"Loki, NO!" Thor screamed as his younger brother removed his hand from the staff and fell into the abyssal vortex of space. All Loki wanted was to be recognized as Thor's equal. However, having been lied to his whole life, he went about reaching his goal the wrong way, causing destruction, ruin and death to follow him wherever he went. This brought him scorn and hatred by all Asgardians along with beings of other realms.

He was an outcast since birth even though he ignored it until mere days before he ended his life. Being one of Jotunheim rather than Asgard, he knew that Odin would never fully recognize him as one who belonged. He knew, and accepted it.

Loki's life flashed before his emerald eyes. He saw his mother, his brother, and his father. They all turned and smiled at him, raising their arms, as though they would be able to ever accept him as anything but a monster.

He saw Thor and Odin standing at the bridge, reaching for him in vain. He continued to fall. He didn't notice the tears that streamed from his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. He was swallowed up by the void below him. He closed his eyes and willingly accepted Death to take him.

In the city of New York, Manhattan to be precise, a young woman arrived home to her apartment, ten minutes after five in the morning. Her face showed only twenty-two years of war. Her hair was longer than most reaching down to her hips and was blacker than any midnight throughout any of the nine realms. Her slender figure was cloaked in black tight jeans and a black leather jacket. Overall, she looked like a normal punk-rock styled woman living in New York. However, there was something older about her. Her eyes were an unnaturally frigid ice-blue that had piercing perceptiveness. They showed the darkness and despair that dwelled within her heart. They showed off a past of loneliness, desolation, resentment and a longing that no one could place. This girl had experienced pain unlike any other.

Her telephone rang as soon as she walked into the third apartment from the top of the building, her own.

"Hello?" she answered, fatigue plaguing her voice.

"Brooke! Where have you been all day?" Her co-worker whined. "You forgot to give me the reports!"

"My apologies, although it should be your place to-"

A large, but slightly muffled crash on the roof, two floors above her, interrupted her quip.

"I'll have to call you back, Jane." She hung up the phone and dashed up the stairs in the hall to the roof. What could have crashed onto the roof and made that loud of a noise?

She threw open the door at the end of the stairs. In the faint light of the night-time city she saw someone lying sprawled on their back. Normally, with her cold nature, Brooke wouldn't be concerned with a random stranger's well-being. However, contradicting her normal behavior, some compelling force that she couldn't describe, but felt in her gut, drew her to this newcomer.

She bent over the figure and her eyes widened. A man with ebony, shoulder-length hair and ivory pale skin was lying in the middle of an intricately detailed imprint that was burned into the concrete. The man must have, somehow, fallen here.

She stared at him a moment, wondering if he was dead, when his eyes slowly opened.

His eyes! They show what mine show. She thought. She brought herself slightly closer to him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He blinked once, twice, and slowly answered.

"I am Loki." She smirked.

"As in the God of Mischief and Chaos? That is certainly interesting."

Loki said nothing as his memories of falling came back to him. He sat up abruptly, almost hitting Brooke's head with his own.

"Where am I?"

"Nancy Apartments, New York City."

"No, not that. What realm is this?"

"Well, I am not familiar with these realms you speak of, but this is Earth if that helps."

"Midgard." He muttered but flinched and clutched his head.

"Hey, are you all right?" She asked, but didn't try to touch him. He didn't answer and rose to his feet. He walked around a few feet, but stopped in front of the smirking woman.

"Do I amuse you?"

"Yes. You wander about like a little lost child. I find it very entertaining."

Normally, the silver-tongued mischief maker would quip back or become enraged. However, he just looked past her with eyes of grief. Brooke's smirk turned into a sad smile of empathy.

"I can see it in your eyes. Our pasts are similar. They've put you down, haven't they? They've lied to you, claiming love and affection but returning your love with anger, cruelty and misjudgment. Have they not ripped that which you truly long for from your grasp? They've killed you, and marked you an outcast. They cast you aside like you were nothing. All those years of love and kinship were nothing but a mask of how they truly felt about you."

Brooke was slightly shocked when Loki came closer, marks of tiny streams ran down his pale cheeks. He raised his right hand as if to wipe them away, but instead brought it to her face and lightly smoothed over her even paler cheeks with gentle fingers.

"Your tears flow endlessly, and yet you continue to speak with a voice so strong. What do they call you, Midgardian?"