The suit was a perfect fit.
And although he couldn't feel the wind on his face or breathe in the salty perfume rolling off the waves of the ocean, he could care less. It didn't matter. Because as his heart raced and his pulse became all that he could hear, he knew what it was like to be free. To watch and not be watched. To be above it all.
The garish lights of the pier momentarily distracted him, and he warily steered himself towards the noise and the throngs of people gathered. People who, more than not, would never know what it was like to live a lie.
He arced away into the open air. "Take me to maximum altitude."
Jarvis quipped something about his safety.
"I know the math! Just do it!"
And then—
He raced toward the skies, the jets on his boots blasting now. He wondered how far he could go. He wondered whether he could soar past his troubles and his sorrows, whether he could just cast everything behind him and begin again. A brief what-if. He thought that if he fell now from the heavens, if he careened and shattered into a million pieces, it wouldn't matter. Because he had, at least, attempted to journey to the stars and, really, how often could you say that and mean it?
This was his heaven. The feeling of surging towards a set goal, towards a known purpose, at full speed, needing to succeed and knowing that failure would only press him harder to win. There was no hesitation—only ambition.
Higher. Faster. He could see it. Reach for it. Reach for what?
Something was wrong. His eye slits had begun to fog and there was a distinct crackling building up in his ears. His suit suddenly felt heavy, as if the weight of something were dragging him back down to earth. To reality.
His eyes widened momentarily in fear and he yelled for Jarvis, but the suit had gone offline. Dead.
Break the ice. It was up to him.
He began the spiraling descent to earth, all the while gaining momentum, faster than he could process. Now, he'd done it.
He swore under his breath and fumbled around for his suit's flaps, for his second chance. He promised he wouldn't do anything stupid again. As his eye slits cleared, the last of the ice melting away, the streaming lights of the city's nightlife approached, waiting to consume him into the darkness. God, now he'd done it. He waited to fall and burn.
...or not.
The suit chirped weakly back to life. God bless his ingenuity. He knew he'd built a suit to last—just knew it. He hadn't been admitted into MIT at the age of fifteen for nothing. Laughing, he curved gracefully away from certain death. He shouldn't have been alive at that moment...unless it was for a reason.
He'd created to destroy. Now, he would destroy to create. No longer the Merchant of Death. A promise.
He wasn't crazy. He just finally knew what he had to do.
And he knew in his heart that it was right.