A/N:

Hello again, thank you to all who are reading this. A special thank you, of course, to my exquisite reviewers, particularly Natalie Rushman, MidnightLokiLover, BlackColoredPencils, Chickenspoon42, and Lorien, you guys are fantastic, way to go above and beyond.

This chapter was reluctant to be written, but it is finally finished, thanks to Viressial, who has kindly agreed to be my beta, and has talked me out of some truly unfortunate plot points. Thank you. Any mistakes are my own, and Viressial will probably be very disappointed in my life choices after realizing that I posted this before receiving the green light. I'm just impatient, okay.

Anyhow, enjoy the story.


The evening sky was painted in ribbons of green and swirling red as electrons collided with neutral atoms high in the atmosphere, casting a sinister light over the military compound lost within the Siberian plateau far below.

Two dark figures staggered toward the towering fortress, the stronger of the two using a modified sniper rifle to maintain his balance in one hand, while he supported his taller companion with his other arm, the silver limb gleaming green in the light of the celestial battle.

Loki fought to continue moving one foot before the other, slowing shifting more of his weight onto the cold metal shoulder beneath his arm. It would not do to show weakness, especially to this man who was without a doubt his enemy, or at least in the employ of one who was. Even so, his body was sore and broken, his adrenaline long since spent, and his seidr stubbornly curled away in the core of his being, determined to recharge.

His toe caught on a frozen ledge, and he crashed to his knees, dragging the Soldier with him. The mortal landed awkwardly, his indestructible arm momentarily caught at an odd angle, forcing him to drop his long rifle to soften his landing on his human arm, slicing his exposed fingers on the jagged ice. The Soldier disentangled his metal arm from Loki with a flash of annoyance, the expression momentarily breaking his mask of stoic indifference, and shifted back onto his knees, resting for just a moment.

Inconvenient as it was in this instance to trek through a frozen tundra when neither member of their party was whole, Loki couldn't resist a small smirk of satisfaction as the Soldier pressed a hand to the stab wound low on his ribcage, his fingers pale against the black leather of his vest and his fingerless gloves. Even if he had not been in a condition to win that fight, it was good to see that knives had had some effect.

Narrowing his eyes at Loki's smirk, the Soldier pulled himself reluctantly to his feet, and steadied himself once more on his abused sniper rifle. The weapon had never been meant for so mundane a task, and it grated on the Soldier that it was being used for one now, but it had become awkward supporting the other man with the weapon slung over his back, and once he was carrying it in his hand, it became increasingly difficult not to use it for support.

Gritting his teeth, the Soldier seized the prisoner, Loki he said his name was, by the arm and pulled him once more to his feet, draping the man's emaciated arm over his shoulder once more. "We're almost there."

"You realize that doesn't reassure me in the slightest." Loki rasped back.

The Soldier simply huffed, shifted himself to account for Loki's weight, and resumed his slow march toward the cold steel structure now visible through the drifting snow. He had to admit this trek was significantly easier without having to shoulder the entirety of the other man's weight, but whatever this man had done to his head was beginning to give him a migraine. Even now, the Soldier found himself beginning tease the edges of the icy curtain in his mind, knowing that if the curtain should fray, he would be sent to the chair. For some reason that thought chilled him more than the howling wind or the biting ice.

The Hydra base suddenly loomed before them, seeming at once threatening and incorporeal in the whipping snow and eery light. Loki stumbled slightly as the Soldier jerked to a halt, but managed to steady himself and straighten his spine stubbornly, staring up at the iron gate towering before him. Even in the lee of the barren structure, Loki felt the wind whispering through his hair, sending pinpricks of apprehension down his spine.
Beside him, the Soldier glared expectantly up at a small contraption tucked securely within the corner of the massive portal. A small red light on the mechanical eye blinked three times, then stilled.

For a moment there was no movement save the swirling snow and the dimming tempest in the heavens. Suddenly, a loud crack split the night, followed by a creaking groan and the hiss of hydraulics, and the metal gates slid slowly open, spilling fluorescent light out into the descending darkness.

Loki squinted against the sudden harsh light, pushing himself off of his captor's shoulder to stand upright, cursing his slight sway, and stepped stiffly into the compound. Disguising his curiosity as nonchalonce, Loki glanced around the space. The room itself was utilitarian and ugly; perhaps three levels high and built almost entirely of dull concrete and gleaming metal, every cold surface rendered stark by the harsh light. The Soldier remained silent at his side, pausing for the briefest of moments in the icy wind before stalking after Loki with the angry prowl of a leopard returning to a cage, rifle once more slung over his back, dark eyes staring straight ahead. As soon as his snow crusted boots crossed the threshold, the outer gate slid shut with a resounding clang. Instantly, the incessant howling of the wind was silenced, replaced by the low hiss of the great doors sealing, and the impassive buzz of electricity.

The Soldier escorted him directly through the massive outer room, past uniformed guards and dark, weaponized vehicles. Loki did not miss the wary glances thrown their direction, or the way one officer stepped hastily out of their path, eyes widening comically behind his truly unfortunate glasses.

Loki smirked a little, ignoring the iron grip of cold metal on his arm. He may be a prisoner, but it was the only way for him to get the information he needed to turn this situation to his advantage. He had not visited Midgard for centuries, and if he wanted to optimize this situation he would have to understand what powers he was dealing with.

Capture is the most efficient reconnaissance.

The Soldier paused at a small alcove in the wall opposite the great storm doors, and punched a nine digit code into a small pad beside the secure door. Pretending not circumspectly memorize the code the Soldier was entering, Loki glanced at the strange insignia above the door. It seemed to represent some monstrous tentacled skull, blood red and hideous. That same insignia was stamped onto the uniforms of the guards they had passed. Some clandestine organization perhaps? Or just a government agency with poor taste?

The door before them opened with a sharp click, and the Soldier jostled him backward a step as he pulled it open. Through the door was a white hallway, lined on both sides with doors. A bespeckled man with slicked white hair, pale eyes, and a white lab coat waited impatiently in a glass office-like space at the end of the corridor, four black clad agents ranged about him in tight formation like a wall of Kevlar armored granite. A covey of nervous looking assistants hovered in the background among stations of monitors and peculiarly advanced equipment.

With a sudden, absurd certainty, Loki realized; this was an evil lair. Everything he had seen so far, from the sinister insignia and high security, to the obviously conditioned Soldier who now led him into the glass office, led to his conclusion. The white haired muse for evil doctors everywhere sitting primly at the cold metal desk before them only perfectly completed the picture. Loki straightened away from the Soldier as they entered the transparent room, and offered one of the glowering goons a mocking eyebrow. The man glared back, and Loki allowed a grin to escape. Imminent danger aside, this was almost laughably cliché.

"Where are the others, soldier?" the doctor demanded, his voice soft and dangerous.

The Soldier drew himself to attention and replied crisply, rough voice oddly lacking inflection, "They were all killed by an explosion at the crash site, Sir."

"And what was at this crash site that you so carelessly failed to disarm?" The doctor directed the question to the Soldier, but his eyes were on Loki.

"The prisoner, Sir." The Soldier paused for a moment, facing rigidly forward, "He was in a small crater at the site of the disturbance, and seems to have caused the explosion that killed the others."

Loki allowed himself a moment of curiosity at the Soldier's vaguearity and failure to mention his name, before the Doctor turned to him. "Well isn't that interesting." the aging man murmured, his soft voice adapting a thoughtful quality. He narrowed his pale eyes, tilting his head at Loki speculatively, as though examining a particularly interesting insect. "What is your name?"

Loki met the doctor's cold eyes, using his superior height to look down on the diminutive mortal. "A curious thing, a name; of so much interest, yet of so little consequence." he paused, just long enough to gauge the doctor's patience, then continued. "You may call me Luke, might I have a name for you?" He maintained his favored court tone; perfectly congenial, and just short of mockery.

The doctor frowned thoughtfully to himself for a moment, "You sound British, but…" He studied Loki for a moment, as thought about to ask a question, then abruptly gestured to the black clad bodyguards flanking him, and they immediately surrounded Loki, binding his hands behind his back with metal cuffs and jerking him abruptly away from the Soldier, roughly jostling him upright when he lost his balance.

The muscle-bound guard who he had goaded earlier stuffed a black bag over Loki's head, blocking his vision and constricting his oxygen. Loki knew the bag was meant for intimidation more than anything, he had already seen plenty, but the darkness, loss of oxygen, and sudden claustrophobia was suddenly too much for him. Twisting in his captors grasp, he struck out blindly, snapping his head backward into someone's face. He heard the satisfying sound of a nose snapping, closely followed by a cry of pain as the the grip on his bound arms fell away.

Before he could savor that small victory, he was punched in the stomach twice, then hauled upright and his head pulled to the side. He gasped desperately for breath that would not come as the dormant flame rekindled in his chest, a dull rattle shuddering through his abused lungs. In the encroaching fog he barely heard the crackle of sparking electrons until a prod was jabbed into his neck, sending jolts of electricity up and down his spine, ripping through his injuries and shorting his senses.

The last thing he heard before his mind retreated was an oddly soft voice ordering, "Bring the prisoner to cell 237 A, it is time we discover what he knows."


A/N:

Bwahahaha. Okay, I admit, things are probably going to get a little bit darkish, but hopefully you still enjoyed this. If you particularly like or dislike where this is going, feel free to let me know, (you know how). I know where this is going, but I'm flexible on how we get there, so if there's something you particularly want to see, feel free to let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Hope you enjoyed, and there is more to come.

Enjoy your lives.

-Kementari