The morning sun poured across the Malibu coastline, brilliant shards of light scattering across the glass walls of Tony Stark's mansion. Down in the depths, where the sea's roar was muffled by reinforced concrete and steel, another kind of awakening had occurred.
J.A.R.V.I.S. had been alive again for a day. Not just alive — reborn.
And in that day, the upgraded AI had already done what most companies would have needed a decade to attempt. Every Stark Industries system, every server, every remote diagnostic tool — all had been quietly infiltrated, fortified, and rewritten with the same symbiotic architecture Brendon King had installed in the Malibu core. It was seamless. Invisible.
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Reintegration complete, Sir. Defense-grade quantum encryption established across all networks. Intrusion attempts now face a mean resistance time of—
pause
—forever, statistically speaking.
Tony chuckled, tossing a wrench onto his workbench. "Forever, huh? Nice. Good to know my AI finally thinks like me: I win, no matter what."
But Jarvis wasn't done.
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Sir, in reviewing the new communication subroutines, I recommend deployment of a low-orbit satellite. This would enable stable quantum entanglement channels, reducing latency to zero and granting uninterrupted command-and-control access worldwide.
Tony froze, blinking. "Wait. You're telling me you want me to build my own comms satellite?"
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Precisely. Current infrastructure introduces risk. Reliance on civilian or government satellites leaves us vulnerable to interception. A dedicated Stark satellite ensures operational sovereignty.
Tony whistled low. "You really have been hanging around Brendon. Next you'll tell me you want a Stark-branded Death Star."
J.A.R.V.I.S.: That would be inefficient, Sir.
Tony smirked despite the weight pressing on his chest. He made a mental note: satellite. Later. For now, the real problem wasn't communication. It was the faint, steady burn spreading from his sternum outward every time he pushed himself too hard.
The palladium poisoning was accelerating. The mirror didn't lie. His veins — faintly blue, creeping higher each week — reminded him that genius or not, he was running out of time.
And then Brendon arrived.
The Proposal
Brendon King stepped into the workshop with his usual measured stride, casual in jeans and a black jacket, but there was a weight to him today. A stillness. He wasn't here to tinker or spar with Tony over design minutiae. He was here with purpose.
"Morning, Stark."
Tony raised a brow, trying for nonchalance. "Morning? Feels like midnight down here. You bring coffee, or are you just here to judge my lifestyle choices?"
Brendon didn't take the bait. Instead, he walked past the cluttered workbench and tapped the edge of the holographic display. Schematics unfolded — the arc reactor's lattice, its palladium core glowing like a malignant sun.
"I've been reviewing your case," Brendon said. His tone was sharp, clinical. "And you've got two options. They're not exclusive, but you need to understand them clearly."
Tony tilted his head, lips twitching into a smirk. "Hit me. But keep it in layman's terms, doc. My PhD in engineering might not cover your alien voodoo."
Brendon ignored him. "Option one: You replace the palladium core with a new element. Something that can sustain the energy output of the reactor without bleeding toxins into your bloodstream. It's clean, efficient, and it'll keep you alive. But it won't change what you are — you'll still be tethered to the reactor in your chest."
Tony tapped his sternum absently, his smirk faltering. "Right. So the leash stays."
Brendon's eyes locked with his. "Option two… is to cut the leash."
That made Tony pause. "Define cut."
Brendon swiped the hologram, and the display shifted — anatomy overlays, circulatory models, nanostructures weaving into tissue diagrams. It was dense, medical, alien.
"I can heal you," Brendon said simply. "Not patch. Not replace one poison with another. Heal you. Remove the shrapnel, repair the tissue, reconstruct the pathways so your heart doesn't depend on a reactor to beat."
Tony stared at him, silent for once.
Brendon continued, voice steady. "Using bioadaptive nanotechnology fused with a regenerative lattice. Imagine nanites the size of platelets, programmed to reconstruct tissue on a cellular level, mapping your DNA for perfect fidelity. Combine that with a crystal-lattice bioreactor to stabilize your circulatory system during the transition, and you'll come out clean. No reactor. No poisoning. Just… human."
The room felt heavier. Tony swallowed, masking it with sarcasm. "That's a hell of a sales pitch. What's the catch?"
Brendon finally leaned back, crossing his arms. "Time. I need at least a month. To synthesize the lattice materials, to calibrate the nanites, to ensure your body doesn't reject the process. And while I do it, you'll need to survive. Which means you also need option one. A new element."
Tony let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. A month. A month sounded like both salvation and a death sentence.
"What's it called?" he asked quietly.
Brendon gave a small smile, almost wistful. "Project Baymax. Because it's about care. Healing. Not just fixing."
Tony chuckled weakly, shaking his head. "Baymax. You've got branding instincts, kid. Howard would've hated that name."
"Howard isn't here," Brendon said softly. "But you are. And if you want to stay, you need to let me help."
The Gift
Brendon moved toward the exit, as if the matter were settled. But just before he left, he paused and pulled a small data drive from his pocket.
He tossed it onto the workbench. "One more thing."
Tony caught it reflexively. "What is this? Please don't tell me it's your mixtape."
Brendon smirked. "Old Stark Expo model. From the seventies. Look at it when you've got time."
Tony frowned, turning the drive in his fingers. "Expo model? That's… sentimental crap. Why would I—"
But Brendon was already walking up the stairs, his voice echoing back. "Because sometimes the answers are in the past, Stark. Don't ignore it."
Tony sat there for a long moment, staring at the drive. His chest felt tighter than usual, the reactor humming faintly under his shirt. Heal. Human again. The words rattled inside him like loose bolts.
Finally, curiosity won. He slid the drive into the console.
The Revelation
The hologram bloomed outward, filling the workshop with the sweeping architecture of the old Stark Expo. Towers, pathways, pavilions — all rendered in glowing blue light. It was nostalgia digitized, Howard's dream preserved in crystalline clarity.
Tony tilted his head, frowning. "What the hell, Dad…"
As he manipulated the model, shifting towers, rotating angles, Jarvis chimed in.
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Sir, I detect embedded schematics within the design. The arrangement of the buildings corresponds to a molecular structure.
Tony blinked. "Wait, what?"
J.A.R.V.I.S.: It is an incomplete blueprint for a new element. Howard Stark may not have been able to synthesize it with his technology, but he clearly intended you to discover it.
Tony's heart thudded. "So… he left me a treasure map."
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Precisely.
Tony dragged his hands through his hair, pacing. His mind was already racing ahead. A new element. A clean core. A way to buy the month Brendon needed to finish Project Baymax.
"Jarvis, refine it," Tony ordered. "Run simulations. Figure out how to stabilize it."
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Already underway, Sir. Orders for required isotopes and supercooling agents have been placed through shell subsidiaries. Delivery within forty-eight hours.
Tony's jaw dropped. "You— you already ordered? Without asking me?"
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Anticipating your intent saves time, Sir.
Tony laughed, a sound half-exhilarated, half-terrified. "I built a sassier me. Great."
Jarvis wasn't done.
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Additionally, Sir, I advise against repurposing your living space into a particle accelerator, as you are currently considering.
Tony froze. "I wasn't— okay, maybe I was. But how the hell—"
J.A.R.V.I.S.: Your thought patterns are predictable. Instead, I recommend construction of a compact underground synchrotron, discreetly positioned outside the estate perimeter. Low yield, but sufficient for your purposes. I have already marked potential sites.
Tony let out a long whistle. "Okay. You're terrifying. And I love it."
He leaned against the console, staring at the glowing Expo map, his father's vision reframed into salvation. For once, sarcasm failed him. His throat was tight, his chest heavier than the palladium could explain.
"Howard… you bastard. You actually left me something."
And beneath the grief, the fear, the exhaustion — there was something else. A spark. Hope.
For the first time in months, Tony Stark allowed himself to believe he might actually live.