The scene shifted again to the Stark Industries boardroom.
Pepper had hastily assembled the board, and they unanimously passed the resolution to permanently remove Obadiah Stane from all positions.
His former allies now scrambled to distance themselves from him, fearful of being implicated.
The scene shifted again: his shell companies were being seized one by one by the tax authorities and the SEC.
His secret accounts in Swiss banks were frozen. His collection of paintings, antiques, and luxury cars were sealed and set to be publicly auctioned.
"Right now, you have nothing," Henry summarized.
"No, that's not all—you still have debts you can't repay, and a permanent label of traitor that will never come off. Congratulations, you've gone from a life-winning victor to a walking negative asset."
Obadiah couldn't even speak. He slumped to the ground, eyes vacant, like a puppet stripped of its soul.
"Don't worry, there's one last act." Henry stood and walked over, looking down at him.
"The grand finale, and my usual style—front-page news. Though I don't really like this method."
On the screens, major news outlets began airing special reports:
"Once a business giant, Howard Stark's close friend, and Tony Stark's godfather, Obadiah Stane, has been confirmed as a spy embedded within Stark Industries for decades..."
"He not only orchestrated the globally shocking Stark brothers kidnapping incident but also long-term smuggling weapons to the Middle Eastern terrorist organization Ten Rings, causing thousands of civilian casualties."
"Historians have called Obadiah Stane's betrayal the most shameful act of treason in U.S. history since Benedict Arnold. His name will forever be nailed to the pillar of historical shame!"
The charitable foundations he had once donated to issued statements erasing his name from their donor lists.
His alma mater revoked his outstanding alumni honors and even considered demolishing the teaching building named after him.
His life, his achievements, his glory—at this moment, all were completely invalidated and despised by the world.
"How's that, Obie?" Henry's voice became the final straw crushing him.
"Was this retirement party designed just for you satisfactory? Grand enough? Impressive enough?"
Obadiah stared at the screens, watching everything he had built dissolve into nothingness, seeing his name become a symbol of revulsion.
A faint flicker appeared in his hollow eyes.
A deathly despair.
He was finished.
His life, his family, his career, his reputation—utterly finished.
"Good, it looks like you've accepted reality," Henry said, nodding at his zombie-like state.
He walked behind Obadiah and placed his hand firmly on his thick neck.
"Honestly, I really dislike people like you," Henry said casually, summarizing this farce.
"You had everything a normal person could never hope to achieve, yet you were never satisfied. Your greed is a bottomless pit that will ultimately consume you."
He paused, then leaned close to Obadiah's ear and spoke the last words:
"The party's over, Uncle Obie. Sweet dreams."
Crack!
A crisp, sharp sound of bones breaking cut through the swelling symphony.
Obadiah's body shuddered violently, then went limp, his head lolling at a strange angle, completely lifeless.
Henry released his hand, looking at the still-warm corpse. His smile vanished, replaced by calm.
He raised his hands and stared at them—the hands that had just taken a life—eyes reflecting a complex emotion.
It wasn't regret, nor fear.
It was the first time he felt the sensation of holding someone else's fate entirely in his hands.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," he said softly.
"Yes, sir."
"Erase all traces here, including my entry logs and surveillance footage. Then, send the official report claiming that Obadiah Stane, unable to bear the immense pressure of his crimes, suffered a sudden heart attack and died during interrogation, to the FBI."
"Understood, sir."
Henry took a final glance at the corpse and then turned, striding out of the interrogation room filled with sin and death.
Outside, the sky had turned pitch black.
The white moonlight shone on him, yet it didn't feel cold.
He squinted, feeling as if he had been reborn.
Standing at the police station entrance, Henry greedily inhaled the cold, pure air of the high altitude.
He stretched, and his bones cracked in a series of sharp pops.
"Honestly, J.A.R.V.I.S., I have to admit—cleaning house may not be technically challenging, but finishing it really is exhilarating. Don't you think? Makes it feel like our servers are running faster?"
"Sir, the server speeds have not changed," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied gently through the suit's communicator.
"However, based on my emotional model analysis, your happiness index is currently 92.7%, the highest in the past two weeks."
"Oh, don't be so rigid, buddy," Henry said, moving his wrists and ankles.
"You need to understand the art of language. When I say 'fast,' it's a spiritual kind of fast—an exhilaration after solving a major problem. Never mind, explaining this to an old electronic like you is like casting pearls before swine."
He looked up at the moon hanging in the night sky.
Moonlight reflected off his pure black armor, and he felt every cell in his body rejoicing, filled with unprecedented vitality.
He was already used to flying; the freedom from gravity no longer felt novel.
Yet every ascent still brought genuine joy.
"Since the old bald guy has taken his leave, and Tony's safe for now," Henry smiled faintly.
"I think it's time to do something serious."
"Sir, you mean—?"
"Of course, testing the extreme performance of this new skin," he said, excitement building.
"Come on, J.A.R.V.I.S., get ready to record the data! I want to see how fast this Superman Experience Edition can really fly!"
"Ready, sir. Global satellite positioning has locked your coordinates. All sensors are active and ready for comprehensive data recording."
"Good!"
Henry took a deep breath, no longer suppressing the unstoppable power within.
He slowly hovered.
Boom!
A heavy, muffled explosion as the air beneath him seemed instantaneously compressed and then violently burst apart!
On the rooftop, a visible white shockwave spread outward, sweeping away dust and debris!
And in that instant, Henry's figure became a black meteor, shooting vertically into the clouds, disappearing into the night sky.
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Throw your stones lovely readers, stone me if you enjoy reading this