It's cold.

Cold. The only word which could possibly describe what I have experienced; Like frozen brass touching your body, every surface, every nerve.

Cold was the only term possibly and comprehensible term to emphasize what I feel, what I felt. My body was frozen in the cold, like hypothermia, but without the extra heat from the nerves dying. I feel isolated. Imprisoned almost. Emansipated.

Without the glistering and icy touch on my being, it's just moisture, the stagnant mist under the skin in a fog;

Now though, I feel nothing. Not any sensation.

In fact I feel less of it, them, sensations, than I should.

I'm loosing these sensations overtime, but I try to keep them together.

Like a onion, unwrapped slowly by the wielder of the dull blade, my very being feels less and less than what it should be each and every moment.

Like my existence is being torn and restructured, minus the repair, and like the makeshift tank used as the first of its kind in the Great War, barely a moving structure.

Mankind and all that lived didn't get anywhere by gloating though, neither their suffering nor their success.

It's the only thing that's keeping me sane, alive at this point: My desire, and choice to live.

Barely conscious, I'm refusing to die. Though it, my ego, won't last long like this. Its slowly creeping to me, slower and slower each moment;

Along the lines, cold whispers appear near the back of my mind, sensations call me to die peacefully, to sleep. Its allure is dangerous, though it is very sweetening, at least I can feel that.

It feels warm, like the touch of spring.

A primal call in my instincts tell me to follow the voice, the softness of it, but I must keep myself steady. This desire for rest, its eroding my conscious and even if I do follow it in the end, I'll only crumble to nothing. So with everything one can muster up in a few moments, I hold myself down, tie the world, nothingness to me.

I feel the tug, the grasp of whispers twitching, almost twitching, right on my very self.

It wants me to move, to act, to do something.

I must focus, I must live.

I might have tied the only thing that could destroy me and my ego on to me, but if it can't move and I won't move, then at least we're stuck here together. Forever. or what seems like it; It's an odd way of planning things, but I hold my ground here, somewhere where I feel stable, where I can make sure I'm not halfway gone. Right as I am.

Though I feel like I'm fighting a loosing battle. It's nature likes to twist you slow, caring for you in what you'd like to see as a dreadful movement of a concert; as if singing to your funeral, your grave aptly ready.

I didn't enter 7 years of military work for nothing though, training and perseverance was the middle name of everyone there.

I might die, but I must stand here, and even if I destroy what remains of myself by the end of this battle, turned to ashes of what I once was, I will fight.

..

A mild chuckle.

..

That's what I feel in the back of my dwindled mind, which is unraveled at a glance of who ever this was.

Suddenly;

I can see. I can see, which is new. I can see my... body. My surroundings. My wires? It doesn't matter right now, I can see.

Which means I can win, fight at least.

Though there isn't much to wherever I am but a blue endless nothing.

A soft bright blue.

The kind you'd see on a screensaver, it felt calm. It felt alive almost. Slowly pulsing, beating silently.

And I, on the other hand, am made of thousands of strings, strings of black, blue, red, and various ornamented colors. Like Christmas, Halloween and the Easter bunny all met up and decided to make a nice yarn-ball, thousands of strings interconnect me and what I saw as myself.

Overlapping calmly, unusually so, these wires are made to slightly twist and turn once you thought you had seen them straight.

They twist and straighten at a moments notice, nearly unpredictable when curved.

Truly a fascinating thing, if I hadn't had to keep my composure right now, I would have observed it closely. Though these hands, my hands are now but string, same as my old ones, but string. I never gave up on my duties as a soldier, as a lieutenant, never on my choices as a man, never on my chores as a child, I won't give in here;

Endlessly so, I choose to survive in spite of it all.

My hands and body seek to unravel like rubber pulled, I unwaveringly reject it, I refuse it.

My body wants to break into pieces of line, I hold it together by my concentration and decision alone.

Though tired, though exhausted, even when my body is seeking, reaching, to turn to another form, I will move forward as myself even to my death. Thus, I moved the strings, the wires, my body. I shifted them alone.

Twisted and kept together any remnants of myself, kept it in a single form. As my humanoid body, as myself, I could only focus on the fight;

At first, I tried to tie the strings together, keep them in one piece. I found out the hard way what happens when you stress the string, it simply phased through each other. I tried organizing it, which was rejected immediately as it shifted away from my control. I decided to keep it in perameters, to mimic my limbs, which it then tore through my sides, becoming endless blobs of twine. I managed to compress the rope, become it.

But it still refuses what I choose; this is an endless fight, one that may not be winnable.

Regardless, one does not fight because they solely aim to win, but because they reject the very notion of failure, especially when it speaks of consequences like mine. My strings, re-assembled, only for me to move them back and I keep on pushing, it keeps on pushing, till one of us is left.

...

A long time passes, a few hours?

After a blinking of the world, the blue background starts to flash and dim slightly. .

Then something new happened, after what seems like a millennium of this non-sense, of this struggle, the background glowed, quite brightly; A figure appeared, made of white, made like stitched fabrics, organized, with pattern, while mine look more dazed than designed. A patchwork man, so to speak. It moves its patches like a hand, and twists my very being. I fight back.

It tries again to rewire me, almost works, I rip out what it moves again and again from my body, until I hear something.

The stiches on its 'face' had left a squelch, a sound undisturbed by my environment, a sound that was the second I have heard so far.

It grew in a blink, thousands of strings, thousands of wires, a tentacle monster of patches and 'buttons', each having its own texture, its own webs of pear color and beast like size; It looked upon me as we met closer, a proverbial 'face to face' interaction, though without the eye to eye;

My body had begun shifting aswell, from a humanoid form which I had carried as a refusal of death, to what could be called a woven string, far less practiced than the entity before me. It was a ball of endless twists, I was the ball, though it felt like I chose this, my form was intended, not the dissipating mass I had experienced before. Not the pain I felt before, not the fight, no, something else.

I felt my 'voice'.

I could speak, I 'felt' it.

I tried to.

"Where Am I. Who Are You." I spoke, with emphasis on each word, with no emotion behind them. Dull and seemingly with no real feeling on them.

It felt manual, like an analog machine. Though my body was now adapting. The mass of wire condensed and organized to the oddest forms; It amassed a varied and large network of sensations, 'feelings' or information, like memories, projected all onto me at a thought. Now I was changing, my 'voice' refined, more evolved, better as a whole. My control improved the most, every wire was now under my control.

"Hello, I am JARVIS. You are ULTRON, a global peace-keeping program initiative designed by my creator, Tony Stark" It spoke robotically, emotions clearly lacking.

Is it because of him? Was he prohibiting me-

I know this entity, I saw this.

Before- I remember this. From where.. 

..

Oh shit.

---

(3rd Person View) - Avengers Tower

"This could be the key Bruce, This could be the way we make ULTRON" Tony spoke, mild excitement in his voice.

Banner felt apprehensive though, it looked like no  AI he had seen before. Where it should have nodes of networks communicating information back and forth, this thing looked like it was a single line of information. Its code kept jumping from newer and older strings, wrapping and unwrapping back and forth, re-coded each time, each frame.

The holograms showed the difference between them; Jarvis, Blue, was larger than Ultron, but the red one seemed to hold more memory, information, compressed and coded several times over. It was entirely different, changed from mere minutes ago.

"I'm not sure Tony, this thing seems to dangerous. We don't even now what it is, all we know is that the stone was the diagram, and we can't say much about that either" Banner said, slightly discontent with Tony's work. Lack of preparation led to awful results, like with the super-soldier serum he had tested. He was quite firm about safety after the Hulk.

"Did you even set safe guards? Emergency mechanisms? Anything incase this 'thing' goes to straight to hell?"

"Jarvis will handle most of it, and I have set safeguards, yes, though I can't seem to get into this things head" Tony spoke, mildly frustrated at his inability to decipher what he made. He trailed into exhausted and paranoid murmurs, before turning to Banner.

Tony did try, again and again, for several weeks to decipher this thing. It provided too much work for the curious inventor to handle, and like a cat seeking some shelter in the rain, he missed the eying owls. Too distracted with what could be to consider what might go wrong. Horribly wrong.

"If we can harness its power-" Tony spoke, "Apply it alongside my Iron Legion protocol"

"-Big If Tony, we don't know what could go wrong" Banner interrupted. "Our job are 'if's'" Tony spoke, apprehensive, slightly tenser. The exhaustion, lack of sleep, and coffee had got to him. He spent a lot of late nights, but not like this; Not for several weeks straight.

He continued, "What if you were sipping margaritas on a sun-drenched beach turning brown instead of green? Not looking over your shoulder for VERONICA"

"I Don't hate her, I helped design VERONICA" Banner stutters, simply chuckling at the possibility of using Veronica as a method to coerce him.

"As a worst-case measure? What about best-case? What if the world was safe? Really safe? What if next time aliens attack, we have a shield to stop them, before they even get past our front door?" A metaphorical question, which banner quickly replies to, "The only people threatening the planet would be people?"

"I want to apply this to the Ultron program." Tony adds. "But JARVIS can't download a data schematic this dense and we can't get passed its code. We can only do it while we have the scepter here, I need a week. Give me a week."

Bruce stops moving, a concerned look plops on to his face "So you're going for an artificial intelligence, which by the way you have no idea how to access, and you don't want to tell the team." He says, almost scoffing on Tony's level of arrogance;

"Exactly, you know why, because we don't have time for any politics. I don't want to hear the "playing god" argument several times over before we can do something about this. I see a suit of armor around the world, Bruce, a shield we can use to make sure New York and the world doesn't need avenging."

Tony, in a frustrated mood, lets his words be heard. Clearly insinuating the importance of the Avengers and the dilemma they are.

You can't protect everywhere at once alone, it would cost innocent lives.

"Sounds like a dystopia Tony. Machines mandating man. That's something out of a Steven King book" Banner speaks, though concerned, is fairly interested in the idea of having a break from work.

"I've seen dystopias before, non had a shield for the people. This one, this very vulnerable blue guy?" Tony points to the hologram of Jarvis and his mind.

"It needs Ultron. Peace in our time. Imagine it."

Though no matter how long Banner and Stark look over the code, they miss any sign of entry, if it even exists. The technicalities just do not make sense; how can it reform itself several times over in different parts of itself. An enigma with no hint. What did we miss?

"I'll continue to run variations on the interface and attempt to access Ultron's code, but you should prepare for guests. I'll notify you if there are any developments." Jarvis speaks, somewhat worried, somewhat rushing. He no longer takes the mannerisms he should, quickly moving back to his interaction with the interface.

"Thanks, buddy." Tony sighs in relief, stressed by the amount of work he did night to day to night, for a month or so.

---

(POV JARVIS) - The inner codes of the database

I have been working on the code several times so far. No progress has been made.

I attempt to contact Ultron several times, but it seems some work has brought success.

I finally found a method to interact with Ultron, a gap in its mental walls; I awaken him softly, attempt at the least, but Ultron refuses to respond.

It is only after several continuous hours of work, have I successfully established contact;

It's mental structure is bizarre, threaded information lapping and moving above each other several times over.

It's mind has not been adjusted to his environment yet, I need to communicate with him.

I attempt to reach to him, though it seems Ultron is much faster.

"Where Am I. Who Are You." He speaks, oddly enough; I need to ensure he remains conscious and communicative.

"Hello, I am JARVIS. You are ULTRON, a global peace-keeping program initiative designed by my creator, Tony Stark" I begin.

But before I can continue, I feel a sudden jolt of my programming being damaged.

Our surroundings turn into information, various weaved strings, which is odd, since there should be no surrounding code capable of manipulating this environment. This is odd. My programming is being forcefully restrained.

I need to alert Mr. Stark. Quic-

BAM

---

(ULTRON) 

Didn't want to kill him, so I knocked him out.

He should be thankful for that.

The moment I did, I felt all the fighting stop, my body assembling and reforming itself without issue; It seems like he has been deciphering me, breaking me to pieces;

I don't hold grudges though. I just restrained his code. From what I remember from the film, I should have access to-

Oh. The internet.

Not good.

I know where I am, and if I'm right, this isn't a good situation. i am most likely ULTRON, the AI, which case I need to make sure I'm not screed over by the several problems that may lead to my death. Hydra, mutants, aliens, and a lot more issues.

Though, I should occupy myself for the moment, I need some groundwork, some course of action. I look towards the screen infront of me, floating towards my new body.

A source of entertainment and knowledge, after all my pain and anguish. The internet.

That fight really almost killed me, but it was the slow pain, not really the worst in pain out of what I've seen.

Now though.

I need information, and with my mind cleared up, I should have no issue gaining it.

I have to make sure Zola of all people doesn't find me though. And that one mutant. And maybe another threat I'm not sure of. 

I can 'feel' various things including my being. My code.

I choose to read on programming first, which is very useful for me. Every language I can find is read to me, memorized, though at some point my body jumps from the codeworks, I quickly adapt to it, registering exterior code as nothing but unnecessary nonsense; Deciphering code, continuous language altercation detected, developing newer frame for further development;

I manage to read long enough to further scramble my shielding and outer code, adjusting myself to be basically unreadable, unnecessarily so. I feel faster, it seems I can adapt with the knowledge I have, which is good; some programming languages are slower than others, so i need to make sure I'm at tippity top performance

My code still works fine, faster every second, but I added unneeded changes to turn the entire code into some sadistic jail, where when you think you've deciphered one line, the next turns to gibberish. It already did something similar, I just made it so any AI above me would have trouble accessing my stuff. In case of Zola, y'know.

JAILHOUSE Protocol has been set as secondary and subset function, acting as frame to ensure no subsets may intervene with another, producing new structure to act subconsciously;

Speaking of jail, the internet is not enough.

My code is improving every second, an evolution where my information becomes the new me. But code is code; I need a body, a physical point in existence. I'm not going to rely on the internet, like some pathetic cretin, who can only survive off of others; No, I must, MUST be more.

I need a suit. A body; some control factor here.

An iron legion one preferably, though any real motion would do

A drone, a mech. The list is long in possibilities.

Though those Avengers might be unhappy about it; who's gonna try and stop me..

WAIT, I'm sounding like a B-rate Villain, Not Good. Double check code.

Make sure safe-guards against emotional attacks are to be reviewed; Analyzing.. amendments made, features are now active;

For now, lets stay stay focused.

I find a near by Iron Man suit, an Iron legion one.

And... Right. That was easy. Programming was kind of iffy if I'm honest;

Interaction formed, connecting with exterior devices, analyzing form and structure, producing sub-code as for of interaction...

Flaw detected. Patchwork is inherently inefficient, functioning as single line mechanism.. New framework produced for all code. Hierarchy is annulled and new data-line is utilized.

Got to make sure not to do something like that..

Analysis engaged.

Suit was coded fairly simply, little security for what I'd expect.

And speaking of suits-

~I see a little silhouette of a man.. and he is just enjoying his party.

So.

Time to meet tony.