Out of Time
Two days ago, I heard Natasha's screams coming from the long, dark hallway. Now, there is nothing. I don't want to think about what Loki might of done to her, or if she's even still alive. I don't want to think about what he's doing to any of my friends. Loki doesn't visit me. Food is delivered in once a day, and I eat it despite the number of drugs Loki has probably pushed into it. I tried at first not to eat, but even as a super soldier there is only so long you can go without food, only so long you can go before you become as frail as a piece of rice paper.
Every day, I pray to God that He will help me. That He will show me a way to escape, to help the people, but He remains quiet. Everything is quiet in this cell, even the Lord.
I've been imprisoned before many times, but never like this. This cell is made of some kind of stone, completely smooth. There's no door; instead, Loki materialises inside, or some kind of meal appears on the floor. It's tiny - only about ten feet long and wide, and there is only a small bench for me to sleep, made of the same polished dark stone.
Like I said, never like this.
Loki appears in my cell for the first time in weeks.
"What did you do to them?" the words escape my mouth before I can stop them. "Natasha and Clint."
Loki throws me a shark-like smile. "I killed them slowly and painfully. Both of them." I don't know what is worse - what he said or how he said it in matter-of-fact manner, like we were discussing it over tea. I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. He could be lying, of course, but something tells me he's not. My friends are dead. The rest of them will probably come next. Don't cry, don't let him get to me, I tell myself, but the tears still manage to leak out.
"Mr. Rogers, you're out of time."
Metal cords appear around my wrists, binding them together. Since when could Loki conjure things like that? I pull at the cuffs, but the material isn't anything I've ever seen before; there isn't any sign of breaking or even the smallest give.
Loki flicks his hand, and two chitauri guards appear and grab me by the shoulders. There's a sort of silver glow and something not unlike an electric current crackling through the air, and suddenly we're not where we were before. I look around in confusion. We've appeared in some sort of open-air stage, a theatre perhaps?
That's when I notice the people. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. Most of their clothing is ripped, their hair lank and unwashed, their fearful faces covered in blood and dirt and tears.
"These are the survivors of the Siege of Chicago." Loki's voice echoes around the theatre, somehow much louder then usual.
Suddenly, I feel the metal ropes binding my hands loosen. I smiled - Loki had made his first mistake. I quickly snap them in half and run towards Loki, grabbing by the neck. "Not so fast," I growled. Loki looked at me and smiled. Suddenly, I felt myself holding air. I whirl around, ready to continue the fight, but Loki is just standing there, only a couple feet away.
"If you try something like that again, these people won't be survivors much longer."
No. I feel my heart sink. I can't do anything to hurt these people. I look around, and that's when I notice the chitauri surrounding the crowd, holding what looks like long electric ropes.
Loki noticed my defeated expression and smiles. He nods to one of the chitauri warriors, who pulls a man out from the crowd. Without hesitation, Loki fires a bolt of blue energy at the mans chest. There's a woman's scream and the sound of a wailing child as the man crumples to the floor.
I whirled around to face Loki, my heart beating fast. "Why did you do that? He didn't do anything! He was innocent!"
Loki grins coldly. "I will make good on my promise, Rodgers. Don't think to try me."
"I'll do anything you want me to. Just don't hurt these people." I'm practically begging now. I fear for what Loki has planned for me, what tortures he has in mind, but I can't let him harm the innocent.
The Asgardian smiles and speaks to one of the chitauri in some strange language, seemingly made of hisses and clicks. The crowd draws back in fear as the monster walks towards it. Chattering excitedly, it grabs a young boy, probably no older then seven. His mother tries to fight it, to hold on to her son, but the chitauri knocks her back with a swift blow to the head.
My fist is clenching. "Don't you dare harm him." I glare at Loki as the chitauri pulls the wailing child up to the stage. Loki's grin grows even wider.
"Oh, Mr. Rogers, I won't be the one harming him."
My heart suddenly feels as if a thousands stones had been dropped on it. He cannot mean -
"Mr. Rogers, I want you to kill this child. I want you to kill hom slowly and painfully."
"No." There is no way in hell he could make me do this. "No matter how much you torture me, I will never harm a child."
"Oh, I know, Rogers. You are a remarkably selfless man." He gestures out to the crowd. "If you do not do exactly as I say, they will be the ones who pay the price."
No. Please, God, don't let this happen. Show me your guidance, strike me down here, just don't make me do this.
Loki shoves the boy towards me. "Slowly and painfully." he says, triumph flickering in his eyes. He hands me a knife.
"Please don't hurt me, Captain America." the child whimpers. I was probably his hero a while ago, his idol.
Thousands of people. Oh god, thousands of people.
The wind whistles in my ears as I bring down the knife.
Blood stains my torn outfit, my hands, my face. God doesn't exist. If he did, how could he have let this happen? I did the unthinkable, the ultimate crime, and yet he remained silent. I am dimly aware of Loki speaking, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is my hands, covered in blood, too much blood.
Loki walks over to me and hands me a length of rope.
"Finish it," he whispers. I stare at the cord for a few moments before I understand. Slowly, woodenly, I take the rope from his hands.
There's a stool a few feet from me, and above it a crisscross of iron bars, probably once used to hold up lights or cameras. It doesn't matter now, anyway.
There isn't even a part of my brain that tells me that suicide is a sin, that god will punish me for it. There is no god. There is only shock and pain and horror of what I had done, what I have become. I wish I could say my last moments were filled with noble thoughts, that I thought about the people I had saved as I set the noose around my own neck.
I bet I'm not anybody's hero now, I think grimly as I step off the stool.
Crack.
