Tony's shrill roar inside the experimental cabin stopped abruptly.
The lab fell silent.
"What's wrong? Jarvis?" Ethan asked.
"Sir, Mr. Stark's vital signs have stabilized. The serum transformation is complete."
There was a soft hiss as the cabin's pressure release cycled. The hatch slowly rose. Thick, white cold air rolled out like stage fog.
Henry and Ethan peered inside.
A body full of strength and controlled power stood before them.
It was still Tony Stark—but not the same Tony.
His sturdy frame had straightened and tightened. Every muscle line looked carefully carved: explosive, not bloated. He seemed significantly taller—easily over 1.85 meters. The pallor from days of overwork was gone; his skin glowed with health. Most of all, his demeanor had changed. Where Tony had once been the brilliant, flashy genius, he now moved like a restrained predator.
He opened his eyes slowly, glanced down at his hands, checked his defined abs, and walked out of the cabin.
"I have to say," he began, his voice much lower than before, rough and magnetic, "this feels really good."
He cracked his neck with a crisp series of pops, then raised his head and looked at Henry with that familiar, arrogant smile.
"Hey, little bro," he said. "Did you really say my butt wasn't perky enough?"
"Oh? Screamed like a castrated pig and still can hear fine, huh?" Henry shot back without missing a beat.
"Want to compete? I'll show you real talent," Tony said, walking up to Henry and sizing him up.
"I'll admit your seven-times-a-night pitch is attractive," Tony continued. "I could do seventeen. I could kill a tiger with one punch."
"I believe you," Henry said, then changed the subject. "I'm more curious whether you could kill yourself with one punch. Everyone brags."
"You're nakedly jealous," Tony replied, flexing his biceps.
"Jealous because I'm stronger and last longer," Henry teased.
"Really?" Tony laughed. "Perfect. From now on, all the physical labor at Stark Industries is yours. Move lab equipment, be my human punching bag—use your durability. Would be a waste not to."
"You should stop modeling," Henry said.
They bickered like schoolboys fresh out of kindergarten, trading childish insults in the lab as if no one else existed. Ethan watched, smiling helplessly; the familiar Tony had returned—but bigger, meaner, more dangerous.
"Okay, okay, I won't bother you, primitive brute," Tony said, then swaggered to the console. "Jarvis, pull up my physical report. Let's see what miracles my science produced."
"Yes, sir."
The holographic screen filled with Tony's metrics. Nearly every stat flashed green arrows, far beyond normal human limits.
"Cell activity: — times an average person. Metabolic rate: — times. Bone density: —" Tony read the numbers like a proud artist admiring his work. Pride spread across his face.
"Henry, see that? Genius vs. ordinary. You're a lucky accident; I made this with my own hands."
"Yes, you're the best," Henry replied perfunctorily.
"You're so amazing even your kidneys needed science," Henry jabbed.
"Damn you!" Tony snapped, then remembered and softened. "Oh right—we're family."
Tony felt like mutating again from Henry's teasing.
"By the way," he said, shifting topics to salvage pride, "about your second-stage boss-battle plan—good idea. I had Jarvis preset a self-destruct routine in my Mark III. Next fool who messes with me'll get a surprise."
"Careful," Henry warned. "Don't blow yourself up. You're all party and no patience; I doubt your self-destruct is reliable."
"You question my professional ability?" Tony bristled.
"I'm stating an objective fact." Their quarrel lit up again. Ethan sighed, used to their unique dynamic.
"Giving up so fast?" Henry goaded. "I thought your mouth matched your new body."
"Alright, since you survived the factory and haven't expired, I'll let you go this time," Henry said.
Tony's hand rose to his chest, resting where the dark-blue arc reactor still pulsed. He didn't speak, but his eyes flashed surprise and relief. The constant corrosion—the palladium poisoning that had gnawed at him—felt eased. Breaths came smoother. Heartbeats felt stronger, like shackles lifting.
Henry watched the subtle expression and understood immediately.
"Curious?" Henry asked lazily. "Wondering why your body that was almost recycled feels relaxed now? Surprised the poisoning symptoms eased?"
Tony stiffened, withdrew his hand, and put on the arrogant mask. "What nonsense. I feel great—hundred times better than you. This new body's power is obvious. Simple-minded guys like you wouldn't understand."
He lied to Henry and to himself. He didn't want his brother to know the truth—that palladium was still killing him, that relief might be temporary. That was his ridiculous, stubborn pride as an older brother: hide weakness, keep the façade.
They returned to their banter—brash, loud, competitive—but beneath it, both knew something fragile and vital had shifted. The lab hummed on: science, ego, and the thin hope that this upgrade might buy Tony more time.