1963. Franklin had just stepped out of his Chevy and onto the sidewalk when he was suddenly somewhere else entirely. Gone was the orange of the New York City sunset, the bustling of the city streets, and pedestrian commotion. Instead, the sky was not a sky but the gridded, glass interior of a helmet flecked with perspiration. His ears devoured the sound of droning machinery and muffled clanking. Franklin, aloof, could nonetheless identify what encased him, and it did not ease the sense of panic that had begun to provoke his neural trails. Now, there was no hiding that he was inside a suit, a tin can, a metal claustrophobia machine—but more specifically, an atmospheric deep-sea observation suit, an Iron Man.