"Test complete. Initiating power down and data analysis sequence," Jarvis announced into the sealed cockpit.
"Uh, correction," Tony countered, a manic grin already stretching his face beneath the faceplate. "First things first, Jarvis: I need real-time flight telemetry, current local weather data, and tap into the local Air Traffic Control chatter. Let's make this official."
Jarvis, incapable of refusing a direct command, instantly obeyed, and the sophisticated Heads-Up Display (HUD) flooded Tony's vision with a torrent of green data streams and orange caution tags.
The AI's calm, level voice still registered in Tony's ears, sounding profoundly disappointed, like a master programmer watching a perfect algorithm commit a logical fallacy. "Sir, the flight envelope validation is not complete. You are skipping several thousand hours of computational fluid dynamics testing. I strongly recommend securing the armor and initiating a phased simulation."
"Jarvis, the Mark II wasn't built to walk; it was built to soar," Tony retorted, the thrill already coursing through him. "If you're not failing, you're not learning fast enough! I'm taking this baby out. Are you done? Three, two…"
"Mr. Stark! Are you seriously skipping the pressure tests? I thought we agreed on a staged ascent strategy!" Leo shouted, slamming his palm against Tony's armored thigh, making a deafening thud sound against the high-grade alloy. The noise echoed in the massive studio.
The Mark II's faceplate retracted, revealing Tony's intensely excited, slightly feral eyes. "Leo, go get some rest. I'm just taking a quick joyride to confirm the lateral stabilizers. A man has to validate his work in the real world, not in a sandboxed program."
The mask snapped back into place. "Three, two, one! Maximum Thrust!"
Blazing white-blue plasma fire erupted from the repulsors in his gauntlets and the thrusters beneath his feet. The massive, several-hundred-pound Mark II armor shot forward like a cannonball.
Drawing on the experience gained during the chaotic harness test and aided by the incredible computational power of Jarvis handling the complex thrust vectoring, the suit angled slightly forward and tore off down the private vehicle track. Its speed increased so rapidly that the very air in the tunnel compressed and exploded behind it.
Finally, the silver shell burst through the open garage door, leaving a whirlwind of dust and disturbed air in its wake, and soared into the clear California sky.
Leo watched the whole event with a mixture of professional anxiety and utter awe. The Mark II, which was supposed to be a slow, methodical test bed, had been rush-completed two days early, largely because Leo's continuous cleanup and repairs prevented Tony from killing himself during previous failed experiments.
He sighed, shaking his head. The man was brilliant, infuriating, and pathologically reckless.
Leo controlled the residual metal dust beneath his feet and subtly manipulated the metal atoms in the concrete walls with his mind. He used the repulsion of his Metal Control like a silent, invisible springboard, launching himself into the air and following in the wake of the blazing suit.
As soon as he was airborne, he could see the Mark II already a couple of hundred meters away, its silver form shining brightly as it accelerated further away.
Leo's eyes flashed gold, his Golden Eyes of Truth instantly locking onto the energy signature and mass of the Mark II.
He leaned slightly forward, minimizing his air resistance, and shot out with a quiet whoosh.
His flight velocity was startlingly close to Tony's initial speed, a testament to the new passive skill's mastery over his own inertia. However, his movement was infinitely quieter than the Mark II, lacking the roar of the jet thrusters and the bright plasma exhaust. He was essentially a human projectile.
Initially, the silver Mark II was undeniably shaky, oscillating slightly due to the turbulence and Tony's over-eager micro-adjustments. But Tony, a born pilot and prodigy, quickly recovered, his movements smoothing out as he internalized the flight control logic suggested by the HUD.
The initial fear and tension in Tony's chest dissolved instantly as the rush of speed took over.
The vast, empty sky presented no obstacles, allowing Tony to make mistakes without worrying about wrecking his home or his cars. The sheer exhilaration of the whistling wind—even muffled by the advanced filtration system—pumped his heart. After executing one sweeping, parabolic arc, he had already become significantly more skilled.
Tony was right: for a genius, real-world execution was the only true training. In just a brief minute, his flight became fluid, confident, and he pushed the throttle even harder.
The Mark II stopped circling the immediate area of the Malibu villa and sped directly toward the sprawling, brightly lit metropolis in the distance.
Leo, miles behind but closing fast, could almost hear Tony's triumphant cheers through the air. This was Tony Stark's natural element, the pinnacle of his life's work taking him higher and faster than ever before.
As Leo's speed increased to keep pace, the air resistance became a tangible, brutal force. The strong, cold wind felt less like a breeze and more like a thousand tiny knives violently striking his exposed face and hands.
If it weren't for the inherent strength and newly upgraded defense of his Copper Skin and Steel Bars progression, his face would have been instantly lacerated.
The current speed was approaching 100 meters per second. Leo's body could withstand the physical force, but his civilian clothing was not designed for Mach-level velocity.
His cheap, short-sleeved shirt began to tear, ripped apart by the brutal wind pressure, and pieces of fabric shredded away. His pants, already under immense strain, were beginning to show catastrophic structural failure.
Leo was forced to reluctantly throttle back, easing his speed down to a manageable level to prevent complete public nudity at a high altitude.
Tony, protected inside his shell of silver alloy, was oblivious to the boy struggling in his wake, continuing to accelerate. The Mark II left Leo far behind.
"It handles like a dream, Jarvis! Absolutely zero drag feedback on the primary control surfaces!" Tony couldn't help but exclaim, enjoying the freedom.
Jarvis's powerful scanning and analysis capabilities, integrated seamlessly into the suit, provided Tony with more than just flight data. It adjusted focus based on Tony's situation and provided comprehensive functions like detailed data analysis and recording.
As he flew over a crowded amusement park, Jarvis automatically zoomed the HUD, allowing Tony to see the flavor of the ice cream a child on the Ferris wheel was holding from hundreds of meters away—a completely pointless, yet utterly satisfying detail.
The Mark II roared overhead, its speed rapidly increasing again. It now surpassed 200 meters per second and hurtled straight toward the heart of the city center, a silver streak against the blue sky.
Leo, maintaining his golden-eyed lock on the distant figure several kilometers ahead, knew he couldn't rush over. He could certainly match the speed of the Mark II, but by the time he arrived, he'd be lucky to have a shred of fabric left; the rest would be disintegrated by the gale force.
But watching the Mark II trace a sharp curve and begin a steep, vertical ascent, Leo suddenly felt a familiar spike of anxiety. Tony was no longer flying horizontally; he was trying to punch through the atmosphere.
"Alright, Jarvis, let's see just how capable this Mark II really is!"
Inside the Mark II, Tony's voice was filled with challenge. "What's the maximum reported service ceiling for the late, great Blackbird? I feel like stretching the boundaries of atmospheric flight this morning."
"Sir, the fixed-wing flight altitude record is approximately 85,000 feet, held by the SR-71 Blackbird reconnaissance aircraft."
"Records are meant to be broken, Jarvis. So come on, push the core reactors to 110%!"
Tony shouted excitedly, and the thrusters beneath his feet increased their output dramatically. The Mark II transformed into a tiny, self-guided missile, its exhaust a pillar of pure, white-hot energy shooting toward the stars.
It wasn't long before Jarvis detected a dangerous phenomenon.
"Warning, sir. Rapid thermal drop detected. External titanium alloy surfaces are exhibiting critical stress fractures due to deep cryogenic icing. We need to descend immediately to stabilize surface temperatures."
"Ignore the red lines, Jarvis!" Tony, completely carried away by his hubris and the rush of ascending, continued to shout excitedly.
"I said, PUSH THE ENVELOPE!"
Tony, insulated from the external conditions by the armor's environment controls, was oblivious to the escalating crisis outside. His mind was solely focused on surpassing the Blackbird's flight logs.
As the altitude climbed, the external icing became catastrophic. Super-chilled moisture in the extreme upper atmosphere began freezing instantly, coating the Mark II in a thick, insulating shell of ice. When the thermal stress and ice thickness reached a critical point, the intense cold penetrated the housing and caused the core components to shut down in a cascade failure.
Jarvis's voice cut out instantly, the HUD flickered and went black, all exterior lights vanished, and the Mark II stopped its upward trajectory. It hung motionless for a terrifying beat before gravity claimed it, beginning its rapid, silent, terminal descent.
Tony was, for all intents and purposes, a genius trapped inside a powerless, several-hundred-pound metal sarcophagus plummeting thousands of meters to the ground. If the fall didn't kill him, the impact certainly would.
Leo, still maintaining a safe distance while watching the altitude telemetry on his internal mental map, saw the silver speck suddenly go dark. A flicker of panic crossed his face.
Though he knew the broad strokes of the original timeline—Tony somehow broke the ice, woke Jarvis, and pulled out of the dive near the ground—his interference had sped up the completion. Had he missed a critical failsafe? Would Tony be able to restart Jarvis in the final moments?
Leo wouldn't gamble Tony's life on a fictional probability.
Should I rush over, risking the brutal force of the wind tearing my body to shreds? He paused for a fraction of a second, the image of the rapidly descending steel figure filling his vision.
Leo narrowed his eyes, his hesitation vanishing entirely. He planted his feet slightly further apart in the air—the activation of his Immovable Golden Body passive—and charged straight toward the plummeting suit.
"I am so building my own flight suit! I'm an idiot!" This was Leo's final, defiant cry against his torn, cheap clothing.
The acceleration was instantaneous and brutal. His speed spiked, tearing past the 200 m/s mark. The remaining pieces of his short-sleeved shirt were vaporized, and the fabric of his trousers disintegrated, becoming mere wisps scattered in the air.
However, just as the merciless wind began to draw blood and tear at his exposed skin, the golden streaks that traced Leo's bare upper body suddenly erupted with a brilliant, blinding light. The intricate lines pulsed, surging outward from his skin like an incredibly complex, woven golden net.
This wasn't just illumination; it was an energy field—the true, active expression of the Immovable Golden Body passive, no longer just internal fortitude, but a kinetic forcefield that instantly wrapped Leo in a shimmering, protective cocoon.
He was now a golden meteor, his terrifying speed unchecked, racing through the freezing atmosphere toward the silent, falling Mark II.