here?”
Because his soul didn’t belong to this world. It was the one difference he could never explain.
“I heard Kingpin’s a shareholder in Osborn Corporation. I figured I’d dig up proof. I don’t want his empire growing any bigger.” She went back to rummaging. “What about you?”
“I’m looking for records tied to their biotech experiments,” Batman said.
“Biotech? Genetic stuff? I tossed something like that over there.” She pointed lazily to a folder on the floor.
In two strides, Batman picked it up. His pulse quickened as he scanned the pages.
It was the record. The file on the very spider that had bitten Peter Parker.
The date of its disappearance—and the discovery of its carcass—matched exactly the day Peter visited Osborn Corporation.
For no reason he could explain, Batman exhaled a heavy breath of relief. But it didn’t last. His thoughts snapped back into focus, sharp and cold.
Kingpin had invested in a global giant like Osborn. That meant he had staggering financial power. And a mob boss with that kind of capital was a nightmare waiting to happen.
Chapter 7: Kingpin’s Money Laundering
Batman had only just found the files on the genetically altered spider when Black Cat let out a delighted gasp.
“I found something too!”
It was a shareholder agreement from Osborn Corporation. Written in black and white, it confirmed that Wilson Fisk—Kingpin—owned ten percent of the company’s shares.
The ink was still fresh, and the date showed that Kingpin had only bought in a few days ago.
“What are you planning to do?” Batman asked quietly.
The excitement faded from her face, replaced by uncertainty.
“I… don’t know. Go home and Google it?”
“No.” Batman wasn’t just Batman—he had once run Wayne Enterprises. “Answer me this first. Where do you think Kingpin got the money to invest in Osborn Corporation?”
“By swallowing up rival gangs, drugs, weapons trafficking…” Her eyes lit up.
“Exactly. All dirty money. And now he’s using investments to launder it into clean money,” Batman said. “If we find a lawyer willing to file suit, we could void his investment. Maybe even put him behind bars.”
“Just like that…?”
She could hardly believe it. In her mind, bringing down Kingpin’s empire and avenging her father meant years of struggle. But Batman made it sound almost simple.
A sweet smile returned to her face, and she was about to turn and hug him—
But she was alone in Norman Osborn’s office. At some point, Batman had already vanished.
In the sewers, Batman was gliding swiftly along the tunnels on strands of web, following Squid-Man’s trail.
Even underground, Squid-Man’s foul stench lingered strong. It didn’t take long before Batman found the lair.
Seven or eight suitcases were piled there, all stuffed with cash—payments from New York’s crime families to Squid-Man. One case alone held five million dollars.
In total, more than seven and a half million.
“The Batsuit has to be built through bulk orders of different components so no one notices. This isn’t nearly enough.”
At the back of an abandoned shipyard, Batman stood frowning at the piles of bills he’d gathered in one place.
Recreating a suit like the one he used before would take at least ten million. Not because a single suit cost that much, but because the suit was, in theory, disposable.
And ordering in small quantities would raise suspicion. The wrong eyes could trace it back to him.
That left only one option: buy everything in bulk at once.
But Batman had no intention of keeping all of it for himself. This was blood money—payment for lives Squid-Man had taken.
If the dead were nothing but gangsters with blood on their hands, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. But he couldn’t be sure there weren’t innocents among them.
“I’ll need to keep track of Captain George Stacy’s evidence against Squid-Man. That’ll tell me who the victims really were. Then I’ll decide what to do with the money.”
The sun was rising. Another day had begun.
Batman rested less than an hour before shedding the mask, pulling on a plaid shirt, and becoming Peter Parker again. He stepped out, bought a copy of the Daily Bugle, and returned to Peter’s shabby apartment.
No mention of Osborn Corporation’s human experiments. Only a photo of Spider-Man swinging through New York, with a headline screaming: “Fugitive or Redeemed? Spider-Man Missing for Four Days!”
Batman ignored it.
Beneath the Spider-Man piece, the front page covered one story in bold: the military would be visiting Osborn Corporation today. The company would be closed to the public.
The military…
Batman wondered if the videos he had sent to the Bugle last night had been buried. If so, maybe the military was involved.
Knock, knock, knock! A young woman’s voice called through the door.
“Peter, your phone.”
“My phone?” Batman opened the door. A young woman stood there, not especially pretty, with two braids and a slim frame.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m the landlord’s daughter. Don’t you remember? I’m Ursula.” She smiled shyly and held out the phone.
Batman watched her retreat across the hall to her own apartment before lifting the receiver.
“This is Peter.”
“Peter? It’s May.” The warm voice of an elderly woman came through. “It’s Saturday. You need to come home today.”
Batman didn’t answer. He knew exactly who she was—that was why he had avoided calling her.
May Parker. Peter’s aunt. After her husband, Ben Parker, was killed, she and Peter had only each other.
“Peter? Are you still there?” Aunt May’s tone grew anxious. “I know college keeps you busy, but today’s important. You have to come back.”
“…Alright.” Batman finally forced out a word.
Hearing her nephew agree, Aunt May lit up, chattering on with warmth only a mother could give. All Batman could do was respond mechanically with, “Okay,” and “No problem.”
He could feel her concern for Peter through the line. In Gotham, only Alfred had ever cared for him like this—but Alfred never talked this much.
Her relentless kindness nearly overwhelmed him. Thankfully, she hung up at last.
“Peter, want to try my fresh-baked pizza?” Ursula peeked back out, holding a tray and beaming.
“Thanks,” Batman said, refusing. He wasn’t used to kindness without reason.
But Ursula seemed to take his answer as a yes. She opened her door wider, cheerfully presenting the pizza and staring at him with bright expectation.
“…”
Three hours later, 10 a.m.
“Check the security feeds! Find out who triggered the alarm in my lab last night!”
“Tell Finance to pay Silver Sable International extra! Not a word of our experiments can leak!”
In Osborn Corporation’s skyscraper, Norman Osborn barked orders as he stormed into his top-floor office on the sixtieth floor.
The place was a mess—drawers yanked open, papers scattered. He was about to explode when an employee burst in.
“Mr. Osborn, the military delegation is downstairs.”
Norman inhaled sharply, forcing his rage down. Without sparing the man a glance, he rushed into the elevator.
He was grateful that the intruder hadn’t damaged any experimental equipment. Otherwise, today’s visit would have been ruined.
And without military funding, with Dr. Octavius’s nuclear fusion energy project still stalled, the board would have every reason to vote him out.
“Good thing I brought Kingpin in as a shareholder. At least my seat is stable.” He steadied his breath, tamping down his fury.
Behind him, Batman’s sharp gaze swept over the ransacked office. Wearing the stolen uniform of one of Osborn’s researchers, he silently followed.
“General Ross.”
Batman, dressed in a white lab coat like one of Osborn Corporation’s own researchers, followed closely behind Norman Osborn as the CEO greeted the incoming delegation.
Several other lab-coated scientists trailed beside Batman, and standing in their midst, he attracted no suspicion. All eyes were on the graying general.
“We’re honored to have you here…”
Norman Osborn beamed as he shook Ross’s hand. But Ross wasn’t interested in pleasantries. He cut straight to the point.
“I want to see how far along the Super Soldier Project is.”
Still smiling, Osborn led the general and his entourage deeper inside. But instead of heading for the underground lab where human testing was conducted, he brought them somewhere else.
The chamber was vast. Seven or eight young men, athletic and agile, wobbled precariously in the air on winged devices that looked like demonic bats.
Clusters of researchers surrounded them, jotting down data nonstop.
“So that’s the Glider from the Spider-Slayer program,” Batman thought silently as he followed.
Last night he hadn’t had time to read through the entire “Spider-Slayer” file, but he knew enough: the program was designed to kill Spider-Man.
“We’ve already solved the problems of lateral gliding and stabilizing gravity. These are our first prototypes…” Osborn explained cheerfully.
But Ross’s face stayed stony.
“I saw the Gliders last time. That’s not why I’m here.”
Without waiting for Osborn to guide him, he marched straight toward the underground labs on the second sublevel.
The delegation immediately fell in behind him. Osborn’s face darkened, but he hurried to catch up, forcing himself to keep pace with the general.
They stopped before a transparent tank. Inside was a corpse, long dead. Yet neither Ross’s men nor Osborn’s researchers looked surprised.
They all knew what kind of experiments were happening here.
“How’s the progress?” Ross asked.
“The work is ongoing. We’re advancing rapidly,” Osborn said smoothly, dodging the question.
But the truth was plain: row after row of fifty tanks, each filled with a twisted, deformed body. The failures spoke louder than his words.
Ross halted, his expression carved in stone. He stared at Osborn for several long seconds.
“Sixty years ago, the serum was perfected. Sixty years later, with better science, better facilities—and you still can’t reproduce it.”
His voice dropped like a hammer. “Mr. Osborn, I’ll give you two more weeks. If you can’t deliver a working Super Soldier Serum, the military will have no choice but to withdraw our funding.”
Withdraw funding.
The words struck Osborn’s chest like a physical blow.
Ever since Ross had promised him that recreating the serum would secure Osborn Corporation a lasting partnership with the military, the company had poured nearly everything into the project.
Subsequent waves of military funding only emboldened Osborn to gamble everything, despite the board’s growing anger. He had wagered on two fronts: the Super Soldier Serum on one hand, and Dr. Octavius’s Nuclear Fusion Energy on the other.
With both, he had never doubted success.
But now, with the serum stalled and Octavius’s research still jammed at a critical stage, Ross’s threat loomed like a death sentence.
“General Ross,” Osborn forced out, teeth grinding, “you’re an Air Force lieutenant general. Why cling to the Super Soldier Project instead of the Gliders or combat suits that could revolutionize air combat?”
Ross read the desperation in his eyes. His own temper snapped.
“You want to know why?”
“You want to know what I’ve lived through?”
“Three years ago, I deployed an entire division—twenty tanks, seven planes—just to bring down one monster.”
“You know what happened? We lost. A crushing, humiliating defeat. Do you know how many wives and children waited for their men, only to receive a coffin instead?”
“Those were my soldiers! My men!”
Ross’s face flushed crimson, his voice booming. Spittle sprayed Osborn’s face as he roared.
“If I’d had a super-soldier army, none of it would’ve happened! Now do you understand why I don’t give a damn about your Gliders?”
Osborn lowered his gaze, letting the man’s fury and stinking spit wash over him in silence. Behind him, some of the scientists looked away, discomfort on their faces.
“In 2003, Hulk fought the military in open battle,” Batman recalled as soon as Ross mentioned the “monster.” The CIA files had been clear.
Ross leaned in, voice dropping but still like steel. “This morning, someone sent the Daily Bugle footage of human experiments here—surveillance and handheld video.”
“If you can’t deliver a working Super Soldier Serum in two weeks, not only will the military pull out, we won’t cover for you anymore.”
With a sharp gesture, Ross turned and led his delegation out, leaving Norman Osborn standing alone, his face clouded with rage and panic.
“Mr. Osborn…” someone murmured.
He ignored them, retreating to his sixtieth-floor office. Papers still littered the floor from last night’s break-in, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere.
At last, he summoned his secretary.
“Shut down every Osborn-funded project. Move all resources into the Super Soldier Serum.”
“And release the Spider-Slayer. I want Spider-Man on the streets before sunset.”
The secretary, a poised woman in her thirties with neatly pinned brown hair, hesitated.
“Mr. Osborn, are you certain? The other shareholders could vote you out for this—”
“I have allies on the board. Do as I say,” he snapped.
“And… Dr. Octavius’s Nuclear Fusion Energy?” she asked cautiously.
“Shut it down. Shut it ALL down!”
Chapter 8: Luring the Enemy
On a street corner in Manhattan, a little girl sat on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
It was early August, not too hot, yet sweat beaded across her forehead. Her tears mixed with grime, leaving her small face streaked and dirty.
Creak—
A sleek black sedan pulled up beside her. When the man in the back stepped out, the entire car lifted several inches from the sudden release of weight.
The girl froze mid-cry as a massive shadow fell over her. She looked up and saw a towering bald man in an oversized white suit.
“Little one, what’s got you so upset?” His gentle voice didn’t match his hulking frame.
“I got separated from my dad,” she stammered, staring nervously at the giant who seemed more monster than man.
“My name is Wilson Fisk. You can call me Wilson. What’s yours?”
The man—Kingpin—smiled warmly and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her.
“Maddy, sir. Thank you.” She took it with small hands.
“You lost your father… do you remember his phone number?” Kingpin asked, kneeling down to meet her eyes.
Maddy shook her head, embarrassed. “We don’t have a phone.”
“Then he must be searching desperately for you,” Kingpin said. He extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. “I stand out in a crowd. If you sit on my shoulders, your father will spot you from far away.”
“But…” Maddy hesitated. The man was terrifyingly huge.
“Don’t be afraid, child.” Kingpin turned his head. Gasps rippled through the crowd as a streak of red and blue swung between the skyscrapers. “Look—Spider-Man protects New York. No one will harm you.”
Maybe it was Spider-Man’s sudden appearance, maybe Kingpin’s steady kindness. Either way, Maddy’s fear ebbed. Carefully, she climbed onto his broad shoulders.
Kingpin rose slowly, one massive hand keeping her steady while the other pulled out his phone.
“Mr. Osborn, turn on the news. Spider-Man is headed for Central Park.”
He hung up before Norman Osborn could respond.
Not far away, a disheveled, frantic man was scouring the crowd. Maddy spotted him first. Waving wildly, she cried, “Daddy! Daddy!”
The man’s bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of his daughter perched on the shoulders of a man built like a mountain. Terrified, he rushed over.
“Sir… please, could you put my daughter down?”
Kingpin gently lowered Maddy. She squealed with joy and threw herself into her father’s arms.
“New York may have Spider-Man watching over it, but a father who loses his child is failing at his duty,” Kingpin said, his soft tone edged with sternness.
The man stammered apologies. “Thank you, kind sir. I—I looked away for just a moment, and when I came back she was gone. If not for you… I’ll never forgive myself.”
Kingpin patted his shoulder. “My name is Wilson Fisk. If you need steady work with good pay, come find me in Hell’s Kitchen.”
With that, he slid back into his car. The vehicle sagged under his weight and rolled away.
“Daddy, I just saw Spider-Man!” Maddy said excitedly.
Her father ruffled her hair but said nothing, eyes fixed on the black sedan vanishing down the street.
High above Manhattan, Batman twisted through the air in a dizzying display.
Back in Gotham, when he swung with his Grapple Gun, he valued efficiency—no wasted motion, no showboating. But now, he imitated Nightwing’s acrobatics, exaggerating his movements to look like a true Spider-Man.
He wore not his black stealth suit, but Peter Parker’s hidden red-and-blue costume. Every move was calculated to draw eyes, to draw attention.
He wasn’t putting on a show. He was bait.
He was luring out Norman Osborn’s Spider-Slayer.
Better to draw it into the open on his own terms than wait for it to attack the city when he was unprepared. And he had chosen the battleground carefully: deep inside Central Park, far from innocent bystanders.
Of course, it was Saturday, and the park should’ve been full of tourists. But earlier that morning, Batman had hacked into the city’s systems and planted a fake notice:
Central Park closed to the public today.
The government quickly issued a correction, but the damage was done. The park was emptier than on a weekday.
Thwip!
White webbing shot out—specially prepared for daytime visibility. Batman yanked himself forward, sailing over the trees.
“Spider-Man!”
At the park’s entrance, a group of onlookers shouted, phones raised high.
Boom!
A miniature missile streaked in with a shriek, exploding in front of Batman. The red-and-blue figure tumbled out of the air.
Then the Spider-Slayer descended from the sky, armored in silver-gray plating and riding a Glider. It opened fire mercilessly on the fallen “Spider-Man.”
The armor’s sharp edges and monstrous design made it look less like a machine, more like a giant insect. And humanity’s fear of insects—especially flying ones—was primal.
The crowd that had cheered for Spider-Man scattered in panic.
Inside the park, Batman—still in the Spider-Man suit—stumbled deeper among the trees, the Spider-Slayer swooping after him with relentless pursuit.
Another missile blasted the ground. Smoke and dirt erupted. The costumed figure went tumbling like a cut kite, crashing into the soil and lying motionless.
“Too easy?”
The Spider-Slayer eyed the half-buried body.
According to Osborn Corporation’s data, Spider-Man’s strength, agility, and endurance far surpassed ordinary humans. There was no way a few small missiles had killed him.
“Mr. Osborn wants him alive. Whatever trick this is, I’ll tread carefully. Still… this armor was built to crush Spider-Man. Even up close, I can win.”
The pilot pressed a control. From beneath the suit’s arms sprang two pairs of claw-like limbs tipped with dagger blades. From his forearms extended long, narrow arm-blades.
He advanced cautiously toward the fallen “Spider-Man.”
Behind him, Batman—already stripped of the Spider-Man costume and having stuffed it with Gel Bombs—pressed a small detonator.
Knowing too little about the Spider-Slayer, he had prepared six different strategies.
This was Plan C.
Norman Osborn wanted Spider-Man alive. But alive didn’t have to mean intact.
The Spider-Slayer didn’t fire any more missiles. Instead, the forearm blades snapped out, ready to slice Spider-Man into a limbless torso.
The four daggered claws beneath the armpits were positioned to guard against sneak attacks.
The moment the blade struck, the pilot realized something was wrong. The sensation was off.
Before he could retreat, “Spider-Man” exploded. The blast hurled the Spider-Slayer backward like a ragdoll.
Zzzzt—
The instant he hit the ground, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder from behind. A silent device pressed against the small of his back.
The last shock unit Batman had built had been destroyed in the fight with Squid-Man. He’d built another.
Against an enemy wrapped head-to-toe in powered armor, Batman knew the methods to bring them down: concussive force, electricity, irritant gas… more ways than two hands could count.
The Gel Bombs might not penetrate the armor directly, but the blast impact was enough to rattle the man inside.
And the electric shock that followed left the entire suit crackling, its internal circuitry spasming with failure.
Plan C had worked. Batman didn’t linger. Before the Spider-Slayer could recover, he fired his Bat-Claw and vaulted into the branches above.
His caution proved justified. The moment he left the ground, violet-blue arcs of current danced across the silver-gray armor.
“OsCorp hasn’t finished developing the Super Soldier Serum. The one inside that suit is just an ordinary man.”
“But the files had confidence in the Spider-Slayer, claiming this armor was built to counter Spider-Man perfectly.”
“That electrical discharge—clearly one of the counters designed specifically for him.”
Like a hunter stalking prey, Batman shifted noiselessly from one tree to another.
“They know Spider-Man can heal. That’s why nearly all the weapons are lethal—possibly even poisoned.”
“I can’t let those blades touch me. Better to take a punch than a cut.”
“Without the Batsuit’s protection, close combat’s too risky—unless I see the chance to run Plan A.”
Even as his mind calculated, his hands were moving. He snapped an expander onto a canister filled with liquid Gel Bomb compound and lobbed it toward the rising Spider-Slayer.
The machine-man staggered upright, seemingly unharmed by the previous blast and electric strike. Just as he steadied himself, the canister burst open above him.
Viscous gel splattered across his body, swelling and hardening instantly on contact with air.
This wasn’t the same volatile mix Batman had packed into the decoy costume. This formula didn’t explode. It set solid—fast.
Like the putty a mechanic might use, but drying nearly the instant it hit oxygen.
“The file said the suit’s a powered exoskeleton. Best-case, this Gel Bomb buys me three seconds. That’s Plan A.”
First second: Batman tugged down Spider-Man’s goggles, hurled a prepared bucket of quicklime and water.
Boom—white vapor hissed violently as lime met water, choking gas billowing around the armor.
Second and third seconds: Batman held his breath and unleashed a barrage of blows. His fists hammered down like hail from the stratosphere, pounding the armored frame.
He wasn’t throwing his full strength. Each strike was calibrated—enough to transmit force inside without wasting energy.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The assault didn’t pause. Every style he’d learned in years of global training fused together, his fists drumming the Spider-Slayer’s frame with surgical brutality.
Each punch both dazed the man inside and mapped the armor’s weak points.
The Batsuit’s flaw wasn’t its exposed jaw, but the waist. Likewise, the Spider-Slayer wasn’t flawless. It didn’t take long for Batman to find the weak spot—at the lower back.
Dodging poisoned blades wasn’t always possible. He ate a few punches in return, one slamming directly into his eye.
He didn’t flinch. His counterattack roared on like a storm, suffocating the pilot with unrelenting pressure.
Zzzt!
Batman snagged another hidden shock device with a line of webbing, jammed it into the weak spot, and unleashed a vicious surge of electricity.
A minute later, against a battlefield prepared in advance, against a foe who had accounted for every possibility, the Spider-Slayer collapsed. Limp. Defeated.
The sun dipped westward. Evening crept in.
The “Spider-Slayer” was gone. The man stripped of his armor and Glider was just Spencer Smythe.
“Spider-Man…” Spencer’s face twisted, teeth grinding.
A robotics expert working under OsCorp, his field had shifted after General Ross’s Super Soldier program. No longer just drones—now powered exoskeletons and Gliders.
When Norman Osborn launched the “Spider-Slayer” project, Smythe had been so confident in his work that he piloted it himself.
And in his very first battle, he’d lost everything. Crushed not only by “Spider-Man,” but stripped of the armor itself.
“No… not Spider-Man.” Smythe turned his head, spotting the shredded red-and-blue costume lying in the dirt, still stuffed with Gel Bomb residue.
And in his hand… a batarang.
“Damn it… Batman!”
The attacks had been harsher than Spider-Man’s ever were. The blows to his back alone had numbered over a dozen.
And the humiliation—he didn’t even know what his opponent truly looked like.
He could shock, vanish and reappear, unleash choking gas, wield strength like a monster…
Smythe almost believed he’d fought a vampire.
“I failed. Mr. Osborn will fire me… damn that Batman!”
Fear and rage knotted in his chest. And then—
A searchlight snapped on overhead. Police swarmed from all sides, weapons drawn.
“Freeze! We got a report of an attack in Central Park!”
“Cuff him!”
Meanwhile, in Queens’ Forest Hills neighborhood, a quiet knock echoed at the door of a modest townhouse.
Batman didn’t know why May Parker’s phone call had been so stern, so urgent. But to preserve Peter Parker’s cover, he came.
He knocked. The door creaked open. A small, white-haired woman with a face full of wrinkles and kind eyes reached out with trembling arms and pulled him close.
“Peter! My boy, you’re finally home.”
“Today’s your birthday. I knew you’d forget. But this old woman never will.”
