The scattershot method of Ghost's memory occasionally raised corpses from his past that he found impossible to put down. Like one Tony Stark, one Iron Man, one red and gold and gleaming and grand and posturing and proud fallen angel and his personal, original nemesis.
The man who'd made him face his own existence, years ago that sometimes felt like centuries, and sometimes felt like days.
Sometimes he felt like he'd left so much of himself in his own dimension that he should just lay down in some remote location, and close his eyes, and let it take him home.
But the fire in him would not let him rest, the hellfire mirrored in his eyes, in the slit and cold eyes of that iron mask that he remembered. The mask he half expected to see as he slipped silently into Tony's house. He'd already forgotten his offer of a mercy death, but he hadn't forgotten the way to Tony's place--his suit did most of his thinking for him, now, though it was in need of repairs--the vocal apparatus now dipped and rose in uncertain pitch and crackle, one lense cracked, though it still blazed with stubborn function.
It was only a matter of time before burnout. Entropy to all cores. A cold chaos from order, {total system shutdown}.
But not yet. There was work to be done. There was a war to be won.
no subject
The man who'd made him face his own existence, years ago that sometimes felt like centuries, and sometimes felt like days.
Sometimes he felt like he'd left so much of himself in his own dimension that he should just lay down in some remote location, and close his eyes, and let it take him home.
But the fire in him would not let him rest, the hellfire mirrored in his eyes, in the slit and cold eyes of that iron mask that he remembered. The mask he half expected to see as he slipped silently into Tony's house. He'd already forgotten his offer of a mercy death, but he hadn't forgotten the way to Tony's place--his suit did most of his thinking for him, now, though it was in need of repairs--the vocal apparatus now dipped and rose in uncertain pitch and crackle, one lense cracked, though it still blazed with stubborn function.
It was only a matter of time before burnout. Entropy to all cores. A cold chaos from order,
{total system
shutdown}.
But not yet. There was work to be done. There was a war to be won.
"Starkkk. You cal##d me... I came."