Tony knows the swarm will follow him, fill his inboxes, and devour his assistant, but he doesn't have time for them. His mind moves a mile a minute as he recalls the iron suit of armour, the weaponry, the naïve attempt at flight.
In a dank cavern, in the middle of Afghanistan, starved, dehydrated, traumatised, and practically dying, two men used scraps and garbage to create something revolutionary.
In his workshop, in his luxurious Malibu mansion, fed, warm and insomniac, Tony will do it better. He recalls Yinsen's words and determines not to waste his life; not a single second.
He works for fifteen hours before he thinks to take a bite of the sandwich Pepper left him with several hours ago. He can't recall what she had said to him, only that she was unhappy.
Jarvis accompanies him, responding with character to even simple yes or no questions. A steady stream of recommendations flows through Tony's ears every hour.
"Sir, you have lost over fifty pounds since February. In order to carefully readjust yourself to your standard diet, you will need to eat small amounts of unprocessed foods as often as possible."
"Sir, it has been 48 hours since you were recovered. I cannot account for any rest during this time. Might I suggest a power nap?"
"Sir, it is currently 8:00am on Monday morning. It will be a warm, sunny day with a high of 68°F, with light showers in the evening. You have fourteen missed calls from Sergeant Rhodes, eight from Mr. Hogan, two from Mr. Stane, and twenty seven from Miss Potts, as well as numerous texts and emails from acquaintances and news representatives. Would you like to respond to any of them?"
"No," Tony remembers to say, so caught up in welding a forearm piece.
At 8:09am on Monday morning, Jarvis alerts him to a break in.
"Sir, someone has broken into the mansion. I've notified the police and they are on their way. The intruder is currently in the kitchen. Whilst they don't seem to be armed, I advise that you do not engage."
Seriously? They couldn't have broken in whilst he was away for three damn months?
Against Jarvis' better judgement, Tony - in his daze of sleep deprivation and obsessive one track mind - ignores his advice and elects to investigate. His body shakes as he pulls himself away from the desk, the beginnings of a repulsor on his left hand. He holds it at the ready as he enters his kitchen.
Completely oblivious and starkly out of place, a stranger runs her hand along the fine marble countertop of the island.
"Listen, I am really not in the mood for this shit, so let's make a deal. You stay put, I don't shoot."
The stranger flinches as she turns, gripping the bench and staring at him open-mouthed, and empty-handed. Her eyes scan his face, before locking onto the repulsor.
"What the fuck... Who... what...?" she stumbles over half sentences and curses before staring unseeingly at him.
She's young, maybe mid twenties, in attire not unlike a Walmart employee's. She doesn't look like much of a thief. Perhaps an overeager delivery driver wanting an autograph. Did he leave the door open? No, and the supplies he ordered had to be shipped from China and would be at least another three days.
"How'd you get in here?" he asks.
The woman's face creases in confusion, frustration, something unpleasant. She opens her mouth to speak, but stays silent, excusing a startled croak.
"Sir, I have been unable to determine the entry point of the intruder."
"What? Why not?"
"There was no detection of the intruder until 8:08.52.11, when video, motion and thermal evidence depicts them two metres from where they currently stand."
"What," he said again, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes never let the woman out of his sight since he entered the room, and not once has she seemed aware of the situation.
He begins to ask another question, when sirens sound in his driveway. Two armed officers enter from behind him.
"LAPD, show me your hands," one calls at the woman.
"Mr. Stark, please exit the building and wait outside for someone to take your statement."
"You are under arrest for trespassing, breaking and entering. Do you understand?"
Tony waits outside. A moment later the officers walk the woman to their cruiser. She's handcuffed and dazed. Her eyes pass over him like he's not even there.
A brief oversimplification of his home security system and a recount of his one-sided conversation with her, and his part is done.
The cops thank him for his time, apologise for the bad situation, and then return to their cars. Three cruisers pull out of his driveway and disappear around the fence.
He stands there, numbly watching the space where he had seen her walk by. What was her deal? Was she a stalker? A reporter? Just lost? Did she even take anything?
He walks back inside, staring at the island where she had touched it. He turns away and stumbles back to the garage, rattling off instructions to Jarvis.
"Alright, bud, I want you to check the footage again, the timing, let me know if anything's faulty. If not, I'm checking your code in the morning," he says as he takes off the repulsor and begins shaping more metal attachments for it.
For hours, he works, half of his mind still fumbling with the morning's situation and the question of how in the world the woman got in.
He tells Jarvis to check for facial recognition. He checks his code for faults. He studies the shape of his kitchen. He triple checks the locks on his front door. Nothing is wrong.
So something must be very wrong.
The puzzle eludes him, fills his mind with exponentially growing theories for days. It's so much that, eventually, he can't focus enough to work, and so he finds himself sitting down to eat cornflakes in the middle of the night on the floor of his kitchen.
"Any updates on facial recognition?"
"Three more matches with less than seventy percent accuracy."
"So nothing, then." Senses dulled by waking nightmares, bored out of his mind, he asks, "Where is she being held?"
"Los Angeles County Sheriff Department Station in Agoura."
"I'm going for a drive."
"Sir, I don't think-"
He locks the front door behind him.