revivalproject | Start the show

The room has a familiar feeling to it and York hates it and it sets him on edge. There's enough differences to it to know that it's not the workshop from his own personal past, but the android isn't keen on touching anything yet. His hoodie is gone, currently being used as a pillow in the waking world. He crosses his arms to cover the LED glowing on his chest while he surveys the work around him.

He starts to close the distance before pausing at the odd flicker that he misses. What-- "Is the part where I remark how you're mentally a mess or what. Because it looks that way," with a little gesture of a quick hand to the items strewn about before crossing it with his other arm again.

"Mm?" Beck looks up, and his appearance shifts slightly, sporting those same LEDs. A visual representation of his mirroring.

"What's wrong with it?" he asks causally.

York thinks something happens, but it's a dream, right? Someone's mind palace. Anything could happen. But when he sees the LED on the chest, the android pauses. "It's... it's a fucking mess. Wait a fucking minute."

He closes some of the distance between himself and this guy, the light from Beck's chest reflecting in his teal eyes. "Dad didn't-- did he-- Shut the fuck up."

No. This didn't make any fucking sense. Antonio Stark made three androids, four if you counted the body that York was currently inhabiting. But this one looked similar to his original shell, lost in the ocean. If Tony had actually gone back and gotten it and repaired it... and somehow the shell made it here--

"Who the fuck are you?"

That's a strong reaction. Beck looks curious, but not all that disturbed by York's shock.

"...Quentin Beck," he supplies, "Who the fuck are you?" It's far less accusatory than York's, and comes with a small smirk.

A strong reaction from a being that shouldn't even have those reactions. But the man introduces himself with the last name of 'Beck', not Stark, so perhaps... it was just a coincidence that he happens to look similar to the form the android lost. This one had facial hair though.

But the LED was throwing him off. Maybe it was a Cyberlife model trying to replicate what Antonio made. "None of your fucking concern, bro. You look like someone I fucking know, that's all." He sneers at the smirk, feeling it start to goad him. Probably what the fucker wanted.

"Why do you have that," and he points at the light on the other's chest. The tone is back to accusatory, glare and sneer all together in a bitter package.

He glances down and touches the light with a curious hum, not entirely sure himself, but Beck can see it's bothering the kid, and he finds it interesting. He shrugs a shoulder coyly.

"Why do you?" he counters.

"It's attached to me," he practically spits out. Why was he so upset about this? It was just another human, probably with some sort of customization or some bullshit from his world. He huffs and crosses his arms again. It hides how the light changes from cool teal to processing gold.

"Helpful in dark places, or finding shit in messes," and York doesn't hide how he throws a scrutinizing gaze over the workshop. "I'm York." No last name for now. He didn't exactly go around the city announcing himself, so hopefully Beck wouldn't know him.

It may make things a bit more obvious when Beck's light shifts to match the new hue, and the workshop lights seem to dim a little in response to York's words.

"And what kind of shit are you hoping to find here, York?"

The dark brows furrow at the sight of the light changing to match his own. What was going on in here? He glances around like he's going to be punked or something. Something's not... right here. Not the right that York is familiar with at least.

"I don't know. I went into sta-- sleep and found myself here. What the hell are you working on back here? More color changing gadgets?" He indicates the chest light again, not convinced now that it's the same as his own.

"Am I your first?" He breathes a small laugh through his nose. Though maybe it's not an appropriate joke to be making with someone York's age.

"You don't know what's happening here, do you? Where you are? None of this real." The world shimmers and that glitch appears again in a few scattered place, showing brief glimpse of Sierpinski triangles.

"Yikes, that's absolutely not a question you should be asking me. I doubt that shit flies in any world one is from and that's how you get locked up in prison." York knew he wasn't mentally sixteen, but Beck didn't need to know that right now. He didn't know how much he could trust this guy anyways.

Teal eyes narrow. He knew that name. Quentin Beck. Wasn't that the guy that tried to murder the Tony here? Never did find out if that was York's Tony or not.

"Got some idea of it, but this isn't my first dream room." He eyes the triangles as they appear and disappear in a glimmer. "This may not be real, but you are. You're the one that tried to murder or whatever. They were having a meeting about it at the diner."

"Well then what's all the confusion about?" he asks, ignoring the chiding entirely, and Beck can't help but look a little...proud at be being recognized?

"You missed the main event," he says, making light of the whole...attempted murder thing.

A lot of people in this city didn't rise to bait. York didn't know if he should be put out or impressed. "Yeah, totally would've loved to see that instead of where I was pulled from Detroit's a right shit show right now where I'm from."

Beck might fit right in with trying to murder people. Though the people being murdered were androids. His eyes look to the computer transferring files. "You didn't answer my question on what you're working on in here." He glances to whatever the man had been working on when York arrived, then back to the transferring files, finally back to the human himself.

He had another question just bubbling to get out, stuck at the tip of his tongue, but kept it to himself for now.

"Doesn't sound different from Detroit any other day," Beck notes, "Just getting what's mine," he mutters, tapping a few keys at a prompt on the screen before looking back to York.

"Why are you so curious?"

"Should I not be curious?" Now he starts moving, sauntering a little about the room with his hands in his pockets now. "Though you're right about the Detroit thing. Just dealing with a revolution where the enemies blew up mine and others' safe house."

He scoffs a little at the thought before looking over the various items.

"It really is a mess in here. Fine, different question. Why'd you try to kill--" His programming almost slips so there's a pause as he bites back one word and goes for, "Tony? That Stark guy? Pissed off a lot of people if the diner was anything to go by."

"Nothing we do here matters," Beck answers, surprisingly honest as he continues- "Never got the chance back home, idiot went and got himself killed. Call it catharsis."

He wonders if York'll give him the same lecture about this being a different Tony, and the hypocrisy, and all of that. No matter how many times he's heard it, Beck really can't bring himself to care.

The lecture doesn't come. Because he doesn't know that the Tony here is also different from the one that Beck knows. Instead, he gets a bit of a scoffing laugh.

"It's kind of amazing how many people have problems with others named Tony. If I had a nickel for each person... Well, I'd have two, but it's weird that it's two people." But given what he's seen in the waiting room and from what other people are talking about, York's still not certain if it's his own Tony in the city or not. He's still got some hope that it's not.

He gestures again to the computer. "What're you transferring?" The temptation to just go and touch it is there, to see if it'll activate anything, but he keeps his hands to himself. He'd want people to do the same in his headspace after all.

"That's assuming it's not all part of some grand design by them," Beck notes, gesturing upwards, in vague reference to the Agrii. There were far too many connections in this place for it to all be random.

Data doesn't lie.

"Files," he answers plainly, and then a small smirk, "My work."

Another scoffing noise. "Damn, I gotta be fucking specific to get information out of your, don't I?" An eye roll and this time he just walks over to it. He can't be too mad at Beck's antics - York would've had a high chance of responding the same way.

He leans down to get a better look at what's being copied before reaching out to wipe the monitor off. In case it's dirty. York's accustomed to humans not taking care of their electronics. He wonders if Beck's talking about the aliens that brought them to this place. That were doing this dream experiment thing and messing with his programming in the waiting room.

Well, fuck this place. Tommy figures it out rather quickly, and he wants to roll his eyes to see this place.

"Hey fuck face. Where the fuck are you, loser? I'm so looking forward to learning all your fucking shit!"

"I'm back here, you don't need to yell, Tommy," Beck calls calmly, and he offers the boy a smile and a small wave from his place at the back, still working away.

"You seem a lot braver in here than you were earlier..."

If only he had the power here to blow the guy up.

"Ain't my fault I'm here. It's this stupid shit. But now I get to know your fucking problems, man," Tommy announced, before moving and putting his hand firmly on the banker's box, hoping it would be something.

The room shifts, as if being digitally rewritten, glitches here and there.

It's the same space, but messier now. Beck- beardless and tense is hapazardly throwing things into the box, anxiously checking the progress of a download on his computer as he does so.

"Unstable," he mutters angrily, typing in a few commands.

A pair of security guards enter and Beck freezes momentarily, blinking and attempting to school his features.

"I'm going- these are mine, I'm just getting what's mine-" he insists, showing his palms.

"Sir. We've been asked to escort you off of the property-"

"I'm almost done," Beck dismissed, side stepping their approach with wild eyes and adding more to his box, "You can't-"

"Sir-"

"This is my research- I- no- get your hands off me-!" he protests, as they try to take him by the shoulder. "You're all going to be sorry. I made something great, and he turned it into a- put that down-" He tries to wrestle the keyboard away from one of the guards, while the other takes a more firm approach to pull him off.

"I mean," Tommy says, walking around the memory, "you are unstable. So that's fair. Dude, you're literally a head case."

Not surprising to see he was fired for it. Especially from SI. Stark had to cover his ass.

The memory flickers, glitching...it shows the guards manhandling him, and then a far calmer escort, flicking back and forth between the two. Perhaps it's his minds way of processing the memory, how he remembers it, versus how it really transpired.

And then abruptly it ends, Beck glaring at him, suddenly close. "...Don't call me that."

A calmer escort. Tommy moves closer, trying to see through it. Oh hell.

"You're not even telling the truth about your own getting kicked out, are you? Hilarious fucking mess, man. You can't even be honest in your own memories."

Beck narrows his eyes, and the room shifts to the best approximation of Tommy's childhood room that Beck can remember. A few of the finer details are off, but it should be clear enough where they are.

If Tommy were to try and touch it he'll find none of it's real (not that any of this is real). They're still in the office, the room is some sort of...overlay? Projection?

"Shall we talk about honesty, Tommy?"

What? No. No. This shouldn't be possible. Dream spaces weren't supposed to be like this. How did Beck even know what it looked like.

"Fuck you!" he shouts, and tries by instinct to reach for his powers. To bring it all down around them. But he can't.

He knew because of Billy's little hero world, and as for this strange ability, well...the true nature of his dream room isn't the office, nor this bedroom, but his rehearsal space. His drones are doing fine work today, now that he doesn't have to rely on anyone else to run the simulations.

"You don't want the others to know, do you Tommy? What happened here in this room? I'd start changing your tone if you want it to stay that way."

No. No. His powers are lies. Are projections. Which means... which means Tommy can stop them. So he does what he does best. Acts.

Which means Tommy swinging at the room around him, trying to find something to hit.

"I think our Mysterio is fucking better, because at least that fucker died."

He hits something. The illusion glitches and flickers, before it's back to the lab, and Beck's full attention is on Tommy now, looking annoyed.

"You know you're stuck in here until the door comes..." he reminds with a cold look.

Oh come on man, why does this have to be so maddening? He hates this so much.

"You know you shouldn't have those powers, right? How the fuck do you have powers?"

The space wasn't immediately familiar, nothing Tony felt possessive or protective over, so the Stark Industries logo that caught his eye made him freeze, trying to sense what he was missing, if this was his. The logo wasn't even right, though, making Tony squint, then rub at his eyes--it was like someone had forged his signature, and it was about to slide off of the page. He had to tear his focus away from it, steady his breathing. Plenty of companies relied on his technology, that was the point, that logo should have been in every room. This wasn't where he was the most vulnerable.

Taking a few more slow steps into the room, scanning the tables and letting his fingers trip over the nearest one, trying to see what was in the corners and what was hidden, Tony greeted, "Ironic." He came to a stop a few feet away yet, idly plucking up a circuit board near his hip to twist in thoughtfully as he continued, "All of that drama to bust yourself out, and now we're all stuck together."

"It wasn't one of my more dramatic plans," Beck countered with a small smirk, lifting his gaze to Tony, lips giving a small twitch as he lingered on the circuit board. "You can't help but mess with my work, can you? Every version of you."

The room flickered and glitched and for a moment there was an imagine of Beck's Tony, perched idly on that same table like he belonged there. It flickered away again and Beck frowned.

"You never came for me. You could of found me, why didn't you?" he probed.

That was even stranger than the wrong logo. The image of his wrong self had him narrowing his eyes, then immediately sweeping into a very familiar motion, pulling himself up onto the table and crossing his legs primly in an almost perfect mirror of the posture, eyebrows raised at how well he fit into the mould. His toes touched the ground, though, leaving his heel bouncing restlessly. It hadn't been like looking into a mirror, not really--more like the ripples of a pond.

Belatedly, he answered, "Didn't want to," looking down at the table as his fingers danced over it again like he wasn't all that invested in the conversation, either. "If you had hung around long enough, I would have let you out myself. You were so patient before, I didn't realize how fast I had to be to keep you from hurting someone else. Really skipped a couple of gears there, Psycho Killer."

Beck frowned as Tony slipped into place. It wasn't right. Close, but not the same. His expression faltered for a moment, as though it was the first time he'd been confronted with this Tony being different from his own, but he quickly shook it off again.

"I didn't hurt them, that was the Soldier," he pointed out calmly, as though he really had nothing to do with it.

That got Tony's gaze sliding Beck's way, chin still down to watch him skeptically through his lashes, lip raised with the understanding that neither of them believed that bullshit. "Listen, I'm glad you brought it up, you're right, we should get this out of the way; you're going to tell me what you did to him, and where he is," Tony declared, sitting up straight and undeniably engaged now, eyes locked on Beck's and unblinking. This could at least be a productive meeting.

Engaged was good, Beck seemed to preen a little under the attention, whatever kind it was didn't seem to matter.

"And why am I going to do that, Tony?" he countered with an amused smile. Tony in turn had earned all of Quentin's focus, rolling chair shifting away from the computer, and perching an elbow on the desk to catch his chin on his knuckles.

Beck seemed very pleased with himself for asking such a stupid question. Tony gave him the chance to figure it out, narrowing his eyes and glancing pointedly around the room, working his jaw as he considered where the information he wanted might just be sitting out for him to take instead, and just how much he would have to go through to find it if he was going to be properly thorough. There was a lot of secrets here for someone to lay their hands on.

Sliding off of the table, Tony offered his third alternative, airily, "If you liked being punched that much, we could explore how much you can take."

Beck pushed back, not rising from the chair, but spreading his arms as though welcoming Tony to take his shot.

"You always did prefer experiments to be hands on..."

It was very generous of Beck to give Tony the room to consider what it was that had been getting all of his attention back there. Tony gave him a cold smile in return, and only volleyed in a noncommittal mutter, "And my work, too." He was sauntering confidently closer, his hand raised to illustrate quickly tightening into a fist like he was about to take Beck's invitation, only to bend over him to drag the project closer to the edge of the table, raised hand opened flat to caution Beck from protesting.

He looked very pleased with himself, until Tony changed the script at least. Beck frowned, but stayed put, gripping the arms of his chair.

Whatever it was flickered dimly to life, a very life like holo projection suddenly springing to life. It was broken up by the furniture, creating odd overlaps, as a young Tony sees his parents for the last time.

"Wasn't really what I had in mind when I pitched the idea. But the other you wasn't willing to see the possibilities"

There wasn't much of an idea there yet for Tony to understand. The people made a familiar impression, sure, but Tony didn't know what possibilities he was meant to see in this family movie reel as he leaned one hand against the desk to nudge at the projector with the other to try to determine what it was actually doing that was so interesting. More importantly, this didn't seem to be telling him what had happened to the Soldier, and the last thing he needed was to look at this facsimile of Howard.

"That other me probably knew what he was doing," he said. From what he had come to understand about these other Tonies, they tended to make better choices than he ever did. Quickly, he switched his attention to the box, tripping his fingers along the files inside.

"Well one of you is still alive," Beck pointed out generously.

As Tony flipped through the box the room shifted, as if being digitally rewritten, glitches here and there.

It was the same space, but messier now. Beck- beardless and tense as he haphazardly threw things into the box, anxiously checking the progress of a download on his computer as he did so.

"Unstable," he muttered angrily, typing in a few commands.

A pair of security guards entered and Beck froze momentarily, blinking and attempting to school his features.

"I'm going- these are mine, I'm just getting what's mine-" he insisted, showing his palms.

"Sir. We've been asked to escort you off of the property-"

"I'm almost done," Beck dismissed, side stepping their approach with wild eyes and adding more to his box, "You can't-"

"Sir-"

"This is my research- I- no- get your hands off me-!" he protested, as they tried to take him by the shoulder. "You're all going to be sorry. I made something great, and he turned it into a- put that down-" He tried to wrestle the keyboard away from one of the guards, while the other took a more firm approach to pull him off.

It felt to Tony like he had to step back to avoid the flying elbows, or at least to better see where these people were putting their elbows and why. Much like that image of his other self, he followed the figures magnetically like it would give him a better understanding of each of their roles in this performance, until he was standing where the beardless Beck had been before they wrenched him away from his work. It still didn't seem like any of this would tell him what had happened to Soldier, but maybe something in this work that Beck thought was so important would tell him what Beck was capable of.

"Did you finish it?" he muttered, looking largely uninterested as the drama played out, tapping at the computer he came to stand by instead to see if that was where he was keeping his larger secrets.

The room that Shiro entered felt mildly familiar if only because he had been around a lot of technology for most his life. Even if he wasn't the tech genius of their group, it still felt like he had seen some of this before.

He walked through the room, very careful not to touch anything even though he was looking it all over as he moved. It felt like something strange was going on in the room.

"Anyone there?"

[Hi! Sorry for my own late reply. I'm working on ending all my event tags and focusing on new stuff, is there something you were super excited about playing out in Beck's head? If yes, I can get into calibrations mindset. If not, happy to thread new stuff with you outside of Calibrations? Thoughts?]

[That's fine. I understand. It was very late. We could always do something outside of Calibrations. Either the waiting room or something once they end]

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RNG gave you this boyo

<3

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눈_눈

ლ(｀ー´ლ)

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Sorry for the very late.

ooc

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