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Well, that was an interesting week. It's not something Tony is used to, pretending to be other people. (Dr. Samson might vocally disagree, but he isn't here. Nyah.) Even when those people are himself.

Still, it didn't go too badly, Tony thought, as far as he could tell. Some SHIELD disguise techniques to cover up the differences between himself and his alternate, a press conference, a few talk shows... Simple. Uncomplicated. Unlikely to lead to a divisive conflict in the superhero community, and ultimately the death of one of his best friends --

...er.

Right. It didn't go too badly, as far as he could tell. But now that everything (and everyone's parts) was back in its proper place, it seemed a good time to check up on the younger him, and see if that was an accurate assessment. Ring, ring.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Another day, Another dollar. Not to mention another terrorist group, another mile of red tape, another supervillain, another migraine, another shouting match, another... another everything.

Another sleepless night in Stark Tower, accompanied by a bottle of ginger ale and a few dozen news stations playing inside his head, elbow-deep in paper and trying to make sure this brave new world he's helped create doesn't go any more wrong than it already has.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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We could say it's been a busy week for Tony, but that really doesn't mean anything -- all his weeks are busy, these days. And it's almost half a week beyond when he'd hoped, that he finally has a couple hours free. Usually, he might spend these at home, or in R&D working on new designs (for anything and everything -- a mini-stapler that can punch through an NYC phonebook, anyone?), but this time, he has it set aside for something else.

Using his PIN (the suit, for some reason, refuses point blank to have anything to do with anything cross-dimensional), he runs a search for a particular number he'd saved a few days ago. And hoping the call will connect across universes -- not entirely, still trusting technology that isn't his -- he calls Jessica.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Data's being collected on the portal appearances, at least in the Helicarrier. (Yes, plural. About half a dozen more, since the first time. Most of them with me.) There's a traceable energy signature, it's just a matter of scanning for it, preferably before I walk through the door.

We still haven't been able to neutralise them, though. I've got some good people on it, but they aren't the best -- Reed's off with Sue still, after all, and Hank... is needed on other projects.

Like refining the SPIN tech.

I'm almost thankful for the Nexus, for the possible warning -- some version of Bruce (looking for all the world like some barbarian warlord) that's captured some version of me. Somehow. Of course, there's an excellent chance that it's somewhere extremely (or even not-so-extremely) diverged from our Earth...

But we do know, in our universe, that his ship didn't arrive on the right planet. And two plus two is more than enough reason to worry.