Marvel: The Rise of Little Iron Man

The lab lights were dimmed to their softest setting, the pure white walls glowing with a sterile light.

Paul stood in the center of the lab, his expression graver than ever before. Before him floated Baymax, whose usual soft, endearing smiley face had been replaced by a serious, flat line.

"Paul, I must reiterate. According to my simulations, the physiological load of the 'Brain Overclocking' experiment will exceed the safety threshold by 347 percent. I strongly advise terminating this experiment." Baymax's voice was devoid of inflection, yet it carried an undeniable insistence.

"I have the authorization, Baymax." Paul took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the uncontrollable tremor in his heart. "You just do your job. Monitor all my vital signs. The moment my brainwave activity shows signs of collapse, or my heart rate exceeds 240 beats per minute, initiate an immediate, forced termination of the program. Understand?"

"Understood. 'Nightwatch Protocol' activated. Good luck, Paul."

Paul closed his eyes.

This was the feeling. Every time he stood on the edge of an unknown cliff, the thrill—a mixture of terror and fervent excitement—was enough to make him tremble.

The last time, in the virtual world, he had touched the domain of gods, only to be ruthlessly slapped back by that unknown "higher-dimensional entity." That cold, dead "gaze," that line of mocking text, was like a poisoned thorn driven deep into his soul.

He refused to accept it.

He had to know what that was!

To fight such an unknown, terrifying existence capable of directly interfering with reality, he had to possess power beyond that of a mortal.

And the key to that power was hidden within his own brain.

"Baymax, begin. Power, five percent."

The command was given.

Bzzz—

A hum, so faint it was almost imperceptible, resonated deep within his mind.

In the next second, the world before him shattered into a billion pixels, only to reassemble in the next instant into a high-definition tapestry of unprecedented clarity.

The motes of dust floating in the lab, every irregular trajectory they traced through the air, was as clear as if etched by a knife. A tiny insect in the corner—he could perceive every beat of its wings, slowed down countless times, even seeing the faint air currents stirred by their movement.

Awe.

Unprecedented awe.

He could "hear" the hiss of electricity flowing through the circuits in the walls, "smell" the subtle differences between the gas molecules in the air, "feel" how the blood pumped by each heartbeat washed against his artery walls.

The entire world, in his perception, had slowed down.

No, the world hadn't slowed down. *I* had sped up!

An irrepressible ecstasy surged through Paul. This was the world after overclocking! A reality that ordinary mortals could never glimpse!

He tried to increase the speed of his thoughts. Those difficult problems regarding the transformation mechanism for "Sideswipe," the bottlenecks in the energy supply for the funnels—in an instant, several new, more perfect solutions materialized.

His consciousness, like a supercomputer freed from its physical constraints, galloped wantonly through an ocean of knowledge.

"Power increased to seven percent."

His thoughts accelerated once more!

He slowly raised his hand, intending to catch the small insect hovering in mid-air.

However, a bizarre scene unfolded.

In his mind, the command was issued with perfect clarity—'Raise hand, close fingers, capture target.'

But his body was like an ancient machine, lagging by centuries.

The command had been sent, but his arm felt as if it were filled with mercury. Every movement was slow, clumsy, uncoordinated.

His consciousness had already reached the destination, while his body was still struggling at the starting line.

He watched, helpless, as his own hand rose with what would seem to a normal person like excruciating slowness, only to clumsily grasp at empty air long after the insect had flown away.

An intense feeling of disconnection and loss of control washed over him like a tidal wave.

So that's how it is…

Paul understood instantly. The speed of his consciousness had far surpassed the transmission speed of his physical nervous system and the reaction limits of his muscles.

It was like trying to control a century-old steam engine with a quantum computer—completely out of sync!

His brain was thinking at the speed of light, but his body was stuck in the Stone Age. This delay, this disharmony, was the greatest obstacle to "Brain Overclocking" in the real world!

He had to find a way to make his body keep up with his mind!

Just as he was lost in thought—

"WARNING! Massive abnormal neuron discharge detected in the cerebral cortex!"

"WARNING! Heart rate has reached 239 beats per minute! Approaching safety threshold!"

"'Nightwatch Protocol' mandatory execution! Terminating experiment!"

Baymax's sharp alarms sounded like echoes from a distant horizon, penetrating his accelerated consciousness.

Then, Paul felt as if he'd been violently kicked out of a sports car traveling at a thousand kilometers per hour.

The world… snapped back.

The slow-motion, everything-under-control sensation vanished instantly. In its place, the entire world came smashing into his face—frantic, distorted, and roaring.

"Retch—"

A violent wave of vertigo and nausea churned his stomach.

His legs gave out, and he lost his balance, collapsing pathetically to the floor.

The cold floor pricked his skin, but he felt no chill, only a deep, stabbing pain that seemed to emanate from the marrow of his bones. It was as if every cell in his body was screaming in protest against the brief but brutal exploitation.

Cold sweat instantly soaked his clothes. His vision blurred, and the only sound was his own ragged, chaotic gasps for air.

Terrifying…

The physical toll of this technology was ten thousand times more horrific than he had ever imagined!

"Paul, you require immediate physical restoration." Baymax's soft body glided quickly to his side, a mechanical arm extending to help him up.

Paul waved it away, using all his strength to struggle toward the silver-white metal pod in the corner.

The Nutrient Stasis Pod.

He staggered inside. The door slid shut, and a pale green nutrient fluid quickly enveloped him.

Through the transparent lid, he looked out at a worried Baymax, gasping for breath, his heart still pounding with fear.

"Damn it… Next time… I'm never testing this on myself again…"

He swore that one experience of walking the line between life and death was more than enough.

And yet, just as he closed his eyes, preparing to accept the restoration program, the holographic screen inside the pod automatically lit up.

Displayed on it was all the data from the brief, seconds-long experiment.

Brainwave activity graphs, neuron discharge frequencies, heart rate variations, muscle stress responses… row after row, column after column of data, all neatly arranged.

Paul's gaze was instantly captivated by the complex and precise data.

He saw the massive gulf representing the delay between his consciousness and his body's reaction.

He also saw it: in the overclocked state, an unknown region of his cerebral cortex had flashed with an extremely faint, yet distinct, energy fluctuation.

That fluctuation, in its frequency, bore a faint… resemblance… to the psychic imprint left by the higher-dimensional entity!

"…"

Paul's eyes snapped open.

He stared intently at the data curve, as if trying to burn it into his very retinas.

Deep within his eyes, where moments ago there had only been lingering fear and exhaustion, a spark of something almost manic—a scorching flame—was rekindled.

Next time…

Maybe… I can push the power to nine percent?

He felt like… he had just grasped… a single thread from that invisible, giant hand.