The scene switched again, to the Stark Industries boardroom. A board of directors, hastily assembled by Pepper, unanimously voted for the permanent removal of Obadiah Stane from all his positions. His former allies were now scrambling to distance themselves from him, afraid of being implicated.
The scene switched again. His shell companies were seized one by one by the IRS and the SEC. His secret Swiss bank account was frozen. His collection of famous paintings, antiques, and luxury cars was all marked with seals, soon to be put up for public auction.
"You are now completely ruined," Henry summarized.
"No, wait. You still have a mountain of debt you can never repay, and a permanent title as a traitor. Congratulations, you've gone from a life winner to a walking negative asset."
Obadiah was speechless. He was simply slumped on the floor, his eyes vacant, like a puppet whose soul had been extracted.
"Don't worry, there's a final act." Henry stood up, walked to him, and looked down at him.
"The grand finale, and my most habitual approach, is making the headlines. Although I personally dislike this method."
The screen began to show special reports from various news networks.
"The former business giant, Howard Stark's close friend, and Tony Stark's godfather, Obadiah Stane, was confirmed today to be a spy who had been lurking within Stark Industries for decades..."
"He not only masterminded the world-shocking Stark brothers' kidnapping but also continuously smuggled weapons to the Ten Rings terrorist organization in the Middle East, causing thousands of civilian casualties."
"Historians are calling Obadiah Stane's betrayal the most shameful act of treason in American history since Benedict Arnold. His name will be forever nailed to the pillar of historical infamy!"
The charity foundations he had once donated to issued statements, permanently removing his name from their list of donors.
The university he had attended announced the revocation of his Distinguished Alumni honor and stated they would consider tearing down the building named after him.
His life, all his achievements, all his glory, was completely negated at this moment, scorned by the entire world.
"How was it, Obie?" Henry's voice was the final straw that broke him.
"Are you satisfied with this custom-made retirement party? Was it grand enough? Did it have enough prestige?"
Obadiah looked at the screens, watching everything he had personally built dissolve before his eyes, seeing his name turn into a repulsive symbol. The vacant look in his eyes finally showed a flicker of emotion. It was the dead silence of despair.
He was finished. His life, his family, his career, his reputation—completely ruined.
"Good, it looks like you've accepted reality," Henry nodded in satisfaction, looking at the shell of a man on the floor.
He walked behind Obadiah and reached out to choke his thick neck.
"Honestly, I really hate people like you," Henry said in a relaxed tone, concluding the farce.
"You had everything that ordinary people could never achieve in a lifetime, yet you were never satisfied. Your greed is like a bottomless pit; it only ends up consuming you."
He paused, then leaned into Obadiah's ear and delivered the final sentence.
"The party's over, Uncle Obie. Sweet dreams."
CRACK!
A sharp snap of breaking bone was jarring against the receding notes of the symphony.
Obadiah's body violently shuddered, then went limp, his head lolling at an unnatural angle on his shoulder, completely devoid of life.
Henry let go, looking at the still-warm corpse. The smile on his face vanished, replaced by calmness. He raised his hands, looking at the hands that had just taken a life, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes. He wasn't regretting or fearing. He was just experiencing the feeling of holding another person's destiny in his hands for the first time.
"Jarvis," he said softly.
"Yes, Sir."
"Clear all traces here, including my access records and surveillance footage. Then, send the official report of Obadiah Stane's sudden death from a massive heart attack under the immense stress of his crimes during interrogation to the FBI."
"Affirmative, Sir."
Henry took one last look at the corpse, then turned and strode out of the interrogation room of sin and death. The sky outside had, at some point, turned completely black. The white moonlight shone on him, but it did not feel cold. He squinted, feeling a sense of rebirth.
Henry stood at the police station entrance, greedily inhaling the cold, pure air from the high altitude. He stretched, and a series of crisp cracks sounded from his bones.
"Honestly, Jarvis. I have to admit, although cleaning house like this isn't exactly high-tech, it certainly feels refreshing. Don't you think? Do you feel like our server is running faster?"
"Sir, the server's operating speed has not changed," Jarvis's gentle voice came through the Armor's built-in communicator.
"However, according to my emotional model analysis, your current mood pleasure index has reached 92.7%, the highest it has been in the past two weeks."
"Oh, don't be so rigid, buddy," Henry pouted.
"You need to learn the art of language. When I say 'faster,' I mean a spiritual kind of speed—the satisfaction of solving a major problem. Whatever, talking about this with you, an old electronic, is like casting pearls before swine."
As he spoke, he looked up at the moon hanging in the night sky. The moonlight shone on his pure black Armor. He felt every cell in his body rejoicing, filled with an unprecedented vitality. He was already used to the sensation of flying; the freedom from the shackles of gravity was no longer novel to him. But every time he took to the sky, it still brought him a deep, inner joy.
"Since that old bald guy has taken his final curtain call, and Tony is temporarily safe," Henry smiled.
"I think it's time to do something productive."
"Sir, what do you mean?"
"Of course, I mean testing the limits of my new skin's performance." He started to get excited.
"Come on, Jarvis, get ready to record the data! I want to see how fast this Superman demo version of me can fly!"
"Ready, Sir. The Global Positioning System has locked onto your coordinates, ready to begin speed testing at any moment. All sensors are engaged for comprehensive data recording."
"Excellent!"
Henry took a deep breath, no longer suppressing the surging power within him. He slowly levitated.
BANG!
A muffled roar sounded. The air beneath his feet was compressed to the extreme and then violently exploded!
A visible circle of white shockwave radiated outwards from the rooftop, sweeping away dust and debris!
Henry's figure, in that instant, transformed into a black shooting star, ascending vertically into the clouds and instantly disappearing into the night.