Even though the crucial All-Wave Projector had already fallen into Batman's hands and had played an irreplaceable role in dealing with the Black Knight, Nathan Garrett...
Professor Connors still felt that handing Devil Dinosaur over to Lunella was letting Reed Richards off far too easily. He was still preoccupied with finding a way to make Reed pay a higher price.
"Professor, how far can you take your pheromone control over reptilian life?" Batman asked, steering the conversation away from Reed Richards.
Professor Connors scraped the dirt from beneath his sharp claws. "If you need an army of Lizard Men—"
He was interrupted by Batman before he could finish. "No. What I want to know is if you can command the reptiles under your influence to spread out, and then summarize everything they have seen and heard for you a day later?"
Professor Connors stared at Batman. The dark green scales covering his body began to soften, merging with the muscle beneath to form human skin, while the jagged bone spikes along his back retracted into his spine.
Within a few breaths, the ten-foot-tall Lizard had reverted to the form of the one-armed Curt Connors.
"Peter, while I can influence reptilian creatures through pheromones, the ability you're describing is far beyond my reach... I'm not an Alien Queen, and I don't have a hive mind," Professor Connors said.
"Call me Batman," Batman replied in a low, gravelly voice. "Unless I have taken off the suit, I am Batman. I am not Peter Parker."
Professor Connors nodded. If he hadn't known for a long time that Batman was Peter Parker, even he would have found it difficult to connect the young Peter he knew with this expressionless, caped figure whose only visible feature was a firm jawline.
"I can't even communicate with it..." Connors pointed to the snoring Devil Dinosaur sprawled on the ground. "I can only transmit my own intentions to it via pheromones."
Batman looked in the direction Connors pointed. The creature's injuries had fully healed; even the broken horn on its head showed signs of regrowing.
"Do you have a new plan that requires my participation?" Professor Connors asked curiously.
"Not anymore." Batman shook his head slightly. After a two-second hesitation, he decided to tell the Professor his objective. "I've been unable to locate a young man named Dane Whitman through digital means. I wanted to see if you had some way of finding him."
"Dane Whitman? Never heard of him. Is he a scientist?" Professor Connors asked, puzzled.
"He isn't part of the scientific community," Batman said.
Over the past two days, aside from crafting new equipment for Blade and continuing to refine the Alfred AI, Batman had spent a significant amount of time searching for the nephew Nathan Garrett had wanted to find before he died: Dane Whitman.
Unfortunately, Batman did not have the Whitman family tree. Hacking into the USCB—the Census Bureau—had turned up tens of thousands of "Dane Whitmans."
The Alfred AI, which currently only functioned by following direct commands, had conducted a screening, but none of them were the Dane Whitman Batman was actually looking for.
The only suspicious candidate had vanished years ago following a fire. Batman had tried reaching out to all of the man's former contacts and associates, but without exception, they all claimed he had perished in that blaze.
Aside from that lead, Batman hadn't found any other high-probability matches for Dane Whitman. It made the search feel like looking for a needle in a haystack, leaving him with nowhere to start.
"It seems I'll have to wait for the Alfred AI deployment to be complete and let 'Alfred' try," Batman thought to himself.
Professor Connors thought for a good while before finally shaking his head. "I've gone through everyone I know. I don't know anyone by that name."
In a rare gesture, Batman patted the Professor on the shoulder, signaling that he didn't need to dwell on the matter.
Unlike Dr. Octopus or Professor Morbius, Professor Connors had not committed any major wrongs since his mutation.
Dr. Octavius had killed thirty-one police officers while under the control of his mechanical tentacles; he now sought redemption by developing an artificial sun and advanced prosthetics, hoping to change the world.
Professor Morbius had similarly killed seven or eight inmates on Ryker's Island and was currently staying on South Brother Island under supervision.
But Professor Connors was different. Even when his body had first mutated, he had never taken another person's life.
Furthermore, over the last two months, Connors' assistance to Batman had been no less significant than that of Dr. Octavius. Batman's attitude toward him had quietly shifted.
To put it plainly, they were "comrades-in-arms," much like Dr. Banner.
Among all the scientists on South Brother Island, only Professor Connors was completely transparent with Batman about his condition. Banner, Octavius, and Morbius all held something back.
"Don't worry, I have other methods," Batman said. He turned and left Professor Connors and Devil Dinosaur behind, heading straight for the neighboring island in the Batmobile.
Hell's Kitchen.
On the rooftop of a sixteen-story building, "Kingpin" Wilson Fisk had changed into his signature white suit, leaning on a simple cane. He had been standing there for three full hours.
Unlike the bustling heart of Manhattan centered around Fifth Avenue—which remained a sea of light even after dark—Hell's Kitchen was different. Once night fell, the lights here were concentrated in casinos, bars, basements, and dance floors.
From Fisk's vantage point on the sixteenth floor, the streets below were mostly dark, save for the dim yellow glow of streetlights and flickering neon signs. It was a place of shadows.
Kingpin seemed to be waiting for someone. And as the clock struck midnight, the person he was waiting for indeed arrived.
"Kingpin. I didn't think you'd ever show your face here again," a low, suppressed voice came from behind him.
Fisk turned his head to see a man in a dark red tactical suit, gripping a pair of billy clubs. He offered a fatherly smile to the newcomer. "Daredevil. I knew you'd come to see me. These past few days waiting on this roof weren't in vain."
As he spoke, Kingpin's gaze drifted past Daredevil's shoulder, peering into the deep darkness behind him. "It seems you brought a companion? Is it the Batman?"
Fisk spoke as he began walking slowly toward Daredevil, leaning on his cane.
Daredevil tightened his grip on his billy clubs, shifting his stance to keep his distance from Fisk while revealing the towering black figure standing behind him.
It wasn't Batman. If Batman were human, his exposed jawline suggested he was white. The figure standing behind Daredevil, however, was a massive man whose presence melded into the night not through armor, but through the color of his skin—a towering Black man dressed in dark clothing.
"I'm Luke Cage," he said. "And this is Jessica Jones. We're here to give you a hard time, Kingpin."
Kingpin's brow immediately furrowed. His gaze shifted back and forth between Daredevil and Luke Cage, and he quickly realized he had been mistaken. Luke Cage hadn't been referring to Daredevil—he was referring to the woman standing behind him.
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