Whoooooooo is it?
It was a morning like any other in Tony Stark’s Malibu mansion: ocean waves crashing serenely outside, the faint hum of cutting-edge tech in his lab below, and Tony himself shuffling through the house in his pajama pants and robe, clutching a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He was halfway down the hall when he stopped dead in his tracks.
Sitting on the back of his $20,000 Eames lounge chair was an owl.
“Uh...” Tony squinted. “Okay. That’s new.”
The owl turned its head to look at him, its enormous amber eyes blinking in unison.
“Right. Cool. I’m hallucinating,” Tony muttered, taking a sip of coffee. He peered back at the chair. The owl was still there.
“Nope, not hallucinating. Great. There’s a bird in my house.”
He pulled out his phone and dialed Pepper. She picked up on the third ring.
“Tony, I’m in a meeting—”
“Yeah, yeah, hold on, real quick,” Tony interrupted. “Why is there an owl in my house?”
There was a pause on the other end. “…What?”
“An owl. You know, feathers, beak, hoot hoot. That kind of owl. It’s just… sitting there. Judging me.”
Pepper sighed. “Tony, I don’t have time for this. Just shoo it out.”
“Shoo it out?!” Tony repeated, indignant. “What am I, a zookeeper? It’s an owl, not a stray cat!”
“Tony, it’s one bird. You’re a grown man. Handle it.”
She hung up before he could argue further.
Tony lowered the phone and glanced back at the owl, which had shifted to another perch and was now preening its feathers.
“Alright, buddy,” he said, clapping his hands. “Time to go. You’re not paying rent, and I don’t do freeloaders.”
He approached the owl cautiously, only for it to flutter to a higher perch just out of his reach.
“Oh, it’s gonna be like that, huh?” Tony muttered.
He grabbed a couch cushion and brandished it like a weapon. “Alright, bird brain, you’ve got two options: you leave, or I... strongly encourage you to leave. Ready? Go!”
He swung the cushion. The owl flapped its wings lazily, soaring over his head and landing on a bookshelf.
“Okay, so we’re playing hardball,” Tony muttered, tossing the cushion aside. “Fine. Plan B.”
---
Plan B turned out to be a mop, a pool net, and an umbrella, none of which were remotely effective. The owl seemed to be having the time of its life, dodging Tony’s increasingly frantic attempts to grab it. At one point, it even swooped down and snatched a cracker off his coffee table.
“Oh, you did not just steal my snack!” Tony yelled, lunging for it.
The owl flapped to the top of a floor lamp, holding the cracker in its beak like a trophy.
“This is war,” Tony growled.
Before he could launch another attack, the bird swooped down again—but instead of mocking him, it dropped something directly onto his head.
“Ow! What the—” He looked down and saw an envelope on the floor. It was thick, old-fashioned, and sealed with actual wax.
Tony picked it up and frowned. “Is this parchment? Who even uses parchment anymore? Is this a Renaissance Faire prank?”
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The handwriting inside was neat and precise, the kind you’d expect from someone who still used quills.
Dear Tony Stark,
My name is Orca. I’m your daughter.
Tony stared at the letter. Then he read it again.
And then he laughed so hard he had to sit down.
“This… this is gold,” he wheezed. “An owl-delivered paternity scam? Who comes up with this stuff?”
The owl, still perched nearby, hooted indignantly.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Tony said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Nice try, but you’re not getting a dime out of me.”
The owl hooted indignantly from its perch, as if to say, This is serious, you idiot.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Tony said, waving the letter at it. “You’re not fooling me, Tweety. Nice try, but I’m not falling for it.”
He grabbed the mop and swung it at the bird, finally managing to chase it out the window. “And stay out!” he shouted after it.
The owl perched on a tree branch outside, glaring at him with a look that said, You’ll regret this.
----
The next morning, Tony emerged from his lab, bleary-eyed after a 24-hour science binge. He was just about to collapse into bed when he heard a blood-curdling scream coming from Pepper.
“TONY?!”
He sprinted toward the source of the noise and skidded to a halt in the main lobby. His jaw dropped.
The room was filled with owls. Hundreds of them. They perched on the furniture, the light fixtures, even the railing of the grand staircase. Each one clutched a letter identical to the one he’d received the day before.
“What the actual—”
Before he could finish, the owls took flight all at once, filling the air with flapping wings and raining parchment down on him.
Tony flailed, trying to shield himself. “STOP! STOP IT! THIS IS INSANE!”
As quickly as it began, the chaos ended. The owls disappeared through every available exit—except for one.
The original owl was back, sitting calmly on the coffee table with a smug look in its eyes.
“Oh, not you again,” Tony groaned.
The owl extended its leg, showing yet another letter tied there. Tony snatched it off and unfolded it with trembling hands.
“Dear Mr. Stark,” it read, “The bird will not leave until you respond.”
Tony glared at the bird. “Are you blackmailing me?!”
The owl hooted and shook its leg as if to say, Well?
Defeated, Tony grabbed a pen and scribbled a hasty reply:
Fine. I’ll humor you. But if you want to prove you’re my kid, you’re gonna need a DNA test. Send me a hair or something.
As soon as he dotted the last period, the owl snatched the letter and took off, flying through a window that Tony knew had been closed.
Pepper appeared behind him, her face pale. “Tony, what just—what are all these letters?! Why were there so many birds?! What is going on?!”
Tony held up a hand. “Nope. Not dealing with this. I’m going to bed. If anyone asks, this never happened.”
He turned and trudged toward his bedroom, leaving Pepper standing in the middle of the parchment-covered lobby, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
----
It was a rare, calm evening in Tony Stark’s Malibu mansion. Waves lapped gently against the cliffs below, the stars sparkled over the ocean, and Tony was doing the most sacred of all Stark traditions: eating an entire pizza by himself.
He was sprawled on his couch, grease staining his fingers, a slice in one hand, and a bottle of soda in the other. “Jarvis,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pepperoni, “make a note: whoever invented pizza deserves a Nobel Prize. Or two. Or I dunno—give them a yacht. Something classy.”
“Noted, sir,” Jarvis replied dryly.
Tony leaned back, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Life was good. He had his pizza, his tech empire, and no owls—
THUD.
The sound came from the window. Tony froze mid-bite, eyes darting toward the noise.
“Oh no. No, no, no. Not again,” he whispered.
Sure enough, perched outside the glass like a feathery demon of the night, was the owl.
“Oh, come on!” Tony groaned, dropping his pizza slice. “I thought we were done with this!”
The owl stared at him, unblinking, and then casually swooped into the room through a window that wasn't open moments before.
“Really?! You couldn’t knock first?” Tony snapped, standing up and pointing at the door. “Out! This is a no-owl zone! Go terrorize someone else!”
The owl ignored him, as usual, and landed on the coffee table. It dropped a thick envelope directly onto Tony’s pizza.
“Seriously?!” Tony waved his greasy hands in the air. “That’s a grease-soaked letter now, you idiot bird! How am I even supposed to read it?!”
The owl, clearly unimpressed by his rant, placed a small braid of hair onto the table with a surprising amount of care. Then, without warning, it darted forward and snatched a piece of pepperoni off Tony’s pizza.
“Oh, no. That’s it. We’re fighting,” Tony growled, lunging for the bird.
The owl flapped lazily to the back of a chair, nibbling its stolen pepperoni while maintaining intense eye contact, as if daring him to try again.
Tony groaned and flopped back onto the couch, grabbing the greasy letter. “Fine, whatever. Let’s see what this ridiculous scam says now.”
He ripped the envelope open and pulled out the parchment.
Dear Tony Stark,
It’s me again, Orca. I’ve sent a small braid of my hair with this letter as proof of my identity. Also, I’ll be coming to California in three days to meet you in person. Prepare yourself.
Sincerely, Your Daughter, Orca
Tony blinked at the letter. Then he looked at the braid of hair on the table. Then he looked at the owl, which was now preening its feathers and looking insufferably smug.
“Jarvis,” Tony said slowly, “did you get hacked recently? Like, super hacked? Because this... this is next-level phishing.”
“I assure you, sir, all systems are secure,” Jarvis replied. “Shall I analyze the hair sample?”
Tony hesitated. “No... yes... ugh, fine. Let’s humor this winged lunatic. Run the test. But after all of this I'll be installing lasers on my windows.”
“Understood, sir. Analyzing now.”
Tony drummed his fingers on the table, glaring at the owl. “You know this is all a waste of time, right? There’s no way this random letter-writing kid is actually—”
“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted, “the DNA sample matches yours with 99.9% certainty.”
Tony froze.
“…Come again?”
“The hair sample belongs to someone who shares half of your DNA. Statistically, this is consistent with a direct offspring.”
Tony stared blankly at the owl, who was now puffing out its chest like it had just won an Olympic gold medal.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony said, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “No. Nope. This is fake. It’s a trick. You’re lying.”
“I do not lie, sir.”
“Okay, but maybe the owl hacked you! Is that a thing? Can owls hack AI? Is that where we’re at now?”
The owl tilted its head, as if to say, You absolute moron.
“Oh my god, I’m a father,” Tony muttered, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t even keep a houseplant alive, and now I have a kid? What do I do with a kid? Do they eat pizza? Do I have to feed it? Oh god, what if it’s allergic to pizza?!”
The owl hooted softly, a sound that, to Tony’s ears, sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, bird,” he snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at it. “This is your fault!”
The owl flapped its wings and took off, soaring out the window. But just before it disappeared, it turned back to look at Tony one last time.
And, in a way that was both majestic and deeply unnerving, it hooted again—a triumphant, mocking sound that echoed through the room.
Tony threw up his hands. “Fine! Fly away, you smug feathered jerk! But if you bring me another greasy letter, I’m buying an eagle to hunt you down!”
The owl disappeared into the night, leaving Tony alone with his cold pizza, a greasy letter, and the undeniable fact that he was, apparently, someone’s father.
He sat down heavily on the couch, staring blankly at the braid of hair on the table.
“Jarvis,” he said finally, his voice hollow, “remind me to Google ‘how to not ruin a child.’”
“Shall I include ‘dealing with persistent owls’ in the search, sir?”
“...Yeah, might as well.”
And with that, Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, playboy, and now accidental dad—buried his face in his hands and groaned.