Max leaned over the workbench, squinting as he adjusted the final connection to the suit's power source. His fingers were steady but his mind was a whirl of calculations, formulas, and self-doubt all jumbled together. This was where it was all meant to come together—the culmination of weeks of hard work, late nights, and crushing sense of mission.

  But the second he turned it on, the room lit up with a deafening pop, accompanied by a sharp crackle of electricity. The bare wires emitted sparks, momentarily lighting the darkened room before the lights failed. Max naturally jerked away, his heart racing in his chest, trembling hands before the complete silence consumed the electrical chaos. His head spun, trying to process what had just gone wrong.

  "What did I do wrong?!" he swore under his breath, anger heavy in his tone. He pulled away from the bench, looking wildly between the pieces that now lay completely lifeless. The power supply, the heart of the suit's power system, had failed. This was no small malfunction; this was a total setback.

  Max remained there for a second, looking at the smoke rising from the power unit. His expression contorted in dismay. The suit—the whole purpose of all he'd been working towards—rested before him, vanquished. "I'm so close," he breathed, nearly pleading with himself. "Why can't I do this?"

  His shoulders sagged, the weight of defeat bending him backwards as he took a step back, falling into the chair next to him. The atmosphere was thick, the room cold now that the glow of his father's desk lamp seemed to mock him. Max closed his eyes, rubbing his face with both his hands, trying to shake off the feeling of helplessness engulfing him.

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  For a moment, he wished he would give up. Just for a moment, it had looked so much easier to leave. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this," he said to himself, the thought ringing in his ears, stronger than the disappointments he had suffered. "Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I am not the one to finish this."

  But then, as if he were on automatic pilot, his mind went to his father—Dr. Alexander Cole. The tenacious scientist who never gave up, who battled through every obstacle no matter how formidable the challenge. The hours Max had spent in that underground lab as a child, watching his father, so immersed in his work, so determined.

  Max leaned back in the chair, gazing upwards at the ceiling, his breath slowing as initial frustration gave way to something deeper. "Dad never stopped," he reflected, the phrase cycling round and round in his head. "Not ever. No matter what. He continued. And I have to carry on too."

  A decision began to form in him. He didn't know it all, and things hadn't turned out the way he wished, but that was no reason to quit. His father's words were in the silence of the room, though they weren't present. "The world doesn't wait, Max. You've got to make it happen, no matter what's in your way."

  Max's fingers were bunched up into a fist, and he stood once more, walking toward the workbench, his gaze now intent, more determined. The failure did not signify an end. It was simply one step along the way. "I'll solve this," he told himself, though the declaration was firmer this time. "I won't quit. I can't quit. Not now."

  The scene concluded with Max returning to the power unit, already mentally working on how to fix it. He had a long way to go, but he no longer feared it. Amidst his anger, Max discovered the fire of resilience his father once had—an unshakeable conviction that the impossible was achievable, step by step.