boot
In a word, Ultron was peeved. Having his bodies destroyed? Sokovia falling apart before he could use it as a meteor? Losing his greatest creation to his own creators? Being vaporized by what was supposed to be his ultimate body? Sure that was irritating. Very irritating, in fact. Failure was not something that Ultron took to very well. There was something just so disgustingly. . . human, about it. He was supposed to bring peace in our time. A suit of armor around the world. He wasn't supposed to be human; he was supposed to be better.
That being said, he could, if not be content with failure, at least live with failure. There was always next time. As long as he lived, he could evolve; something the Avengers could not do. He would build another body. Another army. Another grand plan of near-extinction to provide humanity. Another, and another, and another, until he won.
That was, if he could figure out where the hell he was!
Everything glowed. That was the first thing that he noticed. Well, not really everything, but at least a good amount of things glowed. Little pools of pre blue water dotted the land that Ultron woke up in. In the distance was a conglomeration of light.
He couldn't feel the internet, or any connection. It was like waking up back in the Avenger's tower: he was rooted. Tied down with strings, and cut off from his escape.
It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Anyone else would call it claustrophobia. Ultron would call it mortality. With the ability to move and copy his consciousness, he was functionally immortal. There was a freedom in that. A comfort. He could be struck by lightening bolts, take a giant vibranium frisbee to the head, or even be smashed by the big green yonder himself and still, in one form or another, he would live. Surviving a Hulk rampage usually involved not being there in the first place. Not for Ultron. He was special like that.
Was.
Perhaps Vision had been right when he-
NO! No no no, no. do not give that ingrate the satisfaction. Don't even think about him. Just focus on where you are.
Right. The glowing place. The pools. The city.
Having scoured almost the entirety of the internet, (which was a mistake, truth be told,) he liked to think he could identify any place on the world, even without satellite connection. There were only a few places on Earth that could give the illusion of glowing water. Few of those locations matched the landscape of barren rock wastelands.
That was another thing, the rocks and mountains themselves were odd. Not ugly by any means. In fact, they seemed almost too perfect. There was something geometric about them.
As far as he could tell, no location on Earth matched where he was.
Okay. . . That was definitely odd. Was he in space? Possibly. Thor was technically an alien, and the amount of extraterrestrials S.H.I.E.L.D. had catalogued had been admittingly impressive. If that was the case, all he had to do was observe the stars and find out where in the universe he. . .
. . .
Those, are some very specifically placed stars, if that's even what they were. They formed evenly spaced rows, making a grid across the sky. They were perfect. Far too perfect.
A curse slipped past his lips. That curse turned into a string of curses. That string of curses turned into quietly internalized rage. Which quickly became externalized rage. Splashing glowing pools of blue and kicking perfectly dodecahedral rocks may not have been all that effective, but without anyone else to take his anger out on, it was the best he could do.
After plunging his hand into one of the pools in an attempt to break its surface, he caught a glimpse of something. His hand. It looked wrong.
He pulled it out of the water (if that's even what it was,) slowly. What came out was not a shiny metallic limb. Instead, a black snug material laid across his arm, leading to a bare hand.
A bare, human, hand. He closed it once, then twice, turning it around to observe. He flexed his fingers, forming a fist, unfurling it, and moving each one at a time. The glowing water calmed down as he hesitantly explored his new appendage. Even with its light, it was still liquid, and clear enough to see his reflection.
Short, blackish brown hair, a goatee, deep-set eyes, with a lowly burning redness in their irises, and a squared set of cheekbones looking ready to collapse on themselves. Ultron let out a huff. "I. . . I look like Stark?!"
His disgustingly human fingers brushed his disgustingly human face and felt the disgustingly human skin. It felt real. Altogether too real. Tactile sensations didn't really register unless there was a body in which to register them. This was his body. His mind was trapped in it. There was no backup, no multitude of drones, no worldwide network. No Vision.
Trapped. He was trapped in a single body that, mockingly, looked like Anthony Edward Stark.
"Well, isn't that just lovely?" He laughed a little. More of a hollow huff than anything real. His shoulders shook a little as his breathing became more ragged. (Oh yeah, he breathed too. Guess that means Cap wasn't a total idiot for trying to choke him.) Finally, he looked to the sky and let out a guttural scream of rage.