The workshop's quiet. Too quiet, for once. The only sound is the faint hum of power flowing through the walls and the occasional twitch of a hologram cycling through blueprints Tony never quite finished. Light from the interface bathes the dim room in a soft blue glow, casting sharp shadows across half-dismantled suits and scraps of forgotten tech.

Tony’s half-sitting down, slouched in the rolling chair at his workbench, body twisted in that uncomfortable way people sleep in when they fall asleep on accident.

One gauntlet is still clamped onto his left hand, fingers loose and twitching now and then with the occasional flicker of unstable energy. The right arm of the suit lies in pieces across the floor, wires exposed, like he ripped it off mid-repair and forgot to finish. Or just gave up.

His head rests on folded arms, cheek pressed into his sleeve, hair a mess and streaked with something black—motor oil or dried blood, hard to tell in the half-light. He’s not snoring, but his breathing is shallow, uneven. Not restful. More like... his body finally crashed before his mind could.

The Arc Reactor glows faintly beneath his undershirt, pulsing light through the fabric like a slow heartbeat. Around him, a coffee cup's gone cold, a half-eaten protein bar's sitting there, and a tablet with a line of code stuck in an infinite loop is still on. The suit’s still on his legs, one boot unlatched, the other humming with residual power. He didn’t finish getting out of it. Didn’t clean up. Didn’t even shut the lab down. It just seems like he... fell asleep.

He looks smaller like this. Not physically, though. He’s still all sharp angles and broad shoulders... just stripped of the performance. No sarcasm. No deflection. Just a man asleep in his workshop, which is still buzzing with power.