"Welcome back, Master Malrick. Long time no see," Jarvis greeted the moment Malrick stepped inside.
Jarvis, the AI developed by Tony Stark and named after Edwin Jarvis, the Stark family's long-time butler, still retained his trademark warmth.
"It's been half a year, Jarvis," Malrick replied, heading straight for his bedroom.
When he had gone into space six months ago, the manned spacecraft had no Jarvis subroutine—it had been a rushed project, and he'd planned to sleep through most of it anyway. But now, hearing Jarvis' voice again brought a deep sense of comfort. For the first time in months, he felt like he was home.
"Jarvis, I've got good news. Tony's safe. I got him out of that terrorist compound."
"Miss Potts received word of Mr. Stark's rescue ten minutes ago. She's currently waiting at the airport," Jarvis informed him.
"So fast? Didn't expect the military to act that efficiently," Malrick muttered. He tossed his clothes into the hamper and stepped into the shower.
He hadn't bathed with actual water in half a year. The hygiene routines on the spacecraft had been—well—primitive, at best.
"It's enough that Pepper knows he's safe. She must've been losing sleep over this."
"Tony never listens. I warned him countless times, but he still went off to Afghanistan like nothing could touch him."
He lathered his hair with shampoo, the hot water running over his back.
"I told him Obadiah was watching him. I warned him. But no—he just had to ignore it."
"And Obadiah didn't hesitate. The moment he saw us apart, he made his move."
Jarvis listened silently. Malrick hadn't said any of this to Tony. Not yet.
Tony had been through enough. What he needed now wasn't judgment—it was someone to help him move on.
"Master Malrick, are you saying Obadiah orchestrated the attack on Mr. Stark?" Jarvis asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Malrick said flatly. "No need to tell him. I already did. When he gets back, we'll deal with Obadiah together."
As he rinsed the foam from his hair, Malrick smirked. "By the way, Jarvis, why do you keep calling Tony 'Young Master' or 'Mr. Stark'? Shouldn't I be the Young Master? I'm a Stark too. He's older than both of us combined—it'd make more sense to call him Old Master."
"I apologize, Master Malrick. I was assigned to Mr. Stark prior to the '90s. It became a habit before you joined the family. But if you'd prefer, I can make the change."
"No need. Keep calling me what you do. It's fine."
Malrick finished rinsing off, dried himself, and changed into a sharp gray suit. As he toweled his hair dry, he stepped into the kitchen.
"Jarvis, I'm starving. Let's fix that."
He pulled open the refrigerator door.
Empty.
"Of course. Should've known. Order some takeout for me, would you?"
It was morning in Los Angeles. The city was stretching awake, and soon, delivery drivers were racing through traffic. Before long, Malrick was seated at the dining table, devouring real food.
After half a year of bread and nutrient paste, it was a near-religious experience.
"Jarvis! Get me a cheeseburger. No—get ten."
"Order ten pizzas too. One of each flavor. Wait—make that three extra-cheese."
"And five Beef Wellingtons."
The feast lasted until noon.
Malrick finally slouched onto the living room sofa, patting his stomach in satisfaction.
"No wonder Tony's obsessed with cheeseburgers. High-calorie food really hits different."
One of the perks of wearing Iron Man armor? No fat gain. Every calorie was absorbed and converted into energy. A super-soldier's digestive system in an engineer's body. A foodie's dream.
Taking a final bite of his burger, Malrick felt a deep, philosophical satisfaction—like he'd glimpsed the solemn purity of Michelangelo's Pietà.
"Jarvis, show me all missed communications over the past six months."
"Certainly, Master Malrick."
A holographic display flickered to life.
"You currently have 1,634 unread messages and 807 emails," Jarvis reported. "Roughly 74% of the messages are from high school classmates. 89% are from women. 93% are sexually explicit."
Malrick groaned. "What's wrong with people? Even guys are sending that stuff? Just delete anything from unknown senders."
"Done. You now have no unread messages."
"Perfect. Now give me a rundown of company performance while I was gone. I'm talking about the company under my name."
Two years ago, while Tony was creating smartphones, Malrick used Stark Group resources to establish Stark Network—an internet tech empire years ahead of its time.
The U.S. internet sector was still finding its legs, still recovering from the dot-com crash. It was open territory.
Malrick moved fast. He launched platforms like WeChat and Twitter, acquired Amazon and YouTube, even preemptively registered domains that would become billion-dollar hubs in the next decade. Stark Network now had over 200 million global users.
While Malrick was in space, the company's stock had quietly doubled—until he and Tony disappeared. Then it tanked.
Jarvis concluded the report.
Malrick smacked his lips. "So the stock dropped by half in a month… but it's still higher than when I left? Not bad."
"President Joe did good. Give him three days off."
"Understood. I will notify Mr. Jobs."
Jarvis added, "But I believe he'd prefer that you approve an external Home button feature for the smartphone."
Malrick rolled his eyes. "He's still hung up on that nonsense? Tony's making ultra-thin, full-touch phones. We're moving to projection tech. Tell Steve Jobs to bury that retro fixation and take his vacation like a normal person."
"Yes, Master Malrick. Though I should point out, there's no one named Susan next door to us."
"It's a metaphor, Jarvis. Learn irony."
"Understood... taking note," Jarvis responded, his tone subtly amused.
Malrick chuckled and grabbed the remote. "Tony should be back between 4 and 5 p.m. Still got time. Play Superman for me—1979 version."
"Now playing. I didn't know you enjoyed nostalgic films, like Mrs. Susan."
"Seriously, drop the Susan thing—oh, never mind. You learn fast."
---
Later that afternoon...
Tony Stark arrived in Los Angeles.
After a brief moment with Pepper, his next stop was… a burger joint. Classic Tony.
Then he marched straight into Stark Industries and called a press conference.
Watching from home, Malrick lounged on his sofa as KNKV broadcast the event live. The news of Tony Stark's return from Afghanistan had broken the internet. Twitter's trending page crashed under the load. Stark Industries' stock surged.
And then, the bombshell.
Tony walked to the podium and announced:
"I hereby declare that the weapons division of Stark Industries is permanently closed."
Pandemonium erupted.
Reporters shouted questions. Investors panicked. Memes were being born by the second.
Malrick simply raised his glass of milk toward the screen.
"That's Tony for you. No soft landings—just full throttle."
"Master Malrick," Jarvis said, "you seem unsurprised by Mr. Stark's announcement."
"Of course I'm not. This is what I wanted him to do two years ago."
Malrick stood up, popping a grape into his mouth.
"He'll be back soon. Time to get ready."
"Is the Mark armor prepped?"
"Yes, Master Malrick. It's fully repaired and ready for presentation."
"Good. Let's give Tony a proper surprise."
---