In the city that never sleeps, Tony Stark worked the night away.

Bright lights made it seem like daylight in the workshop, and Tony bounced his left foot wildly as he bent over the desk to make some adjustments. Inventing was as effortless as breathing to Tony Stark—it always had been.

Avengers Tower was now a place that bustled with life and energy. Not that the structure had been particularly quiet before the Avengers called it home, but it wasn't Stark Tower anymore. Much of the time, this made Tony glow with pride—disguised beneath layers of practiced sarcasm and indifference, of course. Right now, Tony was itching for some alone time—a.k.a. workshop time.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., I need you to run diagnostics one more time," Tony said.

"Of course, sir," the AI answered. "Shall I increase the input to both receptors?"

"Yeah," Tony muttered, still distractedly tinkering with his new toy. "Oh, and J.A.R.V.I.S., if it's going to blow up this time, how about you pull the plug before then, hm?"

"Sir, if I recall the incident you're referring to correctly, you insisted that we continue that experiment despite my own words of caution."

"Don't sass me."

"As you wish, sir."

Tony stepped back from the table as J.A.R.V.I.S. ran diagnostics, hiding a smile with his left hand. J.A.R.V.I.S. had inherited some of Tony's personality, and took after his creator with a touch of snark.

New information populated the displays around Tony, who studied them intently. He absently folded down the hem of his t-shirt, smoothing the fabric as he processed the new data. Satisfied with what he saw, he smiled and clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together excitedly.

"Now we're talking," he muttered, picking up his tools and making two small adjustments. As soon as these were complete, he picked up the new gauntlet for his suit and smiled as the metal smoothly conformed to his hand. He opened and closed his fingers a few times, testing the flexibility of the new design.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., give me a burst at five percent."

Tony turned to face a reinforced wall—designed for trials such as this—and held out his hand, palm facing the wall.

"Absolutely, sir."

Tony noted the quiet whine of energy as the glove prepared to fire. A white beam of energy flared from the glove, hit the wall and bounced off, ricocheting crazily around the workshop.

"It is not supposed to do that," Tony yelled defensively, diving for cover. The blast seemed to slow as it wreaked havoc, knocking over a prototype suit and toppling a rolling work station.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up with a hint of urgency, "Sir, you may want to move. According to my projection, the blast will hit Dr. Banner's workspace before it loses—"

The energy slammed into Banner's workspace, shattering beakers and vials that sat upturned on a towel to dry.

Tony had started to retreat from his unwittingly dangerous position, but hadn't made it far enough. As glass shards flew across the room, Tony spun away and covered his face with his arms.

He cried out as he felt a sharp pain beneath his right shoulder blade. After the initial pain registered, a dull, throbbing ache spread across his back.

"Shit, shit, shit," Tony breathed as he tried to reach around and feel the extent of the injury.

"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned, "while the wound does not look life threatening, you may wish to seek out Dr. Banner for treatment. It is extremely unlikely that you are able to treat this wound on your own."

Tony sighed and fought the urge to roll onto his back—that would be a uniquely bad, and painful, decision.

"Where is Banner?"