Author's Note: A few things need explaining in this story, as it was written for a friend and contains some inside jokes. We often play LEGO Harry Potter and LEGO Marvel together, and my favourite characters are Loki riding a bike and Pigwidgeon. Here is a list of things that may cause confusion in this chapter, in the order they appear: Ants often invade my house; Neep is the name of a Pathfinder RPG character I invented; I like to crash into cars and buses and stuff while playing LEGO Marvel as Loki on a bike (it turns them into convertibles).

Also, I'm mostly unfamiliar with Loki outside of LEGO Marvel, so if I make mistakes, be nice please!

Monday

As the swelteringly hot day drew to an end, Loki straightened and wiped his brow. He'd spent all afternoon battling with the army of swarming ants emerging from his living-room wall. If he didn't know that ants didn't care about anything beyond food, sex and the hive, he'd have sworn that they knew of his true identity as a supervillain.

It wasn't as if he was hiding or anything. Oh no. The fact that his yearly holiday coincided with the capture of notorious trickster gnome, Neep, was a coincidence and nothing more. There was obviously no way he felt threatened by that ridiculous little bard. In fact, Loki liked his yearly holiday from the endless politics of Asgard (so much worse than human politics, where words were the only things thrown around). He liked it so much that this year he was extending it to a whole six days.

Six days of blissful refreshment. He had pictured shopping. Long walks by the seaside. Adopting stray dogs (and instilling in their minds certain key traits, such as postman-chasing and sweet-stealing). Building a tree house in Central Park, or maybe a mansion. Reconnecting with the guys from the Mafia over coffee and cake. He couldn't wait to hear the goss in the human underworld.

But not this ridiculous sun. What about his chalk-white complexion? What if he got even the slightest tan, or, God forbid, a freckle? He could kiss goodbye to intimidating anyone in Asgard ever again. And he couldn't even go out with a parasol today – he was only female on Thursdays. It would look silly.

So he had kept the curtains drawn and had sat by the window, morosely blasting ants with his staff, all afternoon.

But now it was dark. Now it was time for the fun to begin.

Now, he could go cycling.

He could never really understand why most humans preferred to travel by car or bus or even by foot. What could possibly beat the gentle breeze that ruffled hair (or scudded over horned helmet) or the wicked thrill of bumping the roof off an odd bus or police car (because having a roof was just so last year)? The terrified screams were a bonus. Those, and the escaping criminals. Really, he was doing everyone a favour: injecting excitement into the mundane lives of commuters, allowing criminals their freedom for a little longer, and providing employment for the police and car manufacturers of the world.

Yes, when Loki was on Earth, he was a reformed character – everything he did was for the good of the people. And he was one of the people, so if anything brought him joy, it was really for the greater good.

Peddling into a tunnel, he skidded up the wall, grabbing a horn as his helmet threatened to fall off. As he struggled to fix it back onto his head and cursed its awkward shape, he didn't notice a skylight in the tunnel ceiling cracking open, and something being pushed through it, until it crashed right beside him on the road.

Loki stopped. He stared. He got off his bike, which stayed still, as if glued sideways to the tunnel wall. Because the something which had fallen from the skylight was a human body – and not just any human, but one Loki knew well. Stefan Rubowski, his contact in the Mafia.

The skylight clanged shut. Loki glanced upward, noticing the silhouette of someone running away. If only he could fly, he'd be able to find out who had dumped Rubowski's body right now. As it was, the culprit would be long gone by the time he made his way out of the tunnel and up to the skylight.

Who would want to murder Rubowski? Loki had known him for years. He was a stocky, cheerful man, the last person you'd expect to be researching and obtaining cutting-edge weapons and gadgets for the Mafia. He also ran a large joke shop in Manhattan, which was where Loki had first met him. His two jobs complemented each other surprisingly well.

A cursory examination of Rubowski's body showed no obvious cause of death, but he had no pulse. Loki decided to put the body on his handlebars and cart it home. This would need investigating. He would need a new Mafia contact. To find out whether they were still trustworthy. And a new source of itching powder for Thor's underwear.