Tony had stripped off his shirt, revealing a physique less exaggerated than Henry's but still strong and well-proportioned. The reactor embedded in his chest emitted a faint blue glow.
He lay down in the pod without hesitation. With Jarvis's assistance, the experimental chamber slowly tilted and rose, just like the transformation sequence from those old Captain America reports.
Henry moved to the main console and began operating the instruments with practiced ease, preparing to inject the serum. Ethan approached the pod carrying a syringe connected to a tangle of tubes.
"You ready, Tony?" Ethan teased.
"I should warn you," Ethan added with a smile, "according to Dr. Erskine's notes you just read, this process may be painful. Try not to scream — it'll be embarrassing."
"Pain?" Tony bristled, the old tsundere pride surfacing. "You're joking. I'm Tony Stark. When shrapnel pierced my chest, I didn't get anesthesia — I just groaned. How could a little pain faze me, the richest man alive? Ethan, I'm disappointed."
Henry grinned on the other side of the console. "I still recommend Jarvis set up soundproofing. I don't want tinnitus from someone's screaming."
"You two bastards!" Tony snapped, teeth clenched. "Wait until I come out. I'll show you what true strength looks like."
"Alright, we'll wait," Henry waved.
"It's ready. Begin injection," Jarvis reported.
Tony glanced toward Henry and, as if remembering something, asked, "Before I become a seven-times-a-night machine, who did you mean by 'American butt'?"
Henry shrugged with a smirk. "Who else? Captain America — Steve Rogers. Have you seen that poster? That tight suit really accentuates… well, it's iconic. The military gained recruits because of it."
Tony froze, then laughed awkwardly. "You're still into male anatomy? Anything wrong with your orientation?"
"I'm stating a fact," Henry replied. "A perfect butt is a cultural force. You're about to have one too."
"Enough," Tony said, trying to sound indignant but failing to hide the smile. "Lie down, Mr. American Butt."
He settled in completely, eyes shining with anticipation. Henry pressed the final button.
The translucent hatch sealed with a soft buzz.
"Jarvis, start the injection."
"Yes, sir. Project Prometheus initiated."
A light-blue nutrient solution flowed into the chamber. Simultaneously, a syringe of pale-gold serum pierced Tony's arm. The machine hummed and accelerated into operation.
Ethan and Henry stood by the console, watching Tony twitch inside the pod.
"What do you think he'll become?" Ethan asked.
"He'll probably get a few centimeters taller like that old popsicle and bulk up," Henry said casually. "Whether his posterior reaches Captain-America levels? Talent's hard to manufacture."
A sudden, agonized roar erupted from the chamber.
"Ahhhh!!!"
Ethan's face tightened with concern. Henry spread his hands as if to say, I told you so.
"He's stubborn," Henry noted. "Don't worry — this is expected."
"Still, are we sure?" Ethan's scalp prickled as the screams grew louder. "The serum transformation is painful, but it shouldn't be this severe. Any unexpected vitals?"
"Accident? No." Henry sipped his wine nonchalantly. "You underestimate him. This guy is all bluster. When Tony's in pain, he uses stronger language to distract. He's dramatic — he thinks this makes him heroic. He's probably enjoying it."
Ethan stared at the figure inside the twitching pod — veins bulging, face contorted — and then at Henry, calmly tasting wine. For a moment Ethan suspected he was the odd one out.
"Jarvis! The power output is too high! Are you trying to grill me? I smell burning protein! Is my chest hair on fire?!" Tony bellowed.
"Sir, all systems are within safety thresholds," Jarvis replied calmly.
"Safe? You call this safe?!" Tony roared. "My cells feel like ten thousand man-eating ants are gnawing them. My bones feel like they're in a blender! Henry — you bastard! Did you spike the serum with chili water?!"
"Oh, don't wrong me," Henry answered lazily through the pod's hull. "I only suggested Jarvis add a dash of mustard oil to the nutrient solution. Keeps you alert. Don't fall asleep during the process."
"Fuck!" Tony's curses were swallowed by an even louder, wrenching cry.
Ethan looked at the quarrelsome brothers and finally let out a helpless smile. If Tony could still curse, he likely still had the vitality to pull through.
Minutes bled on with Tony's screams punctuating the lab hum. The chamber's glow shifted from pale gold to blinding white. The light intensified until it was impossible to look at directly.
On the holographic display, Tony's physiological curves shot upward, repeatedly breaching previous limits. Red alarms blinked, but Jarvis quickly countered them with corrective protocols.
"Cell reconstruction: 78 percent complete," Jarvis reported. "Bone density enhancement: complete. Neural reaction speed: approaching average baseline."
Henry and Ethan watched the readouts in tense silence. The transformation was brutal, the data volatile, but each metric climbed toward the desired thresholds.
Inside the pod, Tony howled and contorted; outside, the three of them held their breaths — the lab a crucible of science, ego, and stubborn hope.