Chapter 1
The concept of a "second chance" is something most people only ponder during their mid-life crises or while staring at a ceiling at three in the morning, wondering why they said that one specific embarrassing thing in the third grade. For Alex Miller, that second chance didn't come with a self-help book or a career change. It came with the screeching of tires, the smell of burning rubber, and a sudden, violent transition into a void so absolute it felt heavy.
In his previous life, Alex was... ordinary. He was a 24-year-old cubicle dweller in London, a man whose greatest daily excitement was finding a brand of coffee that didn't taste like burnt cardboard. He had a degree he didn't use, a small apartment that smelled faintly of damp, and a collection of Marvel DVDs that served as his primary escape from the gray reality of a 9-to-5 existence. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a genius. He was just a guy who happened to be in the wrong crosswalk at the right time for a distracted truck driver to send him into the Great Beyond.
Rebirth isn't like the movies. There was no bright light, no choir of angels, and certainly no old man offering him three wishes. There was just a slow, agonizingly sluggish return of his senses.
He woke up to the sound of a woman humming a lullaby and the sight of a ceiling fan spinning lazily above him. For a long time, he thought he was in a coma, dreaming of a life he never lived. But as the days turned into months, and the months into years, the reality of his situation settled in with a terrifying weight. He was a baby. Again.
His new father, David Miller, was a man of quiet ambition. A businessman who moved through life with a calculated grace, David worked in corporate logistics, a job that kept the family comfortable but required a steady, rhythmic discipline. His mother, Elena, was a pediatrician—a woman whose hands were always warm and whose eyes held a sharp, diagnostic intelligence balanced by a deep, maternal empathy.
Then there was Sarah, his older sister. When Alex was five, she was already ten, a whirlwind of charcoal pencils and paint-stained fingers. She saw the world in gradients and shadows, often dragging Alex along to "pose" for her while she practiced her anatomy sketches. She was the star of the family, heading toward her final year at a prestigious arts university, her room a chaotic sanctuary of canvas and turpentine. And finally, there was little Maya, the surprise addition to the family, currently a bubbly nursery student who viewed Alex as her personal jungle gym.
For seventeen years, Alex Miller lived a life of profound normalcy in this new world.
He waited for the "Main Character" moment. He waited for a spider to bite him, for a gamma bomb to go off, or for a letter from a school for gifted youngsters. He knew, with the clarity of a fan who had watched every MCU film a dozen times, that he was in Marvel. He'd seen the Stark Industries logo on the news; he'd heard people talk about the "eccentric" billionaire Tony Stark. He knew the dangers that were coming—the Chitauri, the robots, the mad titans.
But for seventeen years, nothing happened. He was just Alex. He was smart, sure—it's easy to be the top of your class when you have the cognitive development of a thirty-year-old in a teenager's body—but he was physically unremarkable. He grew up in Queens, New York, after his father accepted a major promotion when Alex was six.
By sheer cosmic coincidence—or perhaps the cruel irony of fate—the Millers had bought a modest, two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. Their neighbors to the left were a lovely, elderly woman named May Parker and her bookish, slightly awkward nephew, Peter.
Alex and Peter had become fast friends. They shared a love for science, though Peter's was born of genuine brilliance while Alex's was bolstered by "future knowledge." They spent their afternoons playing video games or helping May with the gardening. To Peter, Alex was the cool, grounded friend who always had his back against Flash Thompson's bullying. To Alex, Peter was a ticking time bomb of destiny—a hero waiting to happen.
Now, at seventeen, Alex sat in his bedroom, staring at a physics textbook while the sounds of his family echoed through the house. Sarah was downstairs arguing with their father about the merits of "abstract expressionism" vs. "marketable art," and Maya was screeching with laughter as she chased the family cat.
"Seventeen years," Alex whispered to himself, leaning back in his chair. "Seventeen years of waiting for the other shoe to drop."
He felt a strange sense of melancholy. He loved this family. David and Elena were better parents than he could have ever asked for. Sarah was the sister he never had in his first life, and Maya was his world. But the knowledge of what this world was haunted him. He knew that in a world of gods and monsters, being "normal" was a death sentence once the sky opened up.
He stood up, stretching his cramped muscles, and walked over to the window. Across the narrow driveway, he could see into Peter's room. Peter was hunched over his desk, likely tinkering with some discarded tech he'd found in a dumpster.
"Any day now, Pete," Alex muttered. "You're going to get your spark. And I'm just going to be the guy who watches you fly."
He felt a sudden, sharp pinch at the base of his skull. It wasn't a headache—it was a sensation of cold water being poured directly onto his brain. He gasped, clutching the windowsill as his vision blurred. The room seemed to stretch and warp, the colors of his posters bleeding into the gray of the walls.
Then, a sound. Not a voice, not a beep, but a crystalline chime that resonated in his very marrow.
[...System Initializing...]
Alex froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
[...Compatibility Check: Host Alex Miller...]
[...Scanning Physical Thresholds...]
[...Warning: Physical condition does not meet 'Active Combat' requirements...]
[...Searching for Optimal Template for Integration...]
Alex dropped to his knees, the air leaving his lungs in a ragged wheeze. It was happening. After nearly two decades of silence, the "gift" of the reincarnated had finally arrived.
[...Template Found: Terry McGinnis (Batman Beyond)...]
[...Template Status: Locked...]
[...Integration Protocol: Gradual Adaptation required...]
[...Time until 100% Integration: 30 Days...]
A flood of information—not memories, but potential—rushed through his mind. He saw the sleek, black suit with the crimson bat emblazoned on the chest. He felt the phantom weight of gadgets he didn't possess and the muscle memory of a fighting style that combined street brawling with surgical precision.
But it wasn't a transformation. Not yet. He didn't suddenly sprout muscles or grow six inches. Instead, he felt a slow, steady warmth spreading from his chest to his limbs. It was like a low-voltage current, hummable and constant.
[...Integration: 0.01%...]
"Batman?" Alex croaked, his voice cracking. "I'm in a Marvel world... and the system gives me a DC template?"
He let out a short, hysterical laugh. It was perfect. The ultimate outsider in a world of Avengers. He wouldn't be a god, a mutant, or a super-soldier. He would be the shadow in the future.
The door to his room creaked open, and Maya's small head popped in. "Alex? Mommy says dinner is ready. We're having lasagna!"
Alex blinked, the digital HUD in his mind's eye fading into the background. He looked at his little sister, her eyes wide and innocent, and then down at his trembling hands. The warmth was still there. The 30-day countdown had begun.
"Coming, Maya," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Tell her I'll be down in a second."
He stood up, feeling a newfound weight to his steps. The slice-of-life he had cultivated for seventeen years wasn't over—not yet. He still had to finish high school, still had to help Peter with his homework, and still had to survive Sunday dinners. But now, there was a timer ticking in the back of his head.
Thirty days. In thirty days, Alex Miller would stop being just a spectator in the Marvel Universe.
He walked downstairs, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce filling his senses. His father was laughing at something Sarah said, and his mother was plating the food with practiced efficiency. It was a perfect, normal evening.
Alex took his seat at the table, catching Peter's eye through the window across the way as the neighbor boy finally turned off his desk lamp.
I'm coming for you, New York, Alex thought, taking a bite of the lasagna. Just give me a month.
The next morning, the sun bled through the curtains of Alex's room, but for the first time in seventeen years, he didn't need an alarm. He was wide awake at 5:30 AM, his body humming with a low-level static. It wasn't painful—it felt like the phantom buzz of a phone in a pocket, a constant reminder that something fundamental was shifting beneath his skin.
He pulled up his interface with a thought.
[...Integration: 0.34%...]
[...Status: Cellular Restructuring in progress...]
"Cellular restructuring," Alex muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Sounds like a fancy way of saying I'm going to be sore for a month."
He stood up and performed a tentative stretch. He felt... tighter. Not bulky, but as if his tendons were being replaced with high-tension wires. The Batman Beyond template wasn't just about a suit; it was about the peak human conditioning of a man trained by an aging, cynical Bruce Wayne. It was agility, speed, and the kind of endurance that allowed a teenager to survive Neo-Gotham.
He headed downstairs to find his mother, Elena, already in her scrubs, sipping a coffee while reviewing charts on her tablet.
"You're up early, Alex," she said, her eyes tracking him with that doctor's instinct. "You look a bit flushed. Do you have a fever?"
She reached out, pressing a cool palm to his forehead. Alex fought the urge to flinch. To her, he was her son. To the system, he was a biological canvas being repainted.
"Just didn't sleep well, Mom. Big physics test today," he lied smoothly.
"Don't overwork yourself. You're already top of the class," she said, giving his cheek a light pat. "Your father already left for the office, and Sarah is still dead to the world. Can you make sure Maya gets her breakfast? I have an early shift at the clinic."
"On it," Alex promised.
As he watched his mother leave, Alex felt a pang of protectiveness. In the movies, the heroes' families were always the leverage. The collateral damage. He looked at Maya, who tumbled into the kitchen wearing mismatched pajamas and clutching a stuffed rabbit.
"Alex, I want the sparkly cereal," she demanded, climbing into her chair.
"Sparkly cereal it is, princess," he murmured.
As he poured the milk, his hand trembled slightly. A flash of a memory—not his own—hit him. A dark alley, a rain-slicked street, and the feeling of a heavy cape billowing behind him. He shook his head, clearing the vision. The system had promised he wouldn't be dominated by the personality of the template, but the "flavor" of the experience was leaking through. He wasn't becoming Terry McGinnis, but he was inheriting Terry's ghosts.
Midtown High School was exactly as it appeared in the films, though perhaps a bit more crowded and smelling more intensely of floor wax and teenage hormones. Alex navigated the hallways with a new sense of spatial awareness. He could hear the click of locker combinations from ten feet away; he could sense the shift in air pressure when someone moved quickly behind him.
"Hey! Alex!"
He turned to see Peter Parker jogging toward him, his backpack sagging with the weight of far too many books. Peter looked exhausted, his glasses sliding down his nose.
"Hey, Pete. You look like you got hit by a bus," Alex joked, though he knew the timeline. They were seniors now. The field trip to Oscorp was only a week away.
"Feels like it," Peter sighed, falling into step beside him. "I stayed up until 3:00 AM trying to fix my camera. The shutter is sticking again. And May's car is making this weird clicking sound..."
"Bring the camera over after school. I'll take a look," Alex said.
"You're a lifesaver. Oh, did you hear? Flash is telling everyone he's going to 'accidentally' trip you during gym today because you ruined the curve on the midterms."
Alex felt a strange, cold spark in his chest. A month ago, he would have just ignored Flash or tried to de-escalate. But now, with the 0.4% of a futuristic Dark Knight settling into his bones, the idea of Flash Thompson seemed... trivial.
"He can try," Alex said, his voice dropping an octave without him realizing it.
Peter glanced at him, tilting his head. "You okay, man? You sound... intense. Did you start drinking that high-caffeine stuff your sister likes?"
"Just a lot of sleep deprivation, Pete. Come on, we're going to be late for Chem."
The day progressed in a blur of heightened senses. During gym, the "incident" with Flash happened exactly as predicted. As they were running laps, Flash accelerated, moving to shoulder-check Alex into the bleachers.
In the past, Alex would have fallen. Today, the world seemed to slow down. He saw the shift in Flash's weight, the sneer on the older boy's face, and the exact angle of the incoming impact. Without thinking, Alex shifted his center of gravity. He didn't push back; he simply stepped an inch to the left and pivoted.
Flash, expecting resistance, found only empty air. He stumbled, his own momentum carrying him face-first into the padded wall.
The gym went silent.
"Whoops," Alex said, his face a mask of perfect, innocent surprise. "You okay there, Flash? That looked like a nasty trip."
Flash scrambled up, face red with fury, but the coach's whistle blew before he could do anything. Peter leaned in, whispering, "Whoa. Since when do you have reflexes like a cat?"
"Luck," Alex replied, though his heart was racing.
[...Integration: 0.51%...]
[...Minor adjustment to vestibular system complete...]
He realized then that the "gradual" part of the integration was for his own benefit. If the system dumped 100% of Batman's physical capabilities into his 17-year-old, non-athletic body at once, his heart would probably explode. It was rebuilding him, thread by thread, like a 3D printer working on a masterpiece.
After school, the two of them walked home. The air in Queens was crisp, and for a moment, the looming threat of alien invasions and supervillains felt far away.
"You think we'll actually see anything cool at the Oscorp trip next week?" Peter asked, kicking a stray pebble.
"I think your life is about to change, Peter," Alex said, his tone more serious than he intended. "Just... be careful what you poke your nose into."
Peter laughed, oblivious. "It's a bio-genetics lab, Alex. What's the worst that could happen? I get a rash?"
Alex smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. A rash. See you at five for that camera."
He watched Peter walk into his house, where Aunt May was already waving from the window. Alex turned and entered his own home. It was empty; his father was at a meeting, and his mother was still at the hospital. Sarah was likely at the university library, and Maya was at a playdate.
He went to the basement—his father's workshop, which Alex had slowly been taking over for his "projects." He sat at the workbench and closed his eyes.
"System," he thought. "Show me the template details."
A translucent screen appeared.
Template: Batman Beyond (Terry McGinnis)
* Physicality: Peak Human (Adaptive)
* Skills: Stealth, Acrobatics, Street Fighting, Detective Work (Basic)
* Equipment: Locked until 100% Integration
* Note: Host's current body is at 'Grade D' efficiency. Integration will focus on bone density, fast-twitch muscle fiber development, and neural synapse acceleration.
Alex gripped the edge of the table. He wasn't just getting a suit. He was being turned into a weapon. And in a world where the Hulk existed, he was going to need every bit of that 100%.
The next few days were a test of endurance. Alex's appetite skyrocketed. He was eating double portions of everything Elena put in front of him, his body screaming for fuel to power the transformation. He grew an inch in a week. His clothes started to feel snug around the shoulders and chest.
"Are you hitting the gym?" David asked one evening during dinner, looking at his son with a raised eyebrow. "You'm filling out, Alex. Your posture is different."
"Just doing some calisthenics," Alex said, shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Trying to keep up with Peter. He's... more active lately."
Sarah looked up from her sketchbook, squinting at him. "Your jawline is getting sharper. It's annoying. I liked drawing you better when you had that soft, 'intellectual' look. Now you look like you're about to star in a teen drama."
"Blame puberty, Sarah," Alex joked, though he felt a bead of sweat roll down his back.
He was at 5% integration by the end of the first week. The world was becoming louder, brighter, and more predictable. He found himself subconsciously mapping out exit routes in every room he entered. He could tell the difference between his father's footsteps and his mother's from two floors away.
But the biggest change wasn't physical. It was the "knowledge."
He started tinkering with his father's old electronics. With the Batman Beyond template came a fundamental understanding of advanced technology—not the arc-reactor level tech of Stark, but the practical, gritty engineering of a future Gotham. He repaired Peter's camera in ten minutes, but he didn't stop there. He salvaged parts from an old microwave and a broken radio, his hands moving with a precision he hadn't possessed a week ago.
He was building a scanner. A way to track the signals he knew would soon be flooding the city.
One night, while the rest of the house slept, Alex sat on his roof, looking out over the skyline of Manhattan. He could see the Avengers Tower in the distance, a gleaming needle of hubris.
[...Integration: 7.2%...]
He felt a sudden, sharp vibration in his skull. Not from the system, but from the air itself. A low-frequency hum that made his teeth ache. He looked toward the Parker house.
He saw Peter's window open. The silhouette of his friend was visible, but Peter wasn't tinkering. He was hunched over, clutching his hand, his breathing heavy even from this distance.
"It happened," Alex whispered. "The spider."
He felt a surge of adrenaline. The plot was moving. The countdown in his head—now at 23 days—felt suddenly much too slow. The Green Goblin, the Lizard, the Vulture... the neighborhood was about to get very dangerous.
He looked at his hands. They were steady.
"Twenty-three days," he told the night sky. "Hurry up."
The following Monday at school was chaos for Alex's senses. Peter was a mess—stumbling over his own feet, snapping pencils in half, and staring at the wall with wide, dilated pupils.
"You okay, Pete?" Alex asked, catching Peter as he nearly tripped over a trash can.
"I... I think I'm coming down with something, Alex. I feel like... like everything is too much. Does the hallway seem loud to you?"
"Maybe you should go to the nurse," Alex suggested, even though he knew it wouldn't help.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe."
As Peter hurried away, Alex felt a shadow loom over him. He didn't need to turn around to know it was Flash and his goons.
"Hey, Miller! Where's your boyfriend going? Too scared to face the music after what you did in gym?"
Alex turned slowly. Flash was bigger, but in Alex's eyes, he was moving in slow motion. He could see the tension in Flash's neck, the way he shifted his weight to his right foot.
"Flash," Alex said, his voice calm, almost bored. "I'm having a really long morning. Walk away."
"Or what?" Flash sneered, reaching out to grab Alex's collar.
Alex's hand moved. It was a blur. He didn't punch Flash; he simply caught Flash's wrist and squeezed. Just a little.
Flash's eyes went wide. The color drained from his face as he felt the crushing strength in Alex's grip. It was like being caught in a steel vise.
"Or," Alex leaned in, his voice a low growl that sounded eerily like a man who spent his nights in a cowl. "I'll stop being polite. And you won't like that."
He released the wrist. Flash backed away, clutching his arm, a look of genuine fear in his eyes. He didn't say a word as he turned and ran toward his next class.
Alex stood in the hallway, the system pinging in his mind.
[...Warning: Aggression levels rising...]
[...Template Influence: Terry McGinnis's 'Street Justice' instinct detected...]
[...Correction: Host personality remains dominant. Suppressing neuro-chemical spike...]
Alex took a deep breath, forcing his hands to unclench. He wasn't a vigilante. Not yet. He was a student. He was a son. He was a brother.
He walked to his next class, but his mind was already miles away, calculating the materials he would need once the integration hit 100%. He needed carbon fiber. He needed a high-density polymer. He needed a way to build a suit that could withstand a punch from a Chitauri.
He spent the afternoon in the school library, but he wasn't studying. He was sketching.
Not art, like Sarah. He was sketching blueprints.
The Batman Beyond suit was a marvel of engineering—liquid weaponry, flight capabilities, cloaking. The system would provide the template, but Alex knew he would have to be the one to maintain it. He would have to be the genius behind the mask.
As he worked, a shadow fell over his table. He quickly closed his notebook.
It was Sarah. She was visiting the school to drop off some paperwork for her old teachers.
"What are you hiding, little brother?" she asked, leaning over him, the scent of oil paint following her.
"Nothing. Just... physics notes."
"Liar," she said, but she was smiling. She reached out and ruffled his hair. "You've changed, Alex. You used to be so... I don't know, quiet. Now you look like you're carrying the weight of the world on those new shoulders of yours."
"Just growing up, Sarah," he said softly.
"Well, don't grow up too fast. Maya misses her favorite pillow. She says you're too 'bony' to lean on now."
Alex chuckled. "I'll try to soften up by dinner."
But as Sarah walked away, Alex's smile faded. He looked at his closed notebook. Inside was the design for a bat-shaped drone.
[...Integration: 10.0%...]
[...Milestone Reached: Enhanced Neurological Processing unlocked...]
The world didn't just look different now. It made sense. He looked at a nearby computer terminal and he didn't see a machine; he saw a series of vulnerabilities. He looked at the structural beams of the library and saw the stress points.
He was becoming a detective. A tactician.
"Ten percent," he whispered. "And I already feel like I could take on the world."
He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He had to get home. He had to help Maya with her drawings. He had to be Alex Miller for just a little while longer.
Because in twenty days, the Batman would be born in the city that never sleeps.
The second week of integration felt like a slow-motion car crash—not because it was painful, but because of the sheer force of the momentum. Alex felt his skeletal structure thickening. Every time he sat down to eat, he felt a primal, gnawing hunger that three plates of dinner could barely satisfy.
[...Integration: 15.6%...]
[...Bone Density Adjustment: 40% Complete...]
[...Neural Synapse Firing Rate: +25%...]
He was now noticeably taller than Peter, his frame filling out with lean, corded muscle that seemed to wrap around his bones like steel cables. At school, the change was becoming a topic of gossip. People whispered about "growth spurts" and "secret training," but Alex kept his head down. He had bigger concerns than high school social hierarchies.
Across the driveway, Peter Parker was losing his mind.
Alex watched from his window as Peter accidentally ripped the handle off his bedroom door. He saw Peter catch a falling bowl of cereal with reflexes that would have been impossible for any human. He saw the confusion, the terror, and the burgeoning excitement in his friend's eyes.
"Any day now, he's going to go to that wrestling match," Alex thought, his heart heavy. He knew what happened next. The burglar. Uncle Ben. The tragedy that forged the hero.
Part of him wanted to stop it. To use his newfound tactical mind to intercept the killer. But the System's internal logic warned him: Interference with Prime Nexus Events may result in unpredictable timeline destabilization. Plus, he was only at 15%. He was strong, but he wasn't "stop a bullet with a bat-suit" strong yet.
Instead, he focused on his own preparations.
Under the guise of "electronics recycling" and "school projects," Alex began a systematic raid on the city's scrap yards and specialized hardware stores. He spent his allowance and the money he'd saved from odd jobs on high-tensile wires, micro-processors, and odd scraps of memory-foam polymers.
His father's basement workshop had become a sanctuary. David didn't mind; he was proud to see his son taking such an interest in engineering.
"Building a robot, son?" David asked one evening, leaning against the doorframe as Alex worked on a small, circular device.
"Something like that, Dad. Just testing some sensor arrays," Alex said, hiding the fact that he was actually calibrating a short-range EMP burst.
"Good. Good. Just don't blow up the water heater," David chuckled, patting the doorframe before heading back upstairs.
Alex waited until the footsteps faded, then looked back at his workbench. He wasn't building the suit yet—the System would provide the base-layer "template" armor once integration reached 100%—but he was building the add-ons. The Batman Beyond suit was a masterpiece of 2039 technology, but in 2026, he had to adapt. He was creating a modular utility belt, using a 3D printer Sarah had discarded when she upgraded to a professional model.
[...Skill Unlocked: Detective Vision (Early Phase)...]
The world suddenly shifted. Alex's vision flickered, and for a second, he could see the thermal signatures of everyone in the house. He saw the warm glow of his mother in the kitchen, the bright orange of Sarah's laptop in her room, and the tiny, frantic heat signature of the family cat chasing a moth in the hallway.
"Whoa," he whispered, blinking the overlay away. It felt like a ghost in his eyes, a lingering afterimage.
By the middle of the second week, the "Slice of Life" Alex had fought to maintain was starting to fray at the edges.
"Alex, you haven't touched your sketchbook in days," Sarah said, cornering him in the hallway after school. She looked concerned. "And you're... you're different. You walk like you're stalking something."
Alex caught his reflection in a hallway mirror. She was right. He wasn't slouching anymore. He walked with a silent, rolling gait, his weight perfectly distributed. He looked like a predator trying very hard to pretend he was a student.
"Just focused on the Oscorp trip, Sarah. You know how much Peter and I have been looking forward to it," Alex said.
"Is that why you were out at 2:00 AM last night?"
Alex froze. He had been on the roof, testing his increased vertical leap. He had cleared the gap between his house and the garage with ease—nearly twelve feet—and he'd thought he was silent.
"I couldn't sleep. The air felt good," he lied.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "If you're getting into something stupid, Alex... if you're doing drugs or joining a gang..."
"Sarah, look at me," Alex said, his voice soft but firm. He stepped into her space, not to intimidate, but to show her he was okay. "I'm not in a gang. I'm not on drugs. I'm just... figuring out who I'm supposed to be. Isn't that what you did when you chose art?"
She studied him for a long beat, the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipating. "Fine. But if you end up in a ditch, I'm telling Mom it was your fault."
"Fair enough."
The day of the Oscorp trip arrived.
The bus ride was a cacophony of noise that Alex's enhanced hearing struggled to filter. Flash Thompson was bragging about his father's connections, while Peter sat next to Alex, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. Peter's skin looked clammy.
"You okay, Pete? You're sweating," Alex said, knowing exactly why. The spider's venom was currently rewriting Peter's DNA.
"I'm fine, Alex. Just... dizzy. I think I had some bad milk," Peter whispered, clutching his backpack.
They entered the Oscorp building, a temple of glass and steel that screamed "corporate overreach." Alex felt a strange buzzing in his head as they passed through the security scanners. His System didn't like the Oscorp tech. It felt primitive, yet dangerous.
As the class moved through the bio-genetics department, Alex stayed close to Peter. He watched the "Super-Spiders" behind the glass—fifteen genetically modified arachnids.
"Hey, there's only fourteen," a girl in the class whispered.
Alex saw it. A tiny, iridescent shape hanging by a thread, descending toward the back of Peter's hand.
For a split second, the "Detective" in Alex's brain screamed at him to move. To swat it away. To change history. But he didn't. He watched the spider land. He watched the bite.
Peter gasped, slapping his hand.
"You okay?" the teacher asked.
"Yeah... just a poke," Peter said, looking confused.
Alex felt a wave of guilt, followed by a cold sense of resolve. Peter was now the Spider-Man. And in approximately eighteen days, the Batman Beyond integration would be complete.
The two of them would be the pillars of Queens.
[...Integration: 22.1%...]
[...Neural Linkage: Stable...]
[...New Directive: Physical Training must increase to match template growth...]
That night, after the trip, Alex didn't go to bed. He waited until the house was silent, then slipped out of his window. He didn't stay on the roof this time. He dropped to the ground—a twelve-foot fall—and landed in a perfect, silent crouch.
He began to run.
He wasn't running like a human; he was sprinting at speeds that would have shamed an Olympic athlete. He blurred through the back alleys of Queens, his mind mapping the terrain. He climbed a fire escape, his fingers finding purchase in brick and metal with a strength that felt limitless.
He reached the top of a five-story apartment building and looked out over the city.
The air was cold, but he didn't feel it. His body was generating an immense amount of heat, the "cellular restructuring" working overtime. He looked down at his hands, which were covered in old, grease-stained gardening gloves he'd taken from the garage.
"Not much longer," he whispered.
Suddenly, a sound caught his ear. A scream.
It was blocks away, muffled by the city's hum, but to Alex's ears, it was as clear as a bell. A woman was being mugged in an alleyway near the deli he and Peter visited every Friday.
Alex's heart rate spiked. The "Batman" template surged—the instinct to protect, the drive to intervene.
"Wait," he told himself. "You don't have the suit. You're at twenty percent. You're just a kid in a hoodie."
But you're the only one who can hear her, the internal voice whispered.
Alex didn't think. He moved.
He leaped from the roof of the five-story building to the next, his body instinctively knowing the arc of the jump. He felt the wind rushing past his face, the exhilaration of the movement. He was Terry McGinnis. He was Alex Miller. He was something new.
He reached the alleyway in seconds. Below, two men had a woman pinned against a dumpster. One held a knife.
"Just give us the purse, lady, and we don't have to get messy," the one with the knife hissed.
Alex didn't drop down. He stayed in the shadows of the fire escape above. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy steel bolt he'd "borrowed" from his father's workshop.
He didn't aim for the head. He aimed for the knife-hand.
The bolt flew with the speed of a bullet. CRACK.
The man screamed as the bolt shattered his metacarpals, the knife clattering to the pavement.
"What the hell?!" the second mugger yelled, looking up.
He saw nothing. Alex had already shifted behind a chimney stack.
"Who's there?!"
Alex used his voice—not his own, but a deep, guttural projection he'd been practicing. "Leave. Now."
The sheer menace in that two-word command, echoing off the brick walls, was enough. The muggers didn't wait to see who was talking. They scrambled out of the alley, leaving the woman shaking on the ground.
Alex stayed until she picked up her purse and ran toward the main street. He didn't follow. He didn't ask if she was okay. He wasn't a hero yet. He was a ghost.
[...Integration: 23.5%...]
[...Combat Experience Logged: +1.4% Efficiency...]
He headed back home, slipping through his window just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. He was exhausted, his muscles aching with a deep, throbbing heat.
He fell into bed, barely having the strength to pull the covers over his head.
When he woke up four hours later, Maya was jumping on his bed.
"Wake up, Alex! Wake up! Peter is outside and he looks funny!"
Alex groaned, sitting up. His entire body felt like it had been hit by a steamroller, then rebuilt with titanium. He walked to the window and saw Peter in the driveway. Peter was wearing sunglasses in the shade, and he was staring at his own hands with an expression of pure terror.
Peter looked up and saw Alex. He waved, but his hand stuck to the siding of the house for a split second too long before he ripped it away.
Alex smiled. "I'm coming, Pete."
He turned back to his room, his eyes falling on the 3D printer. It was finished. Sitting on the tray was a small, sleek, black device. A prototype batarang.