( spam for Charles )

( Content warning for Holocaust discussion and imagery. )

[Spam for Megamind]

[He needs to clear his head, desperately. The post helped, but the anger is still there, will always be there, he thinks, because he hadn't told everything. He hadn't said a word about Shaw, about the experiments. He hadn't mentioned the Vanquish, though it might have driven the point home; those were things he didn't want to face, publicly. Not yet. So he's walking, avoiding people and eye contact, though his posture is probably enough to put most off.

But he sees a flash of blue as he passed the lab, and Erik's gait slows and pauses for a breath. Megamind, who he wanted little than to punch yesterday. He doesn't know what it is that turns him around, that makes him lengthen his stride.]

Stop.

'Springtime for Hitler.'

[Someone is supremely angry, but hiding it behind bland looks that say 'I am so far from impressed.' Which means someone is about to get a filling yanked out or something, seriously don't trust him when he looks this calm and is talking about Hitler.

And yes, in the background, one of Tony's little robots is playing the Producers. Well, one song. Guess which. Erik lifts a hand, and the tinybot floats into view, hovering in front of his face. He talks over the music, eyes focused on the robot.]

Is this what I should expect of the future? Will they take one of history's most depraved events, and turn it into a joke?

[The song's restarted, and a muscle in his jaw gives a faint twitch.]

Eleven million people died under Hitler's springtime. It sounds like a lot. It sounds like just a number. It has no impact until you see a room piled high with thousands of spectacles. Until you smell burning rags and bone with every breath. [This disinterest is quickly leaving his face, and there's just so much open disgust and rage there instead.] It means nothing until you learn that there are those who would deny that these places existed at all.

You know, I can't decide what's worse. That there are those in such denial that they can ignore the proof in front of their eyes - or the ones who know what happened, and still choose to make light of it. To make a joke of eleven million men, women, children.

[He lifts his hand, and the robot flips, its bottom facing Erik; his fingers twist, and it turns to face the camera, revealing that PROPERTY OF IRON MAN etching. The song reaches the lyrics, 'look out, here comes the master race,' and Erik's hand clenched. The robot crushes in on itself, and for a few seconds there is an abrupt, deafening silence. He looks very ready to murder someone. Particularly someone with a hunk of metal in his chest.]

You pathetic excuse for a man.

[And he is waving his hand to click off the feed. Tony you better make a plastic arc reactor.]