Chapter Two: In the Ruins

The young woman was nothing more than skin and bones. There were pronounced shadows under her eyes, and her pale skin was stained by dirt and grime. Her long, gold-blond hair fell over the collar of her oversized military jacket. Her scruffy jeans were stuffed into brown-leather boots, which looked as though they had been worn to the soles and were ready to fall apart at any second. Maisie Wilcox, she had told him her name, looked small and frightened as she stood on the opposite side of the crevice, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Steve. It strained his dry throat to talk.

He decided it was best to remain sitting, afraid that his height would intimidate the young woman. He smiled at her, but that only seemed to unnerve her more.

"You were dead," said Maisie, finally.

"I was unconscious," said Steve. He glanced down at the Tesseract, which was wrapped in his blue mask. "The missile almost killed me."

"You were unconscious for six years," said Maisie. "You woke up when I removed the power source from your hand."

Steve prodded the Tesseract through the blue cloth thoughtfully. "The serum that created me must have been keeping me alive. The Tesseract must have fed energy to my body while I was unconscious." He glanced up at Maisie and smiled. "I'm no scientist. That's the best answer I can come up with. It's purely a wild guess."

"The what?" asked Maisie. Steve's explanation seemed to terrify her even more than before.

"The Tesseract," said Steve, gesturing to the blue object in his lap.

"Right." Maisie's eyes drifted towards the gap between two blocks of cement. She was looking for an escape route, Steve realized.

"I'm not crazy," he said quickly. "This has happened to me before."

"Of course it did," said Maisie. "Of course." She was edging away.

"I was frozen in ice," said Steve, quickly. "During WWII. When I woke up, they told me the war is over. And now, you're telling me that this war is over and the Chitauri have won?"

Maisie nodded, slowly. "And humanity is enslaved."

"Enslaved?" The word sent Steve reeling. He couldn't believe it. Humanity? Slaves? Wasn't that the entire point of humanity? They had free will. How could this woman just stand in front of Steve and dully say that free will had been taken from humanity—how could she do that?

"America," said Steve. "America would never stand for it."

Maisie stared at him silently.

"We were raised on the foundations of truth, liberty, and justice," said Steve. He got to his feet and, suddenly towering over the petite Maisie, Steve paced up and down the crevice, still holding the Tesseract him his hand. "We cannot allow for our people to be enslaved. It is not the American way."

"I don't think you understand," said Maisie softly.

Steve turned to stare at her, his eyes bright with stubbornness. "What don't I understand?"

"There is no America now."


The main hall of Asgard was made of stone the color of bronze. The ceilings were high and arching, forming a dome over the throne. Pictures had been carved into the ceiling, depicting the Nine Realms and Asgardians of ages past. The Council Members of the King of Asgard crowded around the stone table and peered at the golden image of Earth that had materialized in the air. The image of Earth was rotating slowly, bit by bit, so that the Asgardians could see every detail of the realm, as described by the all-knowing Heimdall.

Thor leaned forward and examined the land mass that was facing him. "The Beijing Colony," he said. "The largest colony in the world."

"It also experienced the largest death toll in the world," said Hogun. He examined the different dots that had formed on the landmasses that represented North American. "Los Angeles Colony, Chicago Colony, and Boston Colony—is that truly all that remains of the United States of America?"

The model of the Earth, which looked as though it was made of golden dust, spun and Thor caught sight of a northern island and the golden dot that represented the London Colony. Was she in there, he wondered. Only a little more than one-percent of the Earth's population remained, caged in walled cities and let out only to work for the Chitauri. Could Jane be a member of the surviving one-percent? Thor allowed himself the barest glimmer of hope.

"Slavery," murmured Sif. Her index finger waved in the air as she pointed at the gold dot of the Wellington Colony and then Sydney Colony and then the Perth Colony. "What does slavery feel like? I wonder."

"I do not know," said Fandral. "The Asgardians have never been enslaved."

"It is curious," said Hogun. "Didn't humans enslave one another a couple centuries ago?"

"If my memory serves me well," said Volstagg.

"Irony is a bitter thing," said Hogun. He watched the Cape Town Colony move past him as the Earth rotated.

"I would appreciate irony more if it were not such a terrible thing," said Thor. "So few of them. So few humans remain."

"Irony is the world's greatest tragedy," said Sif.

Thor couldn't agree more. He could still picture his brother, Loki, dressed in green with that ridiculous goat-horned helm, in the final moments before the missile struck. Loki had been smiling, gloating his victory. He would be king. He would rule those puny humans and give them the gift of discipline.

Loki had not been expecting the missile. Thor had known. Iron Man had informed him over the radio that the government was sending in a missile strike; Thor needed only to stall Loki before the end. In stalling, Thor had succeeded. The look of pure horror that crossed Loki's face when he realized what was coming. Right before the nuclear explosion was unleashed.

But in the end, it did not matter—because they were beings beyond the level of nuclear missiles. Thor and Loki were wounded, yes, but not dead.

Thor still remembered pulling the broken piece of Stark Tower off his back and getting to his feet. The Hulk and Black Widow. All that had survived. Everyone else. Every civilian. Dead. All part of the government's desperate and failed attempt to protect humanity. Gone. Sometimes, Thor thought, the sacrifices of being a ruler were too great.


Dana Miles shifted in her seat and glanced at her fellow soldiers. Soldiers. For that's what they were now. No longer new recruits who still had to go into the oven. They had baked long enough and now, as she listened to Commander Weston, Dana imagined herself a fully baked, mouth-watering cookie. The metaphor might have been a little inappropriate right then considering that Commander Weston got to the part of his speech where he told the new soldiers that they were all going to die.

"This is a war," said the commander. He leaned forward at the podium, his green eyes bright and framed with wrinkles. "Some of you will die. Look around. See the faces of your brothers and sisters."

Dana unwillingly glanced at the other soldiers. She made eye contact with a red-haired, white girl. Dana raised her eyebrows while the girl quickly looked away. Against her will, Dana pictured the girl being impaled on a Chitauri weapon. Then, Dana imaged herself in the girl's place. A shiver ran down Dana's spine as she turned back to Commander Weston.

"It is your job," said the commander. "To make sure that the losses in this room are as small as possible."

There were about thirty new soldiers seated in the auditorium, all dressed in the same uniform gray pants and gray jackets as Dana. Unconsciously, she reached up and curled her black, fish-tail braid around her hand. If she was lucky, just lucky enough, she wouldn't end up one of the dead soldiers.

"You are representatives of Shield now," said Commander Weston, his voice becoming deeper with passion. "You are warriors of humanity. Your lives will never be meaningless as each step forward you take from this day will be a step towards the restoration of our great Earth. Rise, soldiers, and take your cause in hand."

In unison, as they had been instructed before the initiation, Dana and the rest of the soldiers rose from their seats. They saluted Commander Weston and he saluted them back. No words needed to be spoken beyond that point. They knew what was at stake. They had seen the colonies that the Chitauri had formed. They had heard stories of the cruelties performed in those colonies. It was the sworn duty of any Shield soldier to protect humanity, free the slaves from the grasp of the Chitauri—they all knew what must be done, there was no need to speak.

"Dismissed," said Commander Weston. He lowered his hand back to his side.

"I was pumped up." Liam Peterson turned to Dana the moment the salute was done. A grin spread across his face and Liam flung his arms around Dana's shoulders. "We're officially soldiers of Shield!"

"You have no sense of dignity," said Dana, though around them others were celebrating the end of the initiation in a similar manner. Dana and Liam were hardly standing out from the crowd.

"Dignity?" said Liam. "We have entered the world of I-could-die-any-day—there is no more sense of dignity." He tugged on the end of Dana's braid playfully. "We should grab dinner."

"I'm having dinner with my father," said Dana.

"Yes," said Liam. "But you have dinner with your father every day. Let's do something special in celebration. Like, I don't know, actually having fun for a change?"

"If you're trying to persuade me, you're failing miserably." Dana turned away from Liam and started to make her way out of the row of seats towards the exit.

"Congratulations, Dana!" cried Roan, a tall, slender woman waved as she passed by.

"You too," said Dana.

"Do I get a 'congratulations'?" asked Liam.

"No," said Dana. "You just rode on the tails of my success."

"Ouch." Liam pretended to wince. "You know. You're not supposed to say that yourself. It sounds like you're bragging, saying that you're successful enough for the two of us."

Dana glanced over her shoulder at Liam and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

A wide grin spread across Liam's face and he leapt forward to hug her from behind. "My darling! Why haven't you married me yet?"

Dana tried to pry him off her shoulders, but she was smiling at she did so. "Remind me why I'm dating you again?"

Liam released her and stepped back as they made their way up the stairs towards the auditorium exit. Dana smiled and nodded politely at Commander Weston as she passed, while Liam grinned.

"Your speech moved me to tears, Commander," said Liam. "I nearly cried when you saluted us."

Commander Weston smiled fondly at Liam and shook his head. "Congratulations on passing, Peterson." He glanced at Dana and added, "You too, Miles."

"Thank you, Commander," said Dana, pleased that he at least knew her surname.

"I'm trying to convince Dana to come out for a romantic celebration dinner with me," said Liam. "But she keeps insisting that she should have dinner with her father."

"Dinner with one's parent is important," said Commander Weston. "Especially since there are so few parents left in this world."

Liam cringed, while Dana turned to give him a triumphant smirk. "There you go. The commander agrees with me. You're welcome to have dinner with us, you know."

Liam groaned. "Great. Dinner with Mr. Miles. I can't wait."

The look Dana gave her boyfriend was murderous, and he quickly redeemed himself by saying, "But if you're the one cooking, how can I say no?" He turned to Commander Weston and said, "Dana's cooking is dee-vine."

Commander Weston smiled. "You two enjoy the night. You will receive your stations within the week, understood."

Dana saluted the commander while Liam thanked the man and made his way to the exit.

"Are you really joining my dad and me for dinner?" asked Dana suspiciously. "Or you just saying that for the commander's benefit?"

"Of course, I'm coming to dinner with you," said Liam. "Just because I enjoy some alone time doesn't mean I don't also enjoy spending time with you and your—cooking."

Dana gave him a scathing look as they walked down the curved, stone hallways of the underground cave system in which the Chicago Sect of Shield was located. Ever since the Invasion by the Chitauri when she was seventeen, Dana had been living in the caverns with her father, who, in his younger years, had worked for SHIELD. She had never experienced the brutality of the Colonies. She had never stepped foot inside the fifty-foot walls and wandered amongst the poverty-stricken streets run by the half-beast, half-cyborg Chitauri. Dana knew nothing of that life—and, for her part, she was happier not knowing.

As they walked, Dana reached out a hand and caught hold of Liam's, their dark fingers intertwining. He grinned at her, showing all of his white teeth.

"Congratulations, Liam."

"Congratulations, Dana."


Natasha rapped her knuckles on the door of Commander Fury's office and waited for his gruff voice to grant her permission to enter. When he did, Natasha pushed opened the door and stepped inside. The walls were made of rough stone—cold and dark like the rest of the cave's interior. There were six black, metal file cabinets lined up along the walls of the office and a mound of paperwork on Fury's desk (which he didn't look too happy about). Fury sat on a metal chair behind the wooden desk, surveying Natasha silently through his one good eye. He still wore that ridiculous eye patch (at least, Natasha considered it a ridiculous eye patch; Clint had dubbed the eye patch "an important factor in Nick Fury's badass levels"). A small, painful smile crossed Natasha's face as she thought of her partner Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye.

"You wanted to see me, Commander," said Natasha, placing her hands behind her back, holding her chin up high, and meeting Nick Fury's gaze directly.

"Yes," said Fury. "The Chitauri have sent another expedition into New York City."

Natasha gritted her teeth. "About time. The last expedition they sent was in July."

"You know what I need you to do," said Fury.

"Yes, Commander," said Natasha. "Prevent the expedition from finding the Tesseract and, if possible, claim the Tesseract for Shield."

Fury nodded, once. "After all this time, we still have not found the Tesseract."

"The explosion covered a massive area," said Natasha stiffly.

"I told them," said Fury. "I told them it was a stupid decision. A stupid ass decision."

"Doesn't matter now," said Natasha sharply. If she spent too long on the subject, it would bring back all the memories she had of Clint and nothing ever good came from going down memory lane. "What matters is that we cannot let them find the Tesseract. One of these expeditions that they send out into that chemical wasteland will end up stumbling across the power source and we cannot allow that."

"Your resolve never wavers, Black Widow," said Fury.

"Never, Commander."

They stood there for a moment in suspended silence. Then, Commander Fury nodded. Natasha did not wait and she turned around and walked out of his office. The door closed loudly behind her, but Natasha did not mind. She had a job to do. A job she had been doing for the past six years. The only job she could do as the last active Avenger—protect humanity from the power of the Tesseract.


Every inch of Tony Stark ached after an eighteen-hour day of handling livestock in the pastures outside of the Chicago Colony walls. He and the rest of Work Section 144 had been feeding cows, herding sheep, and preparing chickens to be dinner table ready. Tony's entire body ached from the manual labor, but he did not complain. Last time, Work Section 144 had been tasked with handling the leviathans. Tony had fed and cleaned the colossal cyborg-beasts that the Chitauri had brought with them onto Earth. Every time Tony approached the leviathans, he remembered flying through New York City in his red and gold Iron Man suit, bringing the leviathan to the other Avengers.

Tony walked down the narrow streets of the south side of the Chicago Colony. He watched some idiot kids playing a game with wooden sticks and some women crowd in a corner gossiping. Whenever people would look Tony's way, he would let his eyes slide over them as though they weren't there, and they would soon forget his existence.

It hadn't always been that way, of course. When the humans were first enslaved, Tony, even after shedding the Iron Man costume and growing a beard to hide his famous face, still had a rebellious streak in him. Anthony Serkins, he'd been, the wannabe hero. He'd argued with the Overseers, told them when they were wrong. They shouldn't whip the woman who'd only been protecting her child or make an example of the man who stole to feed his family. But every time Tony had spoken out, he had been beaten down by the Chitauri. They'd tried to kill him on several occasions, but of course, Tony Stark hadn't been Iron Man for no reason. As time went on, however, the fights became more and more meaningless to Tony. Until, in the end, the hero faded into the background of people's minds and was forgotten. Buried six feet under just like the broke Iron Man suit that had saved Tony from the nuclear missile.

The sky was gray today, Tony noted. The clouds had not yet let loose the rain, but as they became darker and darker, Tony knew that it wouldn't be long. He didn't mind if he was still a fifteen-minute walk from his apartment. He welcomed the rain. The other human slaves would clear the streets and Tony could walk back alone in the ankle-deep mud, ruining another pair of perfectly good boots.

Tony glanced down at the black-leather boots he was wearing currently. They weren't quality shoes as far as style and make went, but they had held together for the past year pretty well. Tony was impressed. He hoped they had more shoes of the same make at this year's Distribution. Twice a year, the Overseers handed out news clothes, blankets, lights, cooking supplies. Usually, the Distributions ended in bloodbaths. Last year one mother tore hair from the head of an old lady in an attempt to get a woolen blanket for her son. Tony remembered vividly as he stood towards the back of the mob, watching with a curdled sickness in his stomach.

"Iron Man?" a child's voice asked.

Tony continued walking. He looked neither left nor right to see who had spoken, eyes straight ahead. He had learned that when people mentioned Iron Man, they were talking about the dead war hero, not about Tony Stark himself.

"Mr. Iron Man!"

This time, Tony was certain that the little boy—who he could see out of his peripheral vision—was definitely talking to him. Tony walked a little faster.

The boy scurried after Tony, dragging another person behind him. Tony's peripheral vision told him that ta little blonde girl was trailing after him as well.

"Mr. Iron Man!" repeated the boy.

Tony realized he had no choice but to acknowledge the boy, lest he walk all the way back to his apartment building with the little brat shouting "Mr. Iron Man! Mr. Iron Man!" That would cause suspicion at all.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Tony, turning around.

The boy was probably about thirteen or fourteen in age. His dark hair was in desperate need of a haircut, while his jeans were two sizes too big and needed to be held up by a belt. The little girl was probably about six or seven, with a soft round face and golden hair. Every inch of exposed skin on the boy and on the girl was covered in grime, as thought they had spent week rolling about in mud. They had the same round, brown eyes, looking up at Tony with innocent curiosity.

"Mr. Iron Man," said the boy. Now that he had caught Tony, he seemed out-of-breath and unsure what to say. In the end, the boy spewed out: "We all thought you were dead."

Yeah, thought Tony, that was the point. However, Tony didn't voice his thoughts. Instead, he smiled at the boy and girl and said, "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

The boy shook his head. "No. I used to watch you all the time on the TV. This was before Stacey was born." The boy squeezed the girl's hand. "But I remember your face. Where's your suit, Mr. Iron Man?"

"Mr. Iron Man died in the nuclear explosion," said Tony, flatly. "We all saw on the TV. Him and all the Avengers. They died."

"Not all the Avengers," said Stacey suddenly. Her voice was squeaky and she smiled nervously after she had spoken.

"That's right," said the boy. "The Hulk, Black Widow, and Thor survived—why couldn't Iron Man?"

"Don't ask me," said Tony irritably.

"But you're Iron Man," cried the boy. "I know. I saw your face on the TV. You were my favorite hero."

Tony had no idea what to do to convince the boy that he was not Iron Man—which was hard to do, since Tony was, in fact, actually Iron Man. The boy must have been an avid fan if he could remember Tony's face from a television screen over six years ago.

"I liked Captain America too," said the boy, completely unaware of what kind of painful memories he was bringing up for Tony. Already, Tony could see the face of the overly optimistic super-soldier. The boy was grinning with excitement. "Captain America and you in the Avengers together was fantastic. Were you two best friends? I bet you were best friends."

"We fought constantly," said Tony.

"What?" The boy frowned.

"You have the wrong man," said Tony, turning away from the boy. "Iron Man died six years ago, you brat."

The sudden insult seemed to stop the boy in his tracks and Tony was able to make his getaway. He hurried down the street, weaving in and out of the crowds. He was aware that he was drawing attention to himself, defying his policy of the last two years, but anything was better than having to spend another second with that clueless Iron Man fanboy. The kid was stupid. The last true superhero had died six years ago wearing a red, white, and blue skin-tight suit—there was no point in fantasizing over things long past.

As Tony made his way down the street, the boy called out after him. "My name's Jack, by the way!"


The scream of the siren, calling the expedition back, filled Maisie's head. She clasped her hands over her head and sucked in her breath, trying to ignore the piercing pain the chip caused her brain. When the chip was silenced, Maisie Wilcox lowered her hands to her sides and sighed. She surveyed the soldier in front of her—Captain America, though he had insisted that she call him Steve. She didn't know what to do about this idiot. He had the power source still wrapped in the blue mask—Maisie couldn't decide if she should try to take the power source from him, deliver it to the Chitauri, and receive a lifetime in the Helio without worry of slave labor ever again.

Somehow, Maisie didn't think giving the Tesseract to the Chitauri was the best option. She could return to the Chitauri and pretend she hadn't seen it. No one would be suspicious, since they didn't expect anyone to find the power source. The Tesseract would be safe with Captain Ameri—Steve. He'd held onto it for the past six years, surely he could protect it for more.

Maisie glanced around the chasm, examining the concrete walls for a way out. She supposed if Steve gave her a lift up, she could climb out. Steve looked tall enough to get without her aid.

"I've got to go," said Maisie, glancing back at the soldier in his ridiculous blue suit.

"Where?" asked Steve.

"Back," said Maisie.

"To the Chitauri?" Steve looked horrified at the thought.

"They make sure we cannot escape," said Maisie. "If I don't return, they'll send people after me. I need to go. Now."

Steve shook his head. "You can't go back. You said it yourself. They treat you terribly in the Colony. If the Overseers are as brutal as you describe, you can't go back. I don't even see how you would want to go back."

"You've been unconscious for six years," said Maisie. "There's no way you could understand." She moved towards the cement wall and slapped it lightly with her hand. "I need a boost up."

"You can't go back," said Steve.

Maisie gritted her teeth and turned back to Steve. "Weren't you the one ranting to me about free will earlier? Free will, peace, justice, and the American way? Well, this is my free will. I want to go back to the Chitauri so I don't get hunted down like an rabid animal in a half-hour. So help me out of this fucking chasm so I can exercise my free well."

Steve swallowed, but he did not yield. "How can it be free will when you return to the Chitauri only because you are scared?"

"It's my free will to stay alive," said Maisie.

"I'll keep you alive," said Steve.

Maisie rolled her eyes. "Stop being stupid. You don't understand. I'll be hounded by the Chitauri wherever I go. You can't protect me forever."

"Yes, I can," said Steve. "I'm Captain America."

"I told you," said Maisie. "America doesn't exist anymore. You're Captain Nowhere."

A muscle in Steve's jaw leapt and Maisie could tell she was getting to him. However, Steve just stepped forward and said, "America is more than just a country. In all honesty, as a country, America turned out to be not so great. But America is still an idea. And idea of free will—true free will, peace, liberty, and justice. Even if the country had disappeared, I still believe in the idea of America and therefore, by my own moral standards, I cannot allow you to return to slavery. By my honor as an Avenger, I will protect you from any Chitauri that follow you."

Maisie and Steve glared at one another, neither one willing to budge an inch. They remained in the darkness, illuminated only by the blue glow of the Tesseract, watching one another with fiery eyes.

"You may believe in America," said Maisie. "But I believe in the world I live in. No one has survived running away on an expedition to New York City and I doubt I will be the first. Help me out of this chasm." It was an effort to say the last word. "Please."

Steve stared at her for a moment, his lips pulled back into a grimace. Maisie could see the internal struggle raging inside of him, but she did nothing to ease his turmoil.

Finally, Steve said, "I'll help you out."

Maisie smiled at him, but he didn't move to help her right away. Instead, he started to shift through the rubble at his feet until he found a round, slightly concave piece of metal. It took Maisie a moment to realize that he had found his shield. Steve examined the front of the shield and seemed to realize with disappointment that the painted image had disappeared, perhaps taken off by the blast of the nuclear explosion.

Satisfied, at least, that he had found his weapon. Steve moved to the cement wall and, after slinging the shield over his back, he placed his hands together, forming a sort of step for Maisie. She placed her foot in his hands—he ignored the mud caked on the sole of her boot—and he lifted her upwards. There was a rush of air. Maisie felt her heart race as her hands scrambled for something to hold onto. The palms of her hands landed on rough concrete and Maisie for herself chest-level with the ledge of the cement block. She hauled herself upwards, Steve giving her an extra push, until she was kneeling on the steep slant of the broken building foundation.

Still terrified that she might fall back into the chasm, Maisie edged around and glanced down at Steve.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

He jumped.

That's all it took for him to get out of the chasm. A jump. And he was standing on the cement block beside Maisie. He glanced down at the shocked expression on her face and he smiled wryly.

"I am Captain America."

"Yeah," said Maisie, getting to her feet. "But there's a massive difference between hearing about your powers or seeing them on TV and seeing your powers in person."

Steve started to climb the cement block and Maisie followed him. It was a difficult upwards trudge and, at one point, she lost her balance and started to tumble backwards, but Steve reached back and caught her by the wrist, holding her upright.

"Thanks," murmured Maisie.

They reached the top of the cement block and they could see the full expanse of the obliterated New York City. For Maisie, the sight was nothing more than harsh reality, but when she glanced at Steve, she saw the horrified disbelief in his blue eyes. To Steve, she realized, only yesterday New York City had been in its full glory.

"It's real," said Steve, softly. "It really is all gone."

Maisie nodded. "I wasn't lying."

"I didn't think you were," said Steve. "But that didn't stop a part of me from hoping."

"I need to get back," said Maisie.

She inched along the ridge of the cement block back towards the side that she had clambered up earlier. She glanced back and saw that Steve was still taking in the ruins. Maisie felt a wave of pity for the man, but, of course, pity only went so far. The Chitauri were waiting.

Maisie hopped down from the ledge and landed on a slab of wood—it made a long thud when she landed. She started back across the rubble, slipping and sliding on the loose stones and crumbling piece of plaster. The return to the Chitauri was slow and agonizing and she fell to her knees at several points, the concrete ripping open the palms of her hands. She was perhaps halfway back to the Chitauri when Captain America decided to catch up to her.

"Please," said Steve. "Don't go back."

Maisie continued walking without turning her head.

"I know things have changed," said Steve. While Maisie's movements were jerky as she moved across the rubble, Steve walked smoothly. "I know that the rules of the world have changed. But that still doesn't make slavery right. No one should willingly go back to slavery, Maisie. You should be kicking and screaming, begging me to take you away."

"I want to live," said Maisie. "Better to live a slave than to be made an example of and die violently for all to see."

"What happened to things like freedom?" asked Steve. "What happened to dying for what you believe in?"

"Dying for what you believe in is something idiots do," said Maisie. "I believe in life—and that's the one thing I don't have to die for."

Steve sighed. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?

"I'm stubborn?" asked Maisie. "You're the one who won't let me go about my business."

"I'm trying to save you."

"I don't need saving," said Maisie.

"You think that heroes are idiots," said Steve. "There's something wrong with that."

"I get it," said Maisie. "I'm screwed up. I'm cold and isolated and I don't give a damn about anyone but myself. I get it. But what you don't get, Captain, is that I like being this way. I like being alive to call all those crucified heroes 'idiots'. I don't want to live any other way."

Steve didn't respond. They walked in silence, the sound of their shoes sliding against the rubble filling the still air. It was a little bit ridiculous, Maisie thought, to be walking through the chemical ruins of New York City with a man in a skin-tight red, white, and blue suit and a metal shield.

"Was the costume really necessary?" asked Maisie.

"Huh?" Steve glanced down at his suit. "It's about the image. I have to play the role of an America hero. I can't just look like an average guy on the street."

"Oh."

Maisie stopped walking.

Steve came to a halt beside her, a curious expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know where we are."

Silence stretched between them.

"Shit." Maisie ran a hand through her hair. "I'm supposed to be going back. Shit. I'm already late. If I don't get back soon they're going to kill me." She paced from side to side on the piece of metal that she stood on. It creaked under her weight. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Was it this way? No. I think I'd remember that." She gestured to a broken street sign.

"You don't remember where you came from?" asked Steve.

"No…" Maisie shook her head. "Shit."

"Okay," said Steve. "First, you need to stop saying 'shit'. That's not a nice word for a young woman to say."

The look Maisie gave Steve was murderous.

"Secondly," said Steve. "Do you remember where the sun was when you left the Chitauri. Maybe we can use the east and west to find which direction you came from."

"It was midday," said Maisie.

Steve grimaced. "I don't know."

"They're going to kill me," said Maisie. Her hand were shaking violently. "They're going to send the other slaves back into the ruins and this time the slaves will be armed."

"Aren't they afraid that the slaves will rebel?" asked Steve.

"No," said Maisie. "The Chitauri can defeat armed slaves easily. But me. Me alone against armed slaves—I don't stand a chance." Her voice was rising to hysterics and she kept opening and closing her fists. She breathed in rapid pants as her heart raced out of her chest.

"Maisie." Steve reached out and caught hold of Maisie's wrists with his much larger hands. "You will not be facing these people alone. I told you, I will be with you. I will keep you safe. No one will touch you as long as I am here."

Maisie had stopped shaking at least. She lifted her gaze to meet that of Captain America and asked, "Why do you want me to come with you so much?"

"You saved me from the Tesseract," said Steve. "And slavery runs against everything I believe in. I cannot allow you to return to the Chitauri and I cannot leave you behind."

All sense of self-preservation told Maisie to return to the Chitauri. But, of course, she did not know where the Chitauri were. They would try to kill her. And, on her own, Maisie had no means of survival. She stared up at Captain America, and with reluctance, Maisie realized that she needed him now. If she wanted to live, she needed him.

"Fine," said Maisie. "Let's go."

A wide grin spread across Steve's face and he released her wrists. "I'm glad." He opened his mouth to say something else, but then he paused and looked around. "Um. What way should we go now?"

Maisie stopped and glanced around at the shapeless ruin of New York. She sighed. "I don't know. As it turns out, I have no sense of direction."

Steve looked about nervously. "Er. I think I have no sense of direction either."


Vanaheim was a realm of trees as Loki Laufeyson had quickly learned. Every inch of the world was covered in thick, green trees, their branches spread out like spider webs over the heads of the Vanaheim residents. The only places that were spared the treetop cover were the cities—which were less of cities and more of thatched-roof villages. Vanaheim was not a technologically advanced realm, but one that relied on magic. Its residents did not require flashlights, computers, cellphones, guns, or battleships when they could perform magic to fulfill all these needs. The people of Vanaheim went about simple, peaceful lives and felt no need for a ruler—a fact that irked Loki to no end.

There was no point to ruling senseless people like those of Vanaheim. They would see his position as king as a pleasant title with no consequence. He could try to rule them by force, but, when provoked into action, the magicians of Vanaheim were without mercy. Rather than stir up a struggle on Vanaheim, Loki decided to wait in silence there.

Loki tapped his long, pale fingers on the rim of his glass and glanced around the tavern. The people of Vanaheim were all chatting happily, sharing stories of their gathering days. Loki loathed the simplicity of their stories—hunting trips that provided no fruit, nests that did not contain eggs, and trees that were eaten by termites in the center. Their stories meant nothing to Loki. Such small things were beyond his concern. No, Loki's eyes looked beyond the simplicities. He had been born to rule, not hunt in a forest.

Not that Loki had ever ruled in Asgard. That was cruelty of Odin. Odin had raised both Loki and Thor to accept the throne, but Odin granted the throne to only one—Thor. Thor, who, as it turned out, was Odin's only true son. Loki was nothing more than an adopted child who should have been left to die in the cold.

So there it was. The problem. Odin had raised Loki to be a king, but then denied Loki a throne. There was so much potential and expectation in Loki and it had all been ripped from him before he even had a chance to prove himself. Rejected for all that he was, Loki had been forced to abandon Asgard and turn to his own methods to achieve his much-deserved throne.

And he had possessed a throne once.

On Earth. The realm filled with those puny, easily-breakable humans.

Loki had made a deal with Thanos, the leader of the Chitauri, for an army. With that army, Loki had invaded Earth, despite humanity's best efforts to stop him with the Avengers. In the end, it was humanity who sabotaged itself—which served only as further proof as to why the humans needed Loki's rule. The nuclear missile, instead of killing all the Chitauri and Loki—only succeeded in murdering half the Avengers. And breaking the other half beyond repair. Only a segment of the Chitauri army had been vanquished by the missile and Loki, being a near god, was merely wounded.

The victory was his. The throne was his. The humans were defeated and the Chitauri ruled on Earth. Loki, finally, had a chance to show Odin that he was the proper son—he was the stronger son.

Until Thanos betrayed him.

And now here he was, thought Loki, spending his nights scouring the taverns of Vanaheim in search of something that could bring him back his former glory.

It was a long wait.