Man Made God: (Dc/Marvel/Crossover)

Ch-6: Die Hard at Oscorp (#3)

(A/N: I'll probably put in a discussion poll on what exactly Y/n will find in the Oscorp Labs later on. Possibly at the end of the chapter. So if you were wanting Y/n to have access to this-and-this power or whatever, you'll have your chance to pitch it. And I'll probably fit a few in if I deem them reasonable enough.)

(A/N: There are 3 roughly planned arcs in this fic. Currently, you are reading through the first, the Mutant arc.)

(A/N: This is the last of the 'Die Hard' themed chapters titles btw. I don't know if anyone got the reference lmao.)
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Y/n cast a scrutinising eye in the small light.

It was a simple band of metal. A couple milimetres thick and a few more wide, joined together by a red disc that had what looked to be an unlit light source of some kind at its centre. Turning the band over, Y/n's eyes scanned across the same royal red lettering he had been seeing everywhere today.

"Does he brand everything with his name?" Y/n scoffed before tossing the broken identification braclet back, sliding across the table. "I'd call him pretentious if I wasn't so impressed with his work."

"I believe the standard models don't have any sort of markings," Dr. Connor's remarked. Despite picking the largest one in the library, the small study booth the two individuals sat in still wasn't big enough to hold all of Y/n completely. Two vascular and muscular forearms lay on either side of the table, traping the old man. "When Tony Stark heard Mr. Osborn wanted a fleet of security drones he made a show of providing a... 'custom' set."

"Ah," Y/n nodded, "I did hear the two had an intense rivalry. Tell me though, why not simply make his own squad of security automata?"

"Any attempts made by the robotics division have been deemed... less than satisfactory," Dr. Connors did a so-so motion with his hands, "Mr. Osborn is a perfectionist.

"So I've heard."

The conversation hit a short lull as Dr. Connors decided to continue mainting steady eye contact with the table. Y/n shook his head, switching his focus back to the identification braclet he had so carelessly tossed.

At this point, Y/n could only shake his hands, slap his ass, and admit it.

He fucked up.

Y/n couldn't even be a superhero for one week it seemed. 'Fuck!' A groan threatened to escape his throat. The EMP was majorly retarded... There was a reason the residents of floor 61 were hunkering down in the library and not in their rooms. The stark drones were actively hunted them out! All one hundred and ten (minus the two he had already destroyed) stark drones had become glitching maniacs, the only things that safeguarded oneself from the small army were completely useless. Just short circuited clumps of scrap.

He had put a lot of people's lives in danger today. More danger than he intended really. Sure, he was already planning on traumatising some city folk, but actually threaten the lives of a few poshy fuckwits? Y/n was a criminal, not a petty monster!

With an inward sigh, Y/n's gaze moved back to Dr. Connors. The man was doing a commendable job of keeping his cool. Sitting completely still without a hint of discomfort. Taking the initiative and stepping up as the leader of the residents of the 61st floor had definitely risen the scientist's prestige in Y/n's mind.

"You're wearing your coat, so I'm assuming you and your fellow employees were in the lab before everything went to shit?" Y/n asked.

Dr. Connors nodded numbly, "Yes, we were."

"The lab is a whole floor away, and the nearest path from it to here would be butt fuck annoying to get through," Y/n cycled through bits of the tower blueprints he had memorised in his head. "Why bother making the trek? Especially with extra personnel to drag around."