A Snake Came Crawling: A SHIELD Codex

Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost ~ Ovid, Metamorphoses

. . .

1. Bedeviled

. . .

The customer in the back of the curved booth liked to smile in an open, honest way that made his eyes shut every time he did it. Goda liked that. It told him the young narcotics buyer was stupid enough to not realize he should never take his eyes off a potential threat. Goda was absolutely that. Under his palm was one of the locked, specialized phones The Hand used to organize the new rash of street-level sales. With Madame Gao out of the market, there were a lot of these deals to profit from. Over by the door was Hachiro, monitoring the last round of the security checks. Making damned sure young Mr. Locke's bona fides lined up properly. If they did not, Mr. Locke would die swiftly. But not painfully. That would be impolite.

The Hand took few chances running any new business through the Kitchen. The furor from the current daimyo overseeing the organization over the last of the special 'imports' had been nigh unbearable; the long-term losses to the American branch incalculable. It was a tactical rally from Matsu'o Tsurayaba that kept them in the city for now. Matsu'o and his steel hands, who had survived interference from multiple outsiders and remained true to his brothers. He remained in Japan, but his presence was always felt. In time, perhaps they would try another such import. Once they knew the red devil was not breathing quite so closely to their necks.

For now they fed lightly on men like this one. Goda smiled across the table, feeling the heavy weight of the gun resting on his thigh. The tips of his teeth were gold; not only in an ostentatious threat, but a necessity from years of merciless training. The young man smiled back again, the affable mouth broad and rubbery under a slick dark haircut. An upstanding salaryman, with a little more style than some. Goda pitched his voice loud enough to carry just over the roaring techno that filled the nightclub. He privately loathed the music, but it served a good purpose. "I am very sorry about the wait, Mr. Locke. Not much longer now. A final check."

"Can't be helped!" Goda listened to the man's chirping voice and muddy American accent with silent disgust. Neon flickered along the thin cheeks, reflections from the lights above the DJ table. "I mean, I mostly bought uptown, kept my weenie little distro action there. It's not like you have shopping records." He followed it with a laugh that held just the right trace of nervousness. So the new buyer wasn't a complete idiot. He knew his place. "But I never got in with Gao, so I never came down this far into the Kitchen. She ran a very tight shop."

"She did. But with her graceful departure, new opportunities open. We wet our beaks anew."

"Money to be made."

Goda leaned back, keeping Hachiro in view. "That is the shortsighted but ruefully necessary view, Mr. Locke. Business with us, however, requires an understanding of the greater horizon. Compliance. Acceptance is not necessary, but if you wish to share from our cup, you will see the perfection of our method." He smiled back, just wide enough to flash his teeth in another message.

"I'm easy," said Locke, bright brown eyes in a lightly rounded face that was just different enough from his real one to never trip The Hand's recognition. He didn't so much as wince when a discordant note seemed to enter in under the dubstep drop, but he mentally noted it with a trace of chilly concern. That was not according to plan. "I get along with everybody."

Goda noticed the change in the music, too. He looked from Hachiro over to Shingen. The overseer of the club's security looked tense in a way that made Goda's fingers tighten around the gun. The new buyer's voice cut in. "Something wrong?"

Hachiro looked over his shoulder, then nodded to Goda. Two fingers tapped at his suit lapel in the agreed-upon signal. Goda relaxed slightly, turning back to the buyer. The sound was nothing. Shingen had already nodded to someone to investigate it thoroughly. A pipe under the building, perhaps. Much of the neighborhood's architecture was old – if Fisk could have only finished the damnable bargain... but this was a digression. He took the gun from his thigh and laid it on the table, ensuring the muzzle pointed harmlessly at the wall. Locke paled, clearly not recognizing that this act indicated an honorable promise to end the threat between them. Goda smiled again. The man would be easy to work. "You are now a welcome guest, Mr. Locke. The Hand will be happy to begin forming a business arrangement that will be most beneficial to both our parties."

"I'm kind of hoping to stay small," said Locke, modestly rubbing his palms together. "I know my limits."

"A wise man does." Damn, there went the soft rumble again. A few worried-looking attendees passed through the club's floor, exchanging glances and gestures. They knew better than to trouble the more secluded booths along the wall, where the real business was handled. Was something wrong with the kitchen? His smile faltered when he considered the other possibility. Shingen stirred, nodding sharply once to get his attention. "I must beg one more indulgence. There is some minor matter I must attend to." He snapped his fingers towards the hostess. "Another drink will be brought for you. And then the formalities."

"Of course!" Locke leaned forward to say something else when the lights of the club abruptly went out. At first there was silence as the last note of the music faded into a dead electronic squeal. He shoved back in his seat when Goda barked at him to stay, shoving himself out of the booth with a quick grace that belied the enormity of The Hand's current Hell's Kitchen enforcer. Noises scattered along the floor, people rushing the dimly lit exit signs.

More rumbling from beneath the thin floor, dull smacking sounds. Loki narrowed his eyes, considering the problem with mute annoyance. The expression distorted the mask of 'Locke's' illusion, making the young businessman look harshly cynical. No, this was not according to plan at all.

Soft popping noises filled the club's floor and he heard the thick form of Goda take a tumble well before he could get out of the room. The night-night gun kept going in rapid fire, its handler ensuring that every one of The Hand's operatives within range were temporarily neutralized. In the dimness of the far door, a small but powerful maglite flashlight lit up. Agent Bobbi Morse kept it off of Loki's now unveiled face, shining it off the table's surface in front of him instead. Her long wig had disappeared in favor of her own tightly knotted hair and she looked wholly in her element despite the uniforms given to the club's entirely female staff. "So, we got a complication brewing downstairs. Figured we should probably go take a look at it. You ready?"

Loki slid out of the booth with catlike ease, smoothing down the offensively cheap tie he wore as part of his undercover role with a slender hand. He smiled, his green eyes alert and his teeth feral. "Always."

. . .

Loki let Bobbi lead them both through the now-deserted kitchen and down the stairwell to where the real cooking happened. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of mind-altering chemicals in the air and the wafting traces of distant smoke from somewhere further in, ignoring the knocked-out ninjas scattered occasionally along the floor. Not Bobbi's handiwork. This was a quick, brutal job, done by a agile but distinctly male figure. Power as much as speed. He arched an eyebrow. "The local color is certainly enthusiastic about his work, isn't he?"

"Secondary goal on this op was to get a look at the guy if we could swing it." She kept clearing the corners, maglite held in one hand and kept atop the gun in the other to light wherever she aimed. With the civilian floor swept, she'd switched from less lethal to fatal as all hell. Her battle staves sat at her hip, immediately accessible and absolutely not her first choice. The Hand was universally brutal at short-range, and now they were going to be cranky. She wasn't going to let any of them get that close, regardless of having backup in the form of a six foot tall stick of magical alien deity. "Since he just screwed up our primary, I'm all for arranging a little exit interview."

"You sound about as happy as I feel with this turn." He snorted, amused at her disdain.

"Least we got some actionable intel out of the job. More if I can get a good look down here before it all burns up. Plus, I never have to hear you complain again about the suits you wore on this job." Bobbi paused by another stairwell, going dead silent. This one was supposed to be locked at all times, according to the sign written in neat, formal kanji beside it. It was currently wide open – probably the red boy's entry point. Probably going to be the exit, too. Her instincts were immediately backed by the almost physical sense of Loki tensing behind her. She tilted her head, just in time to catch the almost soundless whisper from him.

"Close."

And then the rapid rush of wind past her, a dash of motion so fast she almost missed it. She snarled, making an immediate judgment call. "I'll sweep the scene – you catch up!"

Loki didn't waste time acknowledging the plan. He simply disappeared up the stairwell in the wake of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, fleeting enough to get right on the vigilante's heels.

. . .

The stairwell went directly to the roof. According to the few scraps of profile SHIELD had on the vigilante, this was going to be his terrain of choice. It would be better if Loki could close the gap and lay a hand on him before reaching the ledge of the club's roof. And as damnably fast as the man in the absurd leather onesie moved, not as simple as he'd expected.

He could see the dim outline of the 'Devil' ahead of him, powerful thighs working like unstoppable pistons to get him up and away from the pursuer at speeds Loki had to concede were remarkable. Once they were level, Loki's naturally superior strength meant he could launch and land on the man like a cat. There would be the risk of some minor breakage. Humans tended to be woefully fragile, but this one... this one seemed durable enough to bear it. He began to calculate his move, the moonlight beginning now to edge the door at the stop of the stairwell. He would land lightly, as best he may.

He lost two steps when the vigilante didn't keep busting forward. Instead, he danced barely to the side of the door and slapped two stolen flashbang devices down towards Loki. It forced him to pause and swat them away, closing his eyes and letting his ears take the brunt of it.

Through the screeing eeeeeee that the weapon left to muddle his mind, he dimly realized an important detail about the maneuver and filed it away for later study. His senses picked up the vigilante studying for him a second longer than he should have.

And then, wonder of wonders, the vigilante spoke. His voice was a gravelly disguise but still filled with the appropriate startled examination. "What the hell are you?"

Loki got his bearings back and started to move again, annoyed and somehow perversely delighted with the turn. A real challenge – one that could see. The vigilante was also back on the move. "Hold still a moment and we'll talk about it."

"Can't. Got a thing. Date night."

Six meters between them. They were both through the door now and pacing across the wide, gravel-strewn roof. Five meters. Loki was closing. The man in red whipped around and flung a single baton at Loki's right knee and got the side of the calf underneath before it bounced back to his hand. Loki hissed in pained surprise, stumbling just enough to slow him again. The scar from the matter in Scotland was still healing, the muscles underneath it easily shocked into fresh offense.

The vigilante knew. All but smelled the injury on him and took his shot for the advantage.

Seven meters now. Eight. Damn the human!

The vigilante sprung up to the lip of the roof and half turned to regard his pursuer. The face was still obscured under a thick mask, one that covered his eyes. "Tell SHIELD the Kitchen's under control. You want The Hand, well, you're not alone. But you're not gonna push around in my town without supervision. You want to talk, I know you can find me. But it'll be on my terms. Not yours." He paused as he turned towards his drop. "Sorry about hitting you in the leg. That was a cheap shot."

Loki bit off the snap he'd already come up with, catching up to the ledge as the man dropped gracefully down into the night. He watched the swan dive that turned into a catch and swing, the man using the rusted scaffolding to sweep his way towards the next building. He yanked the phone out his pocket and called out without looking down at it, still following the vigilante's motion with unblinking eyes. "Secondary is moving away from the scene. I can reacquire handily. Do I pursue?"

Three buildings away. Logic told him the vigilante was going to take the corner swivel at the next and get out of his follower's sight range. His connection crackled, driving him to impatience. "Do you wish I pursue?"

He tensed, ready to go in case the vigilante made the corner. Then came the familiar voice of Skye – Daisy, he swiftly corrected himself, she has chosen this name for her own – Agent Daisy Johnson through the crackle.

"Abort."

He snarled soundlessly as the vigilante approached his turn, his eyes narrowing at the human's glide. A few good leaps and he could still catch up. Ensnare the man, for insult and evasion both. Bring him back to base all but tied up with a bow, in defiance of orders but in service to a kind of willful expediency. It would be tactical. Beneficial. His mind could come up with all sorts of excuses to do what he wished.

The old temptations never really left. Loki pushed himself back from the ledge and let his gaze break from the man. Let the prey go, by his whim. He took a soft inhale, then ate the temptations down and remembered why he chose the way he did. The way he could. Because he could change.

Let the vigilante run. There would be another time. He turned his attention back to the phone in his hand. "Subject has disappeared. The operation is over."

"See you tonight for final debrief." Agent Johnson rang off cheerfully, leaving him alone at the edge of the night's sky.