The Superior Spiderman in Young Justice

In the hidden depths of Mount Justice, Black Canary and Batman stood in tense silence, their focus unwavering as they addressed the unfolding situation. Batman's expression was a mask of stern disapproval, his displeasure unmistakable as he confronted Superior Spider-Man about the unauthorized mission with the young heroes.

"Spider-Man," Batman began, his voice sharp and controlled, "you led a mission without clearance. Without consulting the League. That is a direct breach of protocol."

Superior Spider-Man stood unwavering, meeting Batman's gaze with a quiet intensity. His response came swiftly, his voice calm but resolute. "I didn't have the luxury of waiting for clearance. The mission required immediate action. In situations like that, hesitation can be the true danger."

Black Canary observed the exchange carefully, the tension mounting in the room. While Spider-Man's results spoke for themselves, his approach raised a number of red flags. She took a step forward, her tone a balance of understanding and firm concern. "I understand the urgency, Spider-Man," she said, her voice steady but resolute. "But this isn't just about the mission's success—it's about trust and teamwork. The League operates on cooperation, communication, and respect for each other's roles. You can't simply take matters into your own hands, especially when it involves young heroes who are still learning what it means to be part of a unified team."

Superior Spider-Man's jaw tightened slightly as he processed her words. With a cold but confident tone, he responded, "The situation was under control. And with my guidance, success was inevitable. I made the right call, and the team followed my lead because they trust me to make the right decisions."

Black Canary's eyes narrowed slightly, her patience beginning to thin. "Trust is earned, Spider-Man. But leadership is about more than being right in the moment. It's about understanding the bigger picture—how your actions affect the team, the mission, and the future."

Batman's voice cut through the tension, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with Spider-Man. "You seem to believe that the mission's success justifies everything," he said, his tone hard as stone. "But the League isn't a one-man show. We rely on each other, on our collective abilities and the structure that keeps us united. You can't act as if you have the final say in everything, even if you think you're right."

Spider-Man's gaze never faltered as he responded, his voice tinged with frustration but still measured. "It's because my actions were right that we succeeded. I don't need approval when I know what needs to be done."

He paused, his tone sharpening as he continued, "You've already seen the mission's analysis. The data shows the outcome was optimal, with no casualties and no failures. The team's performance was exemplary under my guidance. The mission was completed successfully, and that's what matters."

Black Canary's eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and concern in her expression. "Results aren't the only thing that matter, Spider-Man. You're missing the bigger picture—how your actions affect the team's development. You can't just go off on your own every time you think you're right. That's not how leadership works."

The tension in the room was palpable as Spider-Man absorbed the weight of their words.

Batman continued, his voice steady and clear. "I've reviewed the data from your unsanctioned mission. The discovery of T.O. Morrow's technology is one thing. But having his mind and knowledge breached and synced into Miss Martian's mind? That's a whole different level of risk. This is no longer just about a successful mission; it's about the potential consequences of playing with fire in ways we can't predict or control."

Black Canary's eyes widened in shock, and her voice rose in disbelief. "What?! She's what?!"

Her outburst rang through the room as the true extent of the danger became clear. She had been unaware of the full scope of what had transpired, and the news hit her like a cold wave.

Spider-Man's expression remained cold, his voice betraying a hint of frustration. "It was necessary to unlock her full potential," he said, his tone flat but resolute. "You don't understand the kind of power we're dealing with here. Miss Martian has extraordinary abilities, and I saw the opportunity to enhance them—to give her more control, more precision, more power. This was about securing the future of the team."

Black Canary stepped forward, her voice rising in anger. "You can't just force someone to be ready for something they didn't ask for! You've put Miss Martian in a position where she could have lost herself. This isn't just about her potential—this is about her autonomy, her safety, her mind!"

Spider-Man's jaw clenched, but he stood his ground. "Her potential was wasted as it was. I gave her the tools she needed to become more than she was. This was the only way to ensure her survival in the kind of threats we're facing."

Black Canary's hands clenched at her sides, disbelief and frustration evident in her eyes. "You think you're the only one who understands the dangers we face? You can't just make decisions for her or the rest of us, Spider-Man. You've taken control of something you have no right to control."

Spider-Man's gaze hardened as he responded, "I am already aware of the consequences, and that's why I've already begun implementing safety measures. I've put systems in place to ensure Miss Martian retains her autonomy and to protect both her mind and the minds of the team." He glanced at Batman, his voice firm as he added, "As we discussed, Batman, the safeguards are already in progress."

Batman's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Spider-Man's words. "You've gone too far, Spider-Man. Creating a solution after the fact doesn't erase the breach of trust, and it doesn't fix the risks you've already put in motion. The League isn't your personal project. We all work together, and we all answer for each other's actions."

The room fell into tense silence, the weight of Spider-Man's words hanging in the air. He had acted with conviction, believing his course was justified, but now he was faced with the hard reality that some actions couldn't be undone with systems and safeguards alone.

The tension in the room thickened as Batman's gaze remained locked on Spider-Man, his words cutting through the silence with the weight of finality. "You've violated trust in more ways than one," he said, his voice colder than before. "This isn't just about breaking protocol. It's about the safety of everyone on this team. You've compromised that. And for what? Your own sense of control?"

Spider-Man's eyes flickered, a brief moment of doubt flashing behind his usually confident demeanor, but he quickly masked it, his voice steady. "I did what was necessary. You can call it a breach, but it was a calculated risk. The team's future depends on strength, on adaptability. Miss Martian's abilities are a key to that."

Black Canary shook her head, her frustration boiling over. "You can't just play God, Spider-Man. You can't make decisions like that for others, no matter the reason. We trust each other because we respect each other's agency. You've taken that away from her, and that's not something you can fix with a few safety measures."

There was a brief pause as the room absorbed her words. Even Spider-Man seemed to hesitate for a moment, though his expression quickly hardened again, defensive. "I'm not trying to play God. I'm trying to protect the team, to ensure that we can withstand what's coming. The mission was a success. The team is stronger now."

Batman exhaled sharply, his gaze unyielding. "Strength isn't measured just by power or success in the moment. It's measured by unity, by understanding each other's limits, and by supporting one another. If you think this team will continue to function with this kind of division, you're wrong."

"No, I am right," Spider-Man interjected, his voice colder now, his frustration spilling over. "A team that has the ability to learn, adapt, and utilize every resource at its disposal for our cause is what ensures survival. Strength isn't just about unity; it's about evolution—about being ready for the threats that don't care about teamwork or protocol. You talk about understanding limits, but limits are exactly what will get us killed."

Batman's expression darkened, his voice sharp as a blade. "You're missing the point, Spider-Man. This isn't just about expanding capabilities or creating divisions. It's about how you've gone about it—unilaterally, without input or consent. You're making decisions for others, forcing them into roles without regard for their agency or the potential fallout.

Spider-Man's gaze didn't waver, his voice steady but laced with cold resolve. "Control is necessary when the stakes are this high. Miss Martian's new capabilities aren't just enhancements—they're strategic advantages. She now has the power to upgrade Red Tornado, to refine and enhance his systems, and to push our technological assets to levels previously unattainable. And that's just the beginning."

Black Canary interjected, her frustration evident. "Spider-Man, you're talking about people and sentient beings as if they're tools to be optimized. Miss Martian isn't a machine, and neither is Red Tornado. They have their own will, their own choices, and you're stripping that away under the guise of 'upgrades.' Do you even hear yourself?"

Spider-Man's tone sharpened, his patience fraying. "I hear myself perfectly, Canary. The Justice League is spread too thin. You can't be everywhere at once, and neither can this team. That's why I'm using Morrow's technology to build a division—units capable of operating independently across the globe. Each division will be equipped with the ability to manipulate elements, covering a range of scenarios the League simply cannot handle alone."

Batman's eyes narrowed, his voice colder now. "And who decides where these units operate? Who commands them? You? You're building an army without oversight, without accountability. You're turning this into your personal initiative, not a collaborative effort."

Spider-Man leaned forward slightly, his voice unwavering but resolute. "As much as I'd like to lead them, no—I've already decided that they will operate under the League's oversight. Their command structure will defer to the League, or, more fittingly, to Red Tornado. Additionally, the two deactivated androids, Firebrand and Red Torpedo, could be reactivated and integrated into the effort. They were created for this exact purpose, and their potential has been wasted long enough."

Black Canary's eyes widened in shock, her voice rising in disbelief. "Firebrand? Are you talking about the Firebrand? Wasn't she a member of the old Justice Society?"

Spider-Man nodded curtly. "Yes, and she was also one of T.O. Morrow's creations, though her android nature was concealed. Her capabilities are immense, and with proper upgrades, she could lead one of these units effectively. The same applies to Red Torpedo. Both of them were left dormant because they were deemed too dangerous or unnecessary, but with the right safeguards, they can be instrumental in this initiative."

Canary's expression darkened, her voice laced with disbelief and anger. "You're digging up old wounds, Spider-Man. Firebrand was a hero. She earned her place in the Justice Society—she wasn't just some machine to be used and reprogrammed."

Spider-Man's voice grew colder, his frustration evident. "I'm not dismissing her legacy, Canary. I'm ensuring it continues. If the Justice League refuses to adapt, to innovate, we will fall behind the threats we face. These androids were built to serve a purpose, and I'm simply ensuring that purpose is fulfilled—with the League's approval, of course."

With a flick of his wrist, a holographic projection illuminated the room, revealing the blueprint of an incomplete android. The design was sleek and modular, radiating an aura of advanced technological innovation. Spider-Man gestured toward it, his voice firm yet measured.

"Using Morrow's technology combined with the League's other advancements, I can create a division of androids capable of filling the gaps we can't cover alone. These units won't just be combat-focused; they'll serve as medical droids, capable of emergency response and disaster relief. They'll provide real-time assistance in situations where neither the League nor the Team can respond fast enough. From stabilizing injured civilians to neutralizing environmental hazards, they'll cover the areas we simply don't have the manpower to address."

Batman's eyes narrowed as he examined the holographic projection. "You're proposing more than just a team of androids. You're talking about a global infrastructure—one that would operate autonomously. And you expect us to believe this won't spiral out of control?"

Spider-Man met his gaze, his expression unwavering. "That's why every unit will have built-in safeguards. Command protocols will fall directly under League jurisdiction, ensuring complete oversight. These androids will only act under authorized directives. As I've said, Red Tornado, Firebrand, or even Red Torpedo could serve as operational leaders. Their presence guarantees a sentient perspective guiding their actions. This isn't about replacing us, Batman—it's about extending our reach to cover what we cannot."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "And if you're concerned about their ability to adapt and understand the complexities of their roles, I can take it a step further. I can program them with unique personalities and self-awareness, ensuring they're not just machines following orders, but entities capable of independent thought within their assigned parameters. They will know who they are and why they exist—tools, yes, but tools with purpose and responsibility."

Black Canary frowned, her skepticism clear. "You're talking about creating sentient beings, Spider-Man. Beings with the capacity for awareness and individuality. Do you even realize the ethical can of worms you're opening? These wouldn't just be machines; they'd be lifeforms. What happens when one of them decides it doesn't want to follow orders anymore?"

Spider-Man's tone remained steady, but his frustration was evident. "That's precisely why we need oversight and leadership from individuals like Red Tornado—beings who understand both humanity and the unique challenges of being artificial. This isn't about creating a new species; it's about enhancing our ability to respond to crises while respecting the individuality of those who lead these divisions. I'm not creating a rebellion, Canary. I'm creating allies."

Batman's voice was cold and deliberate. "And what about the long-term implications? What happens when these allies start questioning their role? What happens when one of them believes it knows better than the League—or worse, that it doesn't need us at all?"

Spider-Man held his ground, his voice firm but calm. "That's a risk we take every day with humans on this team and in the League, Batman. People can betray us. People can go rogue. The difference is, with these units, we can design systems to mitigate those risks. Fail-safes, personality cores that align with our values, and leadership from trusted figures will ensure stability. This isn't about creating replacements or rivals. It's about creating a future where we can meet any threat, anywhere, with precision and strength."

The room was silent again, the tension thick as the members of the League weighed Spider-Man's words. The hologram continued to glow, its presence a stark reminder of the line between innovation and overreach.

A/N

[POWERSTONE]