"Good god, woman," Tony complained for this barrage of requests with a pained, lopsided grin for her trouble that didn't last long before Tony's expression was just pained and drawn. That was fine, he could do all of that; the bag of tricks would just have to wait for Tony to get Misty's arm back online. He tipped the sword back over to leave to rest on the bag and turned back on his bench to search for his fine instruments this time, and a new wire to replace the discarded one if the arm would have it. First, he had to figure out what killed it. "Plug that," he directed to the soldering iron next to Misty as he grabbed her limp wrist and twisted her arm to experimentally prod at loose-looking couplings through the fibrous mass that built her neuroconnections. "Got some friends out there, do you?" he prompted while he worked.