The realization—"I'm in the DC Universe"—landed with the weight of a yellow sun. It meant the rules of my old life were not only broken; they had been replaced by comic book logic. I didn't need to cure cancer; I needed to avoid the orbital satellite surveillance of an alien god. The clock was ticking, measured not in seconds, but in the probability of a spandex-clad vigilante spotting my plaid pajamas.
I finished my coffee in two sharp, deliberate gulps. My eyes locked onto the news ticker again, scanning the location details of the recent giant robot attack. Metropolis. The city of tomorrow, built on alien goodwill and structural overcompensation. A city with a major university presence, which meant a major vulnerability.
I needed data. And a uniform.
I spent the first twenty minutes and forty dollars of my stolen cash at a discount retailer, acquiring a cheap, solid dark-gray hoodie, black sweatpants, and a pair of generic running shoes. The plaid pajamas were now contained, reducing my public absurdity rating from 10/10 to a manageable 6/10. I discarded the plaid in the nearest industrial-strength dumpster a low-priority crime scene that would be ignored.
My first target: a local university computer lab. I needed to forge a new existence, and the fastest way to bypass security in this world was often a piece of paper. Since my original identity, Ryan Ashford, was a ghost a non-existent anomaly in this dimension's public records it was technically a perfect, un-tarnished slate. I wouldn't invent a new name; I would simply bootstrap my old one into legitimacy.
I located the campus of Metropolis University (MU), a sprawling, brutalist complex teeming with the low-grade, distracted energy of young intellects. The computer science building was a monument to unsecured network protocols.
I slipped into a crowded, anonymous student lab adjacent to the library. The desks were lined with standard issue, networked terminals. I grabbed an empty seat, the Rick and Morty comic shielding my hands as I ran the setup.
I inserted the copper coin and plastic wrap into the nearest USB port a quick, isolated data bridge and began running a silent query. I was aiming for the registrar's master database. I wasn't just grabbing an ID; I was creating an Academic Cascade.
I bypassed the local terminal's user authentication by exploiting the predictable hash algorithm used for temporary student passwords (Student ID + current year offset). Once inside, the terminal was merely a portal.
I mapped the entire campus network, focusing on the Registrar's Office database and the Human Resources payroll server. These two databases, historically, rarely communicate in real-time, creating a critical vulnerability.
I digitally inserted Ryan Ashford into the HR payroll server first, backdating his record as a highly specialized, non-faculty "Advanced Research Fellow" hired six months ago. The hiring paperwork was generated complete with a fabricated signature from a deceased department head and flagged internally as "high security, minimal external footprint."
I then generated a second set of records in the Registrar's database, inserting a Ph.D. in Theoretical and Applied Nano-Physics under the name Ryan Ashford, complete with a full transcript showing transfer credits from a highly obscure, non-existent European institution. I created a fake digital certificate and attached it to the payroll file.
The crucial step was creating the illusion of communication. I coded a tiny, self-destructing script to make the HR system momentarily "ping" the Registrar's system, confirming the existence of Dr. Ryan Ashford, Research Fellow. The systems shook hands on a lie.
In less than five minutes, I had forged the required identity. The record was too clean, too specific to raise suspicion in a routine check, but just complex enough to satisfy a basic security sweep.
I printed the temporary ID card laminated and bearing a suitably serious photo I'd quickly snapped with the computer's webcam. My arctic blue eyes in the photo looked suitably intense and detached.
"Dr. Ryan Ashford, Research Fellow," I whispered. "Self-certified genius. Now I exist in your system. Try and erase that."
+++++++++
With the academic credentials of Dr. Ryan Ashford securely nested within the Metropolis University system, my next step was clear: legitimacy through audacity. Why sneak into S.T.A.R. Labs when the superior strategy was to walk through the front door and command the data? I was no longer a hack. I was a visiting research fellow.
I spent the next two hours fine tuning the "Dr. Ashford" persona. It wasn't enough to possess the degree; I needed the aura. I found a small, reputable tailor shop near the university and purchased the cheapest, darkest blazer and slacks available. I paid cash. I needed to look like a man who valued intellect over fashion, a subtle distinction that screamed "brilliant but socially inept." I applied the final touches in the cafe restroom: a severe parting in my black hair, a deliberately tired expression, and an overall demeanor of profound professional exhaustion.
Before approaching the facility, I returned to the MU computer lab one final time. I needed to understand the current obsession of S.T.A.R. Labs. Entering blind was sloppy.
I initiated a passive, low frequency sweep of published scientific papers, grant applications, and corporate press releases originating from the Metropolis S.T.A.R. Labs IP address over the last six months. I wasn't looking for classified files, only public obsession.
The data converged on one topic: "Exo structural Containment and Reverse Engineering." The focus was on stabilizing and utilizing non human, high density alloys, specifically linked to the remains of the giant chrome automaton recently defeated by the man with the "S" on his chest. This was their hot button issue. This was their weakness.
I cross referenced this information with personnel.
Lead Researcher, Exo structural Containment: Dr. Alistair Finch. I noted his publicly accessible resume detailed previous work on magnetic levitation and material rigidity.
Director of Research, Metals and Alloys: Dr. Vivian Chu. Her public profile suggested a background in high energy physics and a reputation for extreme risk aversion when facing potential project failure. She was the decision maker.
I had the key intellectual vulnerabilities for both the primary scientist and the director. Finch's ego regarding structural integrity was my weapon; Chu's fear of failure was my leverage.
+++++++++
By 1:00 PM, I stood before the monolithic facade of S.T.A.R. Labs, Metropolis. The building was a shimmering testament to human ambition. I marched through the door and approached the reception desk.
The desk was manned by a woman whose nameplate read "Ms. Clara Sims." She was efficiently bored, the perfect low level firewall.
"Good afternoon," I stated, my voice low, projecting urgent impatience. "I am Dr. Ryan Ashford. I need to speak to the head of Exo structural Containment, immediately. It's about the Finch paper."
Ms. Sims blinked. "Do you have an appointment, Doctor? Or a badge?"
I produced the laminated MU ID card. "An appointment was deemed a bureaucratic inefficiency given the nature of the development. No, I do not have a S.T.A.R. badge yet. My clearance is currently being bridged from the MU server cluster." I leaned in, forcing her attention. "Look, Clara, this is highly time sensitive. If my preliminary calculations regarding Dr. Finch's latest work on crystalline alloy stability are correct, he is facing a critical mathematical impasse that could compromise the entire project timeline. I need to verify my data before I file the official report."
I used three specific words designed to instantly trigger bureaucratic compliance: "impasse," "compromise," and "timeline."
Clara frowned, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. She ran my name through the visitor log. Nothing. Against the personnel database. Again, nothing. The moment of potential failure.
"Dr. Ashford, I am not showing any records for you," she said, her voice tightening.
I didn't argue. I simply tapped the edge of the desk, looking straight past her, my eyes fixed on an imaginary equation.
"The delay is regrettable," I sighed, layered with disappointment. "Tell you what. Call Dr. Finch directly. Tell him that Dr. Ashford is here and that he needs to check the structural resonance damping in his latest paper immediately. He'll understand."
I used specific, targeted jargon designed to exploit Finch's known research focus and scare the receptionist into passing the problem up the chain. Clara, desperate to avoid escalating a security crisis involving a high value research project, called the Director's office immediately.
Dr. Chu arrived two minutes later. She was sharp, mid forties, and wore a suit that signaled both power and contempt for inefficiency.
"Dr. Ashford," Chu stated, her voice clipped. "You've disrupted two schedules and alarmed my receptionist with vague references to Dr. Finch's theoretical work. You claim to have identified a flaw. Be concise. What is this structural resonance damping issue?"
I met her stare, projecting total, unshakeable intellectual confidence. I didn't waste time on Finch. I addressed the fundamental nature of S.T.A.R. Labs' most pressing existential problem: the need for disruptive, proprietary tech.
"The resonance issue is merely a symptom, Director," I corrected, shaking my head. "The true problem here is innovation velocity. Your lab is currently operating at a net loss in proprietary intellectual property development relative to your operating budget. Your research is reactive, focused on mitigating external threats, like that automaton wreckage, rather than creating the next generation of materials that secure global market dominance."
Chu's expression solidified. Funding and market dominance were areas she genuinely cared about, far more than alloy matrix integrity.
"I am not interested in your critique of our business model, Doctor," she said sharply. "State your purpose."
I produced the MU ID. "I am Dr. Ryan Ashford, Research Fellow in Theoretical and Applied Nano Physics. My purpose is simple: I am offering you an immediate, unprecedented leap in materials science that will generate twenty years of proprietary patents and secure maximum future grants."
I leaned forward slightly, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial level that commanded focus. "The extraterrestrial alloy is a distraction. Its true value is in understanding its structural properties. I have already designed a theoretical model for Adaptive Density Material, a nano structural composite that can instantly shift its mass and rigidity based on localized energy input. A material that is lighter than air until it needs to withstand a blast radius, then becomes denser than osmium."
I deliberately used the term "Adaptive Density Material." It was a concept so bleeding edge it sounded like science fiction, yet the fundamental physics were sound enough to intrigue a research director.
"If you possess that theoretical model, you should publish it," Chu challenged.
"Publication is the fastest path to having my work commercialized by competitors," I dismissed, a trace of scorn in my voice. "I require a secure, proprietary environment to finalize the predictive modeling and begin the theoretical simulation phase. The Exo structural Containment lab has the computational power and environmental shielding necessary for my work. I estimate a six month window to move from theory to patent application."
I presented her with the ultimate strategic deal: I wasn't just fixing her current problems; I was offering her the future. I flipped the dynamic. I wasn't applying for a job; I was offering her a stake in my genius.
Chu studied my face for a long moment, the risk versus reward calculation running behind her eyes. The risk was bringing in an arrogant, unknown figure. The reward was exclusive rights to a material that could potentially revolutionize global military, aerospace, and construction industries.
"If you are wrong, Dr. Ashford," she said, her voice dangerously low, "your brief academic career ends before sundown, and you will be facing charges of corporate espionage."
"If I am wrong, Director," I replied, meeting her gaze, "you will have lost ten minutes. If I am right, S.T.A.R. Labs will own the next generation of materials science, and I will require unrestricted, permanent access to the Applied Physics core and a full Research Director salary."
She grabbed a spare level three access card and scanned it, activating temporary clearance. "Welcome to S.T.A.R. Labs, Doctor. You are under constant monitoring. If that material model is a tenth as revolutionary as you claim, we will discuss your directorship in six weeks, not six months."
"Six weeks it is," I acknowledged.
As I followed her toward the elevator, I allowed myself a minuscule, internal surge of triumph. The Artificer had secured his bridgehead. The entire bureaucratic and scientific apparatus of S.T.A.R. Labs was now operating under the illusion that my arrival was a corporate coup, driven by pure technological superiority. I had bypassed the interview process and gained high level access using the strategic placement of jargon and a powerful promise of future wealth.
I was inside. Now the real work, the data acquisition, could begin, fueling the development of the Adaptive Density Material.