Long Island, New York, stood as the crown jewel among the world's eight major bay areas, a haven for the elite and the birthplace of Tony Stark. On a quiet Friday morning, inside a sprawling mansion, Tony lounged on an oversized sofa, a glass of whiskey in hand before he'd even bothered to wash the sleep from his face. His bleary eyes sized up the unexpected visitor.
"Mind running that by me one more time?" Tony yawned, taking a swig of his drink.
Agent Phil Coulson, sporting a faint, professional smile, studied the disheveled billionaire before him. With practiced patience, he repeated, "Mr. Stark, I'm—"
"Hold up," Tony cut in, waving a hand. "Can you skip the preamble and get to the point?"
Coulson's smile didn't waver. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—founded by your father—needs an upgrade to its security firewall. We're hoping you can lend your technical expertise."
If Director Fury hadn't personally sent Coulson to deal with this playboy, he'd have avoided the man entirely. Tony Stark, notorious for his indulgence in wine and women, hardly seemed reliable. But SHIELD had no choice. Two nights ago, Batman had breached their systems, siphoning off a trove of data on the Tesseract. Despite being a multinational organization, SHIELD lacked the cutting-edge network expertise to prevent another hack. They needed someone like Tony Stark, a titan in technology, to fortify their defenses and ensure no repeat of Coulson pacing anxiously on a rooftop while Batman infiltrated their servers from a police station.
"I don't do business," Tony said, leaning back. "Talk to Pepper, my assistant. And next time, maybe don't wake me up."
Coulson said nothing, his smile fixed, his gaze steady. The silence stretched until Tony squirmed under the weight of it.
"Fine," Tony relented, rubbing his temples. "Give me two days."
Coulson handed him a small chip. "This is a one-time security token from SHIELD. Connect it to the server, and you can start."
Tony barely glanced at it. "Your outfit finally ditch that mouthful of a name?"
Coulson chuckled. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division was a bit long, so we went with the acronym."
"Tell Fury it's a solid choice," Tony said, already ushering Coulson toward the door.
As the agent left the Long Island mansion, Tony tossed the token onto a table. He had no intention of touching the firewall himself. Peter Parker could handle it. The kid had already whipped up a half-decent AI model; a firewall upgrade would be a breeze.
Meanwhile, Peter Parker—better known as Batman—was buried in work at Parker Industries. The company's equipment couldn't produce the specialized fabric for his cape, a complex weave of multiple materials, but it was perfect for crafting secondary components. For now, he was focused on samples. If these caught the eye of potential clients, Parker Industries could secure a steady stream of orders.
"Mr. Parker, the motorcycle you requested is at the factory entrance," said Alice, his new assistant. She'd been on the job just two days, her voice still tinged with nervous excitement.
"Send these samples out," Batman instructed, handing her a stack. "The client addresses are on my desk in the CEO's office."
He'd vetted every employee at Parker Industries, hacking into New York's police database to confirm their backgrounds. Alice stood out—someone who desperately needed the job and had a spotless record. Batman couldn't always be at the company; he needed reliable people to handle operations, and Alice was the best fit.
As she hurried toward the CEO's office, Batman headed for the main entrance. A sleek Harley-Davidson V-Rod waited there, exactly as he'd specified. The Batmobile was iconic, but it wasn't enough. A Batcycle was next on his list, though it'd need modifications. He might not tear through New York's streets on it just yet, but he refused to be without a backup. For now, it'd serve as practical transport. He swung a leg over the bike, revved the engine, and sped toward the Osborn Group.
The Osborn Group Tower loomed over the city, its lower levels sealed off by police after a grisly murder on the third basement floor and illegal human experiments on the second. The underground parking and first three basements remained locked down, but the upper floors operated as usual.
The tower boasted sixty floors, with the top eight—starting from the fifty-third—reserved as the private domain of Norman Osborn's family. Batman's investigations revealed that half these floors were unfinished, bare concrete shells. Norman used only the top floor as his office, leaving the rest largely untouched.
The fiftieth floor housed a warren of conference rooms, the largest now packed with Osborn Group's board of directors. Executives, Wall Street tycoons, and even a scientist-turned-director filled the seats. All were present except Norman Osborn himself.
As a bioscience giant, the Osborn Group naturally had directors with deep scientific expertise, Norman included. But today, another man held court: Curtis "Curt" Connors, his slightly graying hair framing a stern face. His nameplate sat before him, his empty sleeve a stark reminder of his missing arm. Clad in a black suit, he exuded quiet authority.
Beside Connors, Valentine, a shareholder, fidgeted in his seat, his eyes darting nervously to the conference room door. Others in the room shared his unease, their gazes flickering restlessly.
"We've been informed that someone has acquired thirty percent of Osborn Group's controlling shares," Connors announced. "They've also made an offer to buy all or part of our shares. Valentine, do you know who?"
Valentine swallowed hard, his face pale. He couldn't shake the memory of a dagger pressed against his ear, its tip grazing his skin. Night after night, he woke in a cold sweat, haunted by the thought of that blade piercing his skull. Connors' question sent a shiver through him.
The conference room door creaked open. Wilson Fisk, known as Kingpin, stepped inside. His massive frame, clad in a pristine white suit, filled the doorway as he leaned on his cane. He turned sideways to enter, his presence commanding the room.
Valentine shot to his feet, almost instinctively. Ignoring the confused stares of the board, he steeled himself and approached Kingpin. "Per our corporate bylaws, we welcome our new major shareholder, Mr. Wilson Fisk, to the board of directors."