Chapter 2
When Tony started the channel in 2008, he never expected it to grow as fast as it did. After Rhodey had carried Tony out of the caves, after Stane died in an… unfortunate incident, Tony had wanted a break. He gave Stark Industries to Pepper under two conditions: that the company never manufacture weapons again, and that Tony would still be designing products even if he held no other position except majority shareholder.
Staring at the unfinished designs for a flying suit of armor, all the what ifs running through his head: if he’d finished that suit in the cave, would Yinsen still be alive? If he could build a flying suit, could he use it for the greater good? If he hadn’t been so goddamned desperate for attention, would he have noticed Obie’s lies sooner? – Tony had raged and yelled and told SHIELD in no uncertain terms that Tony refused to be a pawn in any of their games any longer.
He was done. He wanted to live on his own terms, design bricks and beams for children’s hospitals.
Of course, that was when the palladium started becoming a problem.
And Tony found perspective.
He didn’t want to die with death as his only legacy, as his only story. He had sex tapes on the internet, endless video reels of his drunk acts and reckless stunts. He wanted something good. Wanted DUM-E and JARVIS and his bots to be seen and remembered, wanted to tell Yinsen’s story so he wouldn’t be forgotten, wanted the world to know about Spring Break and Mama Rhodes, about Happy’s boxing and Ana’s casseroles and Aunt Peggy sparring against Jarvis and his mother’s piano lullabies and how Pepper got her nickname.
All the people drowned out in his shadow – Tony wanted everyone to know the best parts of him.
He had a year at most to live, so he put a camera in DUM-E’s claws and talked for hours.
In the morning, he had uploaded it with a title right out of the depths of his melodrama: The Confession.
It gained a million views in under five hours.
He made a second video from the overwhelming response to explain various items in the workshop. Nobel Prize laureates, elite spy agencies, leading academicians, black market mafia – they would have paid a limb and a lung to spend five minutes in there.
Tony gave them an hour, pausing at random tools to explain their uses, going off on tangents about physics and mechanics and dismantling one of his Audis.
That had spiralled off what the internet called Professor Stark, and the endless calls MIT gave Tony begging that he teach for them.
And somewhere in the comments section, he found a Peter Parker.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbles as soon as Tony picks up. He’s panting slightly, voice muffled by the noise around him, and Tony guesses that he’s on his walk home.
Swivelling in his chair, Tony swipes up the reports Pepper’s been hounding at him to read. “I always aim to please, kiddo.”
“We now have another element to memorise. And our homework is to guess at the properties of it.”
Tony scoffs. He knows he’ll have his weekend full of Peter pestering him to make another element together, unless, “we can test that out together, I’ll give your Aunt a call.”
“Really, Mr. Stark? Ned is going to be so jealous,” Peter whoops, “you’re the best.”
That, as always, sends too many warm and fuzzy feelings, so Tony deflects, “don’t forget that when I’m old and grey.”
Peter laughs. “You’re already old and grey.”
“Hey!” Tony protests half-heartedly, the smile clearly audible in his voice, “I’ll revoke your lab privi – ”
“Bye, Mr. Stark!” the call beeps out.
With a huff of laughter, Tony shakes his head. One day, he’ll have Peter appear in his videos. For now, though, he’s happy to have the kid happy. Peter has all the time in the world to blow everyone’s mind away in the future.
Making a mental effort to turn back to Pepper’s list, Tony scans the items of interest that JARVIS flagged: launching the solar panel housing project, the September Foundation fundraiser, the scientific World Congress keynote speech, and… FRIDAY? Pulling that last one forward to expand the hologram, Tony finds himself frowning more and more.
FRIDAY was one of the experimental AIs he’d installed in the StarkPhones. With user permission, she collected search data and behavioural patterns for future development. And a certain user was behaving like a dinosaur.
“What the hell, JARVIS are you sure it isn’t an error in our baby girl? How to set up an email? Did this guy grow up in a technophobe cult? Or is he a troll?” Tony stares in horror at the mismatched queries coming in from this twenty-seven-year-old Brooklyn guy. What is Google?What is a Youtuber? What happened since World War Two? What is a Twitter? What is an Apple? And on and on the list goes, each question as horrifyingly clueless as the next, all asked in a span of twenty four hours.
“I’ve run diagnostics on FRIDAY’s systems, sir, she is running as intended,” JARVIS sounds almost offended. Tony sticks his tongue out at the camera. It’s a justified question, especially when FRIDAY’s user logs indicate that this hopeless guy spent twelve hours straight watching Tony’s Youtube channel.
Ah, Tony thinks, Pepper suspects a stalker.
“Okay, J, let’s send them a message: start with what the hell and end with are you a fucking Neanderthal?”
“Very well, sir, I took the liberty of editing your message.”
“Thanks, honey,” Tony grins, swiping the file away and moving to the next red item on the list, “tell me if the fossil replies.”
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 21:17
Subject: User Issues
Hello! This is an automated email. FRIDAY’s query servers noticed you’ve been having irregular difficulties for your demographic group.
We reached out to confirm whether your StarkPhone has issues or particular defects which may lead to such queries.
If you would like a diagnostic check of your device, please send us a reply in 72 hours.
We apologise for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Stark Industries Research and Development
Steve stares blankly at the screen. He did remember the shopkeeper explaining something about a search history, but he didn’t know he was being watched. And what did it mean by ‘automated’? Did a robot send the mail? If Steve didn’t reply, would that lead to more questions?
Fingers hovering uncertainly over the letters, Steve types a sentence, erases it, types it again, and erases it again. Growling in frustration, he tosses the phone on the bed, heart hammering when it bounces and relaxing when it lands on his pillow. He forgets his strength sometimes.
Running a hand through his hair, Steve glances around at the darkness of his room and the unpacked bags of clothes from his earlier shopping with SHIELD. As soon as he arrived back, he’d taken a quick shower and pressed on that little arrow in a red box to get the Youtube screen, continuing where he left off with Tony’s videos last night.
He hadn’t searched for anything today, so it must have been yesterday’s question that got the robot’s attention. Steve makes note of that, promising to tone down his next searches, no matter how irresistible the wealth of knowledge seemed.
Sighing, Steve climbs onto the bed, crossing his legs and picking up the phone. Steeling himself, he types out a message. At the end of it, he debates whether or not to use his real name. It’s a common enough name, Steve decides, ending his headache.
Then, pressing on the little paper airplane, he sends it.
Quickly, before his mind can wander again, he opens Youtube again, scrolling down and down.
Tony’s channel is curiously made, as if whatever he chose to put on the internet was done on a whim. There are videos labelled Pepperony Pizza with a woman who is apparently the current CEO of Stark Industries, and other videos labelled MIT Bloopers with an African American man. Those ones were especially enjoyable to watch – it’s clearly visible how fond Tony is of his friends, and that particular story about Rhodey, Tony, and their microeconomics professor had sent Steve laughing louder than he remembered he could.
It was nice, too, learning that the world was getting better. Steve had felt his heart stop when Tony nonchalantly talked about sexualities – homosexualities, asexuality, pansexuality – and so many other new words Steve still couldn’t wrap his head around. The whispered conversations he’d had, huddled with his Ma in their little bed, wondering what it was Bucky liked about the girls he brought home, and the lazy campfire evenings with the Commandos, the don’t ask, don’t tell.
Maybe, maybe Steve could build a new life in this world. Maybe not all hope was lost.
And it was in those moments when he learned just how much humanity had progressed that Steve didn’t regret waking up seventy years in the future.
“I’m as straight as a circle,” Tony had winked at the end of the video, making Steve very, very grateful he was alone in his room.
SHIELD really did gloss over all the best parts.
Scrolling past some other videos, Steve feels himself smile as he sees the Science Bros label, Tony’s face frozen indignantly next to Bruce Banner’s. The doctor’s calmer character toned down some of Tony’s bouncing energy, but one sly look of Tony’s was usually enough to convince the doctor to carry out whatever harebrained experiment Tony had come up with.
To be fair to Doctor Banner, Steve thinks that one look from Tony would be enough to convince Steve to do anything, too.
And Steve quickly runs away from that thought.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 21:36
Subject: Re: User Issues
Dear Robot,
I believe my phone is functioning well. It is a joy to use. I spent my entire adult life deployed in the military, so I missed out on a lot of events. Hopefully that helps explain some of my queries. Getting this phone was such an excitement, I couldn’t help myself.
Thank you for your concern,
Steve
Tony stares blankly at the message shining in the hologram. One, he never expected the fossil to reply so fast, and two, he doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh or run. Either ‘Steve’ is a troll with stalkerish tendencies, or he’s actually telling a ridiculous truth.
Whichever it is, Tony finds it too amusing to let go. “Hear that, JARVIS?” Tony grins into one of the cameras, “you’re my dearest robot.”
“If I weren’t, I could easily ruin you, sir.”
“Please spare me when you take over the world,” Tony teases, bringing up a keyboard and typing his own reply to ‘Steve’, JARVIS polishing his language as he goes. If ‘Steve’ is messing with Tony, the guy deserves a taste of his own medicine.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 21:57
Subject: Re: Re: User Issues
Steve,
Thank you for your reply. Should you have any queries FRIDAY is unable to answer, please feel free to contact me.
Sincerely,
Robot
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 22:19
Subject: Re: Re: Re: User Issues
Dear Robot,
Are you really a robot? Do you have a name like FRIDAY? Apologies for being very forward.
Sincerely,
Steve
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 22:37
Subject: No
Steve,
I am an artificial intelligence. I do not have a physical form and therefore I transcend the paltry limits of the robot body.
Sincerely,
AI aka Edward
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, 8 May 2011 on 22:49
Subject: Re: No
Dear Edward
How many of you are there? Do you answer all of Stark Industries’ correspondence? FRIDAY says she is not aware of an Edward, so you must be new. Tony Stark’s lecture videos say that AIs have different personalities and emotions. Did he create you, too?
Please ignore this if you are busy.
All the best,
Steve
Okay. No. This guy cannot be serious. Tony squints into one of JARVIS’ cameras. “Hey, J? We need to do some digging.”
“Might I remind you, sir, that there are more legal ways to do this?”
Tony makes a face, already busy pulling up a new file and naming it Crazy Steve. “Yeah, but it’s slow and boring.”
The emails have stopped coming in, and Steve stares at his screen. He did say Edward could ignore him if needed, but it feels weird to see their conversation come to such an abrupt end. It was nice to have something outside of SHIELD.
Of course, Edward was a robot, but he was thinking and feeling and remembering, so he was alive, right?
Shaking his head to try and clear it, Steve puts down his phone and gets up, pointedly ignoring how sparse and bare the apartment still is. Clicking on the bathroom light and flooding the room in a yellowish glow, he reaches for his lonely toothbrush and the newly opened tube of toothpaste.
It tastes different from the paste he’d used with his Ma. Stronger, minty, less bitter.
Spitting it out, he rinses his mouth, catching sight of his reflection and quickly turning away. He doesn’t want to see.
Turning off the faucet sends back the eerie stillness of the apartment, and Steve quickly flicks the light switch and walks back to bed. Slipping awkwardly under the covers, the bed too soft and the pillows too fluffy, he restlessly twists and turns until he reaches again for his phone.
For a second, he pauses, wondering how Stark had quickly become Tony in a matter of a few videos. It’s calming, to hear his voice, and his laugh somehow makes Steve want to laugh, too.
It’s frightening. And it’s the only thing that helps Steve sleep.
Tomorrow, he has to meet with Agents Romanoff and Barton.
But tonight, he’ll watch Tony, and drift off to his rambling about engines and energy and the stars.