Tony Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
in_extremis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2024-10-13 07:46 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2024-10-13 07:46 pm
Obsolete
WHO: Tony and open!
WHERE: The university, the mine hole...?, the beach caves
WHAT: Fixing the zombie problem
WHEN: Through the October biohazard event
WARNINGS: Gore, probably! Zombie stuff.
a. the beach
It was quiet, like the sand and the fog that hung so densely over the water cushioned any sound. Even Tony's footsteps, which had been so trudgingly heavy to Tony's ears on the road, were deadened as he reached the beach, and the creak and rattle of his armor as he moved was softened to static, like the hush of the waves. The fog was thick enough here that he had to pause and squint through it as he broke through the treeline, trying to spot the shape of the radio tower that should have been a clear landmark. It was leaning, precariously. If anyone not yet accounted for had made their way down here, and Tony suspected they had, to keep the water to one side and away from where the zombies must have been congregating around the sounds and lights of the city, the tower might not have been working for them. Tony hissed, and started a jog toward the caves, slowed by the heavy metal, and the regular ring of the scabbard at his side bouncing into his armored thigh.
It was only as he was hauling the weight of the metal up the rocks that he heard it. He had to stop, sweat from the effort quickly chilling in the cool air to raise goosebumps along his skin as he listened. A slap-slap-slap, like someone running, barefoot across the stones, echoing in the caves. Not the shamble of the zombies struggling to animate their limbs. Tony took a breath, could feel the call at the back of his throat, and it came out as a sigh when he realized it wasn't just one set of footsteps. Slap-slap-slap-slap.
The fog didn't seem so smothering as Tony turned to climb quickly, the clanking of his armor like an alarm and every rattling breath a siren.
b. the mine
Littering the city with as many posters as possible to draw people to the safety of the university was only really effective if the entire zombie horde didn't descend on the same building. And it was temporary, armor against a battering that had to be redirected. On a small scale, that was easy; Tony could spot movement in the fog, and shout, "Hey, come and get it!," or bang a metal fist against a concrete wall to ring like a dinner bell. Any sound, any movement, and they'd come lurching after him, immediately distracted from whatever had been driving their struggling brains a moment ago. As a mass, though, they were formidable.
The bigger problem was, even Tony's fireworks had been confiscated. The more complex devices, with controlled chemical reactions, timers, pressurizers, remote controls and kill switches, all of those were all his, and all immediately useless in the dead city. What their alien babysitter recognized as more computer, or less immediately as explosive, suddenly didn't work like the systems Tony built were sensitive to the whims of the weather. And what he needed, something that just blew up if he threw it hard enough, had to be built again, against the hope that whoever was keeping his toys away from him wouldn't notice for long enough.
The top of the greenhouse provided a clear vantage point over the gaping void that was the hole in the earth where he was supposed to die. Making a quick explosion, that was easy; Tony could assemble a grenade with his eyes completely unfocused, staring into the darkness all the while, until he had the mass drawn back by his shoulder in a slingshot to send in a perfect arc toward that emptiness. Most of them exploded before they reached the mine; some hit the wall a few feet deep, and rained fire into the depths of it, a silent lightshow at this distance. They were all as effective as Tony thought, drawing huddled groups of zombies toward the commotion, managing to lure a few of them over the edge. As a mass, though...
There had to be some way to set up a show.
c. the university
D.A.T.A.'s aperture looked dull and still. Watching over the grounds would be his job right now, if he wasn't in Tony's lap, his motherboard exposed to search fruitlessly for some loosened wire, sign of discharge, warped board, that could be fixed to bring him back to life. Instead, it was Tony that glanced up occasionally, his muttered apologies long since fallen silent, peering out into the dark through the narrow gap at the top of the window's reinforcement. The view was always the same. A dense carpet of fog, swirled by slow, jerky movements, and a brilliant ceiling of stars. The thunder continued to rumble, like it came from the fog itself, the stormclouds clinging to the earth. Tony barely heard it anymore, like the occasional pop from the candles flickering around the foyer. His busy hands slowed as he watched the stars with longing.
It was the strange light that darted between them, fizzing like lightning, that snapped his focus down to an unfamiliar movement outside by the gates. It wasn't loping or shambling, but moved with awareness. Intent. D.A.T.A. bounced as he hit the ground and Tony vaulted himself off of the ladder he was perched on to see over the barrier, then went sliding to a stop on the polished floors in front of the lever that he had to haul up and over to crank the doors open. They groaned, and thundered like the fog as they reluctantly parted, pouring light out into the night. Tony cut through it like a shadow, and could feel all of the hungry attention snap toward the signs of life. He didn't hesitate, winding back and pitching something into the sky, where it popped with a shriek and a flare of light, exposing him just long enough to wave impatiently to the figure in the dark while the zombies tracked the noise with their dead eyes.
WHERE: The university, the mine hole...?, the beach caves
WHAT: Fixing the zombie problem
WHEN: Through the October biohazard event
WARNINGS: Gore, probably! Zombie stuff.
a. the beach
It was quiet, like the sand and the fog that hung so densely over the water cushioned any sound. Even Tony's footsteps, which had been so trudgingly heavy to Tony's ears on the road, were deadened as he reached the beach, and the creak and rattle of his armor as he moved was softened to static, like the hush of the waves. The fog was thick enough here that he had to pause and squint through it as he broke through the treeline, trying to spot the shape of the radio tower that should have been a clear landmark. It was leaning, precariously. If anyone not yet accounted for had made their way down here, and Tony suspected they had, to keep the water to one side and away from where the zombies must have been congregating around the sounds and lights of the city, the tower might not have been working for them. Tony hissed, and started a jog toward the caves, slowed by the heavy metal, and the regular ring of the scabbard at his side bouncing into his armored thigh.
It was only as he was hauling the weight of the metal up the rocks that he heard it. He had to stop, sweat from the effort quickly chilling in the cool air to raise goosebumps along his skin as he listened. A slap-slap-slap, like someone running, barefoot across the stones, echoing in the caves. Not the shamble of the zombies struggling to animate their limbs. Tony took a breath, could feel the call at the back of his throat, and it came out as a sigh when he realized it wasn't just one set of footsteps. Slap-slap-slap-slap.
The fog didn't seem so smothering as Tony turned to climb quickly, the clanking of his armor like an alarm and every rattling breath a siren.
b. the mine
Littering the city with as many posters as possible to draw people to the safety of the university was only really effective if the entire zombie horde didn't descend on the same building. And it was temporary, armor against a battering that had to be redirected. On a small scale, that was easy; Tony could spot movement in the fog, and shout, "Hey, come and get it!," or bang a metal fist against a concrete wall to ring like a dinner bell. Any sound, any movement, and they'd come lurching after him, immediately distracted from whatever had been driving their struggling brains a moment ago. As a mass, though, they were formidable.
The bigger problem was, even Tony's fireworks had been confiscated. The more complex devices, with controlled chemical reactions, timers, pressurizers, remote controls and kill switches, all of those were all his, and all immediately useless in the dead city. What their alien babysitter recognized as more computer, or less immediately as explosive, suddenly didn't work like the systems Tony built were sensitive to the whims of the weather. And what he needed, something that just blew up if he threw it hard enough, had to be built again, against the hope that whoever was keeping his toys away from him wouldn't notice for long enough.
The top of the greenhouse provided a clear vantage point over the gaping void that was the hole in the earth where he was supposed to die. Making a quick explosion, that was easy; Tony could assemble a grenade with his eyes completely unfocused, staring into the darkness all the while, until he had the mass drawn back by his shoulder in a slingshot to send in a perfect arc toward that emptiness. Most of them exploded before they reached the mine; some hit the wall a few feet deep, and rained fire into the depths of it, a silent lightshow at this distance. They were all as effective as Tony thought, drawing huddled groups of zombies toward the commotion, managing to lure a few of them over the edge. As a mass, though...
There had to be some way to set up a show.
c. the university
D.A.T.A.'s aperture looked dull and still. Watching over the grounds would be his job right now, if he wasn't in Tony's lap, his motherboard exposed to search fruitlessly for some loosened wire, sign of discharge, warped board, that could be fixed to bring him back to life. Instead, it was Tony that glanced up occasionally, his muttered apologies long since fallen silent, peering out into the dark through the narrow gap at the top of the window's reinforcement. The view was always the same. A dense carpet of fog, swirled by slow, jerky movements, and a brilliant ceiling of stars. The thunder continued to rumble, like it came from the fog itself, the stormclouds clinging to the earth. Tony barely heard it anymore, like the occasional pop from the candles flickering around the foyer. His busy hands slowed as he watched the stars with longing.
It was the strange light that darted between them, fizzing like lightning, that snapped his focus down to an unfamiliar movement outside by the gates. It wasn't loping or shambling, but moved with awareness. Intent. D.A.T.A. bounced as he hit the ground and Tony vaulted himself off of the ladder he was perched on to see over the barrier, then went sliding to a stop on the polished floors in front of the lever that he had to haul up and over to crank the doors open. They groaned, and thundered like the fog as they reluctantly parted, pouring light out into the night. Tony cut through it like a shadow, and could feel all of the hungry attention snap toward the signs of life. He didn't hesitate, winding back and pitching something into the sky, where it popped with a shriek and a flare of light, exposing him just long enough to wave impatiently to the figure in the dark while the zombies tracked the noise with their dead eyes.