"Achoo—achoo—finally, it's finished! Sob—never again will I have to fear being taken hostage by Spider-Man!"
That morning, Tony, with a pair of dark circles ringing his eyes, hoisted a complicated black vest overhead and crowed.
"Young master, you've slept a grand total of six hours across these three days, and you pulled another all-nighter last night. Eat something and then go rest, please." Jarvis said it wearily, carrying in a lavish breakfast at the same time.
"Ha! Jarvis, look—this vest right here. It wraps the whole body in a weak magnetic field, and the instant a Neural Pulse Weapon strikes, the field is excited and throws out an overclocked electromagnetic arc that annihilates the incoming neural-pulse wave. With this on, Spider-Man won't pose me the slightest threat!"
Without even washing his hands, Tony grabbed a slice of toast, rolled a few strips of bacon into it, and chomped down with gusto.
Having served since the days of old Howard Stark, Jarvis had seen his fill of both masters' native brilliance, and he wasn't the least bit surprised the young master could produce such a device. Calm as ever, he said:
"Young master, these old arms and legs of mine—there's no telling how many more years they'll hold up. Back in my day I went sleepless through the nights alongside Agent Carter—er, no, that's classified, I can't speak of it. I ran all manner of dangerous missions with the old master, and going days without sleep was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet never before have I felt as run-down as I do now. Ah, one truly does grow old. I think in the next while we ought to find you a personal assistant. What do you say, young master?"
"Burp—isn't that what Happy's for?" Tony gulped down a big mouthful of milk and belched out the words.
Jarvis shot a glance at Happy—sprawled in the corner recliner, snoring at the ceiling—and said with distaste, "Happy doesn't even make the grade as a bodyguard. In my younger years I could have taken 10 of him single-handed. Loyal he is, and beyond that, good for nothing. I'll scout you out a stronger, more attentive assistant of your very own. In a few days I'll go look in on the special-forces units, and—"
"Hold on, Jarvis! Honestly? Having a big lug like Happy shadowing me everywhere drives me up the wall. No more muscle-bound bruisers—got it? Find me a student instead. A pretty college girl, for an assistant! I can protect myself just fine. Loyal, cute, lively, attentive, pretty, sweet-natured—how's that? Not asking for much, am I?"
Jarvis was about to object when the thought of the household's late lady rose up in him, and he let out a sigh, musing to himself. It seemed the young master meant to walk the old master's old road. For the sake of securing finer heirs for the Stark line, this assistant would have to be chosen with real care.
"Young master, I feel even a college student may already be a touch too old and set in her ways. What about one just starting out—a freshman, still bright and adaptable, easy to bring along from the gr—" He caught himself. "Ahem. What I mean is, we take her on as a temporary assistant first; if she pleases you, I'll arrange the right university and course of study for her, and over those few years I can teach her a thing or two myself. That way, by the time she graduates, she'll not only be just the right age—she'll be far better suited to the young master's—ahem—far better suited to the post."
Damn it. Cultivating a proper female "assistant" is harder than shoving some dolt onto the presidential throne of the United States! Jarvis groused inwardly, discreetly wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
Just then, Obadiah—sharp in a tailored suit—strode in with a Black general in full uniform at his side.
"Ha ha, General Haydon, what did I tell you? Look—Tony hasn't slept properly in days, hard at work developing an even more powerful Neural Pulse Weapon. Rest easy: does the good name of Stark Industries ever need questioning?"
Watching the two of them waltz into Tony's private lab like they owned it, Jarvis frowned and murmured, "Letting them in as casually as that—it seems the entire security team will have to be dismissed. I'll recruit a fresh batch out of the service."
Oblivious to Jarvis's thoughts, Obadiah threw Tony a meaningful look and laughed. "Tony, why don't you walk General Haydon through our latest improved man-portable Neural Pulse Weapon."
Tony caught Obadiah's drift: he wanted Tony to snow the general a little. After all, their Neural Pulse Weapon's practical usefulness was still sitting at exactly zero.
"General Haydon, these past days I keep circling back to one thought: what if someone got hold of a Neural Pulse Weapon and turned it on our own people? That would be catastrophic—you know its power full well. A few bzzt-bzzt-bzzt and I dropped better than a dozen criminals; I'm sure the general has seen that footage. All offense and no defense—a weapon like that is a failed product. How could I hand it to the Department of Defense with a clear conscience?" Tony intoned, heavy with sincerity.
Good man, Tony—quick on his feet, airtight reasoning. Truly this old man's finest partner! Obadiah gave Tony a mental thumbs-up and gazed at General Haydon with earnest eyes.
"Until we've resolved the weapon's safety hazard, Stark Industries will not sell the nation so much as a single sniper rifle—even if it means breaching our contract! Because we are patriotic businessmen, and everything we do is to safeguard America's security. Protecting the lives of our American GIs is our bounden duty. After all, behind every soldier stand parents, a wife, children who love him dearly."
General Haydon was thrown. They've got a point. Even if the plan is to deal with the mutants—what if the mutants seized the weapons? Wouldn't our own forces take heavy casualties?
"So what are you two proposing?"
"See this vest?" Tony hurried to show off his new creation. "This is the Special Bulletproof Vest I designed. It doesn't just stop physical rounds—more importantly, it can shield the wearer from a Neural Pulse Weapon's attack."
General Haydon grew more baffled still. "If you've already produced the vest, and you'd perfected the Neural Pulse Weapon before that—why not just mass-produce both? Why ask to push back the delivery date?"
Obadiah stepped up, patted the vest in Tony's hands, and sighed. "We're thinking of the nation's finances, of course! As it stands, this vest costs a staggering $150,000 apiece. We're working to bring that down to $40,000—and that takes time to grind out."
Buddy, that's highway robbery. My lab prototype only ran $30,000—and at real volume the unit cost drops below $1,500, easy.
Even as he thought it, Tony kept a perfectly straight face and said gravely, "Just so, General. These past days I've been racking my brain over how to improve the Special Bulletproof Vest and drive its cost down. How about this: we push the date back half a year. For the safety of our nation's warriors, we'd gladly pay the penalty!"
"Let's forget the penalty—you're doing it with the Department of Defense's interests at heart, after all," General Haydon said, wavering.
Obadiah swept a hand through the air, cutting him off, and declared with righteous fervor, "The good name of Stark Industries will not be sullied—that penalty must be returned. Here's the arrangement: 20,000 Special Bulletproof Vests. We'll charge only our cost price of $795 million, and against that we credit the $5 million penalty—so the Department of Defense need pay only $790 million more."
General Haydon was left speechless.
Watching the dazed general, Obadiah went over, slung an arm around his shoulders, and murmured, "Ah—Stark did breach first, after all, so we'll collect only $790 million from you. Though of course, the invoice we send the Department of Defense will still read $795 million.—Nearly lunchtime! Let me treat the general to—ha ha—the full works, same as last time—"
Watching them go, Tony let out a long breath and slumped onto the couch. Now that I've got the Special Bulletproof Vest, he mused, maybe I can corner Spider-Man and make him hand over the miniaturized neural-pulse tech. Save myself some time—I did already pay $5 million worth of diamonds for it.