I didn't tell Pepper. I didn't tell Obadiah. I didn't even tell J.A.R.V.I.S. where we were going until I was already in the air.
I stared at the suit.
Silver plates gleaming under the workshop lights. Reactor humming steady and patient, like a heartbeat I still wasn't used to hearing in my own chest.
This was it. The Mark II. The next chapter of Tony Stark's story.
And I was about to ruin it.
Because in the movie, he flies over Malibu. He arcs over the ocean, does the scenic tour of his cliffside palace, gets cocky with altitude, freezes up, and nearly splatters. It's iconic. It's Iron Man.
But I wasn't Iron Man. Not really.
I was Leonardo Becker. And Becker didn't want to reenact a movie. Becker wanted to see what the rules were.
---
The Thought
I sat in the armor chair, helmet under my arm, chewing on the idea like it was gum stuck to the roof of my mouth.
If everything I did had to be exactly what Stark did, then I was just a glorified NPC in a rerun.
But if I could deviate—if I could nudge the story, bend it a little—then maybe I wasn't trapped.
Malibu was where Tony Stark was supposed to fly.
So I wouldn't.
---
Lift
The armor closed around me with that now-familiar hiss of machinery. My body stiffened inside it, muscles remembering last time's failures.
"Okay," I muttered, sealing the helmet. The HUD flared, J.A.R.V.I.S. humming like a butler who didn't judge. "Let's go find out how far off-script we can go."
[Calibrations updated. Power distribution stable. Safety protocols engaged.]
Boot thrusters roared, filling the lab with blinding light. I rose slowly, hovering above the floor, steady this time. Smooth.
I angled my palms, felt the repulsors adjust like muscles I'd trained all my life. It was seamless — the kind of thing that made you forget physics was supposed to be complicated.
Then I tilted forward and blasted out through the garage doors, punching into the night sky.
Not Malibu-bound. Not toward the ocean.
I tilted the thrusters inland, toward the desert night.
---
The Sky
The city lights dimmed behind me. The black line of the desert opened up ahead, sand and rock glowing silver in the moonlight.
Air clawed against me, the HUD filling with numbers I barely understood.
But God—flying.
It wasn't a special effect anymore. It wasn't Robert Downey Jr. in CGI. It was me. My heart in my throat, my breath fogging the visor, my laugh spilling out raw and unplanned.
"I'm doing this! I'm—holy hell—I'm actually doing this!"
[Altitude: 3,500 feet and rising.]
I banked hard left, overshot, nearly corkscrewed into the sand, but recovered with a burst of thruster. The G-force punched my stomach and rattled my teeth, but I didn't care.
This wasn't Malibu. This wasn't the script. This was mine.
---
The Test
Higher. Faster. Louder.
[Warning: temperature drop critical. Icing detected. Flight systems failing.]
The cold bit into me quick. Ice traced the visor edges, alarms screamed.
[Warning: altitude instability. Recommend descent.]
"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time!" I spat, fingers clumsy on the controls. The thrusters coughed, flared.
The ground rushed up, dunes swelling into mountains of sand.
Panic clawed through me, pure instinct, the stupid human part of my brain yelling, you're falling, idiot!
I yanked power, teeth grinding. Fire roared. The armor screamed back into balance, boots skimming a dune hard enough to spray sparks.
And then—stability.
I hovered, chest heaving, reactor glow pulsing with my breath.
Not dead. Not following the script either.
---
The Realization
I set down in the sand, knees sinking. The desert was silent except for the ticking metal of the armor cooling. Stars spread infinite above me, brighter than I'd ever seen them.
I pulled the helmet off. The air was cold, sharp, alive.
And I laughed again, softer this time.
"Okay… so I can go anywhere. As long as I come back home."
That was it. The system hadn't yanked me back mid-flight. The universe hadn't folded in on itself.
I could deviate.
I couldn't run away forever—but I could move. I could choose.
And for the first time since waking up in Tony Stark's body, that felt like freedom.
---
Return
When I finally turned back toward Malibu, dawn was just starting to eat the stars.
The silver armor carried me low across the sand, across the coastline, until the cliffs came into view again.
J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice was calm, indifferent. [Flight test: incomplete. Suggested improvements — anti-icing systems, thruster stability recalibration, altitude restrictions until modifications complete.]
I slumped in the chair, staring at the suit. The mansion glowed like nothing had happened.
But I knew something had.
Because I'd stepped off-script, and the world hadn't punished me.
Not yet.
---
To be continued...