Metropolitan Hospital Center Rooftop Strategy
The First Strike Against Thunderbolt Ross
The wind on the rooftop of Metropolitan Hospital carried the scent of rain and steel. Dawn had fully broken over New York, but the city still felt tense. Below, police vehicles surrounded the building. Armed officers guarded every entrance.
Batman stood near the edge of the rooftop, cape swaying behind him.
He was not only here to guard Otto Octavius's surgery.
He was launching a war.
The plating on his forearm shifted with a mechanical whisper. A compact holographic interface unfolded outward, revealing a miniature encrypted computer screen.
Data streams scrolled rapidly.
Reporter profiles.
Publication histories.
Political affiliations.
Risk tolerance analysis.
Batman had already accessed confidential records from Congress, the White House, and military communications over the past seventy-two hours.
His conclusion was simple.
No official authorization existed for General Ross to seize Oscorp.
There was no congressional approval. No presidential directive. No emergency declaration.
Ross had acted independently.
And that made his takeover illegal.
Batman spoke quietly to himself, voice barely audible over the wind.
"This is unauthorized military privatization."
Congress would react. But politicians moved slowly.
Batman did not.
If Ross was to be pressured, it would not begin in a courtroom.
It would begin in the media.
His gaze stopped on a single name.
Eddie Brock.
Young. Ambitious. Hungry for impact.
A reporter at the Daily Bugle with a history of chasing controversial stories. Someone willing to take risks if the reward was explosive enough.
Batman needed someone who wanted to shake the world.
He selected the file.
Encrypted upload initiated.
The first wave had begun.
---
Oscorp Under Military Eyes
Outside Oscorp headquarters, chaos ruled the sidewalk.
Military vehicles lined the street.
Barricades separated reporters from the entrance.
Microphones and cameras pointed like weapons toward anyone walking in or out.
Thunderbolt Ross had sealed the building, but not completely. He had chosen a strategic approach: maintain the appearance of normal operations while exercising control from within.
Researchers were allowed to enter.
Experiments continued.
Control without public panic.
When Professor Curt Connors arrived that morning, carrying research documents under one arm, his empty sleeve visible beneath his coat, the reporters descended upon him immediately.
"Professor Connors! Do you support military oversight?"
"Will your research now be provided directly to the army?"
"Are you cooperating with General Ross?"
The barrage was overwhelming.
Connors adjusted his glasses, clearly uncomfortable. He was a scientist, not a politician.
Fortunately, soldiers formed a human barrier and forced the crowd back.
Connors walked toward the entrance, pausing briefly before stepping inside.
The shattered glass doors from the previous night had already been temporarily repaired. The building looked calm—almost ordinary.
But it was not.
He had received a direct phone call from Ross earlier that morning.
Ross had assured him that military supervision was only to protect Oscorp's technology from falling into the wrong hands.
He claimed there would be no interference in scientific research.
Connors did not fully believe him.
But he had no choice.
All his limb regeneration data was inside that building.
Years of research.
If he abandoned it now, everything would be lost.
He entered.
---
A Breakthrough No One Expected
The twentieth-floor laboratory was quieter than usual. Security cameras had been upgraded. Access logs monitored.
Connors ignored it all.
He moved directly toward his experimental specimens.
Rows of glass enclosures held laboratory mice injected with regenerative serum.
Normally, the results had been disappointing.
Most subjects died within hours.
But today—
He stopped.
One mouse was active.
Alive.
Jumping energetically.
Connors stepped closer.
His breath caught.
The mouse's right forelimb, previously surgically removed, had grown back completely.
Bone structure intact.
Muscle density normal.
Behavior unchanged.
He stared at the creature as it moved naturally, as if it had never been injured.
His hands trembled.
"This… this…"
His voice cracked.
For the first time, full limb regeneration had succeeded in a mammal.
Tears formed in his eyes.
Years of obsession.
Years of ridicule from peers.
And now—
It worked.
But what he did not know was this:
Under military oversight, such a breakthrough would not remain purely medical for long.
---
Back at the Hospital
Inside the operating room at Metropolitan Hospital, tension remained thick.
Police stood ready outside, rifles gripped tightly.
If Otto Octavius lost control again, no one knew what would happen.
The mechanical tentacles were suspended by reinforced braces above the surgical table. Even inert, they looked dangerous.
Dr. Stephen Strange stood at the center of the room.
Before he was known for mystical arts, he was the world's most precise neurosurgeon.
His hands did not shake.
His breathing did not change.
Calm.
Focused.
He worked slowly, separating mechanical connectors from spinal nerve clusters with microscopic precision.
Every millimeter mattered.
A single mistake could paralyze Otto permanently.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
Then two.
Finally—
The final neural anchor detached cleanly.
Strange placed the instrument aside.
"Done."
His tone was casual.
Almost bored.
He glanced at the nurse beside him, eyes twinkling above the surgical mask.
"I heard there's a new three-star restaurant in Brooklyn. Interested?"
The room exhaled collectively.
That joke meant one thing.
The surgery was a complete success.
Otto Octavius was free from the tentacles.
---
Outside the Operating Room
Strange removed his gloves and stepped out.
Peter Parker—now dressed in civilian clothes—waited in the hallway.
His expression showed controlled concern.
"How did it go?"
Strange studied him for a moment.
"You're Peter Parker. Otto mentioned you."
He removed his mask.
"Surgeries I perform do not fail."
Peter extended his hand.
"It seems your reputation is well earned, Doctor."
They shook hands.
Around them, police officers visibly relaxed.
With the tentacles removed, Otto would revert to being one of the world's greatest nuclear physicists—albeit under supervision.
S.H.I.E.L.D. documentation had already ensured oversight.
The immediate danger had passed.
But the larger storm was only beginning.
---
Daily Bugle
The Anonymous Message
Across the city, in the offices of the Daily Bugle, Eddie Brock sipped lukewarm coffee and opened his inbox.
Spam.
Press releases.
Event invitations.
Then—
An anonymous email.
No subject line.
He clicked.
His eyes widened.
He immediately closed it.
Looked around.
No one seemed to be watching.
He reopened it slowly.
Inside were files.
Videos.
Photographs.
Scanned documents.
Each labeled carefully.
"Evidence of General Ross conducting unauthorized gamma experiments."
"Documentation linking Ross to the creation of the Hulk."
"Records of civilian casualties during Hulk pursuit operations."
"Photographs of fifty unidentified bodies in Oscorp's second basement level."
The attachments were detailed.
Organized.
Impossible to ignore.
Eddie's heartbeat accelerated.
This was not rumor.
This was dynamite.
If true, it would ignite a political firestorm.
And it directly connected to Ross's military occupation of Oscorp.
The sender remained anonymous.
But the message was clear.
Publish this.
Expose him.
Eddie leaned back in his chair, breathing slowly.
This could make his career.
Or destroy it.
He opened one of the videos.
Gamma radiation testing logs.
Military signatures.
Ross's name.
He whispered to himself:
"My God…"
Somewhere across the city, on a hospital rooftop, Batman watched the skyline.
He knew Eddie would not ignore it.
He had chosen correctly.
The first explosion would not be physical.
It would be political.
And when the headlines hit—
General Ross would no longer be the hunter.
He would be the hunted.
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