"Jarvis, we need to refine this armor further. Note the icing issue and optimize shock absorption."
Tony's test flight nearly ended in a crash, startling him.
"As you wish, sir."
Jarvis's voice replied.
"Head back. Pepper'll nag otherwise."
Tony pondered how the Ten Rings knew his route. His trips were public, but the ambush was targeted.
He flew to his lab, mulling it over. Distractions came easy—armor upgrades or a fleeting beauty.
Back inside, robotic arms removed the suit. Tony, wearing his monocle, approached the desk, biting a cold burger, then returned to the console.
"This spot could improve."
He tapped the holographic interface.
Knock knock knock.
"Who's there? Jarvis?"
Chewing, Tony asked.
"Sorry, sir. Visitor info is classified."
Jarvis wouldn't breach security without authorization.
"Hack it. I need to know."
Tony donned a metal gauntlet. Fresh from danger, he was wary.
"Sir, it's Philip J. Coulson, former Army Ranger…"
"Tony, do you know the mess you caused?"
Colonel Rhodes burst in. Without SHIELD, the Air Force might've shot him down.
Rhodes wasn't a threat—trusted friend. Coulson insisted on courtesy.
"Jarvis, later."
Tony greeted Rhodes warmly.
Coulson introduced himself: "Mr. Stark, Phil Coulson from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Investigating your flight object."
"Wait, what's your name?"
Tony recalled Jarvis's info.
"Phil Coulson."
Coulson assumed forgetfulness—typical playboy.
"Fine, Coulson. What's the probe?"
Tony subtly stalled, halting gauntlet removal, sitting on the sofa. Distance was prudent.
Post-captivity, Tony masked better. Survival taught camouflage.
"Without them, the Air Force would've fired!" Rhodes roared, concerned.
"I know, Rhodey. Jarvis'll notify you next time."
Tony finished scanning Coulson's file—Peggy Carter, SHIELD co-founder, his great-aunt.
"We're just asking about the flyer. No need to tense," Coulson said, sensing oddity.
"Mr. Coulson, anything else?"
Tony leaned forward, pressuring.
"Nothing for now."
Coulson got the dismissal cue. Not time to push.
He left with his team.
"Rhodey, more business?"
Tony removed the gauntlet, arc reactor glowing.
"Can't I have a drink?"
Rhodes poured gin, surprised.
"Finish this, host a yacht party if you want."
Tony was blunt.
"Fine. Just notify us next time."
Rhodes downed it and left.
"That sip cost a week's pay."
Air Force pay outstripped Army's. They bought Jerichos without demos.
"Jarvis, trace that Homeland agency. See if they tie to my incident."
Jarvis could gather Tony's intel but not filter precisely—slight autonomy was its limit.
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