propulsion | fade rift. inbox.

[ What time is it? Fitz isn't paying attention, but you can bet it's a bad time for a phone call (for normal people who sleep, anyway). ]

Okay, [ He starts, in that uncertain tone of someone who's only halfway processed the thoughts they're working on spitting out. ] What if none of this is real. Not as in we're all dead or dreaming or whatever, but it's — it's just VR. An advanced simulation.

[ A weird spiral to be having several months into the game? Maybe. ]

Okay.

[ Tony responds immediately enough to indicate that he was himself not sleeping like a normal person, but that doesn't mean he isn't tired. ]

Well thank you, first of all, for inviting me within the parameters of your solipsism. It's an honour. How does Poppell or other transdimensional Rifters figure into your theory?

[ Great question, let's talk around it. ]

One of the other Rifters said she'd experienced new memories, like a– patch. A continuation of the life she'd been living before she'd shown up here, except that version of her didn't have any knowledge of Thedas.

Say you've got a copy of a mind stored in VR. Updating the data with real-world memories could look like that, couldn't it? One-sided transfer, no physical impact.

Did Cedoux strike you as someone who comes from a world with that level of tech?

[ Yes he has read every entry of your stupid survey. ]

Or, like, from our world at all? Because then you're basing your theory off of an anecdote from someone from an alternate dimension, which is the thing you're supposing we are not ourselves in, right?

Or. [ The pause is self-conscious, solid. Sure-fire proof that he's completely aware that what he's about to say is, potentially, Not Cool. ]

Maybe she's not from any world. Maybe she's just AI that's been programmed to populate the simulation.

[ please don't say solipsism again. ]

Uh huh.

[ Maybe Fitz slid into his DMs for the express purpose that Tony would shoot the theory down, but that'd probably be optimistic to assume. In his own quarters, Tony pours himself a drink.

There is a minor impulse to put up a defense on behalf of any number of people he's grown attachments to while in Thedas, but to do so would be what he is implicitly accusing Fitz of doing: confirmation bias, and therefore, bad science. And also admitting he has feelings. No. Instead, he picks at another loose thread in easy reach. ]

And then we have to contend with the time discrepancy. And maybe I was kidnapped and put into the simulation tank earlier than you and missed out on a bunch of time, except the Stark in your world progressed, and--

Wait, do you think I'm an AI?

[ ! ]

No. [ Knee-jerk and dismissive, dovetailing into resignation. ] Maybe.

[ He's got the luxury of thinking it's less of a distinction than Tony might think. He's also got the luxury of knowing his 3am theories aren't just about one anecdote, which isn't a recipe for a productive conversation. Evenly: ]

I built a VR program called the Framework. It was initially meant for training simulations, but its development was absorbed into research on artificial intelligence.

[ Hijacked by AI, more accurately. Easy to justify leaving that out as staying on topic. ]

It's advanced enough to generate and implant memories on a massive scale. A whole lifetime, mapped out in seconds. Like programming, only it's just as effective on organic minds as artificial ones. The AI created by the Framework is functionally indistinguishable from human life.

[ Hurtful!

Not really, but Tony does press hand to heart to communicate something like it. Kid has more things to say, though, and some of it catches his attention with a sharper snag than before.

And then he has to decide that he also believes him, which maybe Fitz can tell is a conscious choice that Tony is making. He knows a thing or two about AI. ]

Okay,

[ he says, again, let's go for this stroll, ]

functionally indistinguishable but still finite. What kinds of data do you need that would disprove virtual reality? Crash the place. 'Cause [ he splays a hand, gesturing to Fitz ] I can believe? In a programme that could trick us into a simulation, but I don't accept we have the hardware to legitimately simulate a completely physical reality. Loose threads.

Well, no. [ He says, a little impatiently. Tony's got the current monopoly on god-like patience in this conversation. ] Because it's not physical. It doesn't have to be. If it's capable of sending all the right signals to the brain telling it that it's physical, that's enough. Sight, taste, smell, all of it. It's just data.

[ But that was a counterpoint, not the question. The question is disproving it. It's a great question, and the fight's grudgingly drained from his voice when he answers, which is passive aggressive for 'you have a point'. ]

I don't know how to disprove it. When I was in the Framework, I thought it was real. Even when I was confronted with data that didn't make sense. Which means it doesn't matter, because it's impossible to break the simulation from inside of it.

[ If it's not true, there'd be no proof of it. If it is, there'd still be no proof. ]

And because paranoia's not a solid basis for a theory.

[ So it's more like a psychosis is what Tony doesn't say out loud, because some part of him recognises that he probably needs some friends his own size and he could do worse than an engineer from his own world, even one who showed up in a SHIELD body bag.

Instead, he says; ]

Wanna see something frustrating?

[ No???????????? Is his first thought and also what his face says, openly incredulous. But Tony can't see that, so after a moment to grasp at composure: ]

Yes. Absolutely.

[ Said with the tone of obviously not, but fINE. ]

[ Field trip.

Not far -- the workshop spaces allocated to the Research division in the Gallows is right this way, and Tony fills the journey with some easy chatter, something something thaumoscope and adaptation of magic interaction measurements into more familiar terms, it all actually sounds decently interesting in spite of the delivery, but--

--it's not what they're here for. Inside the workshops, Tony unlocks a big heavy chest, and then takes out another chest inside to thunk it onto a table, and unlocks that, and flips the lid.

Staring up at Fitz from inside the box is the unmistakable shape of the Iron Man visor, scratched up gold, blank-black eyes, a partially shattered helmet. Next to it, palm up, a gauntlet of silver and red and gold, repulsor intact at the centre of its palm. It's connected to an arm piece, likewise broken and shorn apart just beneath the elbow, a loop of coppery wiring trailing off and curled around. ]

[ First thing: that's Iron Man tech.

That's exciting, even in spite of all the similarly advanced tech Fitz has seen or even built himself in the past five-some years. His brows lift slightly in surprise, but he very deliberately doesn't move from where he's settled in — looking a little grumpy, arms crossed, standing expectantly at Tony's shoulder. ]

That's— [ Something frustrating, Tony had said. He knows, logically, that this can't possibly be the end of the demonstration. Still, ]

Very broken.

[ Stating the obvious, but there's a lilt of real bemusement on the last syllable: it's really broken. Tony's been here for months. He built the prototype in a cave. He should've had this functional by now. ]

[ Tony takes out the gauntlet just to prop with, leaving the mask staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as he goes to circumnavigate the room in an idle wander. ]

Yep.

[ He fidgets with the metal fingers. ]

First thing I did on landing was try to get my comms back online. Obviously not gonna work even if I could power everything up, which I could not. I threw together a mini generator a while ago to see if I could jumpstart something. Nada. And even the generator barely worked as it was supposed to.

It doesn't make sense.

[ All of this is informational rather than complaint. He's already had his feelings about it. ]

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