Well, hi there! First off, I gotta warn some of you.
This is NOT your usual Avengers novelisation with an extra character. This is an ALTERNATE PLOT, designed to totally deviate from the original. A total 'what if, instead of Loki, it was a different villain', but with all the same characters and more. This chapter will be the most like the movie, to establish the setting, but after this all hell will break loose, so to speak. It's designed to be vague. Everything is there for a purpose and will be revealed through the plot. Once more, this is NOT a novelisation, anything that is different from the movie is done on purpose, including dialogue. Enjoy!
I have already watched all the latest Avengers-centric movies, except GOTG, so some elements from those shall be incorporated (maybe even the Winter Soldier if I'm nice to myself)
DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with Marvel or any of its franchises, and do not own any of their content within this story. All I claim ownership to is the differences in plot and original characters.
WARNINGS: Rated T for Moderate Violence, Low Level Coarse Language, and Adult Themes.
SUMMARY: Director Nick Fury is never unprepared. After the gruelling travel Loki makes to Midgard in the Tesseract room, there was backup. SHIELD calls them the SIMD, and they take care of the messes the humans can't clean up. In his weakened state, Loki is eventually subdued, and placed under SIM guard. This is of little consequence, for his mission was already completed. The real threat lurks within SHIELD's very walls, and their weapon from galaxies away. The Avengers alone may not be enough to stop Death Herself. Eventual tasteful Loki/OFC
He could always feel Her presence, through the Cosmic Cube, like a lone star in the darkest night. Death had always been a fragile thing, a tightrope dance of feeble stretch and world-shattering power. But He, He was the strong, far reaching arm to wield Her. There was nothing that was beyond His accomplishing.
He was Thanos, Death's envoy, and He was fast approaching.
Nick Fury was not one to stop and count his blessings. He liked to consider himself the world's most pessimistic realist. No hero was infallible, no man trustworthy. It was why he had survived this long. To him, each damn victory was just further proof that the next threat would be more challenging.
The military chopper he sat in thudded out its base line as it cut through the air towards Duty Call. The man believed in nothing if not preparing for the worst. Phase Two was the direct result of this, a project spanning decades, reaping rewards so rich that Fury was convinced that soon things would have to go to hell, just to cool off. His direction of the Strategic Homeland Intelligence, Enforcement and Logistics Division had been going too well for his tastes. It meant that it had to be reaching its catastrophic end soon. If Selvig was correct in his rantings, very soon. God help them all. The large man clenched his fists, the black leather of his gloves squeaking and causing more irritation in the man, at which he opened his hands once more. The rather expendable Agent that sat across from the Director, of South American descent and dwarfed by Fury's imposing stature hid his anxiety well in the presence of his boss, but not well enough. Fury knew exactly how much had been in the younger Agent's briefing, and it hadn't been even ten percent of what was truly going down. In a way he envied the ignorance. They didn't say a word to each other the entire trip, and the only noise that broke the silence were the occasional squeak of Fury's leather, or the click of the Agent fiddling with the high power firearm in his possession above the rhythmic beat of the chopper's blades.
Before they even touched base the Director was out of the chopper and striding into the main facility, where his second in command, Agent Mariah Hill, fell into step beside him, filling in the most recent details as they went.
"Hill, I want all of it, every piece of Phase Two out and on transportation," the Director said, his voice as rough and leathery as the trenchcoat he wore, while his permanent scowl only deepened.
Ever stubborn Agent Hill argued his order as he had come to expect with all frustration. "Sir, we are going to need every second just to evacuate personel. If the Tesseract collapses we're going to need to be as far-"
"If the Cube kicks it," Fury interjected harshly, "there will be no minimum safe zone. But until such time as the world ends, we will continue to act as though it plans to spin on. Get the tech on those trucks, Hill."
"I can get it done in ten minutes."
"You have five."
With a stiff nod, the woman turned and barked his orders to every lower ranking agent that she came into contact with. The entire base was in a frenzy. Seven hundred personel, all running to get their individual responsibilities cared for in zero minutes, none entirely aware of the extent of the emergency except a special few. Speaking of which. Fury made his was down in the elevator, to the lowest basement level, brought his good eye to the scanner, and entered through the armoured door. This room was in no better shape than the Common levels, scientists in white lab coats shouted data to others, and rushed to adjust various instruments. Just when Fury was about to truly give up hope, Doctor Erik Selvig came up to meet him, looking more haggard than when Fury saw him last. Weren't there rosters in place to ensure these men and women ate and slept to the military requirement? However, there were more important things at stake than workplace health and safety at that moment. "Talk to me, Selvig. What're we up against?"
The older man ran a hand through his thinning hair, a crazed sort of delight battling with the stress in his blue eyes, "The Tesseract, it's having a temper tantrum, so to speak. It's releasing these random spurts of energy; nothing dangerous at this point, just a bit of Gamma radiation."
Director Fury raised his eyebrows sceptically, "That can be dangerous."
Selvig either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. "Our instruments are getting overloaded, and unless it settles down on its own, the whole thing will collapse on itself, heaven help us. Something with this much power," he didn't finish his sentence, they both knew it didn't need to be said.
"How much time to we have?" Fury asked instead, clenching his fists again,
The scientist glanced at a computer screen, "About three minutes and forty-seven seconds by my calculations."
Fury spat out a curse. "And Four?" he demanded. The world was not about to end on his watch, so help him.
Agent Clint Barton startled the only one of the pair that could be startled, Selvig, by dropping to the floor beside them, and retracting the grappling hook he must have used to do so. Fury turned his attention to the Hawk with his usual scowl, prompting the specialist to speak. "She's being less than helpful, sir. Won't tell us anything except that 'It will be okay' crap. She's connected to the Cube as we speak, and refuses to move," he informed them.
"Well, somebody better stop licking their ass and come to me with something conclusive or the Cube will be the least of your worries," Fury said bitterly, looking to the Tesseract itself despite the light of it paining his eye. The glowing blue cube, each face roughly the size of his hand, was a sight to behold, periodically releasing waves of visible energy. If it wasn't so worrying it might even be considered beautiful. Now that the bursts of raw power were becoming stronger the lights in the room were failing, as were many of the computerised instruments, causing the entire room to reflect the same dooming blue. Unsurprisingly, none could give him the conclusive information he needed so desperately. Nick Fury was not a desperate man, but this once, he swore he would make an exception if it would improve the situation he now faced.
"Sir," Agent Barton began, "what do you suggest we do?"
Director Fury took a deep breath through his nose, all too aware of the countdown they faced. "I want the SIMs down here, yesterday."
"Roger that," Barton affirmed, putting the order through his comms unit immediately. Desperate times would always call for desperate measures.
"And God speed," Fury breathed, watching the Tesseract and the lightshow it displayed. None in the room moved to evacuate like the other agents in the facility. This was their ship, and if it did go down, they were going down with it.
Not more than a hundred feet away, in a sterile room that was no larger than eight cubic metres, a Chinese woman sat reclined in a chair, and might have resembled a dentist's patient if it weren't for the addition of three brightly lit computer chips imbedded into the palid flesh of her forehead. Her eyes shot open, staring blankly at the white ceiling, the frightening turquoise glaze of her irises fading to their former black depths, and at that, three words left her mouth: "Ta zai zherli", which here means, 'He is here'.
With those dealing with the Tesseract, one blonde scientist was ordered to announce the countdown so that others could focus on trying to keep the Cube stabilised as best they could with failing and surging electricity, and her voice rang out with growing anxiety, "Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight..." And during this the doors slid open with the hiss of released gas.
Fury and Agent Barton looked up as their new guests streamed in with purpose in their step. A lanky man stepped up to Fury and saluted. "The S.I.M.D. reporting, sir," he said in a clear Brooklyn accent, the chip inserted on his forehead glowing blue. The ground rumbled below their feet, causing a shelf to topple over to their right.
"Cut the crap, Agent, get that Cube subdued now or we're all dead." The Brooklyn man didn't even bother to nod or salute a second time. He whirled on his team and gave them their orders, as if they had been rehearsing this all along.
"Barker, Sedgewick, get the roof supported; Beardmore I want all these civilians out; we're taking over this operation. Null, turn the power off-"
A deep, gravelly voice interrupted the command, "Tristan, you do that, and we die. Null, don't do it!" The Brooklynite, Tristan Cain, silenced the insubordinate agent with an angered flick of his wrist- a conjuring of flame in the action's wake, singing the dark skin of the woman who had spoken. Without a sound or cry of pain she pressed her hand to her cheek, resentment in her amber eyes and a flicker in the light of her identical blue chip. Remorse crossed Agent Cain's features for a moment before he returned to saving the lives of every person still in the base, and the billions worth of tech and research.
"Null, stand down! O'Reilly, get a force field around the Tesseract now!" Cain let his eyes meet the African woman's once more, and she gave a small nod. Of his team, six people remained without orders, including the Agent he had shamefully lashed out at, Abla. They all stood at attention, a hair trigger waiting for a situation where their gifts were needed. "How much time left?"
"Twenty-one seconds, sir! Twenty, nineteen..."
"SIMs without orders, get out! O'Reilly, get out there protecting those agents. Abbey, stay with me." The Irishman withdrew the ineffective field he had been trying to cast against the surges and ran to follow the five retreating men and women, knowing better than to question Agent Cain. Agent Abla glanced warily in her commander's direction, but kept her own mouth shut too. She knew he didn't keep her there for her abilities.
Fury disliked leaving such a delicate situation in the hands of these notoriously volatile individuals, but knew that some things were beyond the control he could impose. "Everybody get braced!" he yelled above the cacophony. And brace they did, each agent tensed, those already using their abilities grit their teeth, those waiting poised to strike. Agent Barton and Erik Selvig were the only ones of the original employ that remained stoicly at his side while the others evacuated, though he suspected the latter was majorly driven by the desire to observe the Tesseract in its unstable state, and the former had already made his way up to his usual perch high above their heads, right hand hovering over his loaded quiver, in the off chance an arrow could save them against an explosion of cosmic energy.
"...Three, two, on-"
All at once a massive outward pulse of raw cosmic power radiated from the cube, so potent that all stumbled back, shielding their faces as heat wafted out and singed eyebrows. Everyone tried to steady themselves against the shove, many failing, as the earth shook. The telekinetics, ordered to support the structure against crumbling down on them all cried out in effort, but gradually the earthquake subsided, and everyone was free to survey the aftermath. A quiet fell on the room, except from the steady thrum of the Tesseract, and the heavy breathing of the newcomer in the room. The Directer, physicist, and agents alike gazed in wonder and apprehension at the crouched figure, that should not have been able to be there. As Abla looked, she found that she wished the room had been lighter, that the view be clearer. Of all possibilities, none had expected this.
Fury broke the silence. "Sir, put down the spear," he said, sounding more calm and collected than any of them felt at that moment.
The man, for it was a man, looked up at the booming sound of Fury's voice, and then down at the weapon in his hand, as if he were surprised that either were there. Every SHIELD in the room had the same thought repeating in their head, friend or foe? The answer came as a shot to the closest agent's sternum. "Beardmore!" Tristan roared as the Agent was blasted backwards with the concentrated energy the man's staff ejected. The self-duplicating man, who had been using his ability for crowd control evacuating the scientists, hit the ground, and one by one his clones blinked out of existence and the square chip between his thick brows ceased its glow. Abla felt her stomach sink as it registered her friend was dead. For one impossibly short moment all was still, but then the moment ended and all was chaos once more as every able bodied person rushed to avenge and defend. Now they knew what they should expect, the SHIELD agents worked in an unpredictable choreography of a well trained team, the telekinetics flinging objects or restricting his movements where they could. Tristan panted through his clenched teeth, spittle leaving his mouth and then evaporating as the air around his body combusted and he barrelled towards the man, taking steal-melting strikes where could. It should have been easier than it was proving to be. The man, dressed in nearly impenetrable armour, had strength and agility beyond any normal human, and fought in a graceful style unfamiliar to them.
The intruder leapt through the air and plunged the blade of the spear into the chest of the more powerful telekinetic, ducked under an incoming computer hurled by another, and twisted around in the same movement to avoid a stream of fire, firing energy in return. Tristan took the shot to his left shoulder and felt the electrifying agony spread through his veins and react with the chip attached to his brain, almost overloading the circuit and making it feel as though his head was about to split in two. When he began to return to the present, the commander found that he was lying on the cold floor, looking in the direction of Director Fury guarding the Tesseract with his life, firing bullets into the fray. Beginning to push himself back up he yelled at the Agent still standing where he had left him, "Null, quickly! Stop him!" As the robotised agent began to act, something else drew the Pyrokinetic's attention.
A roar of anger and despair tore through Abla's throat, the shock of Agent Beardmore's death finally transitioning to reaction. Tristan snapped his focus towards the woman, and snuffed the flames enveloping his arms, crying out a warning yell to his team, at which they all ceased their offence and dived to the side. The sickly looking man holding the staff paused his attack and looked confused for a moment, wondering what the diversion was, when a voice he had hoped to never hear again thundered in his ears, promising unimaginable suffering. He looked up in horror, the spear clattering to the ground as dropped to the ground in a bow. Prayers for mercy left his chapped lips as the agents caught their breath, looking on with bitterness and interest.
Abla stood in the middle of the split sea of her surviving team, facing the intruder with arms stretched towards him. If one was close enough to see it, they would notice her golden amber irises quivering in a frightening fashion from the intensity of her power. Between the woman and her victim, nothing but the hallucinations of his manipulated mind.
This is why they would always fear them, the Illusionists.
Still, Tristan knew that soon her energy would wane, and the intruder would not be rendered this pathetic display forever. "Now, Null, now!" he ordered and at once the agent lifted his right hand and a faint blue aura surrounded the strange man's prostrate form. Feeling his power leave him, the intruder shuddered and lifted his head, glazed eyes roaming about as the image he had seen dispersed akin to smoke, not real as he had feared. Two strong grips came to either side of him and held him fast, and his struggles were pointless with whatever was blocking his power. All of a sudden it became clear that the trickster, the master of illusion, had been fooled with his own craft. He cursed his weakened state, and blamed it for his defeat. His eyes flicked towards the staff he had lost, and hoped that his task had been accomplished well enough for the time being. He would wait, regather his strength, and would escape, prove to them just who they were dealing with. He was not one to be underestimated by a gathering of mortals. A smirk took residence in the corner of his mouth, even as sweat dripped down his clammy skin.
Nick Fury approached the enemy with his scowl etched deeper than ever before. The other SIMs had reentered the room not seconds ago, however they had almost been too late. Though two of his SIMs held him upright, a man and woman each possessing superhuman strength, he remained on his knees, a smug look on his face. Fury decided that he had to be completely off his rocker to have the balls to be smug after such a humiliating defeat. "Now, I'm gonna ask this real slowly," the Director started condescendingly, "who the hell do you think you are to attack my men?"
The intruder chuckled lowly, more like a weak huffing of air, and lifted his chin, posture only possible for someone of sufficient arrogance. "I am Loki, of Asgard, and I come burdened with glorious purpose." Loki took a breath to continue his spiel when Selvig cut in with a voice filled with awe.
"Loki? Brother of Thor?"
The detained man visibly rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Fury wasn't having any of it. "Glorious purpose my ass. You come in here God only knows how, kill my agents; I don't care where you're from, here we don't call that glory, we call that war. So I'm gonna give you some time to think about your position, and how easy it would be for me to tell this guys to snap you in half, and when I come back you better have some damn good answers for me. Lock him in Hell." With that, the Director of SHIELD pivoted on his heel and skulked off to do damage control and, no doubt, the masses of paperwork evacuating the entire ground base would require.
Loki's piercing gaze scanned the small crowd, searching out the one who had tricked his eyes and caused him this inconvenience. When his sight locked with Abla's, his smirk grew. The tall, dark woman kept a cold expression of hatred on her sharply defined features, examining her teammates' murderer's pale face. He seemed so weak. She knew that during the brief fight, he had proven himself not weak by definition, but the dark circles that surrounded his eyes and drew crow's feet and the clamminess clear even from afar made her apprehensive. This stranger, Loki, was not weak, but he was obviously weakened and she worried that if they were not careful, he may easily destroy every single one of them once he reached full strength. Her illusions never worked as well the second time round.
Still, she showed no signs of concern as he was escorted towards the elevator by her team. If she didn't know any better, though, she would say that he saw through her regardless.
The path was familiar to the SIMD of SHIELD, the one towards the holding cells. These were stationed several hundred feet underground, equipped with absolutely the most resilient security measures yet known to man. The floor, walls, and ceiling were painted a sterile white, contrasting sharply with the agents' black overalls, and the cells were visible through foot thick plexi-glass material, reinforced with silver capillaries of Tessaract energy, strengthening the glass walls, and making them condusive to most forms of energy, transferring the power safely away rather than be damaged by such attacks. This was where they kept the troublemakers. This is what Fury called Hell. Tristan Cain lead the way, stopping at a cabinet to retrieve a set of standard restricting cuffs, using much the same technology as the cell doors. After they were safely fastened onto the prisoner's wrists, with surprisingly little resistance, he was roughly shoved into the empty cell, failing to catch himself with his bound wrists. Tristan watched with arrogance and distaste. "Welcome to Hell, mister Loki. Just try to get out, it'll be fun for us to watch. Actually, so far you've been a blast, for a pathetic murdering piece of crap, so guess what, buddy?" Loki drew up his eyes to meet Cain's, resentment clear from both sides. "I enjoyed watching you snivel on the floor so much, that I'm going to leave Abla here to watch you, and remind you of that humiliation again, and again, and again." Tristan turned his attention to the shocked face of Abla. "Have fun with this one, Abbey, I doubt Director Fury would blame you for anything that might happen. Team, let's move out."
As the SIMs left the prison wing, and hence the blue glow of Null's power dampening disappeared and left Loki in the protection of the cell, Abla was left hurt and annoyed with her sudden assignment. She knew that one of them would have to guard him, but couldn't it have been someone else? She also understood fully well what her commander had been implying; they expected her to torture him until Fury was ready for the real questioning. As she snuck a glance at his silent form through the glass, she knew that as much as she loathed him for what he had done, and what he had surely intended to do also, she could no more physically torture another being as much as she could lick her own elbow. And she couldn't do that, she had already tried on numerous occasions. Abla watched him watch her for many minutes, as she clenched and reclenched her fists. A murderer. Why? What did this man possibly have to gain by killing Michael? And then kill Barker, and Coyle had been carried towards the medical wing. All this, and he showed no signs of remorse, even over being captured and detained. "Why?" she suddenly demanded to know verbally, now making no effort to hide the anger she felt towards him.
He merely raised a brow, "Excuse me?"
She wasn't sure if he was mocking her thick accent or her question. "Why did you kill my friends? We had not threatened you," she tried again, slower this time.
"An ant does not threaten the boot that crushes it," he replied evenly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Enraged at this flippant answer, Abla struck out, banging her fist on the glass, as if it would do anything, as large, black spiders crawled from the floor and up her legs and his kneeling form, and a king cobra reared in front of the prisoner, displaying the fangs that dripped with venom. "I'm afraid you would have to do better than that, my dear." All at once the apparitions vanished all but one, leaving the seething Ghanese woman, the snake, and he alone once more. That was the largest issue with her powers of illusion, once a person was aware of her, it was hard to frighten them with things they knew were not real. He jittered his fingers slightly, conjuring the image of another mighty snake, gold in its colour with two frightening curved horns sprouting from its skull, which proceeded to gobble her king cobra up with ease, and then vanish as the spiders had. Abla, for her part, felt a sense of calm seep through her outrage at this display of power, for she knew that they were constantly being watched, and that any show of power he made now would give them the advantage against him in the future. And this, she knew, was the best way she could avenge her teammates. To destroy and humiliate him.
"You are an Illusionist, also," she said to him matter-of-factly.
"No," he responded, "I am a god."