Another week taking meetings from the garage. The board didn't comment on his scruffy robe that seemed to have contracted mange by the third day in, but Tony could see it in their faces. Not that it was just the robe that had them losing confidence in him, but it certainly didn't help. Those meetings were kept short-- "If you're so fucking worried about money, let me work." The image of their skeptical faces would be gone in an instant, the screen dark for Tony to stare at his own skeptical face instead-- anger that had come out of nowhere that needed to be carefully smoothed away and controlled in just glow of his workstation. Let him work. Right, like he was printing the cash himself for whatever they needed funding for now.
He would work it out. He just needed the time and the room and he wasn't getting that with them hounding him all the time. He needed to focus on something that looked less desperate.
"JARVIS, how's that map coming?" His voice could have been the hum of one of the towers; low and without inflection. "Which, sir?" "File path Model X, Cytopath," Tony clarified, unmoving, knuckles pressed to his cheek with one finger rubbing at his brow. "Satellite image mapping nearing completion, sir. 89.7% complete." At the subtle change of light, Tony looked up to squint at the birds-eye view of Genosha presented to him. He couldn't bring himself to do much but stare at it, watching for changes he didn't expect to come. A wind touched the island, and at the satellites' frame rate the trees all pushed to the side one instant looked like the crushed nap of corduroy, and the next back to just trees. "Unidentified craft in zone H5. Recorded speed: Mach 3.2," JARVIS announced, zooming in on a freezeframe of the incident before Tony even realized he had caught it. The 'unidentified craft' was a blur, but Tony had his good guesses. "Tracking," JARVIS mentioned blithely as Tony just turned his back on the monitors and left a wake of dropped garments as he went.
A motorcycle. That was interesting. Quicksilver, Tony knew, could reach speeds well beyond mach 3, and now he was giving up even that for a relaxed 60MPH. Iron Man had reached Argentina barely after Quicksilver had, and their paths would have crossed abruptly if Quicksilver hadn't made his little pitstop. It seemed like this was going to be a little more observational than confrontational.
Not that Iron Man was particularly subtle. Gliding above the highway, making a few cars swerve as the drivers tried to make sense of what was above them, Iron Man matched the motorcycle's speed and awaited...well, something. This wasn't exactly the bomber's MO. Iron Man couldn't rationalize why he would want to blow up a busy highway in Argentina, one that was starting to look like a traffic jam up ahead-- maybe the Brotherhood was into random acts of violence now. Maybe they knew something about Argentina that Iron Man didn't. This was not likely.