What is it like to fly at supersonic speeds?
Henry felt he could write an 8,000-word paper just to describe it.
First, the wind was intense. If it weren't for his extraordinary physical condition, he suspected his face would have been blown into shreds fluttering in the wind.
Second, his vision was blurry, and the scenery around him looked like a low-quality, fast-forwarded movie streaked with long, colorful light bands.
"Great, this is way more exciting than flying in a private jet," Henry admired inwardly.
"It's just a bit of a waste of clothes."
He looked down at his lab coat, now tattered into shreds by the supersonic friction, worse than nothing.
He looked like a performance artist.
'If a plane passed right now, the pilot would probably think they saw a UFO—an exhibitionist UFO! I've got tomorrow's headlines ready.'
Shocking! Naked man flying over New York City, suspected alien behavior.
No, that would bring shame to the Stark family.
He grumbled to himself, struggling to control his flying posture.
Flying was far more difficult than driving a sports car—no steering wheel, no accelerator, just willpower.
He felt like a rookie driver who'd just got a license and was racing in Formula 1; several times, he almost crashed into clouds due to too much horsepower.
"Calm down, Henry, calm down. You're a genius. Think of this as a new physics model—thought is the vector, and force is the scalar."
"To hell with physics! This is totally unscientific."
He lost control and spun midair, performing almost a Thomas spin.
The wind cut like knives against his face, uncomfortable but not painful.
Most importantly, he was lost.
The world was vast, and he felt like a drone straight from the factory without a GPS module.
He could only rely on the sun's direction and rush forward guessing roughly where to go.
"Really? Hydra serum can't come with GPS? This is inhumane." He muttered, adjusting his flying posture.
After ten minutes of struggling, he finally mastered stable flight.
Now he faced two urgent problems:
First, find out where he was.
Second, find decent clothes.
He lowered altitude and flew over a dense forest. Soon, a winding asphalt road appeared, where a red Ferrari cruised leisurely.
"Oh, perfect aim."
Henry's eyes lit up. Like a precision-guided missile, he landed silently on the road before the Ferrari.
The Ferrari screeched to a stop less than half a meter away.
The driver, a rich second-generation man with slicked-back hair and a powdered face, poked his head out in shock, ready to unleash a flurry of curses.
But when he saw Henry clearly, he swallowed his words.
Henry was over 1.9 meters tall, with muscles as smooth as ancient Greek sculptures, wearing only ragged shreds around his waist.
Moreover, Henry looked at him expressionlessly, as if he were a fool.
That scene was striking.
Who was this guy? A reality TV star doing survival challenges? Or a drug-crazed gym rat gone wild? His muscles were ridiculously exaggerated.
"Sir, uh… do you need help?" the rich man asked tremblingly as his hand subtly reached for the cell phone beside him.
"Of course," Henry said, walking to the car door confidently.
"I need clothes, and I need your phone. Just borrowing it for a while." He pointed to the expensive jacket hanging in the car.
"Your outfit, it may be questionable in taste, but it's better than mine."
The rich man paled. "Are you a robber?"
"Robber?" Henry raised an eyebrow exaggeratedly, as if hearing a big joke.
Well, his current appearance did look similar.
He cleared his throat and donned his signature Stark arrogance.
"Listen, my name's Henry Stark. My private jet is having a minor malfunction. Right now, I need to borrow your clothes and phone urgently.
Leave your contact info; my assistant will send you a brand-new car with better specs tomorrow, plus some mental damage compensation, consider it hush money. Got it?"
The rich man was stunned, especially by the name Henry Stark.
He studied Henry's face carefully. Though disheveled, the features between his eyebrows and eyes matched the Stark family's little genius often on finance magazines' covers.
Stark? The missing playboy genius? He actually escaped?
Looking at that physique, the rumors that the Stark family was weak were just rumors.
"Are you really Henry Stark?"
"Genuine," Henry waved impatiently.
"Now hurry up, I'm in a rush. Or do you want me to borrow your outfit more directly?"
Minutes later, dressed in an ill-fitting Armani suit, Henry leaned against the Ferrari door and called Pepper.
The phone rang a long time before Pepper answered, her capable voice tired and anxious.
"Hello, who is this?"
"Pepper, honey, it's me," Henry said casually, holding the phone between shoulder and ear.
"Guess whose party I snuck out of?"
Silence hung for five seconds.
"Henry?" Pepper's voice rose with surprise.
"Oh my God! You're alive! Wait, that's not what I meant. Where have you been? You've been missing for two weeks! We were going crazy."
Pepper's heart had been uneasy these days.
Thank God! Wait, why does he sound so calm?
"Relax, Pepper," Henry chuckled.
"I just went to experience life. How should I say? The service was terrible—no champagne, no beauties. Not going back.
By the way, where's my brother? Did he secretly sell the company while I was gone?"
Henry already knew Tony's whereabouts but asked anyway.
"Tony's in trouble," Pepper said, voice dropping.
"Terrorists attacked him in Afghanistan. Like you, he disappeared."
Henry took a deep breath.
Though expecting this, hearing it from Pepper still made his heart sink.
That idiot still lost himself, even with armor.
It really worries me.
"I see." His voice calm. "Where's Obadiah?"
"Mr. Obadiah went to Washington for a meeting. He's not at the company right now. Henry, please come back soon; the company's in chaos."
"I'll be there soon!" Henry cut in.
"Listen, Pepper, I need you to do a few things:
First, contact Happy immediately. Have him investigate Obadiah's recent finances and communications, especially any shell companies in his name and ties to the Middle East. I suspect the attacks on us are related.
Second, check if the military has exact coordinates of where Tony disappeared in Afghanistan. Any info helps.
Third, and most important, don't let anyone know I contacted you, especially Obadiah. Wait for me."
"Got it, doing it now. But where are you?"
Henry glanced at the rich man beside him. "Hey, man, where is this? Which way to the Stark Villa in Malibu?"
The rich man was stunned but pointed west. "Take the highway west from here. It'll take a while…"
"Got it," Henry said into the phone.
"I'll be at the office soon, Pepper."
He tossed the phone and the man's wallet back to him.
"Thanks, buddy. Someone will contact you tomorrow about your losses."
Before the rich man could react, Henry bent his knees.
With a dull sonic boom, he soared into the sky and vanished into the clouds.
The rich man opened his mouth, dropping the phone and wallet with a clatter.
He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself hard.
"Did I... forget to sleep today?"