Raindrops hammered the Malibu coastline like celestial buckshot. In the underground garage, Leon stood shirtless before a three-meter tungsten alloy disc, electrodes dotting his torso like cybernetic tattoos. The storm outside turned the ocean into a roiling cauldron, waves crashing against cliffs in time with Tony's pacing.
"You're certain this glorified manhole cover can handle me?" Leon flexed, cables swaying like Medusa's snakes. His breath fogged in the suddenly chilly air—a side effect of the garage's missing wall.
Tony's voice crackled through the Mark III's speakers with forced cheer: "That 'manhole cover' survived a direct hit from a depleted uranium round last month. Now punch it before I die of old age." The armor's gold-trimmed fingers danced across a holographic control panel. "JARVIS, activate dampening fields."
Clang.
Retractable steel shutters sealed the ruined garage entrance. Leon rolled his shoulders, eyeing the alloy disc. "Remember our race? You looked like Frosty the Snowman mid-melt when—"
BOOOOOOM
The shockwave pancaked three Lamborghinis against the far wall. Tony's HUD flashed crimson warnings as the Mark III skidded backward, clawing furrows in concrete. When the dust cleared, seawater gushed through a garage-sized hole where the test rig had been. Somewhere in the Pacific depths, a warped tungsten disc sank toward the abyssal plain.
"JARVIS," Tony croaked, "tell me I'm hallucinating."
"Apologies sir. Security footage confirms Young Master Leon just punched your $47 million alloy disc through twelve meters of reinforced concrete and into the Pacific."
Leon emerged from the briny spray holding the mangled tungsten plate like a pizza tray. "Told you it needed gold alloy." Saltwater dripped from his smirk. "Also, your 'dampening fields' need work."
Three Hours Later - Malibu Canyon
Rain sheeted across the relocated testing site. Tony monitored readouts from inside a vibranium-reinforced bunker, Mark III's gauntlets welded to the control panel. Through bulletproof glass, he watched Leon float above a replacement disc—this one etched with glowing Kryptonian runts.
"Alright Goldilocks," Tony's voice trembled slightly, "push that disc like you're shoving Saturn out of orbit."
Leon inverted midair, palms pressed against the salvaged rig. Bio-electric ripples distorted raindrops around him. "Maximum thrust in 3...2..."
CRACK
The tungsten disc embedded itself twenty meters underground. Tony's monitors exploded with data streams. "37 million kilograms?! That's..."
"Disappointing." Leon landed beside the smoking crater, boots melting the sandstone. "Kryptonians bench planets during puberty."
Tony ejected from the bunker, faceplate retracting. "You realize you just outputted Tsar Bomba-level energy?!"
"Did I?" Leon plucked a hummingbird from the air, careful not to crush its wings. "Felt like opening a stiff jar."