1963-01-25 - Tony's Right Arm
Summary: Tony checks up upon a secret patient
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tony mercedes 

Tony's been waiting for Mercedes down in his laboratory, security bringing her down after she shows her id at the front door. Not that he gets a lot of bad ass black chicks visiting. Okay, he gets some bad ass black chicks visiting, but they usually aren't headed for the lab.

He's got her new arm up on a set of vises, wires running from the attachment socket to a large set of diodes and a computer that only is about the size of a washer dryer, which for this period is essentially a microcomputer. He glances up at her arrival, "Misty! Just in time. Would you like anything to drink? I have gin, vodka, gin, gin and tonic, vodka and tonic. I suppose you could have just tonic, but it's past noon, live a little."


At least the transport from the hospital (maybe run by Stark or funded by them) was a private and quiet one. She was still housed within the facilities, but able to come and go as she pleases. But, she'd rather stay there, work on the therapy for her legs and other arm to become acclimated with the loss of her limb. Therapy for the mind, however was something that was highly ignored. People like her, black women like her, were strong enough to beat whatever ailed them. All they needed was to pray to jesus and he will fix it.

Just what she needs. Another man to worship that'll fix all of her goddamned problems.

Misty wasn't too plussed to see Tony. He promised her an arm, and he delivered. No matter how strange the man was. She felt like one of those little rodents in cages that the rich and famous like to test on. So she held a mild distain for him once she heard that he wanted to help.

"I don't want nothin to drink. No." She says quietly, clearing out her throat. Her voice was still hoarse, scratchy. Everything still felt raw and brand new. "So… this it?"


Tony would probably be more sensitive to her plight, if he were particularly sensitive or sympathetic by nature. He is not. He has become more self-reflective, yes, and more capable of seeing the error of his ways, especially vis-a-vis making horrible weapons that murder people dead. But he's still not exactly swimming with bedside manner.

But he is eager to show off.

"Yes. I've configured the sensors in the attachment to align with your nerve tissue - since the injury is still fresh enough, those nerves haven't died off yet, which means you can still use them tot control the arm, so long as I provide something that can read the information it communicates. Which I have," he says. "Probably take you a while to get used to the strength - I'd say you can probably punch a hole in a brick wall with it, no problem. You might crush a few door handles or break a few glasses in the early going, so try to be tentative with it," he says.

"And…it's going to feel strange. Very strange. You will develop a sense of it in time, but at first, you're going to be entirely numb in it. Eventually, as the nerve connection grows deeper, you'll gain a form of sensation, although you'll never be able to feel pain or have proper tactile touch - it'll probably be…its own sort of thing. To be honest, a lot of this is theory because nobody's ever quite done something like this before. At least, reputably or in any sort of public forum with replicable scientific results," he says.


Mercedes seemed almost non-plussed by his behaviour. While he was handsome and likely the most richest man on the planet, she was still untrusting. Which was as natural as a girl in her position could be. She moves forward to take a seat across from the arm, the chair scooting back just a little as she falls back upon it, tired and already winded from her little venture from the car, to the building, to the elevator.. and there.

"So, does that mean you're going to stick some doodad in my brain?"


Tony shakes his head, "No need for a doodad in your brain - your nerves are all the connection to your brain I need," he says. "I've also taken the liberty of adding some…extracurriculars. I understand your work is sometimes dangerous and, well, as Iron Man, I've come to realize that having an edge on your opponents is always a good thing," he says.

"There are sensors here in teh palm that you can press to activate them. I'll let you test them yourself, just make sure you aim it at tsomething you don't mind destroying when you do."


Misty looks down at what used to be her arm. There was nothing there, whatever stump that remained from shards of bone were skinned and sheared down enough for it to seem as a clear break. Even the shoulder is going to be mechanical. At least.. that was in the orders. And it was a painful order that she agreed to.

She was going down the list in her mind, her hair wrapped in a shawl that she's managed to snag from the hospital, her eyes, while not swollen anymore from crying, held a look of narrowed determination as she studied the arm from where she sat.

"Concussive blasts. And something with piercing damage added along with the strength yes?" She looks towards Tony. "Basically. I want the right arm of Iron Man. Sans missiles." She wasn't afraid to get dirty, that was certain.


Tony nods, "And you've got it," he says. "The strength isn't quite as high - being attached to your body, the level of force the armor carries would be too much and would end up damaging you as much as your opponent. But the repulsor tech is there and the bayonet," he says.

"There's also a canister for a flamethrower attachment if you want - all you'd have to do is load it with natural gas and you'd be in business. But that's up to you," he says.


Misty cuts Tony a grand stare. "You want me to use a flamethrower when fire is the way my arm was lost to me in the first place?"

Misty cuts air with a hiss of her breath, leaning back within her chair. It was clear that there was PTSD there with the way she bounces her knee, and even rocks back and forth as she stares off into space. "I don't want it." And that was that. It was clear Misty only wanted the tech because -that- tech was guaranteed to work.

"What else?"


Tony shrugs. He hadn't really thought about it that way. Again, not particularly sensitive. "I didn't want you to - I just wanted to give you the option," he says, completely unperturbed.

"You have the ability to 'lock' your grip around something, basically make it almost unbreakable. The whole thing is carbon-steel alloy, bulletproof, flame retardant, the whole deal. I added a communications rig which will let you pick up radio waves and project shortwave signals. I'll give you the frequency and you can give anybody you want a walkie talkie to pick up the other end."

"I can also upgrade to give in an electro-shock capacity, definitely by touch and potentially projectile. And I'm working on a synthetic skin covering, but it's…still in the experimental stages…"


Misty listens, her eyes never leaving the arm that she's deemed to wear, even to the wires that it was connected to and how it hung within. She glances down at her own lack of arm, shifting just a little uncomfortably, turning her body so much that it couldn't be seen, her hand reaching out to gesture towards one of the cigarettes that remain in it's pack.

"The application process. Is it painful?"


Tony gets his own cigarette, lighting it as he hops up on a stool next to the diagnostic area, "Oh yes. It's going to hurt. I'm basically going to be reigniting damaged nerves and making them function again. But it's the only way you're going to get the kind of motor control you're wanting. Otherwise, it'll just be a big lump of metal," he says.

"I can provide anaesthetic, though, or even install it while you're fully under. I'm pretty sure I have a breathing machine around here somewhere…"


Misty's hand begins to shake as she places the cigarette in between her lips, taking the lighter and lighting it with a flick of her thumb, taking in a deep inhale, then slowly blows it out. It was odd, he was taking a rather detached notion to it all, where others would be sympathetic. Kind. Caring. Doting.

She rather liked the detachment.

"I'll be fine." Misty immediately snaps out. "If you put me under you'll have no idea if you've actually connected it to the my nerve endings or not." Her jaw tenses as her thumb lifts, drawing the line repeatedly across her chin as she stares out into space.. "When will everything be ready?"


Tony smirks, "I'll have some idea, because I know what I'm doing, but I get your drift," he says, blowing some smoke himself. "It's ready whenever you are. I finished the final diagnostic a half hour ago. Everything should be functioning and ready to go," he says.

"You can walk out of here with it, if you want, although, honestly, you should probably get a car to take you home cause your nervous system will have a potential for seizure for at least forty eight hours afterward."


Misty shakes her head. "The man you assigned me to said I need to stay here." She was going home to nothing really, but a very quiet man who really keeps to himself. Family was out of the question. They were just.. gone.

"But if you say I can leave then I'll just do that. Leave. I'll be ready in a moment. Just.. get me an old fashioned and another cigarette."


Tony nods, "Makes sense. I'm glad I was more sensible earlier, then," he says. He takes a big drink of his own and pours another for each of them. The chair is set up almost like something at a dentist's office, with a vice to suspend the arm in place.

"If you want, you can smoke some reefer, too, it'll probably take the edge off at least," he says. "I'm saving mine for after. It impedes the fine motor control I'll need. But no reason for you not to indulge."


Misty leans forward, putting the cigarette down so that she could partake of the mixed drink. Which was damn near gone in an instant. But, as soon as it was, the cigarette was gripped, inhaled quickly, then exhaled.. put out so that she could at least follow Tony towards the chair of .. well, torture. This was torture.

It takes her a moment to slide into it, thankful that Tony wasn't the one to offer help, sliding back into it to fix herself into place, waiting for him to strap her down if need be. "No thank you. Let's just get this over with…"


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