Walking the line.
There is a point in every life where we question the boarders of fantasy and reality, of fiction and non-fiction, of truth and the lies our mind feeds us every day. That point in life offers itself to every person every human, without them even knowing it. Some may voluntarily question the boundaries that separate reality and fantasy; some may even step across that forbidden boarder that splits the truth from the lies. But only some are truly brave enough to take the fragmented splinters of lies and half-truths and form something completely coherent that still boarders on the line of desperate fantasy and harsh reality. And only a few of us, a mere few, may truly understand what separates our fact from fiction, our truth from lies, and our fantasy from reality; and only some will understand what it means to shatter those boundaries and send, not only themselves, but their world into a non-fictional fantasy.
Take heed, for we are not always meant to break the rules that were never meant to be broken, the lines that were never meant to be crossed and the lies that were never meant to be truths. We will understand… someday.
There is a question, that is what starts it all, a question in the mind of someone so pure, so untainted and innocent, which ignites the spark between the realms of fantasy and reality, a spark that so quickly turns into a wildfire of repercussions and obstacles that launch themselves from every dark space and hidden corner. Such a question, if answered, should only be dabbled upon once, and yet every day we dabble upon the same what-ifs and maybes.
Sasha sat alone in front of a cluttered, maple wood, desk. Star charts and moon cycles littered her desk as well as a vast array of pens, pencils and compasses (both mathematical and navigational). The rubbish bin on the floor on the far side of the room spewed crumpled pieces of old paper; and the flickering embers of the fire glowing in the hearth threw her hunched shadow upon the floor.
The passage to the outside world was marked by the large gothic windows, whose sills were painted black and chipped; beyond the split pieces of glass sat a large open garden. Rose bushes spilled from every open patch of land, the patio was swamped with overgrown weeds and dull yellow dandelions which Sasha had meant to obliterate early in the fall (but of course, the opportunity never arose). Large hedges and tangled ivory encompassed the crumbling brick wall that kept Wolfe Manor from the outside world.
Slowly, as the old clock on the mantle above the flickering flames tick-tocked its way to quarter to seven, small splatters of rain began to trace its way down the delicate glasswork. Sasha glanced up at the small tap, tap, tap, that ever so suddenly resonated into a thundering wave of never-ending droplets. Sasha tapped the pencil she had been biting on to the side of her nose and pursed her lips.
Turning in her oh-so-perfectly named swivel chair, Sasha slid her hand across the laptop that sat stationary on the neighbouring desk. She logged into her e-mails and set up a quick virus scan before opening a new tab and finding the BBC news website.
Sasha did not travel from her home often enough to purchase the daily newspaper, and she cared not for having it delivered by the annoying paper-boy who always rang his bicycle bell to enrage the neighbours' dogs. The internet happened to be a wonderful companion; it had news, it had communication, she needed nothing more than that and her drastically realistic and logical brain to complete her work. That and quiet.
She pushed a lock of black hair behind her ear and fingered the black piercing in her lobe. Then, after tuning into the latest news, flicked back onto her e-mails. Sasha promptly scrolled down through the unwanted messages, the spams and the pleads from her mother to attend a small family get-together, until she finally reached the name that stood out at the very bottom of her cluttered inbox: A. Phil Coulson.
Sasha tapped her finger lightly on the mouse and the e-mail from her almost long forgotten partner popped up onto the screen.
Sasha had almost lost contact with Phil Coulson of SHIELD, but yet in some twist of fate she had come across her fellow agent whilst on another mission for Director Fury. She knew, somehow, that something had played a part in her meeting with Phil that very afternoon in London, yet she had absolutely no idea then, that something so large and catastrophic would happen in the near foreseeable future that would sweep the pair into the very barrier that once separated their fantasy from reality. That is why, at this exact moment, Sasha had found the e-mail from her fellow agent; and finally after the very illogical and very irrational incident in Puente Antigo the year previous, she understood that some barriers were meant to be broken.
Sasha,
I am sure that you, of all people, remember the incident in Puente Antigo last year; and I am sure that you, being you, have been trying to source and figure out a logical reason for such a thing happening rather than the "Gods."
This, however, has very little to do with my reasons for contacting you, although it does contain the possibility of some aspects that we faced in Puente Antigo. Anyway, Director Fury has indicated that he wants every available agent up for this job, and, of course, you are one of the skilled agents we happen to require for the job.
There is an otherworldly source that now threatens us, and as it has already happened to destroy one SHEILD base that we thought was indestructible, and compromise one of our best agents, we know that this is one otherworldly source that we shouldn't mess with alone.
We are assembling the avengers.
I am sure that you are up for this and I have taken the liberty of arranging transport from your estate to the SHEILD headquarters. This transport should arrive at 0800 hours. I suggest you start packing, this may take a while.
Phil.
Sasha rolled her eyes at the e-mail. There was no doubt that Phil was slightly uncomfortable in talking to people; and she could even, just by the hurriedness and formality of the e-mail, fathom that he was just the tiniest bit excited that the Avengers were assembling.
Sasha stared down at the scrappy and untidily sketch of the Bifrost that was pinned to the corner of her desk. The numerous books that were stacked up by her feet held all of the knowledge and unquestioned myths that surrounded and linked to the incident in Puente Antigo. Numerous overdue library books and tattered Norse scriptures were either open, half way through being read, or in a must read soon pile.
Sasha then turned to the pictures that were pinned next to the drawing of the Bifrost and the shabby sketch of the world tree Yggdrasil that the whole idea of Norse mythology centred around. She turned, in turn, to each of the realms that made up Yggdrasil: Asgard, Alfheim, Midgard, Svartalfheim, Jotunheim, Vanaheim, Niflheim and Hel.
Sasha had spent so much time researching and marking the realms on Yggdrasil, in time she had lost need of the splattered post-it notes and mindless scribbles that had been plastered on the drawing, she knew what she needed to know now, and now she just needed to rationalise it, to make a point of everything that she had witnessed the year previous.
Asgard, the realm of the Gods, was the reason that the peaceful, rather small, town of Puente Antigo had been invaded last year. She, as well as Agent Coulson, had been rather surprised, if not disturbed, to find a large, blonde, and extremely well built God on their hands, with a dangerous wrath following him. It wasn't exactly what they were expecting when they found Mjölnir in the middle of the desert.
Sasha was sure, that if the threat was from another realm, they should prepare for the worst. SHIELD had been used to many things, they dealt in the unexplainable, and pondered on the legendary, but until last year they had never faced an otherworldly threat. They had faced gamma radiation exposure to the extreme, even questioned the greatness of Tony Stark, and defrosted a seventy or so year old war hero, so normal was not necessarily in the job description. This threat, whatever threat they happened to be facing now, if it required the help of such an elite team of people, then it was surely something extraordinary and, potentially, devastating.
The young agent rose from her chair and turned towards the door. She turned the copper handle and walked out into the darkened hallway. Her treks through her inherited manor were always long and drawn out, her mind often wondered what other secrets (apart from her own) that the walls whispered about as she walked by them. Sasha's eyes wandered the hallways, dropping from the dirty crimson drapery that hid the large mural windows, to the dust ridden carpets that hid the dark floor. A pure white mouse skittered along the floor and into a small crevice on the opposing wall.
Upon reaching the end of the hallway, instead of turning left and heading towards her bedroom, Sasha stopped straight in front of the large wooden bookcase that was filled with varying pieces of old and new literature. Her hand reached up and a ghost of a touch slid its way along the tattered spines until it reached To Kill a Mockingbird.
Two fingers gripped the top of the book and tilted it back. Almost immediately a large groan of protest echoed from behind the bookcase as it slipped backwards into the wall and retreated to the left. A large burning torch glowed on the wall in front of her. Sasha stepped forwards and took the torch in a firm grip; she pulled it from the wall and began to descend into the darkness, another moan from the bookcase signalled the closing of the passage.
Below the manor was a place which only Sasha, and her recently deceased father, knew about. She knew the passage inside out and that there were exactly ninety three steps that descended into the secret room. When she was younger, Sasha had never wanted to descend into the darkness as the unknown haunted her, but now she takes the steps easily and without fear, for her fear of the unknown stemmed from nothing at all.
When Sasha stepped off the final step a glowing blue panel in the shape of a hand awaited her. She pressed her palm to the panel and waited patiently while the computer allowed her entrance. The wall in front of her, like the bookcase, protested on its opening but once fully open allowed her to enter the laboratory that her father had always treasured.
Sasha deposited the torch onto a free bracket before she entered the lab. Her eyes met those of several hundred squeaking white and brown mice that were homed in glass cages on the far wall. Sasha pressed her thumb to a green button on the wall next to her and watched as each glass enclosure had food pellets dropped into each individual dish.
On the tables in the centre of the room sat several hundred test tubes; some were filled with colourless liquid, some had various colours filling them and others had held nothing at all. Sasha walked over to the tables and bent down so she was eyelevel with the microscope that sat in front of her. Her eyes fell on the samples of DNA that she had been trying to alter since last month. She was almost sure that this sample would change, she was disappointed however, to find that the sample of DNA she was currently staring at had not mutated at all.
"Blast," She cursed as she ground her nails into the bench. "I was so sure."
She turned from the microscope and the now useless samples of DNA and snatched a biro from the side, before scribbling down on her checklist: DNA sample mixed with Fucitol, no change; mutation still strong.
Sasha glanced at her watch and then to the DNA samples on the lab; she would have had plenty of time to replicate the previous DNA samples, if not for the unexpected e-mail from Phil Coulson. She shook her head and threw the clipboard back onto the table; she then set the timer on the feeder for twice a day, she couldn't exactly have her test subjects dying from starvation. Not only would that be severe animal cruelty but she'd lose her most treasured and irreplaceable information.
Sasha turned from her life's work and began to head back towards the door. Momentarily she caught the eye of her reflection, it glinted purple for a moment before turning to her usual icy shade of blue. Sasha squeezed her eyes shut and upon opening them, left the lab. She was so sure it would work this time.
So, I had an idea and i just had to write, so drop me a review, tell me what you think XD