Stark sat in front of the computer, replaying the footage over and over. He had already gathered all the information he needed. This compulsive behavior was really just his indecision at work.
After a while, he picked up the phone and called one of his subordinates in. "Send someone over to... Forget it. I'll go myself."
After hanging up, Stark put on his helmet and flew toward a certain part of San Francisco—the direction of Bruce and Aisha's new home.
Before long, a gleaming silver-white figure landed in the cramped backyard, and Iron Man realized he had stepped on something.
Looking down, he saw a colored piece of plastic. There were more scattered all around. Stark looked from side to side, wondering, Had a localized storm hit this place? How did the slide get smashed up like this?
Just then, a little head poked out of the window. Stark looked at that face, which bore an eighty-percent resemblance to Bruce Wayne's, and froze again.
His biological daughter?
Stark did not understand why Bruce would bring such a young daughter into an unfamiliar universe, but he had not forgotten his business. He pushed open the door and went inside.
The little girl did not seem particularly scared, nor did she run. She simply stood by the window and stared at him intently, as if observing him.
But Aisha really was too young. Calling her seven would have been a bit of an exaggeration. She did not even look old enough for school, so Stark did not think a child that young was capable of much thought.
He walked over, crouched down, and said, "Is your dad not home? What about your mom?"
Aisha looked at him and shook her head.
"That's not good." Stark reached out, patted Aisha on the head,