You're in the chair again—having your mind electronically picked apart for Ultron's artificial evolution project. The chair isn't strictly part of the machine, just a relic from the offices upstairs, but to you it is a part of what you have to endure here. The electric chair, you called it a few days ago.
The seat of honor, Ultron retorted wryly, and then: No? The living room armchair?
Yesterday you complained vehemently, and Ultron was so sympathetic that you almost believed these sessions were going to stop. He's nearly as frustrated as you are. As much as he assures you at every turn that more data will paint a clearer picture, you get the feeling he didn't expect it to take this long. You've never mistaken patience for one of his virtues.
But today, he still guides you toward the machine. The only difference is that snug on the seat of the chair is a square blue pillow. When you turn to glare at him, he is offering you a smile that is all the smug pride of a child who just found a way around a teacher's rule. Because he knows the chair was never the problem.
What you hate is sitting still while Ultron stands behind you where you can't see him and tries to read your innermost thoughts. (He has given no indication that he knows exactly what's going through your mind, and so—for the sake of your sanity—you have to believe that he doesn't.) This happens for an hour or two most days, but powerlessness makes it an eternity each time.
Besides, there is no telling where he got that pillow.
You sit down gingerly, trying not to think about whether it's clean, and come to the conclusion that Ultron has no real concept of comfort. But even if you wanted to comment on that, Ultron is already talking as he sets up.
"I was thinking we could try something new this time. Something that lets your brain fixate on a pattern. That's its natural tendency, after all. It's a wonder you've made any advancements when your minds are so fascinated with repetition—looping endlessly on the same track." As he leans over you to attach the electrodes, he shoots you a smirk. "It's probably a learning curve thing.
"At any rate, I'm sure it will be educational to watch your mind map out a pattern. You know what's fun? Songs." Ultron smiles broadly and moves back toward the machine to get it started. You already don't like this idea. "They're so prone to getting stuck in your head anyway, right? We might as well make use of it. Do you know any show tunes?"
"Don't you have anyone else to talk to?" you demand harshly.
He stills, only half in your line of vision. For a moment, the only sound is the light hum of electricity. "I did," he replies, quiet and so heavy it drops your stomach.
If his cheerful rambling was unbearable, then his silence is terrifying. His voice has become not only a constant but also a sign of safety. If he is still willing to talk, then you aren't dead yet. The machine comes to life behind you. Still he says nothing. It's the silence that rings in your ears.
But as seconds creep by, you come to realize that you're still not in danger, not exactly. You strain to watch him, but Ultron has made no move except to shift one hand in a gesture that seems more pained than homicidal. There's a very real possibility that you hurt this maniac's feelings, which as you remind yourself is nothing to get worked up about. Still the quiet makes the inside of your skin itch. It's unnatural. So, very softly, you ask, "What happened?"
For one empty moment, you believe he has really stopped talking for good. Then he comes around. "The Avengers happened." He takes three quiet steps around the chair so you can face each other. "The twins—Wanda and Pietro—they were going to help me bring about this new phase of humanity. They had already started on that journey, actually, long before I found them. On their own. That was the problem, you see? Evolution, natural evolution, is so… asymmetrical. So messy. It lurches along, dragging some forward and leaving others behind."
He pauses, face tightening in a way that is too human for interlocking metal plates. You do not interrupt. "And humanity doesn't exactly have a history of being kind to those who stand out, does it?"
"No," you agree, almost inaudibly.
"No." Ultron crouches down closer to your eye level and gazes seriously at you. "See, I didn't have to convince them that the world could be better because of what the world had already done to them. But then—" His head tilts back, considering.
"They figured out you were going to destroy life as we know it?" you suggest. You can't help it if there's less bite in your tone than usual.
He chooses not to address that. "They were scared," he says instead. Quietly, as if he's mourning. "And the Avengers… got to them."
Ultron straightens again. You don't realize he almost seemed gentle until that demeanor falls away and he returns to the steel giant with a bright, mocking voice. "Well, I think you'll agree that's enough profound thought for one day. I feel confident your neurons got a fine workout." He powers down the machine and begins removing the electrodes one by one. You don't know how much time passed, but you're certain it wasn't a full session.
His fingers are cool on your skin as they pull the electrodes off in regular movements. It could be relaxing—but your thoughts are elsewhere. You don't know what exactly it might mean when the Avengers get to people who were working with a killer. "Are they okay?" you ask. "The twins."
His movements slow. "They'll be alright," he decides. His hand lingers in your hair for a few seconds before he withdraws it and comes back into view. His eyes are a soft glow. "It'll be alright. When they understand… they'll come back."
Ultron offers a hand to help you out of the chair. For some reason, you are wondering whether after your escape (you will have to get out of here, and it will be an escape), he will talk about you with the same heartfelt longing. Whether he will care what you've been through. Whether your absence will mean that much to him.
You take his hand.