The wind whistled through the abandoned buildings that were still standing. The once bright and thriving metropolis was nothing more than washed out tones of grey and dried blood. Death's eerie silence had settled on the streets.
Clint was perched on the balcony railing of the former Stark Tower; his eyes constantly searching the grounds below. The resistance had become desperate in the last few months and insisted on launching foolhardy attacks on the Tower. They were nothing more than annoying, but they did give Barton some target practice. Loki, on the other hand, saw them as direct affronts to his authority and demanded the rebels be dealt a serious blow to deter such actions.
There was something calming about being on the balcony, almost peaceful. It reminded the archer of a time he had long since forgotten but desperately ached to remember. It was something bright and warm, so different than the present; he tried to think, to remember, but there was only icy stares and stone cold orders. It was always difficult to remember times before Loki came and showed him the way, but sometimes when he was by himself up high, it felt as though those times were special too.
"Barton! Here now," demanded Loki from his throne room, his voice reverberating through the walls. Clint sighed and made one last sweeping glance of the streets below before he climbed off of the railing and made his way back inside.
Loki sat with one leg over the armrest of his throne, idly twirling his scepter. A scowl crossed his face as his general came in from the balcony. The god had to admit that the archer had been a valuable asset to his plans, but still the humans were resisting him. There weren't many left but enough to cause the trickster problems. He wanted total obedience and the spines of the humans to break as they bowed; he would accept nothing less and the fact that they were still fighting was turning his irritation into anger.
Kneeling before his god, Clint bowed his head.
"The rebels attacked the workers erecting a monument to my greatness yesterday," hissed Loki.
"Yes sir, but they were unsuccessful in destroying it," assured Barton, learning to be wary of his master when such a foul mood hung over the other's head.
"Walk with me," commanded Loki as he rose from his throne and moved down the hall. Clint obediently followed his master. "I thought you were taking care of that little problem."
"I can assure you they will be stopped. They failed yesterday and the blow you delivered them when you killed your brother has devastated them. It's only a matter of time before they are all dead," promised the archer, his tone emotionless and factual.
Loki turned abruptly and slammed Clint against the wall; his hand closing tightly against the archer's throat. Barton reflexively brought his hands up to try and pull the hand away but Loki's sharp backhand reminded him not to deter Loki's will. If his god wanted to crush the life out of him, then he would oblige; that was his purpose in life.
Loki moved his hand slightly higher to force his general to look him in the eye. He leaned in close enough for his spittle to land on the other man's chin. "I know that redheaded harlot escaped you again. You are failing me Barton, and you know how I feel about failure!"
Loki released his suffocating hold and Barton dropped to his knees sucking in ragged breaths. Clint fought back the horrible feeling of dread at the possibility of failing to see his god's demands fulfilled. It was a crushing pain in his chest and he had to steady himself in order to utter, "I will not fail you again sir."
Without acknowledging the meaningless promises of a pathetic mortal, Loki turned on his heels and continued down the hall; Clint scrambled to his feet and trailed after with no concerns to the bruises that would form upon his skin. "They're planning something Barton, and I want to know what it is. They will not let my brother's death go unanswered and when they launch their wretched plan, I want to be in a position to crush them once and for all."
"I'll make sure that happens," insisted Clint. He waited until Loki waved him away and set forth to the armory. With SHIELD defeated and Stark Tower the jewel in Loki's crown, all the technological wonders that lay within were now at the archer's disposal. Loading his quiver and gathering his gear, Hawkeye prepared for his mission. The rebels were difficult to find and he would have to spend several days lurking around the ruins of the city to pick up their trail but he would do it; his god commanded it.
Checking the sentries, he made the decision to double the amount of guards before taking his leave. Quietly as the night that now gripped what was left of the metropolis of New York, Clint slipped out of the Tower. It was cold and wet, but he would not be deterred. After two days of sleeping on cold concrete ledges and twenty hour vigils, he finally spotted what he had been searching for.
He gripped his bow tightly and pulled back the string. It would be so easy to just let go and end Tony Stark right there but Clint held fast. His orders were to find out what the rebel's plans were. Taking out their leader would only fuel their fight. It would prolong the war, just as his master wanted to prevent; there's was nothing more that could drive a soul further than the concept of revenge. So he waited.
Killing Banner had dealt the rebel's a serious blow; their greatest weapon against Loki was dead but that had ignited something within the resistance and they came at Loki's forces much stronger. Not wanting a repeat, the archer simply followed Stark. He watched from up high as the former billionaire stumbled and staggered along the shore line ranting and raging to himself. Patience had its virtue, and eventually Stark wandered back to what appeared to be his base of operations.
A smile gripped Clint's lips and he hunkered down on his new perch. He now had the location of the last rebel stronghold. Loki would be pleased; he could finally rid the Earth of the human plague. All Clint had to do was watch and wait for them to tip their hand and reveal their plan. Their end would be swift and complete. It was a waiting game and Barton was very patient.
Clint slowly sat up; his muscles protesting the action all the way. Sleeping on concrete ledges was never comfortable, but leaving the target was not an option, not even for a few hours. There was too much at stake and he could not fail. His diligence was rewarded as he watched Coulson and Romanoff leave the bunker. He watched them for a few moments; his shot lined up to take out the Black Widow. Eliminating her would please Loki to no end but again Barton hesitated. He eased the tension on the string and tucked the arrow back in his quiver. He would kill her; he had to. He would just wait until after he learned their plan to do it.
Barton shook his head to silence the gentle whispers that haunted him every time Natasha came into sight. He couldn't allow the source of such doubt to continue to taunt him. Loki was his guiding hand and thinking otherwise would only lead to ruin. He stealthily made his way across the rooftops as Natasha and Phil set off across the ground.