Note: Some chapters have been re-worked to have more streamline wording/no typos. The rest will get done as time permits. If you see an error, feel free to point it out and I will fix it.
"Little angel go away,
Come again some other day.
The devil has my ear today,
I'll never hear a word you say.
He promised I would find a little solace,
And some piece of mind.
Whatever, just as long as I don't feel so:
Desperate and ravenous.
I'm so weak and powerless."
-Weak and Powerless by A Perfect Circle
Sins, smiles, shadows.
Desire, disappointment, despair.
Lies, loathing, leaving.
Colors flashed through his mind in torrents. Memories stripped to only the barest of impressions roared up from silence, reasserting awareness of the world. He gasped at the sudden influx, lungs deflating uselessly as thoughts slammed back into his mind. For minutes they blared, loud and high and demanding. Then the vivid splashes faded back into a tolerable murmur, leaving nothing behind but a sea of darkness.
Stretching infinitely before him, the void devoured all light. No stars were permitted to enter. The darkness was complete, and even summoned fire could illuminate naught but pale, taut flesh. It was like existence ceased to be: a true epitome of nothingness.
But something did exist there, suspended in the inky black. The void was both Loki's home and prison. At times, it was all he could remember. To think that something existed beyond it, beyond black, was ludicrous. Only in memory and magic was there something different, and even then it was just a hopeless mockery. He was never going to get out of the void. He fell in, and now he would stay forever.
When Loki let go of the spear, he had expected to die. It was a decision born of despair and guilt; it was supposed to be easy. He let go. He fell. And as his brother—reaching in vain, shouting his name—faded from sight along with his father—"No, Loki"—he'd expected the void to swallow him, to kill him. He'd expected his suffering to end. Everything else had been taken from him, and all he could ask for was the finale, a curtain closed on his unwanted life.
But in the end, even that was denied him. The void took the stars, the warmth, the air, but it did not take him. His lungs seared infinitely, but he did not die. Hunger hollowed him, but he did not die. Thoughts tore into him, fueled by the black, black, black surrounding him, but there was no reprieve; he did not die. It was supposed to be over quickly.
Loki gave a breathless laugh at the thought, his arms wrapped protectively around his shuddering chest. After all, it was truly hilarious how everything had gone wrong in just a few days. It had taken an hour of asphyxiating in the void for him to realize that he had made a horrible mistake. For all of its emptiness, the abyss was still a metaphysical plane of existence in the Nine Realms. It was reminiscent of deep space, devoid of means of survival, but it wasn't the same. He had screamed without sound when he realized just what he had doomed himself to. He had wanted to be rid of his sorrows; now sorrow was all he had left.
The first few days had somehow been the worst. Even though the world was nothing but a blur of intense pain, it was not as bad as the beginning had been; in the beginning, he still had hope. He'd thought that maybe he could die, though logically he knew it was impossible. Or maybe, just maybe, someone would come looking for him. His brother—no, not brother, but he wanted Thor to be—would barrel in with that damnable hammer, laughing and ridiculously forgiving. It'd never happen, but lost in timeless pitch, Loki hoped and dreamed. There were times that he had deluded himself so fully that he thought for sure he'd be rescued. When he wasn't, he twisted and strained, searching futilely for life or liberty. He would spend hours teleporting himself, envisioning anywhere that wasn't there in hope that something would click. But there was only that familiar feeling of twisting in his guts and rippling on his skin as he relocated himself to another expanse of emptiness. At least, he thought he moved. He couldn't tell when everything looked the same.
Then a month went by, filled with nothing but black and agony and black, and he faced the truth: no one was coming for him. He messed up one too many times, and this was his punishment—to float forever in shadow, denied any realm to call his home. Not Asgard, not even Jotunheim. Just the forgotten space in between.
And Loki knew what this place was doing to him. He was tenacious, using everything that he learned in his thousand years of life to keep his mind together, but it still tore his sanity. In the beginning, he recited poetry and spells, mouth miming the words. Then, when he started stuttering over the lines, he switched to thinking about anything and everything he could to keep the silence at bay. However, such efforts were not enough; even his running commentaries eventually cut off without warning, and he wouldn't realize it until something yanked the volume up again.
Too quickly did he begin to lose touch with reality. For what was reality when there was no sight, no sound? Robbed of all senses, lost with no direction, there was no such thing as reality. The years ticked by, taking with them his mind. He could feel himself slipping, sliding deeper and deeper into an embodiment of his environment.
Ironically, the first emotion to fade was Loki's anger. It wasn't gone, not by a long shot. Sometimes his fury overcame him so suddenly and completely that he spent days screaming and shouting and thrashing, mouthing every slight upon his person for no one to hear. But in between such explosive fits, he could no longer fuel the furnace that had led him to genocide. There was no energy, no drive. Holding on to grudges served no purpose except to allow insanity to claw at him that much harder; his hate slipped between the gaps.
Not that it really mattered when everything else left, too. His sorrow, his joy, his pride, his envy; Loki knew he had become nothing more than a mass of continual agony and blankness. When moments such as these struck him, when his mind was his to use once more, it was hard to feel horrified about what he had become. He still tried to fight it off, to preserve what he had left; Loki had always been determined and unflinching in his goals, and while the void robbed him of many things, it could not rob him of who he was.
'I am Loki: the greatest spellcaster in the Nine Realms. I am a genius who mastered the lost arts and am a walking library of all that is arcane. I am the God of Mischief and Lies, master of trickery and intricate plots. I am Asgardian-'
"Am I cursed? What am I? What more than that?"
Blue—rich in shade, like pure snow against a clear morning sky. Vile, wretched blue, roiling like sludge and thick as muck—exploded in his head. It gushed from the depths, seeping easily into his cracked and crumbling walls.
"The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it? Tell me!"
Loki struggled, limbs twitching uselessly as he fought to keep from going under. The attack was sudden, as they often were. He wasn't ready to fade out; he had just regained himself. However, as the blue pushed out the black—he wasn't sure which he hated more, which had hurt him more—he felt himself slipping into his worst memory.
"I- I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night? You know, it all makes sense now. Why you favored Thor all these years."
Desperate, he summoned his last defense for solidifying his senses. Magic drawn from his brimming reserves flared to life at his finger tips, searing his sensitive eyes. Illuminated dimly by the green glow, pale hands flickered in his watery gaze. The image was horribly blurred, but it was enough to discern that he was still disguised as an Asgardian. Jotun blue had not crept upon his flesh as well.
Such an assurance was hollow, as he knew no matter what skin he wore, he'd still be a monster inside. Even so, he allowed his magic to flare again and felt his bones tug his skin into a new form. When rolling eyes looked towards his hands, hooves greeted him, but the sight was unable to distract him from the truth, and he warped his form again. Now it was massive paws. Again. A scaly belly. Again, again, again.
Each new perversion of his body, each new lie, was accompanied by an increase in panic. The blue was still flooding his mind, bringing with it remembrance and revulsion. He wanted to hide, to forsake everything he knew he was—Jotun, monster, runt, worthless, abandoned—but there was no reprieve. His anatomy shifted one last time, returning him to his favored illusion.
"Because no matter how much you claimed to love me, you could never have a frost giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!"
Loki drowned in the blue. He suffocated, and it crowded, forbidding any thoughts from registering. Broken, half formed stimuli sparked through his neurons, but they received no response. Even the sensation of something wispy brushing against his skin, of his limbs being pulled down by gravity, did not register. When the world erupted into cacophony of sound and light, he did not notice. His eyes stared, glassy and unseeing, as his body hurtled towards the ground.
"No, bad Dum-E! Bad! Didn't I tell you to stay in the corner? There was a reason for that."
Dum-E, who had been brandishing the fire extinguisher, whirred sadly. He lowered his arm and wheeled backwards, dunce cap tottering on his head. Tony sighed and turned back to the project that sparked pitifully on his desk. It was the fourth one to short this morning... At least he thought it was morning. He didn't think he'd been working that long. It wasn't worth the trouble.
And yet here he was, still messing around. Each device, no matter how perfect his calculations had seemed, went haywire after being activated. The first one even caught fire, which was of great excitement to the overeager robotic arm, and half of the lab had ended up covered in foam.
Groaning, Tony swept the ruined device off the table and reached for an ever-present bottle of alcohol. He knew Pepper wouldn't be pleased, but then again, he was only working on the damn project because she told him to 'not piss off secret government agencies'. Personally, Tony thought she was trying to please 'Mr. Agent' who kept popping up at inconvenient times.
"Jarvis, why did I ever agree to this?" he complained, pushing away from the desk and slouching in his chair, half-full bottle dangling from his fingers.
"According to what you said thirty-four hours ago, sir," the ever-present AI began in his British drawl, and Tony knew he'd regret asking, "you wanted the 'pirate with anger problems to stop bothering you for making it obvious that his security system wouldn't keep out a prepubescent fifth grader'. It also appears that you are trying to convince Miss Potts that you are not irresponsible, though that effort most likely won't get you anywhere."
Yep, shouldn't have asked. Of course Tony had to program Jarvis to be snarky, and of course the AI chose to be relatively polite to anyone that wasn't him.
"Whatever. I'm done with this for now." Tony flung himself to his feet, and if he stumbled drunkenly, no one had to know. Finishing off the bottle with a few quick chugs, he tossed it to the floor and pointed to Dum-E. "Clean that up. And while you're at it, finish cleaning up the mess you made earlier. I want this room spotless when I come back."
The robot gave an elated chirp and immediately set out from his corner in search of the broom, though Tony saw how he lingered at the fire extinguisher. It was a good thing that little quirk never got programmed into Jarvis, or his workspace would be a mess... Well, messier than it was already.
"Jarvis, I want you to review the scans of the last test run. Try and figure out what went wrong, then correct the calculations. We'll try again later. After I get more to drink." There was a loud crash from where Dum-E was doing... something. "A lot more to drink."
"Of course, sir. And when Director Fury calls, what would you like me to tell him is the cause for delay?"
"Tell him I had to sleep or something. That's what normal people do, right?" Tony walked out of his lab, talking as he went up the winding staircase. "Damn man is a slave driver. I bet he has a little screen under that eye patch of his so he can watch us all suffer while he stands all mightier-than-thou in his fancy hovercraft."
"I'm sure you are right, sir," the AI drawled. "When would you like the next draft of 'All Your Base Are Belong to Us' to be finished by?"
Tony rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets, frowning as he kept pulling out empty bottles. "Why don't you- Ah, found one." He pulled a full bottle of Jack Daniels out of obscurity. "Hmm, let's see..." Tony tapped his chin in mock thoughtfulness as he made his way to the couch, flopping over the back of it and sprawling over the cushions. "You know what? I think I want to go out and party. Why don't you just get it done by tomorrow. You don't need to waste server space making it a rush job."
"And by 'tomorrow' do you mean later today? It is currently nearing three in the morning." Tony blinked at that. He could have sworn it was noon. He dragged himself into a sitting position, craning his head to look over the back of his sinfully comfortable sofa.
"Really? You aren't pulling my leg, are you Jarv?" But a quick look out the window confirmed that it was the middle of the night. How had he not noticed it before? The walls of this house were mostly glass. One would think he'd have noticed the absence of the lovely California sun outside.
"Certainly not, sir. It is 2:56 A.M., Monday." And look at that, it wasn't even the right day. Damn.
"Think there's any hot chicks still out?" Tony raised a hand, halting the insulting response that was probably going to follow. "Don't answer that. I'm sure there are. It's Malibu; I'll find someone. It's been too long; all work and no play."
"You 'partied' not even a week ago, sir."
"Exactly. Like I said: all work and no play. At this rate, Captain Hook is going to ruin my status as number one playboy. Jarvis, prep the suit. Daddy's going out."
Jarvis sighed—seriously, why did he program his AI to do these things? Wasn't the point to get rid of nagging assistants?—and started preparing the Mark Eight for flight. "As you wish, sir."
Turns out there was no shortage of girls willing to go home with the legendary Tony Stark, and he ended up picking up some brunette around five o'clock. Lauren... Lorry, Laura? Lola? Something like that. He was pleasantly surprised that she didn't vomit all over his freshly cleaned armor when he drunkenly flew her to the house. Luckily, she was also too smashed to realize that he nearly dropped her three times, but that's another story. They both made it to the roof in one piece, Jarvis getting his revenge by yanking the suit off while Tony tried to keep from falling over, and the rest of the night went by flawlessly. Everyone was happy with how the morning went, and those who wouldn't like what he was doing didn't have to know.
So, as always, Tony's nightmares had to go and ruin the perfect morning by startling him awake just a few hours after he fell asleep. He laid rigid in the bed, Lavender's (Lilly's?) arms and legs wrapped around him while she continued sleeping. Careful not to alert the woman to his distress, he tried to calm his breathing and get his body to relax. But when flashes of dark caves and fire continued to assault him, he realized it was a futile effort and untangled himself from his bed partner. Years of experience let him slip away unnoticed, and he trusted Jarvis to deal with his guest when she woke up.
Once Tony was out of earshot of the bedroom, Jarvis quietly greeted him and proceeded with his daily updates. Tony let the mechanical murmur soothe his pounding heart as he made his way down into his sanctuary. He ignored the trembling in his fingers as he typed in the access key, confident that a few hours tinkering around would take the edge off. And if it didn't, alcohol never failed to comfort him; sometimes he just had to drink enough to make him pass out. Healthy? Probably not. But it was better than the phantom feeling of hands and the irrational panic that accompanied them.
"Hey Cinderella, how's the cleaning coming along?" he called as he stepped into the lab, glad to note that there was nothing obviously wrecked. However, he could never be too sure with his oldest. Last time Dum-E broke something important, he shoved a million pieces of custom coffee machine under one of the cars. That, in turn, destroyed the car when Tony tried to take it out for a quick spin.
When there was no answering chirp, the engineer narrowed his eyes and peered around the room a second time. "Dum-E? Dum-E, what did you break this time?" Still no answer. "Jarvis?"
"I believe Dum-E has accidentally trapped himself in the supply closet, sir." That would explain it if the supply closet actually had a lock. Tony ran a hand through his hair as he went to rescue his challenged but endearing robot from whatever mischief he had gotten himself into. Tony paused before the door, hearing the faint, ominous clanging of metal coming from within.
"Dum-E, this better not make me regret refusing to donate you to that city college." There was no point in delaying the inevitable; Tony pushed down on the handle, leaning cautiously against the door as it creaked open—only to slam it shut again as a giant metal beam came swinging towards him. "Holy shit!" The door bucked in his grasp as the pole pierced through the wood mere inches above his head. "Dum-E!"
An apologetic vvrrrr was barely audible through the new peephole, and Tony banged the back of his head against the door. "Every time I leave you alone you do something! Every single time!" Dum-E whined again. Tony took a deep breath. It was too early for this, and now his curiously missing hangover was reacquainting itself with his brain. "I'm going to open this door now. If you still have the urge to throw things, I'm going to ask that you resist for the sake of my continued well-being."
Bracing himself, Tony cracked the door open again. When nothing tried to brain him, he pushed it open completely and took a step forward. He stumbled on a spilled-over toolbox. "Huh. I could have sworn I didn't keep tools in here. Not after..." Tony trailed off as his eyes finally took in the sight before him. 'Chaos' would be the first word that came to mind. 'College' was admittedly a close second. Dum-E bowed his head in shame from where he was tangled up in electrical cords that dangled from the ceiling tiles.
"Jesus, Wreck-It Ralph. Make a mess of things why don't you." If it was possible, the robot looked even more downtrodden. Tony mussed his hair again and picked his way through the wreckage to stand by his problem child. Putting a hand on the flat of the metal arm, he scoped out the best way to get Dum-E free without ruining the electricity for half of the house. "Alright, alright. I'll get you down from there. Just give me a second."
He had started towards the up-ended toolbox when Jarvis interrupted. "Sir, there is an incoming message from Director Fury."
Tony sighed. This day had looked promising just a few hours ago. Now he wouldn't be surprised if something completely obnoxious happened before it was over.
"I don't really want to talk to him right now. Can't you tell him I'm out defending the world from great evil and will get back to him after the dark magician has been defeated? And hey, Dum-E, hold still or I might decide to cut your wires."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, sir. He said that if you do not talk to him now, he'll force his way in."
"Killjoy. Whatever, let's hear what Jack Sparrow has to say."
A rough voice came over the speakers, contrasting with Jarvis's smooth accent. "Your pet names got old years ago, Stark." Ah, Fury. The man never did like Tony. Which was fine, since Tony he wasn't going to try and get the stern man into his bed anytime soon. "Have you finished the hijacking device you were asked to make, or have you failed that, too?"
Barely paying attention to the call coming through the ceiling, Tony continued to cut the wires that entangled Dum-E. "Ouch, that hurts. You're saying you don't think highly of me? And here I thought you were coming to me for help because you thought I was a genius... Oh wait, I am a genius."
"A 'genius' that promised me a way to fight the Doombots weeks ago," Fury growled. Tony could just imagine the glower the guy was giving his phone. Fate named him well.
"So I'll have it done by tomorrow. There's no hurry. Aaannd..." Tony clipped the last clump of wires holding Dum-E in place with a flourish. "Done. Now go somewhere else."
With a grateful chirp at his freedom, the robot maneuvered his way out of the closet and headed towards the garage. Tony took one look at the mess before leaving as well; he had no desire to redo the electricity today.
"Stark," Fury snapped. "Doom is attacking Washington as we speak, and we need to analyze one of his robots before the situation escalates."
"Is that supposed to be a subtle command for me to suit up?" Jarvis had already pulled one of the suits up in the lab dock, and Tony stepped onto the platform as Fury's voice continued to thunder from his ceiling.
"Just get your ass over to DC. Captain America is helping with the evacuation; your job is to take out the bots. It should be simple enough that even you can't screw it up."
Not bothering to deign that with a reply, Iron Man erupted from the house like a red and gold missile. Live feed and directions filled the HUD as Tony angled off towards the Capital City with his repulsors blaring. After his flight was stabilized, he appraised the situation on his screen. Most of the footage showed Spangles waving on a couple of terrified congressmen, yelling at the police, and throwing his gaudy shield at the few Doombots loitering around. Other feeds were focused on the bots that zipped around blowing up various important democratic institutions and mowed down fleeing civilians.
And Fury thought that two of his would-be 'Avengers' were enough for this mess? If he was still trying to get his initiation approved, having only two superheroes (one of which was still twenty-four minutes away according to Jarvis's calculations) assist with stopping the demolition of the District of Important American Functions was a foolish move. It made them look unable to handle threats. Or maybe that was his game plan. Make them seem as weak as kittens on their own, and then stick the five together for a villain trouncing lion. Tony would congratulate the man for his crafty plan were it not for the fact that, by withholding help, there were far more casualties than there had to be. But from what Tony could glean by reading Fury's files on the 'Avengers Initiative', the man actually thought his piecemeal team of heroes would be more effective in the long run. To be honest, Tony thought the Director was delusional if he thought the people he selected could actually form a decent team. They were all a mess, except for Rogers, and even he wasn't totally normal.
Because Fury kept trying to throw them together, they'd all worked with each other at some point, whether in combat or on reconnaissance. Tony even had the extra pleasure of dealing with Romanov as his creepy assistant. He can't say he particularly enjoyed working with any of them, except for maybe Banner, but they only did science together as Mr. Big and Green steadfastly refused to fight in fear of losing control. Not that he hadn't gone off the wall in the past few years. The irony of one such freakout was that it was the only time the other four actually fought side by side. They admittedly worked well together, though the fact that one of the Avengers leveled a small town did not help Fury's case at all.
"Sir, approaching active military zone. Switching power back to combat systems." Tony held his arms out in front of himself as he rapidly slowed. He turned his attention from the reports to the wreckage surrounding him. If possible, it looked even worse in person, which made him feel guilty for making out with Lindsey instead of working on AYBABTU. "Incoming communications from Captain America."
"Iron Man, we need you in the air a few blocks over. Most of the Doombots have concentrated above the Senate Office Building."
"Aye aye, Captain." Repulsors charging, Tony swooped towards the aforementioned hot spot, eyes flickering rapidly in search of an unlucky bot to blast out of the sky.
"Targets in range on your right, sir." Palm raised, a bright burst of energy smote down the closest machine before it could even turn around. Iron Man shot one more before the others got their act together and started baring down on his position. Silver masks gleamed menacingly. "There are four Doombots in your immediate area, sir, and two more are approaching." Another blast took down the bot trying to get behind Tony.
"What's the tota- Woah!" A quick barrel roll removed Iron Man from the path of an energy blast. He twisted slightly to keep track of the two bots that were trying to circle around him, but he had to dodge again as the clone in front of him took the opening. "Total?"
"There were thirteen originally, sir. Six have been destroyed so far by either yourself or Captain America."
"So more than half left. Well then, time to get busy. Jarvis, let's take this to the sky." Jets revving back up, Tony shot upwards to escape the three blasts that convened on his original location. Predictably, the bots followed his ascent, giving him a chance to knock another one down before they could return fire. Two red circles blinked on in the bottom corner of his screen. "I guess we got a party on our hands."
Five metal combatants chased each other around the sky, one accented with red and the others green. They ducked and dived around missiles and arching streaks of electricity, completely focused on the dance. One of the Doombots misstepped, and not a second passed before it was sent smoking into the cement below. Adjusting to their enemy, the other three tightened their formation, making it difficult to exploit any mistakes. They pressed in tighter, using their numbers to sneak into his weak spots. A few volleys later, a hit to the back sent him flying forward; he almost got fried as he tried to right himself. It quickly became clear to Tony that he was no longer the ringleader of this show.
"Yo, Captain. How are you doing on your end? Because my friends here are getting a bit edgy." And by 'edgy' he meant 'completely homicidal'.
"We're clear. Just finished off the last hostile, and non-combatants have left the area. Lure them down and we can finish this." At least Rogers was reliable, even if he was a bit (lot) of a spoilsport.
Not wanting to waste anymore time, Tony took the first opportunity he could to tuck in low, weaving out of the way of his aggressive entourage. He almost managed to reach Rogers before one of the Doombots slipped his guard. The superhero didn't even have time to say 'fuck' before the robot detonated right next to him. In a whirlwind of metal and limbs, Iron Man collided into a nearby office building. It took three walls to bring him to a stop, and the last one deposited a chunk of plaster onto his chest in retaliation.
"Iron Man, are you okay?" Rogers' voice fizzled over his speakers. "The last Doombot is being dispatched as we speak."
At least Tony didn't need to worry about getting electrocuted while he figured out how to work his legs again. "Oh, yeah, I'm just peachy. I love getting thrown through a building. Wouldn't be a good fight if I didn't suffer from internal bleeding while I was at it." Ah, that was it. Left leg operational? Check. Right leg? ...Working on it.
"If you have enough energy to joke around, you can't be hurt that bad. We don't need you for clean up. You're free to go."
Tony would have left even if SHIELD still needed him. He'd dealt with enough crap today. All he wanted to do was go home, get a nice bottle or two of some overpriced scotch, and maybe take a quick stroll in his sleek Saleen S7. No stress, just a nice evening to himself. Picking his way free of the rubble, Tony groaned as dented bits of armor aggravated already forming bruises. His gait was stiff as he followed the furrows he made in the floor back to his point of entry (the movies lied. It didn't look like an Iron Man shaped hole). "Jarvis, take us back. Keep the suit as level as possible, and no turbulence, please."
"Yes, sir." The thrusters activated slowly, and Tony was forever grateful for his competent AI. His flight back was uneventful; he didn't even give a bird a heart attack this time. It wasn't until he was in sight of his house that it happened.
"Sir, there is an unidentified object above your house." A small black dot appeared on the HUD, descending quickly towards Tony's beautiful Malibu estate. "Trajectory patterns indicate collision in the general vicinity of the garage." Garage... The sports cars!
"What? No!" Ignoring the ache it caused, Tony increased the flight power even though he knew he'd never make it in time to stop whatever was falling towards his unsuspecting cars. Speaking of which... "What the hell is it? A Doombot? Missile? Meteor? Hawk with a grudge? Come on Jarv, give me something here." Tony strained his eyes even as Jarvis digitally enlarged and enhanced the feed. Whatever the genius was expecting, however, was not what showed up on his screen.
"Is that... oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck." If he wasn't going fast before, he certainly was now, and this time not out of concern for his expensive vehicles.
"Sir, you won't make it in time."
"Shut up, Jarvis! Put more power in the thrusters!" The suit shuddered as it increased speed, but the AI was right. Whoever was falling from the sky would hit long before Iron Man reached him—and that's what it was. A person. A fucking person was falling towards the house at impossibly high speeds, and Tony would only make it there in time to scrape the bloody mess out of his garage.
With one last boost, Tony shot downwards, but all he managed to do was get a clear view of the man, now confirmed both on the screen and by Tony's own eyes, crashing through the roof of the garage and into the dark depths below.
Behind the mask, Iron Man screamed.