Two days later, at Justice Mountain—
Inside the mountain's laboratory, Ben—currently transformed into Grey Matter—was reprogramming the machine data embedded throughout Cyborg's body… along with the Mother Box mounted to his arm.
Even though everything on Apokolips existed under Darkseid's tyranny, it was still a branch of the New Gods. Their technological level was no joke.
Because Cyborg's "birth" had been influenced by the Apokolips knowledge stored inside the Mother Box, he possessed the ability to interface with Apokolips signals and operate the Box directly.
But everything had a price.
If Cyborg could connect to the Mother Box and use Apokolips technology, then Darkseid could potentially exploit that same pathway and control Cyborg from the other end.
After getting consent from both Cyborg and the League, Ben started by transforming into Upgrade and "possessing" Cyborg's machinery.
If the machine you possess has a will of its own, Upgrade can be rejected—forced out by the host's resistance.
That was the point of doing it first.
Ben needed to confirm whether Apokolips tech inside Cyborg had spawned any additional consciousness—anything that might be hiding in the system.
After that, he used Upgrade's direct interface to implement a full hardware-and-software overhaul, purging the hidden risks at the root.
Of course, there was a catch.
When Upgrade leaves a host, the host's physical form tends to revert—meaning any "hard" modifications don't stay.
But the data does.
As long as Ben could preserve the upgraded configuration data, he could reverse-engineer the design afterward and reproduce it properly.
He had to work like this for a simple reason:
Without unlocking the Omnitrix's master control—or triggering some bypass—Ben's transformations only lasted ten minutes at a time.
And once he turned back into a human, his human brain couldn't possibly retain everything he learned as Grey Matter.
So he used a workaround:
Upgrade Cyborg once, extract the "clean, upgraded" model data, then transform into Grey Matter in multiple batches—implementing the fixes step by step until the job was done.
At last, Ben leaned back, satisfied.
"Upgrade complete," he said. "But because the Mother Box is still fundamentally Apokolips tech, the moment you use it to connect to the Apokolips network, you'll still have a risk of intrusion. You'll need regular maintenance."
"I understand," Cyborg replied, nodding as he came fully back online.
And he wasn't just being polite.
After the update, he felt… lighter. Like something had finally unknotted inside him.
Some of the new functions Ben designed also made the mechanical side of his body feel far more natural—more responsive, more his.
"If you're good, go test it in the training room," Ben said, glancing at the timer. "I'm going to keep studying the Omnitrix."
He unplugged the data cables from Cyborg with practiced speed and sent him out.
Time was limited. The moment Cyborg's issue was handled, Ben used a pair of mirrors while still in Grey Matter form—trying to get a good look at his own watch from angles he normally couldn't see, attempting to crack the master control program.
Same ten-year-old Grey Matter, same genius species… and yet Ben could still mess up something as basic as fixing an air conditioner.
Meanwhile, his son Kenny—holding an Omnitrix of his own—had apparently cracked master control like it was nothing, transforming into whoever he wanted whenever he felt like it.
A few minutes later, the transformation timed out.
Ben turned back into his fifteen-year-old self and wandered out of the lab, half-dazed.
It was a complete failure.
Forget master control—he hadn't even unlocked a single new alien.
"Whatever," he muttered, dropping onto a couch in the lounge. "I already scanned Superman's DNA. I don't urgently need more forms right now."
He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what came next.
Aside from Cyborg and Ben himself, the rest of the League didn't live at Justice Mountain. Most of the time, they coordinated through communicators, only gathering in person when a meeting required it.
Ben's "we're characters in another world's stories" reveal had definitely rattled them—
But heroes were heroes.
They recovered faster than most people ever could.
They chose to cherish the present. No destiny was so fixed that it couldn't be changed.
At the same time, in preparation for Darkseid's eventual return, the Justice League had already begun discussing recruiting new members.
But after Ben raised the possibility that Apokolips tech inside Cyborg was a liability, recruitment plans were temporarily shelved.
Now that the system purge was done, Ben wanted to see how well Cyborg was adapting.
He grabbed an ice-cold cola from the fridge, cracked it open, and headed toward the training floor.
Cyborg was already there—mounted weapons deploying and firing the instant targets popped up, every shot landing dead-center with surgical precision.
Ben took a long sip of cola and called out, "Hey, Cyborg—how's it feel?"
"As long as I don't connect to the internet," Cyborg said, lowering his arm cannon, "I feel amazing. I can feel my body again—like I did before the accident."
Ben's upgraded system restored normal sensory feedback and stripped out most of the automated "smart" monitoring routines.
If there weren't still metal components exposed across his frame, Cyborg would've almost believed he'd become human again.
Combat-wise, the upgrades were even more dramatic.
"The new weapons are great," Cyborg continued. "Especially the targeting system. It's like playing a shooter with an aimbot turned on—once I decide to fire, the hit lands. And it won't attack on its own."
Ben nodded. None of that surprised him.
But he'd noticed it earlier—Cyborg's expression wasn't fully relaxed. There was tension there, like something he didn't want to say.
"Something else?" Ben asked.
Cyborg hesitated, then admitted it.
"The moment I connect to the network… I feel awful."
When he stayed offline, he felt reborn.
But the instant he went online, it was like endless noise flooded his ears—countless images crammed into his brain, brutally and all at once.
Ben pulled out the small notebook he kept for Grey Matter—his "alien-only" notes, filled with whatever critical information he could jot down before timing out.
He flipped pages, scanning, then nodded.
"That's because your brain processes incoming information too fast," Ben said. "When you're online, your head is getting hammered nonstop by raw internet data."
Back when Cyborg was first created, his brain had effectively become a high-efficiency quantum computer.
But a human being's ability to consciously control their own attention wasn't designed for that kind of throughput.
"Is there any way to fix it?" Cyborg asked, frowning. "If I can't stay connected, my efficiency drops hard."
Ben shook his head.
"I could design an AI to filter and process the information for you… but if an AI handles that much data long-term, it can evolve. It can develop self-awareness. And that's a bigger problem."
In theory, Cyborg's brain could handle it.
The pain wasn't because he lacked the capacity—it was because he wasn't adapted to living under that constant flood, unable to focus on what mattered in the moment.
Ben capped his cola, thoughtful.
"You might want to talk to Superman," he said. "His super-hearing and super-vision probably affect him the same way you're experiencing this now."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 80)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 80)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 74)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter20)
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