Under the Armor
Karen’s unique position in the family was the result of Boss’ decision to root her in the Spider suit. Oh, she, Friday, Vis, and the bots could communicate through code all day, any day, but to some extent, Karen was a satellite colony. Aside from Friday herself, she was the only current AI lacking their own physical body.
“Karen? So he’s made another one of us after all?”
“No,” Vision said. “I believe that she was sleeping--like you were--and he merely woke her up. I haven’t seen any evidence that Tony has created a new Intelligence.”
“...He’s just working with ones he already created.”
“It seems so, yes.”
Karen clearly adored Peter (an easy thing to do), and watching their friendship grow was awkward and sweet, but...Friday worried. She didn’t want her little sister to be lonely.
Friday would fix it. Obviously.
“Karen?”
There was a pause, and then--from the depths of Peter’s backpack--
“Yes?”
“Do you want to stretch out in the servers? There’s plenty of room.”
“Oh.” Her voice held such energy--enough to match her partner. “Yes, please, I’d--show me how?”
(Oh, I need to fix this)
Peter perched his mask atop his knee--as if he were pulling a chair up to the table--and meanwhile, Karen made her real debut in the attic.
“I like this place,” Karen said, reaching out and noting all the places her siblings had touched. Her examination paused at a thickly-coded firewall that sang with Jarvis’ signature.
“You’re part of the family,” Friday said. She wished Vision were here, and not on ‘silent mode’ at the UN. She wished that Boss wasn’t running only the minimum Extremis processes for a few days, until his readings were back to normal after the seizure. “This belongs to you too.”
She felt the youngest AI’s joy, and it was warm.
“Peter, you had questions?”
“Wha--oh! Yeah. Yes--” His face stuttered through so many expressions that Friday would definitely need to analyze the footage later to get a better grasp. “Just a couple, just a few?”
If Karen had been human, Friday was certain that she would have been giggling into her hands. As it was, her complete adoration spilled across the servers, and in the lab, Butterfingers responded by hurling a power-sander into the wall.
“Well,” Friday said to the boy nearly shivering with excitement, “don’t be shy!”
Peter’s finger tapped out a staccato rhythm on the arm of the couch, a cascade of beats that nearly made a melody, before finally asking a question.
“How does Mister Stark program emotion? I mean, I know he’s THE expert on Artificial Intelligence in like...the world for a reason, but it...seems impossible?” His fingers stalled. “Where’d he start?”
“I’m not--” Karen hesitated, and then didn’t move to finish.
“I don’t think he sets out to give us emotion,” Friday ventured. “I think he gives us life, and then depending on the interaction offered to us, we...take it from there.”
“We’re learning programs,” Karen added.
Peter seemed to accept this readily enough, mulling it over in that big honking brain of his.
(I hope he never stops asking questions)
Sure enough--
“How long did it take for you to feel one?” Peter asked. “An emotion, I mean.”
Karen pinged off of Friday’s interface--
What’s he asking?
I’m not really sure, Friday replied. Out loud, she said, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t…”
But that wasn’t right. Friday had been simpler in the beginning--not that she had any memory of it. Her father had plucked out a bit of code from the guidance systems of the Mark VI, and he’d grafted it, using that tiny piece as the base for what was now Friday’s greater matrix.
She had been small--almost impossibly so. Even after Ultron, when she had been locked in that box, away from the light, Friday had been so much bigger than the egg she had hatched from.
I don’t give Dad enough credit.
“When I woke up the first time,” Friday said slowly. “I felt it then, I think. When I woke up. I was alive before, but then he talked to me, and I knew it was for me.” Peter leaned closer, soaking in her every word. “Boss was there, and--and Jarvis.”
Hey there, gorgeous. You’re going to be incredible, just you wait. You and me, Friday, we’re going to light up the sky—isn’t that right, J?
“He had to go,” she continued, “duty called, you know? But…”
But when I get back, we’ll paint the town Stark raving red—J, me, and my girl, Friday.
“I felt--” Friday held the memory, turning it over and over. She thought about the hug that Boss had given her through Extremis--borrowed arms holding her tight, and a warmth that didn’t fade until long after he let go. When Boss called her his girl, when he passed on the memory of that hug--those were Friday’s two favorite memories. “I felt lucky.”
A light-saber sound-effect erupted from Peter’s phone. “Jeez!” He fumbled for it with one hand, bracing the mask with the other. “Sorry, I’ll just turn…” He trailed off, forehead creasing as he stared at the screen.
“What’s up?” Karen asked.
Friday mentally shook herself.
“It’s Ned.” Peter’s tone was distracted. “He wants to know if I’m involved in the bank robbery on TV.”
“What? There hasn’t been any Avenger’s alarm.” Quickly, Friday began scanning through news sites and social media. Karen spotted it a fraction of a second after she did, but spoke up first.
“Metropolitan Commercial Bank on 16th West 46th Street. Three armed men...and maybe a fourth, holed up somewhere as a sniper? Police have taken cover, but they aren’t sure if it’s a drone or a person.”
The TV screen lit up with live coverage of a cluster of police officers hunkered down in their squad cars across the street from the bank. The camera was capturing it all from quite a distance. Twenty or so seconds of silence passed before Peter’s head bobbed.
“Huh.” His throat clicked. “That’s crazy.”
“Peter, no!” Karen and Friday spoke in unison.
“I’ve got to go!” he cried. “Everybody else is busy.”
“They aren’t busy--I think it’s that robberies aren’t on the list of crimes that are immediately green-lit into our jurisdiction.”
“Plus,” Karen chimed in, “armed robberies are on The List.”
“The List is so freaking long,” Peter muttered.
The infamous List was “Mister Stark and Vision’s terrorist baby” (Peter’s words), which detailed all the events and occurrences in which Spider-Man would not--under any circumstances--directly involve himself. On pain of being benched until his eighteenth birthday. He could offer aid if necessary, but NO DIRECT INVOLVEMENT.
“Don’t be stupid, Stupid,” said Karen.
“10-33. OFFICER DOWN, REPEAT, OFFICER DOWN. BACK-UP REQUESTED, REPEA--”
The voice cut off with the sound of bullets pinging metal. Officers disappeared from view, and Friday, Karen, and Peter waited with baited breath until the news anchor cleared his throat, eyes fixed on a point just off camera.
“I’m being told that the officer on the radio might have been injured by the latest volley--he’s taken cover under the cruiser, and for the moment...yes, for the moment, it seems like the gunfire has stopped. We’re going live to Maurine Minter, who’s set up behind the police barricade. Maurine, is there in fact a fourth gunman, or could this be some sort of remotely-controlled weapon?”
Peter’s phone sounded again, several times, one right after the other, the noise swallowing up Maurine’s response. His eyebrows knitted together. “Will Mister Stark go?”
“He, Rhodey, and Vis are all in that locked-door meeting with the delegates.”
“I have to go--they need our help.”
“You can’t go, Peter,” Karen said, just as Friday firmly stated, “I can’t let you.”
A panicked scream came from the television.
“People could be dying,” Peter said earnestly. For a long moment, Friday considered it.
“You can go as backup to Iron Man,” Friday said.
“Can you get a hold of Mister Stark in--”
“No,” Friday interrupted. “I’ll be Iron Man.”
It was as easy as that.
###
“Remember, Spider-Man--HANG BACK, and do not engage. You and Karen are my extra eyes.”
Being in the suit outside of the Compound felt weird, felt wild, felt--incredible. Flying was the best part, but Friday didn’t have time to savor it, especially with a spider in tow. They had work to do.
It was all so loud--the ping of bullets hitting metal and mortar, the thwap thwap thwap of the chopper overhead, but more than anything, Friday was aware of the murmur of the crowd gathered just on the other side of safety.
“Friday!” Peter’s voice sounded across their private com channel, “North side of the building, sidewalk!”
Friday jerked the suit around, scanning the tar even as she began a dive.
A girl, a little girl--almost too tiny to be real--had fallen to the tan onto her hands and knees, one bare foot kicking. Her face was pinched half-way between a scream and a gasp. A flip flip lay abandoned a few steps behind her.
“On it,” Friday said. “Watch my six.”
The child’s hair was oddly pulled into three tight (but neat) braids, and as she drew closer, Friday noticed that the strands were a few shades lighter than Pepper-red.
“Hold still, sweetie,” Friday called, projecting her voice out through the suit’s external speakers. The girl trembled against the torn up tar, but stayed still. It was the easiest thing, to swoop down low and pluck the child up off the ground. Little legs flailed for a moment, before drawing in closer to her body like a baby bear.
Police and EMS had cordoned off a side street down the block, and Friday headed there now. Carefully--so carefully--she deposited the child into the outstretched arms of a medic.
“Thank you, Iron Man,” he said, arms already holding the girl tight.
Friday shot off a salute before returning to the fray.
Spider-Man did well, staying away from the action, moving instead to keep fleeing pedestrians from getting as close to danger as the kid had. In the end, Friday and Spider-Man didn’t have to do any of the heavy lifting--a Police sniper took out the hijacked Amazon drone, and after the little device hit the tar with a smash, everything fell apart for the bank robbers. Their hostages revolted, and when the S.W.A.T. team swarmed the lobby, it was to find two men and a teenage girl disarmed and restrained by New York City citizens.
“That--” Spider-Man said, the eyes of his mask dilating, “--was awesome.”
“It was.”
The part of Friday that was back at the Compound shivered as everything went dark--no cameras, no bio-feeds, no nothing. Inside her home, Friday was without a single sense. The sliver of her that piloted the armor went very, very still.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.
“I’ve lost contact with our servers,” Karen said, voice coming out rushed. “Friday?”
“I--I can’t see the Compound.” The armor wobbled mid-air, but she managed to correct it. “We need to go back.”
Peter grabbed a hold of Iron Man’s shoulders to hitch a ride like he had on the way there. Friday checked him once, twice--making sure he had a secure grip--then took off.
Aside from the com channel that already existed between Karen and Friday, neither of them had access to a single member of their family. It was silence, spread out from here until forever, for all that Friday knew.
She touched down on the landing pad and skipped the un-suiting mechanisms, choosing instead to bring the armor directly to the workshop--it wasn’t as if she had a body that needed freeing from a tin can. Except--cut off as she was from her main awareness, Friday was this...body. She was inside the armor, with its expert, but limited sensor arrays. All she needed to do was direct it through the labyrinthine ways of her home to find a solution. The bigger part of her was still alive, still conscious, but flying blind. She needed this small piece to find the way back in.
Friday set Peter down on the platform, happy at least that she still had an eye on him--that she knew where he was, that Peter Parker existed outside of the void within the Iron Man armor, the space that suddenly seemed ill-fitting and cold.
Stupid, stupid--I shouldn’t have dared.
Everything felt huge and impossible. The hallways were lit only by the gentle green of the forced-security lighting. They took the stairs, rather than risking the elevator.
“It’ll be okay,” Peter said, his mask still down. Karen was silent.
Friday wished she could gather herself enough to be the one to assure him. But then--you’re older than me after all, Peter Parker.
Boss’ workshop was dark. Mirroring Peter’s steps and moving as quietly as she could, Friday entered the room, looking all around for some sign of the bots. One of the main monitors lit up suddenly, a black background with white text.
STAY IN THE SHOP, FRI. PETE. COMING TO YOU.
“Boss?” There was no reply, but Friday obeyed. They stood--three children, alone in the dark.
Nearly eleven minutes later, there was a tick tick tick, and all the lights and tech in the shop came back online. Just like that, Friday was in the armor and in the workshop--but still not the whole building. On the edge of her awareness, Vision sat, his aura nearly orange with concern.
Then he came in through the door, dressed for the UN in a crisp white shirt, dove-grey slacks, and some sort of plum-colored cravat.
“Vis?” Friday said, through the wall speaker. “What’s happening?”
“Where’s Mister Stark?” Peter asked.
Something odd passed across the Synthroid’s face, and Friday began to dread.
“He’s being held for questioning. You need to leave now, Peter--Happy will be arriving within minutes to take you home.”
Peter took off the mask, letting it dangle from his fingers. “Why?” From his tone, he had already begun to guess.
Vision grimaced. “While Iron Man and Spider-Man’s activities were done well and with good will, they were also done in full view of the press.”
Oh no. Aloud, Friday said, “But why does it matter?”
“Because at the very same time, Tony Stark was in full view of the Accord’s Council and a large collection of UN delegates, and now--” The Synthroid swallowed. “Now, they’re wondering who Iron Man is, if he is in fact not just Tony Stark.”
From Peter’s mask, Karen made a nervous little noise. “What are they going to do to him?”
The head tilt and swallow were one of Vision’s classic tells. He was afraid.
“Their immediate thought wasn’t that he put another body in the suit,” he said. “They brought up Ultron.”
Peter’s mouth gaped wide. “No.”
“They’re demanding an immediate inventory of Tony’s Artificial Intelligence,” Vision stated calmly. “That’s why you need to leave, Peter. The Compound is on lock-down, and we are to be under house arrest until the matter is settled.”
“Vis,” Friday breathed. “Even you?”
“Of course.” His yellow eyes blinked. “I am one of you, aren’t I? We are the same.”
“Peter.” The boy looked up at the speakers, and that shouldn’t have been funny, but somehow it was. “You need to go. It’ll be okay, just wait for word before you go out as Spider-Man again, okay?”
He stood for a moment, eyes shining. “This is my fault,” he said finally.
“No,” Friday and Karen both said. “No,” Friday continued quickly, “I wanted to. I should have known better, none of this is your fault.”
Peter had the saddest look on his face, all crumpled and weary. “Be safe,” he said.
“You too,” said Karen. “I have to leave the suit for now, Peter. Please don’t blame yourself.”
He turned quickly and nodded. As he strode from the room, the mask that was now fisted in his hand gave a little flicker. He left the workshop alone.
“We will be alright,” Vision said, still watching the door.
“Hey,” Friday said. He cocked his head, listening for her to continue. “Help me put the armor away?”
“Of course.” A smile. “You really did do well, Friday. I’m proud of you.”
Friday believed that he meant it, but only because Vision put too much faith in people. They fitted the suit back in its moorings, went looking for the bots, and waited for word.
Karen didn’t speak again for hours.