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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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