"Jarvis, I show me my exits, calculate probability."

Sir, 99.739126 percent of the odds are not in your favor. Maybe if you cooperate—

"Why should I!" Tony yells as he is dragged out of his Malibu Family Mansion. He is not a schizophrenic! Jarvis is real, he has heard the voice in the back of his head since he was young, real young. Perfect SAT scores, explain that! Jarvis told him all the answers, being connected to the global database. Was it possible physically? Probably not, but there was no other reasoning. Tony Stark has a highly advanced, non-evil super computer implanted in his brain.

And he suspects his dad was the one who put it there.

"JARVIS IS REAL!"

-

His room is far less than satisfactory, but apparently mental institutions do not have an interest in the eloquence that Tony is used to. Growing up with everything at the tip of his fingers, the genius now feels alone... at least he has his best friend to talk to.

"Jarvis, do you copy? Hack into the mainframe, I wanna see security footage."

On it sir... there appears to be a few guards coming your way right now. Files show they are planing to move you into group A... the A initiative.

Tony looks around the room. He must of been there for hours, but he hasn't woken until recently. "The A initiative? Get me more on that."

Surpassing the firewall now sir... looks like... some social experiment to improve morale... entering now sir.

The door opens, two bulky men walk in, dressed in the same hospital like attire, walking towards Tony quietly to get him. These are the handlers. The asylum includes therapists, yes, but these workers jobs included simply moving patients from one place to another as safely as possible.

"Get me profiles..." Tony whispers to Jarvis, who assesses Tony's optic nerves in his left eye to pull up data.

"Fancy meeting you here, Tom. Lovely day, huh Pete." The handlers share a look, slightly taken back, but their appearance only breaks for a matter of milliseconds. Then, they are grabbing Tony.

"H-hey! Easy does it! This is lower quality than my usual wardrobe, wouldn't want wear and tear." He said, tone cocky, obligingly to the slight man-handling of the employees as they bring Tony out of his room and down the hall.

The door has an A on it, a dim light inside.

"Jarvis, I want data on whoever is in there." Tony says under his breath, and in moments, he knows everything the world wide web, global databases, even medical records have to offer on Steve Rogers.