Son Of Iron 5

(Chris POV)

You know, I could most definitely say that this is the closest I've ever come to going on a legitimate acid trip. The second I closed my eyes, it felt like the universe just… opened up to me.

My mind was flooded with endless possibility.

I saw the birth of stars and the death of galaxies. I witnessed the beginning of the end.

Yet all of this happened within nanoseconds.

It was like fingertips on the surface of my mind, reshaping it, molding it to their likeness. I felt limitless.

I could recall every single smell, every single taste, every single moment of my life — both the first and this one.

I remembered the structure of every snowflake that had ever fallen to the ground as I watched through the small cameras in the panic room, specifically at the monitoring station.

It was like I'd been asleep my whole life and had only just woken up. It was beautiful. But then… came the hunger.

I didn't just want more knowledge. I needed it. I wanted to know everything.

With that desire bubbling up, my eyes shot open, my warm brown irises now glowing in a multitude of colors. I could feel every molecule, every single atom around me.

It was overwhelming. I felt like I didn't even need my eyes to see.

After confirming I was alone in the room, I reopened the compartment and grabbed some of the more complex scientific magazines Maya had been collecting for me. As soon as I opened one, I understood every word on the page, but not just that. I could feel the particles in the magazine itself.

The pages weren't laminated; the magazine was printed in 2004. I could even identify the ink they'd used.

With that realization, I turned to my notes. I'd been keeping track of my discoveries, but now, I didn't need any of it. I picked up the small notebook, read through it one last time, and began tearing it to shreds.

Every line, every phrase from every Marvel movie I'd ever seen, every comic I'd skimmed — all of it was perfectly clear in my memory.

After ripping the notebook to pieces, I tossed it into the paper shredder, then discarded the frame in the garbage disposal.

But then a curious thought crossed my mind. I picked up the knife I'd used to slice some food, cleaned it under the sink, and then pressed it gently against my skin, making a tiny cut.

After a moment, blood beaded on the surface, but as I focused, the blood retreated, and the cut disappeared entirely.

I chuckled to myself, an almost euphoric sound. I'd gotten so used to keeping quiet that it felt strange, but I couldn't help the almost insane cackle that bubbled up.

I felt like a god.

But then, I took a breath. Knowledge was the path not only to truth, but also to madness. I couldn't afford to lose myself. Not yet. Still, I couldn't contain the thrill running through me. For the first time, I didn't feel useless.

I could barely control myself. My hands were shaking like a kid on a sugar rush. I devoured more of the magazines, quickly gaining a basic understanding of quantum physics and genetics.

I could already start calculating ways to improve the human genome — though my understanding was still shallow, both metaphorically and literally.

I needed more knowledge. More information. So, I dove deeper into the theories, reading interviews with scientists. One article caught my attention: an old Time magazine interview on the construction of the large arc reactor at Stark HQ. It was functional, but never connected to the grid because the electrical companies refused to let Tony Stark power entire cities.

Fools. They could market clean energy just as they do nuclear power and fossil fuels.

Of course, the article barely covered the reactor's design — Stark wouldn't let that knowledge go public. That reminds me, I'll have to make a little visit to a certain Russian.

There's so much to do… I haven't felt this excited in a long time.

But for now, I need to wait; Maya should be coming by soon with breakfast. In the meantime, I visualize the various theorems I've been studying, the ideas dancing along my peripheral vision.

Not only space travel, but how to use this power to change the world.

Even now, I'm working out basic theories, trying to understand the potential that lies before me. I need knowledge from other branches of science, plus medicine and mathematics.

And if I play my cards right, I might even gain access to a certain scientist's study on a particular particle.

That particle could change everything — not only for transporting material, but for advancing whole fields of study.

For now, I sit back in the panic room chair and focus on the stack of magazines next to me. I toss a few across the room, almost amused as I can calculate their exact landing points. Is this how it feels to be Bullseye?

One magazine lands two meters away, another four meters, and the last one makes it to the far wall, seven meters away. I concentrate, feeling like my mind is separate from my body.

As I focus, the magazine two meters away flies into my hand. A few seconds later, the one four meters away follows. The farthest one takes more effort, but with a little concentration, it too floats back to me.

I place them on the desk, marveling at the fact that I can move objects with my mind. Yet, somehow, telekinesis feels… juvenile. Insulting, even. Like I should be capable of so much more.

Right now, my hands itch to build something. My mind's racing, and I feel like I need something tangible, something real to focus on.

The possibilities are dizzying. My mind is developing faster than my body can keep up, which could be a problem — though maybe it's just a temporary side effect. From an outsider's perspective, I probably look like a hyperactive kid.

I hum a tune to calm down, and the first one that comes to mind is the Misty Mountains song from The Hobbit. As I hum, I almost feel like I'm in that misty mountain range, smelling the crisp air, feeling the cold bite of the wind.

I breathe in and out, feeling each particle of air as it enters my lungs. I can feel them, but I can't quite manipulate them — not yet.

Just then, I hear the lock click open. I turn to see Maya coming in with the usual: toast and eggs. She approaches slowly, glancing at me like she's assessing my condition after what happened yesterday.

"Hey, little guy, how are you feeling? You gave me quite the scare," she says, placing the plate down and kneeling in front of me to check my temperature.

With a smile, I reply, "I'm fine. Just had a bit of a headache yesterday. Didn't sleep well in the compartment. But I feel way better now."

She sighs, clearly relieved. "Good. I'm glad. You had me up half the night worrying. I'm blaming you for the bags under my eyes, by the way."

I chuckle as she narrows her eyes at me. "Oh, is something funny?"

"Nothing at all," I say, trying to keep a straight face. "Just remembering the noise complaint you got from the neighbors."

Her face flushes with embarrassment. "That was one time! I had a stuffy nose and accidentally left the speakers on. My snoring was… amplified."

"Those poor people didn't get any sleep. Truly, the world is unfair."

She gives me a look but softens. After I dig into the food, she settles in the chair beside me, sorting through her notes.

I glance over at her formula. Even at a glance, I can see the errors — variables she hasn't accounted for, especially in how different hormones will react to remodeled DNA. It'll take time for the new DNA to integrate with the host.

I close my eyes, mentally correcting the formulas, watching the numbers shift and adjust in my head.

When I finish eating, I set the plate aside. Maya raises an eyebrow. "Hungry today, huh? Where does all that food even go?"

I give her a sidelong glance. "To my developing brain, obviously. A future genius needs fuel, right?"

She laughs, but her voice is gentle. "Just remember, you don't have to change the world to make me proud. So, what did you think of my notes? Anything to add?"

Caught, I shrug. "Oh, just making sure you don't blow us up again. We've already gone through enough families of lab rats. So many innocent lives lost. Truly, the darkest timeline."

She snorts. "I don't think the exterminators are shedding any tears over a few rats. But I'm making progress. It'll be beaches and luxury living soon enough."

I want to argue, but seeing how happy she looks, I hold my tongue. Not yet.

"Hey, Mom," I start, hesitant, "do you think you could get me some spare parts? I'm getting bored with just books."

She looks puzzled but considers it. "I'll see what I can do. I don't want Killian to get suspicious, but I could slip you a few things. And I'll bring more books, maybe even a computer." She smiles. "Though I'm surprised you get through them so fast."

I puff out my chest. "Of course I do! I'm your son, after all. It's expected."

She taps my nose playfully. "Just don't go too mad-scientist on me. Write me a list, and I'll see what I can get you."

Grinning, I quickly jot down some requests. After a minute, I hand her the list, relieved when she doesn't object.

Soon enough, she clears the plates, gives me a hug, and heads out. Once the door clicks shut, I start going over blueprints in my mind.

Extremis is just the beginning. There's so much more to do.