After leaving the city, Henry felt like a fledgling just thrown from the nest—except his flying speed was well beyond standard.
High-altitude air currents were far more complex than he had imagined. Sometimes he was tossed about, and sometimes he nearly plunged into the sea from exerting too much force.
His armor, while powerful and highly protective, provided no flight assistance; he had to rely entirely on himself.
"Jarvis, I feel like a drunk seagull." Henry traced a crooked path in the sky, grumbling.
"Honestly, this is harder than driving a race car. At least race cars have steering wheels. Now I depend wholly on thought, too idealistic and unscientific."
"Sir, according to aerodynamics, you should try to output energy more smoothly through your feet while stabilizing your core muscles," Jarvis suggested calmly through the armor's communicator.
"Stop, stop." Henry rolled his eyes.
"Don't lecture me on science. What I need is practice. Lots of practice."
For the next hour, Henry played like a child with a new toy.
He dived from high altitudes, skimmed the ocean's surface leaving foamy trails, and even raced a pod of dolphins—though his speed nearly spooked them.
Only after mastering flight did, he remember his mission.
"Okay, enough fun. Jarvis, test my fastest speed and plot the best route to Kunar Province, Afghanistan."
"Yes, sir. Please fly straight at maximum power; I'll measure your speed via satellite."
Henry inhaled deeply and unleashed his full strength.
He became black lightning, breaking the sound barrier instantly and leaving a spectacular white sonic boom behind.
Minutes later, Jarvis' voice returned:
"Sir, your maximum speed stabilized at about Mach 1. At this rate, the journey will take approximately 10 hours and 15 minutes."
"What? Only Mach 1?" Henry slowed, disgust evident.
"That's barely faster than the slowest private jets. I thought I'd fly at light speed. Ten hours! By then Tony might have sworn allegiance to those terrorists."
"Sir, your physical fitness is still improving, and your speed can increase significantly in the future," Jarvis reassured.
"The future is the future; the present is the present." Henry sighed, resigning to the long flight.
"Fine, ten hours it is. It's faster than commercial flights and no security checkpoints."
The journey was boring, especially with only clouds and sea below.
"Jarvis, don't be idle—chat with me." Henry yawned.
"Let's analyze this. Where do you think my idiot brother is most likely held?"
Though he knew Tony was locked in a cave, Henry chatted with Jarvis to pass the time.
"According to military intelligence, the attack site is in the mountainous Kunar Province—complex terrain with many caves. Terrorists would choose a natural cave: easily defended, hard to attack—to hide hostages and weapons."
Jarvis' holographic map unfolded on Henry's visor, marking potential locations.
"Yes, it should be a cave. Fits the terrorists' style." Henry touched his chin, thinking.
"Tony's capture has two probable reasons: forced missile building or blackmailing Stark Industries. But they underestimated his temper. He'd rather die than help terrorists. So, he'll definitely find a way to rescue himself."
"Your analysis matches my calculations, sir," Jarvis confirmed.
"There's high probability Mr. Stark is secretly crafting escape tool."
"Yes. Besides women and parties, machines are all Tony thinks about." Henry shook his head.
"He needs a remote place providing tools and materials. Jarvis, filter all likely locations focusing on mountains with metal deposits."
"Screening completed. Three areas have the highest probability, located in…"
During the long flight, Henry and Jarvis speculated every possibility and location.
No way to know exactly. Though he knew Tony was locked in a cave, movies and comics gave no clue which cave.
He had to figure it out himself.
They joked about Tony's embarrassments and complained about company chaos, as if on a relaxed trip instead of a life-or-death mission.
More than ten hours later, the blue ocean beneath Henry turned into barren yellow desert and endless mountain ranges.
He knew he had arrived.
"Oh, look at this hellhole." Hovering over Afghanistan, Henry sighed while observing the desolate land.
"All yellow, no trees. Dry, hot air with gunpowder scent. How can Tony stand it? No decent bar, either."
He closed his eyes and activated his sharpened senses fully.
The serum had boosted more than his strength and flight—it improved his senses too.
Now his super hearing could detect voices from afar, though weakened compared to comic-level.
Instantly, countless sounds flooded his ears—gravel rustling, vultures fighting over carrion, distant patrol truck engines, soldiers speaking Arabic, even a lizard crawling rocks kilometers away.
The cacophony was painfully loud, his brain aching.
"Wow, this doesn't feel good."
He narrowed his focus, acting as a tuner filtering useless noises from his target sound.
A minute later, his ear twitched.
He heard it.
Amid the noise, a crisp clang of iron striking stood out.
Then, a familiar voice filled with arrogance and disdain:
"Ethan, I'm telling you, when we get out of here, the first thing I'm doing is buying all the burrito joints in the world and turning them into pizza places! This stuff is awful!"
Another gentler, older voice replied, "Tony, I think we should focus on escape first."
"Of course, of course," the arrogant voice replied.
"Just look at this! It'll get us out of this hellhole. Though the materials are rough, and the paint job's terrible—iron colors don't suit this handsome face. I wonder how that brat Henry's doing now. Without me watching over him, he's probably off with some woman…"
Henry's eyes shot open, a smile playing on his lips.
The cave was about fifteen kilometers from his current location.
"Found you, stupid brother. Don't worry, I'm coming to take you home."
Saying this, he vanished into a black phantom and flew silently toward the voice's direction.