First story, still working out some kinks so I apologize if it's a little choppy. I'm having trouble deciding on a perspective, so I'm doing a lot of hopping around. If this is annoying/confusing, it's something I will definitely change. The rating will also likely change, but not for a while. I'm really excited to start this journey, I hope everyone else will enjoy the ride with me. Starts out pretty in-line with the movie (I use Loki's speech from the party in Germany, but come on, it was excellent!), but it will veer off in the next chapter and likely from then on.
Elena let out a snarl as she spun a powerful kick into the already groaning punching bag, snapping its strained chain. She sent the sack flying across the room towards a recently opened door, and subsequently, unsuspecting man. Before he could raise his hands in protest, Elena's biotics flared and she felt a tight buzzing in left arm. Thrusting her clenched fist towards the hurling objected, she ensnared it moments before impact, and slammed the bag into the ground. There was a silence while sand and powder settled around the room. The man stood, frozen in place as Elena turned, eying the small panel of generals and politicians who had been evaluating her performance.
"She's perfect."
...
The wake of the Thor's banishment to Earth opened our eyes to the pathetic and almost comedic vulnerability our planet harbored in the face of an unknowingly powerful galactic universe. Every country responded forcefully in it's own way. SHIELD was an incredibly effective example of how U.N. collaboration and money could deliver success. However, the US government, unwilling to place all of its interest in one project, allocated funds to several other experimental research programs. A step undoubtedly taken by most countries, and each likely as unaware of the other as the public was of their missions. One enterprise in particular flourished tremendously: Calamity. After several rather, unsuccessful, attempts at human-biotic integration, patient L041, was a remarkable triumph. The removal, or rather suppression of the patient's past life, left vast amounts of unused neurons (that might, for example, have previously triggered a learned habit or memory) available for reassignment. The subject was then trained in language, combat, artillery, coding, and stealth: the perfect soldier. Upon which, they were released into society with a rewritten identity and past; sleeping, until reactivated.
Elena breathed evenly as she leaned deeply into her partner. Jon had been her dance collaborator and friend for the passed three years; marking her move to Stuttgart. He was funny, reliable, and her go-to confidante. The music swam about her senses, ceasing all other thought, and she closed her eyes, allowing it to carry her through the routine. The crowd encircled the pair, enamored by the unexpected performance at the gala. Finally, the blonde man slowly lowered her in his arms while she eloquently arched her back. The song's end bled seamlessly into the crowd's applause. Opening her eyes she was immediately caught by piercing emerald eyes belonging to a tall, lean man with slick, dark hair, and a matching dark suit trimmed in green. His incinerating stare weakened her as he appraised the show, a small curve on the edge of his lips. A tugging began at the side of her skull, as an unrelenting pressure invaded her mind. Unable to tell if she was unwilling to look away, or physically incapable of doing so, she was grateful when Jon's strong arms brought her upright and into a bow. Elena turned to inspect the man further, but he was gone. The moment was brought to an end as the party's host briskly took center stage, proudly gallivanting the dancers around the grand room, gathering admiration and praise from the party's attendees.
...
Loki twisted around, leaving Barton to his task of unlocking the vault, while he returned to the soiree. After all, it would be rude to keep his people waiting. His mind wandered as he calmly strolled down a long corridor. That mortal woman's fluid movement had caught his interest. Not many midgardians possessed the grace she displayed; none so far, in fact. Without knowing why, he had begun to idly sift through her mind. Not looking for anything in particular, just bits and pieces of her memories: Mother was a teacher; father an accountant. Graduated University, ballet and contemporary training, worked in advertising firm… He had halted his search, disgusted with her…humanness, and returned to Barton. Now, on his way back to the party, he found himself pondering her further. She had led one of the most cliché mortal lives he could have possibly imagined. Right down to receiving a puppy for that ridiculous Winter Solstice celebration. Her life had held no real strife, no understanding of burden, pain, or responsibility. As the rest of her ridiculous, bumbling race, she was devoid of objective and drive. He would give her purpose. A wicked smile played across his features, briefly.
He would give them all, purpose.
Descending the grand stairs, he glided towards his target with swift determination. The older man had his arm around a young woman, the dancer from before. Undoubtedly parading her around as if her accomplishments and beauty were attributed to him in some way, Loki mentally sneered; frightening the girl will be a delightful bonus. Immobilizing two guards, he approached the group swiftly, sparing a devilish smile to the young woman before grabbing the older man. Effortlessly flipping him over, the god slammed the midgardian's back onto a large marble slab in the center of the room. The gala burst into chaos.
The panic that overtook the room was palpable, as finely dressed men and women retreated in every directions with screams and shouts. The woman remained paralyzed, focused on Loki. Retracting a strange machine from his jacket, he gleefully shoved the metal object into the eye-socket of his victim. Blood splattering his white shirt, his smile became ravenous as he gazed out, admiring the disarray he had caused. Catching the widened stare of the dancer, his eyes devoured her's, eagerly searching for fear in their depths. He found nothing. Her eyes remained stoic and unyielding.
What was wrong with this mortal? He pondered, tilting his head slightly, so calm amongst such discord. Momentarily distracted by intrigue, his machine relentlessly bore deeply into his victim's eye.
...
What is wrong with me?
Elena was unable to move, not necessarily because she was frightened, but rather, because she remained unfazed and curious. She didn't know what to do, but knew that there was something she should do, and was thus, impaired and confused. Everything she thought she had ever known told her she was ill prepared for such a confrontation, but something in the back of her mind whispered otherwise. Before she could further evaluate the predicament, her clenched fist was roughly seized from her side, and she was drug from the room into the cold night.
"What the hell was that?!" Jon shouted at her as she trailed an arm-length behind the tall, blonde man, "I've heard of killing them with kindness, but I'm not sure killing them with blank stares has the same effect." Sarcasm dripped off her friend's tongue. "Though I will not deny he is delicious." He winked at Elena, and she begrudgingly smiled at her friend's guaranteed absurdity in a time of crisis.
...
Loki calmly trailed the bulk of the party outside, where they cowered in a large group. Transforming into his armor he towered over them and commanded them to kneel. The group turned to flee in the opposite direction, only to be met by an exact replica of the god, who again commanded, "Kneel."
Three more Lokis met the frightened bunch before they returned to face the original as he bellowed with unquestioned authority, "KNEEEEEEL."
Everyone knelt in terror; Elena was pulled down among them.
Loki laughed, contented, "Is not this, simpler? Is this not your natural state?" He began to move through the party, "It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation."
He moved near Elena and she quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze and attention.
"The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power…for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel." He spoke knowingly and with such passion that Elena marveled his fervor while her unease was simultaneously heightened. Nothing was more powerful and worthy of fear than a man filled with absolute conviction.
An older gentleman stood defiantly amongst the crowd, "Not to men like you."
The god smiled arrogantly, "There are no men like me."
"There are always men like you." The old man bit back.
Loki happily raised his scepter, "Look to your elder people. Let him be an example."
Elena struggled from Jon's grasp and thrust herself between the man and his impending doom. Loki's grin broadened as he continued to point his weapon at the two. Elena felt an oddly familiar stinging sensation in her arm, she clenched her fist and it intensified, pooling in her palm. The god's eyes flashed with surprise before immediately returning to an impassive state. Elena followed his gaze to her left arm, almost stumbling back in shock. Her arm, elbow-down, was covered in what appeared to be flickering green electricity. He fired, issuing a powerful beam of blue light at the insubordinate pair. Instinctively, she punched her arm forward, sending forth her own stream of energy, quickly engulfing the scepter and launching the golden stick from Loki's hand. The deadly beam tore off-course, crumbling the stone statues surrounding the party, and the group erupted into disorder once more.
Within seconds Loki hurled himself off the ground impossibly high, snatched his scepter from mid-air, and materialized in front of Elena. He reached for her, but an unexpected force pushed them apart, and a man straitened from a crouched, landing position to face Loki. The fall had sent Elena tumbling and she watched the scene seated, a few meters away. The man in question was clad in what appeared to be, a spandex American flag. You have got to be joking, she almost rolled her eyes. Without waiting to see more, she quickly crawled to stand, and escaped the ensuing battle.
Elena sprinted the entire way home, not stopping until she slammed the door to her flat. Leaning back, she unsuccessfully attempted to catch her breath as her mind raced. Kicking her heels to the floor, she pushed off the door frame, and stumbled to the bathroom mirror. As expected, her makeup was running and smeared across her face, mixed with dirt and a little blood, and her long, dark hair was snarled in knots atop her head and along her shoulders. What she did not anticipate was the dull vacancy of her once rich, jade eyes. Something had changed within her that left an unrecognizable shell. Who was she? Turning on the faucet, she leaned down to splash cold water on her face. A searing pain shot through her head, followed by brief, fragmented visions that sent her to her knees: A man and woman she was unable to place, a young boy and girl running through the long grass of an empty field, a small cabin covered in vines and flowers, the sweet savory smell of baking bread…
A piercing scream began in the back of her conscience, slowly crescendoing until it became earsplitting, and finally, darkness.