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)
revivalproject2025-06-20 12:29 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2025-06-20 12:29 pm
Actuation
WHO: Tony and open
WHERE: Temba civics centre and hospital
WHAT: Figuring out what everyone else wants, figuring out how to stop wanting
WHEN: After the return from haunted space
WARNINGS: Tony's pretty suicidal, so tread lightly if you want to avoid that
a. civics centre
The city felt more empty than ever. All of the extra bodies, lively as they were, grinning and indulging, only contrasted the expanses of untouched land; the crumbling residential blocks and overgrown flood plains to one side, and the scorched, eerie compounds to the other. Hovering over the civics centre, where the noise of the Agrii poured over the roof to echo in the wells of the weedy alleys, Tony could see the rapid decay of activity like a perfect radial graph. He was harder to see himself, the pale gold of the new Iron Man blending into the hazy summer sky and rippling with sunlight, so he only had to raise a reluctant hand back at the few Agrii that were lounging long enough to notice him and wave enthusiastically. It was good that the ships hadn't returned from their journey just to find the population left behind in Temba slaughtered, it was, but it reinforced for Tony that they couldn't be trusted, drilling deeper that expanse of loneliness. These were the architects of their suffering, and Tony hadn't had the conviction to take the ships and fly away from this place. They had come back instead.
The vantage point was not meant to highlight his own isolation, though. He was meant to be looking for the outsiders; the Wanderer, whose posture had suddenly seemed familiar, or even a few Agrii who didn't look so eager to participate in the new grounded community, projecting their misgivings that could be utilized. He didn't expect to see the opposite; a more familiar face choosing to join in. The abductees, by and large, appeared to be put off by the Agrii, unenthusiastic about socializing with them when on board the ships. This had, admittedly, seemed less of a guarded caution than a personal distaste. So while Tony grew more distrustful, it looked like others were overcoming their reluctance, as someone came wandering along the pool deck. Iron Man dropped closer, still keeping his distance by gliding along the side of the building, a few feet from the eaves, following the he-row's path to ask, "Going for a swim?"
b. the hospital
It was a simple programming problem. Now that the Agrii were less aggressive, it would probably be easier to convince them to explore other ways to manage their impulses. It wasn't that any of them wanted to be impulsive and harmful; there was just an imbalance in the brain. Rational logic should be allowed to override those destructive desires.
Conveniently, for this purely scientific pursuit, Tony's brain was already programmable. In theory. It wasn't really something that he had done entirely on his own before, but it wasn't completely alien, either; he had reprogrammed his version of Extremis, after all, to better accommodate the Iron Man, and to minimize the more combustive elements. When it was outside of his brainmeat, it was pretty straightforward. Now that it was in there, he was going to have to learn some practical neurosurgery. It couldn't be that hard. The mechanics of the operation were clearly the more complex equation; drilling into the back of his own skull and remaining alert and focused while he learned to navigate the brain was, probably, tricky. Tony knew a few tricks.
The rig that would let him accomplish this was already a drain on his limited resources. He had to be a little pragmatic about it, and make use of some of the tools already available. Luckily, the hospital wasn't very lively. Most likely, he reasoned, the doctors were making use of their more robust, and sterile capabilities on board the ships, and he was free to search through the cupboards and closets for what he needed. There were scalpels and clamps, of course; delicate work that he was happy to avoid firing again so he could focus on building more specialized equipment. Sutures or staples--he'd figured out which was more correct in the moment, and added them both to the tray against his hip. The chemicals were a more valuable commodity here; solutions to sterilize, to clarify, and manage some of the pain. There had to be something written down to explain the full effects of the tablets and compounds that he could find, either in the surgery or one of the doctors' offices, or somewhere in their communications that he could find on the network. It was a careful balance that he had to strike, after all; he had to be awake and alert, and he couldn't take anything stronger than a Tylenol. Not until he had solved this impulse problem, anyway. And so he stood, loaded tray on one side, in front of an open cupboard, eyeing a bottle like giving it a shake and holding it up to the light would tell him the exact chemical compound that he was considering. It wasn't like anyone else would need to use the hospital while he deliberated.
WHERE: Temba civics centre and hospital
WHAT: Figuring out what everyone else wants, figuring out how to stop wanting
WHEN: After the return from haunted space
WARNINGS: Tony's pretty suicidal, so tread lightly if you want to avoid that
a. civics centre
The city felt more empty than ever. All of the extra bodies, lively as they were, grinning and indulging, only contrasted the expanses of untouched land; the crumbling residential blocks and overgrown flood plains to one side, and the scorched, eerie compounds to the other. Hovering over the civics centre, where the noise of the Agrii poured over the roof to echo in the wells of the weedy alleys, Tony could see the rapid decay of activity like a perfect radial graph. He was harder to see himself, the pale gold of the new Iron Man blending into the hazy summer sky and rippling with sunlight, so he only had to raise a reluctant hand back at the few Agrii that were lounging long enough to notice him and wave enthusiastically. It was good that the ships hadn't returned from their journey just to find the population left behind in Temba slaughtered, it was, but it reinforced for Tony that they couldn't be trusted, drilling deeper that expanse of loneliness. These were the architects of their suffering, and Tony hadn't had the conviction to take the ships and fly away from this place. They had come back instead.
The vantage point was not meant to highlight his own isolation, though. He was meant to be looking for the outsiders; the Wanderer, whose posture had suddenly seemed familiar, or even a few Agrii who didn't look so eager to participate in the new grounded community, projecting their misgivings that could be utilized. He didn't expect to see the opposite; a more familiar face choosing to join in. The abductees, by and large, appeared to be put off by the Agrii, unenthusiastic about socializing with them when on board the ships. This had, admittedly, seemed less of a guarded caution than a personal distaste. So while Tony grew more distrustful, it looked like others were overcoming their reluctance, as someone came wandering along the pool deck. Iron Man dropped closer, still keeping his distance by gliding along the side of the building, a few feet from the eaves, following the he-row's path to ask, "Going for a swim?"
b. the hospital
It was a simple programming problem. Now that the Agrii were less aggressive, it would probably be easier to convince them to explore other ways to manage their impulses. It wasn't that any of them wanted to be impulsive and harmful; there was just an imbalance in the brain. Rational logic should be allowed to override those destructive desires.
Conveniently, for this purely scientific pursuit, Tony's brain was already programmable. In theory. It wasn't really something that he had done entirely on his own before, but it wasn't completely alien, either; he had reprogrammed his version of Extremis, after all, to better accommodate the Iron Man, and to minimize the more combustive elements. When it was outside of his brainmeat, it was pretty straightforward. Now that it was in there, he was going to have to learn some practical neurosurgery. It couldn't be that hard. The mechanics of the operation were clearly the more complex equation; drilling into the back of his own skull and remaining alert and focused while he learned to navigate the brain was, probably, tricky. Tony knew a few tricks.
The rig that would let him accomplish this was already a drain on his limited resources. He had to be a little pragmatic about it, and make use of some of the tools already available. Luckily, the hospital wasn't very lively. Most likely, he reasoned, the doctors were making use of their more robust, and sterile capabilities on board the ships, and he was free to search through the cupboards and closets for what he needed. There were scalpels and clamps, of course; delicate work that he was happy to avoid firing again so he could focus on building more specialized equipment. Sutures or staples--he'd figured out which was more correct in the moment, and added them both to the tray against his hip. The chemicals were a more valuable commodity here; solutions to sterilize, to clarify, and manage some of the pain. There had to be something written down to explain the full effects of the tablets and compounds that he could find, either in the surgery or one of the doctors' offices, or somewhere in their communications that he could find on the network. It was a careful balance that he had to strike, after all; he had to be awake and alert, and he couldn't take anything stronger than a Tylenol. Not until he had solved this impulse problem, anyway. And so he stood, loaded tray on one side, in front of an open cupboard, eyeing a bottle like giving it a shake and holding it up to the light would tell him the exact chemical compound that he was considering. It wasn't like anyone else would need to use the hospital while he deliberated.
no subject
no subject
"Bold of you to think a little hellion like me gets invited to parties. Though that answer is definitely no, and I'd decline anyways because I think some of the aliens are still learning personal boundaries." He goes to take a seat on a chair, letting his weight roll it back a little bit.
A roll of the eyes. "Pass. Been through one of those and that's enough really. Didn't know anyone was in here so when I heard someone, I decided to check things out. Especially with all the bad shit that had been happening, who's to say something new hadn't taken it's place?"
Now he gives his own skeptical look. "You know I'm sure if you came up with a really good excuse, you could get stuff from Kaplan."
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"I thought you were about to tell me you were taking up a nursing position, taking an interest in the bad shit in here," he said. "Don't ask a wizard to do something so important. It's pretend. You can't guarantee that your guts won't all fall out the next time he takes a nap. D'you tell Reeve to just ask Billy when he's paving roads? Don't answer that." He held up the bottle, pinched between finger and thumb so York could clearly see it in the light, an offer for York to redeem himself and his nursing future. "You know what this one is?"
no subject
Oh. That look of disappointment gets his own icy glare right back. "I don't exactly know what the limits of wizards are, just as I think they wouldn't know the limits of androids." There's only a glance at the bottle long enough to snap an image of it, then right back up to Tony's face. York does not look happy about that accusatory remark regarding Reeve.
"What the fuck is your problem today? I might ask Kaplan to magic up coffee if I'm out of my replicator ration things to make some for Reeve, but not to do the guy's job for him. And what does it matter if I know what's in that bottle? I wasn't even being fucking mean and you're being nasty? Do you need me to go get you some damn coffee?"
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He shoves his hands in his pockets, still glaring angrily at the human. "What, can't read a label? Figured you were smarter than that at least."
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"Mepiv-" he starts with, then stops as he tries to run through what Tony said. It sounded familiar, but why? Out of habit he never really dropped, York tries to connect to the vast web like he would at home and jerks at the emptiness at the other end. Right. No connection here. Was like that before the aliens let him go home temporarily and then pulled him back.
"What is that? As in, used for," and he makes a grab for the bottle like Tony would actually let him snatch it.
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He didn't try to stop York, releasing the bottle easily with only slightly raised eyebrows for the aggression, letting him drop his hand onto his popped hip. Which one of them was reading the oblique name probably wouldn't make much difference. "It's anesthetic. Us fleshbags can't put in the bodywork without some foreplay," he answered.
no subject
Begrudgingly he hands it back over. And rolls his eyes.
"You 'fleshbags' seem to put a lot of focus on making jokes about your reproductive activities." This seemed to be a common thread between this Tony and York's own back in Detroit. York does a pretty good act of breathing in and out like he's letting out a frustrated sigh. "Why the hell do you need a high dosage of that stuff? Presuming that's what it would be since you're trying not to stop your heart."
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"I didn't say I needed a high dose. I don't need anything," he was quick to answer; quick enough that he pressed his lips together and counted a beat, like if he got back on a normal rhythm now, no one would notice. "An experiment. Nothing serious. The Agrii, you know, they can be patient, thoughtful, and they've got this...thing on their back, that makes them not so thoughtful. It's their fault, they know it, apologies don't really cut it. So I thought, what they need is a little clarity. Something to help them think. A little reprogramming."
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Eyes dart up to Tony's at the quick answer. Kind of suspicious. If he had been a fleshbag himself, York might not have caught it. Tony takes his beat to get back to a normal rhythm, which allows for the small android to debate on calling him out on the bluff or not.
"Reprogramming," he parrots with an edge to his voice. A couple of months ago that word wouldn't have the weight it does now to York, who's seen what reprogramming by humans looks like. A camp with high fences and barbed wiring. Humans with guns. A container to wipe and delete everything from androids to be thrown away like rubbish. "Have you tried talking to them? I presume yes, since you're in here trying to guesstimate how much of this shit you need - excuse me, how much you can use before your heart shuts down." He had to reun the last couple of moments back in his head to get exactly what Tony said.
no subject