In the garage, heavy metal rock was cranked to maximum volume, nearly blowing the roof off.
Obadiah's betrayal was a thorn digging deep into Tony Stark's heart. But he wasn't the type to hide in a corner and lick his wounds. Anger was his best fuel.
"Jarvis, flight stabilizers at ten percent power."
Tony stood in the center of his workshop, arms held out to his sides, each hand covered by a metal gauntlet. At his command, a pale blue stream of energy shot from the palms of the gauntlets, a gentle, continuous thrust that slowly lifted him off the ground.
He had succeeded.
For the first time, he had escaped gravity's pull purely through his own creation.
"Whoa!"
Like a kid with a new toy, Tony clumsily adjusted his posture in mid-air. He tried to go forward and smashed headfirst into the tool wall; he tried to go backward and nearly backed his ass into a running engine.
"Sir, your heart rate has exceeded the safety threshold," Jarvis's calm voice announced. "I suggest you avoid over-excitement to prevent further structural damage to the garage."
"Zip it, Jarvis. I'm enjoying myself."
Tony laughed, gradually getting the hang of it. He began to circle the garage, his flight path transforming from wobbly to smooth and effortless.
The price for his over-excitement came when he attempted a stylish aerial stop, and the power output was just a tad too high.
*Bang!*
He shot like a cannonball, crashing directly into a priceless vintage sports car in the corner. The hood was left with a massive dent, and nearby design schematics were sent fluttering through the air.
Dum-E, the robotic arm, rushed over with a fire extinguisher and blasted the still-smoking car.
"Dum-E! How many times have I told you, that's dry powder! Not champagne!" Tony scrambled up from the floor, wincing as he looked at his beloved car.
But a second later, the heartache on his face was replaced by sheer ecstasy.
He could fly!
What was a little loss like this?
…
Unlike the chaos in Tony's space, Paul's lab was quiet, save for the low hum of machinery.
The first target of the "Transformers Project"—"Sideswipe"—had entered its most critical phase. But Paul had hit a bottleneck with the remote drone unit's power and signal transmission.
In Hiro Hamada's memories, there was no mature design for this kind of beyond-visual-range weapon. The microbot technology he had mastered was more focused on swarm collaboration and morphological construction, which didn't align with the concept of a high-attack, high-speed single-unit weapon system.
After two consecutive all-nighters and trying a dozen failed solutions, Paul decisively put the sub-project on hold.
He rubbed his tired eyes and pulled up the overall structural diagram for Sideswipe.
"Since I can't forge the spear for now, I'll build the shield and the body first."
He poured all his energy into designing the frame's transformation structure. It was an equally complex and precise engineering task, requiring the perfect fusion of a sports car's sleek form with the flexibility of a humanoid combat mode. Every joint and movement path had to be run through massive amounts of calculations.
Although progress was slow, there was not a hint of impatience in Paul's eyes as he watched the complex mechanical structure gradually take shape on the screen.
He had plenty of time and patience.
And he knew that the old man next door would soon be delivering him a most valuable "flight test report."
…
Three days later.
A sleek, silver-white suit of armor with a metallic finish stood silently in the center of the garage.
It was a hundred times more handsome than the crude "tin can" from the cave, every inch of it gleaming with the light of technology and money.
"Paul Mark II, activate," Tony's voice trembled with excitement.
The suit's eyes lit up with blue light, and Jarvis's voice sounded inside the helmet: "Sir, all systems are online. Ready for takeoff."
"Let's go!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Tony fired the thrusters on his back and feet, which erupted with a powerful blast.
*BOOM—!*
With a deafening roar, he shot up like a rocket, blasting straight through the garage ceiling and disappearing into the night sky, leaving a giant gaping hole behind.
The wind howled in his ears.
The city lights below were a brilliant sea of stars.
Tony soared through the night, enveloped by an unprecedented sense of freedom. This feeling was ten thousand times more thrilling than driving the fastest sports car or piloting the most advanced fighter jet!
"Jarvis, altitude!"
"Three thousand meters, Sir."
"Keep going!"
"Six thousand meters... Sir, the external temperature is dropping rapidly."
"I feel great! Higher!" Tony was having the time of his life, determined to see what this suit's limits were.
"Ten thousand meters. Sir, I'm detecting ice formation on the suit's surface."
"Minor issue..."
Before Tony could finish his sentence, all the screens inside the helmet instantly went black, and the roar of the thrusters died.
The world fell into a dead silence.
A sudden feeling of weightlessness hit him as he plummeted like a piece of scrap iron from ten thousand meters up!
"Jarvis?! JARVIS!"
No response.
Total system failure!
A biting chill seeped through the seams of the suit, and an icy fear gripped his heart. Was he going to die like this? Splattered into an unrecognizable pulp of flesh and metal parts?
No!
An intense will to survive instantly calmed him.
"Icing... it's the icing problem!"
He desperately moved his joints, trying to manually break the layer of ice covering the suit.
Eight thousand meters... five thousand... three thousand...
The ground rushed up to meet him, death already opening its arms.
Just as he was about to give up, there was a sharp *crack*. He had managed to move the auxiliary flaps on his arms.
The ice was broken!
The screens inside the helmet flickered and came back to life.
"System reboot successful, Sir." Jarvis's voice was music to his ears.
"Quick! Engage the thrusters!" Tony roared with all his might.
Less than a hundred meters from the ground, the thrusters finally re-ignited, barely halting his descent.
But the out-of-control suit could no longer manage a smooth landing.
Tony's vision went black, followed by a series of earth-shattering crashes.
*CRASH!*
First, he smashed through the roof of his own villa.
*BANG!*
Then, he crushed the priceless antique piano in the living room.
*BAM!*
Finally, he slammed heavily onto the vintage sports car he had already dented a few days prior, completely collapsing its roof.
The world finally went quiet.
The silver-white suit, covered in scratches and dents, was wedged into the car in an extremely undignified position, motionless.
A few seconds later, the living room door opened.
Paul walked over slowly, holding up his phone, the camera aimed at the historic scene.
He watched as the helmet's faceplate slowly retracted, revealing Tony's dirt-streaked, utterly defeated face, and the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile.
"Dad, high-def photos, a million bucks apiece. You want one?"