Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 207: Chapter 207 – An Unexpected Yet Expected Development

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Henry’s chat with old Gary about Hollywood gossip was nothing more than idle talk. He had no plans to return to that glitzy circus and play the part of an invisible extra again.

The reason was simple — he’d been there, done that, and didn’t find it fun. Nobody ever said being a background actor was a lifelong calling worth dying for.

What he’d do in the future could wait until the future. For now, Henry’s main project was to build a household cleaning robot — something simple, capable of basic cleaning and maintenance.

A humanoid design was immediately off the table. It was the most complicated and least practical form. Just getting a bipedal robot to walk properly required solving endless variables, never mind arm coordination and balance.

A half-humanoid robot on treads, though — that was workable. Stable movement, easier engineering, and if he wanted to expand its functionality, he could just attach different mechanical arms as needed.

Of course, that would make it look rather ugly. But if he aimed for an industrial aesthetic and valued practicality over beauty, that design would be the best and easiest to build.

The risk was that if he tried to pack in too many tools and functions, he might accidentally create some kind of mechanical Cthulhu.

Henry decided to take a middle path: care about appearance a little, and not cram every function into one shell. Instead, he’d make a modular design — a core unit that could connect to different functional attachments.

That way, he didn’t have to worry about integrating everything perfectly, and he could leave room for future upgrades.

Each module could be upgraded independently, as long as the connectors were universal. He wouldn’t have to rebuild the whole robot every time he wanted a new cleaning function.

The downside? Well, if he ever took it outside without the right attachments, its usefulness would drop. But since the whole point was to have the bot stay home and keep the place tidy, that wasn’t really a problem.

Henry didn’t even need to draw up blueprints. Once he had the idea, the design naturally took shape in his mind. He didn’t plan to invent something from scratch either — just borrow inspiration from the sci-fi he’d seen.

The model that fit his concept best was the astromech droid line from Star Wars — starting with R2-D2.

But he didn’t want a walking trash can rolling around his living room, so instead he chose a design that didn’t yet exist in this timeline — the spherical BB-8 from the future films.

Its internal design wasn’t actually that far-fetched — it was based on a real-world toy developed in the early 21st century by a robotics company partially owned by Disney.

Henry’s goal was to take that concept and enhance it — turn a toy into a functional, multi-purpose household droid.

As far as developing his Kryptonian intellect went, this was the kind of project he found meaningful.

He knew perfectly well he couldn’t yet handcraft a spaceship capable of interstellar flight or warp travel — he didn’t even have the theoretical groundwork for that.

But taking existing technology and giving it a few ”superhuman” upgrades? That he could handle.

As that thought crossed his mind, Henry couldn’t help recalling the battle he’d been dragged into by the X-Men half a year ago. Maybe I should’ve stolen one of those alien ships when I had the chance...

Perhaps he could take some time now to go look for the escape pod he’d crash-landed in when he first arrived on Earth.

But where could it be? That was the question.

And there was another question he’d never dared to verify:

> Did he, somewhere out there, have a Fortress of Solitude waiting for him in the Arctic?

Was he truly a Kryptonian modeled after Superman, complete with a noble family lineage — or just a random cosmic orphan with no destiny at all?

Because he carried memories from before his ”arrival” in this universe, Henry didn’t feel the same existential pull most aliens might. He wasn’t tormented by questions of identity or belonging.

He was more like an audience member, watching his own bizarre life unfold from a third-person perspective.

His ”starting point” had already been chaotic enough. If he didn’t even get a beginner’s starter pack, he really would be the most pitiful of all Kryptonian strays — a triple-tragic, no-one-wants-you orphan.

”So maybe I’ll take a trip to the Arctic someday,” he mused. ”Or the Antarctic — who says the fortress has to be north? Could even be under the ocean.”

After all, he hadn’t landed in Kansas — he’d crashed in Siberia. Getting his hemispheres mixed up seemed entirely possible.

But there was no rush. If such a fortress really existed, it wasn’t going to disappear just because he waited a few days. And if it didn’t exist, going now wouldn’t change anything.

For the moment, his focus was better spent on something tangible — like building that cleaning robot.

His first destination: a junkyard.

In a country like the United States, with its massive car culture, junkyards were treasure troves of raw material.

Henry wasn’t there to scavenge working parts — just usable materials.

Most vehicles that ended up in a junkyard had already been stripped of anything valuable. Whatever remained might still be fixable, but that didn’t mean it was useful to him.

He planned to melt and reshape the metals using his heat vision and manual techniques anyway. He didn’t care if the components were damaged — what mattered was the type of alloy.

Without a background in materials science, he couldn’t refine alloys from scratch. But by recognizing which car parts came from which areas, he could roughly estimate their tensile strength and suitability.

So he didn’t bother with clean, repairable parts. He went straight for the discarded scraps, the twisted leftovers no one else wanted — and bought them by weight. Real junk-metal prices.

But he hadn’t even made it as far as the parking lot before something happened.

A black two-door GMC Yukon — the brand-new SUV model released just last year — pulled up beside him. Two men in black suits got out.

They flashed badges right in front of his face.

> ”FBI. Henry Brown, correct? You’ll need to come with us for questioning.”

Henry froze for half a second — then, inexplicably, a line of verse floated through his mind:

> Half a life in idle peace now ends; one step into the rivers and lakes, and there is no return.

It was inevitable. Unless he planned to spend the rest of his days hiding in that little corner of Alaska, this day was always going to come.

He asked calmly, ”May I ask what this is about? Or do you have a warrant?”

One of the agents narrowed his eyes. ”A warrant? Did you do something that requires a warrant, Mr. Brown?”

The other smirked. ”Don’t worry, kid. Just come with us quietly. Nothing bad will happen.”

”And if I refuse?” Henry asked.

The badges disappeared. Both men straightened, their tone hardening.

> ”Then you’ve got a problem,” one said coldly.

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