[GLaDOS, Peter, Duo] Back in black.
Around the station, people fought for their lives. Shots rang out, punctuated by the occasional fall of a body, accompanied by the distressed moan of a dead body forced back into life and then torn apart by lead. The synthetic chirp of "I dooOOn't haate yoouuu," fading under it. Lasers flared across hallways, grids threatening to cut apart anyone who got too close, or simply didn't move fast enough; floors opened up, acid threatening to strip any unwary runners to the bone; dire fates, but perhaps preferable to being pressed back into service, like the erstwhile Aperture Science employees and scientists.
Everywhere, death threatened.
But Tony Stark was going to live. The new arc reactor flared, lit the room with blinding luminescence, and then dampened back to normal levels; Tony felt the same surge through his veins, tasted coconut and metal as the rush passed through him. He was going to live. The palladium wasn't going to kill him, and he'd be damned if a jumped-up maintenance computer with a few reanimated corpses was going to do any better.
"Revolutionize a way out of here?" he said, recalling what Duo had said a moment ago. He snapped his fingers at him. "Absolutely."
He grabbed a data cable he'd severed from one of the assemblers, dragged it to the console he'd separated from the network. Hooked it in, fired it up, slid screens smoothly over one another. "It's a nice trick with the zombies," he said, "but I think your aesthetic's a bit tacky. Let's try something in..."
He slid a quick series of images over to the pane representing the assembler control, and smirked.
"...hot rod red, shall we?"
He strode back to the assembler, leaned down and plugged the power back in and then swung himself smoothly up, onto the pedestal. He put his arms out to the side. The assembler burst back into life, metal appendages surrounding him, but this time, they didn't cut into the body they worked on. This time, they built around it, parts and circuits and mechanics sliding firmly into place, metal taking shape around Tony, scaled, layered plates of red and gold, chest, legs, arms. Finally, the helmet clicked into place. The assemblers retracted.
Iron Man stepped down from the platform. As his boot hit the floor, as if driven down by its weight, the floor lurched. The station lurched, dropped and tilted, like a plane in turbulence.
"Oh, come on."
Couldn't he have his moment, here? He'd been having a moment.
Everywhere, death threatened.
But Tony Stark was going to live. The new arc reactor flared, lit the room with blinding luminescence, and then dampened back to normal levels; Tony felt the same surge through his veins, tasted coconut and metal as the rush passed through him. He was going to live. The palladium wasn't going to kill him, and he'd be damned if a jumped-up maintenance computer with a few reanimated corpses was going to do any better.
"Revolutionize a way out of here?" he said, recalling what Duo had said a moment ago. He snapped his fingers at him. "Absolutely."
He grabbed a data cable he'd severed from one of the assemblers, dragged it to the console he'd separated from the network. Hooked it in, fired it up, slid screens smoothly over one another. "It's a nice trick with the zombies," he said, "but I think your aesthetic's a bit tacky. Let's try something in..."
He slid a quick series of images over to the pane representing the assembler control, and smirked.
"...hot rod red, shall we?"
He strode back to the assembler, leaned down and plugged the power back in and then swung himself smoothly up, onto the pedestal. He put his arms out to the side. The assembler burst back into life, metal appendages surrounding him, but this time, they didn't cut into the body they worked on. This time, they built around it, parts and circuits and mechanics sliding firmly into place, metal taking shape around Tony, scaled, layered plates of red and gold, chest, legs, arms. Finally, the helmet clicked into place. The assemblers retracted.
Iron Man stepped down from the platform. As his boot hit the floor, as if driven down by its weight, the floor lurched. The station lurched, dropped and tilted, like a plane in turbulence.
"Oh, come on."
Couldn't he have his moment, here? He'd been having a moment.