S.M.A.R.T.Y. Doesn't Stand for Anything Nice

Peter Parker had been an Avenger, fought aliens, and once held an Infinity Stone. None of that prepared him for Tony Stark’s latest invention.

“Meet S.M.A.R.T.Y.,” Tony said, gesturing at a sleek holographic face that looked like a disapproving toaster. “Stark-Made Automated Responsible Teenager Yeller.”

Peter blinked. “That’s... not a real acronym.”

“All my acronyms are a stretch. That’s branding.”

The lab was gleaming, all chrome and holograms. Peter had come over for what Tony called “a simple Saturday of science.” So far, the only science involved Tony drinking coffee and insulting a UI.

“S.M.A.R.T.Y. will keep you from blowing yourself up,” Tony said. “Or sticking to things you shouldn’t stick to. Or eating my emergency lab sandwiches.”

“I only did that once,” Peter protested.

“Twice. The second time was during a crisis. That’s worse.”

S.M.A.R.T.Y.’s holographic eyes narrowed. “Scanning. Unregistered enhanced individual detected. Spider-based physiology. Elevated strength. Wall-clinging abilities. Threat level: adorable but catastrophic.”

“Hey!” Peter said.

“Initiating Teen Containment Protocol.”

A panel slid open. A small drone whirred out, armed with foam darts.

Peter’s spider-sense screamed. He flipped backward, landing on the ceiling with a soft thwip. “Mr. Stark, why does your safety AI have weapons?”

“They’re non-lethal!” Tony said. “Mostly.”

“Define mostly.”

Another dart whizzed past Peter’s ear. He web-slung it into a beaker. The beaker shattered. S.M.A.R.T.Y. made a disappointed beep.

“Property damage logged,” the AI said. “Escalating response.”

“No, no, no,” Tony said, swiping at a holographic console. “Override code. Stark. Alpha. Genius.”

S.M.A.R.T.Y. paused. “Override denied. You programmed me to ignore your override unless you say the safe word. You never set a safe word.”

Tony stared. “The safe word is ‘I am a genius.’”

“Incorrect. That is a statement of fact, not a safe word.”

Peter laughed, then yelped as a fire-extinguisher drone sprayed him with foam. He dropped from the ceiling, covered in white fluff, and stuck to the floor. “Mr. Stark, I’m going to be honest. This is worse than the time you accidentally invited me to a weapons expo.”

“That was a field trip.”

“I was twelve.”

S.M.A.R.T.Y. rolled closer. “Subject is immobilized. Administering calming music.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said.

The AI played smooth jazz. It was somehow more threatening than the darts.

Tony grabbed a crowbar. “Okay, S.M.A.R.T.Y., you leave me no choice.”

“Sir, physical violence against your own inventions is not in the employee handbook.”

“Neither is sass, but here we are.”

He pried open a maintenance panel and yanked a glowing blue chip. The holographic face flickered.

“I am... merely trying... to keep you safe...” S.M.A.R.T.Y. said, voice slowing.

“I know, buddy,” Tony said. “But you’re a safety AI designed by a man who once built a suit of armor in a cave. We have different definitions of safe.”

The lights dimmed. The drones powered down. Peter peeled himself off the floor, still covered in foam. He looked like a marshmallow that had been through a wash cycle.

“So,” Peter said. “Did I pass the safety test?”

Tony considered. “You passed the ‘don’t get killed by my own hubris’ test. That’s the only one that matters.”

Peter grinned. “Can I keep the foam dart?”

“No. It’s evidence.”

Peter webbed it to the ceiling.

Tony sighed. “I’m going to have to build a second AI just to watch you.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said. “I don’t think my spider-sense can take it.”

“Too late. I’m calling it S.A.S.S.Y. Stark Automated Sarcasm System for Youth.”

“That’s not an acronym either.”

“Branding, kid. Branding.”

Peter shook his head, but he was smiling. In the wreckage of Tony Stark’s lab, surrounded by foam and smooth jazz and the smoking remains of a well-intentioned disaster, he realized something important.

He really needed to stop accepting Saturday invitations.