Batman committed every piece of information he had extracted from the CIA to memory.
Once data entered his mind, it never truly left.
While his thoughts worked through Squid Man's combat profile—strength, speed, regeneration, bullet resistance—his hands never stopped moving. Tools were laid out with military precision across the worktable inside the abandoned shipyard.
Tonight was not about improvisation.
Tonight was about certainty.
The first set of tools he prepared were Gel Bombs, weapons he had used countless times back in Gotham. To the untrained eye, they looked like nothing more than dark, viscous liquid sealed inside compact cartridges.
In reality, the gel was a carefully balanced chemical compound—stable in isolation, harmless to handle, and utterly devastating once exposed to air and electrical stimulation.
The moment the gel contacted oxygen, it hardened rapidly. With the correct ignition signal, it became explosive.
Not chaotic.
Not uncontrollable.
Precise.
For Batman, creating Gel Bombs was routine. The chemistry was complex, but the formula was ingrained into muscle memory. His experience ensured that each batch was perfectly consistent.
Paired with the Gel Bombs was a custom detonation system—five miniature signal receivers linked to equally small igniters. Each receiver constantly scanned for a specific encrypted signal.
Once received, the igniter activated, producing a controlled electrical spark that detonated the gel.
No wires.
No visible triggers.
No room for error.
Batman assembled the system smoothly, attaching a receiver and igniter to a rusted steel beam bolted into the shipyard floor.
Ssszzzt…
He sprayed a measured amount of gel across the beam.
Then he stepped back.
More than twenty meters away, Batman crouched behind a stack of collapsed containers and pressed a button on a device that had once been a car key.
Boom.
The explosion was sharp but contained.
Metal warped. Dust rose. Concrete cracked.
Batman nodded.
The power was modest—deliberately so. If he wanted more destructive force, he only needed to increase the gel volume.
The test was a success.
The third piece of equipment was complete.
The fourth lay nearby.
An electrocution device, heavily modified from a stun baton. Unlike standard tasers, this one was designed to discharge an overwhelming current in a single burst—enough to instantly paralyze a healthy adult.
For Squid Man, whose physiology exceeded human limits, Batman had pushed the output far higher.
The cost was obvious.
Single-use only.
But Batman only needed one opening.
Everything was ready.
Night returned to the city, swallowing the abandoned shipyard whole. But Batman didn't move toward the sewer yet.
Instead, he began to transform the shipyard itself.
Buzz…
Faint, nearly inaudible sounds echoed as Batman moved through the darkness. Using the enhanced mobility of the Batarang launcher, he leapt between gantry cranes, half-collapsed hulls, and rusted scaffolding.
At every key position, he set Gel Bombs.
At every critical choke point, he stretched black spider silk.
The silk was impossibly thin—barely thicker than a hair—and now completely black. In darkness, it was invisible.
This was Plan B.
If Squid Man appeared unexpectedly, the shipyard itself would become his prison.
There were no rumors about "Batman" circulating yet. Squid Man had been hired directly by Kingpin, and the most logical place to hunt Batman was the shipyard.
Batman studied the ground carefully.
"The sewer system here has four main lines," he calculated, "and more than twenty secondary branches."
Given Squid Man's size, only four were viable exits.
Batman's eyes settled on one spot.
The same place where Squid Man had erupted from the ground the night before.
One of the main lines.
That area received special attention.
Gel Bombs.
Spider silk.
Layer upon layer of overlapping traps.
"If he doesn't show up before nine," Batman thought, "then he's choosing to wait underground."
Without hesitation, Batman descended into the sewer.
The underground tunnels were vast, damp, and suffocating. Water dripped constantly, echoing through the darkness. Batman ignored it, moving with practiced ease.
He didn't try to trap the entire system.
Only the intersections within a hundred-meter radius of the shipyard.
Enough to funnel.
Enough to control.
When the final trap was placed, Batman returned aboveground and climbed to the highest point of the shipyard—a massive suspended ship's keel, tilted skyward like a blade piercing the night.
From here, he could see everything.
Then he waited.
Minutes passed.
The city lights nearby were dim, distant, and weak. The shipyard itself sank into absolute darkness, the silhouettes of cranes and hulls resembling massive predators crouched in silence.
A breeze drifted through.
And with it—
A faint, familiar stench.
Batman did not move.
He already knew.
Squid Man is here.
The tactical suit was fully active. The Batarang launcher rested against his forearms. Gel Bomb triggers were secured. The electrocution device lay hidden where it needed to be.
Batman's gaze locked onto the broken sewage pipe.
Silently—
A greenish-blue tentacle emerged.
Suckers flexed, testing the air.
Then a second.
A third.
An eighth.
Squid Man did not emerge in humanoid form.
Instead, his body flowed out as a complete squid, massive and low to the ground, its movements silent and deliberate.
This form was not in the CIA files.
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"But I expected this," he thought calmly.
Squid Man crept forward, tentacles spreading, probing for danger.
Batman pressed a button.
The Gel Bomb exploded behind Squid Man.
The ground shook.
Without thinking, Squid Man sprinted forward—straight into the route Batman had designed.
A decaying fishing boat.
Five meters.
Ten meters.
Too fast.
Too eager.
By the time Squid Man realized something was wrong, black spider silk snapped tight around his body, wrapping his limbs and torso.
Panic surged.
He thrashed violently.
His mucus-coated body allowed one tentacle to slip free, pulling him toward the rotten hull ahead.
He climbed.
And then—
Boom.
The Gel Bombs sprayed earlier detonated.
The already fragile hull disintegrated, collapsing beneath Squid Man's weight. His massive body plunged downward, straight into another web trap below.
The silk strained.
It wouldn't hold him forever.
Squid Man knew this.
I need something sharp…
His eyes locked onto a metal frame embedded in the wreckage.
Jagged. Rusted.
Perfect.
A tentacle wrapped around it.
And instantly—
Electricity surged.
A blinding current flooded Squid Man's nervous system.
His entire body convulsed.
Eight limbs spasmed violently.
He screamed—but no sound escaped.
From start to finish, Squid Man had never seen Batman.
Every step.
Every movement.
Every instinctive reaction—
All of it had been anticipated.
Fear consumed him.
So did pain—real pain, something he hadn't felt since his transformation.
Then a voice spoke.
Low. Calm. Unavoidable.
Like a devil whispering directly into his mind.
"Tell me everything about the human experiments at Osborn Enterprises."
"I want to know everything."
And Squid Man understood.
There was no escape left.
Not tonight.
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