"JARVIS, everything from 12:38 A.M outwards is to be saved on my personal hard drive, got it?" At the slightly dry confirmation, "Yes, sir. As it always is every night," Tony sat at his work station, his lab really but why would he call it a lab when he can call it his 'work station'? That sounded much cooler anyways.
Flicking away the holographic designs that were laid out for him over the space of his large desk, he called out with each movement that led to disaggregation. "Mind numbing. Dull. Boring, boring, boring. We're not trying to make the client doze off, Jesus Christ, Tony what were you thinking?" He muttered to himself as he stared at the half finished blueprints, his eyes already having a glazed over shine to them that would alert anyone else in the room of his distraction. Finally snapping out of it, he mock crumpled all the holographs in his direct line of vision and 'tossed' then into the programmed garbage bin, the very next thing he did surprised no one at all as he popped the top of a beer.
Didn't feel like a JD kinda night, he supposed. He leaned against the bartop and gazed over his workspace with pride. The one thing Anthony was always proud of were his creations. No matter how mutated they were, how mangled, mutilated or off kilter, they still belonged to him. He made them with his own two hands and when someone, even someone like Tony, does that…there's a bond that forms. Call it what ever you may, it was a bond to Tony. Not that he cared for any of the bonds he's created his entire life.
He will readily admit that he led himself into a shit storm when it came to that last mission, but how much could one tiny laser do to a- yeah. He figured he should stop that thought right there and then.
He was meant to destroy. He had known that at an early age, only 17, actually. He was always meant for greatness. If not for the better of the world, then for the greatness of media. Of tabloids wanting to get the orphaned, genius, not even legal, boy…just wanting to get a snippet of his life. Safe to say that he learned the hard way when and when not to punch a press reporter. But as it turns out? He may have been made for destruction, but no one accounted for him double-taking and fixing what he fucked up. Not one single person, it seemed at the time. Hurtful? Yeah. But who cares about shit like that, right?
So he decided to don this metal suit in hopes of helping rather than destroying.
So far? He's done a bang up job and for that he wasn't as proud as he was more…humbled. In a way.
Bringing the beer to his lips, he closed his eyes and let the liquid flow down his throat before humming softly to himself. "Okay. JARVIS? New file name, 0128402. Let's remodel a few things, shall we?" He mumbled and took his seat again, this time focusing on the computer screen.