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Time moved at a corporate sprint, and Tony Stark was already cruising at thirty thousand feet on his private jet toward the Middle East. Resting on the mahogany table before him was the first functional prototype Kael had delivered: the F.R.I.D.A.Y. smart pistol.
The hardware was essentially a refined Arasaka Senkaku. Kael had ditched the industrial corporate grey for a sleek, matte black finish with brushed silver accents. It boasted a thirty-round magazine and dual firing modes: three-round burst and full-auto. The red sensor array atop the barrel—the "Eye"—housed the target-acquisition logic. Beside it, a small OLED screen displayed a bullet icon composed of retro yellow pixels.
This was the AI core. Given the constraints of mid-2000s processing power, calling it an "Artificial Intelligence" was an insult to the term; it was more of a "Digital Idiot." But it could identify a threat, correct a trajectory, and, unfortunately, talk back.
As Tony's fingers closed around the grip, a voice chirped from the gun's internal speaker.
"New biometric signature detected."
"Can you crank the volume? I'm not whispering secrets to my sidearm," Tony remarked with his trademark disdain.
"Volume increased to 33%. New biometric signature detected!"
"Introduce yourself," Tony said, his interest piqued enough to ignore the flight attendant's lingering gaze.
"Technical Specifications: Integrated Logic-Gate Smart Sidearm. Experimental Model. Designation: F.R.I.D.A.Y."
"Heh. F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Really?" Tony smirked, questioning Kael's naming conventions. It sounded like something out of a kindergarten storybook.
"Volume increased to 66%. NAME—"
"I'm not deaf, kid."
"Acknowledged. Auditory sensors normal. Conclusion: Sub-optimal user IQ. Slowing speech rate by 33%. My. Name. Is. F.R.I.D.A.Y."
Sitting across the aisle, Colonel James Rhodes let out a barking laugh. "Did you just get roasted by a handgun, Tony?"
"Enough. Log my identity. Full permissions," Tony grumbled. He wasn't about to lose a debate to a smart-glock.
"Processing... Calibrating neural-handshake... twenty seconds remaining. Would the user enjoy a relaxing melody to alleviate the boredom of existence?"
"Sure. Let's hear it."
"Bang-bang-bleep-dong... bang-bang-bleep-dong-bang..."
F.R.I.D.A.Y. hummed a digital tune so dissonant it made Tony's eyebrow twitch. The "Digital Idiot" was clearly going to be a thorn in his side.
"Stop. Just stop."
"Understood." The pixelated icon on the screen mimicked a hand covering a mouth. "Identity verified. F.R.I.D.A.Y. v0.01 active. Standing by."
"What's the payload?" Tony asked.
"Primary function: Trajectory correction. Secondary: Autonomous defense. If the user's life-signs indicate extreme threat, I will fire for effect."
"And if I just want to shoot someone?"
"Select operating mode. Mode One: Merciful Pacifist—targets lower extremities. Mode Two: Cold-Blooded Killer—targets cranial cavity."
"Intelligence test concludes," Tony said, sliding the weapon back into its briefcase. He had intended to finish the diagnostics yesterday, but a particularly persistent reporter had left him too "drained" to focus on hardware.
"Interesting piece," Rhodey noted as lunch—fresh sashimi and sake—was served. "The kid's work?"
"Kael Wayne," Tony nodded. "He's got a weird mind, Rhodey. The logic-gates he's building shouldn't work with today's processors, but they do. It's still experimental, but it's the future."
Rhodey raised a glass of sake. "To the future, then."
Back in the Stark Tower lab, Kael was holding a twin of Tony's pistol, this one finished in a "monochrome" black-and-white scheme. He had built three prototypes for stress testing, but the lack of an approval email from Tony was starting to grind his gears.
The corporate hierarchy was a snail. How was he supposed to build a Titan if every requisition form took three days to clear?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Obadiah Stane walked in, his bald head gleaming under the lab lights, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hope I'm not intruding, Kael," Obadiah purred. Behind him, Martin nearly fell out of his chair, frantically trying to hide the video he'd been watching.
"Not at all, Mr. Stane," Kael replied, standing up with a perfectly calibrated "junior researcher" deference.
"You're waiting on Tony, aren't you? Well, I'm afraid he's already over the Atlantic. A massive deal in Afghanistan. You'll be waiting quite a while for a reply."
"I see. And the smart-weapon acceptance testing?"
"I'll handle that personally," Obadiah said, his eyes locking onto the prototype. He saw Kael as a golden goose—a brilliant, naive graduate who would be much easier to manipulate than the erratic Tony Stark. "I have a keen interest in this project."
"Of course, sir." Kael handed him an unpainted prototype and a pair of specialized tactical glasses.
"Come. Let's hit the range," Stane said, putting a fatherly arm around Kael's shoulder. To Obadiah, Kael was a windfall. A researcher whose concepts could secure military contracts for decades.
"I won't disappoint you," Kael said, his face a mask of youthful ambition. Deep down, the Calculating Survivor was already measuring Obadiah for a body bag. Stane had just suggested changing the weapon's name to 'Headshot.'
Renaming my work? You've got a death wish, choomba.
As Obadiah left with the prototype, Kael spotted Pepper Potts watching from the hallway.
"Did Mr. Stane require something?" she asked, her tone polite but her eyes searching. She didn't trust Obadiah, and she was fiercely protective of anything involving Tony.
"Just taking the prototype for a spin," Kael explained. He didn't hide the details; Pepper was the key to the future, and Kael wasn't short-sighted enough to bet on a dinosaur like Stane. "He's eager to get it in front of the brass."
"I see," Pepper smiled. "Don't worry, Kael. Once Tony returns, I'll ensure he gives you a proper audience. He admires your work more than he admits."
Kael gave a humble nod. "I look forward to it. He's the reason I joined the company."
While Kael played the corporate game, the script of the world unfolded in the desert. Tony presented the Jericho missile, the military brass cheered, and the sake flowed. But the return trip to the base was exactly as Kael remembered.
The next morning, Kael woke up in a luxury hotel suite with two models—a celebratory "bonus" from Martin after Obadiah authorized their team raises. Kael had tried to uphold his "upright" principles, but the "enemy" was too cunning, and his "original hardware" was in peak condition.
He got out of bed, picked up the morning paper from the hallway, and sat on the sofa.
STARK ATTACKED: TONY STARK MISSING IN AFGHANISTAN.
Kael sipped his coffee, the black-and-white F.R.I.D.A.Y. pistol resting on the coffee table. The "Iron Man" arc had begun.
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