Max's workshop was a small, dark room hidden in the corner of an old factory building. The air had a slight scent of metal and oil, and the hum of machinery was always in the background. The walls were lined with shelves filled with tools, equipment, and stacks of material waiting to be used on the perfect project. There was a feeling of chaos that was kept organized—mounds of parts, prototypes, and failed concepts, all mixed together like the pieces of his broken life.

  Today, Max was not merely seeking parts to construct another device; he was on the hunt for building blocks of something much greater. His fingers sifted through boxes containing pieces of worn wires, clogged gears, and discarded metal, but his thoughts weren't focused on the minutiae. He was contemplating the grand scheme—his father's research, the meteorite, and the suit he needed to construct.

  Max stood there a moment and stroked a rusted wrench. It wasn't the appropriate tool for the suit, but it brought to mind his father's precision work. "Dad always taught me the right tools were everything. I just have to find the right parts." The memory slammed him like a wave. He was a kid again, standing in the corner of his father's massive workshop, watching him work late into the night. Dr. Alexander Cole, the genius who had invented some of the most revolutionary technologies of his time, had always taught Max that the right tool was just as important as the vision behind it.

  As Max kept searching, the jumble of worn boxes and half-done projects became invisible. He remembered his father's face instead, his grease-stained hands, eyes intensely on the project in front of him. Those were the moments Max had envied most—the silent resolve his father had while doing a project. Those same moments had been what inspired Max to venture down his own road of invention, even though that road had seemed like a dead end for so long.

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  "If you can do it, so can I," Max whispered, although a feeling of uncertainty deep within him persisted. He'd been running in circles for far too long, inventing gizmos that always seemed to do the opposite of what they were designed to do. But today was different. Today, this wasn't merely about constructing a machine—it was about getting a job done. His father had left him something, and Max knew this wasn't something he could get wrong.

  He pulled out another crate, this one packed with upscale circuit boards, connectors, and yellowed schematics his dad had left. His fingers touched the cool, polished edges of components that seemed to hum with possibility. Each one was like a small triumph, a movement toward the suit his dad had begun to make.

  "This is the beginning, Dad. I'll complete what you began." The words were more forceful than he had meant. Max cradled the parts in his hand and gazed at them for a second, a rush of purpose running through him. There was no going back now. Each thing that he grabbed, each piece of material that he salvaged, was one more piece of the puzzle that his father had left to him. Max wasn't merely carrying on the work; he was bringing it to its conclusion.

  Max toiled for hours, the rustling of pieces, the crunching of metal, and the snapping of tools a constant rhythm as he brought together the components. With each component, he grew more certain. The gnawing voice of uncertainty, which had previously whispered incessantly in the back of his mind, grew quieter. There was only the constant thrum of resolve.

  "You were correct, Dad. The right instruments do everything." Max smiled gently as he laid out the pieces before him. They were small for now, but they were the start of something bigger.

  The room itself was different now. It was no longer a workshop for abandoned ideas and shattered dreams. It was a space of creation, where he would realize his father's dream. With a step back and a glance at the materials littered about the table, clarity washed over him.

  The road ahead would be tough, and the obstacles would be great, but Max at last knew what he had to do. The pieces were all in place, and with the vision, he would complete the job his father had begun—no matter the price.