[Fridayd is quick to reassure MiaD that it's going to be all right— the suit is calibrated to observe and correct for passengers, thanks to Tony Stark's tendency to pick them up in his numerous and colorful heroic endeavors. It's a wireless transmission from the Iron Man helmet to the little cat, some weird interface and juxtaposition of reality that would be hard for most people to understand.

Tony doesn't really get it, himself. He thinks about cutting up people's organic minions sometimes, but that would seem ruder than even he has the stomach for lately.

So he simply lifts her off the ground, the repulsors in his boosts powering up, intensifying, brightening, bearing him into the air in a gentle vertical pulse of motion.] I don't know those people, [he tells her, honestly. Better than false hope.] And Fridayd isn't logging any recognition on that list. But we'll put out a call after we get you to the hospital.

And goals are, no matter what, you're going to get back to them again. Welcome to Xistentia, Thea.