"An enhanced version of the Super Soldier Serum?" Henry rubbed his chin and nodded.
"Not bad. At least better than having nothing. Could be useful to toughen up Happy, so next time he won't fail at delivering a briefcase."
"And you too, Tony. Just relying on the armor won't cut it."
"Alright then, let's start with this." Tony looked a little disappointed but quickly regained his enthusiasm.
"Jarvis, mark this project as top priority. I want Stark Industries to mass-produce Captain Americas! By then, we could even form a basketball team. I've already got the name—The Stark Supermen!"
Once he finished joking around, Tony finally remembered Henry was still there.
He went to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a pricey bottle of red wine, poured two glasses, handed one to Henry, and kept one for himself.
Leaning against the workbench, Tony swirled the wine slowly, staring at the rich crimson in his glass.
"Now, let's talk business." His tone grew serious.
"What are you planning to do about Obadiah? Just have Happy and some guys toss him into the Pacific? Honestly, I like the idea. Very eco-friendly."
"Simple." Henry took a sip of wine. Not bad. He liked the taste of having everything under control.
"According to plan, Jarvis has already compiled and anonymously sent all the evidence of his dealings with the Ten Rings, arms smuggling, and his attempt to murder us—straight to the FBI, CIA, and The Wall Street Journal. All we need to do now is wait for him to start performing."
"He thinks we don't know, so he'll definitely try something against us. And then, in front of the whole world, he'll make a complete fool of himself. If my timing's right, that should be happening about now."
Henry glanced at the clock on the wall.
"You keep working on your Superman basketball team. I'll be right back."
"You're going?" Tony froze for a moment. He wanted to say something—maybe suggest going together, or letting Happy handle it.
But when he saw the calm, confident look in Henry's eyes, he swallowed those words.
He remembered Afghanistan. He remembered Obadiah's hypocritical face. The rage in his chest burned again.
"Come back soon," Tony finally said, raising his glass and clinking it against Henry's.
"I need you to help me with the research. After all, you're more skilled in biotech than me. I don't want this lab turning into a moldy monster den."
"Of course." Henry smiled and downed the wine in one gulp.
Then, with Jarvis assisting, he began equipping his all-black Black God Armor.
"Seriously, this thing is a pain to put on," he grumbled while the robotic arms worked.
"Every time I have to rely on these arms—it's so inconvenient. Tony, we need to hurry up and design a nano-suit. One you can store in a watch, or maybe even bond with your body, covering you head to toe at a thought. That would be real black tech. That would be worthy of the Stark name."
"I couldn't agree more." Tony nodded in deep approval. "But it also has to look better than yours. With gold accents—something fitting my style."
Henry wasn't just running his mouth. He genuinely wanted that.
A nano suit wasn't just practical—it was badass. Seriously badass.
A few minutes later, Henry was fully suited.
Instead of the elevator, he took the stairs up to the villa's second floor.
"When I'm back, the party can start," he called down to Tony.
Then, stepping onto the wide lawn outside the second-floor lounge, Henry floated upward under the silver moonlight.
A second later—
Boom!
He shot into the night sky like a black shadow, vanishing instantly, leaving behind only a shockwave that rippled outward, scattering grass clippings all across the lawn.
---
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away in Washington D.C., atop a seemingly ordinary office building—
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Director's Office.
Nick Fury stood with his back to the door, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window at the lights of the city. His trademark bald head shone under the neon glow.
Coulson stood behind him, reporting everything from the press conference earlier today.
"In short, Director, Tony Stark announced the shutdown of the weapons division. Also, both he and his brother Henry Stark publicly admitted the existence of the two suits of armor—though they downplayed them as auxiliary tools."
"Auxiliary tools?"
Fury turned, his single eye sharp as a blade. "Coulson, do you buy that?"
"Of course not, sir." Coulson shook his head firmly.
"Based on satellite footage—grainy as it was—the combat capability those armors displayed has already surpassed what we'd classify as individual weapons. Especially Henry Stark. His power doesn't seem to come from the armor at all."
"I know." Fury's voice dropped low.
"I reviewed the entire incident. That young man knows too much."
His eye narrowed slightly.
"He knows about S.H.I.E.L.D. He knows about me. He even knows about the Avengers Initiative. Coulson, that's top-level classified. How the hell does he know it?"
"I don't know, sir." Coulson's face showed his confusion.
"He's like a prophet from the future. The way he looked at me—it was like seeing an old acquaintance. He even mocked my hairline."
"Prophet, huh?" Fury walked to his desk, resting both hands on the surface as he stared at Henry Stark's file on the screen.
"An uncontrollable genius—Tony Stark. And now, another mysterious, immeasurable 'prophet'—Henry Stark."
His fingers tapped the desk rhythmically, tok tok tok.
"Things are getting interesting."
---
At the same time, high above Los Angeles—
Henry hovered silently thousands of meters in the air, like a black ghost.
Below, the city glimmered with lights like a sea of stars.
He inhaled deeply—then frowned in disgust.
"Jarvis, I take back what I said before." His lazy voice sounded over the comms.
"I thought Afghanistan's air was bad enough, full of smoke and stupidity. But LA? It reeks of money, desire, and car exhaust. Gives me a headache. I don't know how those Hollywood stars tolerate it. Do they all have built-in air purifiers in their lungs?"
"Sir, according to real-time monitoring, the PM2.5 index in your area is 152—moderate pollution. I suggest activating your armor's internal filtration system."
"I don't need it." Henry rolled his eyes.
"My lungs are probably stronger than your filter. I'm just making a sociological observation—how humans can live so contentedly in the mess they create. Fascinating, isn't it?"
He savored the high-altitude breeze, that sense of stepping on the entire city.
Ever since he gained this power, he found himself loving the god's-eye view of the world more and more.
It made him feel free.
"By the way, Jarvis—play some music." Henry stretched lazily.
"Something fitting. How about Welcome to the Jungle? Perfect for this city."
Soon, the explosive intro of rock and roll blasted in his comms. Henry bobbed his head with the rhythm, his mood lifting.
Like a king inspecting his domain, he circled leisurely above Los Angeles—music blaring, chatting idly with Jarvis.
"Honestly, Jarvis, do you think Tony's excuse of 'just a mobility tool' will fool those old foxes on Capitol Hill?"
"Based on my data, its credibility is below 5%, sir. Human lies require elaborate details to hold weight. Mr. Stark clearly lacks that skill."
"True. That guy's brain runs on just two modes. I'm a genius so listen to me—or I'm too lazy to explain, figure it out yourself. Lying for him is harder than admitting he isn't the smartest man alive." Henry chuckled.
"But this time, I owe him. His showboating drew all the attention, leaving me free to handle… other business."
His smile faded. His eyes grew cold.
"Jarvis, how's our plan? What's the situation with that bald bastard, Obadiah?"
Just as Henry had told Tony earlier, long before he even set out for Afghanistan, he had already prepared a special gift for Obadiah.
Having Pepper and Happy collect evidence was only the first step.
His real plan was far more direct. Far more ruthless.
He wasn't Tony. He wouldn't rely on the law or the so-called justice of the system.
Henry trusted only one thing—
his own strength.