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In a cold detention room inside the Manhattan Police Station, Spencer—once known as the so-called Spider-Slayer—sat rigidly on a metal bench.
His hands trembled.
Hidden inside the sleeve of his prison uniform was a spoon he had stolen during dinner. The handle pressed uncomfortably against his forearm, but he didn't dare take it out yet.
He wanted to live.
But Osborn had told him to die before midnight.
The Osborn Group had already sacrificed more than fifty homeless people in the name of "research." Spencer had seen the twisted light in Osborn's eyes during the day—cold, fanatical, utterly inhuman. From that look alone, Spencer was certain of one thing:
Osborn would not hesitate to kill even his own family if it suited his goals.
After a long, agonizing struggle, Spencer finally raised the spoon.
The metal handle hovered near his eye.
Then—
Bang!
He slammed his head against the wall with all his strength.
"Osborn…" he thought as darkness closed in. "Spare my children…"
His body collapsed to the floor, unmoving.
---
"I hope Dad gets out soon."
In a small apartment in Queens, Alistair Smythe lay awake in bed, staring at the wheelchair parked beside him.
The apartment walls were thin. Too thin.
He could hear his mother tossing and turning in the next room, her restless movements broken now and then by a quiet sigh.
"The news said Dad destroyed protected plants in Central Park," Alistair thought. "Maybe five years in prison…"
But even as fear crept in, he clung to hope.
Dad is a scientist.
Mr. Osborn will help him.
"As soon as it's morning," Alistair planned, "I'll tell Mom that. She'll feel better."
A faint whoosh sounded outside the window.
Not a car.
More like… something flying.
Alistair frowned but dismissed it. Maybe a neighbor's toy. Maybe a movie prop drone.
Then—
Crash!
Glass shattered next door.
A sharp, hollow laugh cut through the night.
His mother screamed.
Thud.
Silence.
Alistair's mind went blank.
He reached for his phone with shaking hands—but before he could dial, his bedroom door exploded inward.
Something heavy was thrown into his arms.
"Mom—?"
The world tilted.
The head in his hands stared back at him, eyes lifeless.
Something impossible happened.
Strength surged through his paralyzed legs.
Alistair tried to stand. To run. To scream for help.
For one brief second, it felt like a miracle.
Then the laughter returned.
The killer stepped into the room.
Green skin. A twisted grin. Yellow light burning where eyes should be.
A claw pierced his chest.
Pain vanished.
His heart was torn free and crushed.
As darkness swallowed him, Alistair saw the truth clearly—
A demon riding the wind.
A pumpkin-shaped device dropped to the floor, ticking softly.
The Green Goblin burst through the roof on his glider and vanished into the night.
Boom!
The explosion swallowed the apartment in fire and smoke.
The laughter faded into the sky.
---
Drip.
Drip.
Water echoed through the Brooklyn sewer.
Batman moved silently through the darkness, every step deliberate. He was close now—the site where Doctor Otto had fought the police earlier that day.
Metal clanged ahead.
Hammering.
Batman paused at the final corner and peered out.
Doctor Otto stood with his back turned, four mechanical tentacles working in perfect coordination as they repaired damaged experimental equipment.
Click.
Batman's forearm armor shifted, revealing a compact micro-computer. He began attempting to hack the tentacles.
He remembered the lab.
The tentacles were connected to Otto's nervous system—but still relied on a signal-conversion chip.
If he could take control of that…
Failed.
Cannot read electronic signals.
Batman narrowed his gaze.
The chip at the base of the tentacles was destroyed.
Yet Otto still controlled them flawlessly.
"They're no longer driven by electronics," Batman deduced. "They're wired directly into his nerves."
That connection had changed Otto.
A brilliant scientist once concerned with humanity—now a mass murderer.
Batman stepped out of the shadows.
Almost instantly, all four tentacles reacted.
They lifted, spreading their clawed tips like serpents tasting the air.
Otto turned.
"A masked man hiding in the sewer?" he sneered. "Here to stop me?"
Batman stopped ten meters away.
"No," he said calmly. "I'm here to help you."
Otto laughed.
"Dressed like that? Don't insult me."
Two tentacles slammed into the ground, launching Otto forward. The other two lashed out mid-air—one for Batman's head, one for his chest.
No hesitation. No warning. Straight to lethal force.
Batman advanced instead of retreating.
Sparks flew as tentacle claws scraped his shoulder armor.
His right hand snapped forward—
Two reinforced Bat-shaped projectiles shot out.
"…Throwing toys at me?" Otto mocked.
Clink.
The tentacles deflected them effortlessly.
Batman followed up immediately, tossing a Gel Bomb.
Otto caught it, glanced at it, and dropped it at his feet.
"If that's all you have," Otto said coldly, "you're wasting my time."
The tentacles sharpened into spikes.
Batman's fingers closed around a new device.
The sonic tool.
A high-frequency pulse—inaudible to humans—erupted.
The sound tore through the tentacles' systems and traveled directly along Otto's neural pathways.
"Aaahhh—!"
Otto screamed.
His tentacles spasmed wildly, slamming into walls and concrete like crazed beasts.
Batman didn't hesitate.
Two more Bat-shaped projectiles flew.
The discarded Gel Bomb ruptured, expanding instantly and hardening around Otto's feet.
He gasped for breath, heart racing. One weakened tentacle reached for Batman.
Too slow.
Batman stepped aside effortlessly.
Only then did Otto notice the faint white smoke rising from the first two projectiles.
Realization dawned.
"Gas…" Otto rasped. "A sedative…"
Batman answered with action.
A final projectile flew—this one carrying a tranquilizer.
It struck cleanly.
Otto's eyes softened. His body slackened.
The tentacles fell silent.
Doctor Octopus collapsed.
Batman stood over him, unmoving.
He had prepared multiple contingency plans—severing the tentacles, custom explosives, extreme measures.
None were needed.
Preparation. Deduction. Precision.
Doctor Octopus was defeated.
And the night was far from over.