"Jason, there was an attempt to hack into your computer just now," my AI assistant chimed in. "I blocked it, but the hacker tried to breach the building's security system to gather information. I've locked them out."
I paused, a smirk creeping onto my face. Who else could it be but Tony Stark? The man was notorious for using his advanced tech to probe and prod, just like this. Luckily, I had upgraded my systems recently; otherwise, that mustached genius would have had a field day.
Tony loved flaunting his superior technology, but I knew all too well what he was capable of. After all, wasn't it only a matter of time before the military came knocking at his door, demanding access to his Iron Man technology? He'd hacked into their systems with ease—so it was no surprise he was trying the same on me.
I leaned back in my chair, considering my options. If Tony wanted to play games, it was only polite to return the favor.
"Can you trace the source of the hack?" I asked my assistant.
"Tracing a signal back to its source is difficult, Jason. The intruder's systems are quite advanced."
No surprise there—J.A.R.V.I.S. and my own AI were on par with each other, and counter-intrusions between two systems this sophisticated were no walk in the park.
"Can you send him a message?"
"Yes. What would you like to say?"
I twirled a pen between my fingers, glancing at the clock. If Tony was behind this, I knew exactly how to get under his skin.
"Ask him how big Pepper's hands are."
"Understood."
My assistant didn't question me, simply following my orders as always. I couldn't help but grin. This would definitely get a rise out of him.
Just then, the door swung open, and Sarah walked in, her expression curious.
"Who were you just talking to, Jason? What's this about someone's hands?" she asked, tilting her head.
I wasn't ready to fill her in on the full scope of my AI assistant's capabilities yet, so I dodged her question.
"Must be your imagination," I replied with a shrug.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. "Maybe. Anyway, here's the latest sales report."
Meanwhile, at Tony Stark's villa, deep in the basement, Tony stood before his newly developed Mark 3 suit, while J.A.R.V.I.S. ran diagnostics on the system. The suit gleamed under the soft lights, its polished exterior reflecting Tony's intense focus.
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted, "the attempt to infiltrate Jason Walker's personal computer has failed. Additionally, we've received a message from him."
Tony's brow furrowed in disbelief. He knew how advanced J.A.R.V.I.S. was, and up until now, his AI had never failed to breach a system. But today, he'd been thwarted—by a cartoonist, of all people!
Sure, Tony had heard rumors about me and my growing influence, but this was something else entirely. His curiosity was piqued, but he couldn't shake the irritation that came with being bested.
"What's the message?" Tony asked, crossing his arms.
"He asked how big Pepper's hands are," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.
Tony's eyes widened, and his face darkened. "What?! Are you sure our system wasn't hacked?"
"Confirmed, sir."
"Damn it! How does he know? What else does this guy know?" Tony grumbled, pacing back and forth.
The mention of Pepper's hands struck a nerve. Just a few days ago, she had helped him replace the arc reactor in his chest when he'd been running low on palladium. How could *anyone* know about that intimate moment? The thought that he might be under constant surveillance gnawed at him, leaving him unnerved and frustrated. But there was nothing Tony could do about it now. With a resigned sigh, he pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on the task at hand.
"Mark 3 inspection complete, sir. All systems are stable," J.A.R.V.I.S. reported.
Finally, some good news. Tony let out a breath, feeling a little more at ease. The successful completion of the Mark 3 suit gave him the reassurance he needed. With this, he had truly mastered an incredible power—one that no one, not even me, could take away.
In recent months, ever since I had declared my comics to be prophetic, my name and Tony's had been splashed across headlines. We had become household names, the subject of endless discussion. Everyone wanted to know what was next for Stark Industries now that Tony had turned away from building weapons.
Investors, however, weren't as enthusiastic. Stark Industries' stock had plummeted, the once-steady line on the market charts now taking a nosedive in a steep, downward curve.
But I wasn't content to stay in the shadows. In response to the growing buzz, I made a long-awaited announcement: the third volume of *Iron Man* would be hitting shelves next Monday.
In the U.S., Marvel comics had become more than just entertainment—they were treated like crystal balls. People scoured the pages, hoping for glimpses of the future. Some even joked that if I were to accidentally draw the winning lottery numbers, it would be their lucky day.
Of course, that was just wishful thinking. But it didn't stop people from buying every issue, hoping for a little peek into tomorrow.
I probably didn't realize it at the time, but with the success of Marvel Publishing House, I was inadvertently stepping on the toes of every news agency out there. My comics were outpacing the journalists, predicting events before they could report them.
And that didn't sit well with everyone.