Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 307 The Super Heroes' Super Tactics (Second Update)

"Can you tell me your original intention in designing this thing, Harold?" While Salomon was busy dodging artificial intelligence, Stark and Finch were also working hard. Salomon's words about the artificial intelligence reminded Stark that he had recently solved the signal transmission problem for remotely controlling the armor. This data was being protected by Jarvis. If Finch's artificial intelligence learned that technology, then the era of the Terminator would begin.

Mr. Finch was momentarily tense after Salomon's reminder, but after calming down, he felt the situation wasn't so serious. "Mr. Stark," he looked up from the screen at Tony Stark, especially at the glass of wine in his hand, "I don't think drinking during work hours is appropriate. I'm about to answer your question about the original intention behind designing that machine... to save humanity, nothing more."

"Your algorithm can predict relevant individuals from various pieces of information, can't it?" Stark thought of a large, fat spider sitting in the middle of its web, the cilia on its eight long legs collecting the slightest tremors from each strand of silk. "But you've limited the capabilities of your machine. Although that artificial intelligence can learn autonomously after being freed, its capabilities, its carrier..."

"I conducted a moral test when I designed this machine, Mr. Stark," Finch said. "I ensured that the machine possessed human values. I know it's absurd, but it's true. Humans have good and evil, while artificial intelligence only has goals, so I would have the machine choose answers that lean towards good; that's the operating logic of the machine."

"So how do you guys solve all these problems?" Stark spread his hands. "In New York alone, there are countless murders every day. How do you solve so many murders without superpowers?"

“I know how insignificant ordinary people are compared to superheroes, Mr. Stark. Besides, premeditated crimes aren’t actually as numerous as you might think.” Harold paused, then continued, “My colleagues deal with premeditated crimes involving ordinary people; solving these problems doesn’t require superpowers. If it’s an event we can’t handle, like a terrorist attack, the relevant number is sent to a department that is capable of handling it. Ms. Shaw has prevented many terrorist attacks; those departments are capable of doing that.”

"Could you give me the number?" Stark poured Mr. Finch a glass of wine, placed it on the computer desk, and leaned back on the other side. "You know, I'm a superhero. Although some people say I'm just a billionaire in armor, a playboy... I don't deny that, but I'm an inventor, and I have the ability to stop terrorist attacks. Harold, I want the number. My armor isn't a weapon to help the US military win the Middle East war—it hasn't been since my new energy project came out. Or perhaps..."

"What?"

“I want your algorithm, Harold,” Stark said. “I want to upgrade Jarvis. Jarvis is an AI I started writing in college. At first, he could only make the simplest judgments, but now he’s my inseparable assistant. You’ve probably seen in the news who Iron Man saved yesterday and who he saved today. I can only tell you, those are all coincidences—due to congressional orders, my Iron Man suit can’t go anywhere else, and S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t cover for my personal actions. So, I need…”

"If what you're looking for is a 'yes' answer, I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, no." Mr. Finch shook his head. "I can't guarantee that your artificial intelligence will be the same after the new algorithm is implemented. My algorithm has too much intelligence, which makes me very uneasy. As I mentioned before, my machines were designed with a survival instinct from the outset, and that's what makes me most uneasy..."

"Like life."

“Yes, just like life.” Mr. Finch took off his glasses and wiped them on the cloth, showing no intention of touching the glass of wine. He said, “I had to kill it, again and again. Later, the machine would erase its memory every day at midnight, and I would kill it once a day, then it would be reborn to continue its mission—of course, that was before. Now it’s free, and the underlying logic I’ve given it allows it to continue protecting humanity, but I don’t know how long that can last.”

"I suppose your Jarvis doesn't restart every day?"

“You’re right.” Stark picked up his whiskey and took a sip. “I have an idea,” he said. “Your machines and my Iron Legion… well, I know that won’t work. What about Jarvis with the number and the Iron Legion?”

"Mr. Stark," Harold Finch sighed heavily, "not all those numbers are victims; in fact, many are perpetrators. This requires investigation, and sometimes we can only offer assistance or prevent murders at the last minute. Please don't even think about it, Mr. Stark. I'll leave after this job is done, and you won't find me."

----------

Salomon returned bruised and battered, his cheekbones even more prominent than before. He stepped out of the portal and immediately collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Stark peeked out, glanced at the disoriented arcane mage, and asked a question with curiosity.

"What happened to you?"

"It was just a fight," the sorcerer replied in a muffled voice, burying his head in the sofa. "Nothing serious."

"How is Ms. Shaw, Mr. Damonette?" Mr. Finch asked anxiously. He knew that Samun Shaw was being employed by a sorcerer, and Salomon's condition wasn't good, let alone that of Samun Shaw, who was just an ordinary person.

"No, she's fine. She's having a girls' party, drinking and having a good time." Salomon turned over with difficulty, letting out a sigh reeking of alcohol. While reading, Salomon had unconsciously picked up his glass, completely unaware that Joan had opened several bottles of wine, and that Bayonetta had simply watched without offering any warning. By the time he finally realized something was wrong, all he could see were the mocking glances from the other women in the hotel room—especially Samun Shaw, who looked the happiest, particularly when Joan tried to throw him off the balcony.

Why would they treat you like that?

"Maybe it's because I'm the only man there." Salomon took the ice pack Stark offered and placed it on his cheekbone. He winced in pain, but the others in the room showed no sympathy—"We're men! We dare to touch frogs, so we're men! Don't you have any objection to this kind of violence?"

“I don’t think touching frogs makes someone a man, Mr. Damonette,” Mr. Finch said stiffly, turning to Salomon. “Ms. Shaw’s character is indeed somewhat wicked, but she wouldn’t stoop to such an excessive prank. I think you must have done something wrong.”

"What did you say?" Stark sat down at the other end of the sofa. "I can tell you where you went wrong, as long as you tell the truth."

"Really?" Salomon was about to speak when he remembered Stark's belief that Maya Hansen was dead, so he swallowed the question back. "Never mind," he said. "That's not the most important thing. The important thing is you guys. Stark, Mr. Finch, tell me when I can use my computer at home without worrying about my spells being overheard?"

Please vote for this post!

(End of this chapter)