I want to die. It's not that I want to just keel over, but since we're all going to die anyway, I promised myself something. When I die, it will not be merely because I have lived a full life and my time is up, but instead it will be because in the end, I was something extraordinary. Because of this, my policy has always been that when I go down, I'm going to go down with a show. I know it sounds ridiculous, and truth be told, my story will probably end sooner because of it.
If you want to understand my reasoning, think of it like this: in your favorite TV show, you have a favorite character. If that character dies while the show is still running, you'll be upset and maybe in future seasons let out a "This would've been so much better if so-and-so were still alive!" If they ride off into the sunset with a happily ever after then who cares? It all boils down to wanting to be remembered in the long run.
I suppose where this becomes a problem is at the Comic-Con in New York. There are nearly ten thousand people filling the halls, in an atomic explosion of geeks and nerds. After a long day of meshing, it's time to go home, and I can't say I'm too sad about it.
Of all the Comic-Cons I've been to, this one has not been the best. To begin, I forgot that the panel I came to see was canceled. So, I went to see another one, and I spent the entirety of the time crushed by a sweaty, hairy guy in a Slave Leia cosplay who looked like he could devour thirteeen burritos in a minute. Judging from the way he smelled, it's possible he already had.
Now that the day is finally over, there's a huge line to get out. Evidently, no one got the idea to leave before the rush, myself included. I'm somewhere toward the back of the crowd, waiting patiently, if a definition of "patience" is "endlessly pleading 'someone kill me now.'" To make matters worse, guess who just shoved his way in front of me: I'll give you a hint, he smells like Chipotle. "This is not how I want to die," I mumble under my breath before turning to the person behind me. "Hey, do you want to get ahead of me?" I offer.
As we're switching in line, a murmur begins to ripple through the crowd, with undertones of anxiety. Slowly, the murmur turns into words: "What's going on?" "The door's locked." "Someone locked us in!" What started as a murmur, soon turns to a rumble. "Let us out!" "Come on! I have work tomorrow!" "Where's my salt? I need to protect us from the demon!"
I have my own confusions, of course, but mostly I'm irritated to have to be stuck in this nightmare for who knows how long. I can't help but think to myself, You know, if push comes to shove, we could use Sumo-sized Slave Leias to break down the door...
The volume of the crowd increases to a deafening roar, thundering with rage and panic. Then, without warning, the power goes out. A few people scream; I'm pretty sure one of them was Man-booburitto Leia. There's a click and the crowd goes silent, as a blinding light is suddenly shining directly into my eyes. I turn around to protect my eyes from melting out of my skull. As my eyes adjust, a figure comes into focus in the very center of the spotlight.
My first thought is that this is some kind of show put together to impress all of the nerds at the end of the day. But, if that's so, they haven't picked a very popular character to address us. In fact, I don't recognize him from any merchandise, cosplay, or anything. And what is up with this guy's outfit? Is that, like, ten different types of leather in one suit? How many animals have to be slaughtered for the sake of your horrible fashion sense? Furthermore, what's the deal with the pointy, glowing sceptermajig? Is this the scythe of Death itself come to take me into its cold yet welcome embrace? Or have I simply passed out from Slave Leia's toxic fumes?
Hold on... Security guards are cornering him. One lunges at him, and in a swift, sudden gesture the guard has been impaled on his staff. My heart immediately jumps in my chest, as I realize that this is no show. All of the guards go at him at once only to be blasted back by a sudden wave of icy blue energy.
The crowd is in a panic and is desperately trying to get out of this maniac's way, but where can they go? He holds out his special stick to us, threatening us into a shivering herd. I know I should be scared right now, but all I can think is, It's happening. This is my moment.
"Humanity!" he addresses us in a loud, booming voice, which for some reason is having little to no effect on 's got this accent that I can't place my finger on, like British but not quite. "Look how far you've fallen!"
Three seconds into his speech, and it's beginning to seem that the threat of death is inevitable. Let me be the martyr! Please, oh please let me be the martyr!I pray to God in my mind.
"You huddle together in the dark like beasts!" I wonder if this guy can read minds. He has a magic stick, why not a magic mind? I try to project an image via ESP of myself dying.
"I am Loki of Asgard!" Oh, he has a name... Should I yell out my name to permanently cement myself in people's minds before I am murdered before their eyes? Do I need to do a speech? I try send him another mental message, I need time to prepare my final words. Give me five minutes.
"I am your ruler, your king! Kneel before me!" What should I say? Dearly beloved... No, that's not right... How about-
"You!" I come back to my senses to see Loki, twenty feet away, pointing the stick of doom in my direction and staring me down. "Why do you not kneel?"
Kneel? Are-are people kneeling?I look around at the people cowering around me. I mean, this is sort of shocking. Does this mean I'm a rebel? This is going better than I thought! "Why should I?"
He is visibly becoming enraged. If I were close enough, I bet I would be able to see veins popping out of his face. I am so pumped for this. Come at me, buddy! This is gonna be great!
"What?" He grits his teeth in a smile that clearly reads I will kill you slowly and burn your remains.
In my excitement, I forget to think. "It's stupid," I retort and instantly cringe. It was the first thing I was thinking, and I guess honesty is the best policy. However, my whole "dying like I'm in a stage production" plan just crashed and burned. I'm hoping he gives me another chance. Alright, take two. I try to telepathically tell him. This time give me a little more thinking-space.
"Stupid?" He repeats, incredulously.
Just roll with it. JUST ROLL WITH IT! "Yes, stupid. I mean, honestly, you take control of a minimum of five thousand people and the first thing you want them to do is kneel? You're rendering them completely useless. So, yes, it is stupid, and I don't care if you mind my saying so."
He lifts his head ever so slightly, perhaps so he can look down his nose at me. "What is your name, Midgardian?" he asks with obvious disgust.
Think big! Think big! "Oh, now, see, I'm not really sure if your ears are worthy enough to hear my name." Too big! Too big! Mayday! Mayday!
"What is your name?!" He demands, his anger clearly bubbling over.
I raise an eyebrow in an attempt to appear cocky. In reality, it probably just looks like I'm constipated. "My name is Abby Brandon, Mr. Mischief, and I have to admit that you're not off to a great start with this whole 'hostile takeover thing.' See, if I were in your shoes, I would go with a sort of Stockholm Syndrome maneuver. Earn our respect. But, evidently, you don't have the brains to put that together. Even if you did, it's not like you would have anything actually respectable to offer." BOOM goes the dynamite!
Scrutinizing me, he questions in a morbidly curious tone, "Tell me, Abby Brandon. Why should I not just kill you now?"
Why is he asking me things that I can't immediately answer with a witty retort?! "Because... I am a... civilian! And murdering me wouldn't be very respectable." I can hear all the tiny people in my head booing me. Is that a weak enough thesis for you? Just kill me already, why aren't you killing me?! I need to say something to really make him mad. Defy him!
"And let me tell you something," I begin. This is the beginning of the speech I was working out in my mind earlier. "I don't know how things work in Asgard, or wherever you're from, but here in America, there are things we hold to and believe in. We protect our own, and if you kill me-"
I'm interrupted as a loud, shattering sound comes from overhead. Someone has crashed through the window and landed in between me and my soon-to-be murderer: Captain America.
NOOO! I don't want to be rescued! Did I summon you? I think back to my unfinished speech. I said America... Okay! Yes, I summoned you, but I didn't mean to!
The Captain begins to address Loki, which is my job. "You know, the last time I saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing." Why does he get all the good lines?!
Loki becomes distracted. "The soldier," he snarls. "The man out of time." Eyes back on me! I just called you stupid! Remember that?!
"I'm not the one who's out of time," the Captain retorts. I get madder at him every time he opens his mouth!
Loki lunges first, knocking the Captain to the ground and pointing the tip of his scepter to his head. Captain America doesn't remain that way for long though, before he pushes the staff away and knocks Loki on his back.
Now that Cap has the upper hand, the people are on their feet stampeding like the animals Loki said we were. As much as I want to stay to see the outcome, a mob of frightened people will not hesitate to trample me. I dodge people left and right just to avoid being killed. Being trampled in a crowd of people would definitely be the most anti-climatic death ever.
Then someone actually has the nerve to push me. I try to hold my ground, but proceed to fall nonetheless. However, before my face can hit the ground with a cracking thud, I find myself no longer falling. I can't move. I'm frozen completely still. Is this what death feels like? I doubt it. Is this some sort of magic? Who even uses magic? Loki... Why can't this guy just finish the job?!
Suddenly, there's a blast of energy as somebody falls to the ground in front of me. Left and right, people suffer the same fate. There's always a brief expression of terror on their faces before they fall, and then it's permanently reflected in their unblinking eyes. These were people, real people. They had lives and families, and now what are they? A body, a corpse, nothing more than something to throw away...
Before long, there are no more shots. There's also no life. Everyone has collapsed, lifeless on the floor, except for me. By some magic, all the bodies, save Captain America's, vanish in clouds of smoke, and I fall to the ground.
Loki steps in front of me. "And now you are finally where you always should've been. In the end, you will always kneel."
I scramble to my feet. "If you're not going to kill me, then what do you want?" I huff.
He chuckles under his breath. "Abby, haven't you been listening? I want from you what I want from everyone. I want your allegiance."
I cross my arms. "Yes, those thousands of people that you just killed are just tripping over themselves to join your ranks. You expect me to side with a murderer?"
"I expect you to consider your options. I expect you to understand that my side is the winning one."
I actually laugh. "And why do you care? I am one person out of billions. Why does it matter to you what I believe in?"
He begins to circle me. "Abby, you're different. You're clearly not very bright, but you're brave. More than brave, I imagine. There is a war coming, and wars are built on people like you. Stupidly courageous people. The kind of people that become leaders. I want you to help me."
I pause as though considering his offer, then gasp as though I've had an epiphany. "Oh, I get it! You're taking my advice and trying out the Stockholm Syndrome thing. That's very tempting, very tempting, Loki. Unfortunately, due to the fact that you're a PSYCHOPATH, I will have to decline."
He stops, clearly taken aback. "You can't be serious. You are trapped with no escape. You have tempted my wrath. I have offered you a way to reconcile, and, not only that, I have offered you a position of power, and your answer is no?"
"This is a simple concept, Mr. Mischief, so try to get it through your teeny, tiny brain. If what you claim is true, to you I am an interesting subject rather than something worth actual investment. A bird with a broken wing, if you will. That makes me disposable, and I would rather die with a clear conscience than with a knife in my back. Now, as you have not currently expressed any desire to kill me, I would like to exit, if you please." I walk to the door and try it, but it's still locked, as I anticipated.
It takes some time for Loki to follow me. "You expect me to simply let you go?"
"No," I grunt as I push against the door. "I expect you to consider your options."
In six seconds the door opens and, once again, I fall. Loki doesn't say a word, but merely spins on his heel and leaves.
I can go right now if I like, but there is one more thing I have to do. I can now tell you from personal experience that dragging Captain America's unconscious body around and buckling him into your car is not as easy as you might think.
It is a long and tedious drive home. I change the radio station at least five times before deciding to turn it off completely. I steal the occasional glance over to Steve Rogers, who is still out cold. It's kind of disturbing seeing him slumped over like that. If I didn't know any better, I would say that he's dead. However, I know that that's not the case. I can see that he's breathing.
When I return home, it's midnight. I almost leave the Captain in the car. I almost want to. I live on the top floor of a small, tidy apartment complex. I have to get him to the very top. If I thought getting him into the car was hard...
I try to defeat the awkwardness by complaining about everything that makes the task difficult, but who am I kidding? There is nothing within the power of humankind that could make this any less weird.
When I reach the top, needless to say, I am out of breath. After gulping down a large glass of water, I tend as best I can to a large gash on the Captain's forehead, Loki's work, no doubt. All I can really do is clean it and hope that it heals; but, mercy, can he sleep like a rock! He didn't even flinch when I used the hydrogen peroxide!
Afterwards, I push him onto the bed and try to make him comfortable. Then I make myself comfortable on the couch (I give it a shot, anyway.) After just a few minutes, I doze off with hardly a second thought to the night's events.
