Chapman didn't say a word when they left the briefing room. Just turned, nodded, and Darren followed. Through white halls. Down two flights. Through a coded checkpoint. Then another. Then a lift.
It went down.
And kept going.
"How far underground are we?" Darren asked.
"Don't worry about it," Chapman muttered.
Of course.
The elevator down to R&D took forever.
Darren leaned against the steel wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. Chapman stood like a statue beside him, completely silent. Not a single breath wasted on chit-chat. Just the occasional glance like he was trying to decide if Darren was still holding it together.
He was. Barely.
The elevator dinged.
They stepped into a corridor of polished metal and humming tech. The air smelled like ozone and rubber. Glass walls looked into rooms full of half-built drones, weird helmets, and lab coats arguing over diagrams.
They walked past humming servers, metal crates stacked with sealed prototypes, a vending machine with a hand-written label that just said "Do Not."
Chapman didn't stop. Just led him deeper. Down another hall. Past a door marked
R&D: ACCESS LEVEL 3.
Inside was chaos.
A tall-ish man with wild curly hair and cracked goggles was arguing with a hologram of himself. Both were flailing. Screens everywhere. Code. 3D models. One screen played a video of a skateboarder launching off a car roof. Three energy drinks sat on his desk. One was empty. One was half-frozen. One was bubbling.
"Oh hey! You're Darren!" the man chirped, not looking up. "God, finally. Thought they were gonna keep poking you with needles forever. I've been begging for clearance to start prototyping. Chapman—solid work not losing him in a sewer or feeding him to a drone. Character development."
Chapman said nothing. Just exhaled slowly.
The man spun on his stool. "Johnny. R&D. Costume and combat gear division. You're my new best friend or my slow descent into madness. We'll find out together."
Darren blinked. "Uh. Cool?"
Johnny grabbed a tablet. "So. SHIELD's been drafting something basic based on your stats and trauma metrics and whatnot. But—" he flung the tablet onto the holo-display with a dramatic flourish, "—I intercepted it. Because your original mask design? Absolute trash."
Darren scowled. "Oi."
"No offense. Well, some offense. This—" he rotated the projection of Darren's original green bandana mask, "—is fabric. Fabric. Nose down. No structural integrity. One security camera from the wrong angle and boom—facial recognition, jawline match, your career is over."
"It had charm."
"It had vibes. It didn't have logic. Trust me."
Johnny flicked the model away. "Now. I've got a few mockups. Full faceplates. Detachable elements. Super slick stuff. But before I finalize anything—preferences?"
Darren hesitated. "…Can you make it look like Red Hood's mask?"
Johnny froze. "Who?"
"You don't know—okay. Hold on." Darren pulled out his phone. "This is gonna take a minute."
It took an hour.
Johnny had three screens open: Red Hood design notes, a Jason Todd meme page, and a half-finished schematic. He pointed to one Red Hood redesign. "This. This is the energy. Tactical. Edgy. No capes. I'm obsessed."
"Exactly," Darren nodded. "Modular mask. Sleek. Detached bottom half or top half depending on heat and snacks."
"Done. Full helmet version and a half-mask mode. Matte dark green, Red Hood silhouette. Magnetic clasps. Smart seal. Breathable microframe. No sweating through your own face."
Somewhere around Darren explaining the difference between Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, Chapman returned from his coffee break.
He stopped in the doorway.
Just stared.
Darren and Johnny were arguing about whether Nightwing or Moon Knight would win in a rooftop chase.
Johnny looked up. "Oh. Hey. We're bonding."
Chapman raised an eyebrow. "Focus."
"Right. Suit. Sorry."
He clapped. "Okay! Suit base is reinforced tactical-weave polymer. Waterproof. Fire-resistant. Light armor at pressure points. Retractable hood tucks into collar. Rain-ready. Wind-proof. And you—" he pointed at Darren, "—get to pick your loadout."
Darren perked up. "Snack compartment."
"…What."
"I crash. Sugar. It's a thing."
Johnny waved. "Yeah yeah I know me too. It'll In the utility belt."
"Phone slot."
"Already standard."
"Music player. In the mask."
Johnny beamed. "Bone conduction. Custom EQ. Bluetooth override. You're choice between drowning out the world or both music and the world. You'll be able to dropkick someone to 'Immigrant Song.'"
Darren smirked. "Hell yeah."
"Grappling hook?"
"Slanted bastard roofs."
"Left hip holster. Auto-retract. Anchor lock. No promises on style."
"And the modular mask?"
Johnny held up a printout. It looked like Red Hood's mask had been dipped in Celtic green, then battle-scarred and streamlined. Two variants, full helmet and tactical half-mask. Sleek, mean, a little eerie.
"You can pop the top or bottom clean off and snap it back without losing structure," Johnny said. "Also it hides your jawline. You're welcome."
Darren grinned. "You're a genius."
Johnny winked. "I know."
Chapman stepped forward. "Weapon?"
Darren hesitated. "Uh… I'll think about it."
Johnny laughed. "They always say that."
"It's important," Darren said. "Big commitment."
Johnny nodded sagely. "Ah yes. The sacred stalling."
Chapman's eye twitched.
"Cool," Johnny said. "You'll get the suit by tomorrow. Final fittings are remote-synced to your frame. Helmet ships with swappable modes. Mask vents. Tactical HUD. All that lovely stuff"
Darren grinned he was looking forward to it already.