Tony Stark had apparently been standing outside for a while before finally stepping into the room.
"I spent more than a year being held captive in Afghanistan. I survived all of it," he said, struggling to keep a lid on his frustration and anger. "So no, I do not have a ntal illness. Got it?"
The claim carried almost no conviction.
"Tony, I think we should focus on dealing with your condition first," Steve said.
Steve trusted the doctors' assessnt. As Drex Valen often put it, professionals should handle professional matters. Listening to amateurs lecture experts rarely led anywhere useful.
"I don't have a condition!"
Tony finally snapped.
Why was everyone insisting sothing was wrong with him?
"Are none of you worried?" he demanded. "The Skrulls are coming. The Saiyan invasion happened only a few years ago. They could return at any ti. Then there's that Mad Titan behind the Chitauri invasion, Thanos!"
"We're running out of ti, Steve!"
Tony felt like the only sane man in a room full of sleepwalkers.
The threats were obvious.
The danger was imdiate.
Yet everyone acted as though victory was already guaranteed.
Were they really placing all their faith in the Protheus and the fleet built around it to stop the Skrulls?
"I understand," Steve replied calmly. "But that's exactly why we can't panic. We've already done everything within our power. The rest will depend on how we adapt when the situation arrives."
"Everything?" Tony laughed bitterly. "No. Not even one percent."
His bloodshot eyes glared at Steve.
"You relics have no idea what's possible. If Drex Valen and I worked together, we could build fortress worlds on the Moon, Mars, and Venus."
His voice rose with every sentence.
"We could transform those planets into military strongholds. Forward operating bases for Earth. We could turn entire worlds into weapons!"
Tony's eyes were red from exhaustion.
He had gone far too long without proper rest.
The biomitic armor supplied nutrients to his body and handled many of the biological processes his organs would normally manage, allowing him to keep functioning long past human limits.
But it couldn't eliminate stress.
"Every second we waste now ans more people die later!"
With that, Tony stord out, slamming the door behind him.
Silence settled over the room.
After witnessing Tony Stark's increasingly erratic behavior, representatives from both the Security Council and the United Nations began questioning whether he was still fit to oversee the supervisory division of S.W.O.R.D.
Even Drex Valen hadn't expected Tony to develop severe anxiety.
Afghanistan should have hardened him, both physically and ntally.
Or perhaps the pressure had simply beco too much.
When Drex thought about it, that explanation made sense.
Earth had endured one alien invasion after another.
Again and again, humanity had been pushed to the brink of disaster.
Each ti, Drex had pulled off what looked like another miracle.
From his perspective, he had always known exactly how much risk he was taking.
Others didn't.
To the average observer, every victory looked like a desperate gamble balanced on the edge of a knife.
Drex had confidence.
No one else did.
Tony Stark probably had less confidence than anyone.
It didn't matter how many impossible victories Drex achieved.
Drex Valen was still a man.
Not a god.
One day he could fail.
Building humanity's future around a single individual was dangerous.
Maybe even cruel.
And now Tony seed convinced that everyone around him was blind to reality.
So he intended to solve the problem himself.
History had shown that whenever Tony Stark decided to work alone, things tended to escalate dramatically.
Still, another crisis was already demanding attention.
Thousands of protesters had gathered in Tis Square.
The crowd roared with anger.
"We want jobs!"
"We want food!"
Signs rose above the sea of people.
[Arc Reactors Could Destroy the Earth! Stop Using Arc Energy!]
Others shouted:
"Give us back the jobs stolen by new energy technology!"
The atmosphere was volatile.
One spark could trigger a bloody riot.
People waved banners and scread slogans.
The protesters weren't a small fringe group, either.
Their backgrounds were surprisingly diverse.
Many looked unemployed, but appearances were deceiving.
A large number had once held respectable careers.
Among them was a woman in her fifties.
She pushed a cart overflowing with aluminum cans, hundreds of them rattling together whenever she moved.
At first glance she looked like just another scavenger trying to survive on New York's streets.
Yet she was neatly dressed.
Clean.
Presentable.
Even while collecting recyclables, she still wore protective gloves.
It was practical.
And perhaps a final effort to preserve her dignity.
She held a sign above her head.
[Give Us Back the Jobs Stolen by AI!]
The demonstration had attracted major dia attention throughout New York.
Several television crews were already broadcasting from the scene.
One local reporter noticed the woman and motioned for his caraman to focus on her.
Approaching with a microphone, he asked:
"Hello, ma'am. You're participating in today's protest. Could you tell us what your sign ans?"
The woman imdiately recognized the logo of a New York television station.
Far from being intimidated, she seed almost relieved.
At last, soone was willing to listen.
She grabbed the microphone from the reporter's hand and spoke directly into the cara.
"AI took my job!"
Her voice rang across the square.
"I used to have a good career. I worked at Microsoft. I spent more than twenty years there."
"Then Tony Stark's AI technology put out of work!"
The technology she referred to was the civilian artificial intelligence platform derived from Tony Stark's JARVIS system.
As Stark Industries expanded sales of civilian Iron Armor units, advanced AI assistance beca essential.
Operating one of those suits without intelligent support was practically impossible.
Trying to pilot an Iron Armor without AI was like climbing into a Ferrari after disabling every single safety and assistance system.
No electronic stability control.
No anti-lock braking.
No traction control.
No balance managent.
No brake assist.
No steering assist.
Handing such a vehicle to the average driver would be catastrophic.
Even experienced drivers with decades behind the wheel would struggle.
Most people would crash almost imdiately.
And piloting an Iron Armor was vastly more dangerous than driving a supercar.
Even after two or three years of structured training, not everyone could master one successfully.
Without AI support, widespread civilian adoption would never have been possible.
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