"Enhanced version of the super soldier serum?" Henry touched his chin and nodded.
"Sounds good. At least it's better than nothing. I can give it to Happy, so he doesn't end up fumbling a suitcase next time."
He glanced at Tony. "And you, Tony—armor alone isn't enough forever."
"Alright, we'll start here." Although Tony was a little disappointed, he quickly revived his enthusiasm.
"Jarvis, make this project your top priority. I want Stark Industries mass-producing Captain Americas! Then we'll make a basketball team. I even have a name: Team Stark Superman."
As the analysis concluded, Tony finally realized he was home. He fetched a bottle of fancy red wine and two elegant glasses, poured a drink for himself and handed one to Henry.
Leaning against a laboratory table, swirling the wine and admiring its color, Tony's tone turned serious.
"Now, business. What will you do with Obadiah? Should we have Happy's security guys throw him in the Pacific? That's pretty eco-friendly."
"It's easy." Henry took a sip of wine, relishing the sense of everything being in his control.
"As planned, Jarvis already packaged and anonymously sent all evidence—his collusion with the Ten Rings, weapons smuggling, attempted murder—to the FBI, CIA, and Wall Street Journal on our way back. Now, we just have to wait for Obadiah to take the bait himself.
He thinks we don't know, so he'll definitely act desperate to deal with us. Then he'll destroy himself in front of the world. Should be about time..."
He glanced at the wall clock.
"You stay here and work on your Superman basketball team. I'll be back soon."
"You're going yourself?" Tony blinked, about to say "let's go together" or "let Happy handle it."
But when he saw the calm confidence in Henry's eyes, he swallowed his words.
Memories of Afghanistan and of Obadiah's betrayal swelled his anger again.
"Come back soon." He finally said, lifting his glass to Henry for a clink.
"I need you for this research. You're better at biotech than me, after all. I don't want the lab turning into a monster house."
"Of course." Henry smiled, downing his wine.
With Jarvis's assistance, he started suiting up in the Black God armor again.
"Honestly, this thing's a pain to put on," he grumbled, letting the robotic arms help.
"We really need nano-armor, Tony. Something you can store in a watch, or have integrated under your skin—armor at a thought. That's real black tech, fitting our Stark name."
"I agree." Tony nodded, eyes glimmering. "And it has to look sharper than yours—with gold trim to match my style."
Henry wasn't joking—he'd already started dreaming up the concept. Nano-armor was not just convenient; it would be undeniably cool.
Moments later, Henry was fully suited up.
Instead of taking the elevator, he jogged upstairs to the villa's second floor.
"When I get back, the party can start!" he called to Tony below.
Then, stepping onto the vast lawn outside the second-story living room, he slowly floated up into the moonlight.
In the next instant—bang!
He shot upward, turning into a black streak that vanished into the night sky, leaving only a shockwave that sent grass clippings swirling.
Thousands of kilometers away, Washington, D.C.—S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Director's Office.
Nick Fury stood facing a giant window, overlooking the city lights. His iconic bald scalp gleamed under neon.
Coulson stood behind him, reporting.
"In brief, Director: Tony Stark shut down the weapons division, and both brothers publicly admitted the armor suits exist—though they called them auxiliary tools."
"Auxiliary tools?"
Nick Fury turned, a sharp glint in his single eye. "Do you buy it?"
"Of course not, sir," answered Coulson blandly.
"Even with low-res satellite footage, their combat output far exceeds any individual weapon. Especially Henry Stark—his abilities seem beyond the armor itself."
"I know." Fury's voice was low.
"I watched your feed. That young man knew too much.
Not just about S.H.I.E.L.D. or me—he even mentioned the Avengers Initiative. Coulson, that's supposed to be top secret. How did he know?"
"I don't know, sir." Coulson looked genuinely mystified.
"He was like a prophet from the future. He looked at me like an old friend and even joked about my hairline."
"A prophet…" Fury moved to his desk, hands on the surface, staring at Henry Stark's dossier on the monitor.
"Tony Stark: an uncontrollable genius. Now there's another—this prophetic, immeasurably powerful Henry Stark."
His fingers tapped a slow rhythm.
"It's getting more interesting."
Meanwhile, above Los Angeles.
Henry hung in the sky, a black phantom thousands of meters up, overlooking the city shining like a galaxy.
He drew a deep breath, then frowned.
"Jarvis, I take back what I said," he called lazily through the comm.
"I thought Afghanistan's air was bad—smoke and stupidity—but LA's isn't much better. Now it's money, ambition, and car fumes. Honestly, it stinks. How do Hollywood stars breathe out here—do they have built-in purifiers?"
"Sir, current PM2.5 in your area is 152—moderate pollution. I recommend using the armor's filtration system," Jarvis replied gently.
"I don't need it." Henry rolled his eyes.
"My lungs are probably worse than your filter. I'm just making a point—humans will accept even rotten conditions if they made them themselves. Fascinating, isn't it?"
He enjoyed the high-altitude breeze, relishing the sense of the city beneath his feet.
Ever since he gained these powers, he had grown to love viewing the world with a god's perspective—so free.
"By the way, Jarvis, play me some music." Henry stretched.
"Give me something fitting—'Welcome to the Jungle.' It captures the mood here."
Hard rock echoed through the comms. Henry nodded in rhythm, spirits lifting as he hovered over LA like a king surveying his realm, music and conversation his only companions.
"Be honest: do you think Tony's mobility device story will fool Capitol Hill?"
"Based on my analysis, less than 5% probability, sir. Human lies are best with details, and Mr. Tony doesn't do details. He only has two logical modes.
'I'm a genius, so do what I say,' or 'I can't be bothered to explain, figure it out yourselves.' He's worse at lying than admitting anyone else might be smarter," Henry laughed.
"Still," he smirked, "his public antics took the spotlight off me—makes my private work easier."
The smile left his face: his eyes turned cold.
"Jarvis, status update—how's our plan? Where's that bald bastard Obadiah right now?"
Just as Henry had told Tony, he'd long planned a special "gift" for Obadiah, even before jetting off to save Tony. Pepper and Happy gathering evidence was merely the first move.
His real plan would be far more direct—and ruthless—than Tony imagined.
Henry wasn't one to put all his faith in law and procedure. He believed in using his own strength to settle his own problems.