The materials science lab at Oscorp falls silent as I enter, all eyes turning toward me with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Word of my growing influence within the company has spread, along with rumors about my sudden transformation from party-going heir to serious executive.
"Good morning, Dr. Martinez," I call out, making my way to the back of the lab where my handpicked research director is examining something under a high-powered microscope. "How's our wonder material coming along?"
Elias Martinez looks up, his perpetual five o'clock shadow and rumpled lab coat giving him the appearance of a man who sleeps even less than I do these days. "Mr. Osborn. Perfect timing." He gestures to the workbench where a sample of black fabric lies under specialized lighting. "We've achieved breakthrough stability in the molecular restructuring. Watch this."
He picks up a remote control and presses a sequence of buttons. The fabric—about the size of a dinner plate—suddenly shifts, its surface transforming from matte black to a reflective sheen, then back again. The transition is seamless, taking less than half a second.
Holy. Shit.
"Impressive," I say, leaning closer. "Response time has improved."
"Down to 75 milliseconds," Martinez confirms, pride evident in his voice. "And the power requirements are minimal. The piezoelectric elements generate enough energy during standard movement to maintain the system indefinitely."
I reach out to touch the material. It feels like nothing I've ever encountered—smooth yet textured, flexible yet subtly resilient.
"What about impact resistance?"
Martinez grins, reaching beneath the workbench to produce what looks like a standard handgun. My spider-sense tingles slightly—not a true threat, but a potential danger.
"Is that what I think it is?" I ask, eyebrow raised.
"Relax, it's a modified testing apparatus," Martinez explains, showing me the unique barrel and loading mechanism. "Fires standardized impact projectiles at carefully calibrated velocities. Security approved it for the lab," he adds, seeing my expression.
He sets up a frame to hold the fabric sample, then steps back about fifteen feet. "Standard ballistic fabric begins to fail at around 400 joules of energy. Our material..."
He fires. The projectile strikes the fabric dead center—and stops, its energy dissipated across the surface in rippling patterns of molecular rearrangement. The material hasn't just absorbed the impact; it's redistributed it, adapting its very structure to neutralize the force.
"That was approximately 900 joules," Martinez says, lowering the test gun. "And we haven't found its upper limit yet."
My mind races with the possibilities. With this material as the foundation, the Batman Beyond suit won't just be stealthy and flexible—it'll be nearly impenetrable to conventional weapons.
"When can we scale up to full-body dimensions?"
Martinez sets down the testing apparatus. "That's where we hit a roadblock. The molecular alignment becomes unstable at larger scales. We need a binding agent to maintain coherence across the entire structure."
I frown, considering the problem. "What about the carbon lattice structure from Dr. Warren's biotech division? Her team developed something similar for medical implants."
"Cross-divisional cooperation isn't exactly encouraged," Martinez says carefully, lowering his voice. "Dr. Warren reports directly to your father, and he's made it clear her work is compartmentalized from other research."
Of course. Norman's siloing of research departments is a classic control tactic, preventing any single group from seeing the complete picture of Oscorp's most sensitive projects. But as Norman's son and a rising executive, I might have the leverage to break through those barriers.
"Leave Dr. Warren to me," I tell Martinez. "Focus on refining the response algorithms. I want predictive adaptation—the material should react to threats before impact, not just during."
"That would require some kind of threat detection system integrated into the fabric itself," Martinez muses, already considering approaches. "Possible, but complex."
"I have faith in your team, Doctor." I glance at my watch. "I have a meeting with Dr. Warren in ten minutes. Keep me updated on any developments."
As I leave the lab, I feel a familiar buzz from my spider-sense—a low-level warning rather than imminent danger. I turn to find Norman's chief of security, Roland Hayes, watching me from the corridor. He nods curtly, making no attempt to hide his surveillance.
"Mr. Hayes," I acknowledge. "Something I can help you with?"
"Just routine security rounds, Mr. Osborn," he replies, his ex-military bearing evident in his rigid posture. "Your father has increased monitoring of sensitive research areas."
Meaning Norman has instructed him to keep tabs on me specifically. "Of course. Can't be too careful with company assets."
Hayes doesn't smile at the pleasantry. "Indeed, sir. Especially with the recent corporate espionage attempts we've detected."
Is that a veiled accusation? It's hard to tell with Hayes, whose poker face could challenge professional gamblers.
"Well, don't let me keep you from your duties," I say, moving past him toward the elevator.
"Sir," he calls after me, "your father mentioned you've been spending considerable time here after standard hours. For security purposes, we should be notified of your schedule."
Definitely monitoring me, then. "I'll have Claire send you my calendar," I reply, stepping into the elevator. "Though creativity doesn't always respect business hours, does it, Mr. Hayes?"
The doors close before he can respond, giving me a moment alone to consider this development. Norman is watching my movements more closely now, perhaps suspicious of my sudden interest in Oscorp's technology. I'll need to be more careful about my after-hours activities, particularly my work on the Batman Beyond suit.
Dr. Emily Warren's biotech lab occupies the entire 77th floor—a testament to both the importance of her research and Norman's particular interest in it. Unlike the materials lab, Warren's domain is hermetically sealed, requiring biometric authentication and decontamination procedures before entry.
Emily Warren herself is waiting for me in the antechamber—tall, elegant, with prematurely silver hair that contrasts sharply with her youthful face. Her reputation as one of the world's leading experts in biological enhancement technology is well-earned, though few outside Oscorp know exactly what she's developing here.
"Harry Osborn," she says, extending her hand. "This is unexpected. Your assistant was rather vague about the purpose of this meeting."
"Dr. Warren." I shake her hand, noting the firmness of her grip. "I appreciate you making time. I'm interested in your carbon lattice development for potential applications in the materials science division."
Warren's expression remains neutral, but her eyes sharpen with interest. "Cross-divisional collaboration? That's not how your father typically structures research."
"I'm exploring new approaches," I reply, following her through the final security door into the main laboratory. "Innovation often happens at the intersection of disciplines."
The lab beyond is unlike anything else at Oscorp—a blend of traditional research space and what looks like advanced medical facilities. Robotic arms manipulate microscopic materials within sealed chambers. Holographic displays show molecular structures rotating in three dimensions. And along one wall, a row of what appear to be medical pods, large enough to hold human subjects.
My spider-sense tingles again, stronger this time. Whatever Warren is working on here, it's dangerous in ways that extend beyond ordinary research risks.
"Impressive setup," I comment, careful to keep my tone casual. "Father certainly believes in your work."
"Norman understands the potential," Warren says, leading me to a workstation near the center of the lab. "The carbon lattice structure you mentioned is just one component of a larger project, but I can see applications for materials science."
She activates a display showing the molecular structure of the lattice—an intricate three-dimensional web of carbon atoms arranged in patterns I've never seen before. Not completely artificial, but not natural either.
"This isn't standard carbon nanotube technology," I observe, studying the structure. "The arrangement is almost... biological."
Warren's expression shifts slightly—surprise, quickly masked. "Very observant. Yes, we've incorporated biological principles into the design. The lattice actually grows rather than being manufactured, using a proprietary biocatalyst."
"Grows?" The implications are fascinating and concerning. "You've created self-assembling carbon structures?"
"Within controlled parameters, yes." She manipulates the display, showing the lattice's development sequence. "The applications for medical implants are revolutionary. Damage to the lattice self-repairs using the same biological principles."
Perfect for the Batman Beyond suit—a material that could potentially heal itself after damage.
"I'd like to propose a joint research initiative," I say, cutting to the chase. "Your carbon lattice technology integrated with the adaptive materials my division is developing."
Warren leans against the workstation, arms crossed. "And what does your father think of this proposal?"
"I haven't discussed it with him yet," I admit. "I wanted to gauge your interest first."
"Norman doesn't like surprises, Harry. Especially when they involve his most sensitive research programs."
I gesture around the lab. "Is that what this is? One of his sensitive programs?" I deliberately let my gaze linger on the medical pods along the wall. "It seems to go beyond standard biotech research."
Warren follows my gaze, then returns her attention to me with increased intensity. "You've changed," she says abruptly. "Everyone's noticed. The board. The research directors. Norman most of all. Six months ago, you couldn't have identified a carbon lattice structure if your life depended on it."
The directness catches me off guard. "People can change, Dr. Warren."
"Not this dramatically without cause." She steps closer, her voice dropping. "Between us, Harry—what happened to you? Because something did. And whatever it was, it has Norman... concerned."
Another piece falls into place. Warren isn't just a research director; she's one of Norman's confidantes. Her interest in my transformation is professional and personal.
I make a split-second decision to offer a partial truth. "Let's just say I had a wake-up call. Realized I was wasting my potential and the opportunities available to me."
"A wake-up call," she repeats, clearly unconvinced. "And this newfound interest in advanced materials and biotechnology—that's part of this awakening?"
"Is it so hard to believe I might actually be interested in the family business?"
Warren studies me for a long moment before seeming to reach a decision. "The carbon lattice technology is technically my intellectual property under my contract with Oscorp. I have some discretion regarding research applications." She returns to the workstation, typing rapidly. "I'll authorize a limited transfer of samples and technical specifications to your division for collaborative research."
"Thank you, Dr. Warren."
"Don't thank me yet," she warns, looking up from her console. "Norman will find out, and he'll have questions. For both of us."
"I'll handle my father," I assure her, though I'm less confident than I sound.
"See that you do." She finishes the authorization, then looks at me with unexpected concern. "Be careful, Harry. Norman's been... different lately. More intense. Less flexible. Whatever's happening with you, it's happening with him too—but not in the same way."
The warning sends a chill through me. Warren knows more about Norman's Prometheus treatments than she's letting on. Possibly because she's involved in their development.
"I appreciate your candor, Doctor. And the collaboration."
As I turn to leave, my gaze catches on one of the medical pods again. Through its semi-transparent cover, I can just make out what looks like organic material—not quite human tissue, but not completely foreign either. Experimental growth chambers for the biological components of whatever Warren is developing.
My spider-sense buzzes more insistently, urging distance from this place.
Back in my office on the executive floor, I find Claire organizing reports for my afternoon meetings. "Mr. Osborn, your lunch appointment with Dr. Martinez has been confirmed for 1 PM. And Bernard called—he says there's a delivery at your apartment that requires your attention."
"A delivery? Did he say what kind?"
"No, sir. Just that it's important and potentially sensitive."
Bernard wouldn't use those terms lightly. Something related to my Batman Beyond project, perhaps? I've been carefully acquiring components through various channels, using Bernard as an intermediary for the more sensitive items.
"Reschedule my afternoon meetings, Claire. I need to handle this personally."
"Of course, sir. And Mr. Hayes from security left this for you." She hands me a small envelope.
Inside is a keycard and a brief note: "Access approved for after-hours research. Please log all activities. -RH"
Official permission to work late, but with the clear implication of monitoring. Norman setting up a legitimate channel to track my movements instead of relying solely on surveillance.
A clever move in our ongoing chess match. Now I need to be even more careful about my nighttime activities.
At my apartment, Bernard meets me at the door, his expression grave. "Sir, the delivery arrived an hour ago. I've placed it in your study as instructed."
"What is it, Bernard?"
"It appears to be the specialized computing equipment you ordered, sir. However, there was also this." He hands me a small flash drive. "It was attached to the package with a note addressed specifically to you."
No label, no identifying marks on the drive. Just a small black rectangle of plastic and metal that could contain anything from harmless technical specifications to devastating malware.
"Did you scan it?" I ask, turning the drive over in my hand.
"I took the liberty of running it through the security protocols you established. No conventional threats detected, but..."
"But what?"
Bernard hesitates. "The drive contains a single video file with unusual encryption. The security system flagged it as utilizing Stark Industries proprietary algorithms."
Tony Stark. The message from Happy Hogan about the Stark Expo footage. This must be related.
"Thank you, Bernard. I'll handle it from here."
In my study, I examine the delivered equipment—specialized components I'd ordered through shell companies for the Batcave's computer systems. Everything appears as specified, with no obvious signs of tampering. But the flash drive is the real concern.
I insert it into an isolated computer system I've set up for potentially compromised data. The encryption is indeed sophisticated—military-grade protection using algorithms I recognize from my previous life as signature Stark Tech approaches.
After twenty minutes of careful work, bypassing security measures designed to detect conventional hacking attempts, I access the video file.
Tony Stark's face fills the screen, sunglasses in place despite being indoors, characteristic smirk firmly established.
"Harry Osborn," he begins without preamble. "Or should I say, the guy who can catch falling I-beams at my Expo. Yeah, that didn't go unnoticed. Nice save, by the way. Very heroic. Very... enhanced."
.....Fucking hell
"Now, I'm all for the superhero gig—obviously—but I'm curious about where Junior Osborn got his upgrade package. Because last I checked, Norman wasn't sharing his toys, especially not with the competition."
Stark takes off his sunglasses, his expression turning more serious.
"Here's the deal, kid. I'm not going to out you. That's not my style. But I am going to keep an eye on anything Osborn-related that suddenly displays abilities that would make Captain America raise an eyebrow. Consider this a professional courtesy and a friendly warning rolled into one stylish digital package."
He pauses, then adds, "Oh, and the equipment you're buying? Not exactly standard rich-kid toys. If you're building what I think you're building, maybe we should talk. Superhero to... whatever you are. Stark out."
The video ends, leaving me staring at a blank screen with a mind racing at enhanced speed.
Tony Stark is the real fucking deal.
I sit back in my chair, processing the implications. Stark's involvement complicates my plans significantly. He has resources and intelligence networks I can't match yet. If he's watching me, SHIELD might be as well.
But there's an opportunity here too. Stark's technology and expertise could accelerate my Batman Beyond development dramatically. The question is whether an alliance with Iron Man aligns with my strategic goals—and whether I can trust him with the truth of who and what I really am.
"Message received. Not what you think. Will explain when appropriate. Discretion appreciated. -HO"
With that addressed, I turn my attention to the delivered components—critical elements for the Batcave's central computer system. I need to accelerate my timeline now. With both Norman and Stark taking interest in my activities, the window for establishing Batman Beyond undetected is closing rapidly.
I spend the next hour examining the equipment, confirming specifications and planning the installation sequence for the cave. The technology is cutting-edge but still lags behind what I know exists in Stark's workshop.
My phone buzzes with a response from Stark: "Intrigued. Ball's in your court, kid. But don't wait too long. Things are happening. -TS"
Cryptic, but concerning. What "things" is he referring to? Current events I'm unaware of, or future developments he somehow knows are coming?
Bernard knocks gently on the study door. "Sir, Dr. Martinez called. The integration tests with Dr. Warren's carbon lattice have begun, with promising early results."
"Thank you, Bernard. Any other messages?"
"Mr. Parker called. He asked if you were still joining them this evening at the quantum physics presentation."
Peter. With everything happening, I'd nearly forgotten our plans. The presentation at ESU is scheduled for 7 PM—showcasing breakthrough research in quantum energy manipulation that might prove valuable for my technology development. Plus, it's an opportunity to strengthen my connections with Peter and MJ. Why not?
"Please confirm I'll be there," I tell Bernard. "And have the car ready at 6:30."
From my desk drawer, I retrieve a tablet containing my most sensitive designs—completely isolated from networks, containing the evolving schematics for the Batman Beyond suit.
The design on my screen resembles its animated inspiration but with practical modifications for this reality. Sleek, intimidating, with retractable wings and integrated communication systems. The adaptive material will allow for active camouflage in shadows, near-invisibility in the right conditions.
I add notes about integrating the carbon lattice structure, estimating material requirements and fabrication techniques. The cave will need specialized equipment to manufacture and maintain the suit—another set of components to acquire discreetly.