The Superior Spiderman in Young Justice

Batman's gaze lingered on the containment pod, the pulsating crystalline core reflecting in his sharp, calculating eyes. He remained silent, his jaw clenched as though weighing the moral implications of accepting such help. Around him, the Justice League members exchanged uncertain looks. Even Superman, usually unwavering, seemed torn between his admiration for Batman's resilience and concern for his well-being.

Wonder Woman, still simmering with frustration, finally broke the silence. Her voice was sharp, but there was an undertone of concern beneath it. "Batman, you can't keep doing this. You may be a symbol, but even symbols break. If this… machine can help you, then you owe it to yourself—and to us—to at least try."

Superior Spider-Man's lenses narrowed as he interjected. "Wise words, Princess. But let me assure you, this isn't charity. This is an investment in efficiency. A Batman operating at peak performance, unburdened by his persistent physical frailties, is a far more effective tool against threats to the world." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "And for the record, I am not doing this for your gratitude. I am doing this because inefficiency disgusts me."

Batman's jaw tightened, his gaze flickering between the glowing pod and the holographic projection of his injuries—fractured ribs, scar tissue, muscle tears that never truly healed. His stoic demeanor cracked for just a moment, revealing the toll his years of relentless combat had taken. He clenched his fists, his mind battling between pride and logic.

"Even if I agree to this," he said finally, his voice low but steady, "I need assurances. This won't alter who I am. My mind, my judgment—those stay untouched."

Superior Spider-Man tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement evident in his voice. "Ah, the ever-cautious, perpetually skeptical Batman. Allow me to alleviate your concerns. This process is purely restorative—designed to heal your body, reverse years of accumulated wear and tear, and elevate your physical capabilities to superhuman levels. It will not tamper with your mind, alter your judgment, or compromise that infamous moral compass of yours." He paused for effect, his tone dipping into a subtle mockery. "Although, if we're being honest, a touch less paranoia might actually serve you well."

"Spider-Man," Superman warned, his tone reproachful.

Superior Spider-Man raised his hands in mock surrender before turning back to Batman. "The choice is yours, Wayne. Accept progress or continue limping through your crusade. Just remember: every time you refuse an opportunity to improve, you put not only yourself but everyone who relies on you at risk."

The room fell silent again, all eyes on Batman. Wonder Woman stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Batman, we're not asking you to change who you are. We're asking you to give yourself a chance. We need you at your best. And deep down, you know that too."

Batman's fists unclenched, and he let out a slow, measured breath. He looked at the pod once more, then at his teammates. His resolve hardened—not out of pride, but out of responsibility. "Fine," he said at last, his voice resolute. "But only on my terms."

A faint grin spread across Superior Spider-Man's face as he stepped aside, gesturing toward the containment pod. "Excellent. A wise decision, Batman. Step into the pod, and let progress do what stubbornness never could."

Batman moved toward the pod with purpose, removing his utility belt and cape. He stepped inside, the crystalline walls of the pod sliding closed around him. The soft hum of the machinery grew louder as the pod activated, its core glowing brighter.

Superior Spider-Man monitored the process closely, his lenses narrowing as streams of data filled the air. "The secondary containment pod's Atlantean rejuvenation matrix will repair cellular damage and restore muscular integrity. Coupled with the Kryptonian photonic resonance, it will leave him in optimal physical condition. And, of course, the nanoscopic graviton stimulators will reinforce his cellular structure to withstand greater physical stress." His voice carried an air of triumph, as though he were narrating the culmination of a grand experiment.

As the pod worked, Batman's body underwent visible changes. His scars began to fade, his muscles subtly realigning as old injuries healed. His breathing evened out, becoming deeper and steadier.

Superior Spider-Man watched intently, his thoughts drifting to the possibilities this technology could unlock. This is but a fraction of what could be achieved, he mused. The Captain America experiment was crude by comparison. This… this is the future of human potential.

When the pod's hum subsided and the crystalline shell slid open, Batman stepped out. The change was immediate and undeniable. His movements were fluid, his posture straighter, and his presence more commanding. He rotated his shoulders, testing the newfound ease in his joints, and flexed his fingers as if rediscovering their dexterity. Every motion was deliberate, almost surgical in precision, yet carried a grace that hadn't been there before.

Superman approached cautiously, his cape brushing against the floor. "How do you feel?"

Batman tilted his head slightly, rolling his neck with a faint crack. "Better," he said, his voice measured but carrying a weight of satisfaction. He took a step forward, his movements unnervingly quiet, almost predatory. "Faster," he added, his tone thoughtful as though analyzing the efficiency of his own body. Without warning, he sprang forward into a controlled series of rapid strikes and evasive maneuvers, the air hissing as his hands cut through it with astonishing speed. He ended with a perfectly executed spinning kick, his boot barely missing a nearby console.

He turned back to the others, his expression as unreadable as ever. "And stronger," he finished, his words carrying a quiet finality.

Superior Spider-Man watched intently, his arms crossed and his lenses narrowed in analytical satisfaction. "Remarkable," he mused aloud. "The coordination, the precision—your muscle memory has been refined to peak efficiency. Faster neural response times, greater stamina output, and no residual fatigue from prior injuries. Exactly as predicted." His tone carried the pride of a scientist watching a theory come to life.

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her sharp gaze scrutinizing Batman. "Batman, does it feel… unnatural?" she asked, her voice cautious but edged with concern.

Batman shook his head, his piercing eyes meeting hers. "No," he replied firmly. "It feels… right. Like this is how it was always supposed to be. No pain. No limits holding me back." He flexed his hands again, almost marveling at the sensation. "For the first time in years, I feel... whole."

Superman, still processing what he was witnessing, couldn't help but crack a faint smile. "Well, I suppose that's a good thing," he said, though there was a lingering unease in his voice.

Superior Spider-Man clapped his hands once, the sharp sound breaking the moment. "And so, the Dark Knight ascends to a new level. Fascinating as this is, we have more work to do. A recalibration of your combat tactics may be necessary to account for your enhanced reflexes and speed. Naturally, I will oversee this myself."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't push it, Spider-Man. I may accept these changes, but I'm not about to become your lab rat."

Superior Spider-Man chuckled softly, clearly amused. "Oh, perish the thought, Batman. This is no longer about you being a test subject. You are now living proof that progress, even for someone as stubborn as you, is not only possible but inevitable." He gestured toward the pod. "And as I've said before, inefficiency disgusts me."

Wonder Woman placed a hand on Batman's shoulder, her expression softer now. "We're glad you made this choice, Bruce," she said sincerely. "But don't think this means we'll stop worrying about you. You're still human, no matter what enhancements you've gained."

Batman nodded once, his expression serious. "I know. And I'll make sure these enhancements serve their purpose—to protect people, not to change who I am."

As Batman walked back toward his gear, Superman and Wonder Woman exchanged a look, a mix of relief and unease in their eyes. The Justice League had witnessed a turning point—not just for Batman, but perhaps for themselves as well. The line between human and superhuman had been blurred, and what came next would challenge them all in ways they couldn't yet foresee.

Superior Spider-Man, however, felt nothing but satisfaction. This is just the beginning, he mused, his lenses gleaming with determination. If I can elevate Batman, who knows what else I can achieve with the right resources? The Justice League will thank me eventually. They just don't realize it yet.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Four days had passed since Superboy had fully unlocked his Kryptonian powers, and Batman's body had undergone significant enhancements, and regenerating his old injuries. The changes were profound, but both Superboy and Batman knew their new abilities required time and discipline to master.

Superman had taken the responsibility of training Superboy, guiding him through controlled exercises to help him properly harness the vast strength, speed, and flight that now coursed through his veins. Each day, Superboy's powers were more refined, and under Superman's watchful eye, he began to learn the balance between raw strength and control.

Meanwhile, Batman had isolated himself in another section of the base, pushing himself through a grueling training regimen to test the limits of his enhanced body. The enhancements had improved his stamina, speed, and durability, but Batman never relied on enhancements alone. His mind and willpower were his greatest weapons.

With his body healing and revitalized, Batman focused intensely on sharpening his reflexes, strength, and strategic thinking. Each punch he threw, every movement he executed, and every breath he controlled was a calculated effort to ensure he remained at his peak—not just physically but mentally. His enhancements were tools, not crutches, and he was determined to integrate them seamlessly into his already formidable skill set.

Meanwhile, in a newly outfitted lab on the lower floor of Mount Justice, Miss Martian had turned the space into her personal workshop. The lab buzzed with activity as she immersed herself in designing and upgrading Firebrand and Red Torpedo. With T.O. Morrow's vast knowledge now fused into her mind, she worked with meticulous precision, integrating advanced schematics and experimental concepts to refine the androids into something greater.

Assisting her were Red Tornado and Superior Spider-Man, both contributing their unique expertise. The two stood to the side, engaged in a detailed discussion about Red Tornado's "family" of androids. Superior Spider-Man, always analytical, gestured toward a holographic display of Red Inferno and Red Torpedo's designs. His voice was sharp and confident as he pointed out potential upgrades and improvements.

"Your creator may have been brilliant, but his execution was inefficient," Superior Spider-Man remarked, his lenses narrowing as he analyzed the data. "With minor adjustments to their internal power systems and adaptive protocols, they could operate at peak efficiency while maintaining autonomy. Frankly, I'm surprised Morrow didn't implement these changes himself."

Red Tornado regarded him calmly, his mechanical voice unwavering. "My creator's goals were not always aligned with efficiency. His designs often served his ambitions rather than the well-being of his creations."

Miss Martian glanced up from her workstation, her tone thoughtful as she added, "And now we can change that. We can make sure your family members aren't just tools or weapons—they can have purpose beyond what Professor Morrow intended."

Superior Spider-Man tilted his head, a hint of intrigue in his voice. "An admirable sentiment, Miss Martian. But let us not forget: purpose is only meaningful when paired with functionality. Emotions and autonomy mean nothing if the hardware fails under pressure. That's where my expertise ensures success."

Red Tornado remained silent for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Efficiency and purpose are not mutually exclusive. Both can be achieved."

Miss Martian smiled as she resumed her work, her green fingers gliding over the holographic interface as she glanced at the designs of Firebrand and Red Torpedo. "We'll make sure they're stronger, more capable, and truly free. No strings attached—just like family should be."

She paused, her expression softening as a thought crossed her mind. Turning toward Red Tornado, she asked, almost hesitantly, "Speaking of family… how is Professor Morrow? I mean, since he's your… father and all."

Her tone was gentle but curious, tinged with genuine concern. Megan had learned enough about family dynamics—both biological and chosen—to understand that relationships, even with creators, were never simple.

Red Tornado's eyes dimmed slightly, a telltale sign of his contemplation. His voice, steady yet tinged with a faint hint of something almost resembling emotion, broke the silence. "Your concern for my creator is most appreciated, Miss Martian. Despite his many transgressions and the harm he has caused, I have taken it upon myself to care for him in his later years."

Megan tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together. "You… take care of him yourself? Even after everything he's done?"

Red Tornado nodded slowly. "Yes. I understand that the human body is fragile and subject to the inevitability of decline as time passes. My creator is now old, frail, and reliant on the machines he once so proudly built. As his creation—or perhaps, in his eyes, his son—I have chosen to shoulder the responsibility of ensuring his well-being. Regardless of his past actions or the deeds he committed in the pursuit of his ambitions, I believe it is the right course of action."

Megan's expression softened even further, her voice quieter now. "That's… incredibly selfless of you. Most people wouldn't have been able to forgive him, let alone take care of him."

Red Tornado's glowing eyes brightened faintly as he responded, "Forgiveness is a complex concept, and I do not claim to fully understand it in the human sense. However, I recognize that holding onto resentment serves no purpose. My creator gave me life, flawed as his intentions may have been. I am capable of choosing my own path, and part of that path includes ensuring his final years are spent with dignity, even if he cannot see me as more than a creation."

For a moment, Megan was silent, her gaze lingering on Red Tornado. She could feel the weight of his words and the quiet strength they carried. "That's… admirable, Red Tornado. You're not just a machine or a tool. You're more than he ever envisioned. You're better."

Red Tornado inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words. "Thank you, Miss Martian. It is my hope that, in caring for him, I can embody the values I have chosen to uphold—values he may never have understood but that I believe define who I am."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the hum of their workstations filling the silence. Megan glanced back at her designs, her mind lingering on Red Tornado's words. Family, she realized, came in many forms—and sometimes, the strength to forgive and care for others was what truly defined it.

Superior Spider-Man broke the silence with a low chuckle, his smirk hidden behind his mask but evident in his tone. He leaned slightly against the workbench, his sharp lenses glinting in the lab's light. "Fascinating," he began, his voice carrying an air of intellectual curiosity. "From all the inventions and creations that T.O. Morrow ever brought into existence, I'd say you, Red Tornado, are his crowning achievement—not for your capabilities, impressive as they are, but for the autonomy and humanity you embody."

Red Tornado turned his head slightly toward him, the faint hum of his core subtly increasing. "A curious perspective, Spider-Man. Elaborate."

Superior Spider-Man gestured toward the designs Megan was working on, his words deliberate and analytical. "Morrow was, by all accounts, a brilliant mind—a genius whose vision was only rivaled by his ego and disregard for ethics. Yet, in creating you, he inadvertently crafted something far greater than he likely intended. You are not merely a machine bound by logic or programming. You've transcended that. You possess empathy, purpose, and an unwavering moral compass—traits your creator himself lacked. I admire that irony."

Megan looked up from her workstation, surprised by his uncharacteristically reflective tone. "You… admire Red Tornado?"

Superior Spider-Man's lenses narrowed slightly, a faint smirk audible in his reply. "Admiration might be too strong a word. Let's call it… respect. Red Tornado represents the unintended brilliance of Morrow's work—a creation that has surpassed its creator in every meaningful way. That, Miss Martian, is an achievement worthy of recognition."

Red Tornado processed the statement for a moment before responding. "I am a reflection of the choices I have made, not merely the result of my creator's design."

"Precisely," Superior Spider-Man replied, his tone sharp. "You've proven that even the most flawed beginnings can lead to something remarkable. As for Morrow..." He paused, his smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. "His genius cannot be denied, but his legacy is... complicated. A man who sought to control and manipulate but ultimately created something beyond his understanding. That, too, is a form of brilliance, albeit an unintentional one."

Megan smiled softly, her gaze shifting between the two. "You're saying that even someone like professor Morrow, with all his faults, left something good behind."

Superior Spider-Man crossed his arms, his voice growing colder. "Let's not mistake his intentions for altruism. Morrow's creations were born of ambition and hubris, not benevolence. But it's the unintended consequences of his work—like Red Tornado—that give it value. And that, Miss Martian, is why I believe in harnessing even flawed systems to create something better."

Red Tornado inclined his head, a subtle acknowledgment. "Your perspective is… unorthodox, but not without merit. My creator's intent may have been flawed, but I have chosen to define myself by my actions, not his."

Superior Spider-Man's smirk returned, sharper this time. "Exactly. And that, Red Tornado, is what makes you far superior to the man who built you."

The hum of the lab filled the silence once more as Superior Spider-Man returned to his work, his sharp mind already devising ways to integrate the insights gleaned from Red Tornado and Morrow's legacy into his own designs. Megan, inspired by the conversation, found herself more determined than ever to ensure her upgrades to Firebrand and Red Torpedo would honor that same principle: creating something greater than the sum of its parts.

And in that quiet, shared space of innovation and reflection, the line between creator and creation blurred, replaced by something far more meaningful: the potential for growth, even in the shadow of imperfection.

A/N

[POWERSTONE]