[He hears the movement of metal, feels it pressing against his technopathic senses, and knows without having to even look or listen that it's not Stark. The fact that he can even brush up against the systems, that they invite his over-tranced mind to dive in and lose himself in the wonders of Tony's work like losing oneself in the euphoric contemplation of a divine relic, tells him it's not Tony. Tony was a barrier against David pushing into systems when the man was around, just like David was to Tony.]

Well, I'm thinking this would be the perfect place to rebuild the Epcot Center. I want to put a shave us stand, two inches to my left, over that way.

[He chooses left because his right arm is still a mess of burns. But hey, at least the bleeding in his side has stopped.]

We're looking forward. Fate tech still sucks, it tastes like blood and wool and steel in my mouth when I touch it, but things are flowing. We're on a good schedule to get people out of here, provided teleporters and portal makers keep up their end of the quota. And I need more stabilization specialists who are willing to risk riding the train back and forth to keep it running smooth while spelling each other. But...

[God he's tired, and nearly swooning because this has all been so much and he's drained.]

I'm not leaving until I have every last person out of here. Now, where's my mojito?