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Hange was sure they hadn’t felt this excited since the Scout’s first stepped foot on Marley. Before everything on that trip had gone to shit, of course.
The Avengers Tower was surely the largest structure Hange, or any Paradian, had ever stepped foot in. It surpassed that of some of the City of Liberio’s tallest buildings—despite not even being the tallest in its surrounding area. Outside the city loomed, impressive and blinding, the artificial light working to make each pedestrian a beacon in their own right. It was a sea of noise and stimuli, the culmination of human innovation and engineering at its peak.
Hange loved it.
The inside of the building was no less impressive. Technology that not even Marley had acquired was strewn about casually. Devices ranging from metal boxes that moved them between floors with–what they assumed–was an advanced pulley system, voice and fingerprint analysers that gained one automatic security entrance, and iron cubes that warmed up food with the push of a button.
As it was, Hange was currently lifting a toaster in the air, watching as the metal rods inside gradually burned red with their face pressed inches from the slits. The new technology all around them was nearly overwhelming, and if Hange was going to make any headway through this engineer's wet dream, well, they should probably start small.
They’d figure out the weirdly sentient, severed voice in due time.
A stack of sliced ( Sliced! And it was packaged like that!) bread lay on the counter. Borrowed—as Sasha would say—from one of the dozens of cabinets in the kitchen. They planned on running a series of tests with it later, but for now they settled on shaking the toaster near their ear, listening to its components.
“Do you need assistance?” A decidedly not-so-severed voice asked behind them.
“Hmm,” Hange hummed distractedly, not glancing up from where they rattled around the toaster. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.’
The voice paused for a moment, hovering awkwardly near their shoulder. “I believe you are supposed to put bread in the toaster before turning it on.”
“Yeah. Got that,” Hange grunted, then paused, metaphorical light bulb dinging at the top of their head. “Say, what metal is this thing made of? It’s not iron–too light. And I’ve only just learned what steel is, but I don’t think it’s that either…,” they trailed off, turning to face the stranger as they rambled, before cutting off with a flinch.
Because the stranger behind them was not a man. Or, well, not any man Hange has ever seen before. Granted, they were currently holding a box that heated food at max efficiency, so, well, they were operating with a pretty open mind at this point.
The man–thing. Humanoid? Conscious-being? Stood behind them, head cocked. It had no hair, and was a strange, reflective red, with lines of silver curving around its forehead. It almost reminded them of the Colossal Titan, the red alarmingly similar to the bared muscle and flesh of the very thing that haunted their nightmares.
That train of thought didn’t quite stick, however. Because firstly, the Colossal Titan was, well, colossal. And secondly—they’d never seen a Colossal Titan wearing a sweater-vest before.
“I believe the toaster is made of several different components. An alloy known as Nichrome, which includes nickel, chromium, and iron, makes up the wiring, which is then covered by a sheet of mica. The casing is usually made of plastic or aluminum, depending on the brand. In this case, it is plastic,” the being responded, hands resting politely behind its back. It made eye-contact with them, waiting patiently for acknowledgement.
Hange could only stare, gaping like a fish. Toaster, severed voice, hell, even titans forgotten in the face of whatever this was.
They felt a manic flush rise to their cheeks. By the walls, they fucking loved it here.
Hange surged forward, grabbing the beings arm, uncaring as it blinked and stumbled back in surprise. Hange squeezed the limb—expecting the give of muscle, and being met with the unyielding force of metal. They damn-near squealed.
“And what are you ?” They exclaimed, barreling over the metal-mans stuttered protests. “Are you also nichrome? Or iron? Or steel? How do you move and blink and—shit, do you breathe?” They felt along its wrist for a pulse, finding none, they continued running their hands along the metal flesh.
“Ah well, my name is Vision and—”
“You don’t have a pulse! Are you really alive? I wonder if titans have pulses—was a little hard to check, with how huge they were and all—but how are you functioning? Is it like a toaster? Or the weird voice in the walls? How many more of you are there—are there even any more of you–?”
“It’s actually vibranium, uhm, if you’d excuse me—”
Hange rolled the sleeves of its—Vision’s—sweater up its arms, following the lines of silver and red, before grabbing the hem of its sweater and lifting it up to expose a surprisingly sculpted torso. “You have a name, and muscle mass, and your voice is masculine. Are you male? Do you have genitals? Can I check?”
They went to reach for the waistband of its–his?--slacks, when tendrils of red light webbed around their wrists, locking them together before wrenching them nearly two meters backwards.
Hange blinked, thrown–literally–out of their ramble. They stared at the floor, where the bottom of their boots had left two long skid marks, then to their wrists, still wrapped in red light.
“It’s a bit invasive to ask all these questions to a man you’ve just met, don’t you think?” An accented voice asked, its owner sidling up next to Vision. She was about Hange’s own height, with reddish-brown hair. The same tendrils of red that held Hange’s wrist were floating loosely through the fingers of her own hand. Hange could peek out the crimson glow of her eye through the venomous glare.
Red eyes and red light and red hair next to a red man. Hange would have pointed out the trend if they didn’t get the distinct impression the woman would throw them through one of the many windows if they did.
“Ah! So he is a man!” They couldn’t help but declare, wincing as the light tightened around them. “My apologies, I get a little excited sometimes,” they laughed, the sound stuttering out pathetically at the woman’s continuous glare. “My name is Hange Zöe! You can call me Hange! I would shake your hand but I’m a tad bit preoccupied right now.”
Vision had been busy fixing his crumpled sweater up until this point. “Ah… nice to meet you, Hange. I am Vision, I don’t know if you heard me over…everything.” He turned to the woman beside him, his face softening. “Thank you, Wanda. I think you can let our guest go now, though.”
Wanda raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure, Vizh?” She asked quietly, and released Hange at Vision’s sound nod.
Hange watched the light dissipate from their wrist in silent awe. They rotated the limb as it disappeared, there weren’t any marks, nor any other residue from the forceful light. Nothing mechanical that they could see. Another mystery, then.
They still had questions, hypothesis’ about both Vision and Wanda flitting through their mind like the pages of a well-read book. But they remembered a stuttered warning from Moblit, several years prior, about their intensity in the face of discovery. A sentiment repeated by Levi in much blunter terms, and decided to take a deep breath, filing research away for later.
Normal people conversation it is, then.
“Vizh! I like that nickname,” they chirp, rocking back and forth on their heels. “I don’t have many nicknames myself, although I have a friend back home who calls me Four-Eyes.”
“Four-eyes? But you only have one eye?” Vision asked, tilting his head. Oh, Sina. He was like a lost puppy. “Moreover, prior to the loss of your eye—assuming it was lost, and not a birth defect—you would still maintain the average number of eyes, which is two?”
Hange barked out a laugh. Doubling over as they cackled. “Oh-ho, you’re funny! I like you!”
Vision looked to Wanda for help. “It’s slang, Vizh. For people who wear glasses. The frames are the other two eyes.”
“Oh, I understand.” He did not understand. “Would it be appropriate, then, to designate Mr. Stark with the name ‘Four-Eyes’ when he wears his sunglasses?”
Wanda snorted, stifling the sound with her hand as her shoulders shook. “Yes, Vizh. You should call him that the next time you see him with those awful shades.”
Hange took the diminishing tension as a sign of good will, and began making long strides towards the couple. They were still thinking about the light that threw them across the room, trying to wrap their head around the mechanics of it, sending glances to the marks on the floor. They began to skip in excitement.
Wanda tensed as they approached, ready to protect Vision from grabby, invasive hands. Hange wasn’t looking at Vision, they beelined to Wanda, grin on their face, and gripped her shoulders. Wanda blinked at them.
“Now that we’re done with introductions,” Hange said, face flushed. “ Please tell me how you did that thing with your hands.”