His power's running low, the arc reactor flickering. Cold, rancid sewer water is rushing into the fissure at his torn up shoulder, filling up the gaps, rising along his neck in frigid fingers. He's been like this before.

Steve dares to stick his head into the workshop on a Tuesday which had so far been filled only with paperwork, and as soon as he actually comprehends what he's seeing, he kind of just wants to forget the filing and the G-33 forms and just stay down there forever.