The conference room—Tony refused to call it that, preferred "the fancy sitting room with good windows"—overlooked the ocean. Percy and Calypso were already there when Tony arrived, freshly showered and wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt because if he had to have serious conversations, he'd at least be comfortable.
Pepper was setting up her tablet, holographic displays flickering to life. JARVIS had pulled data—manufacturing costs, market analysis, technical specifications. Everything they'd need to build a business case.
"So," Percy said. "The board tried to fire you."
"They tried. I negotiated a thirty-day extension." Tony dropped into a chair. "Which is where you two come in."
"Security," Calypso said. Not a question.
"Security. Officially." Tony looked at them. "I just backed some very powerful people into a corner. People who make money from weapons. If I succeed with the arc reactor, they lose billions. If I fail, they get the company back and restart the weapons division. Either way—" He shrugged. "I'm a target."
"You think someone might actually try to hurt you?" Percy's expression had gone serious. Tactical. "Like, physically hurt you?"
"I think it's a possibility we should prepare for. Obadiah Stane's been running this company for years. He has connections. Resources. If he decides I'm too much of a threat—" Tony's hand went to the arc reactor. "I'm already walking around with a battery in my chest. Wouldn't take much to make that look like a tragic accident."
Pepper flinched. "Tony, that's—"
"Realistic. These are people who've profited from death. I don't think murder is beyond them." Tony leaned forward. "Which is why I need to know: can you actually protect me? Both of you? I'm not asking you to be bodyguards for show. I'm asking if you can handle real threats."
Percy and Calypso exchanged one of their silent communication looks.
"Yes," Percy said simply. "We can handle it."
"How? You're twenty-something kids from—" Tony stopped. Careful. "From security backgrounds, sure. But this isn't typical corporate security. This is people with money and power who won't play by rules."
"We've dealt with worse," Calypso said. Her voice was calm. Ancient. "Much worse. People who think they're above rules, who have resources and power—we've fought them before. We know how they think."
"You're talking about the terrorists," Pepper said. "In the cave. That kind of threat."
"Among others." Percy's eyes were distant. "Look, we can't give you details. Some of it's classified—" Technically true, if you considered divine secrets classified. "—but we've handled situations that would make corporate sabotage look like amateur hour."
Tony studied them. These two impossible people who'd shown up in his life at exactly the right moment. Or wrong moment, depending on perspective.
"Okay," Tony said. "Then here's the deal. Official employment. Security consultants. You'll need the licenses we discussed—"
"Already working on it," Percy said. "Taking the exams next week. JARVIS has been helping us study."
"Mr. Jackson has an impressive retention rate for tactical protocols," JARVIS added. "Ms. Atlas demonstrates exceptional strategic thinking."
"Of course she does." Tony pulled up a contract on the holographic display. "Standard security consultant rates are sixty to eighty thousand annually. I'm offering you each one-fifty, plus housing—since you're already here—plus full benefits. Insurance, retirement, the works."
Percy's eyes went wide. "That's—Tony, that's way more than standard rates."
"You're worth more than standard rates. You're protecting someone who's about to become very unpopular with very dangerous people." Tony met their eyes. "Plus, you're my friends. I'm not going to lowball my friends."
"Friends don't usually employ each other," Calypso pointed out.
"Then we're starting a new trend. Friendship with contracts." Tony pushed the holographic display toward them. "Look it over. If the terms are acceptable, we'll make it official."
Percy scrolled through the contract. His reading wasn't great—dyslexia, which Tony had noticed but never mentioned—but he got the gist. Salary, benefits, duties, termination clauses. Standard employment stuff.
Except one clause near the end.
"Non-disclosure agreement," Percy read aloud. "Employee agrees not to disclose proprietary Stark Industries technology, including but not limited to arc reactor specifications, experimental projects, and—" He looked up. "You're worried we'll leak your designs."
"I'm worried someone will try to bribe or coerce you into leaking my designs," Tony corrected. "The NDA protects both of us. You sign it, and legally, you can't be forced to testify about anything you see in my workshop or labs."
"That's clever," Calypso said. "Creates legal protection for secrets that might be—complicated."
"Exactly." Tony knew they had secrets. Knew they were hiding something about their past, their abilities. The NDA meant they could work for him without worrying about those secrets becoming legal liabilities.
"We'll sign," Percy said.
"Don't you want to negotiate? Ask for more money? Better terms?"
"Tony, you're offering us more than we expected, protection for things you don't even know about, and a chance to actually do something useful." Percy smiled. "We're not going to negotiate. We're going to say thank you and get to work."
"Then welcome to Stark Industries Security Consulting Division." Tony pulled out an actual pen—one of the few times he used physical signatures. "Sign here. And here. And initial here."
They signed. Made it official. Percy Jackson and Calypso Atlas, officially employed by Tony Stark.
"Congratulations," Pepper said. "You're now legally obligated to keep Tony alive. My condolences."
"It can't be that hard," Percy said.
"You have no idea," Pepper and JARVIS said simultaneously.
Tony grinned. "Okay, now that we're officially employer-employee—"
"Employer-employee-friends," Percy corrected.
"—employer-employee-friends, let's talk actual security. I need personal protection, sure. But I also need lab security. Workshop security. Nobody gets into my workspace without authorization. Nobody touches my projects."
"We can do that," Calypso said. "But we'll need complete access. To the workshop, the labs, everything. We can't protect what we can't see."
"JARVIS, give them full access. All levels. Including the fabrication lab and the private servers."
"Sir, that's an unprecedented security clearance."
"They're protecting my life. They get access."
"Very well, sir. Mr. Jackson, Ms. Atlas—your biometrics are now registered. You have access to all Stark Industries facilities on this property."
"Biometrics?" Percy asked.
"Fingerprints, retinal scans, voice recognition. The house is secured with multiple layers. Now you're part of the system."
"That's—" Percy looked at Calypso. "That's a lot of trust."
"Yeah, it is." Tony stood. "Don't make me regret it."
"We won't."
"Good. Now—" Tony pulled up a new display. The Mark II schematics. "This is what I'm building. What I'm betting the company on. Arc reactor powered exoskeleton with flight capability, enhanced strength, defensive systems. It's—"
"It's a powered suit," Pepper said quietly. "Tony, that's military technology."
"It's defense technology. There's a difference."
"Not to the military there isn't. Or to the board. If they find out you're building this—"
"They won't. Not until it's ready. Not until I can demonstrate that it's for rescue operations, disaster response, humanitarian applications. Not warfare."
Percy was studying the schematics. "You're building armor. Like the stuff you wore in the cave, but better."
"Much better. The Mark I was survival. This—" Tony gestured at the Mark II. "—this is evolution. This is what I can do with resources and time and proper engineering."
"It's incredible," Calypso said. She was examining the repulsor systems. "The energy projection. That's based on your chest reactor?"
"Miniaturized versions, yeah. Focused magnetic fields that generate directed energy pulses. For propulsion and stabilization. Theoretically also useful for moving debris, clearing obstacles, rescue applications."
"Theoretically," Pepper repeated. "Tony, you're building a weapon."
"I'm building a tool. Tools can be weapons if misused. But they can also save lives." Tony met her eyes. "Trust me. Please. One month. Let me prove this works."
Pepper was silent for a long moment. Then: "One month. But if this goes wrong—if this becomes another weapons system—"
"It won't. I promise."
"Your promises have a mixed track record."
"Then this will be the promise I keep."
Percy cleared his throat. "So. Security-wise. You're building this suit in the workshop. Anyone who wants to sabotage you will target the workshop. We need physical security, digital security, and we need to assume someone will try to steal the designs."
"All of that, yeah."
"Can you move the fabrication to a secure location? Somewhere off-site?"
"No. All my tools are here. My equipment, my workspace. I can't build this anywhere else."
"Then we secure this location." Calypso was already thinking strategically. "Physical barriers. Surveillance. Access control. JARVIS is helpful, but we need redundancy."
"I can expand the security protocols," JARVIS offered. "Additional cameras, motion sensors, perimeter defenses. The workshop is already isolated, but I can enhance the protections."
"Do it," Tony said. "Full security suite. I want to know if a fly lands on the wrong window."
"That seems excessive, sir."
"It's not excessive if someone's trying to kill me."
"Fair point."
They spent the next hour planning. Security protocols, access control, threat assessment. Percy and Calypso fell into the work naturally—asking tactical questions, identifying vulnerabilities, suggesting countermeasures. It was clear they'd done this before. Probably many times.
Tony watched them work and felt something in his chest loosen. Relief. These two people—these impossible, secretive, loyal people—were on his side. Would protect him. Would help him become whatever he was supposed to become.
"Okay," Tony said finally. "I think we've got a plan. Enhanced security, limited access, JARVIS watching everything. Percy and Calypso on personal protection. Pepper managing the board. Me building the future in my basement."
"When you put it that way, it sounds almost reasonable," Pepper said.
"I'm always reasonable."
"You're never reasonable. You're brilliant and reckless and you make reasonable people into enablers."
"Enabling is a form of support."
"Tony—"
"I know. I know." He stood. "One month. Thirty days. I'll build something that makes weapons obsolete. That proves clean energy works. That shows the world Tony Stark is more than just a merchant of death."
"No pressure," Percy said.
"All the pressure. But that's fine. I work better under pressure." Tony headed for the workshop stairs. "JARVIS, start fabrication protocols for the Mark II boot units. I want to test repulsor propulsion by end of week."
"Sir, that's an aggressive timeline."
"Aggressive is my middle name."
"Your middle name is Edward, sir."
"Not anymore. I'm legally changing it to Aggressive."
"I'll file the paperwork, sir."
Tony descended into the workshop. His sanctuary. His creation space. Where he'd build the future or die trying.
Behind him, Percy and Calypso looked at each other.
"He's going to kill himself trying to finish in thirty days," Calypso said.
"Probably. Which is why we're going to make sure he eats, sleeps, and doesn't accidentally blow himself up with experimental repulsor technology." Percy smiled. "Welcome to being employed. Our job is keeping a genius billionaire alive despite his best efforts to die."
"I've had worse jobs."
"Name one."
"I was imprisoned on an island for three thousand years."
"Okay, fair. This is better than that."
They started their new job. Protecting Tony Stark. Securing his workshop. Making sure the future he was building survived long enough to exist.
It wasn't being a demigod. Wasn't fighting monsters or saving the world from titans.
But it was something.
And something was better than nothing.
Even if the something involved babysitting a genius with a death wish and a glowing chest.
Upstairs, Pepper made phone calls. Managed board members. Started drafting the business plan that would save Stark Industries or condemn it.
And in the basement, Tony Stark built the future.
One repulsor at a time.
One sleepless night at a time.
One promise to a dead man that he refused to break.
*Don't waste it.*
He wouldn't.
Not a single day of the thirty he had left.
---
Percy Jackson stood in the DMV—Department of Motor Vehicles, which JARVIS had helpfully explained stood for "bureaucratic nightmare incarnate"—and tried not to have a panic attack.
"Next!" The woman behind the counter looked like she'd lost her will to live sometime in the late 90s and never bothered to find it again.
Percy approached. Handed over the paperwork JARVIS had prepared. Birth certificate (fake, courtesy of the Mist), social security card (also fake), proof of address (Tony's house, very real).
The woman barely glanced at it. "Written test first. Computer three. You have forty-five minutes."
Percy sat down at the indicated computer. The screen flickered to life with the California Driver's License Written Examination.
**Question 1: When approaching a stop sign, you must:**
A) Slow down and proceed if clear
B) Stop completely before the line
C) Honk to alert other drivers
D) Accelerate through quickly
Percy stared at the screen. He'd ridden pegasi. He'd driven a chariot pulled by giant metal bulls. He'd *surfed on a giant sea turtle*. But apparently, those skills didn't translate to operating a Honda Civic in Los Angeles traffic.
He chose B. Moved to the next question.
**Question 2: The speed limit in a residential area is typically:**
Percy guessed. Moved on. Kept guessing. Some of it was common sense—don't run red lights, don't drive drunk, turn signals exist for a reason. But some of it was weirdly specific California law that he had absolutely no context for.
Thirty minutes later, he submitted the test.
"You passed," the DMV woman said in the same dead voice. "Barely. Eighty-two percent. You're scheduled for the driving test next Tuesday."
"Barely counts," Percy muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing. Thank you."
He left the DMV and found Calypso waiting outside, reading a book on modern American culture that looked absolutely terrifying.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"I passed. Barely. You're up next week."
"I'm doomed." Calypso closed her book—*Understanding Contemporary Social Norms: A Guide*. "Percy, I've been reading about modern dating culture. Apparently, people communicate romantic interest through something called 'sliding into DMs.' I don't know what a DM is. I don't know what sliding means in this context. I'm three thousand years old and I'm lost."
"Welcome to the club." Percy took her hand. "Come on. We have combat training in two hours. At least that's something we're good at."
"Something we're excellent at," Calypso corrected.
"Something we could do in our sleep."
"Something that doesn't require understanding why people film themselves dancing on an app called TikTok."
"I have no idea what that is and I'm not asking."
They drove back to Malibu in the car Tony had lent them—a sleek black Audi that was probably worth more than most houses. Percy was getting better at driving. Only ran two red lights this week. Improvement.
At the house, they found Tony exactly where they'd left him: in the workshop, surrounded by partially assembled armor pieces, looking like he'd been awake for three days straight.
Because he probably had.
"Tony," Calypso called down the stairs. "When did you last sleep?"
"What day is it?"
"Thursday."
"Then... Tuesday? Maybe Monday." Tony didn't look up from the boot assembly he was working on. "JARVIS, what day did I last sleep?"
"You slept for approximately forty-seven minutes on Wednesday afternoon, sir. You then declared it 'sufficient' and returned to work."
"Forty-seven minutes," Percy said flatly. "That's not sleeping. That's passing out."
"Unconsciousness is nature's way of saying 'you need a break,'" Tony argued. He was connecting wires, his hands steady despite the exhaustion. "I'm listening to nature. Just not for very long."
Calypso descended the stairs. Physically walked over. And closed the laptop Tony had been referencing.
"Hey! I was—"
"Destroying yourself." Calypso's voice was firm. "You're no good to anyone dead. You're eating. Now. Real food. Then sleeping. In a bed. For at least six hours."
"I don't have time—"
"You have thirty days. You've used five. That leaves twenty-five. You can spare six hours for basic human maintenance." Calypso crossed her arms. "Or Percy and I stop helping and start actively sabotaging your work until you take care of yourself."
Tony stared at her. "You wouldn't."
"She absolutely would," Percy confirmed. "Last week she hid all your coffee. You spent an hour tearing apart the kitchen looking for it."
"That was you?!"
"That was a warning shot." Calypso smiled sweetly. "Next time, I'll hide the arc reactor components. Try working without those."
Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Clearly was trying to figure out if she was bluffing.
"Six hours," he said finally. "But I'm eating in the workshop. I'm not wasting time walking upstairs."
"Deal." Percy was already heading up to get food. "JARVIS, what does Tony like to eat?"
"Mr. Stark has a documented preference for cheeseburgers, Thai food, pizza, and anything that can be consumed with one hand while working."
"Burger it is."
Percy made burgers. Actual, proper burgers with all the fixings because he'd learned from his mom that food was how you showed you cared. Brought them down to the workshop on a tray, along with fries and a massive glass of water that Tony would definitely ignore.
Tony ate mechanically, barely tasting it, his eyes still on the Mark II schematics floating in the air.
"The repulsor boots are almost done," he said around a mouthful of burger. "I've solved the thrust vectoring problem. The stabilization is still wonky but I think I can compensate with the hand repulsors. If I can get the flight system working, the rest is just refinement."
"That sounds promising," Calypso said. She was examining the armor pieces with genuine interest. "The engineering is extraordinary. You've essentially created a wearable aircraft."
"Wearable aircraft with a brain," Tony corrected. "JARVIS will integrate with the suit systems. Provide tactical data, threat assessment, flight assistance. It's not just armor. It's a partnership between man and machine."
"That's... actually beautiful," Percy said. "In a nerdy way."
"All the best things are nerdy." Tony finished the burger. Drank half the water. "Okay. Food eaten. Now back to—"
"Sleep," both Percy and Calypso said simultaneously.
"You can't just—"
Percy picked him up. Just straight-up picked Tony Stark up like he weighed nothing. Which, to a demigod with supernatural strength, he basically did.
"Hey! Put me down!"
"Nope." Percy started carrying him toward the stairs. "Bedroom. Sleep. Six hours minimum. Or I'm telling Pepper you're not taking care of yourself and she'll do something way worse than just carrying you."
"She'll make me go to actual doctors," Tony said, horrified. "With needles and invasive questions about my mental health."
"Then sleep willingly and avoid the needles."
Percy deposited Tony in his bedroom. Calypso appeared with a glass of water and what looked like herbal supplements.
"What are those?" Tony eyed them suspiciously.
"Valerian root and magnesium. They'll help you actually sleep instead of lying awake thinking about repulsor thrust ratios." Calypso offered them. "They're natural. No side effects. I've been making them for three thousand years."
Tony took them. Swallowed them with water. "If I wake up dead—"
"You can't wake up dead. That's not how death works."
"You know what I mean."
"Sleep, Tony." Percy headed for the door. "JARVIS, monitor his vital signs. If he tries to sneak back to the workshop, lock him in."
"I cannot lock Sir in his own bedroom. That seems unethical."
"Okay, just alert us if he tries to leave."
"That I can do."
They left Tony to sleep. Headed back downstairs to continue their own training. Because while Tony was building the future, Percy and Calypso were trying to learn how to exist in it.
---
Percy's driving test was a disaster.
Not a complete disaster. He passed. But barely.
The examiner—a tired-looking man in his fifties with a clipboard—had spent the entire test making increasingly concerned notes as Percy:
1. Forgot to check his blind spot (twice)
2. Turned left from the right lane (once)
3. Nearly hit a pedestrian (the guy jumped out from behind a van, not Percy's fault)
4. Failed to parallel park on the first try (or second, or third)
5. Asked if he could use the car's Bluetooth to call for help (not allowed, apparently)
"You passed," the examiner said. He sounded disappointed. "Barely. Seventy-one percent. Try not to kill anyone."
"I'll do my best."
Percy got his driver's license. Took a photo that made him look like a criminal. Officially became a licensed California driver.
Calypso's test was two days later. She passed with ninety-four percent.
"How?" Percy demanded when she emerged from the DMV, license in hand, looking smug. "You've never driven before last week!"
"I'm three thousand years old. I've watched civilizations rise and fall. I can learn to operate a wheeled vehicle." Calypso examined her license photo. "Although this picture makes me look somewhat menacing."
"Everyone's license photo is bad. It's a rule."
"Is it? Who makes these rules?"
"I have no idea. Probably the same people who make all the other rules we don't understand."
They drove home—Calypso driving this time, much more smoothly than Percy—and found Happy waiting in the driveway. He was leaning against his own car, arms crossed, looking deeply suspicious.
"You two passed your driving tests," Happy said. Not a question.
"We did." Percy held up his license proudly. "Legal drivers. Both of us."
"Uh-huh." Happy's eyes narrowed. "And you're going to be providing security for Tony. Personal protection."
"That's the plan."
"So you need to learn executive protection protocols. Defensive driving. Threat assessment." Happy pushed off his car. "You two know how to shoot?"
Percy and Calypso exchanged a look.
"Define shoot," Percy said carefully.
"Guns. Firearms. The things that go bang and put holes in people."
"I've used bows," Calypso offered. "And javelins. And once, a ballista."
"A ballista."
"It was a siege situation. Context matters."
Happy stared at them. "You're telling me Tony hired security consultants who don't know how to use guns."
"We know how to use weapons," Percy said. "Just not modern ones. Yet. We're learning."
"Jesus Christ." Happy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Change of plans. We're going to a range. Today. I'm teaching you both how to shoot before Tony gets himself killed because his security detail doesn't know which end of a pistol to point at the bad guys."
"That seems harsh," Percy said.
"You admitted you don't know how to shoot!"
"I said I hadn't used modern firearms. That's different."
"It's not different! It's—" Happy stopped. Took a breath. "Range. Now. Both of you. Tony's paying me to make sure his security is competent. So we're going to make you competent."
They piled into Happy's car—a sensible sedan that was the exact opposite of Tony's flashy sports cars. Happy drove them to a private shooting range in the valley. Paid for a lane. Set them up with eye protection, ear protection, and a Glock 19.
"This is a Glock," Happy said, his voice taking on the tone of someone who'd given this speech many times. "Nine millimeter. Standard law enforcement sidearm. Fifteen round magazine. Point and shoot."
He demonstrated. Raised the gun, aimed at the target downrange, fired. Three shots. All center mass.
"Your turn." Happy handed the gun to Percy. "Remember: front sight, smooth trigger pull, don't anticipate the recoil."
Percy took the gun. It felt wrong. Too light. Too mechanical. He was used to Riptide—balanced, weighted, an extension of his arm. This was just... a tool. An impersonal tool for impersonal killing.
He raised it. Aimed. Pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked. The shot went wide left. Hit the target but nowhere near center.
"Again," Happy said.
Percy fired again. Better this time. Still not great. By the end of the magazine, he was getting maybe sixty percent accuracy. Acceptable for a beginner. Not acceptable for professional security.
"You're pulling to the left," Happy observed. "Compensating for something. Maybe your grip. Try loosening your fingers slightly."
Percy tried again. Better. Seventy percent accuracy. Improving.
Calypso went next. She approached the gun with the kind of careful attention usually reserved for handling venomous snakes. Raised it. Fired.
First shot: center mass.
Second shot: center mass.
Third shot: through the same hole as the second shot.
By the end of her first magazine, she'd put all fifteen rounds into a group the size of a silver dollar.
Happy stared. "Have you actually never shot before?"
"Never." Calypso set the gun down carefully. "But I've used ranged weapons for three thousand years. The principles are the same. Point, aim, release. This just happens faster."
"Three thousand—" Happy stopped. Shook his head. "You know what, I don't want to know. That's probably classified or weird or both."
"Definitely both," Percy confirmed.
They spent two hours at the range. Percy improved. Got his accuracy up to eighty percent by the end. Calypso remained terrifyingly good. Happy looked increasingly concerned about what exactly Tony had hired.
"Okay," Happy said as they packed up. "You're both competent. Calypso's better than competent. Percy, you need more practice."
"I'll practice."
"You better. Because if something happens to Tony and you can't protect him—" Happy's expression was serious now. "—Pepper will kill me. And then she'll kill you. In that order."
"We won't let anything happen to him," Calypso said firmly.
"See that you don't."
They drove back to Malibu. Percy in the front seat, thinking about the weight of the Glock. About how easy it had been to fire. How impersonal. No connection to the target. Just pull the trigger and someone died.
He'd killed monsters with Riptide. Had fought in wars. But there was something different about guns. Something that made death too easy. Too distant.
"You okay?" Calypso asked quietly. She was in the back seat, watching him.
"Yeah. Just thinking." Percy glanced back at her. "Guns are weird. You point and someone dies. No connection. No weight to it. Just—gone."
"That's what makes them dangerous," Happy said. "And effective. You don't have to be strong. Don't have to be skilled. Just have to point and pull. Levels the playing field."
"I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to be good at it." Happy turned onto PCH. "This job—protecting Tony—it's not about fighting monsters or being a hero. It's about seeing threats before they materialize. About being willing to do what's necessary to keep him alive."
"We know," Calypso said. "We've protected people before."
"Yeah? Who?"
"People who mattered. People worth dying for."
Happy was quiet for a moment. "Tony matters. More than he knows. So keep him alive. That's all I ask."
"We will."
They arrived back at the house. Found Tony in the workshop—surprise—working on the Mark II hand repulsors. He looked marginally more rested than yesterday. Probably because JARVIS had locked him out of the workshop until he slept six hours.
"How'd it go?" Tony asked without looking up. "You two learn how to shoot?"
"Calypso's a natural," Percy said. "I'm okay."
"Okay is better than nothing." Tony finally looked at them. "Happy's been texting me. Says you're competent but need more practice. Also that Calypso is 'suspiciously good' and I should 'ask more questions about her background.'"
"I have good hand-eye coordination," Calypso said smoothly. "And I pay attention to details."
"Uh-huh." Tony didn't look convinced but didn't push. "Well, you're officially trained in modern firearms. Which is good because I'm planning to test the Mark II boots tomorrow and I'd feel better knowing my security team can handle any disasters that result."
"You're testing the boots?" Percy perked up. "The repulsor flight system?"
"Just the boots. Not full flight. Just—hovering. Controlled thrust. Making sure I don't blow my legs off." Tony gestured at the boot assemblies on his workbench. "JARVIS has run simulations. Power output is stable. Thrust vectoring is functional. It should work."
"Should work," Calypso repeated. "Those are not confidence-inspiring words."
"They're engineer words. Everything 'should work' until you test it and discover why it doesn't." Tony grinned. "That's science, baby."
"Science baby," Percy said. "Great band name."
"Dibs."
"You can't call dibs on a band name you're never going to use."
"Watch me."
They stood in the workshop, three people who'd somehow become friends despite the absolute insanity of their situation. Genius billionaire building flying armor. Demigod learning to shoot. Titaness adapting to a world three thousand years beyond her experience.
"Tomorrow," Tony said. "Test flight. Or test hover. Whatever. You two should be there. In case something goes catastrophically wrong and I need to be scraped off the ceiling."
"That's not confidence-inspiring either," Calypso said.
"I'm an engineer. Confidence is for people who don't understand statistics." Tony turned back to his work. "Now go away. I need to calibrate the power distribution and I work better without audience."
"Translation: he's going to obsess for six more hours and then pass out," Percy said.
"I can hear you!"
"That's the point!"
They left Tony to his work. Headed upstairs to continue their own training. Because in three weeks, Tony would present his arc reactor plan to the board. And in three weeks, Percy and Calypso needed to be ready to protect him from whatever came next.
One shooting lesson at a time.
One driving test at a time.
One small step toward belonging in a world that wasn't theirs.
It wasn't perfect. But it was something.
And something was always better than nothing.
Even if the something involved learning to use weapons that felt too easy.
Even if the nothing was a universe that no longer existed.
They were here. They were learning. They were surviving.
That had to be enough.
---
Tony Stark was standing in his workshop wearing the Mark II boots.
Percy and Calypso were standing about twenty feet away behind a blast shield.
"This seems insufficient," Calypso observed, looking at the blast shield that was basically just reinforced plexiglass.
"JARVIS assures me it'll hold," Percy said. He sounded unconvinced.
"Mr. Jackson is correct," JARVIS said. "The blast shield is rated for—"
"Don't tell me the rating," Percy interrupted. "If this goes wrong, I don't want to die knowing I ignored specific safety specifications."
"A reasonable position, Mr. Jackson."
Tony was doing last-minute checks. The boots were attached to his legs via mechanical systems that looked simultaneously high-tech and terrifying. Blue light pulsed from the soles—repulsor technology, miniaturized arc reactors generating directed thrust.
"Okay," Tony said, mostly to himself. "Power output is stable. Thrust vectoring is calibrated. This should be fine."
"'Should be fine' are famous last words," Calypso called out.
"Those are also famous last words!"
"At least mine are accurate!"
Tony ignored them. Took a breath. Activated the boots.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the repulsors fired.
Tony shot upward. Fast. Really fast. Faster than he'd calculated. Hit the workshop ceiling with a solid *THUNK* that made everyone wince.
"SIR!" JARVIS's voice was alarmed. "Are you—"
Tony fell. The repulsors cut out. He dropped like a stone. Hit the ground hard. The boots sparked. Went dark.
Percy was over the blast shield in a second, Calypso right behind him. They reached Tony as he was sitting up, groaning, one hand on his head.
"That was not optimal," Tony said.
"Are you okay?" Percy was checking for injuries. "Nothing broken? No concussion?"
"My pride is broken. My body is fine." Tony looked at the boots. They were smoking slightly. "Power regulation failed. Gave me full thrust instead of graduated thrust. I went from zero to sixty in about half a second."
"You hit the ceiling," Calypso said. "Hard. You should go to a hospital."
"I'm fine. The arc reactor keeps me functioning." Tony touched his chest. "See? Heart rate steady. No internal bleeding. Just embarrassment and possibly a dent in my skull."
"Tony—"
"I'm FINE. We just need to recalibrate." Tony stood up, wobbled slightly, caught himself. "JARVIS, pull up the boot logs. Where did the power regulation fail?"
"Sir, perhaps you should rest before—"
"Power regulation, JARVIS."
A holographic display flickered to life. Data streaming across it—power output, thrust levels, system failures.
"There," Tony pointed. "The capacitor system. It's not buffering the power draw correctly. When I activated, it dumped full charge instead of regulating. We need better capacitors. Or a redesigned power distribution system."
He was already moving toward his workbench, pulling out components, sketching new designs in the air with his hands.
Percy looked at Calypso. "He just hit his head on the ceiling and he's already designing improvements."
"He's very dedicated," Calypso said. "Or very insane."
"Probably both."
They watched Tony work for a few minutes. His hands were steady despite the fall. His focus absolute. This was what he did—took failure and turned it into progress.
"We should probably make sure he actually doesn't have a concussion," Percy said quietly.
"Agreed." Calypso moved closer to Tony. "Let me look at your head."
"I'm fine."
"You hit solid steel at approximately fifteen miles per hour. Let me look."
She didn't wait for permission. Just moved to examine his head, her fingers gentle but firm. Percy saw her eyes go slightly unfocused—that look that meant she was using divine senses, checking for damage that normal people couldn't see.
"No skull fracture," Calypso said after a moment. "Mild concussion, maybe. Nothing serious. But you should rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead."
"That can be arranged," Percy offered helpfully.
"Everyone's a comedian." Tony pulled up more schematics. "Okay, new plan. Distributed capacitor network instead of centralized power regulation. Multiple smaller capacitors that can buffer independently. If one fails, the others compensate."
"That makes sense," Calypso said. She was reading over his shoulder. "Redundancy. Multiple fail-safes."
"Exactly. The Mark I was single point of failure central. Everything depended on everything else working. The Mark II needs to be robust. Resilient. If one system fails, the suit keeps functioning."
"Like a body," Percy said. "If your leg breaks, you can still use your arms."
"Exactly like that. The suit needs to think like a body. Independent systems working together but capable of autonomous function."
Tony worked through the afternoon. Percy and Calypso stayed close, making sure he didn't pass out from the concussion, bringing him food and water when he forgot to eat or drink.
Around sunset, Pepper arrived. She took one look at Tony—bruised forehead, manic energy, workshop in creative chaos—and sighed.
"What happened?"
"Test flight went poorly," Percy said.
"He hit the ceiling," Calypso added.
"I'm refining the design!" Tony called from his workbench. "It's progress!"
"Progress that involves head trauma," Pepper said. She moved to Tony, examined his forehead, winced at the bruise forming. "You need ice. And rest. And probably a CT scan."
"I'm fine."
"You have a concussion."
"Mild concussion. There's a difference."
"Tony—"
"Pepper, I have three weeks left. Three weeks to build this suit, demonstrate arc reactor viability, and prove to the board that I'm not insane. I don't have time for rest." Tony's voice was firm but not angry. "I know what I'm doing. I know the risks. But this matters. More than a bruised head. More than sleep. This is everything."
Pepper looked at him. At this brilliant, self-destructive man who was trying to save the world one repulsor boot at a time.
"Fine," she said. "But you're wearing a helmet for the next test."
"Helmets are for people who don't have confidence in their engineering."
"Tony."
"Fine! Helmet. I'll wear a helmet." Tony turned back to his work. "JARVIS, add helmet to the Mark II design queue. Full head protection, HUD integration, communication systems."
"Right away, sir. I'm designing something that will prevent you from turning your brilliant brain into soup."
"Sarcasm is unbecoming for an AI."
"I'm learning from the best, sir."
Pepper stayed for another hour, making sure Tony actually ate something and drank water. Then she left, taking with her a promise that Percy and Calypso would physically restrain Tony if he tried anything else dangerous without proper safety equipment.
"We're babysitters now," Percy said after she left.
"We've always been babysitters," Calypso corrected. "We're just getting paid for it now."
"Fair point."
They settled into their evening routine. Calypso studied medical texts—she was getting close, she said, to understanding enough to attempt the shrapnel removal. Percy practiced dry-firing the Glock Happy had given them, working on his accuracy and draw speed.
And Tony worked. Building the future. One component at a time. One failed test at a time. One step closer to becoming whatever he was supposed to become.
Downstairs in the workshop, surrounded by tools and technology and dreams, Tony Stark touched the arc reactor in his chest and made a promise.
Three weeks. He'd make it work. He'd prove clean energy was viable. He'd show the board—show the world—that Tony Stark was more than just weapons.
Even if it meant hitting his head on the ceiling a few more times.
Even if it meant working himself to exhaustion.
Even if it meant learning to fly by crashing first.
*Don't waste it.*
He wouldn't.
Not a single moment of the time he had left.
The Mark II was coming together.
And Tony Stark was going to fly.
Or die trying.
Preferably fly.
But he'd settle for a controlled crash.
Progress was progress.
Even when it hurt.
---
Percy was teaching Calypso how to use a smartphone.
"Okay," he said patiently. "So this is the home screen. These are apps. Each one does something different."
Calypso stared at the device like it might explode. "Why does it need so many functions? In my day, we had one tool for one job."
"In your day, you didn't have electricity."
"We had fire. Fire is electricity's grandfather."
"That's not how—" Percy stopped. "You know what, sure. Fire is electricity's grandfather. Now, this app is for messaging. You type here—"
"I don't understand the keyboard. The letters are tiny. My fingers are too large."
"Your fingers are normal sized. The keyboard is just small." Percy demonstrated. "See? You just tap."
Calypso tried. Somehow activated voice-to-text. The phone started transcribing everything she said.
"What is happening. Why is it writing my words. Make it stop."
"You activated voice-to-text."
"I didn't activate anything!"
"You must have touched—"
"I'm barely touching it! This device is cursed!"
"It's not cursed, it's just sensitive."
"In my experience, those things are not mutually exclusive."
They spent an hour on smartphone basics. By the end, Calypso could send a text message, make a phone call, and use the camera. She was deeply suspicious of all of it.
"People carry these everywhere?" she asked.
"Everyone under sixty, basically."
"And they use them constantly?"
"All the time. It's weird if you *don't* have your phone."
"This civilization is doomed." Calypso set the phone down carefully. "You've given everyone a tiny attention-destroying machine and called it progress."
"I mean, you're not wrong."
"I'm three thousand years old. I'm never wrong."
"That's definitely wrong."
"Prove it."
Percy's phone buzzed. Tony, texting from the workshop.
**Mark II is ready. Full system test tomorrow. Be there or be a responsible adult who makes good life choices. (Be there.)**
Percy showed Calypso the text.
"He's ready," she said. "Full flight test."
"Yeah. Which means it's either going to be amazing or we're scraping him off the ceiling again."
"Hopefully amazing."
"Hopefully."
They found Tony in the workshop. He looked better than he had in days—actually slept six hours last night, ate three meals, hadn't worked himself unconscious in almost forty-eight hours. The Mark II was complete. Sleek. Elegant. Nothing like the crude Mark I.
The armor was beautiful. Gold and silver metal—titanium alloy, Tony had explained—fitted together with precision that bordered on art. The chest piece housed a larger arc reactor, matching the one in Tony's chest. The boots and gloves had repulsor ports. And the helmet—gods, the helmet was something else. Smooth, integrated, with a faceplate that looked almost human.
"It's extraordinary," Calypso breathed.
"It's progress," Tony corrected. "The Mark I was survival. This is evolution." He ran his hand over the chest plate. "Full flight system. Targeting HUD. Life support. Communication. This isn't just armor. It's a platform."
"For what?" Percy asked.
"For whatever comes next." Tony's expression was serious. "I built weapons for years. Designed systems that killed people. This—" He gestured at the Mark II. "This is my chance to build something that saves them instead."
"You're going to test it tomorrow?"
"Full flight test. JARVIS has run simulations. Power systems are stable. Repulsors are calibrated. It should work."
"'Should work,'" Calypso said. "Famous last words."
"All words are famous if you say them right before you die." Tony pulled up a holographic checklist. "Pre-flight protocols are done. Safety systems are in place. I have a helmet this time."
"Progress."
"Baby steps." Tony looked at them. "I want you both there. For the test. In case something goes wrong."
"You think something will go wrong?" Percy asked.
"I think something *might* go wrong. That's why we test. But if I can actually fly—if this works—then the board can't deny that arc reactor technology is viable. That clean energy is the future. That Stark Industries doesn't need weapons."
"No pressure."
"All the pressure. But I work better under pressure." Tony saved his work. "Tomorrow. Zero-eight-hundred. Be ready."
They left him to final preparations. Went upstairs to their own training. Because in nine days, Tony would present to the board. And in nine days, they needed to be ready for whatever happened next.
---
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