Prologue

It was the first of January 2017. Amidst the usual madness of life on earth, a rising star was born. A genius programmer, a teenage girl, marking the front page on every corner of the globe with her brand new invention. She managed to do what no one else had ever done before. She created a whole new world—a computer game which allowed people to upload themselves into the system.

Forget controllers and keyboards, you could now feel the objects in the game with your own hands, taste the food with your own lips, fight with your own strength—and for your own life.

Imagine the possibilities.

Especially in the hands of someone like Loki Laufeyson.

Chapter One

The Job at Hand

He trailed a slender finger across the crisp newspaper, his bright green eyes scanning the article for the second time that morning. Unlike on Asgard, the humans were not stuck at an impasse—they were progressing in leaps and bounds—Loki was impressed, very impressed. After all, a system that can take anyone from the real world and put them inside a make-believe land was an exciting prospect indeed.

His green eyes flickered towards the horizon, fixing on Stark Tower, his thin lips curling into a thoughtful smile. Midgard had been at peace for far too long. It was time for him to rain a little chaos down on the world. And what better way to do that than through a computer game? He shivered in the chilly morning air, his mind whirring with delight as facets of a plan began falling into place.

Oh Avengers—tonight, I shall make you dance.

Sliding a hand into his robes, he pulled out an iPhone—a Christmas gift from Tony Stark last year.

Ah, memories, thought Loki fondly. He could still recall the exact look on Stark's face when Loki burst out of a particularly large gift-box, dressed in a Santa Claus outfit and laughing maniacally before hijacking their presents. The Avengers never really forgave him for that.

He unlocked the phone, flicked through his contact list, and found the person he was looking for. After a few minutes of ringing, the phone finally picked up on the other end.

"Morning," Loki cooed sweetly.

"Laufeyson," said a cheery voice. "Did you know it's Magneto's birthday today? We should drop by on him. I found a carton of TNT outside my house this morning, we could use that—drop it over his purple, pin-shaped head."

"As productive as that sounds, I have a better idea."

"Better than blowing up Magneto?"

"Much better."

"Blowing you?" He paused before adding, "Again?"

"Perhaps some other time," Loki replied impatiently. "I need you for something else."

"Like what?"

Loki hesitated. "Now that I think of it, this favour I had in mind may not be to your liking after all."

"Why not? What is it—I can do it."

"It may go against your very nature, my dearest fire-bender, maybe even making you uncomfortable and rendering you vulnerable. Yes... forgive me for this pointless call—I think I'll ask Bob Drake instead, the Iceman would be better suited than you..."

"Are you shitting me? He's one of the good guys. Whatever the job is, you're better off asking me. Do I look so weak that I can't handle a little ice?"

"Well, if you're certain." Loki smiled. "I suppose you could use a cold shower."

"Yeah—wait, what?"

"Now listen well, here's what we're going to do..."

Pyro was an asshole. At about a quarter to five on a Saturday afternoon, he broke into SHIELD headquarters and ran off with a bright blue ice-making casket that The Avengers had taken from Loki after defeating the Asgardian earlier that day. As if one super-villain turning the city into ice hadn't been enough, now they had to track down Pyro and make sure he didn't do the same.

Clint swore loudly, earning himself a chastising look from Steve. All business-like as usual, Steve interlaced his fingers and leaned forward at the meeting table. Clint and Natasha were sitting on either side of him, Fury standing at the front of the room next to a large screen displaying an annotated diagram of an island.

"How do you know Pyro's there?" Natasha asked.

"We tracked him—" A pointer shot out from within Fury's sleeve and struck a section of a world map that had magically appeared on the screen. "To Florida, he disappeared right around here."

"The North Atlantic ocean." Natasha frowned.

"Find him and bring back the casket," Fury seethed. "Before he starts another goddamned ice-age."

"Great," said Clint. "Yeah. Find him. Why the hell not—let's all go to the one place on earth where we'll probably never be heard from again."

Steve swerved around in worry. Fury was wearing that expression again, the one which meant that he was withholding important information. From the look on Clint and Natasha's faces, they obviously knew what that information was—her eyebrows were creased in thought and Clint looked ready to throttle someone.

Noticing Steve's confusion, Clint gestured at the island on the screen. "It's the bermuda triangle."

"What?!"

"It's just a children's tale, Captain, calm down," said Natasha briskly. "People go in and out of that area all the time."

"Exactly." Fury slapped a pile of papers on the desk, giving Steve a look that clearly said, we're not gonna have a problem here, are we, Rogers?

Natasha cocked her head to the side, her questioning eyes now fixed on Steve. It wasn't like him to get so worked up. He caught her gaze and coughed, feeling sheepish.

"Bermuda triangle—no problem," he said hesitantly. "I'll get the others and we'll head out immediately."

"Why would Pyro want an ice-casket anyway? I know he had a fallout with Magneto but he's still a fire person," Clint pointed out. "Isn't ice bad for him or something?"

"Maybe he's working together with Loki," Natasha mused.

"Are you serious—"

"Doesn't matter, we have to stop them." Steve straightened himself, swallowing down a sense of unease as he threw a glance at either teammate. Clint still looked annoyed about the location but Natasha—satisfied that their leader had pulled himself together—was already in mission-mode, her eyes drinking in the information on the screen. The sooner they finished up, the better.

As they were leaving, however, Clint noticed an odd expression creeping onto Directory Fury's face. It looked like guilt—or pity. There was more to the story, something they hadn't been told. Whatever Fury was hiding, Clint hoped it wouldn't end up killing them.

Fury glared at them as they left, in the same manner he always did. It was only when the door slammed shut and the room was left empty of anyone—aside from himself and a rigged security camera—that Fury closed his eyes and turned into Mystique. She flipped her red hair over her shoulders, her blue skin still tingling from the transformation.

"Pyro," she hissed into a cellphone. "They're on their way."

"Pyro's not at the phone right now," came a suave reply, dripping in a sickly sweet English accent. Mystique's heart skipped a beat.

She ignored it and continued quickly, "Loki. I'm done here."

"Well done. Pyro and I are in Florida, I'll message you the address."

"Right."

"Oh, and one more thing—bring some sushi when you come over."

"Sushi?"

"Don't forget the wasabi." And he hung up without another word.

Jerk, thought Mystique. Sexy, yes, and a voice of pure sex but Loki was still a jerk—why did they even put up with him?

Despite many protests, The Avengers still managed to pack their things and set off for the bermuda triangle. Tony and Thor headed there first, seeing as they could fly, while the others rode a ferry run by SHIELD agents. Aside from a mild bump in the beginning of their journey—when Bruce found Deadpool stowing away in the bathroom with a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream—the trip was turning out to be quite a pleasant one.

"What if Deadpool's involved with Pyro?" Steve said suddenly, about twenty minutes after they had thrown the red-masked villain off their boat. He lifted his gaze from his UNO cards to survey the others—Bruce, Clint, and Natasha—seated around the table. "We could have interrogated him at least."

Natasha wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. Her burrow was creased in concentration at the impossible task set out before her. "These arrows. They mean the person that comes after you misses a turn?"

"No," said Bruce. "The circular ones, those are the blocking ones. Arrows are reverse, it reverses the order we go in."

"Are you sure? I played this with a kid once who insisted they were to miss a turn."

"Only if you're playing a two-player game," Clint added. "Why were you playing with a kid anyway?"

"Is anyone listening to me?" Steve continued. "This is important, we don't know what we're sailing towards, this could be a trap, Pyro and Loki and Deadpool could be working together—"

"Does anyone have one of those colour-changing cards?" Clint asked.

Steve slammed his cards onto the table and three pairs of disinterested eyes flickered to him curiously.

"Relax," Natasha told him. "Deadpool wasn't in on it, he just broke up with Parker and wanted to be a pain in someone's ass."

"This whole mission is a pain in the ass," mumbled Clint. "Loki is a pain in the ass."

"Good thing Thor's not here to hear you." Bruce chuckled. Steve's attention, on the other hand, had locked onto Natasha's statement.

"Deadpool was dating Peter?!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, almost as if to say, how could you not know that?

"Isn't there some kind of law against super-villains and superheroes intermingling?"

"I think," Clint began slowly, "The more important question would be why Deadpool would tag along on our field trip after breaking up with Spiderman—it's not like they hang out with us."

"Maybe he has a crush on you." Bruce smirked.

"What are we, in high school?"

"You guys," said Natasha. She frowned, pulling a card from her deck and turning it around to show the others—on it was an old-fashioned illustration of a skeleton in armour, on horseback, carrying a black flag with a flower and the number thirteen scrawled on it.

"Hey..." Steve's eyes widened. "Isn't that a tarot card?"

"It's Death," she replied and in one swift movement had her knife in one hand and a gun poised with the other. By the time her UNO cards had fluttered to the floor, Clint had his bow and arrow ready, Bruce was half-naked, and Steve wrapped his hand around a gun inside his jacket. They looked at each other, bracing themselves for an attack or some kind of disaster.

All of a sudden, the sound of piano playing filled the air—the notes ran angrily into each other against a layer of beautiful, heightened melody. They all tensed, half-expecting something to leap out at them from the shadows. The Phantom of the Opera perhaps.

"Where did you get the cards?" Steve whispered urgently.

Clint groaned. "They were in Deadpool's pocket."

Before Steve could scold him for pickpocketing, the ferry swung to the side, throwing them all off balance and into each other. The lights overhead flickered. Steve yelled at everyone to calm down while Clint cursed at the top of his lungs, Bruce crashing into him and Natasha as they all lunged at something to hold onto. Then—as abruptly as it began—the music stopped.

And they heard a bloodcurdling scream.