A DARK ALLEY, SOMEWHERE IN RUSSIA.
"This is not how I wanted this evening to go."
Georgi Luchkov wasn't lying. This really wasn't supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be simple dinner date, maybe some coffee and dessert afterwards, and; if it went really well, a make-out session to end the night with.
The worst case, he had told himself earlier, was that she would merely not show up.
But this...
Bound to a chair with a glaring light in his face, being slapped, threatened, and interrogated was far worse than he could have ever imagined. He had woken up only a few minutes ago, and the last thing he remembered was walking up to the restaurant he was supposed to meet his date at. Then something had hit him hard on the head, and his memory failed him.
The fierce, red-haired woman had her eyes on him, her arms folded across her chest. He knew her as Natalie Rushman, a chick he had met on a dating site. She had seemed to be a nice, normal, sexy woman, judging from the texts they had shared. However, it seemed he had been set up.
"I know how you wanted this evening to go. Believe me, this is better." The redhead smirked wickedly. "Better for me, anyway."
She stepped closer to him, looking very satisfied with herself.
"Now, I'll ask you again," She stopped mere inches from him, putting her hands behind her back. "Where are the illegal weapons you purchased?"
"I don't have illegal weapons!" Luchkov shouted. "I'm just an average man, living in an average home! I work from nine to five! Hey hell I pay the—"
Luchkov was cut off by a sharp blow to the side of his face. He groaned. She believed he was a weapons dealer of some sort, and, evidently, she had no appreciation for 80s music.
When Luchkov looked back at the woman, he saw that she had moved several feet away from him and was rummaging through a box.
"I gave you a chance to do this the easy way, Luchkov." She said coldly, without looking at him. Luchkov swallowed, terrified.
"Please." He begged. "Please, I promise, I've never done anything." he shook his head as he spoke, and he started to hyperventilate.
He needed a Xanax.
And he needed one now.
The woman walked back over to him, a sheet of paper in her hands.
"Listen, I just want to go home," Luchkov whined. "Just let me go…"
"Shut up." The woman snapped. She stepped behind him. The next thing Luchkov knew was a stinging pain on the back of his right hand.
"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Luchkov gasped, too horrified to be embarrassed at how high his voice was going.
"Torturing you with a sheet of paper." The woman whispered into his ear with in a happy tone.
It was then that Luchkov realized just how doomed he was. Being kidnapped and interrogated was terrible. Being tortured was on a whole other level. But being tortured by papercuts...
That was immoral.
"Let me go!" Luchkov screamed as the paper tore through the skin of his hands. "I don't know anything!"
He felt the paper against his neck, and screamed as it tore through the tender flesh. Luchkov started sobbing as it reached his face, leaving stinging, burning wounds everywhere.
The paper was sliced through his skin for what seemed like forever, until it stopped abruptly.
By this time Luchkov had his head bent over, praying for mercy, and crying silent tears.
"You ready to tell me what you did?" He heard the woman ask.
Luchkov nodded sorrowfully. He didn't have anything to lose now, he couldn't take any more suffering.
"I," He began, clearing his throat of mucus. "I downloaded music illegally."
He felt the piece of paper press against his neck once again, and he shuddered.
"...And...?" His torturer pressed.
He had to force back more sobs. "I watched fifty shades of grey... and liked it!"
"And?!" The woman yelled, pressing the paper deep into his neck.
Luchkov screamed, "Okay! Okay! There was this one time with a hooker—"
Luchkov stopped speaking when the sound of a painfully high-pitched noise reached his ears. He cringed and shouted.
With a click the sound stopped.
"What?" The woman said, stepping into Luchkov's field of view, a phone up to her ear. Luchkov let out a breath of relief.
"I'm busy!" The woman angrily. "I'm in the middle of a meeting!"
The woman was silent for a moment, and then looked shocked.
"Hold on a second." She put the phone onto the table and walked over to Luchkov.
"Sorry, but we're gonna have to cut our date short, sweetie." The woman smiled. Before Luchkov could think up a response he was struck on the side of his head.
The edges of Luchkov's vision blurred, and then everything went black.
"Where's Barton now? What the hell is going on?" Natasha Romanoff spat into the phone.
She crossed the street without looking both ways. It didn't matter; no one was around anyway. But she couldn't help but feel badass about herself.
"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it later." Phil Coulson's voice came back. Natasha wondered how he had gotten her number. She had specifically told Fury that she didn't want this moron calling him. Then again, did Fury ever listen to her?
"No, you tell me about it now," Natasha demanded.
Coulson sighed over the phone. "Look, basically, some alien dude with a chainsaw came and took the Tesseract."
"Are you high again?" Natasha asked.
There was a long silence from Coulson's end. Then;
"That is none of your concern. What your concern is now is that you have a mission, and that mission is to go and get Dr. Bruce Banner and bring him to SHIELD." Coulson said steadily, his voice bearing almost no emotion.
"You mean the Hulk?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You're not supposed to call him by that. It makes things less suspenseful." Coulson scolded.
"Why do we need to bring him in?" Natasha asked. "That's the worst idea I've ever heard!"
"Agreed. He is probably indestructible and undeniably dangerous. It's a terrible idea. I don't know who came up with it." Coulson countered.
Natasha frowned at his response. "So...? What am I supposed to do...?"
"Fury's orders. You have to get Dr. Banner." Coulson said.
"Why do we even need him though?" Natasha argued.
"Because he's an expert in gamma radiation." Coulson replied.
"Is he though?" Natasha asked, allowing doubt to creep into her voice.
"Uh..." Coulson trailed off and went silent once again.
Natasha was on the verge of hanging up, when Coulson spoke again;
"You know what, you're absolutely right. We'll find another gamma radiation specialist. See you at SHIELD Headquarters." And with that he hung up.
Natasha sighed and looked at her phone.
She looked briefly at her background picture; which was of her and Barton. They were at Warped Tour, both of them decked out in full gear bought from Hot Topic. A smile crept over her face. That same day Barton had gotten punched in a mosh pit and couldn't stop crying about it.
God, she loved that man.
Putting the phone into her pocket, she started heading for her car, intent on reaching the airport so she could get a flight to New York.
S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS, ANALYTICAL ROOM.
Fury resisted the urge of booting down all the computers so that the World Security Council members would shut the fuck up. He had arrived back at Headquarters an hour ago. After having a tantrum with Maria Hill because a good deal of his comic books were gone, and then going in for surgery for his injuries, he had called the World Security Council in an attempt to try and fix this situation.
Emphasis on 'attempt' and 'try.'
"So now Asgard has declared war on us! I knew it! Hah!" One of the members laughed.
"We're all gonna die! Haha!" Another cheered happily.
"I'm not even paying attention! Hahaha!" A third said, who had his back turned on the monitor.
"Who hired you dumb fucks?!" Fury shouted.
"I did!" A fourth council member waved from the screen on his far right. At that, the other members began clapping and cheering.
"Will you all just listen for one Goddamn second!?" Fury yelled. He was greeted by absolute silence and wide eyes watching him.
"Thank you." Fury breathed. Maybe he could finally get something through. "We have been threatened with war—"
"—Speaking of war, who's up for a card game?!" One of the council members held up a deck of cards. The other members once again cheered and clapped gleefully.
"...Since we lost ninety percent of the comic books, we need to form together a response team." Fury went on when the members went silent again. "The people I have selected are unstable, selfish, terrible human beings. But I believe, with the right push—"
"—I'm bored, I'm gonna go swimming." A member cut in. And then the screen he was displayed on went black.
One after another, all the members began giving excuses and cutting transmissions.
Fury angrily kicked over a table as the last monitor went black. He only succeeded in hurting his foot. Swearing, he fell to the floor.
So the World Security Council was useless.
That meant that this was up to him now.
He got up off the floor and walked out of the room. He had already told Coulson to contact a list of people he had deemed somewhat useful. But there was still one more that he had to seek out himself.
Of course, 'seek' was a dramatic word. What he meant was that he had to go over to the guest floor and enter the first room on the right.
Before he left, however, he grabbed a couple files that had been lying on a desk. Then he turned and left the room.
He entered a nearby elevator and pressed the button to the guest floor. Despite the catastrophe that had happened, almost everyone at Headquarters was asleep.
Fury wasn't surprised.
He was surprised, however, when a long moment had gone by and the elevator hadn't moved yet. Frowning, he pushed the floor again. Nothing happened.
Damn elevators. Nothing ever worked here.
He pushed the button to get the doors to open. Again, nothing happened.
By now Fury felt slightly concerned. He pulled out his phone, intending to call for a technician to get him out. However when he tried to call it wouldn't go through, and a message came up saying that his connection had been disabled.
"...The hell...?" Fury muttered to himself. He tried to open the doors again. This time they slid open, creaking loudly as they did so.
The hallway before him was dark, most of the lights were off. There was a dank, putrid odor in the air. Fury stepped into the hall, immediately feeling hot. He'd never seen this floor before. But then again, he never bothered to go floor to floor, examining the environment.
But he did know that this most certainly was not the guest floor. So he turned and started walking back to the elevator.
He stopped short, however, when he saw what appeared to be a little girl standing in the elevator. Her head was bent forward, with her hair covering her face so he couldn't see her features. She was dressed in a long, tattered purple dress that reached the floor.
"Who the fuck are you?" Fury demanded. He was sure no one had come on the elevator with him.
The girl said nothing.
Fury heard a fuse blow and all the lights in the hall went out. He'd have to call someone to fix it later. He pressed the button to the guest floor. Nothing happened. He pressed it again.
"Hello Fury." A voice whispered. Fury jumped and looked at the girl. Her head was still bent down.
The doors creaked shut and the elevator began moving downwards. Fury deemed it was best to ignore the girl.
When the doors slid open again, Fury turned to look at the girl.
Only to discover that there was no one in the elevator. The girl was gone.
Fury was somewhat confused. He wondered briefly if he had hallucinated the whole thing.
Whatever had happened, he decided, was not important. So he stepped into the hall, and knocked on the first door to his right.
Unsurprisingly, no one answered.
Luckily, though, Fury had a key. After fishing it out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and entered.
He shut the door behind him, wondering if their freeloader was awake. The room was the size of a small apartment, it was empty save for some furniture and food in the kitchen. As Fury walked further into the room, he became aware of the sound of heavy breathing and moaning. He looked towards the bedroom door, which was slightly opened. The lights in it were off.
Fury put a hand on his pistol, and cautiously approached.
"Aah... God…" A voice whimpered. "Please…"
Fury took out his pistol. Had someone gotten in? That was impossible; he was the only one with the other key.
"Buck... Oh God…" The voice murmured. Fury stalked beside the bedroom door, the gun ready in his hands. So, someone wanted to go and beat up the old Captain? Not on Fury's watch.
He was just about to kick the door in when;
"Bucky! More! Aaaaaaaaah!"
Fury stopped. He felt his brows narrow. He opened the door and looked in. In the dim lighting he made out the figure of Steve Rogers laying in bed. He was tossing and turning, the covers a mess on the floor. He was dressed only in a pair of neon green boxers.
"Bucky... please…" He moaned. "...yes…"
Fury turned on the lights, hoping it would wake the super soldier.
It didn't.
"...It feels so good…" Steve muttured.
Fury's lip curled in disgust. "RISE AND SHINE MOTHERFUCKER!" He shouted.
Steve nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes shooting open.
"Mr. Fury!" he shouted in shock, pulling the covers over his body.
"That's right." Fury said curtly.
"What are you doing in here?" Steve asked, looking embarrassed. "How did you even get in?"
Fury didn't bother answering either question, instead he sat down in a chair a few feet away from the bed.
There was a long silence. Then;
"I was... having a nightmare sir." Steve confessed, a hint of red visible in his cheeks.
Fury raised an eyebrow, snorting. "It seems to me like you were enjoying that nightmare."
Steve went pale.
"But that's not what I'm here to talk to you about." Fury looked down at the files in his hands. "Something happened."
Steve looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean shit might be about to hit the fan." Fury offered one of the files to Steve, who took it and opened it without question.
"Hydra's magic cube," Steve said as he looked at the page on the Tesseract. He glanced at Fury, a wave of betrayal passing over his face. "You've had it all this time…?"
"Howard Stark fished it out of the water when he was looking for you. It came into our hands. Some folks think it could be the key unlimited energy or something. I don't really know, and I don't care either. But as of right now it's been stolen." Fury explained hastily.
"Who stole it?" Steve asked, looking concerned. Fury handed him the other file.
"He called himself Loki," Fury sneered.
"No, but what's his name?" Steve asked as he opened the file.
"He's from some alien planet. You know. Like E.T.? Oh wait, you never saw that, did you…" Fury rambled on. Then he got up off his chair.
"I'll let you read those. Then get some sleep." Fury paused. "I know it's been awhile, but do you think you're up to save the world again?"
Steve looked up from the file. He licked his lips. "I'll do what I can."
"Good. Come to my office at sunrise tomorrow... which is only a few hours away…" Fury left the room, realizing how late it was. He walked out of the apartment and pressed the elevator button.
By the time Fury reached his room, he felt disappointed and irritated.
What a waste of tonight this was, he thought to himself.
He had to get up in a few hours, and would probably be losing sleep over this incident until it was resolved.
If it was resolved, he reminded himself. There was always a chance a villain could win. But usually they lost, because people liked happy endings for some strange reason.
But, if Loki did end up conquering the world or whatever, Fury realized he would never have to deal with this bullshit ever again.
For a brief moment he considered dropping the Avengers Initiative. Then he decided not to; at the very least, it would be hilarious to watch them fight like cats and dogs.
All of the sudden Fury felt weak. The painkillers were probably wearing off. Great.
He started stumbling over to his couch, and he glanced briefly at the now-cold pumpkin-spiced coffee sitting on the table. It looked almost lonely.
He shook his head. Damn Tesseract. Damn Loki.
He laid down on the couch and grabbed his remote, turning the distraction box on.
The screen flickered, and then an episode of Dragon Ball Z came on.
Fury curled up on the couch, draped a blanket over himself, and settled in for a long stay.