Thick muggy clouds of moisture clog around me, making my camouflage shirt damp from a double combination of sweat and rain. My raven colored hair braid is sticking to the back of my neck, and I can swear that my boots are slowly getting pulled by the thick mud I am currently trudging through. All thoughts go to complaining about my situation, and environment. I look around. It was breathtaking, no doubt, and I couldn't care less. No denying it now, I was deep in the jungle, and had lost my objective. Great way to stall the whole damn mission, dumbass. The voice deep in my head keeps on with the nugatory comments, making my situation even worse. My legs slowly give in, and I am forced to rest under a large tree. As I catch my breath, I check my weapons.
Grenades? Check.
Small pistol? Check.
Katana? Check.
As I make my way down the list, a loud explosion echoes across the sky. My head snaps up. Shit. Was that the direction the target was going in? I check the compass. Yep, the needle points in the direction of the flames, north is where he ran off to. Screams of frustration bounce off the nearby greenery. I gather my belongings, and turn on the bug in my ear.
" My goddamn targets been blown to smithereens."
Hello, Agent Zangari.
Damn. What the hell does he want? I run towards the scene, cutting into the tall grass with my blade, not giving a crap what I hit.
Careful. Might wipe out an entire species.
His comment only fuels my anger further. I stop, and stab my weapon into the nearest solid form.
"Fuck off, Fury."
My ass rests on a nearby rock.
I wouldn't use that tone, Agent.
His voice is full of stress. Uh oh. Something didn't go well. My mind puts together gaps, and I realize that he is the assailant of my target, not an unknown source. But why the hell would he do that?
"Tell me Fury, what was so god damn important that called for ending my mission so hastily?!"
Why don't you come visit me, and find out?
I can practically hear his grin underneath the microphone, causing my lips to growl in frustration. I wander back to the path, and wait for the helicopter to land. I reach for the rope ladder that is dropped. My fingers run through it, almost mesmerizing every nick and cut on its way.
I am hoisted into the chopper by a medium height male. His hairline has been receding lately, leaving his style a normal, boring short-cut. His eyes, however, sparkle with undying youth and eagerness, a trait I envy most of the time.
His arms embrace me eagerly, so I return the gesture.
"Hello Coulson."
"Hey kiddo." I can't help but smile at the use of the name, it being a title by him only since our first encounter. We proceed to exchange stories about our missions, his being completely bizarre; concerning a demigod, Thor, and an impressive foreign armor suit that nearly leveled New Mexico completely. I mention my setback, earning a small, meek, comment. Coulson knows how angry I can get.
"Fury hasn't told me anything…"
The smile that follows is as acid sweet as I can manage.
As the helicopter lands, I notice that we are not on solid ground, in the regular base, but in the middle of the ocean, on the special Helicarrier air/boat. Yep, something was definitely wrong. The cheeky-ass grin on my superiors face is identifiable from a distance, sickening and tacky against his stoic appearance of a dark trench coat and eye patch. His skin is also the shade, making him unsatisfyingly 'black as night'. His smile is still plastered on as I step off the air craft, tempting me to slap the color right out of him. He puts an abnormally large hand on the small of my back and leads me inside.
Gray is the traditional color throughout the interior. Gray walls, ceiling, floors, chairs, and grey- faced workers. I scoff in my head. Thank god they didn't put me in that position. We walk past the logo, an eagle, and head into a conference room for privacy. The screen in the front of the area is touch, making me realize how much I missed technology, or civilization, for that matter. A bright flush of red hair sits at the table, and I feel a true grin push into my features. Natasha Romanoff.
"It's great to see you again, Tasha." I choose the nickname our other coworker, Clint Barton, is fond of. It obviously affects her, making the bright face darken. Oh yah, something was up. She rises and hugs me tightly.
"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?"
I look to Natasha, who seems to be forming eligible words.
"Arina, Clint's been compromised."
My eyes stretch wide, and I scour the room, half expecting the dumb-ass archer to pop out. He doesn't.
"Is this some sort of sick joke?" I muse out, half humor, half disbelief.
My director, Nick Fury, takes it upon himself to answer. "No, Agent Zangari, this is very real."
Shit. How the hell did Clint fucking Barton get compromised?
"Explain."
He motions for me to sit, and I comply eagerly. His steps to the front of the space are rushed, making my thoughts go to question how much danger this really was. Gloved fingers turn on the screen.
"Last night, at S.H.E.I.L.D headquarters, a mysterious portal opened, and surprisingly, a man emerged from it." His fingers slide to reveal a still taken from a security camera. In the shot, a tall man is leering towards the lens. His face is lean, nose is cut long, and his eyes bevel out a crystal blue gaze that screams danger. The black locks that riddle his face are slicked back and frayed out, making his whole head look greasy and unkempt. His robes were foreign completely to me, as was the large golden scepter in his cold hands. "His name, is Loki. We were first made aware of his existence by Jane Foster during questioning after the incident concerning Asgard. Loki is Thor's brother."
I begin to picture the beings sibling, imagining him with the same alarming appearance.
Fury then closes the photo, and pulls another up. This is one of a small cube, with a vast variety of blues and whites swirling around. "This, ladies, is the Tesseract, an infinite power source of gamma radiation and other worldly energy. Last night, Loki managed to make out of here with it, one of our best assassins, and Dr. Eric Selvig." He closes the file and steps back, seemingly finished.
I bore my eyes into Fury's bald head. "This still doesn't explain everything ,sir. How exactly was Barton willingly leaving with Loki? And where the hell did that Tesseract thingy even come from?"
He glares at me, and moves back to the device, pulling out a file, but not showing what it contained.
"The Tesseract was obtained not far from the frozen body of Steve Rogers, who both of you should recognize as Captain America." He opens the file to reveal an army photo of a scrawny young man with blond hair, which is, poking out of the oversized combat helmet on his head. I mentally laugh, picturing the big, buff being that he was now. Fury closes the file and turns off the screen. "Your other question, Agent Zangari, we don't exactly know the answer to," My lips open to comment, but are cut off by him. "But. We do know that he somehow used his staff to brainwash both Barton and Selvig."
I curl my mouth into an 'O', and can hear Coulson sniggering behind me. Natasha suddenly stands, eyes full of purpose and fire. Her voice trembles with its next words.
"And what do you want us to do about it?"
"Easy, Agent Romanoff. It's time to assemble."
I shoot up at his last utter. He's surely kidding, right?
"Are they even ready to?" The blocky 'they' hangs in the air, reminding me that I was not part of his plan, that I was still just an agent. But why did he call you in here, tell you all of this information? My sane voice reminds the smaller that it was most likely about Clint, being that I was his friend.
"As ready as they'll ever be. You will be helping with the assembly."
I groan dramatically, and flop down, shushing the small 'Yay!' that emerged in the back of my mind.
"Coulson, brief Romanoff on her mission outside this room."
Natasha exits, leaving me and Fury. He walks and sits across the table, an amused smile (once again) creeping up his face.
"You're just as bad as Stark."
I feel my eyes roll in response as I lean back in my chair, arms crossed over one another. His grin widens, if that's even possible. Tony Stark was notorious in S.H.E.I.L.D for pissing off Fury on numerous occasions, and I applauded him for his work.
"And who must I recruit, Oh wise and noble leader?" My arms swing dramatically at the last part.
His eyebrow under the patch quirks skyward as he sputters the response.
"That's more like it. And for once, I'm not giving you the short end of the stick. You get Rogers."
I smile big and bold at this. "All this generosity for little ol' me?" My speech mocks a true southern bell.
"Go." He gestures to the door. I bow gingerly, and make my exit.
My feet stop their happy stride soon after leaving. Natasha sits, almost pouting at the round table. My bottom rests next to her.
"Someone isn't happy with their recruit."
"I got Banner. You? " I groan at the last name. Bruce Banner is a brilliant mind at work, but a stray mishap left him literally green with anger. She lifts her head, and I can easily see the sadness etched across her otherwise relaxed face.
"Rogers." I reply, adding a cheesy grin.
"You lucky bitch.." she mutters, the mind within obviously off in distant places. I scooch a bit closer, and put a comforting palm on her shoulder.
" We will find Clint, Natasha."
"Oh, I'm not troubled by that. I'm too worried about planning my funeral in case a certain green monster decides to snap me like a toothpick."
We both laugh, and I note the unsaid thanks in her orbs. An insinuate clearing-of-the-throat cough erupts behind me. My head sways to the source, noticing Coulson standing with an ear splitting smile.
"Ready to go, Agent Zangari?"
"Do I look ready, Coulson?" I gesture to my clothing. My shirt and pants are covered in thick cakes of mud, and my black braid is sprinkled with dirt. I turn, heading for my shower and the hope of clean clothes.