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
"Yeah, here's some important information I know, tell me if I lose you," he picked up more confidently, not bothering to lower his voice for the Agrii's sake. They could just watch the tape back, anyway, if they were really curious. "It's not just the storms that are the problem, just like everything else they lied about. There is someone watching and reacting to us to make us as miserable as possible. It wasn't a storm that made the moon start yelling; I said it, so it happened. So, you tell me: if it's not the Agrii that are orchestrating that, why were they not wiped out while we were looking the other way? Why are they still here?"
no subject
"Because the Agrii are the people we have to protect. They're a goal for us," Keith said. "If whoever is in control is the same or similar or basing whatever goes on here on how things went in the Drift Fleet, then the Agrii are being used as tools to make us jump on command. They're the leverage in the hope that we're 'good guy' enough to make sure that they're saved."
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"Because they aren't the ones fully in control," he said. "And, if this repeats in any way like Drift Fleet, then, at some point, we'll be moved along to the next thing soon." Keith considered it for a moment. "Maybe that's been a part of why we've been given a little bit more freedom to move the ships around... because they're preparing us for the next thing."
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But then he sighed, deep breath in his nose and then slowly out through his mouth. He'd been trying to work on that temper... see? It didn't fade completely, though. There was a still a sharp edge to his words as he continued, especially that last part.
"Honestly, it's as close as we have to a base of operations," Keith said. "It was something that helped when we were in space too long back home. Having a place to come back to, real air, real gravity, a real solar cycle... Not everyone can spend unending time in space, even on ships that simulate a planet." Keith had done that... They had a pretty decent set up on the Castleship, but touching down once in a while helped a lot. It had been even worse when they'd lost the Castleship and were down to just the Lions. "And while we didn't have a base planet to go back to, touching down on the different planets through the trip... it helped.
"Plus... we had to make sure our ideas worked on making sure things were working here. And, well, we promised we'd come back. We headed out to that place because we needed to, and we came back because we said we would. For some people, giving your word means something."
no subject
"Hold on--" was easier to jump back to, free hand up to wind the tape back. "Don't tell me you don't want to go home, either." Keith didn't make it sound like he had even imagined that was a possibility. Like he thought the ships were the final destination.
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"That's a loaded question," he said. "I'd lose everything that came from here and the Fleet. You don't remember this place when you go back. I've been sent back, and then got dragged back here again. Like someone playing some weird cosmic joke." He frowned. "I've seen people from home come, and then go, and then come back... and sometimes they remember, and sometimes they don't." It was his biggest fear now that Lance had gone... that he'd come and not remember any of the last decade or so that they had built together from Drift Fleet to Agra-10, and Keith would still be alone even with his husband right there in front of him.
"Yeah... I wanna go home. I actually miss people I care about back there," he said quietly, but that edge of frustration, regardless of who it was directed at, lingered in his voice. "But that means giving up everything I built here. It'll be like any of the time I spent here didn't even happen." He had no control over being here or not, even when he and Lance thought they had control, it was taken from them.
And if he sounded like this was the final destination? Maybe he was hoping it was. Maybe he was done with that cosmic joke and game, and just wanted to get back to living his life. He had hope once when he first arrived in Drift Fleet... twice when they'd been given the option after defeating the entity that had corrupted the Marsiva... even three times when the Agrii showed them the singing core that was snatched away by a bigger force right in front of them. There were even more times if he counted all the times he'd gone home and come back again... and each bit of hope for home had been dashed. Why should he keep hoping?
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Instead, he was going to give the retreating suit an incredulous look as it flew off before shouting, "You are if you're just going to leave like that!"
But, now Keith was pissed, so he climbed out the water and went to go dry off.