Cogs in the machine

Asta wasn't sure what she expected when the elevator doors parted, but it wasn't a panoramic view of Manhattan.

She only recognised it because it had appeared in so many of the shows and movies she'd seen on that little television set at the base, and then in the books she'd devoured about the world beyond her quarters. Over there, the Art Deco spire of the Chrysler building. Below, the white stone edifice of Grand Central station. Further away, the soaring height of the Empire State building. And the scary part—whatever building she was in towered over much of the landscape around them.

Rather than leading her across the wide room they'd entered, towards the wall of windows providing the view, Loki turned and took them through a door beside the elevator, which opened onto a stairwell. She struggled to match his brisk steps up the stairs, and was out of breath by the time he'd thrown aside the door at the top. The area beyond was small and gravelled, but completely exposed, she supposed at the very top of the building. A contraption dominated the space, looking like nothing she'd ever seen before—rings of metal, like layers of a cake, stood higher than her, cogs and components making it clear that is wasn't there for decoration. It all glowed from the centre out, a familiar cyan, the same light as the sceptre emitted.

A grey-haired, middle-aged man in a plaid shirt stood beside the machine. "Welcome to Stark Tower!" He was blue-eyed, of course, just like the soldiers, but he didn't have their detachment. He was smiling, likable.

"Will it work?" Loki asked.

"Of course! She's been a dream to work on." The man patted the contraption and Loki smiled back at him, with genuine warmth and pride.

"I don't doubt we'll be receiving visitors soon, Mr Selvig. I made quite a mess of SHIELD's ship."

"But it was worth it." Selvig nodded to Asta. "You got what you were after."

"We lost Barton in the process. He is, unfortunately, no longer under my control."

Loki's grip on the sceptre tightened and Asta finally put the pieces together. Whatever power the staff wielded, it allowed Loki to control those around him. The soldiers, Selvig, whoever Barton had been, they were all under a spell. No wonder the smiling man seemed so happy to be here.

"We already have everything we need," Selvig said. "I just need to recalibrate a few elements and she's ready to deploy."

"Glad to hear it. Work quickly, there's a storm brewing." Loki glanced at Asta. "Let's get you inside." Back down the staircase they went, through the vast room and then down a hallway. Her surroundings had changed, becoming more opulent, but she may as well have never left the compound in the desert. She was still being led around, no choice to her destination, no say in her own life. At least the room he took her into had windows—floor to ceiling glass. The bed was a double, the space enormous compared to everywhere she'd been since her capture by SHIELD, though every surface was empty.

"The room's been swept, so I can promise you there's nothing you can use to get yourself free," he said. "I'm sure you can make yourself comfortable, though. Our host has a measure of taste that extends to no small amount of luxury." His hand stayed on her arm and his gaze swept to the bed, expression inscrutable.

"You're going to lock me in." She didn't make it a question; it was an inevitability at this point.

"I can't have you wandering away after all the trouble it took to retrieve you."

"So I stay here until…what? What part do I play?" she asked.

"I don't follow."

"You brought me here for a reason—you got captured just to snatch me away from SHIELD. I must have some role in your grand plan."

"My dear, I didn't steal you from them to use you as a pawn in this little game of war. I rescued you from them. I was your prince in shining armour, like the ones in the tales you were always so fond of, come to save you from those who would keep you captive."

Now that, she hadn't expected. She wasn't even sure she believed it. He must have read her doubt clearly, because the mask of cruel indifference fell into place again.

"You'll see," he said. "Now, I must take my leave. Our host returns."

He took a few steps out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and she heard the click of the lock before he retreated. She tested the handle, to be sure, but it was a futile gesture. It didn't budge, and she was a prisoner once again. The cell had increased in size, but it was still a cell.

At least she was free of prying eyes now. She reached into the pocket she hadn't even realised she had and pulled out what had been annoying her since she discovered it on the jet.

It turned out to be a piece of plastic, credit card sized but slightly thicker. One of the shorter edges was ridged, and a quick examination showed her it was a hinge. The device opened up like a clamshell, and suddenly had a screen and a number pad.

She glanced around for cameras, realising it was too late if there were any and Loki was using them to watch her still. Just to be safe, she headed for the door across the room, which as she'd hoped turned out to be a bathroom. It was as big as her old rooms at the compound, all sleek lines and polished marble. If there were surveillance devices in here, they'd be hard to hide.

Guessing the green button was the on switch, she pressed it and the screen lit up. Within seconds, it pulsed between her fingers, the display reading Incoming. She pressed the green button again and held the device to her ear.

"Hello?" she whispered.

"Asta, this is Coulson. Are you harmed?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm locked up but I'm okay. How do I have this?"

"It's mine. I slipped it into your pocket when we were on the ground earlier. We've been monitoring it for activity. Do you know where you are?"

"Stark Tower. New York. There was a guy here, Selvig, and he's got this big contraption on the roof."

"Thank you, Asta, that's very helpful. Where is Loki now?"

"He said our host was coming. That was about five minutes ago—he locked me in a room and left."

She heard muttering in the background as Coulson relayed this information. "We'll try to rescue you as soon as we can, but you may be there some time."

"Loki mentioned a war. This is serious, isn't it?"

"As serious as it gets. We're trying to prevent that war starting, and anything that can stop Loki will help that. If you remember anything, call this number back."

"I will."

"I have to go, Asta. Stay safe."

When he rang off, she returned to the bedroom, but she didn't sit down. She slid the phone back into her pocket and instead paced around the space, checking over and under every surface in the room for anything to get herself out. Her patience was through. She couldn't wait around to be rescued by SHIELD, not when that meant she'd just end up back in their custody. She couldn't stay to see what Loki had planned for her. She needed to get out while everyone was focused on fighting each other; if that meant walking through a war-zone, she was happy to take her chances. All the better for her to slip quietly into the day.

Her search—opening drawers, peering under the bed, rifling through the empty closet—got her nowhere, and she paused to sink onto the bed, facing the window. It would be so easy to give up and wait for other people to decide her fate for her, but she'd curse herself for accepting that defeat forever. She needed to be resourceful.

Light flared beyond the glass, and she rose, tiptoeing across the carpet to stare out over the city. Grey figures streamed from the sky, streaking past and down among the buildings below. The flare she'd noticed was now a fire burning—a jet, smashed into the concrete several blocks away. Figures ran, tiny ants swarming across the city streets, away from the grey invaders. Other fires burned, other buildings had shattered windows and cars lay crushed and strewn across the roads. The windows kept the sounds muted, but it wasn't hard to imagine the screams as people tried to escape the chaos around them. Whatever Selvig had needed to do on the roof, this had to be the result of it.

The war had begun.