"The fastest solution is to locate this world's Bruce Wayne—if such a person exists."
That conclusion came instantly.
Batman stood alone in the dim apartment, the hum of the city leaking in through thin walls. If this universe contained another version of himself, then answers would follow. Technology, resources, intelligence networks—Bruce Wayne always left footprints.
But there was a problem.
"From what I know of myself," Batman continued coldly, "he would never believe a random college student claiming to house another Bruce Wayne's consciousness."
Negotiation was pointless.
"The optimal approach would be to incapacitate him, detain him, and conduct controlled research until I find a way back to my original world."
Efficient. Logical. Ruthless.
Batman turned his attention to the computer on the desk.
Calling it a computer was generous.
The machine looked like it had been assembled from spare parts scavenged off trash piles. Its casing wasn't even metal—it was a shoebox, crudely reinforced with tape and screws. Wires peeked out from the back like exposed nerves.
Dilapidated, but functional.
Batman sat down and opened the browser.
Search after search followed.
Wayne Enterprises.
Gotham City.
Metropolis.
Central City.
Bruce Wayne.
Nothing.
No billion-dollar conglomerate.
No crime-ridden gothic city.
No alien visitors.
No speedsters tearing holes in time.
As the results kept coming back empty, Batman slowly stopped typing.
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, traffic crawled through wet streets. Neon lights reflected off puddles. The city was loud, alive, indifferent.
This world had no Gotham.
No Metropolis.
No Central City.
And most importantly—
No Bruce Wayne.
This wasn't a parallel DC universe.
It was something else entirely.
"There were no Kryptonians landing on Kansas farms," Batman muttered.
"No warrior princesses from hidden islands."
But there was one thing.
A man in a red-and-blue bodysuit, swinging across skyscrapers, calling himself Spider-Man.
Batman clenched his jaw.
"Everything begins at zero."
The possibility of returning home hadn't vanished—but the timeline had stretched into uncertainty.
"This won't defeat me," he said quietly. "Because I am Batman."
---
Money. A base. Equipment. Infrastructure. Absolute control over this body.
Those were the immediate priorities.
Batman flexed his fingers, remembering the sudden chill he'd felt earlier in New York City, inside Dr. Octavius's laboratory—just moments before the fusion experiment alarmed.
That sensation hadn't been random.
It had been instinctive.
Danger detection beyond conscious awareness.
Unacceptable.
Batman did not tolerate abilities he didn't understand or control.
If he was starting from scratch in this world, then everything—everything—would be measured, tested, and mastered.
As his fist tightened, Batman froze.
Something felt… wrong.
No—strong.
He slowly stood, walked to the wall, and pressed his palm against it.
The reinforced concrete cracked.
Batman stared at the fissures.
He applied pressure again—slightly more.
The wall buckled.
His eyes narrowed.
After careful testing, his estimate was clear.
This body could exert at least twenty-five tons of force.
That was far beyond peak human capability.
Not Hellbat-level, but still absurd.
And that terrified him.
Strength beyond human limits.
Danger precognition.
Transmigration without explanation.
And the complete absence of Peter Parker's consciousness.
Nothing was under control.
Batman inhaled slowly.
Then he moved.
---
Online records painted Peter Parker as nothing more than an ordinary university student. That wasn't enough.
Batman began a physical search of the apartment.
Closets.
Drawers.
Under the bed.
Inside vents.
Within minutes, the truth lay exposed across the desk.
A red-and-blue spider-themed suit, meticulously designed.
Two compact wrist-mounted devices.
A notebook filled with sketches and formulas.
Several sealed canisters of chemical compounds.
Batman examined them one by one.
The suit matched Spider-Man's exactly.
The devices were web-shooters.
The notebook's early pages were chaotic—used as scratch paper—but the formulas were unmistakable.
Synthetic polymer web fluid.
Efficient. Elastic. Durable.
The canisters were semi-finished materials, already prepared for mixing.
Later pages revealed precise schematics of the suit's structure.
Conclusion: Peter Parker was Spider-Man.
There was no ambiguity.
---
Night fell.
Batman didn't sleep.
He located an abandoned shipyard on the city map, changed into dark clothing, and slipped into the streets.
"I need to fully understand this body," he told himself.
"Speed, strength, reaction time—everything."
The shipyard was abandoned for a reason.
Rusting steel loomed overhead. Broken pipes leaked foul water. Wind carried eerie creaks through hollow structures.
No civilians. No witnesses.
Perfect.
A rusted gantry crane stood at the center, surrounded by heavy counterweights.
Batman began testing.
Strength: Twenty-five tons, confirmed.
Speed: Nearly 190 km/h when fully exerting power.
Reaction time: Flawless—even across uneven terrain.
No hesitation. No loss of balance.
His nervous system adapted instantly.
Batman retrieved the web-shooters from his pack and stared at them.
After a moment, he put them on.
Two minutes later, he took them off.
The experience had been… humiliating.
Despite familiarity with grappling hooks, the flamboyant, momentum-heavy movement of web-swinging was inefficient in his hands.
"Overdesigned," Batman muttered.
Still, he noted everything.
"With specialized exertion techniques, these physical parameters can be pushed even further."
The data locked itself into his mind.
By the end of the night, a complete training and adaptation plan had already formed.
---
For the next three days, Batman slept no more than two hours at a time.
Days were spent walking the streets of New York, memorizing districts, traffic patterns, crime density, and power structures.
Nights belonged to training.
At the shipyard.
Again and again.
Using his identity as a student at Empire State University, Batman accessed laboratories to analyze his own blood.
Cell regeneration.
Sensory amplification.
Neural processing speed.
The source was clear.
A genetically altered spider.
Even the danger precognition had a name in Peter Parker's notes:
Spider-Sense.
Batman translated it clinically.
"A subconscious, ultra-fast environmental analysis system, projecting threat detection into conscious awareness."
He nodded.
"Then it can be trained."
---
Deep within the abandoned shipyard, Batman cleared out a warehouse.
On its wall hung a massive map of New York City.
More than fifty color-coded thumbtacks dotted the map.
Around it were newspaper clippings, handwritten profiles, and surveillance notes.
Gang leaders.
Crime syndicates.
Black-market hubs.
Batman stood before it with arms crossed.
New York had become his hunting ground.
"To construct an instrument capable of locating my original universe," he said quietly,
"I will require enormous capital and space."
That meant industry.
Wayne Enterprises didn't exist here.
So he would build something else.
"Dr. Octavius's fusion research is a future opportunity," Batman continued.
"But I need initial funding."
His gaze settled on the map.
"The first capital will come from these gangs."
And somewhere in the darkness of New York—
Crime had just been marked for extinction.