for sudo_run_clu: Execute Program
It was a whim, really. The old arcade up on the market probably would have escaped his notice if not for the tiny details a little semi-automatic research flagged up. The place had been closed for years, but still drawing power from the city grid. Far more power, actually, than could be accounted for, unless something or somebody was living or working there- and if it was a place of work, it was hardly ever vacated. Not that unusual, perhaps, but unusual enough considering a few mostly-forgotten rumours that Extremis pulled up when he started thinking about just how unusal it could be.
So Tony bought the arcade.
A month later, when things at Stark Industries were going through a relatively quiet patch, he remembered about it. Sometimes he got concerned, wondering if the Extremis selectively supressed memories to make him more effective at the job he'd programmed it to do: become Iron Man inside and out- and this was one of those times. Remembering the arcade just as he started to get bored seemed a little more than co-incidence.
Partially to quash the growing feeling of unease, and partially because he'd been a fan of the game, he found himself heading down there, driving his own car and giving security the slip. Tony Stark Plays Ancient Video Games didn't exactly fit into the current corporate image the company was trying to promote, after all.
Immediately on entering the musky, abandoned arcade, he became aware of something. Something on, in the unintentional museum of forgotten diversions. Something active. A system- a closed system, humming in the air, like the taste of petrol fumes long after the car's gone.
Closed systems always were an irresistable challenge for a man as interactive, as sociable as Tony Stark.
It wasn't difficult to find, with access to the building's schematics, the distribution of power on site. It hardly felt like it took enough time at all to find the hallowed, dusty hideout. Too easy. He rejected the slowly swelling suggestion that he was meant to find the place, that the equipment had been laid out for him. He was paranoid, now, he reminded himself. Egotistical and paranoid, with the ability to find enough evidence to support any kind of link and pattern he imagined now that he had the entirety of the internet a thought away. His fingers ran slowly through the dust covering the still-powered machinery as his enhanced systems felt their way through the dross- and then he found his way in.
The item of equipment identified itself as a 'digitizer'- but Tony wasn't interested in that, or any of the other identifying data packets it attempted to ping back at him. What he was interested in was a particular set of subroutines that were open for access.
It wasn't like sliding into the Stark mainframe. It wasn't like sectioning off a corner of his mind to process a set of security camera feeds or running his thoughts on two tracks. It was like falling and being sick and turning inside-out, all at the same time- an overwhelming white screech of incomprehensible information- and then, for what felt like forever, Tony couldn't feel anything at all.
So Tony bought the arcade.
A month later, when things at Stark Industries were going through a relatively quiet patch, he remembered about it. Sometimes he got concerned, wondering if the Extremis selectively supressed memories to make him more effective at the job he'd programmed it to do: become Iron Man inside and out- and this was one of those times. Remembering the arcade just as he started to get bored seemed a little more than co-incidence.
Partially to quash the growing feeling of unease, and partially because he'd been a fan of the game, he found himself heading down there, driving his own car and giving security the slip. Tony Stark Plays Ancient Video Games didn't exactly fit into the current corporate image the company was trying to promote, after all.
Immediately on entering the musky, abandoned arcade, he became aware of something. Something on, in the unintentional museum of forgotten diversions. Something active. A system- a closed system, humming in the air, like the taste of petrol fumes long after the car's gone.
Closed systems always were an irresistable challenge for a man as interactive, as sociable as Tony Stark.
It wasn't difficult to find, with access to the building's schematics, the distribution of power on site. It hardly felt like it took enough time at all to find the hallowed, dusty hideout. Too easy. He rejected the slowly swelling suggestion that he was meant to find the place, that the equipment had been laid out for him. He was paranoid, now, he reminded himself. Egotistical and paranoid, with the ability to find enough evidence to support any kind of link and pattern he imagined now that he had the entirety of the internet a thought away. His fingers ran slowly through the dust covering the still-powered machinery as his enhanced systems felt their way through the dross- and then he found his way in.
The item of equipment identified itself as a 'digitizer'- but Tony wasn't interested in that, or any of the other identifying data packets it attempted to ping back at him. What he was interested in was a particular set of subroutines that were open for access.
It wasn't like sliding into the Stark mainframe. It wasn't like sectioning off a corner of his mind to process a set of security camera feeds or running his thoughts on two tracks. It was like falling and being sick and turning inside-out, all at the same time- an overwhelming white screech of incomprehensible information- and then, for what felt like forever, Tony couldn't feel anything at all.