## **December 13th, 1991**
**Howard Stark's Office**
**2:47 PM**
Adrian sat in one of the leather chairs facing Howard's desk, a legal pad balanced on his knee, pen in hand. Tony occupied the other chair, already three pages deep into his own notes, occasionally muttering things like "elegant solution" and "could optimize this" under his breath.
Howard stood by the work table, the classified folder open, pages spread out in careful order. He'd spent the last twenty minutes walking them through the theoretical foundation—Erskine's original work, the failed iterations, the breakthrough insights that had finally made it work.
Adrian was taking notes. Detailed notes. The kind of notes a diligent biochemistry doctoral student would take.
But he didn't actually *need* them.
Because Bruce Wayne had an eidetic memory.
Every page Howard showed them, every molecular diagram, every synthesis pathway—Adrian's enhanced brain was capturing it in perfect detail. Like taking photographs. Like downloading files directly into his neural architecture.
The original Adrian Stark had been brilliant, sure. But he'd still needed to study, to review, to work through problems multiple times.
Batman's brain worked differently.
Adrian looked at a page of complex biochemical formulas, and it was just *there*. Permanent. Accessible. Cross-referenced with everything else he knew about biochemistry, physics, human enhancement, cellular biology.
It was, frankly, a little overwhelming.
But also *extremely* useful.
"This is the stabilization sequence," Howard was saying, pointing to a diagram that showed the step-by-step process of how the serum bonded with human DNA. "The polymer acts as a catalytic bridge, allowing the enhancement compounds to integrate at the chromosomal level without triggering cellular rejection."
Tony leaned forward, squinting at the notation. "You're using a modified platinum-iridium compound as the base catalyst?"
"Correct."
"That's going to be expensive as hell to synthesize."
"Money isn't the limiting factor here. Precision is."
Adrian was only half-listening to the conversation. The other half of his brain was analyzing the formula with Batman's intellect and his own biochemistry knowledge.
And finding problems.
Not obvious problems. Not glaring errors that would make the serum explode or kill someone instantly. But subtle issues. Inefficiencies. Places where Howard's approach was *close* but not quite optimal.
**Issue One: The Stabilizing Polymer**
Howard's platinum-iridium catalyst was brilliant—it would absolutely work. But it was overcomplicated. The molecular structure had redundant binding sites that would actually *slow down* the integration process. Not by much—maybe fifteen, twenty percent—but enough to matter.
Adrian could see a simpler configuration. A titanium-vanadium alloy with a specific crystalline structure that would achieve the same effect with better efficiency. Faster integration, more stable bonding, lower energy requirements.
Howard had missed it because he'd been so focused on replicating aspects of Erskine's original work. Sometimes genius got in its own way.
**Issue Two: The Enhancement Compounds**
The actual biochemical cocktail was impressive—seventeen different compounds working in precise ratios to trigger controlled cellular mutation. Strength enhancement, metabolic acceleration, neural optimization, bone density increases. All the Captain America greatest hits.
But the ratios were slightly off.
Not wrong, exactly. Just not *perfect*. Howard had calibrated them based on decades of failed experiments, adjusting incrementally until he found something that worked in animal trials.
But Adrian could see—with Batman's analytical mind and his own advanced biochemistry training—that the neural optimization compound was overrepresented by about eight percent. Which would work, but it would also increase the risk of psychological side effects. Amplified personality traits, yes, but also amplified *everything*. Amplified fears. Amplified anxieties. Amplified trauma.
That eight percent difference was probably why some of the historical test subjects had gone insane or developed Red Skull-style megalomanias.
The formula would work. But it would be *messy*.
**Issue Three: The Vita-Radiation**
This was the big one.
Erskine's original process had used something called Vita-Radiation—a specific wavelength of energy that catalyzed the serum's transformation. Howard had spent years trying to recreate it, eventually developing a modified version that used a focused X-ray/gamma radiation hybrid.
It would work. Probably. Maybe.
But Adrian could see the problem: Howard's radiation source was *unstable*. The wavelength would drift slightly during the transformation process, which would cause uneven cellular enhancement. Some areas of the body would get fully optimized while others would be undertreated.
That explained the seventy percent success rate. That explained the fatalities and disabilities.
The radiation source needed better calibration. More precise focusing. Possibly a different energy source entirely—maybe something using arc reactor technology to generate a more stable field.
And that thought sparked another realization:
*Tony could fix this.*
Tony's arc reactor work was all about generating stable, controllable energy. If Adrian could get Tony involved in improving the Vita-Radiation component—without telling him exactly why—they could probably push the success rate from seventy percent to ninety-five percent or higher.
But all of that was for later.
Right now, Adrian needed to maintain his cover as a smart-but-not-too-smart eighteen-year-old reviewing research above his official clearance level.
"The synthesis temperature is critical," Howard was saying, flipping to another page. "Too hot and the polymer destabilizes. Too cold and the compounds don't integrate properly. We're working with a tolerance of plus or minus three degrees Celsius."
"That's an incredibly narrow window," Tony observed.
"Which is why we need controlled laboratory conditions. This isn't something you can mix in a basement."
*Unless you're Johann Schmidt,* Adrian thought, *and you don't care about things like 'safety' or 'not becoming a horrifying red skull monster.'*
"Can I see the animal trial data?" Adrian asked, keeping his tone academic and curious.
Howard hesitated. "That's... extremely classified."
"You said I could review everything if I was going to be the test subject."
"I said you could review the formula. Trial data is a different level of classification."
"Dad," Tony interjected, "if you want Adrian to make an informed decision, he needs all the information. That includes knowing what happened to the test subjects who came before."
Howard looked between his two sons, clearly weighing operational security against familial trust.
Finally, he walked to the wall safe.
Adrian watched carefully. Batman's training included observation skills that bordered on supernatural. He catalogued every movement:
Right 23. Left 41. Right 17. Left 9.
The safe opened.
*Got it,* Adrian thought. *Now I just need to figure out the lock on the office door and I'm golden.*
Howard pulled out another folder—this one marked with red classification stamps and warning labels. He set it on the desk but didn't fully open it.
"This doesn't leave this room. And both of you sign an addendum to your existing NDAs before you look at it."
"Seriously?" Tony asked.
"Seriously. This is beyond top secret. This is 'congressional committees don't even know about this' level classified."
Adrian and Tony exchanged glances, then shrugged. They'd both signed enough government paperwork in their lives that adding one more document wasn't going to make a difference.
Howard produced the addendum forms. They signed. He filed them away.
Then he opened the trial data folder.
Adrian's eidetic memory went into overdrive.
Seventy-three test subjects. Detailed medical histories. Pre-enhancement vitals. Enhancement procedures. Post-enhancement outcomes.
Fifty-nine fatalities. Causes of death ranging from "catastrophic cellular rejection" to "complete organ failure" to one particularly horrifying entry that just said "liquefaction."
*Jesus,* Adrian thought. *No wonder Howard's been so cautious.*
Twelve severe adverse reactions: Subjects who survived but with permanent damage. Uncontrolled bone growth. Neural degradation. One poor bastard whose muscles had grown so rapidly they'd torn themselves apart from the inside.
And two successes.
Subject 47: A thirty-two-year-old male volunteer. Enhanced strength (approximately 2x baseline), enhanced speed (1.8x), enhanced durability (2.5x). Stable integration. No adverse psychological effects. Lived for seventeen years post-enhancement before dying in an unrelated car accident.
Subject 68: A twenty-eight-year-old female volunteer. Similar enhancement profile to Subject 47. Still alive, currently working as a SHIELD field agent under a classified identity.
"These two," Adrian said, pointing to Subjects 47 and 68. "What made them different? Why did they survive when the others didn't?"
Howard smiled slightly. "That's the right question. We spent five years trying to figure that out. The answer turned out to be genetic."
He pulled out another page—genetic profiles.
"Both subjects had a specific mutation in their CCR5 gene. It's the same mutation that provides natural resistance to HIV. About one percent of the human population has it. We think it also provides a kind of cellular flexibility that allows for easier integration with the serum."
Tony was frowning at the data. "So you're saying one percent of people are naturally compatible with the serum?"
"More or less. We tested both of you years ago—standard genetic screening we do on all family members for medical reasons."
Adrian's enhanced mind immediately made the connection. "And we both have the mutation."
"Correct. Both of you are in that one percent. Which is part of why I'm considering Adrian as a candidate." Howard looked at Tony. "You have it too, but your talents lie elsewhere. Adrian's already trained for physical enhancement."
Tony's expression was complicated. Relief that he wasn't being asked to be the test subject, mixed with something that looked like inadequacy, mixed with frustration at their father's favoritism.
Adrian filed that away for later. Family therapy could happen after he saved everyone from assassination.
"What about the psychological effects?" Adrian asked, turning to another page. "You mentioned that the serum amplifies personality traits. What does that mean specifically?"
"Erskine called it 'magnification of the essential self,'" Howard said. "Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. It's not mind control or personality alteration. It's... intensification. Whatever you are at your core, the serum makes it stronger."
"Which is why Steve Rogers worked," Tony said quietly. "He was already a good man. The serum just made him a *super* good man."
"Exactly." Howard's expression went distant for a moment—that look he got when thinking about Steve. "Steve was brave before the serum. He was willing to throw himself on a grenade to save others. The enhancement just gave him the physical ability to match his moral courage."
Adrian thought about that. About Steve Rogers, the man Howard had spent forty years trying to recreate. The man Howard saw every time he looked at Adrian—tall, blond, built like a soldier, disciplined and heroic.
The comparison had always been there. Unspoken but obvious.
And now Howard was literally trying to make Adrian into the next Captain America.
*The irony,* Adrian thought, *is that I'm not actually Howard's son. I'm a ROB-inserted isekai protagonist with Batman's brain. So all of Howard's genetic and psychological assumptions are completely wrong.*
*But I do have the moral foundation. I died saving my parents. That counts for something.*
"I need to think about this," Adrian said, closing his legal pad. "This is a lot of information to process."
"Take your time," Howard said. "We're not doing anything until I get back from DC anyway. That gives you the weekend to consider."
"Can I come back tomorrow? Review the synthesis procedures again?"
Howard nodded. "As long as you're here in the office, with supervision, yes. I'll be around most of the day."
*Perfect,* Adrian thought. *One more review session to make sure I've got everything memorized, then tonight I'll break in for the hard copies.*
Tony stood up, stretching. "I've got questions about the radiation component. Can we talk about that tomorrow too?"
"Of course."
They filed out of the office. Howard locked the door behind them—Adrian noted the lock type, a high-end deadbolt that would take about forty-five seconds to pick with proper tools—and headed toward the kitchen, mentioning something about coffee.
Tony pulled Adrian aside before they could follow.
"Okay," Tony said, voice low. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That thing you did in there. That 'I'm going to carefully review all the data like a responsible adult' thing. You're not actually planning to do this, right?"
Adrian met his brother's eyes. "I'm planning to make an informed decision."
"Adrian—"
"Tony, I promise I won't do anything stupid. But I need to understand the science. That's all I'm doing right now. Understanding."
Tony didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Fine. But I'm watching you. And if you try to inject yourself with experimental super soldier serum without proper safety protocols, I'm going to build a suit of armor and physically stop you."
Adrian grinned. "You're going to build a suit of armor? Like, a whole suit?"
"I've been working on some ideas. Powered exoskeleton, integrated weapons systems, flight capability. Nothing concrete yet, but—"
"Tony, that's insane."
"Says the guy considering turning himself into a science experiment."
"Fair point."
They headed toward the kitchen together, and Adrian felt the weight of the last few hours settling on him.
He had the safe combination. He had the serum formula memorized. He had a clear picture of what needed to be changed to make HYDRA's stolen research useless.
Tonight, he'd execute the heist.
Tomorrow, he'd review the research one more time with Howard to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
And the day after that—December 16th—he'd be in a car with his parents when the Winter Soldier attacked.
*Three days,* Adrian thought. *I can do this. I've got Batman's skills, a solid plan, and the element of surprise.*
*Just need to make sure I don't fuck it up.*
---
**December 13th, 1991**
**Stark Mansion**
**11:34 PM**
Adrian lay in his bed, fully clothed in dark jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt, waiting.
The house had a rhythm. He'd observed it all evening during dinner, during the family movie Maria had insisted they watch together (some romantic comedy that had made Tony make gagging noises), during the slow wind-down as everyone headed to their respective corners of the mansion.
Edwin and Ana retired to their quarters at 11:00 PM. Exactly 11:00 PM, like clockwork.
Maria took her sleeping medication at 10:45 PM. By 11:15 PM, she'd be deeply asleep.
Howard had worked in his study until 11:20 PM, then headed to the master bedroom. The light had gone out at 11:27 PM.
Tony's workshop light was still on, but that didn't matter. Tony's workshop was in the east wing, on the opposite side of the house from Howard's office. He could be building a rocket ship down there and wouldn't hear Adrian moving through the second floor.
At 11:35 PM, Adrian slipped out of his bed and moved to his door.
Batman's stealth training was *extensive*. How to move without sound. How to distribute weight. How to control breathing. How to blend with shadows.
Adrian opened his door with painstaking slowness, applying pressure in a way that prevented any squeaking. He stepped into the hallway, keeping to the edges where the floorboards were better supported and less likely to creak.
The mansion was dark except for the ambient light from windows—moon was about three-quarters full, providing decent visibility for his enhanced vision.
He moved down the hallway toward Howard's office, every sense on high alert.
Batman had trained for infiltration missions in hostile territory. This wasn't that different, except instead of enemy guards, Adrian was avoiding his family's household staff and potentially motion sensors if Howard had installed any.
The original Adrian's memories didn't recall any security systems beyond basic locks, but Howard was paranoid enough to have upgraded without telling anyone.
Adrian reached the office door. Examined it carefully.
Standard deadbolt. No additional sensors that he could see. No cameras—Howard didn't trust recording devices around his classified work, preferred human oversight instead.
From his pocket, Adrian produced a set of lockpicks he'd borrowed from Tony's workshop earlier that evening. Tony had them for working on antique cars that had finicky door mechanisms. He probably wouldn't even notice they were missing.
Adrian knelt, inserted the tension wrench, applied gentle pressure, then worked the pick into the lock pins.
Batman had practiced lockpicking until it became muscle memory. Until he could do it in the dark, underwater, while being shot at. A simple residential deadbolt was child's play.
Twenty-three seconds later, the lock clicked open.
*Too easy,* Adrian thought. *Howard's getting sloppy in his old age.*
He eased the door open, slipped inside, closed it behind him with the same careful precision.
The office was dark. Adrian's eyes adjusted quickly—Batman's training included operating in low-light conditions.
He moved to the window first, carefully drawing the curtain closed. No need for neighbors or grounds security to see a light and wonder why Howard was working at midnight.
Then he pulled out a small flashlight from his pocket—also borrowed from Tony's workshop—and clicked it on, keeping the beam narrow and directed.
The wall safe was behind the painting of the tropical beach. Adrian moved to it, lifted the painting carefully off its hooks, set it aside.
The safe was a Gardall B-Rated model, probably from the mid-80s. Mechanical combination lock, decent protection against amateur burglars, completely useless against someone with Batman's safecracking skills.
Adrian pressed his ear to the safe, his enhanced hearing picking up the minute clicks of the tumblers. His hands moved with practiced precision:
Right 23.
Left 41.
Right 17.
Left 9.
The safe opened with a satisfying *click*.
Inside: Multiple folders, all classified. Cash in neat stacks—probably emergency funds. A handgun—because of course Howard kept a gun in his office. And the leather-bound folder containing the serum research.
Adrian pulled out the research folder, set it on Howard's desk, and started photographing pages.
He'd brought Tony's Nikon F3—a high-end 35mm camera that Tony used for documenting his engineering projects. Adrian had loaded it with high-speed film, adjusted the settings for low-light document photography.
*Click. Advance. Click. Advance. Click. Advance.*
Every page. Every diagram. Every formula. Every trial result.
It took six minutes to photograph everything.
Then came the tricky part.
Adrian needed to alter specific pages—the ones that would be most critical for recreating the serum—without making it obvious they'd been tampered with.
He'd thought about this carefully. About what to change, how to change it, what would make the research useless to HYDRA but still look legitimate to Howard.
**Target One: The Stabilizing Polymer Formula**
Adrian carefully removed page seventeen—the detailed synthesis instructions for the platinum-iridium catalyst.
Using a pencil—pencil, not pen, because pencil could be erased cleanly—he made minute changes to the molecular ratios. Changed the platinum concentration from 43.7% to 47.3%. Changed the iridium binding temperature from 1,850°C to 1,620°C.
Small changes. The kind that might look like typos or notation variations. But they would absolutely prevent the catalyst from forming correctly.
Anyone trying to synthesize it would get a useless compound that would probably crystallize incorrectly and fail to bond with the enhancement compounds.
He used Howard's own pencil—found in the desk drawer—to make the changes look like they'd been part of the original documentation process. Then he carefully used the eraser to remove the original numbers, making it look like Howard had corrected his own math.
**Target Two: The Enhancement Compound Ratios**
Page twenty-three contained the precise measurements for the seventeen different compounds that made up the actual serum.
Adrian altered three of them:
- Compound 7 (neural optimization): Changed from 8.3% to 7.6%. This would actually *improve* the formula—reduce the risk of psychological side effects—but HYDRA wouldn't know that. They'd just know their test subjects kept dying from unexpected complications.
- Compound 11 (metabolic acceleration): Changed from 12.1% to 13.8%. This would cause the metabolism enhancement to outpace the cellular regeneration, leading to rapid aging and organ failure.
- Compound 14 (bone density enhancement): Changed the calcium phosphate binding agent from Type IV collagen to Type III. Type III would work for about six months, then the bones would become brittle and start cracking. Delayed failure was the best kind of sabotage—HYDRA would think they'd succeeded right up until their super soldiers started literally falling apart.
**Target Three: The Vita-Radiation Specifications**
This was the most critical change. The radiation wavelength was the linchpin of the entire process.
Adrian found the page detailing the exact frequency and intensity requirements for the Vita-Radiation exposure.
He changed the wavelength from 0.127 nanometers to 0.139 nanometers.
It was a small change—less than ten percent. But it would shift the radiation from the precise frequency needed for cellular optimization to a frequency that would cause uncontrolled mutation.
Not immediate death. That would be too obvious. But gradual cellular breakdown. Tumors. Organ failure. Death within a few years.
HYDRA would spend decades wondering why their super soldiers kept developing cancer and dying.
Adrian made the changes carefully, professionally, using the same notation style as the rest of the document. Everything had to look authentic.
When he was done, he photographed the altered pages as well—he needed a record of what he'd changed—then carefully reassembled the folder.
The whole alteration process took twelve minutes.
Then Adrian returned everything to the safe, exactly as he'd found it. Closed the safe. Rehung the painting. Checked to make sure no dust had been disturbed, no papers had been moved.
Batman's training included crime scene awareness—how to enter and exit a location without leaving evidence.
Adrian swept the room with his flashlight one more time, confirming everything was in place.
Perfect.
He moved to the door, listened carefully. No sounds from the hallway.
He opened the door slowly, slipped out, locked it behind him using the picks.
Then he ghosted back to his room, moving through the darkened mansion like a shadow.
Inside his room, he carefully hid the camera film in the loose baseboard behind his closet—the hiding spot the original Adrian had used for contraband snacks when he was twelve.
Then he changed back into pajamas, slipped into bed, and let himself process what he'd just done.
*Step One complete,* Adrian thought. *Research altered. HYDRA's going to get a useless formula. Even if they steal the briefcase on the 16th, they won't be able to recreate the serum.*
*But I can. Because I've got the real formula memorized. Every compound. Every ratio. Every wavelength.*
*And with Tony's help on the radiation component, I can make it even better than Howard's version.*
He closed his eyes, Batman's mental discipline allowing him to immediately drop into restful sleep despite the adrenaline.
Two days until Winter Soldier.
The clock was still ticking.
But Adrian was ahead of schedule.
And that felt good.
—
## **December 14th, 1991**
**Stark Mansion - Adrian's Room**
**5:47 AM**
Adrian's eyes snapped open at exactly 5:45 AM, no alarm needed. Batman's training included precise circadian rhythm control—the ability to wake at a predetermined time through sheer mental discipline.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, mentally reviewing the previous night's infiltration.
*Camera film: hidden. Research: altered. Safe: locked. No evidence left behind.*
*Step One: Complete.*
He sat up, swung his legs out of bed, and immediately felt it—that deep, restless energy of a body that had been engineered for peak performance.
The original Adrian Stark had been athletic. Trained. Disciplined about fitness because that's what you did when you were trying to become a real-life Captain America.
But *this* body—the Alan Ritchson physique combined with Batman's peak human conditioning—was something else entirely. It was a machine. A precision instrument that needed maintenance, calibration, and constant challenge to stay optimal.
Adrian could *feel* it. His muscles practically humming with potential energy. His nervous system firing on all cylinders. His metabolism running hot, already demanding fuel and activity.
*A body like this doesn't maintain itself,* Adrian thought, standing and stretching. *It demands work.*
He'd reviewed Batman's training regimen in his downloaded memories. It was, frankly, insane. Four to six hours of physical training per day, broken into multiple sessions. Strength training, cardio, martial arts, flexibility work, reaction drills, endurance exercises.
Bruce Wayne had turned himself into a human weapon through decades of discipline and suffering.
Adrian had inherited the results—the muscle memory, the conditioning, the capabilities—but not the maintenance routine.
Which meant starting today, he needed to actually *be* Batman in terms of training. Not just think like him.
*Good thing the original Adrian was already a fitness nut,* Adrian thought. *Nobody's going to question why I'm working out at 6 AM.*
He changed into workout clothes—compression shorts, fitted tank top, running shoes—and did a quick mental assessment of what his body needed.
**Current Status:**
- Peak human strength (approximately 2x normal human maximum)
- Peak human speed and agility
- Master-level martial arts muscle memory
- Enhanced flexibility and coordination
- Extremely low body fat percentage (probably around 8-10%)
- Cardiovascular system operating at theoretical human maximum
**Maintenance Requirements:**
- Strength training to prevent muscle atrophy
- Cardio to maintain cardiovascular efficiency
- Martial arts practice to keep muscle memory sharp
- Flexibility work to prevent injury
- Probably 4,000-5,000 calories per day to fuel it all
Adrian's room was large enough for basic exercises. He dropped into position and started with push-ups.
Standard push-ups. Diamond push-ups. Wide-grip push-ups. Decline push-ups with his feet elevated on the bed frame. One-armed push-ups—left side, then right side.
His body moved with mechanical precision. Perfect form. No wasted energy. Each rep exactly the same as the last.
He counted in his head. Fifty standard. Twenty-five diamond. Twenty-five wide-grip. Twenty decline. Ten one-armed per side.
*One hundred thirty push-ups,* Adrian thought, barely breathing hard. *That would've killed me in my old body. This body is ridiculous.*
He transitioned to squats. Deep squats. Pistol squats. Jump squats.
One hundred reps total.
His legs burned in that good way—the way that meant the muscles were being properly challenged without being damaged.
Then core work. Crunches. Leg raises. Planks. Side planks. Russian twists.
Batman's ab routine was legendary. Bruce Wayne's core strength was what allowed him to do half the impossible things he did—the kicks, the throws, the acrobatics.
Adrian worked through the routine with methodical intensity, feeling his muscles engage, feeling the burn, feeling *alive* in a way his old body had never quite achieved.
As he exercised, his mind was already moving forward, planning the next steps.
**Step Two: The Pentagon Trip**
December 16th. Howard and Maria's trip to DC. The Winter Soldier ambush.
Adrian needed to be in that car. That was non-negotiable.
Which meant convincing Howard to bring him along.
The original Adrian's memories suggested this wouldn't be hard—Howard had been dropping hints about introducing Adrian to Pentagon contacts, about showing him the "real work" that happened in government research facilities.
Adrian could probably just ask. Say something about wanting to see where his potential future was heading if he agreed to the serum trials.
Howard would love that. The idea of Adrian being genuinely interested in following in his footsteps.
*Manipulation,* Adrian thought, transitioning to burpees. *But necessary manipulation. Can't save them if I'm not there.*
Twenty burpees. Thirty. Forty.
His heart rate was elevated now, his breathing deeper. His body was warming up properly, muscles loose and ready.
**Step Three: The Winter Soldier Problem**
This was the big one. The variable that could go catastrophically wrong.
Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. A brainwashed super soldier with a vibranium arm, decades of combat experience, and absolutely zero hesitation about killing targets.
In the original timeline, he'd killed Howard and Maria with brutal efficiency. Ran them off the road. Strangled Howard. Staged it as a car accident.
Clean. Professional. Effective.
Adrian's advantages:
- He knew it was coming
- He had Batman's combat skills and tactical thinking
- He had peak human physical conditioning
- He had the element of surprise—Winter Soldier wouldn't be expecting resistance
Adrian's disadvantages:
- Winter Soldier was *also* a super soldier, with actual serum enhancement
- Winter Soldier had a vibranium arm that could crush steel
- Winter Soldier had been doing this for seventy years
- Adrian had never actually been in a real fight in this body
- Training and muscle memory weren't the same as actual combat experience
*I'm going to have to fight him,* Adrian realized, dropping into a plank position and holding it. *Actually fight. Not spar. Not train. Fight for my life and my parents' lives.*
Batman had fought enhanced opponents before. Killer Croc. Bane. Clayface. The Court of Owls' Talons.
The key was always the same: Don't engage in a direct strength contest. Use speed, tactics, environment, and intelligence.
Winter Soldier was stronger. Winter Soldier was more experienced. Winter Soldier had a literal metal arm.
But Winter Soldier was also a blunt instrument. A weapon pointed at a target. He'd have a mission profile, an expected scenario, a planned approach.
Adrian could disrupt that. *Would* disrupt that.
*The car is the ambush point,* Adrian thought, his core burning as he held the plank. *Some isolated stretch of road. He'll probably use a explosive device or spike strip to disable the vehicle, then move in for close-quarters termination.*
*So I need to: One, survive the initial attack. Two, get Howard and Maria to safety. Three, engage Winter Soldier long enough for backup to arrive. Four, ideally, subdue him without killing him because that's Bucky Barnes under the brainwashing and Steve would want him saved.*
*No pressure.*
Adrian released the plank, rolled onto his back, and started bicycle crunches.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, preparing to fight a brainwashed World War II super soldier, and he was doing it with skills downloaded from a fictional vigilante, in a body that looked like a Greek god, with knowledge from a completely different universe.
*This is my life now,* Adrian thought. *This is actually my life. I died in a convenience store and got reincarnated into the MCU to save Tony Stark's parents from HYDRA assassination.*
*If I told anyone this story, they'd think I was insane.*
He finished the crunches—one hundred total—and moved to the final component of his morning routine: Martial arts practice.
Batman's muscle memory included approximately *thirty-seven* different martial arts disciplines, synthesized into a unique fighting style that combined the most effective elements of each.
Adrian stood in the center of his room and started moving through kata.
Wing Chun forms. Smooth. Efficient. Close-quarters striking.
His hands flowed through the movements—chain punches, trapping hands, leg sweeps. Each technique precisely executed.
Then Muay Thai. Harder. More aggressive. Elbow strikes. Knee strikes. Low kicks that could shatter bones.
Then Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Ground fighting. Submissions. Joint locks.
Then Krav Maga. Brutal. Practical. Eyes, throat, groin. Whatever ends the fight fastest.
Adrian moved through the forms with increasing speed, his body remembering, his muscles engaging, the techniques becoming real instead of just theoretical knowledge.
This was the part that felt most surreal. He could *feel* himself doing things he'd never trained for. Executing techniques that should've taken years to master. His body just *knew*.
A reverse spinning hook kick that terminated exactly where an opponent's temple would be. Perfect height. Perfect angle. Perfect power transfer.
A judo throw that flowed seamlessly into an armbar.
A knife-hand strike that snapped through the air with enough force to break ribs.
*I can actually do this,* Adrian realized. *I can actually fight.*
He finished the kata, breathing hard now, a light sheen of sweat on his skin.
His enhanced body was properly warmed up. Muscles activated. Nervous system firing. Ready for whatever the day would bring.
Adrian checked the clock: 6:23 AM.
Thirty-six minutes of exercise. He'd barely scratched the surface of what Batman's daily routine would require, but it was enough for now. He had other things to do today.
Things like:
- Having breakfast with the family (maintain normalcy)
- Reviewing the serum research with Howard one more time (make sure the altered pages looked natural)
- Convincing Howard to bring him to DC tomorrow (get in position for the Winter Soldier fight)
- Checking Tony's workshop for anything useful (maybe borrow some tools that could help against a metal arm)
- Mentally preparing for the fight of his life (no big deal)
Adrian grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face, and headed for his private bathroom.
The shower was hot, almost scalding. He stood under the spray, letting it work into his muscles, and continued planning.
**Tactical Considerations for Tomorrow:**
The Winter Soldier ambush would happen on a road. Probably a highway or rural route with minimal witnesses.
Adrian needed to position himself strategically in the car. Not front seat—that's where the initial impact would be worst. Back seat, behind the driver. Best position for protecting Maria (who'd be passenger side) and having mobility when things went wrong.
He needed to convince Howard to wear seatbelts. Both parents. That was going to be tricky—this was 1991, and seatbelt usage wasn't as universal as it would become. But if Adrian could sell it as a "safety thing" or make it seem cool somehow...
*Maybe I can engineer a scenario where I 'accidentally' discover that the seatbelts in the back were replaced recently and I want to test them?* Adrian thought. *No, that's too weird. Maybe just complain about car safety statistics? Howard respects data.*
He'd need to keep his body loose during the drive. Ready. Not tense—that would slow reaction time—but alert. Ready to move the instant Winter Soldier made his play.
And he needed a weapon. Something non-lethal if possible, but effective against enhanced opponents.
Batman's utility belt would've been perfect. Batarangs, smoke pellets, taser gloves, that weird shark repellent that one time.
Adrian didn't have any of that. He had his body, his skills, and whatever improvised weapons he could scavenge from the car or environment.
*Think like Batman,* Adrian told himself. *Batman always has a plan. Multiple plans. Contingencies for the contingencies.*
**Plan A:** Survive the initial attack. Protect parents. Fight Winter Soldier defensively until backup arrives.
**Plan B:** If Plan A fails and parents are injured, get them to safety first, then engage Winter Soldier.
**Plan C:** If Winter Soldier gets the briefcase, let him have it. The research is already compromised. Parents' lives are more important than the mission.
**Plan D:** If everything goes completely sideways and Adrian is about to die again, at least take Winter Soldier down with him. Bucky deserves to be free from HYDRA's control, but if it's him or Adrian's family, Adrian wouldn't hesitate.
The water ran cold. Adrian had been in the shower for fifteen minutes, just thinking.
He turned off the water, dried off, and got dressed. Nice clothes—khakis and a button-down. Looking responsible and mature. The kind of son Howard would want to bring to Pentagon meetings.
By the time Adrian headed downstairs, he could smell coffee brewing and hear Ana in the kitchen starting breakfast preparations.
Another day in the Stark household. Another day closer to the fight.
Adrian's reflection in the hallway mirror showed a tall, blond, absurdly handsome young man who looked confident and put-together.
Inside, he was a twenty-three-year-old who'd died in a convenience store, been reincarnated by a ROB, and was now planning to fight a brainwashed World War II veteran with a metal arm.
*This is fine,* Adrian thought. *Everything is fine. I've got this. Batman's got this. We've got this.*
His reflection didn't look convinced.
But it did look capable.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
He headed toward the kitchen, already smelling bacon and hearing Maria's laugh at something Ana was saying.
One more normal morning. One more day of peace before everything changed.
Adrian intended to make it count.
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