Tony froze.
He felt like the so-called greatest brain of the century had just undergone a system crash.
He stared at the genetic-sequence model on the holographic display — the one Jarvis had flagged as theoretically impossible. Then he looked at his younger brother standing beside him, that look of, I told you so written all over his face.
Tony's scientific worldview, the one he'd defended with swagger and sarcasm, cracked.
"Wait," he said, massaging his temples. "Let me process this. You're saying I—my work—my serum—your transformation was just an accident? A mutation we can't replicate?"
"That's about right." Henry shrugged and took a sip of wine. "You can think of me as the guy who won the jackpot. The lottery ticket was free, courtesy of those unlucky Hydra clowns."
"So the serum that created you is a failure?" Tony pointed at the screen, disbelief and a strange sort of grief on his face.
Henry looked at him like a collector who'd discovered his "limited edition" figurine was flawed. "From a manufacturability and replicability standpoint, yes — it's a failure."
Tony's shoulders tightened, but Henry was already smiling and shifting the conversation.
"But it gave birth to me," Henry continued. "A perfect, unique success. So what do you call it — success or failure?"
Tony choked, trying to salvage pride. He poured wine for himself and for Ethan, forcing a grin. He'd been mocked, but he refused to be broken.
"Even if it's an accident, that doesn't mean the thing itself is useless," Tony said. He let the swagger creep back into his voice. "I still have my Mark armor. And—" He paused and glanced at Henry, his tone purposely grand — "I also have this project. I've wanted to make the Super Soldier Serum since I was eight. Now it's an enhanced version."
Ethan smiled. Henry rolled his eyes.
"Oh really?" Henry goaded. "You wanted it because you couldn't do a pull-up after watching Captain America, right?"
Tony flushed with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. "Hey, I asked you to help me get that serum. I couldn't stand the thought of some old soldier in tights being cooler than me."
"That's ridiculous," Henry said, amused.
"I did it for science," Tony insisted. "For progress. Super-soldier tech shouldn't be buried. It's an insult to science."
"Yeah, yeah," Henry said, not bothering to argue. He walked up to Tony and clapped him on the shoulder. "So — now that you've created this great breakthrough, why the hesitation? Don't you want to try it yourself?"
Tony and Ethan froze. Tony's face went from mock-offended to instantly intrigued.
"Try it?" he echoed.
Henry smirked. "Think about it: if people assume your strength comes only from the Mark suit, but then some villain rips your armor off in front of everyone — you can step out, dust yourself off, grin, and say, 'Congratulations, novice. You broke the armor. Welcome to stage two.' Then you punch him and ruin his day. How cool would that be?"
Tony's imagination took over. He pictured himself standing amid ruined armor and defeated enemies, flames in the background, adoring crowds. His ego lit up.
"Ahem," he said, trying to sound disdainful while grinning. "This is nonsense. But… I admit, the imagery is appealing."
He moved toward the experimental chamber in the center of the lab — a silver-white pod crisscrossed with pipes and instruments, filled with an opalescent nutrient solution.
"Jarvis," Tony ordered, breathless, "activate Project Prometheus. Fill the chamber with the richest nutrient solution available. I want the best, the most concentrated."
Henry and Ethan followed, amused spectators to Tony's theatrical science.
"You're noble enough to sacrifice a kidney for science," Henry said, deadpan.
Tony ignored the jab. He stood before the pod and stared at the shimmering liquid like a man about to step into destiny.
"Look," Ethan said quietly, practical and steady. "We have to be careful. If the serum reacts like the simulations predict, it could collapse the cells. We need proper conditioning: microenvironment control, staged induction, fail-safes."
Tony waved a hand. "Of course. Safety first. But I'm the lead researcher. I have to test its efficacy. For science."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "For science, huh? Right."
Tony straightened, determined and shameless. "Yes. For science. And for me."
Jarvis hummed and brought up calibrated protocols on the central console. Henry stepped closer to the display that showed the mutated gene cluster — the one that had made him what he was. He studied it without the earlier snark, serious now.
"Here's the plan," Henry said. "We won't brute-force mix incompatible serums like in a kitchen. We'll do staged induction. Start with microdosing, monitor genomic expression in real time, and have redundant containment. If we see instability, we abort. No heroics."
Tony nodded, adrenaline and scientific hunger mingling. Ethan already had the sequence alignment queued, ready to compare any emergent mutation to Henry's baseline.
"Agreed," Tony said. "Let's do it."