Chapter 8: So, Why Are Speedsters Always Late?

Bren extended his arm, resembling a long spear.

Iron Man’s suit visibly twitched as a sharp burst of electricity crackled through it. The glowing lights on his helmet flickered and dimmed before going out entirely.

Thud!

The heavy armor collapsed to the ground with a resounding crash. The arc reactor on his chest now bore a small but significant dent, as though someone had struck it with a pickaxe.

“Sir, the reactor is damaged. Energy leakage detected,” Jarvis’s voice stated calmly, even through the armor’s layers.

Tony didn’t need Jarvis to tell him how critical this was. He knew better than anyone.

The arc reactor wasn’t just the power source for his suit, it was the lifeline keeping him alive. Embedded in his chest, it powered the electromagnet that kept shrapnel fragments lodged in his body from reaching his heart. Bren’s strike had compromised its casing, striking Iron Man's Achilles' heel.

While the damage was superficial, it accelerated palladium leakage within the reactor, a situation far more dangerous. In mere seconds, Tony’s palladium poisoning had worsened dramatically.

Sensing the urgency, Jarvis promptly lowered the reactor’s operational output to sustain only Tony’s vital functions, attempting to slow the rate of toxicity.

“I’m calling Miss Potts,” Jarvis announced.

“No!” Tony rasped, fighting the nausea and dizziness brought on by the poisoning. He cut off the call before it could connect.

He didn’t know what Bren was or what his objective could be, but there was no way he’d involve Pepper and risk her safety.

“Now, how much time do you have left, Tony Stark?” Bren taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Still, he didn’t press the attack further.

Killing Iron Man wouldn’t Benefit him. His gaze shifted to the Mark III suit, scrutinizing it for several seconds. "This thing might be worth studying," he murmured to himself.

Maybe Little Inventor could learn something from it, Bren thought as he made up his mind.

He wasted no time. His hands moved at impossible speeds, tearing the armor apart piece by piece to take it with him.

Unlike other Marvel travelers who usually ended up robbing petty street thugs, Tony Stark’s armor was Bren’s prize. But, in fairness, Tony had brought this on himself, he had plans to capture Bren for dissection and research!

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Taking one suit was hardly excessive.

Bren’s hands blurred as he dismantled the suit in moments, starting with one of the arms.

“What are you doing?” Tony shouted in alarm.

Now powerless, his vision was restricted to the narrow slits of his helmet. He could only feel the sudden exposure of his arm as the suit’s protective layer was stripped away. He felt vulnerable, like a can of sardines waiting to be opened.

“Time is money, Tony. You’ve wasted mine, and I intend to make up for it,” Bren said cheerfully as he ripped off the helmet.

The moment he did, a nauseating stench hit him.

“Ugh!” Bren recoiled, staggering as though the air itself had turned toxic. “You threw up inside your suit? That’s disgusting!”

Tony’s helmet felt less like a trophy and more like a greasy jar of pickled fish. Bren considered tossing it but decided against it, this was a life-sized, functional collectible, after all.

He shook it vigorously, flinging the disgusting contents back onto Tony’s face.

Tony took a deep breath, his face turning ashen. His hair clung to his scalp, damp with sweat and bile. “And who do you think I have to thank for that?”

“Yourself, obviously. Remember, I warned you not to meddle,” Bren shot back. His hands moved even faster, stripping the suit of its components. “I’m going to wash this thing a hundred times over, maybe use a whole bottle of detergent.”

“I have a better suggestion: don’t touch it,” Tony retorted.

“Shut up,” Bren said, punctuating his words with a punch.

In less than a minute, the suit was completely dismantled. Bren slung the pile of components over his shoulder, towering almost as tall as he was.

“I’d suggest you call your girlfriend,” Bren quipped, “unless you feel like walking back to Stark Tower. Oh, and don’t be surprised if tomorrow’s headlines feature you, like this.”

With that, he vanished, leaving a disgruntled Tony in his wake.

What was surprising, however, was how none of the disassembled pieces fell off during Bren’s high-speed retreat. Not even a single screw was lost.

“That’s odd,” Bren mused. “The Star Flasher’s force field isn’t this strong. Normally, he’d shred anyone he tried to save with his speed. Unless...”

His mind raced. “Unless he’s gained a bit of Spider-Man’s powers, using bioelectricity to stick all these parts together!”

The thought excited him. Could his alien transformations stack abilities from other heroes? That was ridiculously cool.

Still, it was just a theory. During the fight, Spider-Sense hadn’t activated once.

He checked the armor for trackers. With his speed, it took less than a second to thoroughly scan the suit. Sure enough, he found a small tracking device.

After destroying the tracker, Bren stashed the armor pieces safely. There was no rush to study the suit, it would have to wait until he transformed into the Little Inventor.

Right now, school awaited.

In ten seconds flat, Bren sped to his school, dodging every camera along the way. He spent a leisurely few seconds in the restroom, letting the transformation wear off in a flash of red light.

At the precise moment the school bell rang, he sprinted into class, just in time.

“Perfect! Right on time!” Bren said with satisfaction.

“Not perfect at all, Bren Parker!” his teacher snapped from the podium, glaring at him. “You’re late!”

And so, the age-old question remained: why are speedsters always late?