Marvel: I am the bastard son of stark (Remade)

Tomura adjusted the Silver Samurai armour that now felt like a second skin as he entered Poseidon's secret base. Hidden deep beneath Manhattan, the base was a marvel of technology and mysticism, a blend of vibranium-enhanced Wakandans tech and Atlantean ingenuity. The walls shimmered faintly with protective runes, and the hum of powerful machinery echoed through the vast space.

Poseidon stood at a circular table in the centre of the room, his imposing figure framed by the faint glow of the water flowing through a central aqueduct. His piercing eyes met Tomura's as he gestured for him to approach.

"We need allies," Poseidon said without preamble, his voice low and commanding. "The Hand, the League of Shadows, and countless other threats are circling us like vultures. If we're to survive and achieve our goals, we need a group—people like us, who understand what it means to live in the shadows but wield power beyond measure."

Tomura nodded, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "I've been thinking the same thing. But we can't recruit just anyone. They need to be strong, resourceful, and capable of handling themselves in a world that won't hesitate to crush them."

Poseidon brought up a holographic display, files and profiles appearing one by one. Together, they began reviewing potential candidates.

The Candidates

Kusuo Kageyama: A young man with immense psychic abilities. Poseidon frowned as he studied the file. "His power is unparalleled, but he's too... righteous. He wouldn't align with our methods.

"Hancock: A drunken hero with godlike strength. Tomura shook his head. "Unpredictable. He'd be as much of a liability as an asset.

"Blade: A vampire hunter with unmatched skill and ferocity. Poseidon considered him briefly. "Too focused on his vendetta. He wouldn't care about our cause."

The list continued, each name more impressive than the last, but none quite fit the vision they had for their group. That was until Poseidon opened a file labelled

Patrick Bateman.

The Ghostface Persona

The file displayed an image of a sharply dressed businessman with slicked-back hair and an unnervingly perfect smile. Patrick Bateman was a successful entrepreneur based in Gotham, known for his charm and ruthless ambition. But at night, he became something else entirely—Ghostface, a serial killer with enhanced strength and an insatiable bloodlust.

"He's... different," Tomura said, narrowing his eyes at the file. "A monster hiding in plain sight. He could be an asset, but he's dangerous."

Poseidon nodded. "Dangerous, yes. But that's what we need. People who can operate in the grey, who aren't afraid to do what's necessary. Bateman could be useful, but we'd need to handle him carefully."

Tomura smirked. "I'll leave him to you. He seems like someone you'd enjoy dealing with."

Poseidon chuckled darkly, closing the file. "Perhaps."

A Chance Encounter

After finalising their plans, Tomura left Poseidon's base and walked through the streets of Manhattan, his mind buzzing with thoughts of their potential recruits. He still wasn't entirely sure what they were building—a team, a syndicate, or something else entirely—but he knew it was necessary.

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with a young man about his age. The stranger had dark, tousled hair, piercing blue eyes, and an air of quiet confidence that immediately caught Tomura's attention.

"Sorry about that," the man said, stepping back.

Tomura studied him closely. There was something familiar about him, something... powerful. "No problem."

The man extended a hand. "Harry Wayne. You are?"

"Tomura," he replied, shaking Harry's hand. He felt a subtle, unnatural coldness in the grip, a shadowy energy that seemed to linger beneath the surface.

Harry tilted his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Tomura shrugged. "You could say that."

Harry chuckled. "Well, if you ever need anything, I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

As Harry walked away, Tomura couldn't shake the feeling that their paths would cross again—sooner rather than later. There was something about Harry that intrigued him, something that suggested he, too, might belong in the group Poseidon and Tomura were beginning to assemble.

For now, though, Tomura focused on the task ahead. The Hand Clan was still a threat, and Gotham's enigmatic Ghostface lingered in his thoughts. The pieces were falling into place, and soon, the world would feel the force of their power.