Ribs, leg bones, humerus—blindness, deafness, internal bleeding—
Batman had devised a contingency plan for a potential confrontation with Hulk that was a hundred times more intricate than his usual strategies.
This plan accounted for fractures in one or more of the body's two hundred and six bones, as well as potential damage to various organs.
"Barbara, pull up the architectural blueprints for the Osborn Building. Highlight all the load-bearing columns and shear walls.
Then calculate their maximum load capacities individually."
"Hack into the Osborn Group's lab equipment database. Inventory all the liquid nitrogen supplies and mark their storage locations."
"Map out the layout of the fire suppression pipes embedded in the walls."
"Gather all available data on Bruce Banner's blood relatives, friends, and romantic partners."
"Adjust the sonic frequency of the Bat-Signal."
"Engage Batmobile climb mode."
...
One by one, the commands were carried out methodically by Prophet A. Inside the City Hall subway station, a flurry of images flickered across the computer screens Batman had set up.
Batman memorized the details on the screens, then retrieved the pumpkin bombs he'd confiscated from the secret room in Norman Osborn's manor—devices that had remained unused until now.
Batman had already modified these pumpkin bombs. Since they weren't meant for killing, he'd repurposed them into flashbangs that, upon exploding, would unleash not only blinding light but also piercing high-frequency noise and a potent shockwave.
Preparations were in full swing, and time was slipping away. Fewer than ten minutes remained of the "one hour" General Ross had mentioned over the phone.
The sun hadn't set yet, but the moon was already rising. Under the joint oversight of the military and police, the streets around the Osborn Group had been cleared out.
For one thing, General Ross's statements at the afternoon press conference had been overly dire; he'd even designated the Osborn Building as a military restricted zone, forbidding anyone from entering.
For another, the New York Police Department was powerless against General Ross and had no choice but to set up roadblocks, diverting all vehicles and pedestrians who might pass through.
None of this hindered Batman, though. He proceeded along the subway tracks and emerged from an exit not far from the Osborn Building, pulling up beside a high-rise adjacent to it.
"Barbara, take the wheel."
As Batman spoke, he pressed a button inside the Batmobile.
Whoosh!
The roof slid open, and the electromagnetic ejection system fired. Batman's dark silhouette shot skyward, a shadow against the dusk.
This time, the Batmobile rose with him.
With climb mode activated and under Prophet A's control, the large Bat symbol on the front of the Batmobile shifted downward to the undercarriage. Then, the three grappling hooks at the front fired in alternation, retracting and launching again.
The Batmobile ascended steadily, though at a moderate pace. It wasn't quiet about it, and some onlookers spotted the vehicle climbing vertically up the wall and called the police.
But by the time the police showed up, all they found were gouges in the wall from the hooks; the Batmobile was long gone.
Twentieth floor of the Osborn Group Building, in the laboratory.
"Connors: I've prepared enough stabilizer for seven patients to last half a month."
Professor Connors was chatting with the doctor at Metropolitan Hospital via his computer.
"Thank you, Professor. This should be more than sufficient—we might even have some leftover," the doctor replied.
Professor Connors stared at the text on the screen in puzzlement, then slowly typed three letters with his left hand:
"Why?"
He knew each patient's condition inside and out, and he'd calibrated the dosages based on their most recent statuses. By all logic, there shouldn't be any surplus.
"Leo is in critical condition now. His illness has deteriorated rapidly, and he might not make it past the next twenty-four hours."
Staring at the response on the screen, Professor Connors sat there, stunned, for a long moment.
He knew exactly who Leo was. He knew every one of the gravely ill patients receiving his temporary regenerative stabilizer.
Leo had just turned eight this year, but he'd inexplicably come down with an incurable disease causing organ failure. He was the worst case among all of Professor Connors's patients.
Right now, no medical treatment could fully cure the disease. Only the regenerative stabilizer—which Professor Connors had developed as a byproduct of his limb regeneration research—could barely keep them alive.
"If you just give me a little more time, I'll be able to perfect the regenerative serum."
Connors glanced subconsciously at the sole surviving white mouse in the glass enclosure.
It lay there quietly in the container, motionless and showing no signs of adverse effects from the injected serum.
Snap.
As Professor Connors lost himself in thought, his computer screen suddenly went dark. Then, a simple dialog box popped up:
"Peter: Professor, I've set up an escape route for you."
This time, it wasn't delivered via email, like the evidence of General Ross's crimes that had been sent to Professor Connors earlier.
Batman had hacked directly into Professor Connors's computer, making the message appear in a popup window.
"Connors: Hold on, Peter. I've got an emergency here."
Connors typed rapidly with one hand as he spoke aloud.
"Hulk is en route. Less than ten minutes out," Batman's message flashed up quickly.
"No, wait—" Professor Connors hammered out several "No"s in a row.
"I'll be there in five minutes. Whatever you're planning, I can handle it better than—no—"
Snap!
Before Batman's message could fully appear, Professor Connors yanked the power cord from the computer.
Right now, there was only one way to save the boy, Leo: use the regenerative serum that was theoretically nearly complete but hadn't undergone human testing yet.
No one understood the regenerative serum better than he did; it was his life's work.
The serum had been successfully tested on white mice, with no negative reactions observed to date.
"Peter, you're right—Ross is a threat."
Professor Connors muttered to himself as he set aside the finished stabilizer and pulled out the regenerative serum he'd planned to destroy before leaving the Osborn Group.
"But there's a child dying right in front of me, and I have a shot at saving him. A hypothetical danger versus a life slipping away before my eyes—I can't turn my back on that."
Compassion for his patient, the longing for his own severed arm to regrow, and the drive to see his experiment succeed.
With these three feelings converging, Professor Connors didn't hesitate for a second. He drew the serum into a syringe and jabbed it decisively into the stump of his right arm.
He meant to test it on himself first, to confirm the serum's safety before giving it to the boy named Leo.
Professor Connors was convinced it would work—and then he blacked out.
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