Swords and Arrows by Maddyson Ruby
Characters: Clint/OC
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit. All recognisable characters belong to Marvel.
AN: This will follow the movie; you just have to be patient. Just to say, there's a note at the bottom.
Chapter 1
Rayne Wilson was dog tired. Every muscle in her body ached but that was all in a good day's work. If you didn't ache afterwards then you might as well have not done it, at least, that was Rayne's motto. By government records and to the general public, she was just a lowly grocery store clerk but what's behind the façade is always more important than what is portrayed to the public, a lesson Rayne knew all too well.
To the untrained eye a grocery store clerk was all that Rayne Wilson was and all she would ever be, but to a more aware person? She was a riddle – complex and difficult in all manner of ways.
Her body, toned and lean came from hours upon hours of hard work and blood, sweat and tears.
Her trained, calculating stare came from years of experience and a deep seated natural instinct.
The scars on her left wrist came from her first assignment that went bad.
A multitude of things that, when on their own, could be taken for a slight gym obsession or a clumsy youth but when taken all together, it lead to her status as someone or something extraordinary.
A mercenary was her technical title and for Rayne, it was in her blood. Her father was the Wade Wilson, famously known in the underground community as Deadpool or The Merc with the Mouth as The Wolverine had dubbed him.
Rayne was good at what she did. No one denied it. Those that did didn't exactly live long.
"Honey, I'm home," Rayne muttered to herself as she walked into her apartment, her 'tool' bag hanging from her arm.
"Little late, isn't it dear?"
The reply where there should have been only silence made the woman freeze up in place.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" the same voice asked again - mocking and cruelty hidden under a deceivingly smooth baritone.
"Who are you?" she demanded with the words so similar to the knives she favoured.
"That," he paused dramatically, his voice half-crazed, "is not of your concern. You need know, only this, I am destined to be your salvation – after all, freedom is life's great lie."
Rayne looked up to see icy green eyes, full of malice and misery. So cold were those eyes that Rayne had to force back a full body shiver. The eyes were framed by a pale, gaunt face with a nightmarish smile. For Rayne, he looked like he'd stepped straight out of a horror movie with his ruffled midnight black hair.
"Little Rayne…" he mocked, a smirk still firmly plastered on his face. "Whatever will you do…" he continued.
I'll show you what I'll bloody do, she thought viciously, her hand sliding to the switchblade concealed in her jeans.
"How does it feel to know that soon, you will be liberated? No longer confined to the boundaries of your weak human mind?" he asked with his crazy smile still in place.
Instead of answering, Rayne lunged.
The intruder had only a moment's notice before she was on top of him, switchblade at his jugular. She laughed mockingly, her face lit with what some would call pure fury. It was her trademark expression; while some sneered at their targets Rayne wore a glare so enraged most people who saw it peed themselves. It was the expression an angel of death may wear when watching the world burn.
The man smirked up at her, undaunted in the face of what could be his imminent death, "Mortals – you never learn."
That insult to her species was enough to piss Rayne off just enough that all thought and control left her, so with a cry she slapped him straight across the face. His stunned expression told her that, whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that.
"You will pay for your insolence!" he roared, kicking her away. Within a moment she was back on her feet, running to the wall where, at first glance, dozens of ornamental staffs hung. But with Rayne Wilson, nothing was ever what it seemed. She grabbed the first one her hand found and spun to meet the intruder head on.
The staff and sceptre clashed with a resounding smack leaving Rayne reeling as the intruder pushed down on his sceptre, forcing her lower and lower.
"You will kneel before me!" he spat, his eyes alight with madness. With renewed effort Rayne forced herself into a standing position, delivering a swift kick to his head. He growled, coming at her once more, despite the fact that the kick should have rendered him unconscious or at least majorly dazed.
The man lashed out, his sceptre slicing through her upper arm cleanly. She couldn't hold in her cry of pain as the wound seemed to almost burn her flesh.
The man laughed maniacally, reminding Rayne of an old school movie villain. "Who are you?" Rayne grunted out as she fell to her knees gasping. Pain seeming to radiate out from her arm to the rest of her body, spreading like a fast acting poison. The man smirked once more, taking joy from her obvious pain.
"Me? My name is Loki."
Rayne had only a moment to absorb that fact before there was a sharp pain in her chest. It was crippling and made her want to scream as it leeched away at her strength and spirit leaving her feeling numb and almost hollow. She felt her eyes begin to glaze over and her heart almost stopped at the sudden flood of energy that entered her being at that second. She tensed as her body was assaulted brutally by numerous images and sounds. It was chaos in her mind as Rayne felt her body go into overdrive, fighting off the onslaught that seemed to be flowing both into and around her in an effort to either suffocate or flood her brain.
Rayne felt her body begin to slow its fighting and writhing until it accepted the previously unwelcome intrusion. Just as her body gave up fighting an image appeared in her mind. A bright blue cube washed over her senses and usurped her mind in that instant until all she could see was a bright blue light tinging her vision and numbing her over.
To Rayne, she felt like she was in a cage, just inches from the surface. Locked up with no hope of escaping whilst being prodded and stabbed a million times over, she was trapped in constant feelings of despair and anguish. She watched helpless as she stood up calmly and approached Loki.
"Why did you resist freedom?" Loki demanded his voice smooth yet deadly like a serpent waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
"I do not know, Master Loki. I was weak and feared the gift you have given. I thank you."
Rayne felt her very lips form the traitorous words and wanted to vomit at how violated she felt in that moment.
"Yes," Loki agreed as he looked her over. "Pack your bags; bring anything and everything you might need."
"Yes, Master."
Rayne was a prisoner inside of herself being toyed and played with as though she were a rag doll. She felt and watched herself jog into her bedroom and pull an old family photo from the wall and toss it to the bed. She dialled the safe combination before submitting to a thumbprint and eye scan. The safe hissed before popping open revealing her tools of the trade. Rayne loaded her guns, daggers and knives into a bag before packing her jumpsuit and boots – her traditional and trademark outfit.
Just as she was about to leave with Loki she picked up her twin katanas and their harness before blindly following him out the door.
"I'm going to need you to use your… unique talents, Miss Wilson," Loki informed her. Internally Rayne was screaming, begging for salvation but outwardly all she did was nod in understanding.
Loki continued, "I already have another with talents on par to yours but I need your particular touch on this next job."
"What can I do to help, Master?" she asked.
Rayne loathed herself at that moment. Just because she was a mercenary didn't mean she had no morals to go with her skill set. There were just some people she refused to target. In virtually every case she was perfectly fine to go ahead with the kill but there were certain things she could not and would not do. One was killing children or pregnant women, the other was murdering publicly in front of civilians. The first was personal the second was just plain common sense.
The fact that she was possibly going to do both strangled her soul and made her want to weep and wail but she could do nothing but agree with his proposed plan and say, "Whatever I can do to help, sir."
000000-000000
Nick Fury was irate. Not only had Loki managed to take over the minds of two of his people but he had also collected an alleged mutant mercenary with the capabilities to work both long and short distance. She'd shown up on SHIELD's radar when she was just a child and was tagging along on her father's jobs, helping when she was allowed. Her skills at the tender age of six had been enough to incapacitate two of his team whilst her father took out the remaining eight agents. It was safe to say that they had escaped and since then SHIELD hadn't come across Rayne once. They'd come across her kills before but the daughter of Deadpool was nothing if not thorough and no prints or DNA were found on or around her target's body leaving her to be something of a SHIELD legend. The only way they could tell if a kill was 'hers' was by the lack of DNA evidence of the crime scene and the presence of a single black ace card – sometimes clubs, sometimes spades. Pitiful, really. But that was all SHIELD had to go on – no DNA present and her calling card, a black ace. It was probably some unimaginative rookie that named her on file as Black Ace but that was the way it as.
By the time Rayne Wilson turned twenty she had inspired the legend of the Black Ace – notorious mercenary and sword for hire.
"Sir, they're on the move," Agent Hill announced.
"Where?" he demanded, striding purposefully towards the console.
"Tulsa, Oklahoma," Fury watched the screen where a man – most definitely Loki – led a woman from the apartment building into full view of the security camera they were watching from. The woman was following behind him with a stoic face but what caught the attention of Nicolas Fur were her icy cold blue eyes.
"Shit!"
Director Fury wasn't normally one for expletives but SHIELD's luck had just taken a considerable nosedive leaving them up shit creek without a paddle.
"Call them in," he commanded, his bass like voice seeming to resonate around the room.
"What?" Agent Hill asked, surprise showing on her face before she quickly masked it. "But, Sir-"
"No buts, Agent Hill. Things just got dangerous," his face was so serious that everyone else in the room took his word for the gravity of the situation but Agent Hill carried on undaunted.
"Director, we're only up against swords and arrows! We have the means to stop this madness!" she practically exploded, leaving her usually blank and numb disposition behind.
"Exactly, Agent Hill. Swords and arrows," he spoke seriously, raising his voice only slightly to catch the attention of the confused agent. "Both of the people Loki has are dangerous. They are perfect examples of threats that we monitor and both will have no problem eliminating any and all obstacles in their path."
"Sir, with all due respect, their weapons are medieval. How much of a threat can they pose?" Agent Hill asked exasperatedly.
"A significant one, Agent Hill, a significant one. They make medieval work for them." With that last word said Director Nicolas Fury strode out of the room leaving the agents on the bridge confused in his wake.
"Swords and arrows, huh?" Agent Hill mumbled before going back to work.
Done! What do you all think of this? I've had no reviews for my Twilight story 'The Artist' so I thought I would try my hand at this. I've been desperate to do and Avengers fan fiction for forever and now I get a chance to. Besides, I haven't seen loads of Clint/OC stories or many stories at all told from the perspective of someone in Loki's group. Tell me what you all think of that. The more reviews I get, the quicker updates will happen. Your reviews inspire me! So, can I get a review?