It was as though he had been rerouted, suddenly forced to integrate a distinct awareness of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing and odds with the sound of the crackling fire or the cold metal under his hands. It was dysmorphic, and disorienting, without a lot of confidence to reach for even with this new consciousness to explain his purpose. One thing they can agree on is that awe, Tony wanting to stop and consider these streaking stars, a sky that was so much more familiar than the one he had been living under for too long, yet strange and so bright.

It felt like his program was lagging, still staring when he was suddenly running, the body he didn't feel properly connected to carrying him forward until the rumble of the impact jolted him in sync again.

Of course, it was a satellite. Impressively durable, too. Probably more likely to survive an impact than his skull in a fight.