So, today I was thinking, what if the Avengers didn't defeat Loki? Where would he end up after New York City? Funnily enough, I decided on England, specifically, my home city of London. This is a romance story at it's core, although there may be some graphic violence in later chapters. I would love to hear your opinions!
Life During Wartime
Frances had always been privileged. Her private schooling and exposure to wealth at such a young age had made her appreciate the value of money, and the luxuries it could afford its owner. Unlike most heiresses, Frances saw the importance of independence, and as such, refused to live a life paid for by her parents. She was born the first daughter to Lord and Lady Booth of Buckinghamshire, a noble family of high standing on the British social ladder. Her mother and father went on to have three other children, Elisabeth, Catherine and William, all now teenagers whilst Frances was soon approaching her twenty-third birthday. A student of English literature at Cambridge University, Frances was always drawn to academia, whilst the rest of her siblings preferred to amble through life attached to their parents' credit cards. They were of the mentality that they would always have riches, thanks to the successes of the ones that spawned them, a mentality that Frances regarded with much disdain. Her sister, Elisabeth, the second eldest at twenty, was a permanent fixture on the London social scene, often photographed exiting nightclubs worse-for-wear with other noble offspring. Catherine was less of an exhibitionist but still dangerously addicted to over-spending, and at sixteen she still boarded at Wycombe Abbey, the same school which all three girls had attended. William, the only boy of the family, boarded at Eton College, a budding sports player and all round lady-killer at the tender age of seventeen.
After leaving Cambridge with a first class degree, Frances decided to move to London to pursue a career in publishing, but when that turned sour she found herself working as an intern to a top government official. The position had been given to her partly because of her family history, her employer knew that the Booth's were a trustworthy family, one capable of keeping many secrets. That's how she discovered them, the Avengers, a covert security team of demi-God's, billionaires and scientific experiments gone wrong. Her boss worked closely with Nick Fury in a transatlantic partnership, he divulging information on the latest security threats whilst Fury would update him on the actions and whereabouts of the Avengers. Frances was made to sign the Official Secrets Act, ensuring that the existence of the Avengers would never be made public knowledge unless entirely necessary. But it seemed that the secrecy afforded to the peculiar team of heroes would soon come to an end, and it was only a matter of time before every man, woman and child knew of the Avengers.
Frances stood in the response room, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. The room was full up to the brim, the Prime Minister in the centre, surrounded by his staff, civil servants and control room operators lined the walls. On the screen New York city was burning, a scene of carnage worse than Frances had ever seen, worse than the world had ever seen. Nothing could compare to what they were all collectively witnessing, not the events of September 11th or the First World War. They watched as the Avengers battled the alien race, the Chitauri, a name familiar to only a few people in the room. They watched as Loki Laufeyson, the brother of Thor, rode his way through the city, his horned helmet making him look every bit as menacing as intended. Some of the civil servants made calls on their mobile phones, desperately trying to reach loved ones in New York. The Prime Minister was silent whilst he watched, silently praying that the Avengers managed to defeat the Chitauri army, that this crisis would be averted before it reached Britain's shores. Frances was optimistic, although she had only met one Avenger in her life-time, Tony Stark, a good friend of her parents, she had spoken to Nick Fury on several occasions and had every faith in his group of misfits.
"How did this happen?", the first words spoken by the Prime Minister in what felt like an age.
"We're not sure Prime Minister, S.H.I.E.L.D had Loki prisoner the last time I heard from Fury," replied Frances' boss, his palms sweating under the intense pressure.
"Not good enough Ed, why wasn't I warned? What the fuck has happened to the communication around here? We're supposed the be a fucking government, to protect the people, now we've got a God with dreams of world domination and entire army of cretins at his fucking heels," the Prime Minister bellowed, fumbling in his suit pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply, the smoke mingled with the venom of his voice, "someone is going to pay for this Ed, and it's not going to be me."
Frances couldn't take her eyes off the screen, the siege on New York appeared to get worse by the minute, with the Avengers astoundingly overpowered by the Chitauri army. There were live pictures of Loki Laufeyson, she had never laid eyes upon him before and she wondered whether this was the same Laufeyson that Ed always spoke of. This Laufeyson was slender, with long black hair, he looked more like a high fashion model than a jealous, domineering demi-God born of Frost Giant heritage. There was something about him that did not sit well with her, he was truly psychotic, burning and destroying the city that never sleeps. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and she watched as each satellite connection failed, as each newscaster apologised for the cut in live transmission and as each station suddenly went dead. The room began to bustle, the Prime Minister screamed at anyone and everyone who neared him, urgent calls were made to Nick Fury, to the President, to anyone who could keep the room informed.
"Prime Minister, I just got off the phone with the President," shouted a member of his cabinet that Frances didn't recognise. The man was young, around Frances' age, perhaps a few years younger, he was dressed smartly in a button down suit, sleeves rolled out, sweat beads collecting on his forehead, he looked in shock.
"Spit it out boy," commanded the Prime Minister, lighting yet another cigarette.
"The Avengers lost Sir, Loki and his Chitauri have taken hold of the majority of the East Coast, he-he appears to have won. The President is evacuating to the emergency bunker, he suggested you do the same," the young boy stuttered over his words, essentially delivering the first message of the apocalypse. Frances took a deep breath, some in the room began to cry, manically dialling their families to warn them of impending doom. The Prime Minister was deathly silent, and it was Ed's voice in her ear that shook her from her trance.
"Call Fury, now."