Batman’s Son in Marvel

The production capacity of modern assembly lines is terrifying—especially under the control of artificial intelligence. With computational capabilities far beyond human limits, machines operate with near-perfect efficiency.

As long as raw materials are sufficient, downtime isn't even a consideration.

By the second day, the underground factory Adam built had already assembled over two thousand steel armors. This was despite a shortage of some parts, which had slowed production.

Although these were only first-generation models, their firepower was more than enough to conquer a small country.

But Adam wasn't planning on taking over nations—just taking down a corporate snake.

"Skynet, track Killian's whereabouts," Adam ordered.

"Target has boarded the tanker," Skynet replied. "The vessel has already departed New York Harbor and is heading toward the Middle East. Estimated time to reach international waters: one day."

Adam nodded. Killian was on the move.

Whether he was fleeing to avoid the heat after the Wayne Tower bombing or simply returning to his offshore operations didn't matter. What mattered was that Killian's base was on that tanker.

A 10,000-ton oil tanker was basically a floating fortress—a perfect hideout. Many criminal organizations used vessels like these to stay off the grid, conducting illegal experiments and smuggling operations far from government oversight.

It wasn't surprising Killian had chosen this setup.

Extremis wasn't exactly FDA-approved, and the test subjects were disabled veterans—highly connected and organized individuals. If even one of them turned on him, the backlash would be catastrophic.

Operating offshore let Killian bypass national laws and avoid public scrutiny.

Ironically, it also made things easier for Adam.

Conducting an operation like this in America would've drawn too much attention. On the high seas, however, the rules were different.

"Skynet, monitor the tanker's route in real time," Adam instructed.

"Notify me the moment it enters international waters. We'll move out immediately."

After locking down Killian's position, Adam left the lab and went to see Alfred.

"Grandpa Alfred, I need access to Gotham Port tonight," Adam said.

"No problem, Master," Alfred replied without hesitation. "Most of the port facilities were funded and built by Wayne Group. Borrowing it for a night won't be an issue."

Alfred didn't ask what Adam planned to do at the port. As a seasoned butler and former intelligence operative, he knew better than to question Adam's methods.

If Adam had been a normal teenager, Alfred might've stepped in to offer guidance or caution. But Adam wasn't normal—he was a prodigy.

Alfred trusted his judgment.

"That's perfect," Adam said. "Also, help me quietly hire a transport convoy."

Adam's biggest problem wasn't assembling the armors—it was transporting them to the tanker without getting caught.

While the armors' radar stealth systems were state-of-the-art, over two thousand of them moving together would be impossible to miss with the naked eye. The sight alone could trigger panic and lead to him being labeled a terrorist.

So instead of flying the armors, Adam decided to send them underwater.

Steel armor wouldn't be affected by water pressure, and with stealth technology and the cover of night, they could approach the tanker undetected.

When Killian saw his "surprise," it'd already be too late.

Meanwhile, Killian had no idea he was being hunted.

Aboard the tanker, he was seething with rage, shouting at his subordinates.

"Tell me what the hell happened!"

"Why did he explode?!"

"This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Killian slammed his fist against a nearby console, leaving a dent in the metal.

Dodge was one of his best operatives—one of the few test subjects who had successfully bonded with Extremis.

He hadn't been sent to Gotham for a mindless attack. His mission was clear—assassinate Adam Wayne.

Dodge's combat capabilities should've made him more than capable of handling one kid.

Even against trained security forces, he could've inflicted massive casualties before going down.

But instead, Dodge blew himself up before even getting close to the target.

Killian glared at his team of scientists, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Can't you idiots do anything right without Maya?"

"If I didn't need results, I wouldn't even waste my time with you!"

"I'm giving you two days to fix this mess—or you'll wish you were never born."

His voice echoed through the room as the scientists scurried away.

Left alone, Killian's expression darkened further.

Unlike Tony Stark, who was born into privilege, Killian had clawed his way out of poverty.

Born disabled, he'd spent years struggling for recognition, using every opportunity to gain knowledge and fund his research.

But the world had been cruel. Investors demanded results, and time was never on his side.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, had everything handed to him—wealth, status, resources.

While Killian fought tooth and nail for scraps, Stark partied his way through life.

The resentment burned deep.

Extremis was Killian's revenge—his way of proving his worth.

But it wasn't ready.

Not yet.

And with Adam Wayne interfering, time was running out.

Still, Killian had a backup plan.

Thanks to his corporate connections, he had influence in high places—even the White House.

The Vice President's daughter had been in a tragic accident that left her leg amputated.

Extremis could regrow lost limbs.

It was the perfect bargaining chip—control the Vice President, and the government wouldn't dare come after him.

Everything hinged on perfecting Extremis.

He couldn't let Adam ruin that.

Clenching his fists, Killian swore he'd crush anyone who got in his way.

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