Anthony Edward Stark

Tony turns to glance over his shoulder when the screen in front of him shifts from lack of anything to bright green. He’s a little more graceful than Banner getting to the floor, but that’s only because it’s easier to be graceful when you’re rolling off of s bed and not busting your knees up in a dead drop.

He no sooner army crawls over when the windows are shot out and he covers his head as best he can.

It’s not the best of days, that’s for sure, though one might argue that it had been pretty great right up until a few seconds ago.

“Grandmaster! Show yourself!”

The voice, obviously, is looking for the original occupant of the penthouse, and it sounds gruff and unhappy. “Not a well liked leader, huh? Common problem no matter where you go I guess,” Tony shrugs as if he isn’t about to be shot.