# STARK MANSION - WORKSHOP - 11:34 AM
I stared at the periodic table, my enhanced cognition running through every element, every isotope, every possible combination. Tony was doing the same beside me, his fingers dancing through holographic displays with the frustrated energy of someone who'd been hitting the same wall for months.
But I already knew the answer.
Not from my abilities—from *meta-knowledge*. From watching Iron Man 2 and seeing Tony discover the solution hidden in his father's legacy. The Stark Expo model. The hidden atomic structure. The new element Howard Stark had theorized but couldn't synthesize.
The problem was I couldn't just *tell* Tony. Couldn't say "hey, your dead father left you a blueprint for a new element hidden in a model of the 1974 Stark Expo that's probably collecting dust in your office."
I needed him to discover it. Or at least, I needed to point him in the right direction without revealing I already knew the answer.
"We're approaching this wrong," I said slowly, watching Tony's reaction.
He looked up from the hologram. "How so?"
"We're looking for something new. Something undiscovered. But what if the answer isn't *new*?" I pulled up historical data on arc reactor development. "Your miniaturized reactor was based on your father's larger design, right? Howard Stark's arc reactor from the Stark Expo?"
"Yeah. I took his concept and scaled it down, made it viable for personal use." Tony's expression was guarded now—talking about Howard always made him tense. "What's your point?"
"My point is that Howard was working on this technology in the 1970s with limited resources and computational power. He built something revolutionary, but maybe..." I chose my words carefully. "Maybe he knew the limitations. Maybe he theorized solutions he couldn't implement."
Tony was very still now. "You think my father left notes. Research on alternatives to palladium."
"I think Howard Stark was paranoid and brilliant in equal measure. I think he documented everything, even theoretical work he couldn't prove." I met Tony's eyes. "And I think if he did, those documents would be somewhere important. Somewhere secure. Somewhere only you could access."
"Stark Industries headquarters," Tony said quietly. "His old office. I inherited everything when he died—files, prototypes, personal effects. Most of it's still there, archived. I've never gone through it all."
"Why not?"
His jaw tightened. "Because Howard wasn't exactly Father of the Year. Going through his things, reading his notes, seeing all the brilliant work he did while ignoring his son—" He stopped himself. "It's complicated."
I understood that better than he knew. The weight of parental legacy, the complicated grief of losing someone you had unresolved issues with. Mom's box of Tony memories had taken me years to open, and I'd had a *good* relationship with her.
"Maybe it's time," I said gently. "Not for closure or emotional resolution or any of that therapy-speak. But because he might have left you something useful. Something that could save your life."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, staring at the holographic periodic table like it held answers it refused to give up.
"When's the last time you went to Stark Industries HQ?" I asked.
"Three weeks ago. Board meeting. Hated every minute of it."
"Take me with you next time."
He looked at me sharply. "Why?"
"Because I've never seen it. Because if I'm going to be Ace Stark, I should probably see the empire that comes with the name. And because—" I gestured at the holograms around us. "Because maybe a fresh set of eyes finds something you've been too close to see. I can process information differently than you. Pattern recognition, remember? Let me look at Howard's research. Maybe I spot something."
Tony studied me, clearly weighing options. "You want to go through my dead father's office looking for theoretical physics notes that may not exist."
"I want to help you not die from palladium poisoning. If that means going through old files, I'm willing."
"The media will have a field day. First public appearance of Tony Stark's son at Stark Industries? It'll be a circus."
"Then we make it official. Schedule a proper visit, put out a press release, control the narrative." I was thinking fast now, using the social intelligence component of my NZT cognition. "Pepper can coordinate it. 'Tony Stark introduces his son to the family business, discusses future involvement with Stark Industries.' Makes it look planned, purposeful. Reduces speculation."
"You've thought about this."
"I think about everything. Genetic enhancement, remember?"
Despite himself, Tony smiled. "You really want to do this? The media attention will be intense. Cameras, reporters, people analyzing every word you say."
"I'm going to face that eventually anyway. Might as well get it over with." I pulled up a calendar display. "When's your next board meeting?"
"Thursday. Two days from now." He was already considering it, I could tell. The engineer's brain running scenarios, calculating risk versus reward. "We'd need to coordinate with Pepper, brief the security team, prepare a statement—"
"So let's do it. Call Pepper, tell her we want to schedule a visit to HQ. Public introduction, tour of facilities, and while we're there..." I gestured at the periodic table. "We see what Howard left behind."
Tony looked at me for a long moment, something complicated in his expression. Pride, maybe. Or recognition—seeing himself reflected in his son's strategic thinking.
"JARVIS," he said finally. "Get Pepper on the line. Tell her we need to schedule a visit to Stark Industries HQ. Full media coordination. Day after tomorrow."
"Calling now, sir," JARVIS replied. "Shall I mention the secondary objective of reviewing Mr. Howard Stark's archived research materials?"
"That stays between us," Tony said firmly. "Official reason is introducing Ace to the company. Anything else is private family business."
"Understood, sir. Miss Potts is available now. Shall I connect you?"
"Put her through."
Pepper's voice filled the workshop, professional but warm. "Tony, JARVIS said you want to schedule a visit to headquarters?"
"With Ace. Public introduction, proper media handling, the full corporate dog-and-pony show." Tony was pacing now, energy building. "I want him to see the company, meet key personnel, get a sense of what Stark Industries actually does beyond the headlines."
"That's... actually a very reasonable idea." Pepper sounded surprised. "When were you thinking?"
"Thursday. Morning visit, maybe a few hours. We can coordinate with the board meeting if needed, but the primary focus is Ace."
"I'll make the arrangements. Press release, security coordination, facility preparation." I could hear rapid typing in the background—Pepper already working. "Ace, you'll need to prepare for questions. The media will want to know everything—your plans, your relationship with Tony, your future involvement with the company."
"I can handle questions," I said.
"I'm sure you can. But we should still do media prep. Talking points, deflection strategies, how to handle invasive or inappropriate questions." More typing. "I'll schedule a session with our PR team for tomorrow. Get you comfortable with the format."
"Great," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic rather than anxious.
"Tony, is there anything specific you want to show Ace while you're there?" Pepper asked. "Labs, R&D, manufacturing facilities?"
Tony glanced at me. "The archives. Howard's old office. I think it's time Ace learned about his grandfather."
There was a pause on Pepper's end. "Are you sure? You've avoided that office for years."
"Yeah, well. Things change. I have a son now. He should know about his family history, good and bad." Tony's voice was carefully casual. "Set it up, Pep. Full tour, archives included."
"I'll make it happen." Pepper's tone had softened. "This is good, Tony. Really good. I'll send over the schedule once I've coordinated everything."
"Thanks, Pepper."
The line disconnected, and Tony turned back to the holograms, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"You think we'll find something," he said quietly. "In Howard's files."
"I think it's worth looking. And even if we don't find an alternative element, maybe we find *something*. A starting point. A direction we haven't considered."
"And if there's nothing?"
"Then we keep looking. We run simulations, we test theories, we rebuild the periodic table from first principles if we have to." I stepped closer to the holographic Apex display. "You built a miniaturized arc reactor in a cave with a box of scraps. You can solve palladium poisoning with unlimited resources and help from your genetically enhanced son."
Tony laughed, surprised and genuine. "You sound very confident."
"I'm excellent at pattern recognition, remember? And the pattern says Tony Stark doesn't give up when things get difficult. He gets creative." I met his eyes. "We'll figure this out. Together."
He looked at me—really looked—and something in his expression shifted. Not the guarded distance of the past few days, not the clinical assessment of an engineer studying a problem. Something warmer.
Something like trust.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Together."
He turned back to the holograms, already pulling up new data, new possibilities. But I could see the difference in his movements—less frustration, more purpose. Hope, maybe.
Thursday couldn't come fast enough.
Howard Stark's legacy was waiting.
And with it, the solution that would save Tony's life.
I just had to make sure he found it on his own.
—
# STARK MANSION - ACE'S ROOM - 2:47 PM
After the workshop session with Tony, I retreated to my room with my laptop and finally did something I'd been avoiding for days: checked my social media.
The notifications were... extensive.
My Facebook—because this was 2009 and Facebook was still relatively new, still cool, still the primary social platform—had exploded. 1,847 friend requests. 2,394 messages. Comments on every post I'd ever made, going back years.
My Myspace (because yes, people still used Myspace in 2009, barely) was similarly overwhelmed.
My email had 3,000+ unread messages, most of them from addresses I didn't recognize.
"Jesus," I muttered, scrolling through the chaos.
The friend requests were a mix of reporters pretending to be teenagers, actual teenagers who thought being friends with Tony Stark's son would be cool, random people from around the world, and several accounts that were obviously fake or bots.
The messages ranged from supportive ("Welcome to the Stark family!") to creepy ("Can I have a DNA sample?") to entrepreneurial ("I have a business opportunity for you") to outright hostile ("You're just a gold digger trying to steal Tony's money").
I closed the laptop and leaned back, processing.
Social media in 2009 was primitive compared to what I remembered from my previous life. Facebook was still mostly college students and young adults. Twitter had just started gaining mainstream traction. Instagram didn't exist yet. TikTok was years away. YouTube was growing but still rough around the edges.
And I was sitting here with perfect knowledge of how social media would evolve over the next fifteen years.
*I could invent Instagram,* I thought. *Right now. Beat Kevin Systrom to market by a year, maybe two.*
My enhanced cognition immediately started mapping out the technical requirements: photo filters, social sharing, mobile-first design. It wouldn't even be that hard—the technology existed, it just needed the right implementation.
*Or Snapchat. Or TikTok. Or any of the platforms that would be worth billions.*
I could see it clearly: the code architecture, the user interface, the growth strategies that would make them successful. My technomancy could help me build prototypes rapidly. My NZT cognition could optimize everything from server efficiency to user engagement algorithms.
I could become a tech billionaire in my own right, independent of Tony's wealth.
But then what?
I opened my laptop again and stared at the Facebook interface—cluttered, inefficient, already showing signs of the bloated mess it would become. Mark Zuckerberg was probably in his dorm room right now, completely unaware that a sixteen-year-old with cosmic knowledge was considering disrupting his entire empire.
*Is that what I want to do with my abilities? Steal ideas from the future and get rich?*
Stan Lee's voice echoed in my memory: *Be better than the heroes you read about.*
Creating Instagram or Snapchat wouldn't make me better. It would make me wealthy, yes. Powerful in a different way than the Nexus frame would make me powerful. But it wouldn't be *mine*—not really. It would be intellectual theft from people who hadn't invented it yet in this timeline.
I pulled up a blank document and started typing.
---
**SOCIAL MEDIA ANALYSIS - 2009 LANDSCAPE**
**Current Major Platforms:**
- Facebook: Dominant, but clunky. College-focused, expanding to general public. Privacy concerns already emerging.
- MySpace: Dying. Too customizable, too messy, losing users to Facebook rapidly.
- Twitter: Growing. Real-time communication, celebrity adoption increasing. Character limit creates unique communication style.
- YouTube: Video sharing, but monetization is primitive. Content creators struggling to make money.
- LinkedIn: Professional networking, but interface is terrible and nobody actually enjoys using it.
**What's Missing:**
- Visual-first social platform (Instagram won't launch until 2010)
- Ephemeral messaging (Snapchat won't launch until 2011)
- Short-form video (Vine 2013, TikTok much later)
- Better monetization for content creators
- Privacy-focused alternatives to Facebook
- Decentralized social networks
**Could I Build These?**
Yes. Easily. My technomancy could handle the infrastructure, my cognition could optimize user experience, and I have Tony's resources for scaling.
**Should I Build These?**
...
I stopped typing and really thought about it.
The ethical problem wasn't just stealing ideas. It was the *impact*. Social media had transformed society in my original timeline—some good, mostly complicated, often actively harmful. Echo chambers, misinformation, mental health crises, election manipulation, radicalization pipelines.
Did I want to be responsible for that? Even if I built "better" versions, could I guarantee they wouldn't cause the same problems?
And more practically: Did I have *time* for this?
I was already designing combat armor, planning to save Tony from palladium poisoning, preparing for threats I knew were coming (Vanko, Loki, Ultron, Thanos). Adding "social media mogul" to my responsibilities seemed like mission creep.
But there was another angle.
Tony had mentioned Starkphones—his answer to the iPhone, which had launched in 2007. Tony Stark building smartphones made sense. He was a futurist, an innovator, someone who saw technology trends and capitalized on them.
What if I didn't *compete* with future social platforms? What if I *complemented* the Starkphone ecosystem?
---
**ALTERNATIVE APPROACH: STARK ECOSYSTEM INTEGRATION**
**Core Concept:**
Instead of building standalone social platforms, create a social infrastructure *layer* that works with Tony's hardware. Let other people build the apps—I provide the tools that make those apps better, safer, more efficient.
**Potential Projects:**
**1. SECURE MESSAGING PROTOCOL**
- End-to-end encryption that actually works (unlike early Facebook messaging)
- Built into Starkphone OS as default
- Open standard that other platforms can adopt
- Privacy-first, quantum-resistant encryption
- Could market as "Stark Secure" - becomes industry standard for secure communication
**2. IDENTITY VERIFICATION SYSTEM**
- Solve the bot/fake account problem plaguing social media
- Biometric verification (fingerprint, facial recognition)
- Integrated with Starkphone hardware
- Optional for platforms—they choose whether to require "Stark Verified" accounts
- Reduces spam, improves trust, could prevent future misinformation problems
**3. CONTENT CREATOR MONETIZATION PLATFORM**
- YouTube exists but creators can't make money easily
- Build infrastructure for subscriptions, tips, direct payments
- Integrated with Starkphone payment systems
- Take smaller cut than Apple/Google will eventually take (15% vs 30%)
- Support independent creators before Patreon exists
**4. DECENTRALIZED SOCIAL GRAPH**
- User controls their own data
- Platform-agnostic friend connections
- Move from Facebook to anywhere else without losing your network
- Too early? Maybe. But could plant seeds for when people get tired of corporate social media.
These weren't social platforms themselves—they were *infrastructure*. Tools that would make social media better, safer, more open. And they aligned with what Tony was already building with Starkphones.
I could position myself as a complement to Tony's hardware vision, not a competitor in a space I had no genuine passion for.
---
I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Tony.
**Me: Random question - what's your roadmap for Starkphone software ecosystem?**
His response came quickly.
**Tony: Why, you have ideas?**
**Me: Maybe. Thinking about secure messaging and identity verification. Could differentiate Starkphones from iPhones.**
**Tony: Come down to the workshop. Let's talk.**
I smiled. Of course he wanted to discuss it immediately. Tony Stark didn't do "later" when interesting ideas were on the table.
But first, I needed to deal with my actual social media presence.
I opened Facebook and started the tedious process of managing the chaos:
- Deleted all friend requests from people I didn't know personally
- Changed privacy settings to "friends only" for everything
- Wrote a public post:
---
*Thanks for all the messages and support. This has been a weird week. For anyone wondering: yes, the paternity results are real. Yes, I'm Tony Stark's son. No, I won't be giving interviews or accepting random friend requests.*
*I'm just a kid trying to figure out his life after losing his mom. Please respect that.*
*- Ace*
---
Short, honest, establishing boundaries. The PR team Pepper mentioned would probably want me to delete it and write something more polished, but screw it. I needed to sound like an actual teenager, not a corporate press release.
I posted it and immediately turned off notifications.
Then I opened a new document and started sketching out technical specs for a secure messaging protocol that could be integrated into Starkphone's OS. My technomancy hummed with approval—this was the kind of problem I could sink my teeth into. Building something new, something useful, something that might actually make technology *better* instead of just more addictive.
Twenty minutes later, I had a rough prototype architecture mapped out. It wasn't complete—I'd need Tony's help with the hardware integration, and probably JARVIS's assistance with the encryption algorithms—but it was solid.
I grabbed my laptop and headed back down to the workshop.
Tony was waiting, holographic displays already pulled up, clearly having done his own research in the fifteen minutes since I'd texted him.
"Secure messaging," he said as I walked in. "You're thinking end-to-end encryption, quantum-resistant protocols, hardware-level security?"
"All of that, plus biometric verification and a decentralized architecture that doesn't store messages on company servers." I transferred my prototype specs to his system. "Make it impossible for anyone—government, hackers, even Stark Industries—to intercept or access user communications."
Tony studied my designs, his expression shifting from interested to impressed to mildly concerned.
"This is extremely thorough," he said. "Like, 'you've been planning this for a while' thorough. When did you have time to design a complete secure messaging infrastructure?"
"About twenty minutes ago. Enhanced cognition, remember?" I pulled up the encryption protocols. "But the real question is: would this differentiate Starkphones from competitors? Give people a reason to choose your hardware over Apple or Android?"
"Privacy as a selling point." Tony was nodding slowly. "Apple will eventually go this direction, but right now they're focused on user experience over security. If we beat them to market with genuinely secure communication..."
"We capture the privacy-conscious demographic. Business users who can't risk data breaches. Government contracts for secure communication." I was getting excited now, my NZT cognition spinning out implications. "And if we make it an open standard, other platforms can adopt it. We become the infrastructure everyone builds on."
"You're thinking bigger than just Starkphones."
"I'm thinking about building tools that make technology better. You're already doing that with hardware. I can do it with software and infrastructure." I pulled up my other concepts—identity verification, creator monetization, decentralized social graphs. "These don't compete with existing platforms. They enhance them. Make them safer, more open, more user-controlled."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, studying my designs with that intense focus that meant his brain was running through every possible implication.
"You're sixteen," he said finally. "And you just designed a comprehensive software ecosystem that could reshape how people communicate online. In twenty minutes."
"Is that a problem?"
"It's terrifying and I'm extremely proud and I have no idea how to be a father to someone who thinks like this." He smiled, genuine and warm. "But yeah, let's build it. We'll integrate the secure messaging into Starkphone OS, launch the identity verification as a pilot program, and see where it goes."
"Really?"
"Really. You have good ideas, Ace. Better than good—genuinely innovative. And unlike me at sixteen, you're thinking about implications and ethics, not just cool tech." He clapped me on the shoulder. "We'll work on this together. Father-son project. Could be fun."
I felt something warm settle in my chest. Not quite belonging, but getting closer.
"Thanks, Tony."
"Don't thank me yet. We've got a lot of work ahead of us." He pulled up a development timeline. "But first—Thursday. Stark Industries. Howard's archives. We solve the palladium problem, *then* we revolutionize social media infrastructure."
"Priorities," I agreed.
"Exactly." Tony was already diving into my secure messaging protocols, making notes and suggestions. "Now, tell me about your encryption algorithm. Because I'm seeing some potential vulnerabilities here that we need to address..."
We fell into work, father and son, building something that might actually make the world better instead of just more connected.
And for the first time since arriving in this universe, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
---
**Later that night, I made one final social media post:**
*To everyone asking about my plans: I'm not trying to be the next Tony Stark. I'm trying to be the first Ace Stark. Whatever that means.*
*Figure it out as I go.*
*Thanks for coming to my TED talk.*
The responses were immediate and mostly positive. A few people got the humor. Most just wanted to be associated with anything Stark-related.
I closed the laptop and looked at my designs for secure messaging, for the Nexus frame, for all the projects spinning in my enhanced mind.
Sixteen years old.
Tony Stark's son.
Genetically enhanced technomancer.
And apparently, now a software infrastructure developer.
*Make it a story worth telling,* Stan had said.
I was working on it.
—
# STARK MANSION - CONFERENCE ROOM - WEDNESDAY, 10:15 AM
Pepper had transformed one of the mansion's sitting rooms into a war room for media preparation. Whiteboards covered with talking points, tablet displays showing potential interview questions, and a camera setup that made me extremely uncomfortable.
"This is excessive," I said, eyeing the professional lighting rig.
"This is *necessary*," Pepper corrected, adjusting a screen. "Tomorrow you're making your first public appearance as Ace Stark. Every word you say will be analyzed. Every gesture scrutinized. We need you prepared."
Beside her stood Marcus Chen, Stark Industries' head of PR—a man in his forties with the kind of calm, measured demeanor that suggested he'd talked Tony out of approximately ten thousand public relations disasters.
"Ace, good to meet you officially." Marcus shook my hand firmly. "I've been handling your father's image management for six years. I'm very good at my job, which is why I'm still employed despite the 'I am Iron Man' incident."
"That bad?"
"That bad." He smiled without humor. "But we survived it. We'll survive this too. Now, let's talk about what happens tomorrow."
He pulled up a schedule on the main display:
**STARK INDUSTRIES HQ VISIT - THURSDAY**
- 9:00 AM: Arrival (private entrance, minimal media exposure)
- 9:15 AM: Brief meeting with Board of Directors
- 10:00 AM: Facility tour (R&D, manufacturing, clean energy division)
- 11:30 AM: Press conference (main lobby, controlled environment)
- 12:15 PM: Private time in archives/Howard's office
- 1:30 PM: Departure
"The press conference is the critical moment," Marcus said. "Controlled questions from pre-approved journalists, five minutes of Q&A, then we're done. You'll make a brief statement, Tony will make a brief statement, and then we field questions together."
"What kind of questions?" I asked.
Pepper pulled up a list on her tablet. "These are the ones we're anticipating:
**Expected Questions:**
- How does it feel to learn Tony Stark is your father?
- What are your plans for involvement with Stark Industries?
- Will you follow in your father's footsteps?
- How are you coping with your mother's death?
- What's your relationship with Tony like?
- Are you interested in engineering/technology like your father?
- Will you be attending MIT?
- Do you have any comments on the Iron Man program?"
I scanned the list, my enhanced cognition already formulating responses. Some were straightforward. Others were landmines.
"The Iron Man question," I said. "That's the dangerous one."
"Very good." Marcus looked impressed. "Why?"
"Because any answer I give becomes Tony's position by proxy. If I support it, I'm endorsing vigilante justice. If I oppose it, I'm creating family drama the media will exploit. If I deflect, I look evasive." I thought for a moment. "The safe answer is 'I'm proud of my father's commitment to protecting people, and I trust his judgment on how to do that.'"
"That's... actually perfect," Marcus said, making notes. "Supportive without endorsing specific actions. Shows family unity without political commitment. Did you prepare that in advance?"
"No, I just think fast."
Pepper and Marcus exchanged glances.
"Right," Pepper said. "Enhanced cognition. We should probably account for that. Ace, you're going to be tempted to give detailed, comprehensive answers to questions. Don't. Keep responses short, personable, and slightly incomplete. Leave them wanting more, not overwhelmed."
"You want me to dumb it down."
"We want you to sound like a sixteen-year-old, not a corporate strategist." Marcus pulled up video footage—clips of other celebrity children at press conferences. "See how they answer? Casual, slightly nervous, authentic. That's the tone we're aiming for."
I watched the clips. Kids fumbling through answers, laughing nervously, occasionally saying something charmingly awkward. It was... not how I naturally communicated.
"I'm not good at playing dumb," I admitted.
"You don't need to play dumb. You need to play *young*." Pepper came over, her expression gentler. "Ace, you're brilliant. Everyone's going to figure that out eventually. But right now, you're also a grieving teenager who just lost his mother and is trying to navigate a complicated new life. Let people see that. Let them see you're human, not just Tony Stark's genius son."
That... actually made sense.
"Okay," I said. "How do we practice?"
---
**MEDIA PREP - MOCK PRESS CONFERENCE**
Marcus played reporter, firing questions while Pepper recorded my responses and critiqued my body language.
"Ace, how does it feel to learn Tony Stark is your father?"
My first instinct was to give a detailed, analytical answer about complex emotions and family dynamics. I forced myself to simplify.
"It's been overwhelming, honestly. Good overwhelming, mostly. But a lot to process."
"Better," Pepper said. "But smile a little. You look too serious."
Next question: "What are your plans for involvement with Stark Industries?"
"Right now I'm just learning. Trying to understand the company, what it does, what it could do. No concrete plans yet."
"Good. You're being appropriately vague without seeming evasive."
"Will you follow in your father's footsteps?"
"I hope so. Maybe not the exact same path, but the same commitment to innovation and helping people."
"Excellent. That's quotable, positive, shows respect for Tony."
We ran through a dozen more questions. Some I handled well. Others I had to retry multiple times, learning to modulate my tone, control my facial expressions, project the right mixture of intelligence and youth.
"What about hostile questions?" I asked after an hour of practice.
Marcus's expression darkened. "There will be hostile questions. Reporters who think you're a gold digger, conspiracy theorists who don't believe the paternity results, people who want to attack Tony through you."
He shifted into character, his voice taking on an aggressive edge: "Some people are saying your mother waited until she was dying to make this claim for financial reasons. How do you respond to allegations that this is about money?"
The question hit harder than I expected. Anger flared in my chest—how dare anyone suggest Mom was opportunistic, that I was some kind of con artist—
"Stop," Pepper said, watching my expression. "That's exactly the reaction they want. You get angry, you look defensive, the story becomes 'Ace Stark loses temper at press conference.'"
I took a breath, forcing the anger down. "So what do I say?"
"You acknowledge it's hurtful, but you don't engage with the premise," Marcus said. "Something like: 'My mother was a remarkable person who made decisions she believed were right. I'm not going to justify her choices to people who didn't know her.'"
"Dignified. Protective. Shuts down the line of questioning without being aggressive," Pepper added. "Try it."
Marcus repeated the hostile question. This time I was ready.
"My mother was a remarkable person who made decisions she believed were right. I'm not going to justify her choices to people who didn't know her." Pause. Direct eye contact with the imaginary reporter. "Next question."
"Perfect," Marcus said. "That's exactly the energy we want. Confident but not combative."
We practiced hostile questions for another thirty minutes: questions about my abilities ("I'm good at school, just like a lot of kids"), about my future ("I'm sixteen, I'm figuring it out"), about my relationship with Tony ("We're getting to know each other, and it's going well").
By noon, I was exhausted in a way that combat training had never made me.
"This is harder than fighting," I admitted.
"Fighting is honest," Pepper said. "PR is performance. But you're doing well, Ace. Really well. Tomorrow you're going to be fine."
"One more thing," Marcus said, pulling up a final document. "Your statement. The opening remarks before questions. Tony's will be off-the-cuff because he's Tony. Yours should be prepared."
He showed me what they'd drafted:
*"Thank you all for coming. The last two weeks have been the hardest of my life, but also the beginning of something I never expected. I'm grateful to have found my father, grateful for the support we've received, and I'm looking forward to learning more about the Stark legacy—both the company and the family. I hope you'll give us space to figure this out together. Thank you."*
I read it twice. "It's good. But can I make one change?"
"What?"
"End with something about my mom. She deserves to be acknowledged." I thought for a moment. "Add: 'And I know my mother would be proud to see me here today.'"
Pepper's expression softened. "That's... yes. That's perfect."
---
# STARK MANSION - WORKSHOP - WEDNESDAY, 4:47 PM
After media prep, I escaped to the workshop where Tony was already elbow-deep in holographic displays, working on something that looked like power coupling designs.
"How'd it go?" he asked without looking up.
"Exhausting. Your PR team is terrifying."
"Marcus once convinced the Pentagon that my unauthorized weapons test was actually a 'surprise demonstration of defensive capabilities.' The man's a wizard." Tony finally looked at me, taking in my expression. "You okay?"
"They made me practice answering questions about Mom being a gold digger."
Tony's jaw tightened. "If anyone asks that tomorrow, I'm ending the press conference immediately."
"You can't do that. It'll just create more drama."
"I can and I will. You're my son, not a punching bag for reporters' bullshit theories." He closed the displays and turned to face me fully. "Ace, listen. Tomorrow's going to be hard. People are going to be invasive and rude and they're going to ask questions that hurt. But you don't owe them anything. Not explanations, not justifications, not your pain packaged into sound bites."
"Pepper says I need to be authentic."
"Authentic doesn't mean vulnerable. You can be honest without being raw." He paused. "And if it gets too much, we leave. I don't care about optics or media relations. You're more important."
Something warm settled in my chest. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me for basic parenting." Tony pulled up new displays—not press conference prep, but engineering schematics. "Now, you want to do something actually productive? Let's work on Apex."
Just like that, the tension drained away. This was better. This made sense.
"Where do we start?" I asked.
"Power supply." Tony pulled up arc reactor designs—his current palladium-based model alongside theoretical alternatives. "We can't build your mecha until we solve the fundamental problem: clean, sustainable, portable power at scale. Your Apex frame needs what, 800 megawatts sustained output?"
"Approximately. More for weapons systems and full combat load."
"Right. My Mark III runs at about 600 megawatts. So we need something 30% more powerful, which means either a bigger reactor or more efficient power generation." He was already running calculations. "Palladium's out for obvious reasons. We need the alternative element—which hopefully we find tomorrow in Howard's files—but we should have backup plans."
I pulled up the periodic table and started eliminating options. "Anything radioactive enough to be dangerous is out. Anything too unstable is out. We need something that can sustain fusion reactions at room temperature without decaying."
"Which brings us back to theoretical elements. Things that should exist but we haven't synthesized yet." Tony zoomed in on the heavy elements section. "Howard was working on this in the seventies. He had the theory but not the technology to create new elements. We have particle accelerators, quantum computers, manufacturing precision he couldn't dream of."
"So if we find his notes..."
"We can actually build what he only theorized." Tony's expression was complicated—pride and resentment mixed together. "Howard Stark, still solving problems from beyond the grave."
We worked in companionable silence for a while, running simulations, testing theoretical power outputs, mapping what the new reactor would need to look like.
"The frame itself," Tony said eventually, pulling up my Apex designs. "I have notes."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
He started marking up the hologram. "The leg servos are good, but you're going to have balance issues at this weight. You need dynamic stabilization—gyroscopic compensators in the torso, reactive ankle joints, probably micro-thrusters for fine adjustment."
I added his suggestions, watching the design improve in real-time. "What about the arms? I was worried about the shoulder mounting."
"Yeah, this won't work. Too much torque on the connection points." Tony redesigned the shoulder assembly, adding reinforcement. "You need a full socket joint here, not a simple hinge. And the power conduits are running through high-stress areas—route them here instead."
We fell into the rhythm we'd found before: him suggesting, me implementing, both of us building on each other's ideas. My enhanced cognition processed his engineering insights instantly, while my technomantic intuition caught things his purely mechanical approach missed.
"The weapons systems," I said, pulling up the arm-mounted repulsors. "I based these on your Mark III design, but scaled up. Will that work?"
Tony studied them carefully. "The power draw is going to be massive. You're looking at 150 megawatts per shot at full charge. That's..." He ran calculations. "That's enough to punch through reinforced concrete. What exactly are you planning to fight?"
I hesitated. I couldn't tell him about Vanko, about the Chitauri, about everything I knew was coming. But I could give him partial truth.
"I don't know. But I'd rather have too much firepower than not enough." I met his eyes. "You built the Mark III to fight terrorists. I'm building Apex to fight whatever comes after terrorists."
"You think there's something coming."
"I think the world's changing. Super-soldiers exist—Steve Rogers proved that. Enhanced individuals are appearing." I gestured at myself. "I'm proof of that. And where there are enhanced individuals, there will be enhanced threats."
Tony was quiet for a long moment. "You're preparing for a war that hasn't started yet."
"I'm preparing to survive in a world where people like me—like *us*—attract attention from people who want to use us or eliminate us." I pulled up the armor's defensive systems. "This isn't about being a hero, Tony. It's about being *safe*."
He studied the Apex design with new eyes, seeing it not as a weapon but as armor in the truest sense. Protection against a dangerous world.
"Okay," he said finally. "We build it. But we build it *right*. Full redundancy, multiple failsafes, emergency protocols for every system. If you're going to pilot a walking weapons platform, I want to know you can survive if something goes wrong."
"Agreed."
"And we test everything. Every system, every component, every possible failure mode. No shortcuts."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Tony pulled up a construction timeline. "Three phases. First, we build a proof-of-concept—quarter-scale model, functional but not combat-ready. Test the core systems, validate the technomantic interface, prove the concept works. That's... four months, maybe five."
"Too long. I was thinking two."
"You were thinking like someone who's never built a twelve-foot mecha from scratch." Tony was firm. "This is complex, Ace. More complex than the Mark III, and that took me six months in my fully-equipped workshop with years of experience. You're brilliant, but you're not experienced. We do this right or we don't do it at all."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to push for faster development because I knew what was coming and when. But Tony was right—rushing would create vulnerabilities, and vulnerabilities could be fatal.
"Four months for proof-of-concept," I agreed. "What's phase two?"
"Full-scale prototype. We take what we learned from the model and build the real thing. Another four months, maybe six depending on how the tests go. We're looking at summer 2010 for a functional Apex frame."
A year. I had a year to build the protection I needed.
Vanko would attack Tony at the Monaco Grand Prix in... I calculated quickly. Approximately eighteen months. May 2010.
I'd have Apex by then. Barely.
"And phase three?" I asked.
"Combat testing and optimization. We don't deploy this thing until we're absolutely certain it won't kill you." Tony's expression was serious. "I'm not sending my son into battle in an untested weapons platform. We do this *right*, Ace."
"Understood."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "Good. Now, let's start with the technomantic interface. That's the most critical system and the one I understand least. Show me how you plan to merge with the machine."
I pulled up my neural lattice designs, and we dove deep into the technical details. How my technomancy would interface with the armor's systems. How thought-commands would translate into action. How the combat co-processor would learn my fighting style and anticipate my needs.
Tony asked questions I hadn't considered. Pointed out vulnerabilities in my assumptions. Suggested improvements that made the system more robust.
We worked until Pepper appeared at the workshop door at 8:30 PM with takeout and a reminder that I needed sleep before tomorrow's big day.
"We're making progress," Tony protested.
"You're *always* making progress. Ace needs rest." Pepper gave me a look that suggested disagreeing would be unwise. "Tomorrow's a big day. Media, board meeting, archives. You should be fresh."
She was right, obviously. But I didn't want to stop. This felt *good*—building something with Tony, working toward a goal, being productive instead of anxious about press conferences.
"Go," Tony said, seeing my hesitation. "We'll pick this up after we get back from headquarters tomorrow. After we find what Howard left behind."
"You really think we'll find something?"
"I think Howard was too paranoid not to leave breadcrumbs. Whether we can follow them..." He shrugged. "We'll find out tomorrow."
I grabbed some of the takeout—Thai food again, apparently Tony's go-to order—and headed upstairs. But I paused at the workshop door.
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For taking this seriously. For helping build Apex instead of trying to talk me out of it."
He smiled, genuine and warm. "You're my son. And you came to me with a brilliant design and legitimate concerns about safety. Of course I'm taking it seriously." He paused. "Besides, watching you work? Watching you think through problems and optimize systems? That's... that's really cool, Ace. I'm proud of you."
The words hit harder than I expected. Proud. Tony Stark was proud of me.
"Get some sleep," he said, turning back to his holograms. "Tomorrow we meet the press, charm the board, and rob my dead father's office for the secret to clean energy. Should be fun."
I smiled and headed to my room, but sleep was a long time coming.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
Tomorrow, I stepped into the public eye as Ace Stark.
And tomorrow, we found the solution that would save Tony's life.
I just had to make sure he discovered it naturally.
No pressure.
---
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