Re: log: Tony's Super Secret Facility
Bucky’s response to Tony’s threat made Tony grin in a quick, silent laugh that was completely honest, a little flash that made his eyes sparkle in the most brief way. It was gone by the time Bruce shot him a hard look, which he met with the most innocent of expressions. The technology that mirrored his face on the helmet made it seem as if the faceplate wasn’t there at all, and the lines of his Mephistophelean facial hair crease up under the shadow of his brow as he turned his attention down to the wound itself. He waited patiently through the pause while the soldier thought and bled. Tony wouldn’t have to aim. He wouldn’t even have to move his arm. The suit did all of that for him. In this suit, with him in it, if he decided to kill someone, he could do it. Immediately.
Iron Man wasn’t allowed within a ten mile radius of the White House, no matter how many patriotic performances he put on. He wouldn’t be allowed within fifty if they had any idea of his real capabilities.
At the scan request, Tony raised both eyebrows. He pretended that he hadn’t done several scans already. He was very good at pretending. One hand came up and he tapped the side of his helmet with an innocent little ping sound. The transparent faceplate went opaque once again, the lines of Iron Man’s eyes a faint glow of angular lines, the familiar features once more stoic and robotic. For appearance’s sake, he let a thin stream of blue light, which he used for targeting, draw a moving line up Bucky’s body and back down again. He didn’t show any particular embarrassment about the situation either, having been in too many battlefields to comment.
Very faint echoes inside the helmet suggested that Tony was having a conversation with JARVIS about the rendering, but the suit was good at concealing sound when Tony didn’t want it to be heard.
He stepped up a little closer to the end of the bed, and casually projected a fully three-dimensional image of Bucky’s body, the skin transparent, the foreign objects highlighted with a brighter blue glow than the rest. The organs and muscles were fainter lines so that the circulation and bullet fragments were more clear. He had perfected this technology to treat his own injuries. The extent of Bucky’s metal arm was clear along his back and shoulders, and Tony had long-since noted the differences between this hunk of metal and the one he had been working with for months. In comparison with what he had been upgrading, this thing was like a classroom calculator. The processor was just about as complex.
“Naturally,” he replied. “You don’t have anything giving off external signals right now, and nothing you’ve got operating is communicating with satellites or cellular signals. And even if they were,” he added, casually, “it wouldn’t work in here.”