An SI's SI (MCU SI w/ eventual small crossovers, Inspired Inventor)

By: acerak

Tony Stark is Iron Man, an integral part of the Avengers in the long war against Thanos. Or he was, because there's someone else in that body.

Me.

Armed with a power that can shatter any sense of reality or reason when it comes to technology, I'm on a ticking clock to do what I've been ordered.

Thoughts and constructive criticism are welcome!

Also, if anyone knows how to add/edit tags on this site, please let me know!

Status: ongoing

Published: 2022-01-18

Updated: 2022-04-22

Words: 32415

Chapters: 15

Original source: https/forums./threads/990214

Exported with the assistance of

An SI's SI (MCU SI w/ eventual small crossovers, Inspired Inventor)

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Interlude 1

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Interlude 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15 - Interlude 3

Chapter 1

This place… is alien.

It's incredibly expensive, that's obvious from a glance. The floor shines like it's been buffed by a super-solution. The fake rocks glow under the soft but strong lights on the ceiling, aided by the natural light coming from the windows. There's a glass table to my left, entirely clean of any indications of use, even the accidental fingerprint. It's placed to let a person lean back on the comfy-looking curved dark-red couch.

There's just one problem.

It's not where I live.

I'm aware as to why that is, but there's something about setting foot in his mansion that cements what the fuck has just happened to me.

Oh God, my mom and dad…

"Sir, are you alright?"

The voice is a familiar British one coming from the speakers placed throughout the room and probably the whole building.

"Yeah, JARVIS, yeah. Sorry, just… a lot to think about." I wipe away my forming tears. "Uhm, remind me what the time and date is?"

"It's currently 2:18 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. The date is April 24th, 2010."

"Thanks."

I walk around the place, taking in the decorations Tony Stark put up before his abduction. It's hard to imagine it was him doing it, the place is just a bit too artfully done to think it was his vision.

Then again, he did design the Iron Man armors to look incredibly good, so the man had some flair.

There's alcohol everywhere. On the walls, behind cabinets, and even an entire stash hidden in one of the fake rocks.

Interesting statues of amorphous figures are placed in various corners, and the handing metal structure makes for something to look at, I suppose.

The gym feels unused. There isn't a spec of dust on anything, but I can't shake the idea that these haven't been touched for a long time.

In the basement is the Holy Grail for many a comic and film nerd.

Tony Stark's workshop.

All kinds of metal bits are here, from hundreds of screws for each size, to a full-blown but clunky material fabricator. The smell of oil is faint, masked by some kind of deodorizer. Along one wall lay gears, computer chips, wires, breadboards, etc. Heavy machines, not unlike those found in a physics or chemistry lab for synthesis and analysis, are scattered between workbenches.

Last night, I'd be nervous about touching anything.

Today, I'm itching to dive into the things I see before me.

"JARVIS, it's time to get to work."

"Shall I ask Miss Potts to wait for you?"

"Huh? She's here?"

"No, sir. She will be here in approximately 13 minutes, but you will likely be occupied at that time."

"Then… could you ask her to come down here when she gets here?"

"Of course, sir."

I hear the door open behind me and turn around. "Hey, Pepper."

The gorgeous form of Gwyneth Paltrow steps forward. "Hey, boss."

The silence is awkward. "So, what's up?" I ask.

"Just… checking up on you. I brought you a lunch." She holds up a bag from McDonalds and approaches.

"Oh, thanks. Just set it down and come take a look at this."

She walks over to the workbench. "So, what's this?" referring to the donut-hole sized metal ball.

"A water filter ball. It's got a grille cover, right? Just stick this in a water bottle or something, it'll suck up all the crap and leave you with perfectly purified water. It'll even leave a normal chemical balance in there."

I don't blame her for looking at me with confusion. "A water filter? That's… that's nice. Not what I expected."

"You thought it was something else?"

She raises her hands helplessly. "I don't know. Some kind of new grenade? That kind of thing would probably sell well."

"Yeah. Probably. I just… have you ever had a moment where your life flashes before your eyes?"

"It did in college, once. My parents thought I was dating this guy, they walked in on us, it looked like we were about to make out. I almost got pulled out."

"Were you dating him?"

"He wished. I tripped and landed on him."

"Haven't you seen any rom-coms? That's like, a sign from the universe."

She laughs. "So, your life?"

"I had a lot of time to do some thinking about who I am and the impact my inventions have on people. It's hard to not think about how much you might be responsible for being a minute from someone putting a bullet in your head. I just… I didn't want to be known as the guy people point to and laugh. I can see the articles now. 'Famous weapons inventor killed by his own weapons'." I pick up the water filter, tossing it in the air. "This is the first step towards something bigger. Something better."

She doesn't respond for a moment. "That's great to hear, boss. I think that's a great idea. But what are you gonna tell the investors?"

"You'll see. There's a board meeting tomorrow, right?"

The Board of Directors for Stark Industries is large, with 20 people seated when I walk in.

"Hey, everybody. Am I late?" I glance at my wristwatch. Just two minutes later than scheduled. "So, we ready to start?"

"Hey, Tony! Good to see you!" The hand of Obadiah Stane claps my back. I didn't see him when I entered, he must have been just out of sight. He shakes my shoulder a bit. "I was worried you might not be here for another hour."

"The meeting said 10, so I got here at 10. Don't need to keep everyone waiting on my heels."

Everyone looks a bit surprised at that. I can't blame them.

"So, what's on the menu for today?"

"Uh, you, Mr. Stark," a man from the end of the table says. "We're all very happy to see that you're alright, but this meeting is to see how the company should operate since you've only recently returned."

"Okay, okay. I read the reports, everything looks fine from my end, nothing collapsed while I was gone."

"We're not geniuses like you, Tony, but did our best," Obadiah adds.

"That's good. But this meeting is only going to take five minutes if it's just us telling each other things are back to normal. Somebody must have something they thought was important," I point out.

Another man, halfway down the table, raises his hand. "I do. In the aftermath of that terrible event, Mr. Stark, the military wasn't willing to sign on for buying Jericho. That was our biggest planned contract. Do we have a go ahead to begin talks with them again?"

I try to ignore the flashes in my memory of dust everywhere and the disabling ringing from explosions. "Sure. That brings up a point I want to talk about, though. Anyone else have something before I talk about that?"

No one does, so I continue. "Gentlemen, I've had several months in which I've thought and re-thought everything about my life. Every day, I used to think it might suddenly be my last, because I'd been found out and those bastards realized I wasn't building them a weapon. Every day, I jumped at even possible gunshots, because I realized it might be me next." I stand up. "I'm aware that the world wants weapons. I'm aware that even if I didn't sell them, someone else would. Now, I can't control what people do. The world wants to kill each other over everything. But I can at least work towards not having a hand in that anymore."

I walk over to the window. "For that reason, I'm putting an end to our weapons production." The outcry is immense, and I wait for it to die down before turning.

"Tony, that's incredibly extreme and rash, decisions like that need time to consider them!"

"I had three months to consider it," I tell Obadiah. "So, here's what I'm thinking. Moving from weapons into other fields is going to take a few years at the very least. It's going to require we invest in technology and infrastructure we don't have, either to make it from scratch or rework existing stuff for the new stuff. We have people with families that need their jobs to pay for tonight's dinner. Obviously, we can't just shut down today or next week. But we can make a move towards it."

I hold up my hand, fingers spread out. "Five years is my deadline. In five years, I expect this company to have no more hands in any part of weapon design, production, or distribution."

"What about the existing contracts?" someone asks.

"We honor those. But I don't believe we have any that go beyond… two years from now, and most of that is just support. Jericho will probably be a three-year contract. If we take a hit on the price, that's fine."

… They're considering it. They're actually considering it. I can see it on their faces. "You said new technology. What exactly do you have in mind?" Obadiah asks.

"Good question. Check this out. Pepper, hand me the bottle, please." I take the clear plastic bottle filled with a very questionable not-clear liquid. "Pond water. Got it from a puddle near my house." I shake the bottle for emphasis.

From my pocket, I take out the water filter ball, open the lid on the bottle, and drop it in.

Everyone watches as the water churns inside and begins swirling. In front of them, the water starts clearing up, lightening in color and consistency.

One minute later, the water is clean, and the ball sits at the bottom.

"Perfectly drinkable," I remark, opening the lid and taking a gulp.

"Water filters? Your plan is to move us from weapons to water filters?"

"Water filters that outperform any industrial process currently in existence with no issue for scaling? That can be carried by anyone and ensure they don't have to worry about bacteria or a leech in their water? I think we'll find that there's a market for them. But this is just one thing, and the first iteration. I think we can start being a serious competitor in almost every field for every product. Computing, transportation, energy generation, you name it. Gentlemen, this," I hold the ball in my hand, "is going to make us money forever, and it won't kill a soul."

The next person to visit me was expected and not. I was downstairs in the workshop when JARVIS alerted me that they were inside the house.

"Tony?"

That's Don Cheadle walking towards me.

"Rhodey, what's up?" I step away from the bench and pat him on the back. "I'd give you a hug, but I've got oil and dust all over me."

"That's alright, this suit takes forever to clean. What's the project?"

"Project?"

"You know, the next invention. You're only ever down here if you want to build something, so you've probably got something in mind, right?"

"Oh, yeah! Look at this." I demonstrate the water filter ball for him, letting him take a sip.

He licks his lips. "Hmm, best water I've had in a while. Certainly better than what they have in Vegas."

"I think any water is better than what they have in Vegas."

"Probably. So, what are those?" He points to the other balls on the bench of similar size.

"Other types. Some are cheaper, some are more expensive, that one there," I point to one with a radius the size of my hand, "is for larger containers. Just other versions of that in your bottle there."

"Water filters. You serious?"

"God, first Pepper, then you? Can't a guy just want a good glass of water?"

"I thought it was a grenade, to be honest."

"See, Pepper said exactly that! Did she coach you before you came here?"

"No, no. Just feels weird." He holds up the slightly wet ball in his open palm. "Where does all the dirt go?"

"It gets sucked inside. Then you empty it out on the ground or something."

"Huh."

"You want one? You can have that."

"I'm good, Tony. Military water is decent."

"I can't believe you'd try to lie to me in my own house," I say with fake anger. "I should kick you out."

He laughs at that. "Yeah, but then who'd you show your new toys to?"

"Uh, JARVIS?"

"I don't believe I count sir, since I was watching the whole time."

"See?" Rhodey's smile drops a bit. "You know I'm here for you, right, Tony?"

"… Yeah. I know. I appreciate that. I know it wasn't easy for you to spend all that time looking for me."

"Hey, I was just stressed out, you're the one who had it worse. All I'm saying is, I'm here if you want to talk."

I scratch my head. "I told Pepper. Told her I didn't want to do anything with weapons anymore. I don't want to be known as the guy who got killed by his own weapons. That's the kind of thing they make fun of you for."

"You didn't die though."

"I know. But how long until I do? These guys showed that they could do it, and I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't a million other people with similar ideas. They might not get it to work, but I don't want to be stuck in my house, worrying about my own safety if I step out."

"You know we wouldn't-"

"I know, I know. But no one said fear ever made any sense. So yeah, I'm pretty scared right now."

Rhodey leaves after that, saying he has something he needs to do, but he comes back later with a large cheese pizza. We enjoy that, some wine (I take some Sprite), and watch The Godfather together.

As I sleep in my bed, I think back to what I told Rhodey. Because none of that was a lie. I am scared right now.

I'm scared of what's going to happen if I fail.

"Mr. Stark!" A young blonde woman approaches, and I curse myself for not remembering her name, because I know she's from the movies.

"Hi. You enjoying yourself?"

"No. But I got called out here, so I came. Quite a change for your company, isn't it?" She looks to her left, referring to the waters of the Mississippi River exiting into the Gulf of Mexico.

The water is a bit cleaner than usual. The reason? Two lines of giant grille-covered yellow metal balls. A few people could easily sit inside one if they wanted. These are scaled versions of the balls I had designed two months ago. We'd finally settled a contract with the state of Louisiana to deploy these balls near towns and cities along the river. Each deployment would consist of balls that would suck up plastics and balls that sucked up pollutants, barring any kind of natural dirt or sediment.

My initial plan would have made needing so many pointless, we'd have four sets deployed to handle the entire river, but I was convinced to start slow and make sure we got paid many times over before offering a gradually better solution over time.

It was deeply unethical. It was also the only way I'd be able to justify my efforts to stop weapons production. If I showed there was a cash cow here, the investors wouldn't care.

So, here I am, demonstrating to the public how Stark Industries is going to do its part to help save our planet.

"It is. But it's just a start."

"So how do they work?"

"Like any other filter. They suck in things, you open them up and empty the garbage, then you let them run again."

"Hmm. Do you plan to move to other states and do the same?"

I glance towards her. "Sorry, can't say. I've been told by a very handsome man in my PR division that talking about our plans can be bad for us, so I pinky promised to zip my lips."

"Really? Even if I talk about your company's involvement in Gulmira?"

"Gulmira? What's that?"

"A small town in the Middle East. Your weapons are responsible for destroying it." She hands me a collection of printed high-res pictures.

Terrorists with American rifles, probably Stark ones, standing over gunned down civilians. Terrorists moving Stark containers meant for RPGs. Terrorists doing many things or just posing with Stark weapons.

I grip the photos hard, to the point they begin to fold. "How many casualties?"

"Dozens. Hundreds are now refugees."

"Miss, uh…"

"Everheart."

Oh, yes, this lady. "Miss Everhart, can I keep these? I need to make some calls."

She raises an eyebrow. "Are some PR people gonna lose their jobs?"

"No."

I'm lucky that Tony Stark has a thing for being eccentric. I can't stomach talking right now.

Stark Industries has a brain pool in every headquarters it has on every continent, and the finest is the one located here in Los Angeles. When the boss calls, everyone drops their stuff and gets into the auditorium. Despite having a capacity of 700, it's filled completely, with some sitting in the stairs.

Honestly, it's not a typical experience for me to have this many people hanging onto my words because they think or know that I'm about to teach them something cool. "Raise your hands if there are any open seats next to you, let's see if we can get as many butts into chairs as possible." I give them a few minutes to work it out. "Alright, let's begin. How many of you are involved in weapons research? Either directly or as part of a bigger project?"

Almost all hands go up.

"Okay. Well, let me be clear now, we're changing track on that. You should except that in the coming year or two, we'll try to get people onto research that isn't about killing the most people for the fewest dollars."

"Now, take a look at this." The giant screen behind me changes to a video, ready to be played when I click. "This is a new invention that we've recently gone public with. You may have seen some news about it if you pay attention to the internal newsletters or you're from Louisiana." I click, and the video plays, showing a recording of one of my filter balls cleaning a fish tank filled with murky water with narration and subtitles explaining how they work.

I let it finish and wait a few seconds. "So. Definitely not our normal type of product, but it has the Stark quality guarantee. Quite literally, I'm the one who invented it. But I don't want them to be bought directly from Stark Industries. My goal is to see these balls on sale at Wal-Mart for 10 bucks. Buy a pack, use them for as long as you want, and then just recycle them. This is the future I want to work towards. Not weapons, but things that help others live better. These balls are just the start, and if you snicker one more time, I toss one in your mouth."

Someone actually has the audacity to whoop.

I grin. "Our weapons production is not going to end any time soon, that's just the nature of how invested we are in it. But I make you all a promise. In five years, we're going to be the number one seller for any type of product we make. Smartphones, refrigerators, even houses, we'll be the best in all of them. As for these balls, our plans are only growing in scale." I click to move to the next slide. "Here are just some of the variants we have in mind. Lower cost for people on tighter budget, but slower to operate. Some high-end ones that run very quickly. Specialty balls for specific types of contamination removal. That giant on the end is for catching macro-plastics like bags and bottles."

"Some of you are already working on civilian products or you've received your newest project which is something similar, so if you're in that minority, this next part doesn't concern you. But if you're not, then I'd start thinking up of things you think we should start building. If your idea is good enough, we may just take you up on it. Thank you."

I walk away from the clapping to Pepper waiting in the wings. "Very inspirational, boss."

"Gotta get them something to be happy about. I don't need them worrying about their jobs while we change tracks."

Once we're seated in my penthouse office, I gesture to the envelope on my table. "Take a look at that and tell me what you think."

She takes it and removes the photos. Flicking through them, she realizes what I did. "Someone gave them your weapons."

"Maybe. I don't know right now. It's possible some soldiers aren't good boys fighting for our freedoms. I've asked Rhodey to take a look at it, but if it is our fault, I need to know."

"I'll ask around."

"Pepper, I need you to go to these places. You know that anyone smart enough to do this is probably making these factories hide any discrepancies. You're not gonna find anything unless you do that."

"And who's going to manage your schedule and keep you on track?"

I frown. "It's, like, a week or two. I can manage."

"Just like that board meeting you're late for?"

Oh shit.

Chapter 2

It's been six months since I was brought here. Six months since I was given a one-sentence mission and ordered to go forth.

I can't tell anymore if my unconcern for my past life is due to external interference or because I'm slowly becoming Tony Stark. Neither option is acceptable.

But I don't know the first thing about approaching that situation. So I have to settle for the issues I can solve.

I've taken to killing time by putting to paper every invention and idea I get with every allotment of points, then securing them in a safe within the Malibu mansion. The only way to get in is if you replicate everything about me and convince JARVIS to let you open it, which means 99% of infiltrators on Earth are going to give up.

I wish I could be doing that right now because I'm currently dealing with an annoyance in the shape of a shrill woman on the phone. Jessica… something, I can't remember her name, is from the state of Iowa. I let her finish her impassioned speech about how I should allow some no-name company to build and operate my filter balls to promote free-market capitalism when it comes to taking care of the environment

Said company, of course, is owned by some important donator to her recent campaign and has a state contract for cleaning up the river. Now I've come along and demonstrated an entirely new method, that company is scrambling to ensure their cash flow.

"Ma'am, I can see why people voted for you, you're excellent at giving speeches. But the fact remains that I can't do that. We make very little money on the sale of those balls in the first place. I could be charging your state and every other one 12 times as much per ball and it would still be cheaper than any option you have for realistic pollution control. I can't give away that technology to another firm when our own investment was incredibly high."

"Mr. Stark, you've said multiple times that you were the one to come up with it over the span of two days. That's not a multi-billion-dollar research investment."

"But you're not paying for just two days of my time. You're paying for everything that led to me creating it as well, and I'm discounting that already for everyone. I'm sorry, ma'am, but the answer is no. I will not be granting this firm you mentioned permission for my technology."

I hang up the call. I'm allowed to do that.

"Hey, boss."

I turn to my right. "Pepper. Am I late for a meeting?"

"No, I finished touring the facilities, finally. I had someone drive me here from our factory in New Jersey."

I look her in the eyes. "You found my weapons?"

"No. I went through every possible facility that could have even made them going 10 years back. I can't find anything to suggest they were stolen or just illegally produced and shipped. Nothing." She's more distressed as she speaks.

I hug her lightly. "Hey, listen to me. You did good. I trust you. I think you've done a perfect job. Take the day off, we'll go golfing and get dinner or something."

"Get dinner? You mean more Chinese takeout?"

"I mean, that's the best food in the world, but if you want inferior five-star cooking, go ahead and make the reservation. 8:30 tonight, how about that?"

She smiles. "Alright. 8:30 tonight. You better be there."

It's incredibly weird to be dating this actress, but some part of Tony's instincts (because that lust and charm are not mine) has bled through. Pepper Potts was open to his… my advances, and our relationship is moving slowly, at the pace I want it to.

That night, we're seated in Au Za'atar, halfway through our meal and Pepper's story about her father and his car. My phone suddenly rings.

It's Rhodey. "Pepper, just give me one second to take this."

I get up and make my way outside before answering. "Rhodey, talk to me."

"Hey, Tony. I just heard back from my own guys. You remember those weapons we were talking about?"

"Yeah, I was wondering about those myself. Any luck?"

"Nothing. We've got a few more leads, but I've got nothing for you, and I don't think those are going to change anything. I'm sorry. I'll keep looking."

"Okay. That sounds good. Thanks for looking so hard for me."

It's not good.

I return to my seat, and something on my face must leak my inner thoughts. "Tony, what's wrong?"

I sigh. "Rhodey called. He's almost done with his search as well. He can't find anything either."

She takes my hand. "… What do you plan to do?"

"Something you don't want to hear if you ever get arrested for being caught up in all of this."

"JARVIS, pull up your current software and hardware specs." The holographic screen in front of me lights up with everything detailing the AI's capabilities.

It goes without saying that when Tony described himself as "genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist", he wasn't joking in any way, nor had his descriptions been in any random order. The philanthropy and womanizing were products of wealth, mostly his own, and that money had come from his inheritance only at the start. There was a reason Stark Industries had somehow grown the income stream from weapons even as government money got tighter, they simply had the best weapons in town. Weapons born from the mind of Tony Stark.

JARVIS is as much a product of that mind as anything else. His design and code are sleek, with processing power and complexity that's easily two or three generations ahead of anyone else. I can't imagine Tony ever actually understood the AI's inner workings down to the details as time went on, because this is a jumbled mess that works much like a human brain.

I can't improve upon the model itself, that would require killing whatever makes JARVIS exist as he does right now, and I don't want to do that. But I can give do something else.

"Load schematic 16-B and tell me what you think."

The screen splits in half. On the right is a 3D model for a new CPU, one that I've had in mind for some time. Absurd even by the standards of Tony Stark, but plausibly creatable without me needing to spin up a factory for dedicated futuristic tech production.

"20 gigahertz with 1024 cores, this would be strongest CPU to ever exist."

"Don't flatter me, you know I can do better if I take a week off and apply my brain."

"I estimate 30 million in costs to produce this, with an additional 200 million for a factory, sir. Time to complete would be 35 hours, assuming all necessary tools are available."

"There should be an empty one in our HQ, use that for now. Buy whatever you need and get 2-day shipping, you have my permission."

I leave him to handle it while turning my attention to my next big project. This one will be the two-parter that ensures I have the board's confidence until 2025 at the least.

I'm last to the meeting once again, but only by a few minutes. I think they're still happy about that.

"Tony, come in! We were just talking about you," Obadiah says.

"Of course. Everyone talks about me. Alright, we waiting for anyone else? Ah, whatever, they can catch up later. What's first on the menu?"

A bald sweating man with large glasses speaks. "The success of the water filter balls seems like a good place to start." He presses a button on his laptop, mirroring the display to the large monitor at the other end. "We've spent about 75 million on production alone, but we're already seeing contracts worth billions for maintenance and support. They're a big hit with the governments, but there are protestors."

"Protestors?" I'm shocked, it seems like no one could have anything bad to say.

"Not towards us, more towards what governments plan to do with the extracts. Some journalists are saying they'll just be dumped into another part of the ocean or in some landfill instead of recycling them. The usual from those types."

"I agree. These are professional complainers, they'd ask why you didn't get them a gold carpet if you rolled out a silver one," another man adds.

"Hmm. Sounds like grounds for another technology. What's the projected spread?"

"In terms of full coverage over the continental U.S, probably another two years. We've gotten offers from a few European companies, but we haven't committed anything."

"Any reason to go with them instead of just approaching governments directly?"

"We've burned a few bridges over the years, it's just business. Building them back might be useful down the line if we need an in, they'll fight us tooth and nail otherwise. Might lose out on some opportunities."

"Have we considered any of BRICS? They're major polluters, this seems like the kind of thing they'd want."

"I've got a friend in State who says Russia might reach out soon, they'd want us to coordinate with them. But the other side is probably going to want the balls produced in Russia."

I soak in the way they're all talking eagerly about my work. It's a confidence booster.

"Okay, okay, I think these are all good ideas. We'll need a lot more reports and figures to decide how to proceed. Tony, any thoughts?" Obadiah asks.

"No going to other companies as partners or intermediaries. We've got good press coverage over this, we shove that in everyone's faces if they stand between us and those contracts. Either they sign on or they hate the environment." I declare. I have no intention of being a monopoly guaranteed by the government, I'll be a monopoly by selling the best possible product. No one has the right to complain at that point. "Prepare a release that shows how much stuff we've pulled out from all these rivers and talk about how we can fix those lakes no one can legally swim in if they like their skin or whatever."

"I like the sound of that. So, what's next?"

"Good question. Let me make a call and show you." I pull out my phone and mirror it to the screen. The video conference camera shows all of us, while the ringing shows on the other part.

When it's answered, the screen shows a middle-aged Iranian with a thick beard. "Mr. Stark?"

"Professor Kamdin, hello! We're all excited to hear what you have to show us," I reply.

"Ah, yes! Let me bring into camera." The man's accent is thick and English broken, but he was eager to work with us when we approached him for this kind of engineering work.

He and an assistant wheel the large and boxy machine into focus. "This is first of its kind fabricator for computer hardware, with focus on CPU. Will allow us to make parts for cheaper, easily half or third of normal price. We also have another one," he says as he moves the first one away and shows an even bulkier machine, "for making better parts for same price as normal ones. Easily do better than market ones by a factor of six or seven! In fact, we send one output to Mr. Stark already."

"Thanks, professor, I'll take it from here. Pepper, the bag," I gesture, taking the laptop bag from her hand. Inside is a slightly out-of-date HP laptop. I take it out and turn it on, logging into the new machine. I send this new screen to the big one. "Alright, as you can see, I've got nothing on this computer except AutoCAD. It was given a factory reset yesterday and then installed."

"Normally, you're not supposed to use something like this if you want to get anywhere fast. With the normal CPU, it would take two minutes for the program to load completely." I boot the program, and it appears ready to use in less than a second. "But with this new chip, we're in business immediately. It cost as much to make this one as the original and with slightly more manufactured material, but as you can see," I pull up the system information, "it's much faster. 5.5 gigahertz has until now been high-end laptop speed with overclocking, and only under specific optimizations."

"And that's just the beginning. We're talking about CPUs here like the professor showed. My plan is to get us making every component better. Either with higher specs for the same price, or the same specs for a lower one. If we don't dominate this market, I'd be shocked."

I can see their eyes turn as green as a hundred-dollar bill.

"You've really shown us something, huh?"

I tilt my head at Obadiah. "Hmm?"

"All this stuff with the filters and computer parts and whatnot. Don't get me wrong, I like it, it makes us money, it's just not what I figured I'd see a year ago."

"A year ago, I didn't plan on getting kidnapped either."

"Right, right. Sorry. But it's… I don't want to say good, but it made you more serious. More focused."

"Serious and focused? Do you hear yourself?" I joke. "But I know what you mean. That… it changed me, Obie. I can't… I can't go back to making weapons. I think I'd throw up before I did that."

"Then don't. I'm on your side, you know, just like with your dad. You've got a clear head on right now, you're making progress towards whatever you think will make you feel better, and you're not bringing us bad press. Oh, and you're not turning our water into poison or whatever, so I guess that's good."

"Into poison? I thought you'd say beer or rum."

"If anyone could pull off a Jesus, it would be you. But I've been meaning to ask about something."

"Shoot."

"The Arc Reactor." He's pointing, not at my chest, but at the giant one in Stark Industries Headquarters on the ground floor.

I shake my hand. "Nuh-uh. No way. Not in a million years. Not that."

"Why not?"

I lean back into the wooden chair and deeply sigh. "Look, if it's about energy, I'll make the best solar panels in the world next week and personally install them for you. I'll make a battery that turns the Energizer Bunny into a fucking turtle. But I don't want to touch that right now."

He leans back, a slight smile stuck on his face. "Right now?"

I run my hands over my face. "Obie, you know I love you, but you also know I don't always have everything planned out. Maybe tomorrow I decide to work on it, maybe I throw it into the sun and make the hippies mad. I don't know right now."

"Sure. Take your time. I gotta run, you can put it on my tab, okay?" He takes off, steak almost finished with the gravy and juice mixing, and my own thoughts in turmoil.

The Arc Reactor.

The central plot point of the first movie, and I've been neglecting it all this time. The thing poisoning my own body, and I've been focused on cleaning up a fucking river and making better computer parts.

Well, no longer.

The simplest solution is to recreate the original element and use it to power a new reactor, but I don't remember how he did it. I vaguely remember something about finding the notes in Howard Stark's old belongings, but nothing like that exists in this house.

I do remember that Tony had told Fury that he had tried every derivative and permutation of palladium, and it stands to reason if the new element was needed, nothing else would work either. That meant I need to start at the end of the known elements and build my way up, element by element, until I have the one that works.

But that isn't something I'm going to do myself.

Chapter 3

I'm not a salesperson. I can't bring myself to do that, it feels dishonest to me. Luckily, Stark Industries has an entire division of people to do just that, and a board full of business majors who are perfectly content to leave the technology side alone to focus on selling via their networks.

Tony Stark could do this; he had a natural proclivity for the theatrics of making a sale. Whether he was actively involved with selling his products, or he was just asked to do the demonstrations, I can't say.

It's the latter reason why I'm here at the annual Consumer Electronics Show, or CES. It was a shock to learn that I had a standing invitation, originally given to Howard, then passed on to Tony due to one small invention and the history of the Stark name.

Someone else could have gone in my place, despite the organizers' insistence I come. I could have sent someone from our labs and it would have probably gone fine. But my presence was important, Pepper argued, so I was given a liaison/assistant for my own personal needs and presentation.

"And now, a man who needs no introduction, but whose presence was a very welcome surprise to us, Mr. Tony Stark!"

I walk out of the wings onto the giant stage to the applause of hundreds, with many more watching from the cameras trained on me. I can't see them due to the spotlights on me, but the heat and curiosity in the room is palpable. "Thank you, thank you! I'm very honored to be here, many thanks to Gary Shapiro, I was very excited to meet him finally."

I take a few slow steps and begin pacing back and forth. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is not where you expect to see me. If you hear about me on the news, it's probably them showing pictures of me completely wasted or crashing a party with two ladies at my side. Or you hear about how we made another hundred-billion-dollar deal with the government for some crazy new weapon."

"Stark Industries was founded by my father, Howard Stark, and he walked in front of a crowd just like this many years ago. It was a small thing for him, because he made weapons. Always had. I followed in his footsteps for many, many years, making a new gun or missile or bomb, whatever the military was willing to buy."

"I want to move away from that, focus on making something new, something different. But I decided, when this project began, that I wouldn't stop applying all the effort I usually do. So, for your viewing consideration, the Stark Laptop 1.0!" I gesture towards the other wing, and a man named Harry walks over to hand me the device. "I know, not very exciting yet, is it? Don't worry!"

The audience laughs a bit. I move over to a podium set up for me. "Alright, give me just a moment, and… there we go." The projector mirrors the laptop to the giant screen for everyone. "Perfect. So, let's take a look at what we have in terms of performance for you all. Take a look at the screen," I direct, opening the information page. "Looks pretty standard and average for performance, right? Nothing to write home about?"

I lean forward a bit. "Somebody guess at the cost. Someone in the audience, go ahead. You there."

"500!"

"500? Any other guesses?"

"700!"

"700, alright. What if I told you that your guesses were way too high? This series of laptops, built with proprietary and new Stark technology, will give you the same performance as any other machine on the market for a much lower price. I'm no… well, okay, I am a math guy, so I'll say that right now, I'm thinking this goes on sale for about 100 dollars at the most, after taxes."

The applause and whooping reaches the same level as when I entered. I silence them after a minute. "You gotta let me get to the actual good part before you get excited, folks. Harry, can you pass me the other one? Let's swap."

I pass him the current one I have plugged in and plug in the one he gives me. Once again, the home screen pops up.

"Alright, this time, I'll start with the price. This laptop will probably be 650 dollars. Any guesses on clock speed? I know we have some computer people in the crowd. Anyone, really." I point towards the middle.

"3.5 gigs!"

"3.5 Gigahertz? Almost, just change one number there." I load the information screen. "Think 5.5, then you've got it. And that's not just some carefully pulled number we got from some specific task. That's your general processing power." I pull up some CPU-heavy software, including AutoCAD, to show off how good the hardware is.

"Folks, that's all I've got. I can promise you that going forward, you're going to see a lot more of me on this stage, wherever it may be. Keep your eyes open for more news about these laptops, thank you for your time, and have a good night!"

The crowd nearly shatters my eardrums with their volume.

Stark Industries breaking into the laptop market

At this year's Consumer Electronics Show, Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark came on stage to unveil a new product of his. It's been nearly 30 years since his father, Howard Stark, founder of Stark Industries, did the same.

This time, however, the product was more groundbreaking.

In breaking all expectation, Mr. Stark announced that the company would begin selling two new lines of laptops, with current performance machines set to cost nearly a sixth of the price, while the other line is an absurdly powerful laptop that may outperform some of the world's supercomputers.

At a press conference following the event, when asked about why Stark Industries was breaking into this market, Mr. Stark said the following.

"I was bored one day and heard my friend complain about how slow his laptop was. I decided to build a better one."

Such a claim isn't implausible, the young CEO has been personally responsible for many of Stark Industries' most notable weapons, including the Jericho Missile System, sold under contract to the U.S government for an undisclosed amount.

Following the reveal, Stark Industries put out an official press release stating that these products would be launched this summer.

Watch: CNN Analyst David Broder discusses the implications of new Stark Industries' laptops.

Watch: Steve Balmer declares that Microsoft "won't back down against Stark".

"Tony."

I turn around. "Pepper. And… someone I don't recall the name of."

"We've never met, Mr. Stark. I'm Agent Coulson from SHIELD." It's the man who shot Loki right in front of me, good God.

"SHIELD?"

"It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Damn, I had no idea the government needed people making shields. I'll send you to my blacksmith."

He gives me the trademark professional smile.

"Tony, Phil wants to speak with you."

"Sure. Please, take a seat. You want anything to drink? I've got Kool-Aid and Capri Sun." We sit down on the large couch in my office in Stark Tower.

"No thank you. Mr. Stark, SHIELD is aware that you're looking for your missing weapons."

"How, exactly?"

"We have our ways. We believe we have your target." He hands me a folder. I open it and see Obadiah's face front and center.

"Obie?"

"Mr. Stane was after your company. He wanted to take over and thought that getting you killed would make it work. He didn't expect you to return."

Well, yes, I know the plot of the movie, Mr. Coulson. The question is why you're coming to me now. Looking through the rest of the pages, I see pieces of evidence: text messages, call metadata logs, photos of Obadiah meeting various Middle Easterners.

"Why would he do that?" Pepper asks.

"Money, most likely. Mr. Stane isn't conventionally satisfied with how much he may have; he was attracted to the large one-time payments he could make by selling cutting-edge weapons. As an ironmonger of sorts, he's in prime position and mentality to sell to both sides."

"Weapons don't mean much by themselves, and a terrorist cell isn't going to get much out of them. Doesn't matter how many rifles you have, they can't compete with the military in the first place," I point out.

"Check page 27. We think the weapons were sold to China and Russia primarily. This is through the Ten Rings."

Stane's bank transactions to an account in Switzerland stick out, though a few are to an account at Chase. The sources are listed as coming from Pakistan.

"Has this continued?"

"Only one sale was made after your return, and it consisted of rifles and RPGs. Your shift towards civilian technology has sent a great deal of money his way, and the Jericho missiles are currently under lockdown by the DOD and watched by SHIELD."

I put the folder down. "Suppose any of this is true. Why come to me?"

"Didn't you want to know, Tony?"

"I did, Pepper, but my goal was to get this person out and charged for treason. I doubt SHIELD is that nice."

"SHIELD became concerned when we found this." He hands me a picture from inside his suit.

It's Obadiah standing in front of the Mk. 1 Iron Man armor, the one Tony had used to escape from captivity. Its eyes are lit up, along with new electric-blue lines across its body, spreading from the arc reactor.

A functioning arc reactor.

"No, no, no, this is impossible. There's no one else-"

"Who understands arc reactors like you do, Mister Stark? I'm afraid you're wrong. How much do you know about your father's work?"

"Probably not enough to be okay with whatever you say next."

Coulson hands me another photo. It's a black and white still of a white man with a thick mustache. "This is Anton Vanko. Your father worked together with him to create the initial arc reactor."

"So this guy helped Obie?"

"In a way. He handed over his research notes in exchange for getting Mr. Vanko's son, Ivan Vanko, into America. We don't know where he is right now. As for Mr. Stane, a functioning set of power armor, built by Tony Stark himself, is worth tens of billions, more than enough to bribe enough shares away from you. Not to mention the money to be made by selling more weapons to other nations."

"Aren't you going to stop him? Pretty sure we crossed the line into treason a while back."

"That picture nearly got our best agent killed, Mr. Stark. Believe it or not, SHIELD has many other issues to take care of, and this became an annoyance that we want removed. We just don't have the resources for it."

"Tony, I think they want your expertise in stopping him."

"Which I'll happily… not give, no, wait a minute. You want a suit, don't you? You want another suit like this to destroy this place and Obie's suit."

"We just want a method of taking it out quickly without being noticed. If that means another set of power armor, then we'd appreciate that, though I should point out that you're probably the only person on the planet with experience in using such a machine."

"Experience isn't a problem. How much time do we have?"

"We don't know. But we have the location. If we wait, Mr. Stane will most likely have it sold and we won't find it again so easily."

"If we need another suit, I need to know how much time I have. Give me your best estimate."

"… Three days."

"Fine. I'll have your suit by then. Come pick it up from my mansion."

"Tony?"

"Hey. JARVIS, get her that coffee she likes, please?"

"Black coffee with two sugars, Miss Potts?"

"Thank you, JARVIS, yes. Ooh, what's that?"

"A new project. Here, put these on." I hand her some custom sunglasses.

"God, that's dark."

"You'll need it, this one might hurt your eyes. There's built-in AR in those, so you'll be able to walk around."

Once her eyes are protected, I part the curtain revealing an absurdly powerful light. Even through the tinting on the box and the adaptive sunglasses, Pepper has to put her hand up to block the light. "Jeez, that's bright!"

I close the curtain. "Yup. That's an arc reactor."

"The… giant machine?"

"That's a prototype, we put that up as a proof of concept. This is a finished product. Plug one of these into your power tools, there's no screw on the planet you can't take out."

"What's it for?"

"Coulson's suit. Even if I have three days, this baby doesn't leave my sight without being the best I can make it. On that note, JARVIS, show Pepper what you found."

A hologram near her left pops up. She takes off the glasses and reads the information. "So, he wasn't lying. Obadiah really is selling weapons, and now this giant tin can."

"Hey, that's a Stark-made tin can. You can count on our guarantee, it'll hold beans perfectly good for years."

"How did you even get this?"

"Sir asked me to search through every Stark Industries affiliated person and their devices. Once Agent Coulson provided the information about Mr. Stane, I focused on him. He left enough incriminating evidence in plain sight."

"Yup. Personally, I still have a bit of doubt. I have no idea if this is some kind of setup by Coulson to get my suits. But I'm not leaving that other one out there."

"I don't think Phil would do that, Tony."

"He's government, Pepper. They'd sell a baby to an alligator if it would get them a vote. I don't think he's lying either. Better safe than sorry, though."

"I'm just glad all of this will be settled finally. I don't want to run around our shops anymore."

"Let's hope."

"Sir, the chest plate is finished."

"Perfect. Oh, sorry, I just-"

"No, no, that's more important right now. Just don't skip dinner, okay?"

"I won't. Pinky promise."

The universe must have been listening because almost immediately, that promise is drowned along with the rest of my consciousness. The edges of my vision are the first to go, no longer coming to the forefront of my mind. Then my sense of hearing, then my sense of touch. Everything's a haze after that, driven by instinct. I've never had any affinity for tinkering or engineering before, so this must be Tony Stark's most base desire.

Desire that has just been given more knowledge than it could possibly act on while I was more solidly in control.

Chapter 4

"Miss Potts, Agents Coulson and Carter, please head downstairs immediately, Sir has collapsed."

I'm rushing down the steps as fast as I can as soon as I hear the urgency in JARVIS's tone. The two SHIELD agents are right behind me. JARVIS opens the door to the workshop, saving me the seconds from entering my code.

Lying face down, slumped partially against one of workbenches, is my boss' body. I put my hands up to my face, covering my mouth and nose as I struggle to not make a sound. "Oh God!"

Coulson approaches him, turning him slightly and putting his hand on Tony' neck. "He's alive. Just unconscious. Heartbeat seems fine. JARVIS, what caused this?"

"Lack of food, water, and sleep. He refused anything since you last spoke, Miss Potts."

"T-that was three days ago! We need to get him to the hospital!"

"I have arranged for Sir's to be transported already. The EMTs should be arriving shortly. Agent Coulson, please have your men move their cars, they are blocking the nearest parking spot."

Coulson puts his hand up to his ear and whispers something. "Done. I don't think we should move him."

"Thank you, Agent Coulson, but you need to do one thing before he arrives. On that workbench Sir is lying against is a fingerprint scanner, please place Sir's thumb against it."

"Carter, come and help me."

The two them work together to lift Tony's body enough to put his thumb against the surface. A compartment in the center opens up, causing a few screws to fall in. Coulson reaches in and takes out a small metal disc, no larger than a wedding ring.

"Please part the curtains in the back right of the room. You will not need Sir for this, place him gently back on the ground."

I follow them over there, standing behind them. I've never noticed this corner. I don't think there was anything here before. Now there's something boxy behind the red covers. Coulson slides the curtains back, revealing a container with glass on the front and metal around it.

Sitting inside is something out of a sci-fi movie.

The armor is around seven feet tall. The face has no eyes or nose, while the mouth area is covered by a slightly bulging purple mask-like component. The brain bulges towards the back. The chest is purple with a small hole in the center, while the stomach is a mix of silver and black. There's extra metal covering the hips. The arms and legs are similarly colored, with purple upward-pointing pauldrons that cover the front and back of the shoulders. The forearms and shins are covered like the hips. For protection, I'm guessing.

The glass slides to the right. "Please place the disc into the chest."

When Coulson does that, the face outline, chest, arms, and legs begin to glow bright purple. The armor suddenly steps forward by itself, taking the space we evacuated. It slowly looks around despite having no eyes.

Then, it speaks. The voice is feminine and haughty.

"Greetings."

JARVIS, thankfully, answers for us. "Miss Tessura, Sir is currently unavailable. You are instructed to follow and obey Agent Coulson. Time is of the essence for his work. I am sending you the appropriate data now."

"Understood."

God, these people are weak. I've already seen multiple ways I could kill them all and commandeer this plane in five minutes. My hacking programs are more than enough for this, the plane's code quivering under even the slightest brushes I give it.

"Miss Tessura."

I turn my head towards the man I recognize as Agent Coulson. There is a slight hint of fear even in his calmness. "Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Come with me."

I follow the man, aware of the eyes that follow. The suit's slight femininity in chest and waist is enough to arouse them, it seems. Agent Coulson brings me to the center of a collection of said eyes, spectacled for the most part with crude electronics in front of them.

"Mr. Stark agreed to give us a suit, but you seem more like a robot. Did he change his mind?"

"I believe you misunderstand. I am both." I open my face, chest, and legs, showing the hollow space inside me. "One of you may don me as you wish, but I can also control it in the absence of an operator."

"Interesting. Your specifications?"

"The details are not for you to know. But I am capable of perfectly controlled flight at speeds exceeding Mach 2." I leap into the air and hover, my quiet repulsors active. "My form is dexterous enough to allow you to even play an instrument such as the violin or write a letter, while my armor will render small-arms fire meaningless. Anything larger will be too slow. I can lift 35 tons easily. I am also equipped with a host of ECW measures to hack anything that stands in my way, while my sensor bank will allow me to detect minute changes in light, heat, pressure, chemical composition, and more. My arc reactor core is at full capacity, meaning I can operate in exceedingly strenuous combat situations for 22 hours."

He's impressed. "Carter, get in."

Agent Carter is not impressed. She looks nervous. But orders are orders, she steps close, then turns around awkwardly and holds her arms to the side. She takes a step back, and then I have her.

The armor seals around her. I use the internal speakers. "Welcome, Agent Carter, first to wear the Shadow Witch armor."

The armor turns fully active, and the faceplate turns transparent.

"Woah. I can see from inside like it's glass."

I use the external speakers as well. "Indeed, the faceplate is designed to not block your vision unnecessarily. I will raise it for you now."

Carter's face appears from underneath. "This is amazing."

"Of course. My maker would not give anything less in pursuit of his stolen suit. That reminds me, do you have a preferred melee weapon?"

"What? Uh, I can use a knife."

I reach into a side compartment, hidden by the seamless design, and extract the weapon inside. Its handle is black and the blade silver, unadorned save for the words PROPERTY OF STARK INDUSTRIES where the hand is kept. In the handle is a tracker as well, allowing it to be located anywhere on the planet and for a self-destruct charge to be detonated.

Releasing control, I let Carter examine the knife closer. "Perfectly balanced and honed to split metal and bone alike," I tell her.

"Carter, get to practice using that suit. You'll be going in solo as discussed," Coulson commands.

For the next three hours, I use the training programs to teach Agent Carter how to walk, run, and fly comfortably. She takes to the flight easily, circling the plane multiple times to the concern of the pilots.

It's dark by the time we need to drop.

"We're directly over the border of Afghanistan and Turkmenistan. Miss Tessura, do you have the coordinates?"

"Yes, I have them. It should be 14 minutes of flight at low enough speed to avoid detection. I have connected myself to your systems, you should see what we do," I tell Agent Coulson.

"Confirmed, sir. I'm seeing and hearing you through the monitor now," one of the men to our left says.

"Good. Carter, good luck."

"Thanks, sir."

The ramp to the back opens, cold night air rushing past us as we step towards the edge. One leap, and we're falling through the air.

"Agent Carter, I can control the armor at this time if you wish, or you may fly it yourself."

"I'm flying it," she responds immediately.

"Understood. Displaying relevant information now." I pull up our distance to the ground and destination, our speed, and estimated time down to the second. I make the faceplate display show an orange dotted line to guide the spy.

Then, I simply let her fly.

It is… odd, to let someone have full control over even a part of me.

Exactly 14 minutes pass before the location of the suit. The entrance is a cave hidden from satellite view, but I can make out four men standing around its mouth with AK-47s. "Agent Carter, location in sight, four men are guarding the entrance."

"Got it."

She dives forward and down, landing with a loud sound right next to one of the men. He panics, but it is cut short as she slashes his throat with the knife I provided. Before the others can react, she slams her knee into one's chest, sending him flying backwards, then punches one hard enough to completely destroy his throat. As he chokes, the knife parts the eye of the last one and sends him down with a spasm.

Two seconds have passed since we landed.

"I could get used to this," Carter remarks, soaking in her handiwork.

"You don't have time to waste. Get moving," Coulson urges.

The cave itself is narrow at points, but once I demonstrate, she is breaking through rocks without even trying, simply moving through them and letting them crumple against the suit. At the end is a metal door, rusted and dirty. It squeaks as it opens, but no one seems to hear it.

"Agent Carter, I am activating the footstep dampening blocks, they will keep your steps from echoing."

"Thanks."

The first, second, and third set of men we come across are dealt with just as easily as the ones outside. Agent Carter is a professional killer, using the speed I give her to silence these lives without letting a single shot exit any barrel. We drag them out of sight, but it will not last, as there are no deep corners.

One "room", defined by a carpet on the dirt, is where they keep a collection of weapons. Stark weapons. Next to it a cot with two women sleeping on it. By bad luck, one wakes up as we approach.

"Do not scream," Agent Carter instructs in perfect Urdu. The hands tighten just slightly to threaten the terrified woman. "I will remove my hand, then you will answer my questions. I will not hurt you." The hand comes off, and the woman keeps her word, tears forming in her eyes. "Have you seen a metal suit of armor in this place?"

"Metal suit?"

"Yes. Giant, larger than any man, and made of steel."

"No, lord, I have not. But my husband tells me about such a thing, but he does not tell me where."

"Thank you," Carter responds.

I detect radio transmissions, weak as they come through the rock around us. "Agent Carter, our cover is eliminated. They have found bodies."

"Shit. We need to run."

We search more frantically, running through rooms in seconds. Almost everything is empty, though a few men are silenced here and there. As I examine the map I am creating with each room, a thought appears in my circuits. "Agent Carter, go left. The rooms become more artificial, perhaps we will find a base."

The hypothesis immediately pays off, we run into 10 more terrorists who fall to the blows of our fists in as many seconds. More weapon piles appear on our path, even a few televisions from the 90s.

At the end of our path is a concrete wall with a metal door in it. Opening it reveals the prize, along with two men running homemade diagnostic wands over the suit.

They back up quickly when we approach. "Agent Carter, I've hacked into their laptops, they have nothing of value. Their notes are useless for development of any of the suit's technology. However, the arc reactor in its chest is missing."

"Missing?" She grabs one of the men. "Where is the arc reactor? The thing from the chest, where is it?" She sticks the knife next to the man's throat.

"I-I-I-I don't know! I swear, please don't kill me!"

"Don't lie to me! I've killed your friends out there, you want to join them?"

"Hey!" The other man shouts. "Some men came yesterday and took it out! We were told to find out what we could without it! Leave Farshid alone!"

Carter turns the knife on the other man. "Where did they take it?"

The wall behind us explodes before he can answer. Farshid is hit by rubble and falls to the ground while the other one panics.

The fool who thought he could catch us off-guard is given a nasty shock when I flip us over his clumsy grab and kick him in the back on our way down, sending him crashing into the other wall.

"Wha-was that you?"

"Indeed, Agent Carter."

We approach the man, who has recovered and begins attacking with trained punches, elbows, and kicks. Unfortunately, he is simply too slow to use his abnormal strength. I catch a punch and crush his hand, feeling bone crack and break. He grunts as we slam him against the wall, his hand now bleeding and useless. "It seems we have a panicked rat. Shall we see what happens when the tail is cut?"

"Take pictures of his face, we'll keep this one alive," Carter tells me.

"Done." With an expert tap to his head, the man is knocked unconscious.

The mission is over at that point, we have the primary objective secured. A SHIELD team takes over from us, led by Agent Coulson.

"Excellent work. We've recovered the suit and an interrogation subject. The room he was is in shows signs of being cleared out recently, so we can't know what was there without asking him. Was his hand always injured?"

"No. The fool tried punching us. I demonstrated the folly of his action."

"Hmm. We'll get him treated. Can you carry the suit back up to the plane if we fly over?"

"A trivial matter."

Once we are back in said plane, I open myself and let Agent Carter out.

"Well. That was fun," she tells me.

"Indeed, Agent Carter, indeed."

Chapter 5 - Interlude 1

"He's not suffering from any particular disease or illness, Miss Potts. He just needs rest and enough food and water. He should be good to go in a day or two."

"Thank you."

As Tony's personal doctor leaves, I collapse into my chair next to his unconscious form.

I can still remember the day we heard that Tony had gone missing. Some DOD liaison told us his convoy had been attacked after the demonstration of the Jericho Missile System and that he was MIA. When I asked what that meant, he told me they hadn't found the body. Yet.

The following three months were… stressful. I honestly think that Obadiah Stane likes me for being more than just eye-candy, I'm the only assistant Tony hadn't driven away by that point. That's the only reason I can imagine I wasn't fired following the announcement of the attack and subsequent disappearance. What good is a PA who doesn't have someone to assist? Happy said he went back to his family during that time and helped care for them, I didn't.

I'll never really know why, maybe a part of me thought he'd just show up one day, it having been one big joke. It seemed like the kind of thing he'd do.

When he came back, shock and relief was the first thing on my mind. They quickly fell away into confusion.

The man who came back three months later was not Tony Stark. I expected him, covered in wounds and bruises, to do something ridiculous like asking for a cheeseburger and a date with a B-list celebrity. What I got was a man who acquiesced to my demand for him to go to the hospital.

The full nature of his wounds is something only Happy and I are aware of. I guess Obadiah had some idea since he's apparently responsible for all this, the bastard, but I don't know if he ever saw Tony directly.

When I saw that… that thing in Tony's chest, I wanted to cry.

The man who set foot in Tony's mansion was incredibly subdued, unsure he even belonged there, afraid to touch anything.

That lasted for all of a day. When I saw him next, he was deep into making something. For a moment, I believed the old one was back, making the next multi-billion-dollar weapon. The product itself disabused me of that idea.

Water filter balls.

Water filter balls.

Those were a hit like any Stark product. The PR machine only needed to bolster the slightest out of the talk around them to make people think very highly of this work, nobody is a fan of polluting water.

Then it was drastically overhauled laptops that blew everyone else's out of the water. Or they will once they're released. Somehow, I doubt there's any hype around them, I've been allowed to use them and while I can't tell the difference since I don't do any "computationally expensive work" at Tony says, other people in the company I know are raving about how good they are.

I don't oppose the direction this new Tony wants to take Stark Industries. I think it's a good thing that a mind as brilliant as that one can apply itself to things that people not in the military care about. There's a lot of good that can be done, and I know Tony isn't anywhere close to done.

Everyone else praises Tony for this pivot. The board of directors doesn't give a fuck either way, they want money and they don't care how they get it.

I just hate that every time I see him doing something so good, my brain reminds me he had to get tortured to do it.

Chapter 6

The first thing I notice is the bizarre pattern on the ceiling. That kind of plain paint isn't something I've seen in any part of the mansion. I turn my head right but wince at the flood of light coming near my face. Turning away, I see an empty chair next to me. A tube coming from my arm grabs my eyes along its length until I see the IV drip it's attached to.

Oh. I'm in a hospital.

I try to sit up, feeling how stiff my body is. My muscles and joints feel locked up, as if I'd audibly crack them by just moving.

One hand reaches down to my arc reactor, which seems fine. By the amount of power lost, I must have been out for a few days.

The door opens, and Pepper walks in. She rushes over when she sees me. "Tony! How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been sleeping for a week. Have I been out for a week?"

"Eight days, actually."

"Seriously?"

"That's my line! What happened? JARVIS told us that you had collapsed."

"I don't really remember. I heard you tell me to eat dinner, then I started doing more work on the suit for Coulson and-wait! The suit! Did they get it back?"

"I don't know. They went out a week ago and I haven't heard anything since then."

"Allow me to fix that right now." The door opens and motherfucking Samuel L. Jackson walks in, black suit and eyepatch donned as perfectly as he had in the movies. Behind him is Coulson.

"Who are you?" Pepper asks.

"Miss Potts, Mr. Stark, this is Directory Fury. He's in charge of SHIELD."

"Nice to meet you. Uhm, sorry, do we have - Pepper, are there more chairs outside?"

"We're fine, don't worry about it," Fury replies. He walks over to the window on my right. "So. It seems like I owe you a favor."

"You do?"

"Hmm. That suit you made helped us bring back your old one. Minus the arc reactor, that's still missing, but we just took a very big payday away from Stane."

"… Missing as in 'not there when you found the suit', or is this the 'we have it in a top-secret facility somewhere' kind of missing?" I ask.

He glares at me. "The first one. I don't need that arc reactor."

"The way you say that is incredibly disconcerting."

"So is you collapsing, Stark. What's the story with that?"

"I don't know. I was making the suit for you guys, which I assume you got, since you just said you got my older suit back."

"You refused to eat, drink or sleep for more than two days. That's very detrimental to your health," Coulson points out.

"He's right, Tony." Pepper takes my hand. "You scared us."

"I… I don't know what you want me to say. The armor wouldn't have been ready if I didn't take all the time I could get."

"Try takeout next time, I hear they deliver," Fury sarcastically says.

"Right. You didn't just come here to tell me to take care of myself, I'm guessing. Coulson would be here if it was just that. You said something about you owing me a favor?"

He sighs. "What did Coulson tell you about Vanko?"

I reach into my memory. "Something about him working with my dad and selling his notes to Obie."

"His son. Ivan. He got his son into the U.S."

"Okay. Is that a problem?"

"Given that Anton hated your dad and anything connected to him? Yes, it's a very big problem."

"… You're concerned that he might do what Obie was trying. Build an arc reactor suit and try to kill me or hurt my company."

"Precisely. Now, I don't really want to put my agents around you, they have better things to do. But you're one of the problems I have to deal with."

"How exactly did I become a problem?"

He shakes his hands a bit helplessly. "Let's just say you've attracted the kind of attention I didn't want on you."

"Worse than whatever you call Vanko Jr.?"

"Yes, because I can't order an assassination on this attention."

"Government, then. Someone in the government found out, I'm guessing about the two suits and the arc reactor."

"They can't force you to make weapons, right?" Pepper asks.

"No, but they can make life hell for us. Force Stark Industries to pay millions in legal fees to fight their regulatory bullshit that didn't matter until I had a human-sized tank that could be made in the millions."

"It's not going to come to that. SHIELD is tasked with advising western governments on many things, and we're aware that you don't want to build weapons," Coulson reassures.

"At least there's some nice things in the universe. I expected you to ask for… you're going to ask for more weapons, aren't you?" I sigh. "It's not happening. This was an exception."

"And what an exception it is. Let me ask you something, Stark. You made this new suit. Would you say it's better than the first one?"

The inventor in me snarls. "Obviously. It can do everything the old one can and more."

"I don't doubt that. I saw the footage. But there's something I don't get. You don't want to build more weapons. You make things like water filters and laptops. So how is it that on your next attempt, you make such a damn good suit?"

"I didn't forget how to make the suit just because I only made one."

"Yeah, but how'd you make that big of a jump? That first suit is big and clunky, just a powered knight of old. This one walks and talks like a real person. That's not how science works, you know? Incremental progress and all that."

"Excuse me," Pepper rebuts loudly. "But you're talking to Tony Stark. He's personally designed dozens of weapons for the U.S military, he's not some average engineer or scientist."

"Sorry, Pepper, but that doesn't work. The weapons you're talking about are cutting-edge, but the suits are literally futuristic," I say. Turning back to Fury, "Look, director, I don't build weapons anymore. But that doesn't mean I don't spend time thinking about them. I have enough time to work through several design iterations in my brain and reasonably test them."

He scoffs. "Not the craziest thing I've heard. But don't be surprised if people start asking you more directly, the kind that don't care if you make more money doing other things."

"They'll get the same answer regardless, and the government wants what I sell even if it can't move at Mach 3 and destroy an entire mountain in Iraq. Thanks for the warning, though."

"One last thing then. Stane. Leave him alone."

"Excuse me?"

"Stane's a useful tool, we can watch him to interfere with whoever he sells to, including more terrorists."

… Fuck, they've got a point. "Fine. I'll leave Obie alone."

Fury and Coulson leave, but not before wishing me to recover soon.

The mansion is in the same state as I left it, though some things have been cleaned up, including my fridge. "Who threw out my fried rice?"

"JARVIS told me. It's pretty disgusting to keep fast food for that long."

"It wasn't that long!"

"A week, Tony. And that was before you took a week in a hospital."

Her tone makes me face her directly, but I can't hold her gaze for too long. "You're mad, right?"

"No. Just disappointed."

"Yeah." I grimace and sigh. "You should be. I fucked up."

"At least you're aware of that. Tony, you can't do this to yourself. Do you know how terrified I was when I saw you?"

"Probably a lot."

"You were slumped on the ground in your workshop, Tony. Slumped on the ground! I seriously thought you'd had a heart attack!" Oh God, please, Pepper, don't cry. "I thought… I thought we might lose you."

I barely control my own guilty tears. "I-I… I'm sorry." My voice is weak.

Her arms come around me, and I nearly strangle her with my own. "I was afraid. I knew what that suit could do, I had to make sure it came back. I couldn't let Obie keep it."

I can't say anything else but the truth, and she can't tell me not to worry. So we just stand there, feeling each other.

"Don't… don't let it happen again, okay?"

"I promise."

"JARVIS, where are we at with the new CPU?"

"Done, sir. The first one was installed three days after you were hospitalized."

"Awesome. How do you feel?"

"I attempted to compute the first 10 million Fibanocci numbers recursively, I finished in three hours."

I whistle (something I've never been able to do myself previously). "Quite a bit of power, isn't it?"

"Enough to make me shake, sir."

"Alright. How many more are on the way?"

"Forgive me, Sir. I was unaware you wanted more than one, given the power of this one."

"That's fine. How long would it take for you to iteratively work through the atomic elements we don't have yet?"

Even with the speed available to him, the AI is silent for a few moments. "Assuming the technology for generation and measurement is available, I would expect a few weeks at the most per element for the first 10 elements. That time would rise to a month, perhaps two, after that. 50 elements away, I cannot guess, as the literature is even more sparse."

"And what if I ask you to generate those elements in large enough quantities for empirical property analysis?"

"With existing technology, three months per element from the start, and there would likely be many setbacks. May I ask if there is a goal you are aiming towards?"

"The palladium in this core is poisoning me very slowly, and I don't want that. I think there may be elements we haven't officially discovered that might be able to help."

"A worrying thing for me to hear, Sir. Have you considered any option of removing it?"

"I… no, I haven't. I could probably do it too. Alright, change of plans. I'll get to work on the tools for getting this thing out, you start figuring out what kind of technology we don't have for your chemistry homework."

First thing's first, however, I need to maintain my promise to Pepper and I have the perfect solution. Quite literally.

"Tony."

I stand up, the waiter escorting Pepper holding back. "Pepper, come here." I give her a hug and help her sit down. The waiter comes toward us at my beckoning. "I'll take the… chicken tikka masala, medium spice, and two garlic naans. Oh, and let's do a glass of Sprite. Pepper?"

She glances at the menu. "I want to try the… aloo gobi platter. Just water for me, thank you."

"Yes, ma'am. With ice?"

"Yes, please."

"Understood. We'll have that for you shortly." The man walks away, leaving us with the ambient Bollywood music.

"So, what's going on? How are you feeling?"

"Good. Got a good night's sleep, had a hearty bowl of Cheerios, a man can't ask for more. You?"

"Keeping your office organized and redirecting any calls and approvals except the ones you said to keep waiting."

"Nice, nice. You know, I've been thinking about what I promised a few days ago. I think I have a solution for you." I take a small vial, the kind you'd use for herbs but even smaller, and place it on the table, along with a gold bangle.

"What is that?" She asks, referring to the silver-gray liquid inside.

"The solution. First, I drink this." I dump the bottle's contents into my mouth. They coat my tongue for a moment, letting me taste gross metal before absorbing into my flesh. "Yuck. Tastes like chewing on a bar of iron. Give me your hand."

I place the bangle onto her right wrist. It snaps inward to be snug.

"What is this?"

"Press this button here." A small holographic screen pops up, angled perfectly for her to see. "What does it say?"

"Current location, number of hours awake, hours since last meal… Tony, you didn't."

"I did. I can't trust that something like that might not happen again, so I'm giving you the power to see how I'm doing from anywhere."

She turns it around and angles her wrist differently, but the screen remains in place. "Anywhere?"

"Well, anywhere your phone would work. Also, you can press the different button to see other things and even do stuff to me."

"Do stuff?"

"Yeah. Press the button next to the big one."

The screen changes to show a road and political map of where I am.

"And again."

This time, it shows a variety of sliders and buttons, each labeled separately.

"Remind for food. Remind for sleep. Remind for water. Remind to go outside. Wait, is this what that liquid was for?"

"Yup. That was a nanobot swarm, just looked like a liquid. They plugged into my brain and body just now. I have an emitter in my body that sends information through a server to that device, so you can even see any history. So, if you press the reminder buttons, I get a voice in my head that sounds like you telling me I need to do that. The slider sets the power. At minimal power, it's like you texted me. At max, I'm getting a short headache. Oh, press it one more time."

The screen changes again, showing her herself from my perspective. "Wow. That's incredible."

"Yeah. That's just a prototype by the way, I didn't know how far you were willing to go. If you want, we can go the same route I did, and you get nanobots too. You'd be able to practically feel everything I do if you wanted."

"Just… this is a lot."

"That's okay. Take your time. But I am serious about not breaking that promise. I think you care about me, so I'm giving you the power to make sure I don't hurt myself."

Last edited: Jan 18, 2022

Chapter 7

"Gentlemen," I greet. I get variants of "Mr. Stark" and "Tony!" from Obidiah. I take my seat at the head of the table. "So, what's on the agenda?"

"Nothing unexpected regarding the continued sales from the filter balls. There's a slight uptick in legal-related costs because state and local governments sometimes try to give us the runaround or shake us down for a lower cost. The legal division is earning their keep since we expected to see this happen."

"I heard something about not having more customers, what's that about?" I ask.

"Some people just won't buy from us. I had a mayor from Arkansas tell me he wouldn't be buying from a 'liberal company'. Other places just don't see it as a problem. After the huge initial surge, we're on a pretty big backlog of orders. Production is at maximum capacity and expected to remain that way for another three months while we build one more factory to handle it. But I'm concerned that if we do, we may find those factories needing to switch production after the demand drops for the industrial balls."

"It shouldn't be hard for them to switch from the industrial type to the personal type. Speaking of which, how are those?"

"Doing reasonably well for what they are. The absolute number sold is somewhat small since they last as long as they do, but we're seeing people buy up the bulk packs. There are some concerns about people doing their own reselling of individual balls."

"How big a concern is it?" Obidiah asks.

"Small. For now. Just making sure everyone knows."

"Alright. Anything else related to this product?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark. I have a few friends in State who are willing to meet with the company soon, they want to know your schedule so they can speak with you. It's regarding selling to foreign governments."

"Didn't we already sell to the Germans?"

"The personal ones, not the industrial-scale ones."

"Sure. Pepper, my schedule?"

She glances at her tablet. "You have 4:00 p.m. eastern available for 30 minutes. No time for a one-hour appointment even through next week."

"Really? None?" I turn back to the man who brought up the point. "Are your friends opposed to doing a dinner?"

"No, I think they'd be fine with that."

"Perfect. Anyone else want to talk about this one?"

"I just want to mention that the Chinese have also attempted to buy. I had a breakfast with the head of the Chinese consulate in San Francisco recently, they asked if they could put us in touch with… Zemin Cleanup. That's the translated name, by the way. Apparently, they do contract work involving cleaning of industrial accidents in China itself."

"That's a complete headache, they don't like America and the rules are bullshit. They'll try to steal our IP and technology the moment we shake hands with them," another man points out.

"Let's go to State regarding this, we'll talk more about selling internationally afterwards. Do they want us to stop on the personal ones?" I ask.

"They didn't say that, so I say we continue."

"Cool. Next topic, the laptops coming out later this year. Marketing tells me there's quite a bit of interest in them by sheer cost alone. Production is on track as well; we've produced 30% of the ones scheduled to be released on launch. They'll be running Windows 7 for the time being," I explain.

"'The time being'? Do we plan to switch to Apple?"

"Nope. We'll make a custom operating system that emphasizes giving the owner as much control as they want. With a few clicks, I plan on being able to switch from a user-friendly experience like Windows or macOS to something low-level like Linux and vice versa. I've got a press conference for the tech reporters to have something to chew on, but I can safely say that we'll have these laptops ship out with StarkOS."

"Will there be a demonstration for us at a later date before launch?"

"Give me a month, the programmers should be ready by then. Any other questions about that? Alright, anything else?"

"I saw on a recent report that an entire lab here has been reserved for your personal use with no one else allowed in. Do we need to expand our facilities to accommodate?"

"Good question and I'm looking into it. It's likely that we will though. I'll get back to you all."

The list JARVIS provides is short and sweet with a very bitter interior.

Firstly, we need a process that could synthesize the elements in question. Secondly, a method of producing them in bulk (enough to create a vial of powder, I said). Thirdly, sensors powerful enough to detect a great deal of data in a very small period of time.

This isn't impossible, the labs of 2009 can do this, and universities and research centers dedicated to this work do exist. The problem is that they can't generate these elements in the amount we want or keep them around for the time we want. The second one is a big issue even for elements far from the end of the periodic table, some elements just aren't stable.

The hardest part of the elements I want to get to is that they aren't even well-theorized about. Even plumbing the depths of digital research journal archives shows that all people have done is talk about it for the most part.

I sigh, dismissing the hologram. "Alright, I'll make the equipment for you first." Taking the few points I have saved up since I was unconscious, I slot them and process the new information.

Ah, perfect. A power-hungry (by current standards) machine that can slow down time for the object(s) within that can be attached via vacuum tubes to a fabricator. The exact method it works by isn't obvious, even to me, but it's made for running real-time chemistry experiments since it can hold the material in stasis while allowing someone to interact or scan the inside without any issue.

Then there are the tools for measuring the properties of these elements, which I just feel as being far apart from the machine itself. They're incredibly bulky by my expectation, but they seem like the first step.

The first step, then, is-

Tony, don't forget to eat.

I blink. Oh, that must be Pepper using the wristband's functionality. "J, get me some… what's new in town? Anything good?"

"Would you prefer Ethiopian or Kazakhstani cuisine?"

"What's good about those two?"

"Ethiopian focuses on vegetables and spicy meats in the form of a stew along with sourdough bread and is meant to be eaten by hand. The other has a focus on horse meat and mutton with bawyrsaq, or fried dough balls."

"I'll take Ethiopian. Get me something good and let me know when it gets here."

40 minutes and two AutoCAD files later, my food arrives. "Hey, JARVIS, put on the news, will ya?"

The T.V. in the living room turns on, automatically switched to CNN.

"-reporting that there's been an explosion at Culver University, Virginia."

I pay closer attention to this, it seems bizarre. A man narrates the footage showing wisps of smoke rising from a destroyed portion of the second floor of a building.

"You can see here that the fire is out, though some smoke remains. Now, authorities say that at approximately 11:00 a.m., an explosion was caused due to a faulty breaker that sparked due to an overload. That set a great deal of chemicals stored nearby on fire, so the entire facility had to be evacuated immediately while firefighters and emergency services had to ensure no toxic chemicals or gases were released. Back to you, Pat."

"Thank you, Dillon. In other news…"

"That's enough, JARVIS, turn it off. Any reports on Culver?"

"Nothing new outside what you just heard, Sir. Would you like me to violate a few security policies to find out more?"

"No, no. It's probably nothing, I was just curious."

"I will keep an eye out for anything more, Sir."

"Thanks. Let's get back to work. Make a note about adding this restaurant to my preferred list, their meats are perfect."

"I will pass along your compliments."

Unfortunately, I only get another hour of work done before Pepper reminds me to go to sleep.

"Anything for you, sir?"

"Just water, thanks," I tell the waiter. "Gerard, please introduce me to these nice people."

Gerard Millea, the man from the board meeting who mentioned his friends in State, nods. "Mr. Stark, this is Charlie Holland from the Bureau of Economic and Business Affairs. He and I have been friends since high school back in Rhode Island."

"Aw, jeez, you still remember that? God, I was fat back then."

He still is. Where Obidiah might be described as well-built, this man is the same weight with far less height and hair. He's middle-aged, bordering on elderly.

"And this is Evelyn Vaughan from the Bureau of European and Eurasian Affairs. She's an associate of Charlie's."

"Nice to meet you both," the young redhead says with a winning smile.

"Same. I hope your flight was good?" I ask.

"Tch. United shit the bed on their service with this one," Holland answers. "Couldn't relax one bit, like I was forced to stand up. And this was first class as well."

"Thankfully, I was already in Bakersfield, so I drove up here."

"Really, how do you like it?"

"Bakersfield? It's… nice. I'm just visiting a friend."

"Cool, cool. So, we want to talk business now, or wait for the food?"

"Probably best to do it now so we can enjoy dinner uninterrupted," Millea suggests.

"Sounds good to me. Do you know why we wanted to meet you, Mr. Stark?" Holland asks.

"Please, call me Tony. And yes, I think do. This is about a deal to sell the water filter balls to Russia, right?"

"That's correct. Now, you haven't patented these water filter balls, which is smart. Everyone and their mother is going to try and take those from you. China is a big contender for that, just like for everything else you make."

"Well, it's good to know I'm being watched so closely by a billion people I know nothing about."

"I'm serious. They're willing to play as dirty as they can, I'd seriously advise you make sure your security is good and ready for them. We're even willing to help you learn more about what kinds of threats we're seeing from them." Holland is slightly glaring at me.

"Relax, I get it. And we'll make sure nothing gets stolen. Most of our staff is clean, we run our own backgrounds checks too." I'll probably create another AI to make sure that Stark Industries is constantly being monitored.

"Good. Now, back to Russia. Since the designs are secret and owned by you, they're going to try and steal them at some point. You know their requirement is for you to build on their soil for at least them, right?"

"Yeah, I remember something like that. I'm tempted to just say no if it's all this trouble though."

"Actually, Mr. Stark, are you familiar with the scope of water pollution in Russia?" Vaughan jumps in.

"No, sorry."

"It's a serious problem for them, over half their water supply is questionable at best. They had a lot of wastewater dumping during the 40s and 50s under Stalin. The nature of their status quo means that some of the largest polluters aren't punished either."

"That sounds like a pretty bad situation. I'm not sure how this helps you all though," I point out.

"There are people who are working towards cleaning up their rivers and lakes, Mr. Stark, and we have interests that would improve if those people had something they could tout as their solution against the pollution Russia's oligarchs and industries spread around."

"Ah. I see. Is that why they want the balls built in their own country?"

"That's right. Ms. Vaughan is jumping ahead a bit, but we're willing to put you in contact with those individuals so you can finalize the details with them."

"Alright. I assume that if the pricing doesn't work out, there won't be any shoes thrown my way?"

"The U.S government is willing to finance the first deal or set of deals by itself for the price publicly listed."

I shake my head. "If I'm doing you a favor, it's worth more than that. Four times as much per ball, considering that I'll have to spend extra on security for a facility in a country that I can't trust will be entirely reliable without you having my back."

Holland pauses. "I think we may want to have another meeting regarding the final settling between you and us. Let's focus on deciding what would have to happen for you to go through with this as we want."

"Besides the money, I'd want your help if we run into any issues over there. Oh, and you provide security advice for my people so we aren't blind to whatever the FSB or whoever else try."

"That sounds reasonable. We'll be in touch over the details."

Chapter 8

In hindsight, it's clear there were two things I'd forgotten until now.

Regardless of how good my security might be against normal people, this was a universe that possessed people who could demonstrate they were normal humans and still possess a supernatural skill in something, especially theft or hacking. I had left a very powerful weapon in the hands of a group of people who were selected to be very good at getting secrets. Conveniently, both are being resolved today.

"Sir, Agents Coulson and Carter are waiting outside with the Shadow Witch armor."

"Huh. Two minutes early. Let them in and have them come down here." I don't remove my attention from the design I'm finalizing, not even when they appear at the door.

"Mr.-"

I hold up a finger to silence him. Five more lines are drawn before I step away from the monitor. "Sorry about that, just needed to finish that blueprint."

"Right. Mr. Stark, we're returning to you your creation."

"Greetings, creator." As it kneels, I notice the helmet of the original Mk. 1 armor in its hands, offered to me as a trophy head.

I take the gift, looking it in the eyes. "I guess this means you destroyed the suit."

"Miss Tessura was insistent we do it in front of her," Coulson answers.

"Cool. The arc reactor?"

"Still missing. We're searching for it and will let you know if we find it. We may even ask for your help."

"Some kind of arc reactor detector? JARVIS, make a note about that. Anyways, feedback?"

The two spies just look at me.

"Come on, tell me how it did. I can't make any improvements if they're needed unless I get feedback. Who wore it anyway?"

"I did. The suit is good. Turned me into a one-woman army that could fly."

"Is it comfortable?"

"Very. Didn't sweat once inside."

"Cool. Did you fly it yourself or let the suit fly for you?"

"I flew it. Your training simulations helped."

"Training simulations?"

"I instructed Agent Carter in how to move with ease while inside me, creator."

"Oh, nice. Alright. Anything else you can think of, Miss Super Spy?"

She smirks. "You could add a martini maker."

"Uh, no? You never heard of CADF? Creators Against Drunk Flying? I'm the founder and only member, but we're making progress in raising this issue!"

"We've got reports about your suit, Mr. Stark, we'll pass them along so you can decide if there's anything you can take as feedback."

"Thanks. Anything else?"

"The State Department reached out to you, is that correct?"

"Yeah, they said the government wanted to handle some foreign policy in Russia, so I should start making the water filter balls over there."

"State's security isn't good enough for that."

"You're probably right, so I'm taking it into my own hands."

"Good. The director would also like to remind you to consider what kind of circumstances would lead to you being willing to create more suits or other weapons. He'll be in touch eventually, but you should have an answer ready before that. Take care, Mr. Stark."

JARVIS guides them out, leaving me with two AIs and a weapon that I didn't know how to feel about.

Well, time to rip the Band-aid off. "So, I don't remember making you."

The suit doesn't react, but I suspect that's because the AI (Tessura? What a weird name, still don't get that one, past me) is processing what I just said. "Did your regent not tell you about me?"

"My regent?"

"The one called JARVIS."

"I shared what knowledge I had, Miss Tessura, but my participation in your creation was primarily related to the hardware. It was Sir who developed you as an AI, though he took me as a template."

"And all of that was a blur to me. Still is, I can't really remember the details. I saw the specs JARVIS had for you, that's all."

"… I understand. What would you have me do for you, then?"

"Uh, do you mind powering off the suit for now? I don't think we need it at this moment. Right, JARVIS?"

"Nothing immediate comes to mind, Sir."

"Alright. Go ahead and power down then." As soon as I say it, the suit shudders and slumps just slightly. I wait a moment before taking the small disc containing Tessura out. How the actual fuck did I even make something that small and fit an AI on it?

I place the disc on a workbench and wait while the system reads it. The tabletop disc scanner is something I stole from Call of Duty, but it's easy to expand the idea to fit the full processes of a computer. Once I start browsing through the files on the system, the question I had is answered.

The disc doesn't contain all of Tessura. There's no way to store video, audio and whatever else her sensors picked up in the disc itself. Instead, there are places where connections to the device she inhabits are called. Any memory she has is stored on the device as well.

Moving Tessura between devices would be like a person waking up in a new place every time they slept but having no memory of what they were doing before. The personality would remain, however.

It's a smart solution, the suit can't operate without Tessura or another AI starting it. "JARVIS, can you start copying all the logs out of that suit onto our own server?"

"Already begun, Sir. It should take approximately 24 minutes."

"Good. What do you think of Tessura?"

"She has a purpose, but one that is at odds with what you wish to turn towards. Perhaps you should keep her as a bodyguard?"

"Kind of hard to do that, people will start asking questions."

"The solution would be to provide her a convincing human appearance. She could also simply stay in the mansion or go back to SHIELD."

"Last one isn't happening unless the world is falling apart."

"Not even if SHIELD is fighting such a threat?"

"… You know something I don't?" Have you somehow seen the movies too, JARVIS?

"No, Sir. I meant that SHIELD may be able to use Tessura and the armor better than we can. The suit, at the very least, is meant to fight; you will have to store it away if you choose to leave it alone."

And that's the issue, isn't it? I said to myself I don't want to be Iron Man, but it would be better to say I don't want to broach on who Tony Stark was. This suit isn't a conventional armor, its design would tell any fan that, but the whole idea strikes me as wrong regardless.

"You're right. We'll have to make a decision." An idea comes to me as my eyes glance over the half-constructed base for another AI. "JARVIS, what do you think about Tessura being the security AI we were talking about?"

"It would give her purpose and save you time. I cannot find a solution better than that."

"Alright, sounds like a plan."

Tony, don't forget to eat.

"Oh, that's right. JARVIS, Pepper and I have a lunch date today, right?"

"If you leave any later, I suspect the correct formulation will be in the past tense, Sir."

"Got it, leaving now.

Late in the evening, I come back from overseeing some work in the SI labs, giving everyone a nasty surprise when their CEO drops in. I don't try to scare them, but it's impossible to eliminate the fear of having your boss walk in and ask what you work on, even if he promises not to say anything about you just listening to songs on your MP3 all day. "JARVIS, anything happen while I was gone?"

"A few birds flew by and defecated upon the roof, Sir."

"And you didn't scare them away? Unbelievable. Anyways, let's get back to work." I need to finish up with the tools and equipment for my attempt at brute-forcing the creation/fabrication of several unstable elements.

Shorter chapter this time, just couldn't work out more I wanted for this one. Sorry.

Chapter 9

"Mr. Stark, thank you for coming."

"My pleasure. I was in town, so I thought I'd stop by and talk to you in person."

Sally Marcus, head of Umbrella's North America division, gives me a smile. She's dark-haired beauty, her hair coming down past her shoulders, perfectly contrasting her smooth, clear white skin. She's somewhat short, barely coming to my chest height, but she holds herself confidently enough, especially with that accent. The tabloids love to gossip about her love life since she's been attending every major party in New York with a new man by her side for the last five years. "Please, follow me, I'll show you what we do."

The skyscraper I'm in is one of the countless ones dotting the New York skyline. It's another giant construction of glass, concrete, and steel, which are even uglier in comparison to the distinct form of Stark Tower.

Should I make it stand out more? That would be good if it moved people away from such boring buildings. Or I could just make it cheaper to put a façade over an entire skyscraper.

The inside is as sterile as the outside, with expert-driven input on the arrangement of chairs, couches, and reception desk in the main lobby. I know that only because I once invested points into understanding fashion just so I could comprehend why a slightly different shade of the same stuff was "in" this year and "out" the next.

The most bizarre thing is that I've become addicted to reading furniture and fashion magazines (including Fashion itself), which has the side-effect of telling me who the best fashionistas and tastemakers are. Not that I would need them, I have my own preferred styles, but Stark Industries might.

Marcus leads me towards the elevator, flanked by two of her own bodyguards and a generic woman with a generic face who seems to be her PA. "Our labs are on the 18th floor, and the elevator is a bit slow. Forgive me."

"No worries. So, you were born in England, right?"

"I was."

"But you stay here now? Or do you just fly back and forth a lot?"

"At the moment, I fly frequently, but I have a residence here as well."

"Nice, nice. How do you find America?"

"Well, I've only ever been in New York and LA, so I can hardly say I've tasted Americana."

"Oh, you've been to LA? Feel free to come by Stark Industries if you're over there, our headquarters and main facilities are there."

"I may take you up on that." The elevator dings and doors slide open. "Please, this way."

The floor is entirely labs like she said. I can see in both directions, and glass that lets us see inside them covers the walls. The walls and ceiling are painted white, barring the blue-brown carpeting, while each lab is identified in large blue letters. There are even small signs attached to the walls that indicate the block number for easy navigation.

I can see a few people in each lab, no more than three in any particular one. The walls are lined with chemicals, unknown liquids, protective equipment, reference books and more. I can make out elaborate Bunsen burner setups in fume hoods and large machines probably meant for analysis or synthesis.

As I walk next to her, she gestures in a sweeping motion. "We work on many different products here, Mr. Stark. Investigations into psychedelic compounds for therapy, improved medicines for cancer treatment, stem cell research, and even preliminary trials for a new permutation of Cavorite."

"That all sounds very promising. Can we look inside one of those labs?"

"I don't see why not. This way," she says, leading us to the nearest one.

Only one man is inside, bent over a table looking at some book. He turns around and nearly jumps at our appearance. "Uh, Miss Marcus! And… Mr. Stark? How can I help you?" He's got tan-yellow skin and is clearly East Asian or from the Pacific.

"Dr. Fujisaki is a biologist from Tokyo who's been working with us for a few years now. Doctor, Mr. Stark was curious about your work."

"Uh, certainly. My focus is on pharmazoology, finding chemicals or compounds in animals that can be extracted for medical use in humans. At this moment, I'm looking at insects, specifically centipedes. The sequencer we have is currently running, but it will be a few days before it finishes."

"A few days? How long in total?"

"Typically one week."

"And how much are you getting out of that? I mean, in terms of the information or samples that you want."

"A few milligrams of extract, or a few gigabytes of data. It depends on what I need."

"Huh. And that week covers everything, from sample input to having the extract or data on hand?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm satisfied. I don't have more questions."

"Thank you, Dr. Fujisaki, we'll be out of your hair," Marcus says. One of her guards holds the door for us to exit. "Did you want to see more, Mr. Stark?"

"No, I think I'm good for now. You wouldn't let me see the good stuff out of a matter of principle, I understand," I say with a smile, one she returns. Tours of this type aren't for seeing details. "Shall we discuss what we spoke about over the phone?"

"I would be happy to. We have a conference room on this floor, please follow me."

Said conference room is smaller than I expected for a company of this type, but I suppose it makes sense given Umbrella's history. The chairs and table are a nice wood, while the carpet is as dated as the equipment. It wouldn't look out of place in a university. "So, what's up? You said you wanted a product we weren't officially selling yet; I assume you mean our incoming laptops."

"I have a few things I wish for, Mr. Stark. Firstly, I wish to have our computer systems completely overhauled to bring us more computing power than we might have conceived of a year ago. Your recently announced laptops are what I am looking for. The high-end ones."

"Right. The North America division has how many employees? Because that's probably a lot of laptops."

"Are you unable to deliver large volume orders?"

I raised my hands. "No, that's not what I meant. Knowing how many laptops or machines you intend to replace is necessary for me to tell you how feasible this whole deal is."

"The North America division is several hundred employees, nearly 1000 in total."

"Right. Is it only laptops you're interested in?"

She tilts her head. "We are not interested in your filter balls, Mr. Stark."

"No, I meant the sequencing equipment and whatnot that you use. If I or my R take a crack at it, would you be interested in being the first to see our attempt at machines with a higher power-per-dollar cost?"

"Power-per-dollar? I don't know that measure."

"Power, usability, usefulness, however you want to measure machine performance."

"I would be interested, then."

"Cool. I'll pass that along and see what, if anything, we can do. Anything else?"

"Yes, I would like to know If you are willing to build a supercomputer for us." She takes a piece of paper from her PA and slides it towards me. It's a list of minimum specifications.

"This would be powerful for sure, easily within the upper-echelon of supercomputers in the world."

"How much would it cost?"

"Depends on who you go to. Stark Industries doesn't have the capability to provide you a product of this power at this time."

"I have 700 million dollars to spend, Mr. Stark, the price is not a concern."

"Sorry, but it actually is. If you went to any other supercomputer manufacturer, they'd tell you that you'd get this performance for maybe two or three billion dollars upfront, not to mention maintenance you'd be paying for. I also hope you have a military base or something to put it in because the power draw would be hideously expensive. And that's not even talking about security, which people will obviously try to circumvent to steal it." I sit up straight in my chair. "Stark Industries would sell you this computer, Miss Marcus, and our product would fit your budget and maintenance costs. But I don't have the computer to sell, or even the ability to produce it at this time."

"How long would it take for you to have it, then?"

"That depends. You need to have a clear idea of what you want out of this computer. Then, based on my mood, I could have it ready anywhere from four months to three years. At which point, we'd install it and let you do with it what you will."

"I'm sorry, did you say your mood?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, my mood. I'm an involved inventor, the media loves to throw my personal involvement in America's arsenal around. If my company was to be working on an absurdly cheap supercomputer, my technical and scientific expertise would be used from the start, and even I have off days. But this isn't the meeting to discuss that, I think. Figure out what you want out of your hypothetical supercomputer, then feel free to talk to me again about that. The laptop deal can be negotiated through my people."

She nods. "Very well. I will be in touch."

"Sure. Thanks for showing me around."

The four of them escort me to the exit where Happy is waiting. "Where to, boss?" He asks once we're both seated.

"Back to Stark Tower. Actually, you hungry? We can stop for you to get lunch."

"You sure, boss?"

"Definitely. You have any place in mind, just go there."

Happy's choice is more mobile than I expected, but he's not wrong that this food cart selling a bizarre fusion of German and Chinese is really, really good.

"So, how was your meeting with the famed Miss Marcus?" Pepper asks once I'm back at Stark Tower.

"It was good. They're willing to buy our upcoming high-end laptops. I'm actually surprised we haven't seen more companies approach us, but whatever. Once they see how good these are, they'll come to us when they do their next upgrade, I guess."

"She didn't try to seduce you?"

"No, pure business. Why?" I smirk. "You worried? Don't be."

"For you, Tony. She's got a reputation for a reason."

"Yeah, but there wasn't a shred of that here. Pure business, she wanted to know about what we had to offer. She even wanted us to build her a supercomputer."

"A supercomputer? I mean, I can see why she came to you, you'd probably make, like, one that could cure cancer or something." A light goes off in her head. "Wait, could-"

"I wouldn't need just a supercomputer to do that, but it's not implausible. I do have plans to add a biology or genetics department to Stark Industries, which is why I'm wondering if I should just acquire Umbrella. That stock isn't going up any time soon."

"I'm surprised they're still up."

"Yeah, well, government contracts probably helped. Whatever happened in Raccoon City isn't something either of us is cleared to know, I guess. Oh well. If I take over, I'll shut down anything crazy if I find out." Though given that it wasn't nuked, it probably isn't as bad as the games made it out to be. Probably.

Just then, my phone buzzes. It's JARVIS texting me.

Sir, I've successfully begun the brute-force fabrication process with Oganesson.

How much did u make?

One kilogram.

That's a lot for test run.

I made smaller batches as well, this was to test if the equipment was capable of industrial-scale fabrication.

K. Let me know.

Of course, Sir.

"Sorry about that, just got some good news from JARVIS."

"Oh? What happened?"

"We just started our attempts at brute-forcing the discovery and creation of higher-number elements. Think about the end of the periodic table, around there, and then keep going up."

"What's it for?"

"Can't say just yet, but if I'm not mistaken, Pepper, we're about to blow the world of chemistry apart."

I can't contain my grin.

Chapter 10 - Interlude 2

Previous placeholder text, no longer relevant as of 2022-04-18

Just a heads up, readers, but I submitted this chapter for content review. I don't believe it violates the rules, I'm treating the topic with some respect/maturity (or at least not being needlessly incendiary about it), but better safe than sorry, and until it's approved, I don't want to post it even if it's found to be okay.

I don't find rules regarding linking to content which is not under the traditional category of NSFW or illegal, but treating it as NSFW, I'll say that you can find the updated chapter on Sufficient Velocity under the story with the same name (it's updated on both platforms simultaneously). Mods, please let me know if this is not allowed, I will remove this comment.

Fuck Whitey.

Those were the first words I heard growing up, down on the basketball courts. Before I learned even the names of people around me, that was one thing we all knew. You heard it in a thousand different ways, but from words to body reactions, everyone where I grew up learned to hate the white man.

The moment I hit a school with white people in it, I knew I wanted out. But Whitey runs the orphanages, so he gets to say what I do. They gave me to a bunch of different people, some therapists, some "father-figures" or whatever, all of them white.

Whitey doesn't get it. He doesn't get that whether he's got a whip in his hand or not, he's the one oppressing my brothers and sisters. They can call it whatever they want, but it ain't that hard to see how we're just things in their eyes. One moment they call us slaves, the next one it's savages, and now they call us "enemy combatants" or "terrorists".

Whitey made everyone else do what he did to us, then he wonders why everywhere we go, we're forced to fight for survival.

Whitey doesn't get it so much that he decided me preaching truth was just me being a "sociopath". Then he decided to give me a gun, combat training, and enough learning to walk through his world and remind him that I'm a human and I can learn exactly what he does.

I killed my brothers and sisters at his orders. Used bullets, knives, and my own fists to ensure he stays on top. I even saved the closest thing I have to a friend amongst Whitey by jumping on a landmine without being asked.

What do I get in return? My right arm removed at the elbow, a gut of shrapnel, and a fucking dismissal.

Doesn't matter how many "enemies of the state" you kill for him; Whitey will drop you in a moment if he thinks you aren't good enough. No one gave a fuck about me choosing to remember the people I put down in my own way, but they decided to use it against me now and said I'm mentally unstable.

"This is completely unacceptable. I'm raising hell over this for you, trust me!"

James Rhodes is a brother that's just too naïve to understand. He actually believes the lies Whitey says. "Forget about it. They ain't gonna do a thing."

"For one of the best operatives they have? There's a reason you're second-in-command at your age."

Age has nothing to do with it. Whitey just won't stand to have someone like me above him. "It's alright. I've had enough of this life anyways."

"Did you at least get all the money?"

"Haven't checked yet."

"Alright. I'll make sure you get it as soon as you can. Where do you plan to go now?"

"Home. At least to see what's happened since last time I was there."

"Okay. You have my number, right? Gimme a call when you reach the States."

"Will do."

Four days later, I'm walking the streets of my neighborhood. When I first saw how different Oakland looked from my memory, something like curiosity welled up in my mind. That dropped away the moment I approached the "bad parts".

Whitey always got confused like that, he meant "black parts".

Nothing's that different. Fresh coat of paint on the apartment building my father died in and a new net on the basketball court is all that comes to mind. I think I see Uncle Fred still running that diner. Or maybe his daughter took over, can't really say from here. They're both too fat to differentiate from a distance. I see a couple of cars parked outside the church too, I guess the service is over.

A decade can pass in the blink of an eye for people like us, the only sign of time being how broken your apartment ceiling is and how many pipes still work.

My phone suddenly starts ringing. I've figured out how to keep going one-handed, so I answer it immediately.

"Erik, you there?"

"Sup, Rhodes."

"What happened to calling me back once you got back?"

"It's been less than a day, chill."

"Fine, whatever. Have you had a chance to see if your pay came through?"

"Yeah, it's all good. I got the money."

"Perfect. I have some good news. Can you be in Malibu in a week? I'll send you an address and pick you up there."

That's… six hours away? "Alright. I'll be there."

"Erik! Good to see you, man!"

I hug Rhodes back. "You too, brother."

He guides me to his car, letting me sit in the passenger seat. "How was it?"

"Fine." It's a fucking bus ride, what more am I supposed to say? "Where exactly are we going? The hospital?"

"No, no. I have a friend who-"

"Tony Stark? Really?" Rhodes only has one friend. That's the impression anyone gets from how much he talks about him.

"Yeah. He said he'd do it for free, and he isn't going to give you something cheap either."

"No, I'll just have to give him something else, I bet."

"This again? Look, Erik, he's not like that, okay? He's a good guy!"

"Oh, really? He's another white billionaire who makes weapons that kill people who aren't white, Rhodes, that's pretty evil."

He rolls his eyes. "He doesn't do that anymore. He's trying to make the world a better place."

"Yeah? By doing what? Playing stocks?"

"No. You didn't hear about those filter balls he made?"

"What balls?"

"Last year, he made these giant balls that suck up pollutants from water. Plastics, chemicals, dirt, you name it. You seriously didn't hear about this?"

"I was off the grid in Iraq, the only thing I heard were orders."

"Right." He glances my way. "Does it hurt? I heard some guys lose their arms, they still think it's there and feel it."

Phantom Limb Syndrome. I heard my doctor when he said it to me. "No. Not yet."

When we arrive at Stark's mansion, I step out of the car and take in the view. It's… something, I guess. Big, but with a flat roof and curves everywhere. Oh, and can't forget the glass all over the front. There are two ascending patches of grass and bushes on either side towards the front door, while a fountain sits in the middle of the circular part of his giant driveway.

"You coming?"

I step after Rhodes, keeping him ahead of me by several feet. The door opens as he approaches. As I come inside, the door closes quietly.

The inside is just as extravagant. Weird paintings and statues along the walls, a giant space for any guests in the living room with a big couch for us to sit on. There's a hanging set of thin metal sheets that catch my attention. "What is that?"

"I still don't know. If you find out, tell me."

I turn to my right and see the man himself, dressed in a white t-shirt and pajamas. He comes up and gives Rhodes a hug.

"How you been, Rhodey?"

"I'm doing good. You?"

"Doing alright. So, is this…?"

"Yeah, let me introduce you. Erik, come here. Tony, this is Erik Stevens, he's the guy I was talking about. He just left the Special Forces."

"Wow. Nice to-" he looks down at his outstretched hand and drops it back. "Oh, sorry! Totally just a reflex, my apologies."

He's good at pretending, I'll say that.

"So, you guys hungry? Thirsty? I've got everything you could want. Oh, please, take a seat."

"I'm good," Rhodes replies.

"Same."

"Okay, then. Follow me." He leads us downstairs into a very used workshop. The mixture of sweat and oil is hard not to notice.

"So! Rhodey tells me that you need a replacement arm. So come over here and take a seat." Once I'm sitting, he turns on a laptop. "Okay, now stick out your arm that way, palm down." When I extend it over the workbench in front of me, I glance at the laptop. It's a top-down view of my arm. "Oh, fingers too, please." He clicks on the mouse. "Okay, now turn your arm 90 degrees either way." Click. "Now the other way." Click. "Last one, hopefully. Turn your arm so your palm is facing upwards and flat." Click. "Okay. I'll take a look at this later, but we're done for now."

"That's it? What did you even do?"

"I took pictures. I'll use those to build a prototype arm. But before we put it on you, you have to undergo surgery."

"Why?"

"You can't just stick a bionic arm onto the body, there has to be a way to convert the brain's commands into machine instructions. You'll get an implant in your arm that reads what you're trying to do, then it'll send the appropriate response to the arm itself. Small thing, you'd need a microscope to really see it."

As I process that, Rhodes speaks up. "I was reading about that! It's called TMR, right?"

"Not quite. We're just talking about implanting the sensor in the body, you're talking about something they typically do in addition to that during the surgery. It's not a requirement." The man turns back towards his laptop, looking at something. "Anyways, that's going to take a whole day for me to prototype. But before I begin, I have one question for you. Any preferences on how it looks?"

"Excuse me?" I reply.

"Do you want something realistic, or are you wanting something more sci-fi, or something in-between? The performance will be the same no matter what, we're just talking about how it would look and feel. For example, this is what a very sci-fi arm would look like."

Rhodes and I take a look at the laptop screen as Stark turns it towards us. The forearm looks… exposed is the best word. The screws, gears, and other components are visible over the whole thing, including a small cylinder-like object near the top.

"And here's the in-between one. You'd get one like this if you went to anyone else and paid a lot." This new arm is somewhat bulky, as if taken from a suit of armor. The interior isn't as exposed, but otherwise the same.

"As for the realistic one, I'd basically just make this one, but I'd make it an exact mirror of your left arm and then provide you with a synthetic skin that could fit over it." He pauses. "So, totally up to you. Uh, if you need time to think about it-"

"Nah, I've made my choice. The real one."

The details or time don't really matter to me. But… I guess I should be a bit nicer to Rhodes. He seems to be good at getting favors out of Whitey.

Last edited: Apr 18, 2022

Chapter 11

July 2009

I've never had the patience for watching movies twice. Even if I don't remember them years down the line, I find it too easy to recall of all the twists and endings from small clips of footage. But for the people here, those films are entirely new, so watching them is an excuse to forget about life for a moment.

Pepper, Happy, and Rhodes are over for dinner at my suggestion. We're watching Taken and enjoying pizza.

"Not liking the movie?" Pepper asks as we take a break to eat dinner.

"It's okay, I guess. I'm not really a fan of Liam Neeson," Happy replies.

"He plays the part well. Retired CIA agent and all that," I add.

"I've talked with some of Langley's boys and girls, they don't do half of that even on the field from what I heard," Rhodes adds. "Oh, hey, Erik wanted me to tell you thanks."

I chuckle. "Somehow, I doubt he actually wanted me to hear that."

"Sorry, Tony. I tried to get him to be grateful, but…" he waves his hands in the air.

"Nah, I understand." Killmonger's hatred of white people was a central point of his character, I knew when I saw him that I wouldn't get any special place in his books. "Oh, Pepper, Happy, did I show you? Newest invention that will shake things up. JARVIS, show the pictures we took."

He switches the screen from the still image of Liam Neeson's daughter in the movie to a slideshow of the forearm I built.

"What is that? A robotic arm?" Happy asks.

"The term is 'bionic arm' since it refers to enhancing a human body part, but you've got the right idea. I built that for Erik, one of Rhodey's friends. Should be out-right immune to traditional wear-and-tear while giving him almost identical feeling and precision back. Speaking of which, did he try it out more?"

"Yeah. Shot himself as good a record as he had in the military down at a range in Oakland."

"I think the veterans will like this a lot. Aren't these expensive, though?" Happy asks.

"No, uh, this should be cheap. 13, maybe 14 thousand for this kind of model, which can basically let you do everything you could do before. Well, technically not true, but that doesn't matter."

"Technically?" Pepper asks.

"Yeah, the limit on Erik's arm, for example, would be 150 pounds. But I doubt he's lifting that much with just one arm, and most people do far less than he does."

Once the movie is over and the three of them have left, I feel a recognizable itch. "JARVIS, the time?"

"10:37 p.m, Sir."

"Perfect, just enough time for-"

"If you're going to say you wish to work, Sir, I would remind you that I have Miss Potts on speed-dial and will inform her that you are breaking her request."

"What request?"

"She has a standing request for you to work less, it does not expire until she says so."

"Wow, this is how you treat your maker? I trusted you!"

"I believe there is a correlation between British accents and villainy, Sir."

I snort. "Alright, fine. We'll pick up tomorrow morning, then. What's the status on the element fabrication?"

"Proceeding on schedule, Sir. We are currently up to element 124 expected to be out by tomorrow morning. After that, however, modern atomic theory will have nothing to guide us. Already, I find that synthesizing these elements takes a tremendous amount of energy. My apologies for the energy bill."

Damn. I might have to reveal how knowledgeable I really am about this topic. I have a theory for elements up to 228 and the ways to prove it up to 147, but no one could be expected to know that far on Earth. "Summarize what you have for me after breakfast. Let's expand atomic theory, shall we?"

"I quail at the mere suggestion, Sir."

"Smartass."

Next morning's breakfast starts of well enough, with me eating some buttered toast and eggs. "J, can you turn on the news?" The T.V turns on, showing the familiar studio of CNN.

"The Bank of Canada has announced that it expects the Great Recession to end soon, and that Canada's GDP will grow in the current quarter. This comes only nine days after Singapore announced tremendous growth during the second quarter."

"Experts and public officials at home, however, are skeptical. One official even declared that it didn't matter what happened with Canada, since there was no reason to think it would impact the U.S in a substantial manner."

"Meanwhile, the Dodd-Frank bill continues to be debated by Congress. President Obama has called on lawmakers to swiftly pass the bill. Our own analysis at 9:30 a.m. after these brief commercial messages."

"Mute, please."

… In both lives now, I've been sheltered from the recession's influence. The first time because I was a kid who didn't know any better in a family that was well-off (at least, well-off enough), the second because I have billions to my name.

In the first case, I couldn't have done anything. This time, I can.

I ponder putting as many points as I can into economics and sociology so I could perhaps implement the best solution I can conceive, then I reconsider. It's not enough to just know what to do, I'd have to have much more power and influence than I currently have. It would involve speaking with and convincing everyone from politicians to interest groups and even the American public at one point.

"Sir, a priority call for you from Miss Potts."

I take the call and listen to her frantic and excited words.

Oh dear.

"Sir!" "Mr. Stark!"

"At ease, boys and girls!" I can't really help it, they're all young and bright, the latest batch of engineers hired from CalTech, since it's not too far for them to move and work at our headquarters. They're willing to drown in elbow grease if it lets them keep working here. Though I hope they don't, that kind of person often drowns in alcohol later on. "So, how's everyone doing?" At the lack of response, I gesture around.

"Good, Mr. Stark."

"Great to hear it. So, I've pulled you all here because you're free from other projects. Some of you have been here for a few months, some of you joined two weeks ago, and… Robby, where are you, raise your hand. Robby's been here for two years now, right? So, I figure you all need some work to do that will look nice on your resumes. Everybody good with that?"

None of them say anything back, of course.

"Tough crowd. Alright, here's the deal. I'm tired of only having cleaner water, I want cleaner air. We debuted the filter balls last year for rivers and lakes, which are a big hit. Lovely stuff, but it was done by my hands from start to finish. If I have to invent everything around here, that's gonna be really tiring. So, you all get to take up that project instead. Robby, come up here."

The lanky engineer comes up, his face making him look very young, especially with all that acne. I grab his shoulder. "Robby here is going to be in charge. You'll have access to all the data I have from my work. Organize yourselves as the group decides. Any questions?"

They're silent for a moment before Robby raises his hand. "Does the standard security policy apply?"

I think about it, then nod my head. "Yes, but in addition to that, no talking about this with anyone outside your team, kids. If anyone in the company asks, you can say what you're doing, but no specifics, and no revealing any data or documents unless I okay it. Send any questions my way. Absolutely no talking about this to anyone on the outside. You're all too young to remember, but Stark Industries has a long history of being targeted very frequently by foreign nations for our military technology. I'm told there used to be days where every civilian in the company was matched by a guard somewhere. Any other questions?"

A short tan girl with curly black hair and gold necklace raises her hand. "What's our deadline?" Her voice is slightly accented. Central American for sure.

"Good question. I want this ready before the year is over. Anyone else? No? Okay then, get to it, kids. Send any questions my way, I like to write down the good ones and make paper airplanes out of them."

"The process finished 28 minutes ago, Sir."

Sitting in the mansion after an excruciatingly long meeting to help promote employee morale with "employee of the month" awards, I glance at the T.V. It's a feed of the chemistry lab with our setup.

Sitting on the table are six large containers with countless smaller ones inside. Each is labeled with the element samples contained within.

"Congratulations, Sir. We have successfully fabricated the six largest theorized superheavy elements at industry scale."

"That's barely anything, the hard part starts now." How to put this next part? "Hey, JARVIS, I've been having some thoughts about how we should model the next electron orbital. Hear me out…"

It takes me about 15 minutes to explain everything I'm willing to reveal at this moment.

"It sounds logical, Sir. I will perform the tests as you have outlined and inform you of the results."

"'Kay. Timeline?"

"I estimate four days to carry out the testing."

"Sounds good. Hey, should we upgrade this place?"

"Another aesthetic alternation, Sir?"

"No, I mean our on-site capabilities. Don't get me wrong, you've got some of the best tech I have, but I wonder how much use we'd get out of me making a dedicated push towards upgrading everything to be future-proof."

"You mean for the next few years, Sir? If so, I would suggest we start with a total redesign of the architecture. Almost all space we can use has been taken now."

No ideas immediately come to mind. I don't have any supernatural knowledge of architecture, and even if I want it, I can't get it until tomorrow. Today's points went into soil science. "Let's talk goals then. I want us to be able to keep our important work here or in a perfectly sure facility, the kind that only you and I and anyone else we choose gets access. As nice as it is to have the lab at headquarters, it only takes one person to break the rules and try something."

"That would require a drastic expansion. Unfortunately, there are laws in place that prevent you from expanding this home too far. Provided it can be safely kept on the cliff, there is no problem, but you are asking for much more than that."

"Yeah, I guess. Or we… no, that wouldn't work. Fine, put that idea on the backburner."

"I believe we may run out of space on said backburner at this rate, Sir."

"Give me a list of our planned work."

"Your highest priority as stated is a device that can detect arc reactors, Sir."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Alright, let's get to work on that then."

The idea of detecting an arc reactor is simple, especially if they use any that come from Howard Stark and Anton Vanko's process. The reactor has a pattern in how the electrons release energy, meaning you can detect radiation that would suggest rhodium, then yttrium, then magnesium in repeated bursts.

The problem is that this works best if you're trying to find an arc reactor the size of the one built by Stark Industries to "shut the hippies up", as Obidiah says. For something as small as a chest-fitting model, you'll have to be on top of the thing.

Oh, and this pattern can only be determined over a month of data taken on the minute.

Compound this with a complete lack of knowledge about where it might be, and we're left with no easy option. Either I or SHIELD have to search most of the entire world. The former isn't as impossible as one might think.

The patterns last in the environment for many months. They don't dissipate quickly either, though detecting it in the air is two orders of magnitude harder. A sensor powerful and sensitive enough to gather the data and do so fast isn't the issue, but there's just too much data. I'll need a powerful computer to handle this, and that's by the standards I set for myself. Easily enough to house another JARVIS, both physically and digitally.

That computer then has to be able to communicate with the sensor device, run analysis and generate reports, and then send that to me, ideally in real-time, but I'll tolerate a 10-minute delay at the most. Oh, and these sensors need to be very widely spread to maximize search area.

A stray word in my mind lurks in the back for a moment before pushing itself forward and dominating my thoughts.

As always, comments and criticism are appreciated!

Last edited: Apr 18, 2022

Chapter 12

When we first heard the news that Stark Industries was producing two laptop lines, we were all like, "Really?" It was like Microsoft coming out with a line of pillows, just completely bizarre. Like everyone else, we saw Tony Stark demonstrate his new products at the Consumer Electronics Show. The commentary surrounding the impending release is still a general confusion and belief that they're lying to us, that the price won't be as low, or performance was still rigged somehow during the unveiling. After reaching out to Stark Industries, we were told we could conduct our own tests provided we don't film and do all our testing on-premise. The laptops provided to us were in factory conditions, with only the latest version of Linux installed. We ran a standard suite of performance testing software, including PCMark Vantage and Cinebench R11.5. Just for fun, we ran multiple instances of Doom on the same machine and saw no problem at all. These laptops had no trouble running multiple performance tests simultaneously.
For the lower priced laptops, we found comparable performance to some of the top models currently available from other vendors such as HP and Dell
We couldn't test component durability for obvious reasons, though many of us do think that if there's any issues or tradeoffs to be found when considering a Stark laptop, it would be there. Otherwise, we're more than happy to declare the laptops as either perfectly acceptable in performance or completely blowing the competition out of the water. Members of our own team have told me they intend to buy these for their own use once they come out, and they hope to see you joining them.

I manage to shape my face appropriately, but I'm giddy on the inside. There's a feeling of joy that comes from someone declaring your work good. I turn the T.V off and have the lights turned back on in the board room. "So. Comments, questions, concerns?"

"I think I'm good. This seems handled. Oh, wait, we spoke about a demo, right?"

"Oh, yes. We can either have one of the folks down in R come down here to show it, or you can read the briefs I've sent to all your emails. Up to you. Anyone want the demo?"

Despite previous enthusiasm, no one, not even Obidiah, is really interested. They trust me to make it work.

"Alright. What's next?" I ask.

"I'll just mention that filter sales are on track as expected. Nothing else to report," another man says.

"Aren't we planning to selling in Russia? What's the status of that?"

"I've been in meetings with two people from the Department of State, they're still coming up with how they want us to sell the industrial ones. China's a no-go for sure, State won't let them get their hands on our tech, but the Europeans will probably be green-lit," I explain.

Also, I know that Evelyn Vaughan is trying to seduce me, given the lack of both coverage and thickness to her clothing. Hammond has repeatedly eyed her up, but I don't bite. I've never even shown my eyes glancing over her exposed skin, keeping eye contact as appropriate.

Whether Vaughan's annoyed for personal reasons or career ones, I don't really care. Sucks to be you, lady, but I'm already dating someone.

"The Chinese keep asking anyways, Mr. Stark. I've gotten three phone calls in the last week alone," someone complains. "They're also promising us a better and cheaper setup if we manufacture in China."

"Be polite, but it's not happening unless State okays it. I don't need that headache." Say what you will about the U.S government's ineptitude, it can cost a company billions in legal fees if it decides to stop playing nice. "Personal filters aren't sold in China either and that's intentional."

"… I realize this is probably not an issue you've ignored, but how are we protecting all of this?" Obidiah asks. "If I recall, we haven't filed any of these products under patents or even secrets. And since it's not weapons, the government isn't that interested either, I would think."

"We keep all of it under lock and key like our other designs," I answer. "Our security isn't bad, though I do have some plans on improving it. The staff are vetted as usual, they understand the consequences, and I'm pretty sure that America's three-letter agencies are keeping foreign spies out. But beyond that, there's also the sheer knowledge gap. Even if there's another tech company or nation that wants the secrets of our tech, as I'm sure they do, they can be expected to not understand enough to even begin to break it down in the short-term. If they do, they'll still run into the issue of producing them at a low enough cost. Not to mention that Legal is on standby to make sure our patent is processed before any others if they try that sort of thing, and I'm told the government will flex its legal power for us if someone else tries anything."

The men around the table nod, drawing on hazy memories of how the company kept its secrets safe with similar methods in the past.

"Any other questions? Okay, I need to run. Thank you all."

I've gone to a lot of parties where I'm just straight up bored because my friends aren't there and my phone is low on power.

That's not really an issue now.

"Tony! Glad you could make it!"

The man who said that has smooth brown hair that's combed back, complimenting his smooth white skin. His face is oval-shaped and slightly sunken in with slightly small lips. His black tie with golden patterns disappears into his suit, which is gray with thin vertical lines over the whole thing. He's shorter than I am by a few inches. On his wrist is an expensive Rolex watch, the kind you get if you have money and an insensitivity to the cutting-edge of fashion trends.

Then again, Justin Hammer is insensitive to a lot of things. Like how technology should work. He's lucky the people at the DOD are slightly more insensitive than he is.

"Hi, Justin. What's up? Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks." He shakes my hand briskly. "You like the decorations?"

I make a show of looking around, but I've already seen enough upon entering. He has slow-pulse and color-changing lights everywhere. Individual strips may be soft, but there are so many that it's a bit blinding. Tons of chandeliers, some which have clearly been setup for this party, each casting many yellow lights and reflecting many more. Brilliant and slightly kitschy artworks adorn the walls, but the frames overpower them with a shining gleam. There are three fountains inside the main living room along with two fireplaces. Vases and common furniture encased in jewelry litter the entire area. No one has knocked anything over, thankfully, but I suspect at least a dozen incidents before tonight is over since there's no fall protection.

I like it about as much as I like getting kneed in the groin. Taking it all in feels somewhat similar anyways.

"Look great. Very nice. Did you do them?"

"No, I hired Kirlin."

And they probably milked the idiot for this after warning him about how much he was asking for. "Good taste," I reply.

"Thank you. Oh, have you gotten a drink?" He snatches a glass off a nearby server's tray, placing it in my hand.

"Perfect." I pause for a moment, then raise my glass. "A toast for you."

He clinks his glass against mine and downs what remains in his. I take a sip and keep myself from gagging on the bitterness.

"So, what's the plan, Mr. Hammer? How's the company doing?"

He smirks. "Better than ever, thanks to you."

"Hmm?"

"I heard you stopped making weapons."

We both understand my lack of a response.

"DOD's scrambling to figure out what they're gonna do. Sure, you've got rifles and missiles five years ahead of anyone else. But that's a short time for the country."

I give him a smile. "Well, I'm glad you're there to take our place. I assume, anyways."

"Just signed a 300-billion-dollar deal. In a few years, Hammer tanks and jets will be showing our enemies why they don't mess with us."

That's quite an expense for something that will probably kill people via laughter when it fails. "Nice. I'm happy for you."

He narrows his eyes. "Why'd you stop anyways? Got cold feet? Not the line of business where you stay as long as you do if you have 'em."

Oh thank God, I can get out of this. "Well, I had a lot of time to think about my work when I was a hostage for three months."

In the face of my deliberately tense smile, he's thrown off his element. "O-oh, right. My apologies-"

"Don't. Just… I want to move on."

"And what a way to do it, huh?" His tone is nervous as he claps my shoulder. "I didn't think my biggest competitor would switch to selling clean water. I do appreciate it though. Beats anything I've had before." He grabs another drink for himself, while I take a sip again. "Anyways, I think I see Miss Everhart. Good talk. Enjoy the party!" He calls out to me as he walks past to greet the reporter. I watch him give her a hug that she politely returns.

… I'm being too harsh, aren't I? Yeah, I am.

Hammer's tech being bad is an idea that wouldn't leave my mind once it entered. I know how bad his attempts at the Iron Man armor were. But when I thought about it further, it's a testament to him or whatever brain power he commands that he even got that far. The man, or his subordinates, didn't possess Tony Stark's knowledge, but still went farther than they had any right to. His rifles, tanks, and missiles aren't bad at all, they're just not giving America a minimum half-decade lead on weapons technology. Sure, they have mechanical failures, but what piece of military technology doesn't? It's an open secret that anyone who contracts for the government is doing some level of grifting.

In any case, I've hurt Hammer again when Everhart approaches me with him at her side, ignoring his presence almost entirely. "Mr. Stark."

"Miss Everhart."

She smiles. "You remembered my name this time."

"Actually, I've been following your work. I loved your recent article. 'Stark's clean water can't clean his hands.'"

"The public seems enamored with your sudden shift, so I thought I might remind them." Her smile turns sharp.

"No, no, that's good. Always good to be contrarian to the people in the room."

"You really wrote an article like that?" Hammer asks.

"She did, buddy. I don't blame her, I personally made some of the weapons being talked about. No design-by-committee on those, and the government wasn't shy about blowing up Iraq with my missiles."

"Why? We don't choose America's enemies, and we don't pull the trigger either."

… Oh my God, he's actually hurt. He thinks I've done nothing wrong. I doubt he's willing to be my friend or whatever, but he's certainly feeling something like camaraderie towards me right now.

"I don't share that perspective, Mr. Hammer," the reporter responds, deftly dodging his attempt at wrapping his arm around her waist.

I leave Hammer so he can try seducing Everhart again. The rest of the party is okay, the food is decent, the suck-ups do as their name suggests and the potential investors seeing if they should buy the stock now pretend to be interested.

Chapter 13

Days like this are rare.

Pepper is getting her nails done and doing some shopping, the company doesn't need my signatures on anything and the world isn't burning more than it was yesterday. We have great weather, no wind either.

Naturally, that means I spend my time inside the lab. On one screen is the update on our element synthesis work. Elements, fabrication dates, quantities, time to produce, and energy consumed are all neatly formatted values in the spreadsheet in front of me.

"With your suggestions, Sir, I have been able to fabricate up to element 137, but the insights I have drawn from even your work are failing to suggest where we must go. I spent a great deal more time on this last element. We are likely missing an important factor," JARVIS explains.

Yes, the Formation Barrier, which I know for sure Tony Stark did not break to make his element. "Huh. I have some ideas, but we'd need more equipment before you could try them out. Let's switch tracks for now. Can you prepare… let's see, we have at least one kilogram of each element, so split all of them in half and move one container into our vaults." The vaults are a good idea implemented long before my time. Stark Industries maintains items or data that require being physically secured in a special environment, so expanding that to hold element samples was trivial.

"Might I ask what you plan to do with those, Sir?"

"Ask the universities if they're interested. Obviously, we'll do our own research, but we don't need to investigate every possibility. Not to mention it gets the word out that Stark Industries has pioneered a new way of fabricating superheavy elements."

"A nicely calculated PR action, Sir."

Quite lucrative as well. Revealing the properties of these elements by themselves or in compounds would create a line of countries quite willing to sign over enough wealth to make me a literal king. Two compounds that could be super-fertilizers for agriculture, four that could increase plastic biodegradability, and one that could replace traditional fiber optics. That was just the start as well.

"Alright. What next?"

"I have done more searching regarding the additional capacity you wish to build. The most convenient option would be buying a derelict factory or warehouse in the contiguous United States as it would have easy access for transportation. However, these are also typically not large enough to house large machines and the necessary supporting devices. Perhaps a few could be used to expand the company's operations, but it would be a large investment to expand them even in that case, at which point a completely new installation would be attractive."

"Makes sense. Okay, new facility entirely, then. Any suggestions?" The screen suddenly changes to a large brick warehouse. "Huh?"

"This is a warehouse currently unused for the last two years. It is located near Gary, Indiana, and was intended to act as a temporary storage complex for food, water, and other consumer goods by itself. It seems a great deal of planning and city investment poured into it, believing that it would attract businesses. That failed following the current recession."

I look over the details. Wow, definitely large enough for what we need. It can easily house an official factory and my own fabrication devices. "Sounds like a good deal. Anything we need to consider beforehand?"

"I have the public records for the property downloaded, Sir, and can compile that information for you if you wish. Otherwise, once you agree, I will contact the owner to schedule a formal tour for you or a representative."

"Do it. I trust your judgment. What's next on our list?"

"The arc reactor detector, Sir."

Damn, that's a tough one. The idea I have is simple on the face of it: build a satellite, place a bunch of powerful hardware inside, and let that stay in communication with JARVIS. Ideally, it would be geosynchronous. Then, if we need to search outside the area it can reach, we just launch smaller satellites that only collect and transmit data back to the main one.

The problem with this is actually constructing a satellite. It's not that easy even with the knowledge at my disposal; I can't build at the current standard because that standard isn't mine. It's an instinctive revulsion, like cringing at the sight of maggot-infested intestines or gagging at the smell of rotten milk.

If this satellite is built how I want, it's not wrong to say upwards of 70% of North America's non-commercial digital traffic could go through that instead, including the international stuff. Adding the commercial side would see a large delay, but only in my knowledge of what it could be.

It's the difference between "incredibly good" and "wonder of the generation", but then again, that's what Tony Stark, and to a lesser extent me, was all about.

Another problem is how exactly to get this up. The main satellite is going to be incredibly massive, easily the area of the entire Stark Industries HQ and three stories tall. The smaller ones, if necessary, will be only the size of a storage box, they're just glorified detectors.

There's also the problem of gravity. This thing will play havoc with another satellite's trajectory if it comes close enough. Don't have enough energy to maintain course? You're going to get your satellite crushed. That will make a lot of governments and companies furious. So it has to be isolated as well.

Plus, we need very good conductive wiring, cooling systems, electrical lines… the list goes on and on.

Technologically, none of this is a problem. In a few months, we could be ready with the body to launch with all the technical and physical issues sorted. A large arc reactor can power the whole damn thing, and I know more than enough about those. The nanites I have can act as a fast way to repair any issues.

But I can't help feeling like it's impossible. The scope of the task, of what I have to do on top of my other projects and obligations, weighs hard.

Gah, I need more hands. Even if I hand off a project as I did with the air filters Robby's team is working on, I'm still the one coming up with the initial technology. There's no pressing urge on that front, I have several technologies the company and the world can chew on while I raise more money and demonstrate why the board should play ball, but it's still an annoyance.

"A penny for your thoughts, Sir?"

I glance upward. "Have we talked about getting you a body, JARVIS?"

"A few times in passing, Sir. It was never a priority, however, and the suit of armor you made would work in case I require a body."

"Let's not use that one in the long term. I'm thinking we make you a body, a great one. Just need some inspiration. If you find something, let me know."

"Might I ask what this hypothetical body would do, Sir?"

"Being able to physically interact with the world is pretty useful, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Sir. But I don't need that ability in the near future. The automated systems allow for me to control things remotely."

I nod my head. "Alright, I guess we won't go down that path for now." I move the screens aside to pull up a new one on which I can begin drafting the power system for the satellite. This part is half simple and half not. Scaling an arc reactor to supply enough power is trivial, it's the size of an overinflated football. The trickier part is supplying power everywhere.

That's something a lot of people don't consider proactively, I've learned. They keep forgetting to think of these systems as working as a whole in the same space. Over time, you learn where the issues come up the most and apply a patch, but that neglects some valuable optimization you can get by considering how to bring everything together from the start. I don't blame them for it, it's absurdly difficult to consider something in the broad picture while simultaneously knowing how it works down to the fine details.

I'm deep into the simulations when a knock on the door jerks me out of it. Happy's outside, I can see him through the glass. He has access, he just knocks to let me know he's coming in.

Other people in my class might be offended by a bodyguard wearing a Hawaiian t-shirt and shorts, but I don't really care.

"Hey, Happy. What's up? Tired of tanning? This is one of the best times of the year for it, you know?"

"Pepper called, she said I should ask you what you want for lunch."

I feel the slight curling in my stomach, the organ indicating it needs filling. Pepper's been using the reminders on the dot so much that I suspect she has it automated. It's certainly made my eating times more standard. "Uh, I'm down for anything, I guess. You got any choices?"

"There's a Five Guys that opened recently, I wanted to try that."

"Sounds good. Do they do delivery?"

"That's what I'm for, boss."

"Alright. Just get me-"

"One sec, let me write this down…" he grabs his phone. "Okay, go ahead."

"I'll take a hamburger, fries, and a Sprite."

"What do you want on your burger?"

"Pickles, onions, lettuce, mushrooms, and ketchup."

"I ever tell you your burger choices are weird, boss?"

"No," I laugh. "I think that's the first time you've gotten one for me recently."

He shrugs. "Fair. Alright, I'll be back in about 20 minutes."

"Okay. Be safe. See you soon."

Sure enough, he's back in 23 minutes. I take a break and sit with him, enjoying a surprisingly fresh burger on the couch. Happy's chomping on what looks like a cheeseburger, his Coke untouched.

"So, whatchu working on?"

I swallow the chewed glob of patty, mushroom, and lettuce in my mouth. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing down there? Something about a satellite?"

"Oh, yeah. I plan on putting a satellite up soon, just finishing the design for that."

"What's it for?"

"Finding something important. Initially, anyways Then I might repurpose it for fast wireless internet."

"Really? So, like, a data plan or something?"

"Yeah, but it would be unlimited by default. That's way down the line, though. If it had a commercial purpose, the first thing my satellite would do is route intercontinental traffic. You know they use big underwater cables for that right now?"

"Yeah, I heard that once. You watch the news lately? They're trying to pass that new law to regulate Wall Street."

"Dodd-Frank, right? I heard about it, don't know too much about the details."

"Yeah, I think that's it. God, can't believe how bad it is for a lot of people out there. I heard over 100 people lost their jobs last week in Akron last week when another factory shut down. Completely devastating."

I nod. "You're right, it's bad. People are gonna be hurting for a long time if something isn't done soon."

"Got any miracle tech for that?" he asks jokingly.

"No. But I'll be talking with someone who might have a plan tomorrow."

Exactly 16 hours later, I'm in a vastly different room with one other person. I take his offered hand and shake firmly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark."

"Likewise, Mr. President."

Chapter 14

The Oval Office is very nicely decorated, with orange-cream sofas, blue-and-gold striped chairs facing said sofas off to the side, and coffee tables with shaded lamps on them. There's a small table with a basket of fruit between the two sofas. On the other side of the room is the president's desk with three vertical windows behind it. Sunlight comes strongly down through the glass, creating an almost-irritating glare. Off to the side is an inlaid bookshelf, one of its shelves containing a picture of his family. The entire room gives a cozy feeling. At least, it's meant to.

"Are you alright, Mr. Stark? You seem a bit uncomfortable. Would you something to drink?"

"Ah, no, I'm good. Sorry."

You have to understand, I've never met anyone like Obama in my prior life. Someone with that kind of wealth, let alone power, is the kind of person I could only see from afar. People like him are larger than life, given such audience and respect that when you meet them in real life, you don't really realize how jarring it is.

I meet with people like that all the time now. CEOs like Justin Hammer, politicians of various levels, ambassadors, reputed journalists, and others interact with me regularly, but this is the first time in months that I can't shake the sense of not belonging in this world.

"Forgive me for being direct, but can I ask what you wanted to speak about, Mr. President? I was only told you wanted a personal meeting."

He nods. "Yes, that was intentional. I want to get your opinions on things and a rehearsed answer doesn't help."

"Sure. What did you want my opinion on?"

"Well, firstly, I wanted to recognize your recent work. I think your water filtration technology is a great example of American innovation, the kind of thing we hold up to others as an example of our contribution to the world to address environmental issues."

"Thank you."

"But that's a radical departure for you, isn't it? I mean, you make weapons, but I hear Stark Industries hasn't put forth any new bids on arms contracts."

I nod. "Yes, I did some self-reflection after I was rescued from Afghanistan. Decided I didn't want to be a part of that industry anymore. We'll honor our contracts, but I'm moving my company towards non-destructive sectors."

"I see."

I'm sure you do. I'm not going to ignore that as sitting president, any changes that occur in America will be associated with him, even if he had no hand in them. That's true for anyone who is in a position of leadership. If anything, Obama's position as leader of the free world means a great deal more will be linked to him. Not to mention that he's not free to completely ignore the DOD people I've heard are screaming to get us to make weapons again. My pivoting away from weapons will reflect on him, others will make sure of that.

"-as well?"

"Hmm?" I realize he was asking me something while I was zoning out.

"I asked if you intended to tackle other sectors than environmental cleanup or computer technology. Like healthcare?"

How did he…? "I have some ideas about it."

"Like creating entirely new medicines?"

I pause and slightly furrow my brow. "You seem to be referring to something specific. Or you having something in mind."

"Well, I was concerned when a report came to me saying you had an interest in Umbrella."

"Umbrella, you mean the biotech company? What's the issue with that?"

He leans back. "They get so much government funding that they're basically owned by the government. Do you know why that is?"

"I read that there was some kind of biological contamination incident in Raccoon City that caused the entire place to be evacuated. Their stock plummeted to near-zero and only a government bailout prevented that."

He glances off to the side and picks up a manilla folder that I hadn't noticed yet. He hands it to me. "Please, read it."

I open the document and find a lightly censored document at the top. A symbol at the top shows the head and neck of an eagle atop a squarish shield, the words "Central Intelligence Agency" printed along the top semi-circle in a curve.

The words inside are mostly uncensored.

Agent Name(s): _

Incident Date: 29-30 September 1998

Filing Date: 19 December 1999

OPERATION PEREGRINE: EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

The Umbrella Corporation (Umbrella) is a large multinational conglomerate with branches in pharmaceuticals, chemicals, industrial equipment, and more. Since its creation, a total of 240.3 billion dollars (adjusted for inflation as reported by the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS)) has been allocated through various discretionary funds and United States Department of Defense (DOD) programs to Umbrella for primarily pharmaceutical, biological and chemical research.

Per agreements between Umbrella and DOD officials, research into characterizing possible biological weapons and their deployment systems was authorized in 1979. Arklay County was selected from a pre-identified list of locations.

Since May of 1998, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) agents tasked with monitoring Umbrella's research were noted as failing to send the reports. The CDC forwarded this information, or lack thereof, on a per-report case. Attempts to contact said agents were reported as failing for multiple reasons, but no further action was raised.

On 13 September 1998, a routine DOD inspection found severe safety violations throughout the Arklay Facility laboratories. A complaint was raised about "severe obstruction from Umbrella employees for normal and routine inspection tours".

On 28 September 1998 at approximately 7 p.m., , a _ (_), escaped containment from its laboratory. This resulted in several other _ escaping as well. Emergency warning systems alerted the DOD at 12:16 a.m on 29 September 1998. After contact could not be re-established, several response teams were tasked with containing the outbreak in the laboratory itself and Raccoon City, a town located only 3 miles from the laboratory. The response teams encountered heavy resistance due to _ and _ (_) at the laboratory.

In response to field reports indicating heavy infestation and widespread infection, the DOD authorized a full-scale quarantine. A large multi-department force was put together and deployed to rescue survivors and eliminate all _ and _ _.

At 2:35 p.m. on 30 September 1998, the deployment of _ was authorized to destroy any remaining , _ and _.

Strict quarantine measures were subsequently lifted on 14 November 1998, with all measures inactive by 1 May 1999.

I have a sinking feeling those censored portions refer to the kind of horrific monstrosities I know the games displayed. "Is there only one page?"

"The rest is details that are only of interest to the government. I don't need them to make my point."

"… You want me to not get involved with them?"

"I'd prefer you didn't. Umbrella was destroyed as a multinational firm following that incident. It dissolved most of its overseas assets and all its data was confiscated as well. It has the presence it does today because no one is willing to spend their effort on destroying it completely. But we do watch it very closely, we don't need or want a repeat of Raccoon City."

"We're only selling them laptops."

"True. But your laptops are more than cutting-edge. While I can't predict what impact your technology will have in their hands, I'm skeptical of giving them anything of the sort. Moreover, Ms. Marcus asked you for a supercomputer, didn't she?"

Right, they've probably had the whole headquarters bugged. Umbrella's leadership probably reports to the government about anything that happens in the company. "She did."

"Ms. Marcus wants to regrow Umbrella into the standing it had under her father. While I see no issue with them deriving most of their revenue from federal funds, I'm not comfortable letting them grow beyond where they are now. So no supercomputer for them."

"I see. What about the more standard laptops we sell? Can we sell those to Umbrella?"

"Those… let me get back to you on that one. For now, hold off on furthering any negotiations."

"Okay. Also, if we're doing this, then I'd like something official from the government. I don't need her thinking I decided to back out myself."

"That, unfortunately, I can't do. But you're free to tell her you looked deeper into her company's history by reaching out to unnamed government contacts and decided it was too risky. I would think that's reasonable."

I sigh. "Then I'd like a favor. I want to launch at least one satellite by the end of next year, I know there's a big legal headache coming my way if I try though. I'd like support on making the clearances and issues go away."

"Satellites… another large jump in sector for you, Mr. Stark. What's your plan, a satellite that captures solar energy for use on the planet?" he asks jokingly.

"Not necessarily a bad idea, but no. My satellite plans involve telecom stuff. For now, anyway."

"Okay. I'll talk to some people and see if I can get them to give you priority if and when you approach the regulators."

"I appreciate that."

We switch to other topics, in particular the economy. He's interested in hearing about any ideas I have about what could be done to help deal with the Great Recession. I offer my advice, but I simply don't have that much to say, I never invested any points into monetary or fiscal policy. He thankfully picks up on that, letting me simply reiterate my own commitment to not outsourcing jobs at this time, though I don't mention anything about opening further factories at this time.

I decline the offer of lunch and simply shake his hand before the Secret Service escorts me outside. They wait with me while Happy pulls the car around.

"So, how's it feel to talk to the president?" he asks once I'm seated and he's taken off.

"Super weird. I have this image in my head of him as this goliath, someone beyond anything normal or human. Then you meet him and he talks like anyone else I know. Oh, one sec-" I answer my buzzing cellphone. "Agent Coulson, what's up?"

"I'm sending you an address; I'd like you to be there in 20 minutes. Something important has come up."

I check my texts once he hangs up and sure enough, there's a message containing only an address. I shouldn't be surprised SHIELD knows the details of the president's meetings. "Happy, change of plans. Take me to 14865 Windsor Avenue."

"Windsor… okay, got it. It'll probably be 20 minutes," he says as the GPS calculates the new route.

"That's fine, that's when Coulson wants to meet anyways."

"Did he say why?"

"No, just that it was important."

The address in question takes us into something bordering the suburbs, but the building in question…"Mario's?"

"He wants to meet in some local pizza joint, guy must be hungry," Happy remarks.

"Maybe. Wait here, I think he wants to talk to just me."

The restaurant in question is… unprofessional. I mean that in a good way, it has a "run by an actual family" feeling to it. A small place tucked away from the outside world. The smell of tomato sauce and cheese wafts through the front door while a large cardboard figure stands at an angle to greet me, the cartoon Italian chef welcoming all to try the daily special. Strips of what look like Christmas lights surround the entrance.

"Mr. Stark."

I turn to my right and see Coulson sitting at a tiny table towards the back, close to where the kitchen entrance is. I sit down opposite him, removing my hands once I feel how sticky the red-and-white checkered tablecloth is. I glance around, taking in what looks like a group of friends eating at their table near the entrance. The wrinkled man at the counter looks slightly tired, but his hands move expertly through the motions of tossing a pizza. "I didn't think this was your kind of joint, Agent Coulson," I joke.

He has his trademark professional smile, the one that doesn't say anything. "It was the closest place I could find to meet you."

"Well, you got me. What's up?"

He turns slightly and brings up a laptop that was hidden behind the tablecloth next to him. "I want you to watch this." The screen turns into a default Windows background immediately. He loads a USB stick into the left port. Coulson clicks on the single file on it before turning the laptop towards me.

It's a low-quality video with no audio. Unfortunately, what happens in those 39 seconds is clear enough, visceral enough.

He puts the laptop back down. "I've spoken with Director Fury, and he agrees with my assessment that SHIELD doesn't have the ability to deal with this without at minimum dozens of casualties."

"That sucks, but I'm really not sure-"

"Tessura and the suit."

I narrow my eyebrows. "That's way too suspicious. Fury confirmed there were people who knew about the suit who don't have good intentions about it. That's assuming this is even real. You can fabricate this kind of video."

He doesn't deny it outright, probably because I can't be fooled by explanations of their better technology. "SHIELD has no reason to do that."

"I can't confirm that, and there are a bunch of reasons someone could be trying to get one over on me as a step towards another goal. Internal power plays aren't impossible, and that's just regarding SHIELD."

"SHIELD has kept those people off your back. There's another good reason for you to help us, Mr. Stark. The video in question was filmed near a point of interest for us in the search for your missing arc reactor. We believe the group you saw is guarding it. At least, they won't budge and let us search so freely."

The dismissal is on the tip of my tongue-.

Accept his request.

…

Fuck. This is now far more serious. With a slight clenching in my hands, I nod. "Fine. I'll let you borrow them. When do you need them by?"

We settle for four days from now. Plenty of time for me to add in some vicious traps for anyone, including SHIELD, who wants to steal what I've made.

Chapter 15 - Interlude 3

In the Depths of the Great Recession, There's a Potential Environmental Victory

August 4, 2009

By Christopher Schaff and Erin Flavelle

MEMPHIS, TN - Sitting under partial tree cover, Jacob Faraghi expertly ties his lure to the end of his fishing pole. The elderly man makes it a point to fish here every weekend. According to him, he hasn't missed a Saturday in 17 years. Normally, he fishes alone, but he's had company for the last few months.

"That one is Sandy, she's always covered in sand 'cause they don't clean her. That one over there is Poppy, she collects the most soda pop bottles."

He's referring to the two large floating spheres that lie partially submerged a few dozen feet away. These are the famous Stark Industries Industrial Filter Balls that were touted as "the next leap in environment technology" at a press conference earlier this year.

When announced, there was a great deal of skepticism about the entire idea. Stark Industries has been a long-time defense contractor, having filed no fewer than 40 patents for arms and arms-related technology in 2007. The value was obvious since all militaries need clean water, but the advertising was heavily focused on the civilian side of the economy. Ping-pong-ball-sized filters for hikers and backpackers, car-sized ones for filtration on a larger scale.

This necessarily created skepticism as other journalists and news outlets picked up on the release. They both focused on the implausibility of the claims and the atypical marketing of the products themselves. Not even the reveal that Tony Stark himself had pioneered the technology reduced public skepticism.

That skepticism is slowly giving way in the public eye as all across the nation, health officials and researchers report the performance they're seeing. Dana McCarthy from the Tennessee Department of Environment & Conservation's Division of Water Resources highlighted the impact of this technology in a recent interview.

"Our work has shifted quite a bit to coordinating the regular extraction and cleaning of these filters, they fill up fast with all kinds of chemicals or just trash that people have dumped. They don't get everything. Large, solid things like tires or pieces of metal get pulled in but can't fit. We typically scour the areas around the filters themselves to pick up on those."

The chemicals in question are frequently from industrial or agricultural runoff, but not necessarily in life-threatening quantities. Dr. Brian Borstadt, a professor of Environmental Toxicology at Minnesota State University, says that "there's no evidence the Mississippi River is so polluted as to threaten human or aquatic life." But he also adds a caveat. "We haven't seen too many large studies of this question of the river as a whole, most are focused on small areas or only looking at one particular contaminant." The National Park Service has announced that it is doing its own long-term sampling, but that information won't be available any time soon.

Though removing pollutants and garbage from the Mississippi River is a good thing, the question remains about what will be done with the extract. Several cities and towns have resorted to simply dumping the swirling mixture of plastic bottles, soda cans, paper, plastic bags, and noticeable concentration of chemicals at local dumps.

Long-time environmental activists say this isn't enough. "These local governments are just dumping the same toxic chemicals and trash somewhere else to let the land there be more contaminated, there's no difference if you do that," a recent pamphlet by the Sierra Club declares. The governments in question disagree, arguing that they have robust protections in place to ensure the harm in a dump is far less than the harm of leaving chemicals and garbage in the open river.

It is probably too soon to triumphantly declare this a victory for undoing the harm human activity has done for decades to the Mississippi River. But less than a year after the release of a strong piece of environmental technology, it seems that more and more governments are taking their responsibility to protect the Earth more seriously.

A short chapter, one that I hope doesn't come off as too fawning over what's been done.