I'm Aquaman in Marvel

Happy led Arthur to meet several other security colleagues. These were all seasoned veterans, deeply entrenched in the company's internal protection operations. At first glance, many of the older guards dismissed Arthur because he was so young, clearly underestimating his capabilities. However, Arthur quickly dispelled their skepticism by effortlessly disarming and subduing four large men in an instant. This impressive display of skill immediately shifted their perception. Following this decisive demonstration, Happy officially extended an invitation to Arthur: he was to be Tony's personal bodyguard.

Arthur even had a brief, yet significant, encounter with the formidable and undeniable bald Obadiah Stane, a towering figure and powerful executive within Stark Industries who just screamed bad guy. During their exchange, Obadiah offered no overt opinion on this new addition to Tony's security detail, merely offering a slight, almost imperceptible, nod to acknowledge Arthur's presence.

With all the necessary entry procedures now completed, Arthur finally found himself at Tony Stark's sprawling home, ready to meet the enigmatic billionaire. As he laid eyes on Tony, a figure reminiscent of actor Robert Downey Jr., Arthur felt an unexpected surge of familiarity and cordiality. After all, Iron Man stood as his most cherished Marvel superhero.

Tony, however, regarded the young man before him with a skeptical, almost dismissive, frown. "Did the Department of Defense really send you? They claim you're very skillful? Look, let's be clear: I don't need a bodyguard. You're free to go."

Arthur quickly interjected, his tone earnest yet firm. "I'm here because I was specifically requested for this job. Given your recent harrowing experience, the government deems it necessary to ensure your ongoing safety."

"The government sent you?" Tony retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Just you? How old are you, even? Are you legally an adult? Frankly, from my perspective, you look like the one who needs protection."

Arthur remained completely unfazed by Tony's contemptuous remarks. He understood Tony's character: a man who inherently distrusted others, placing sole belief in himself. He also knew that this ingrained cynicism would, with time and experience, gradually soften.

"I'm twenty years old," Arthur stated calmly, his gaze steady. "And please, rest assured, I'm as skillful as I need to be. My skills are considerable, and I can absolutely fulfill the task of protecting you, without problems!" Arthur asserted, his confidence radiating, as if proclaiming his ability to take on a dozen opponents single-handedly.

"Alright, fine, I agree. You can stay here," Tony conceded, though his expression remained guarded. "But hear this: without my express, direct consent, you are to remain strictly on the first floor. Happy, arrange a room for him." With that decisive pronouncement, Tony abruptly turned and disappeared back into his studio.

Happy then escorted John to his designated room, meticulously outlining his new responsibilities. He sternly warned John never to enter Tony's private studio without explicit permission and provided him with a mobile phone for direct communication, ensuring constant contact.

Thus commenced Arthur's new role as a personal bodyguard. However, after only a few days, the initial novelty and excitement rapidly dissipated. Tony remained mysteriously cloistered within his studio, rarely emerging. This meant Arthur had virtually no active duties, often spending his days idly dozing on a lounge chair in the tranquil yard.

One particular afternoon, Arthur noticed a large truck pulling into the driveway, its cargo bay laden with numerous substantial boxes. John, his curiosity piqued, approached to investigate, quickly discovering that the contents were entirely raw metal components.

Tony finally emerged from the villa, gesturing dismissively towards the deliveries. "Those are some material I ordered," he explained, giving Arthur a casual pat on the shoulder. "Have them moved down to the studio."

John instantly grasped the significance: Tony was beginning the monumental task of constructing his iconic Iron Man suit. He swiftly directed the workers to transport the heavy boxes into Tony's expansive underground workshop.

This marked Arthur's very first entry into Tony's legendary studio. Situated on the second basement level, directly beneath the parking lot, the space itself was enormous. However, it resembled less a sophisticated laboratory and more a chaotic, yet organized, warehouse. All manner of intricate machinery hummed quietly, no fewer than twenty computer monitors glowed with complex schematics, and various components were meticulously, if haphazardly, piled everywhere. There was even a heavily modified sports car tucked away in a corner, hinting at past projects.

Arthur gazed at Tony, who, in this environment, seemed to utterly transform into a mad scientist in his element. It was almost unfathomable that Tony could spend his entire day in this jumbled, yet productive, collection of parts, utterly consumed by his fervent research.

Tony held up a bottle of wine, a glint in his eye, and offered Arthur a glass. "Care for a drink?"

Arthur accepted the glass, then gestured towards the table overflowing with components. "Is all this for your new project?" he inquired.

Tony poured Arthur a generous half-glass of wine, then clinked his glass against Arthur's. "You wouldn't understand it," he said conspiratorially, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm working on something very powerful, something that will change everything. I'm on the verge of achieving something truly monumental. Cheers!"

Arthur raised his glass and, without hesitation, drained the wine in one gulp. "Can I at least have a peek at what you're creating?"

Tony leaned in, his voice hushed and mysterious. "You'll know when it's finished. I'm only telling you this because I genuinely like you, but you have to promise me you'll keep this an absolute secret."

"Alright," Arthur agreed, a slight, knowing pout on his lips. I already know exactly what you're up to, he thought to himself.

One evening, as Arthur relaxed on a recliner in the yard, enjoying the cool, refreshing air, a sleek, black Mercedes sedan glided into the driveway and came to a smooth stop directly in front of him.

It was Obadiah Stane, accompanied by Pepper Potts. Pepper carried a box of pizza and a small, square package, a familiar sight.

"Where's Tony?" Pepper asked, her voice strained from the day's demands. "Mr. Obadiah would like to see him."

"He's in the studio," Arthur replied, a hint of amusement playing on his features. "You can head down and find him. I've tried to reach him on the intercom, but he rarely pays attention when he's focused."

After Pepper descended, Arthur courteously directed Obadiah to the spacious living room. "You can wait here for a moment," he offered.

"It's quite alright, don't worry about me. Coming here feels almost like returning to my own home," Obadiah replied. With that, he walked casually to the grand piano in the corner and began to play a soft melody.

A short while later, Tony and Pepper emerged together into the living room. Tony was already devouring the pizza Obadiah had brought, while Pepper sat nearby, diligently sorting through a stack of important documents. Arthur, sensing the shift in dynamics, quietly excused himself from the living room, resuming his comfortable vigil outside in the refreshing night air.

Obadiah attempted to persuade Tony to abandon his radical decision to halt all weapons production. He cited the considerable dissatisfaction brewing among the company's powerful shareholders, but Tony remained unyielding. Their conversation quickly reached an impasse, ending without further discussion.

Before departing, Obadiah turned to Arthur, a knowing look in his eyes. "Tony can be incredibly headstrong," he remarked. "Right now, many of the company's shareholders are deeply unhappy with him and are looking for ways to force him out. I truly hope you can manage to talk some sense into him."

"Of course, I'll do my best to persuade him," Arthur replied with a reassuring smile.

Following that particular evening, no one else came to visit Tony. Only Pepper continued her daily routine, arriving once each day. Tony himself remained entirely secluded within his studio, never once emerging. Arthur found himself constantly marveling at the man's sheer, almost obsessive, work ethic.

In the evenings, Arthur would prepare some light late-night snacks for himself. A dedicated staff from Tony's household routinely delivered full meals and fresh ingredients every day, as Tony frequently became so engrossed in his projects that he would completely forget to eat.

Arthur was again settled comfortably on his recliner in the yard, beginning to drift into a light doze amidst the cool, gentle breeze, when a sudden, thunderous crash from the roof abruptly startled him awake, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his entire body.

Had the villa been struck by a meteorite? Arthur immediately rushed inside. He stared, wide-eyed, at the massive, jagged hole now marring the ceiling, the splintered wreckage of the piano scattered across the ground below, and the equally gaping hole that now scarred the very floor beneath his feet. He was utterly speechless.

Descending cautiously into the basement parking lot, he discovered Tony lying in a tangled mess atop a crumpled blue sports car, clad in a dented, silvery battle armor.

Arthur walked over, a mixture of concern and bewildered amusement on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked, trying to suppress a grin. "Is this what you call 'powerful stuff'?"

"It was a slight miscalculation," Tony groaned, extending a gloved hand towards Arthur. "Come on, give me a hand getting out of this thing."

Arthur grasped Tony's hand and, with surprising ease, effortlessly pulled him from the mangled wreckage of the crushed car.

"Wow, you're incredibly strong!" Tony exclaimed, genuine surprise in his voice.

"What exactly are you going to do about all this?" Arthur asked, gesturing around at the colossal holes in the house and the utterly destroyed sports car.

"I'll have someone come fix it all tomorrow," Tony replied nonchalantly, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "As for the car, it looks completely beyond repair. Just have it hauled away."

Arthur gave a sarcastic thumbs-up, a mock salute. "As expected of the legendary industrialist arms chief, absolutely rolling in money! To discard a luxury car like that without a second thought. Here I am, I can't even afford a beat-up old vehicle."

"Don't call me the 'arms chief' anymore," Tony corrected with a playful smirk. "Seriously, though, which one do you like? Pick any one, and I'll give it to you," he offered, gesturing grandly to a pristine line of gleaming sports cars parked nearby.

"Just kidding," Arthur chuckled. "Your mech suit is pretty cool, though. Can it transform?" he joked, mimicking the iconic transformation sound from Transformers.

"This isn't a Transformer," Tony grumbled, clearly annoyed by the comparison. "Come on, seriously, help me take this thing off. I'm completely stuck."

"How do I even do that?" Arthur inquired, genuinely unsure.

Under Tony's precise guidance, Arthur helped him methodically disassemble the armor piece by cumbersome piece until Tony was finally free, shedding the metal shell like a discarded skin.

"Your battle armor is incredibly annoying," Arthur complained, shaking his head. "It takes far too long to put on and take off."

"This is only the second version of the design," Tony explained, rubbing his temples and wincing in pain. "I'll improve it significantly in the future, believe me. Ugh, my head is throbbing. Could you grab me some ice, please? Thanks!"

Arthur retrieved some ice cubes and carefully applied them to Tony's aching head. Tony looked at Arthur, a new, unexpected earnestness in his eyes. "Are we... friends?" he asked, his voice soft.

"That's entirely up to you," Arthur replied simply, a small smile playing on his lips.

Tony pressed on, his gaze intense. "Since we're friends, you have to promise me absolute secrecy. Only you and I know about this armor. I need your word that you won't tell anyone, especially not the Department of Defense. Do you understand?" Tony looked at Arthur with grave seriousness.

Arthur, in turn, readily promised: "Don't worry, I will absolutely help you keep this secret. And I also have a secret, actually: I'm not really all that familiar with the people in the Department of Defense..."

"...Well, I believe you," Tony interrupted, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes despite his headache. Then he added, his tone more sincere, "Don't worry, whatever you need in the future, just ask. I promise I'll make it happen for you."

"I want a raise!" Arthur promptly declared.

"..." Tony stared at Arthur, utterly speechless. That's all you can possibly think of right now? he seemed to silently question, a look of profound exasperation mixed with reluctant amusement on his face.