The Weight of Water
Tony was drifting, caught somewhere between consciousness and the dark, his mind a chaotic whirl of memories and alarms. The cold seeped in through his suit, and he could feel water slowly filling up inside. Debris pressed against him, and somewhere beyond his foggy thoughts, he registered the suit’s failing systems. JARVIS’s voice was distant, like an echo from far away.
In his mind, Tony was back in New York, trapped. He was soaring straight into the wormhole, heart racing as he braced himself to detonate the missile. He could see it all again, the bright flash of the explosion, the feeling of his breath vanishing in the weightless silence of space. And then, just as the void began to swallow him up completely, JARVIS’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Sir. Sir, please respond.”
With a jolt, Tony’s eyes opened, his senses snapping back into focus. The interior of his suit was filling with water, the cool Pacific seeping in through cracked armor. The pounding in his head made it hard to think straight, but he tried to push through the haze.
“JARVIS,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Status.”
“Sir, the suit has sustained critical damage. Power levels are at 23%, and the thrusters are non-operational. I am attempting to bring you to the surface, but the structural integrity is compromised.”
Tony clenched his teeth, the pressure of the water making it harder to breathe. “Are… are you still connected to the mainframe?”
“Yes, sir. Though at reduced bandwidth.”
“Good.” Tony’s mind raced, ignoring the cold pressing against him. “Initiate Project Mach 6.25,” he said, his voice stronger now. He knew it was risky, the prototype hadn’t been tested, and he hadn’t been sure if it would even work in a real scenario. But he didn’t have time to worry about that now.
JARVIS’s pause was slight, just long enough to make Tony’s pulse quicken.
“Are you certain, sir?”
“Do it,” Tony ordered, a hint of panic slipping into his voice as the water level rose higher in his suit. The confined space, the freezing pressure, it was too much like the void, the memory of being lost in that silent, empty space pressing down on him.
“Understood. Mach 6.25 activated and en route.”
Tony exhaled, the cold water stealing his breath as he waited, his mind swimming between present panic and half-formed flashbacks. Then, just as the lights in his suit began to flicker, he saw it: the new prototype, his emergency rescue design, approaching from the depths. As his current suit gave a final shudder and powered down, the prototype latched onto him, its metal arms unfolding to cradle his frame and seal him inside.
It was a suit he’d designed specifically for underwater rescues, meant for Navy divers and oil rig workers. The interface blinked to life, wrapping him in a tighter, more streamlined shell as it assessed his vitals and adjusted the suit’s settings. He could feel the power surge, the propulsion systems kicking in with an intensity that momentarily blinded him.
“Hold tight, sir,” JARVIS’s voice said, calm and steady.
With a roar, the suit rocketed him upward, cutting through the water like a torpedo. Within seconds, Tony burst out of the ocean, debris scattering around him as he powered up, soaring past remnants of his mansion. He veered toward the shore and hit the sand with a hard thud, feeling the weight of the water in his suit finally starting to drain.
He tore off the helmet, gasping as he let the water pour out, his lungs burning as he took in deep, desperate breaths. Coughing, he looked back up at the cliff, his heart sinking at the sight. His home, the place he’d sought for peace and escape, was in ruins, pieces of his life scattered along the shoreline.
And then he saw them, helicopters circling above, their blades slicing through the haze. Emblazoned on the side of each one was the unmistakable S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.
Tony let out a groan. ‘Of course.’
As he dragged himself upright, dreading whatever conversation lay ahead, he began the long trek back up the cliff, each step heavy with resignation.