"They can handle it."
Batman gritted his teeth as he stalked through the shadowed alleyway, one hand clamped over his left shoulder. Mors had gotten a solid hit in, a lucky strike, but enough to leave a throbbing reminder. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat, sharp and insistent.
His bike arrived with a low growl of machinery, and he wasted no time mounting it, leaving the grime of Phoenix's underbelly behind. For tonight, Batman was done.
Back at the Midnight Station, he peeled off the suit, revealing the mottled purple bruise spreading across his shoulder. Grimacing, he grabbed an ice pack and pressed it against the injury, the cold biting into his skin. It wouldn't fix everything, but it would speed things along.
"Oracle, do you have any records on Mors?" Izuku asked, his voice tight with focus.
A pause. Then, the sterile, synthetic response:
Oracle: [No results found. Subject 'Mors' does not exist in any known database]
"Great," Izuku muttered, running a hand through his hair. "That means he's either another government experiment… or someone's gone to great lengths to erase him." His mind raced through possibilities, each more troubling than the last.
"Oracle, create a new file on Mors. He has some kind of regeneration or immortality. Weakness observed: electricity."
A soft chime confirmed the action.
Oracle: [File created. Is there further assistance required?]
"Put bodyguards on my dad," Izuku ordered. "If they're targeting me, they'll go after him next."
Oracle: [Noted. Surveillance and protection protocols activated.]
A beat. Then, Izuku exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Oracle… what's the probability I lose a fight if I go full cyborg?"
For the first time, the AI hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.
Oracle: [Insufficient data for accurate projection. Variables include: biomechanical integration success rate, neural compatibility, and opponent capabilities. Estimated risk: 37-89%. Proceed with caution.]
"But there's also the risk of getting hacked," Izuku sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. He wanted a power-up needed one desperately. His current strength wasn't enough, and the temptation to rush was overwhelming.
Yet, after a moment, he steadied himself. "I have to be patient," he muttered, forcing his mind to focus. There'd be time to dwell on shortcuts later. For now, his research demanded attention; Super Soldier Serum and Quirk Extraction, Copying, and Cloning
. . . .
The Next Day,
On the highway, Izuku waited at a red light, his fingers tapping impatiently against the handlebars of his bike. His eyes flicked across the surrounding traffic routine check, just in case. Then he saw it: a car rolling to a stop beside him, the window sliding down.
A gun barrel glinted in the sunlight.
Izuku moved before the shooter could pull the trigger. He ducked low, lunged for the car, and with a strength that surprised even him ripped the door clean off its hinges.
The attacker barely had time to flinch before Izuku swung the door like a battering ram, smashing it into the two men in the front seats. A dull crunch of impact, a groan of pain they slumped, unconscious but alive.
No time to celebrate. Izuku spun back toward his bike, helmet still secure just as a sharp crack split the air. A bullet ricocheted off his visor, the force whipping his head back.
Bulletproof.
The light was still red. Screw it. He twisted the throttle, his bike roaring to life.
Izuku's thumb hit the nitrous switch. The world blurred as his bike rocketed forward, the sudden burst of speed leaving the would-be killers in the dust.
Another shot rang out, missing by inches. Whoever was firing had terrifying accuracy.
Four kilometers away, a sniper lowered his rifle, scowling.
"What the fuck?" he muttered. Then, grudgingly, he huffed a laugh. "Kid's a genius, Quirk or not."
Annoying. But not unexpected.
He'd underestimated Izuku's paranoia especially that helmet.
A Few Minutes Earlier,
Izuku pulled into the company parking lot, swinging his bike into its usual spot. With a few quick taps on the bike's interface, the license plate shimmered and changed, its appearance shifting seamlessly another layer of anonymity.
He tugged off his helmet and strode inside, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him.
Elena glanced up from her desk as he passed. "You're early today, boss."
"Got assassinated. No big deal," Izuku said, barely breaking stride as he headed for his office.
Elena's fingers froze over her keyboard. "You, what?" But he was already gone, leaving her staring after him, mouth slightly open.
Inside his office, Izuku tossed his blazer onto the hanger and dropped onto the couch. The large TV flickered to life, the news already playing.
"—five suspected terrorists behind the Chase Tower bombing were found dead this morning. Authorities report the cause of death as cardiac arrest, though evidence suggests a struggle. Three of the victims showed signs of combat before their hearts failed."
Sergeant Singer's face filled the screen, his expression grim. "This wasn't natural. They were killed. The forensics don't lie someone got to them first."
Izuku waited, but the report shifted to another incident another villain attack, this one tied to Mors. No details. No names. Just another hushed-up operation.
He scoffed. "So many damn secrets." Back in Japan, he'd have the upper hand, knowing how events unfolded. But here? The U.S. was a blind spot, barely fleshed out, barely explained.
What a waste.
Izuku dozed off for about an hour until a gentle touch on his shoulder jolted him awake.
He flinched, a sharp inhale escaping him before he could stop it.
"I'm sorry!" Elena immediately withdrew her hand, her brows knitting together in concern. "Did I hurt you?"
Izuku rubbed his shoulder, forcing a small smile. "No, no, it's fine. Just sore from training. Pushed myself a little too hard, I guess."
Elena studied him for a moment, as if debating whether to press further, but then glanced at her watch. "There's an investor meeting in twenty minutes. They're already gathering in the conference room."
"Right." Izuku straightened, rolling his stiff shoulders before grabbing his blazer.
Then he splashed cold water on his face in the adjoining restroom, the shock of it sharpening his focus. By the time he stepped out, Elena was waiting, tablet in hand, her professional demeanor fully restored.
Together, they walked down the sleek hallway, the murmur of voices growing louder as they approached the conference room. Inside, the investors some familiar, some new were already seated, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled skepticism.
The moment Izuku took his place at the head of the table, the first question came, sharp and direct.
"Why are you giving away the Quirk Stabilizer for free?"
Izuku blinked, then let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Are you really asking me that?"
A few of the other investors shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances. One older man cleared his throat. "What my colleague means is that this is a revolutionary product. We could make billions by licensing the tech or selling the patent outright."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
Izuku leaned forward, his gaze steady. "And how many people would be left behind if we did that?"
Silence.
He continued, voice low but firm. "This isn't just about profit. The Stabilizer changes lives. If we put a price tag on it, we're deciding who deserves to have their Quirk controlled safely and who doesn't."
A younger investor, a woman with sharp eyes, tilted her head. "And what about the company's future? Generosity doesn't pay the bills forever."
Izuku smiled, a real one this time. "Then it's a good thing we have other projects in the pipeline, isn't it?"
The tension in the room eased slightly, but the debate was far from over.
Seeing their unconvinced expressions, Izuku exhaled, fingers tapping lightly against the table. Then, with deliberate calm, he posed a question.
"What if the government seizes the Stabilizer by force and hands production to another company?"
One of the investors scoffed. "That's absurd. Why would they do that to us?"
A dry, humorless smile tugged at Izuku's lips. "I'm disappointed you'd think that way. Naivety is a luxury we can't afford." He leaned forward, his voice dropping, not in anger but in grim certainty. "They've been targeting us from the beginning. Every breakthrough we make tech that helps heroes, protects civilians, strengthens the entire country puts a bigger target on our backs."
The room fell silent.
One of the older investors, a man with steel-gray hair, narrowed his eyes. "You're suggesting they'd steal it?"
"I'm suggesting they'd justify it." Izuku met his gaze evenly. "If we price this beyond reach, we give them the perfect excuse: 'The people need this. Arkham Enterprise won't share. So we'll take it.' " He spread his hands. "But if it's already free? If it's already in hospitals, clinics, heroes' hands? Then they look like thieves, not saviors."
A murmur rippled through the group. The skeptical investor opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning.
Elena, standing at Izuku's side, subtly nodded. The pieces were falling into place.
Now, they just had to decide were they investors in a business?
Or partners in a revolution?