"The cape is an essential part of the Batsuit. It broadens my options in both combat and movement."
The sun set, night fell, and thick clouds smothered the moon.
Batman didn't head to Hell's Kitchen tonight. He came to Roosevelt Island, floating on the East River between Manhattan and Queens.
His walking all over New York by day wasn't just to scout a Batcave site; he was gathering intel, too.
Tonight, at Southpoint Park on the island's southern tip, there was a cigarette (**) deal—the sellers were gang members out of Hell's Kitchen.
With time to kill before the meet, Batman didn't rest his mind; he kept refining another plan.
He wasn't staking his whole "business empire" on Dr. Octavius. He was pursuing three plans at once.
The first was Octavius's fusion experiment—unfortunately, the world-class physicist was now in a precinct holding cell after losing control of his arms.
The second was launching an AI company and partnering with Stark Industries as a tech vendor—already a clean success.
After deducting what he'd spent on parts and tools, Batman still had over 166 million on hand—enough to execute plan three:
Use the shell company to acquire a suitable factory and mass-produce memory fibers and nano-composites.
He wouldn't commercialize the true cape tech, but with process tweaks he could produce a second-tier material.
—"Second-tier" only compared to the real Bat-cape; for the current global market, a ballistic, impact-resistant, high-temperature, flame-retardant, lightweight, high-strength material has endless uses:
body armor, turnout gear, racing suits, aerospace, medical, laboratories…
Batman didn't dwell on business, but as the former head of Wayne Enterprises, he wasn't blind to markets.
Take a real step toward a business empire while building the cape—two birds, one stone.
Only that would fund him sufficiently. Compared to the third plan, the hundred million from AI licensing was pocket change—not enough to design and build a Batwing, lift platform, and EM catapult.
"Tonight I need to stop by Manhattan PD. Octavius is being held there.
"I need the case file and status."
As the cape plan took shape in his head, he didn't drop Octavius. But there was no time to think further—tiny embers winked in Southpoint Park's dark: the buyers had arrived.
Batman stood motionless, a statue.
"This should be safe enough. Don't worry about the sellers trying anything."
Dean took a hard drag, savoring the tobacco hitting his lungs, the ember blinking in the dark like a star.
"As long as we stay out of Hell's Kitchen. Word is it's cursed lately—not just some perv in a leotard wrecking the Blaus Motel at midnight, there's a vampire popping in and out."
Beside him, a gaunt, long-haired woman with a nose ring folded her arms as if it could keep her safe. "Eli, don't worry," Dean breathed smoke and flicked the butt away. "This spot isn't exactly remote, but it's safe enough.
"Even if there is a vampire, unless he's all stomach below the neck, he can't drink all five or six of us. Worst case, one person dies," said a man behind Dean.
The others murmured agreement—as if getting cigarettes (**) was worth one out of five dying.
"But…" Eli glanced around, about to say more—footsteps rattled in.
The sellers—four of them—arrived. Black Cat led them.
"Looks like you're eager. Been waiting long?"
She looked them over. "Cut the crap. Did you bring the goods?" Dean lit another smoke, impatience rolling off him.
"Easy," she soothed. "You know Kingpin's expanding. He's sitting on a lot of cigarettes (**). He plans to liquidate in the next month, so—"
"Black Cat, we're just here on orders. No need to give them the speech," a burly man behind her cut in.
She sighed inwardly, stepped back, and let the bruiser pull a bag of cigarettes from his coat. Meanwhile, a camera—flash disabled long ago—slid into her hand.
"Guys…"
Eli spoke again.
"What?" Dean turned.
She was shaking, arm lifted, pointing toward a corner of the park, voice skirting a sob. "D-does anyone know when the park got… a statue?"
A statue?
Dean frowned and looked. A jet-black figure with two sharp ears stood silently not far away.
"S-s-s—"
The burly interrupter's lips trembled too hard for words as the "statue" moved—like a devil dissolving into the night.
The urge to run had just formed when a smoke bomb dropped between buyers and sellers.
Thump!
With a soft report, it blew—night and white fog wiped out their bearings, and they pinwheeled like headless flies.
Batman throttled his punches, careful not to pulp them.
Even so, in the suit, in the dark, he was a tiger in a sheepfold.
Thud—thud!
Meaty impacts rolled. The burly man who'd cut Black Cat off swallowed, clawed for a gun—
The safety never clicked. The pistol flew. An uppercut lifted him off his feet.
Compared to the pier crew, this lot had fewer men and fewer guns. A blur later, everyone was down.
Shhh, shhh—
Bodies scraped over ground. Black Cat looked toward the sound. Batman was dragging the airborne bruiser to the East River, holding him upside-down by the ankle and dunking him headfirst.
Gurgle!
The man's free limbs windmilled, ice-cold water filling his nose and mouth. Despair flooded his head.
Splash—Batman hauled him up. "Give me everything you have on Kingpin's crew."
Two coughs; a stubborn breath—then the dunk. Only when his strength ebbed did the man rise again.
"Now you can talk."
Black Cat started to speak—her camera and the recorder in her sleeve had the cigarette (**) deal on record—but before she opened her mouth, a spotlight bloomed over Manhattan's center.
The beam speared the clouds, forming a glowing patch—and dead in the middle, a giant bat.
~~~
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