My shoes clack loudly against the hard concrete beneath my feet as I make my way toward the main area. I slow down a bit to appear casual as I approach the guards stationed at either side of the entrance to the tunnel. Both glance at me, but make no move to stop me, so I continue forward.

I walk around the outer edges of the main area, staying close to the walls and out of the way so I can observe what's happening inconspicuously. The area is larger than I thought, probably several thousand square feet, and there are people everywhere. Most are armed men and women, but there must be at least fifteen scientists bustling around near the Tesseract container-thing. Where did Green-pants find all these people? There must be two or three hundred people in this place! I shake my head in amazement, and continue moving forward.

Suddenly, I stop. Wait, did I just call Loki Green-pants? A mischievous grin slowly lights my face. Oh yes, Loki needs a nickname. What shall it be? I lean casually against the wall behind me, continuing to observe the underground operation as I consider different nicknames. Horny? I shake my head. Nah, that's too cheesy. Not Green-pants either, that's just too weird. Mr. Sophisticated? I consider it, then shake my head again. Ehhhhhh, that's not right either. What else—

My stomach suddenly growls loudly, stopping my thoughts in their tracks. I push off the wall and frown down at my stomach, then sniff the air, realizing I can smell food somewhere. I look around, trying to figure out where the smell is coming from, when I hear a very loud screeching noise right behind me. I yelp in shock and spin around. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron has just lifted a metal roll-top that I had thought was a part of the wall, revealing a huge kitchen behind it with a half-wall-turned-countertop separating it from the rest of the main area. My eyes widen in surprise and delight.

The woman gives me a look. "Has the king given you another job?"

I scoff inwardly. King? Really, Loki? "Ah, no, not-"

"Good, then get in here and help me." The woman cuts me off. "The king brought in extras tonight, and I don't want to be overrun. Door is to your left." She turns away and walks to another part of the kitchen where I can see a lot of food piled onto another countertop, waiting to be served. I blink in surprise. Ok...I guess there's no harm in it. At least I'll be near the food.

I locate the door the woman told me about and enter the kitchen. I can feel the temperature difference immediately; it's like I've stepped into an oven. I join the woman, and she shoves an apron into my hands. "Put this on, then grab that lasagna and put it on the counter here," she says briskly, pointing to the counter connected to the half-wall. I quickly do as she asked, tying the apron on, throwing my hair into a messy bun, and grabbing the lasagna. I wince as my stomach starts screaming at me for food.

For the next hour, I help the cook serve Loki's henchmen a delicious-looking supper of lasagna, green beans, and sweet rolls. My stomach howls at first, but I force the pain away and focus on my task, reminding myself that the sooner I finish, the sooner I eat. However, the line of hungry people seems endless, and I can feel myself growing weaker from lack of nutrition. I have no idea how long I was out from the drugs, but even if I was only out for an hour or so, which is highly unlikely, it had been over four hours since I'd last eaten before that. In other words, I haven't eaten for most of the day.

Finally, the line begins to dwindle, and after a few people wanting a second helping have been served, the line ends. I breathe a sigh of relief, wiping sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. "Can I-" I begin, but the cook cuts me off again. That seems to be her usual way of communicating.

"Help me with the dishes, please."

My heart drops to the floor with a glance at the pile of dirty dishes in and around the large sinks. I bite back a sigh, knowing that if I don't eat soon, I'll have a headache and nausea pains. I should be able to hold the headache off if I do this really fast, I think, stepping forward to the sink. But I know I'm lying to myself- this will probably take most of another hour.

#### #### ####

Turns out Cook, as I've decided to dub her since I don't know her name, is a fast dish-washer. The job takes much less time than I'd thought it would, and we are done in a little over thirty minutes. Ms. Cook isn't exactly a talker, but I appreciate her companionable silence. She isn't rude, just brusque, and obviously used to being in charge. I don't really mind her ordering me around, which surprises me since I usually detest that as much as being physically restrained.

But my intense hunger is starting to get the better of me. "So, um, now that we are done here-"

"Oh! I forgot! The king has not eaten!" Ms. Cook bursts out, interrupting me again. I raise my eyebrows, too tired and hungry to do anything else. She immediately gets out a few of the dishes we just cleaned and begins whipping up another meal. I watch her for a minute, then sneak out to the large refrigerator room where the leftovers were put and get myself a piece of lasagna. Wolfing it down, I quickly return to the kitchen, hoping Cook didn't see me leave. Thankfully, she is so immersed in her hurried preparations that she doesn't even glance at me as I re-enter the room. I snatch a sweet roll off the counter while her back is turned and wolf that down, too. I'm starting to feel much better, and I can feel my strength returning, much to my relief. I hate being weak.

Over twenty minutes later, Cook has a tray ready for Greeny. No, that name won't work either. It's filled with a medium-sized salad, a slab of sizzling beef, and a large side of mixed vegetables, along with a sweet roll and multiple salad dressing options. My eyes widen at the sight. That's a lot of food! My stomach growls again at the smell of the beef. I've always loved meat. I turn away so I'm not tempted to steal a bite, and begin washing the countertops with the rag Cook had used to wipe the dishes. But a moment later, Cook grabs the rag out of my hand with a frown, making me jump with surprise. "You'll never get the counter clean that way, girl!" She immediately begins scrubbing away at the counter, muttering to herself. I step back, then glance over at the tray of food. Should I...?

I shake my head, deciding against it. If Psycho has any leftovers, I'll snitch them later. Psycho...nah. That's not right eith-

"Take that tray to the king before I forget," Cook says abruptly, interrupting my thoughts. How did she interrupt my thoughts? Does she have— wait, what did she say?!

"Me?" I ask, my shock obvious.

"Yes, of course you. There's no one else in this kitchen!"

I frown. "But I don't know—"

"It's the third door on the right when you enter the hallway next to the kitchen door," Cook says, not bothering to look over her shoulder at me. I stand there for a minute in indecision, then decide there's no use arguing. I sigh and lift the tray, balancing it in one hand and exiting the kitchen. Well, here goes nothing.

Author's Note: Sorry if this seems like another filler chapter. I'm trying to get to another point in the story, and I had to bridge the gap. I'm working on the next chapter though, it' be out ASAP!

Thank you for commenting. It means the world to me!

Signing off, AuthorsDream.