Wooo—wooo—
Police sirens tore through the Manhattan night.
Two fire trucks roared down the street toward the Manhattan Police Department, their red lights cutting through smoke and darkness. Flames climbed the building's exterior, and thick black smoke poured out of shattered windows.
Chief George Stacy rushed in and out of the burning structure alongside firefighters, ignoring the soot covering his face and uniform. Prisoners were dragged from detention cells one by one, coughing, blinded, but alive. Important case files were carried out in scorched boxes and plastic containers.
But there was one place no one could reach.
Deep in the police station, several detention cells had completely collapsed. The explosion had crushed the reinforced floor and walls downward, sealing them into the ground like a tomb.
Manpower alone couldn't move them.
Not without excavators or cranes.
And in the middle of the night, with fire raging and smoke choking the air, such equipment couldn't arrive in time even if it existed nearby.
Firefighters aimed water cannons into the collapsed zone, desperately trying to suppress the flames—hoping, against reason, that someone inside might still be alive.
"Ogg," Chief George asked hoarsely, "how many are still trapped?"
His assistant flipped through a soot-stained list.
"Three," Ogg replied grimly. "They were all in the deepest detention cells."
He swallowed.
"One of them is Dr. Otto Octavius."
Chief George's brows knitted tightly.
"No matter what, rescuing people comes first," he said firmly. "Contact the nearest construction site. I want an excavator or a crane—now."
Boom!
Before he could say anything else, part of the already unstable collapsed area gave way again.
Concrete cracked and slid. Ash and smoke exploded outward, forcing Chief George and Ogg to retreat several steps, coughing as they covered their mouths.
Captain Becker, the Fire Captain, approached, his face blackened and uniform soaked.
"Director," he said seriously, "we need to call the U.S. Search and Rescue Team."
"Without a structural engineer on site, we cannot proceed."
"If we act recklessly, we could kill people who might still survive."
"We cannot take that risk. And we cannot allow unauthorized engineering vehicles."
Chief George exhaled heavily.
He knew Becker was right.
He turned his head slowly.
"Agent Phil…"
Phil Coulson stood nearby, silent, staring at the collapsed area.
Before Chief George could finish speaking, Coulson subtly shook his head—signaling him to wait.
Chief George frowned.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw anticipation in Coulson's eyes.
But anticipation of what?
Three people were buried under tons of concrete.
What could anyone possibly expect to happen now?
Then—
Creeeak.
The screech of bending steel echoed through the ruins.
Metal groaned.
Something shifted.
Everyone froze.
With a thunderous crack, several tons of reinforced concrete slabs moved—then were violently flung aside.
Dust and smoke erupted.
Out of the rubble rose a mechanical tentacle, its three-pronged claw opening like a cobra preparing to strike.
Clack!
It slammed down and locked itself in place.
Then another.
Then another.
Amid the swirling smoke, a figure slowly rose.
Dr. Otto Octavius.
Wearing a prison uniform, his body was suspended above the wreckage, held aloft by the mechanical tentacles extending from his back.
Whoosh!
Firefighters and officers instinctively retreated. Several police officers ducked behind vehicles, drawing their pistols and aiming.
Only Agent Phil Coulson remained still.
He had spoken with Dr. Otto.
He knew the truth.
The sewer incident.
The tentacles.
The lack of intent.
Chief George also didn't move.
His eyes were locked on the fourth tentacle—the only one still hidden.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
As the tentacles lifted and stabilized the debris, Dr. Otto rose higher.
Then the fourth tentacle unfolded.
It was tightly wrapped around two unconscious prisoners, keeping them suspended safely above the wreckage.
Phew—
Chief George finally released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He exchanged a look with Agent Phil.
Both moved forward.
Someone began to clap hesitantly—
Clap. Clap.
—but was immediately stopped by another officer.
The headlines still burned in everyone's mind.
"Doctor Octopus Slaughters Thirty-One Officers in Sewer."
Even now, fear outweighed gratitude.
---
While the police station fought fire and chaos—
Batman held his breath inside Osborn Manor.
Norman Osborn had returned.
Footsteps approached the study.
Batman remained perfectly calm.
First, he secured the damaged silk suit to his Bat-belt.
Then his eyes scanned the secret room one last time.
Finally—
Click.
He switched off the light.
The secret room plunged into absolute darkness.
---
"Tap… tap… tap…"
In an unusually cheerful mood, Norman Osborn hummed an off-key tune as he entered the study.
Then—
He froze.
The bookshelf had moved.
Behind it yawned a pitch-black void.
"Harry?" Norman called softly.
No answer.
His pupils shrank.
Without hesitation, Norman drew a short knife from his combat suit, gripping it in a reverse hold. He crouched slightly and slipped into the darkness.
The secret room was silent.
Too silent.
Norman's footsteps grew lighter until even his breathing seemed loud.
Despite the darkness, he moved confidently—avoiding obstacles without hesitation.
He knew this room by heart.
The knife twitched in his grip.
He searched every corner.
Nothing.
Click.
Norman reached the switch and flipped it.
Dim, eerie green light flooded the secret room.
In the same instant, his knife snapped into a defensive position.
The room was empty.
"Ho—"
A laugh formed on his lips—
Then he sensed something.
Norman looked up.
Clinging to the ceiling was a pitch-black figure, motionless, with two sharp pointed ears.
Its eyes glinted coldly in the green light.
The next second—
Whoosh!
The study window shattered.
A swarm of bats flooded the hallway, screaming into the secret room.
And from the ceiling—
Batman dropped.
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