Empathy is not my strong point. Well actually, I have no empathy at all. For anyone. I am what people would call heartless. But I do have a heart. It pumps blood through my body. It's a tiny muscle, about the size of my fist. But it doesn't feel. Maybe that's a good thing.

I yanked my sword out of the last man's stomach, admiring the beautiful color of scarlet on the silver blade.

"My business is done," I whispered, the voice activated hilt folding the blade discreetly back inside.

I walked with a brisk pace back to my quarters. I was surprised at the amount of insane people who wanted Loki free. They desired chaos. All I love is order. I washed my face with ice cold water, looking into the mirror to see my tangled curly brown hair hanging over my dark eyes. I liked that look. I combed out my unruly hair, parting it so that it hid my eyes. The doorbell rang. I walked to the door and opened it.

"Director Fury." I was surprised to see him.

"Lasca, I have a job for you."

"Proceed."

"I have decided that you will be the best candidate to be Loki's executioner. We have received word from Asgard that we will be allowed to give him the proper punishment for his crimes here on Earth."

"Why me, sir?"

"Because, frankly, you're cold hearted. You have no emotional attachment to people. You will not suffer from any guilt or remorse. We need your lack of emotion to make sure that you can get the job done without getting soft and deciding not to or getting really angry and chopping him to pieces."

"Very well, sir. I will do it."

A simple job. Probably broadcast on international television as well. It sounded pretty fun.

….

That next morning, I woke up bright and early to meet the infamous man whom I was to execute in a few days. It probably wasn't a wise idea because I could develop an "emotional attachment" to him, but I doubted it. Besides, I felt that I had the right to know exactly who I was executing and he had the right to know exactly who was killing him. Just basic manners. I punched in the complicated password to his cell, checking to make sure that I had my sword with me. I did. The door slid open, making a loud squeaking noise. Seriously, SHIELD needed some better equipment. I walked in, my face and body language revealing nothing.

"I haven't seen you before," he said, sitting on the mat provided for him.

"I'm your executioner," I stated coldly. "You shouldn't want to see me."

"They said I am to be executed in three days."

"You are."

"Then why are you here, unnamed executioner?"

"My name is Lasca Stone. I came here to know exactly who I am executing."

"I am Loki. You are executing me." His face showed a hint of a sarcastic smile.

"I know that."

"Then?"

"I don't know you as a person."

"Why do you need to? The last thing you want is emotional attachment, am I wrong?"

"I don't have emotions. I am just being polite. You have the right to know who your killer is."

"Very well. Are you really as heartless as you say, Lasca? I saw a human like you. She said love was for children. Yet, I sensed as much love in her going to that man as much as I would sense going from Odin to Thor," he said, somewhat bitterly.

"Agent Romanoff. She claims to be strong, but really, her heart is soft. I'm not like that. I've never shed a tear in my life. I've never known friendship or love. I've never owed anyone anything. I have been purely alone. So that is why I am executing you. Because I will feel neither regret nor joy from doing it."

"How very strong of you. Admirable." He smirked.

"You like sarcasm."

"I'm quite fond of it, yes."

"That's not surprising, god of mischief."

"Ah, you know my title from all those years ago."

"I did a little research. You turned into a mare and gave birth to an eight legged horse named Sleipnir," I recited, trying to hold back a laugh. Even a heartless person has a sense of humor sometimes.

He looked at me, wide eyed. "That was a very long time ago," he whispered.

"So it's true."

"So what if it is?"

"I know something new about you." I sat in the chair across from him.

"Fantastic." His blue eyes bore into me. "I've never seen hair like yours."

"Your point?"

"I know something new." He smiled mischievously.

"Well said." I fingered my hair. "I styled it in a new way yesterday," I blurted.

He seemed surprised that I told him this.

"Your execution's going to be televised. I thought I should look nice for the occasion." I looked at the man who sat in tattered clothes, his hair tangled and his face covered in dirt. "You look like you need to be cleaned up as well."

"Oh? Is this sympathy that you're exhibiting?"

"It's for SHIELD's reputation. We want the world to see that we're humane and that our prisoners live in proper conditions."

"Yet you are executing me."

"Don't act like you don't deserve it," I shot back.

He put his hands up. "I am only stating my opinion." Folding his hands neatly back into his lap, he asked, "You seem to know a lot about me, Lasca, but what about you?"

"I've told you already. I have always been alone."

"That answer will not suffice. You tell me everything until we know equal amounts about each other."

"That sounds fair." I leaned back in my chair. "I grew up in California. My mom taught me how to wield a sword. My dad had left when I was just a baby. Then my mom died when I was nine years old. I was basically an orphan. I had nothing but my sword and the clothes on my back. I was found by the government, and they discovered my wielding skills. They put me into secret missions to kill our enemies and that's how SHIELD found me. I've been here ever since I was fourteen. By that time, I had killed more than a hundred people. Since my mother died, I never felt a shred of remorse or sadness."

"How interesting. Sword wielding is a rare skill on this planet, no?"

"Maybe so."

"I had a nice sword on Asgard. A gift from Odin. I had it melted once I learned of my true parenting."

"That's understandable. I still have my sword from when I was younger. It's dull and useless now. SHIELD gave me a nicer one. It's customized."

We sat there for hours, conversing but most of the time staring at each other. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: why were we, the executioner and the condemned, sharing some of our most private of secrets? I thought it was because it was perhaps a comforting thought to the criminal, knowing that his executioner knows who he is and that he is not being executed by a random stranger. This was especially applicable to Loki, a man who has never known love.

I stood. "Good day, Loki. I'll see you in three days," I said flatly.

"Good day, my lady," he replied.
"You really don't have to be so formal. But, maybe you do. You're a god, after all." I turned and left.

...

I've never been able to sleep well, but those few days before the execution were especially difficult. I would lie awake until three in the morning, staring at my ceiling. Sometimes I would take a stroll around the SHIELD headquarters, looking out my favorite windows and occasionally spying on someone here or there. I often passed by Loki's cell. I glanced through the only window. For some reason, it surprised me to see the villain sleeping peacefully in his uncomfortable mat. I guess it never really occurred to me that villains needed to sleep as much as heroes did. After my little nighttime walk, I would return to my quarters, realizing that my little activity made me more awake than before. But when I finally fell asleep, I found that it was more comfortable than normal.

….

I actually felt pretty normal waking up on the day of the execution. I combed my hair quickly and slipped into my dress uniform and headed out to chaos. Agents were running around like crazy, trying to manage all the news cameras and reporters.

Director Fury managed to find his way to me despite the madness surrounding the both of us. "Are you ready, Lasca?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I said emotionlessly.

"Then let's go. You don't mind being bombarded with questions, do you?"

"Of course not."

He walked me into the large white room which was crowded with people. "Good!" he shouted over the noise.

"Lasca! Lasca!" several news reporters called. "How does it feel to be the executioner for the greatest war criminal the world has ever known?"

I spoke into the microphones. "Fine."

"Do you feel at all nervous?"

"No. I'm only killing one person and no one is trying to kill me at the same time. It's like playing soccer with no opposing team. Easy."

"Do you think you'll feel guilty?"

I looked into the camera. "No," I stated plainly, walking up onto the platform where Loki waited for me, strapped to the dreaded chair.

He looked up at me, smiling as a little boy would after he has done something terribly wrong but is trying to hide his guilt.

"So did those three days go well for you?" I asked him politely.

"They were good enough."

"I see you got all cleaned up."

"I did." He looked around. "You should hurry up. They're waiting."

"I know." I held the first needle in my hand. "The first is just an anesthetic to put you to sleep. The second will be another anesthetic so you won't feel any pain. The third one is the last. I'm sure I won't have to tell you what that one does."

"Go on with it, then."

I readied the first needle, my face showing no expression. There was a tense silence over the previously excited crowd as I injected the first shot. A few minutes later, Loki closed his pale eyelids over his bright blue eyes. I injected the second shot almost immediately afterwards. Now for the moment of truth: the third shot. I found it ironic that it was in the smallest needle. For the first time in a very long time, I felt nervous. My hands trembled slightly as I held Loki's life in my now sweaty palm. The whole world was watching. Go on, Lasca¸ I thought. No big deal. Just another death. No use in waiting, hm? I moved my tanned hand closer to the injection spot, my dark skin contrasting with his. I couldn't help but think of the several hour long conversation we had just three days ago.

"There was one time I felt empathy," I admitted.

"When?"

"Ten years ago, there was another big criminal being held in our headquarters." I quieted my voice so that Fury wouldn't hear. "I was also appointed as his executioner. I did as I do now. I spoke with him. The day of the execution, he had escaped before dawn had even cracked. No one knows who did it. But, you are the only to ever hear this, I was the one who released him."

"Do you plan on releasing me?" he asked, somewhat hopefully.

"I don't know. I was young and emotional then. Do you want to know the real reason why I'm here?"

"What?"

"To decide if you're worthy."

I stared down at the knocked out god. I still hadn't made my decision. I twirled the needle in my hand, trying to give myself some time to think. Lasca, you're being ridiculous. Of all times, you let your true self out now?

"Get on with it!" a man shouted impatiently from the crowd. More shouts and yells came, agreeing with him.

I looked once again at the eager crowd. Then I looked at the condemned. His entire history flashed through my head. Along with the last part of our conversation.

"I had the perfect life once," Loki said thoughtfully. "But now I can't go back."

"You can start a new one."

"In three days?"

"Remember that I am still making my decision."

"You humans like this thought of starting anew, don't you? But you don't really believe it, do you? A smart girl like you?"

"I believe it."

"Why?"

"It's called forgetting."

"No one can forget me."

"And it's called forgiving."

"No one is forgiving."

"I am."

With that thought, I threw the fragile needle to the ground, its contents leaking all over the floor as the glass shattered into tiny pieces. The crowd gasped almost at once. Then, riot. Angry screams came from the back, the news reporters and journalists hurled their questions at me once again.

The previously sleeping Loki opened his eyes. It didn't surprise me that he was immune to the medicine made for normal humans. "So…" he said, barely able to speak. "You've made your decision."

"I have."

"Is this empathy I sense, Lasca?"

I wiped my first tears in fourteen years from my eyes. "Yeah, maybe it is." I unstrapped his bound limbs. "You just got lucky."

...

I watched the news before getting out of bed.

"Lasca Stone is the woman responsible for the escape of the war criminal, Loki. By refusing to execute him last year, Stone caused worldwide riots and chaos as Loki managed to escape into an unknown place on the other side of the universe. Her execution for associating and helping such a notorious criminal is set for this afternoon."

I looked on my nightstand, where I had left Loki's gift to me: a silver medallion with his complex symbol engraved onto it.

"I have no emotional attachment to you," he told me before going.

"I know."

He held the famed Tesseract in his hands firmly. "But maybe, I'll come back for you." He handed me the medallion, kissing my hand in the process. "If you're lucky."

"Get up, Stone! It's time."

I went through my normal routine one last time before walking out the door, prepared for what was to come. Boos echoed through the room as I was strapped to the same chair Loki had sat in last year. My executioner had not done me the same courtesy as I had done for Loki. I had never seen him before. But it appeared that I would never see him because when I saw him walk up, his face was completely covered by a mask.

"Where's the guillotine?" I joked, his mask reminding me of olden day executions.

He pulled down his cloth mask slightly, revealing bright blue eyes. "The first is an anesthetic," he said, the voice sounding vaguely familiar.

My eyes widened with realization.

"You just got lucky," stated my executioner.

I could tell that Loki was smiling mischievously underneath his mask.

"Is this empathy I'm sensing?" I asked.

"No. It's love."

"That's new."

"We always seem to be learning something new."

I agreed.