Bryant is next to Steve. Hand pressed to his ear, Bryant is relaying messages from his brother Brett, who is watching the SWAT team approach Loki’s home from his position atop a building less than half a block away.
Steve has a dispatcher’s phone to his head. “Put Thor on, now!” Steve says.
“Yes, sir,” says the police officer on the other end of the line.
Beside him, Bryant says, “They’ve got one helicopter by Loki’s apartment, telling him to surrender. Guys are rappelling off another chopper onto the roof. Police are on the ground—”
Thor’s slightly befuddled voice crackles at the other end of the line. “Is anyone there? Hello, hello? I am unused to Midgardian magics—”
“Thor! This is Steve. We’ve found Loki and Lewis. Jameson and Mayor Ronnie have ordered a raid on his home. I need—”
Cutting him off, Thor’s voice is suddenly confident and sure. “I will be outside your building in my chariot in five minutes. You will travel with me and lead me to Loki’s home.”
“I’ll be there,” Steve says, dropping the dispatcher’s phone.
Beside Steve, Bryant shakes his head, his face drawn. “Brett says they shot Lewis! They shot Lewis!”
Hand still to his earpiece, Bryant says, “One helicopter down.” He meets Steve’s eyes just before Steve bolts for the stairs.
A few moments later Steve is outside in a throng of reporters in the middle of LaSalle Street. A light drizzle is falling. Steve’s wondering how Thor will get the gauntlet of reporters to disperse when a bolt of lightning rips from the sky to the street a few feet away. Reporters and police bolt from the spot of smoking pavement. Steve runs towards it. A blur of gold streaks down from the sky towards him, and Thor’s chariot is by Steve’s side. Before Steve knows what’s happening, Thor’s hauled him in. “Which way?” shouts Thor, hand still on Steve’s shoulder.
“Southwest,” Steve says. The chariot lurches forward and up so steeply Steve nearly falls off. “Lewis has been hit,” Steve shouts above the wind and popping of his ears.
As they pull above the buildings’ roofs, Steve shouts, “If we hurry we may get there in time … ”
… to save Lewis and Loki.
The words never leave Steve’s mouth. The second helicopter that is flaming on the roof of Loki’s high-rise condo building is giving the location away.
“Which domicile?” Thor shouts above the wind. A bolt of lightning from his hammer lights the scene.
The lightning’s glare is mirrored off the windows of Loki’s building, and makes the concrete support beams look white as bleached bone. But where a window to the southeast penthouse should be, there is a gaping black hole, a cavernous maw in the sky. “Where the windows are broken,” Steve shouts.
Nodding, Thor pushes Steve down, and the chariot dips to the level of the cavelike opening. They bounce three times as they land in the penthouse, and over the rattle of his jaw Steve can just barely hear the crunch of glass beneath the rolling wheels. They skid to a halt and Steve’s head and shoulder slam against the chariot’s wall.
“Stay down,” Thor says.
Grabbing his aching shoulder, Steve blinks his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He takes a deep breath and swallows at the smell of blood, sweat and gunpowder. In the distance he hears the wail of fire alarms.
Thor steps from the chariot and Steve hears the crunch of glass. Thor’s voice rings out, even, calm and controlled. “Loki? Are you here? It is I, Thor, and Agent Rogers.”
There is no answer. Thor speaks again. “Both of us were opposed to this raid. We know the girl is hurt—you cannot heal her. You must give her to us if you want her to live.”
Taking a shaky breath, Steve thinks of Lewis. It’s his fault she’s even here, isn’t it? How many times has Bryant pushed Steve to put her on witness protection? But no, Steve wanted a contact with Loki. Shutting his eyes, Steve silently thinks—or prays—he’s not sure, Please, Loki, we have to get her to the trauma unit. The center they set up above ADUO Headquarters is staffed with doctors with more experience in bullet wounds and blunt force trauma than any hospital in the city—and this being Chicago, that is saying something.
There is an intake of breath not from Thor or Steve. Loki’s whisper slices through the darkness, sharp and soft as a knife blade. “What did you say?”
Thor begins to speak, “I said—”
“Not you!” Loki screams. “Steve! What did you say?”
“Agent Rogers said nothing—”
“I heard him!” Loki says.
Standing up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Steve turns towards Loki’s voice but sees only a floor-to-ceiling window facing the blinking lights of the southern part of the city. “We have to get Lewis to the trauma unit.”
Light rises in the room, but Steve can’t detect a single source. Magic? Loki stands before Steve and Thor silhouetted by the window. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his skin is pale and pink, his hair ginger.
Running a hand nervously through his hair, Loki says, “I hear her, Thor. She can’t die!”
Nodding, but without making any sudden moves, Thor says, “Then you must trust me to help her, Loki.”
Smirking, Loki says, “Trust you, Thor?”
Flushing, Thor licks his lips. “I won’t fail you again. You know you can’t heal her, Loki.”
Loki’s lips curl at that, his hands fall to his sides and Steve swears he sees him tremble. Steve bites back the urge to shout, Don’t waste time.
Loki’s eyes flash to Steve.
From behind comes the crunch of glass. Turning fast, Steve sees a shimmer of light, and then there is Loki again, emerging from a shadowy hallway that runs past a kitchen. Loki is wearing the alien armor that blends so seamlessly into the surroundings. Steve might not see him at all if his visor wasn’t up. His face is blue, almost glowing. Lewis is draped in his arms, he sees bloodstains on her clothing, but most worryingly is the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around her neck.
“Loki,” Thor whispers. “You’re blue … what’s happening to you?”
Ignoring Thor, heart racing at the sight of Lewis’ limp and bloody body, Steve says, “Loki, we have to get Lewis to the trauma unit. There are police vehicles below. I know you may not trust them but—”
“No!” Loki says. “Thor, she’s fading. Can you help her?”
Thor holds out his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Loki passes Lewis to him. Gazing down at her head, Thor’s brow furrows and his jaw tightens, he mutters something in another language. Steve’s just about to tell them they need to move her, now, when Lewis’s eyes bolt open and she gasps. Her lips part, as though to speak, but nothing comes out.
Pulling off his helmet, Loki puts a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry, I hear you.” He’s smiling, a little sadly, a little deranged.
“Loki,” Thor says. “She does need to go to the trauma unit. There are bullets, glass and fabric in her body—and their tools are sharper than mine.”
Loki meets Thor’s eyes. “You will take her in your chariot, and you won’t leave her.”
Eyes locked on Loki’s, Thor says, “The Norns as my witness, I swear it.”
Loki stands stock still for a moment. And then nodding, he backs away. Thor bends low over Lewis and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes drift shut, and Thor turns around and steps into his chariot, Lewis in his arms. Thor says something in his own language, and the chariot backs, turns and lifts—much more gently than when Steve had been in it. With a gust of air it takes off into the night.
Alone with Loki, Steve looks around the apartment and his heart sinks. Along the hallway Loki had emerged from are prone bodies.
“They attacked without provocation,” Loki says, chin tilted downward, eyes unfocused.
Gritting his teeth, Steve says, “I need to get them medical attention.”
Loki lifts an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary.”
Jaw tense, Steve taps his phone, “I’m going to call for an ambulance … ambulances … ”
Loki shrugs. “Ambulances are already on the way. There are fires in the stairwells, a few of your agents trying to come up from the ground got … ” He stops, looks at Steve and smiles sharply. “Are getting … cooked.” His eyes narrow at Steve, “But don’t worry, they called for help.”
Steve stands frozen, hand on his phone.
Loki smiles. “Well, are you going to arrest me?”
Steve tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Loki?”
Loki’s smile drops. “To be close to Miss Lewis … for the time being.” He licks his lips nervously, and looks away. “She’s in my head.” His eyes go back to Steve. “As you were.” Blinking his eyes rapidly he says, “Like everyone seems to be lately. If you arrest me, you’ll take me to headquarters—that’s right below the trauma unit, is it not?”
Steve nods, dumbly.
Loki smiles again, and holds his wrists out. “Come on, Steve, take out your handcuffs. This is your chance to be a hero!”
Taking a man who’s just taken down two SWAT helicopters to headquarters is just about the dumbest thing Steve could think to do. It is also, doubtlessly, what Jameson will order.
Not bothering to take out his cuffs, Steve grabs his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
With a mischievous smile and a shrug, Loki obediently lets Steve lead him down the hall.
x x x x
Steve sits next to Loki in the van the SWAT team is using to take them to HQ. Hands bound behind his back with the same cuffs they had used on agent Hill, Loki is leaning forward slightly. His skin is still blue, and his eyes and hair still black, but where the cuffs wrap around his wrists there is a line of bone-white skin.
All around the van agents sit glaring at Loki, rifles at the ready.
Rocking and humming, Loki seems for the most part unconcerned. But every now and then Steve catches Loki scowling. Steve looks down at his phone. There is a text from one of the nurses. Turning to Loki he says, “Thor got Lewis to the trauma unit. They’ve begun operating.”
Loki nods. “I know.”
Glancing down at his phone again, Steve sees a message alert for his email. He clicks over to a short message from Lewis. Loki said he’ll help with the gates. We need to find a way to meet without Jameson finding out.
Steve hadn’t realized his heart could sink any lower, but it does.
“Hmmmm … ” says Loki, voice near his shoulder. “She must have sent that just before she was shot.”
Steve’s eyes slide to him. Sitting as far back as he can with his hands behind his back, Loki eyes the other agents in the van. “I was going to help. I can close gates, you know.” His voice darkens. “But at the moment I feel strangely disinclined.”
Not one of the agents even moves a muscle. Loki gives him a tight smile. Steve wants to say something, to smooth things over. Running a hand over his chin, feeling the bite of stubble, Steve can’t find it in himself to say anything. His mind is filled with the memory of the empty eyes of the dead agents in Loki’s apartment, and the memory of Lewis draped in Loki’s arms. A wrong for a wrong was not right.
“You look a little pale, Agent Rogers,” Loki says, his eyes hard. His lips quirk. “Or is it not politically correct to say that? I can’t keep all the rules straight.”
The van draws to a halt, shouts go up inside and out, and Steve is spared from having to respond.
As the doors open, SWAT team members fan out to clear the path. Before anyone has a chance to shove a gun in Loki’s direction, Steve takes him by the shoulder again and says, “Let’s move.”
They’ve just hopped out of the van and are making their way to the doors of the building when Steve hears someone say, “Fuck me. Shiva?” Loki and Steve both turn their heads in unison. There’s the Indian—or something—cab driver Steve met earlier, his eyes wide, body stock still, looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights.
As some agents push the kid away, Loki smiles and blows a kiss. “Maybe some other time!”
The kid’s eyes suddenly regain focus, and even with the guys pushing him away, he manages to bring a fisted hand to his face, bite his thumb and then flick it in Loki’s direction.
Loki smiles as Steve steers him through the door and towards the interrogation room.
x x x x
There is no one-way mirror in the interrogation room, just cameras in all the corners, and speakers. Loki rocks in a squeaking chair, hands behind his back. There is a table next to him, and an extra chair. He scowls. As soon as they’d seated him, they’d placed a strange little helmet of Promethean Wire on his head. On the one hand, it’s put an end to Cera’s nagging. On the other hand, he’s finding it difficult to focus his magic. He’s not frightened—he can slip the lock-picking tools out of his wrist armor easily enough. From there it would only be a moment to remove the helmet and World Walk—or just walk out of the room.
He is annoyed though. He wants to know how Amy is doing. He can’t leave without her, and he can’t do that until her condition is stable, and he can’t know if she is stable because of the damnable helmet. Grinding his teeth he rocks faster in his chair, causing the metal to groan and squeak.
From behind the door, he hears shouting. Craning forward, he tries to piece out the words, but they are too muffled. Still, he does recognize Thor’s voice among the participants.
His eyebrows rise. Either Amy is dead, or she is in a state where Thor does not feel she will suffer without him. He bites his lip.
Hearing the door knob engage, Loki sits back quickly, just in time for Steve Rogers to walk into the room. Loki smiles at the man.
“Miss Lewis is in stable condition,” says Steve. He tilts his head. “Can you understand me without magic?”
Loki grins. He has been in English-speaking countries long enough to have picked up the language. Instead of answering the question he says, “Come to play good cop, Steven?”
Steve fixes Loki with a glare that would cause spontaneous combustion if Steve were a magical creature. “I’m not playing anything. I’m trying to keep you from setting the building on fire.”
Loki’s lips quirk. Steven isn’t fooled by the magic shackles, then? He remembers the brief flicker of connection he’d had with Steve in the penthouse. And Odin heard Steve, too. Steve looks the part of the stooge, even if at the moment he’s wearing combat gear instead of his trademark suit. And yet, beneath Steve’s bland, regimentally lemming-like exterior, there buzzes a cunning independent mind. What in the world is he doing working for ADUO and a real stooge like Jameson?
At that thought the door handle turns again and Jameson steps into the room.
Loki grins again and waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, look, the party has arrived.”
Jaw twitching, Jameson moves to stand by Steve. “We know that you are responsible for the recent attack on our city and the opening of the gates. Your magic is shackled, and we have a magically shielded transport vehicle on the way. We will see you locked away from your magic permanently. No nation will be your advocate. If you want any mercy at all, any leniency, you had better start cooperating.”
Loki looks at Steve and rolls his eyes. And then turning back to Jameson he says, “Oh, you found me out! Where do you want me to start?”
Jameson’s eyes widen just a fraction, and his jaw drops minutely, as though he’s surprised by how easy he’s gotten Loki’s cooperation. Regaining his poise, he says, “Let’s start with the positions of the gates.”
Loki tilts his head, opens his mouth, and invents random locations off the top of his head. Jameson smiles as Loki rattles on.
By contrast, Steve looks like he’s swallowed a live frog whole. “Sir,” Steve says, when Loki’s paused for a breath, “I think we should take a break and discuss this information before we—”
“Agent Rogers,” says Jameson, “we are just getting started.”
Steve’s cheeks hollow inward, as though he’s biting them. Refraining from casting a knowing smirk in his direction, Loki adopts his best look of slightly fearful innocence, and Jameson starts asking more questions.
Loki lies. Sometimes he hesitates a bit just for effect, and he is careful to tell the truth on those trick questions he thinks they must know—like his association with Ron Kalt, for instance. It is an amusing game trying to keep the lies and half truths and outright truths all straight. He seriously begins to wonder if after razing Asgard, he should consider becoming a novelist.
“How did you get Miss Lewis out of the building during the attack?” Steve asks; it’s the first question he’s asked since he entered the room.
Loki purses his lips. “Through the back stairwell.”
“It was on fire,” says Steve.
Loki shrugs. “As Mr. Jameson already explained, I started the fire. It wasn’t hard to put out.” The words roll out of his mouth without any effort.
Steve’s eyes narrow.
Beside him Jameson says, “Why did you help Lewis escape?”
Loki’s jaw goes tight. He should say, Because I couldn’t let tits like that go to waste. Instead he sneers. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the good guy.”
“Is she involved in this scheme of yours?” Jameson asks.
“No!” says Loki, too quickly and too loud. Will they hurt her if they think she is? Will he feel her agony in his head? He feels a cold prickle of sweat upon his brow.
“Where have you been since the initial attack?” Jameson asks.
“At home,” says Loki.
“Doing what?” says Jameson.
Loki should say, Well, Mr. Director, when a man and a woman like each other very much …
But he can’t form the words. Glaring at Jameson, he rocks the chair back and forth. The squeak has gotten louder.
Steve puts his hand on Jameson’s arm, and Jameson brushes it away, eyes locked on Loki. “Perhaps I should remind you of your situation? You have no country, no people. The rules of the Geneva Convention do not apply to you.” Leaning down on the table he smiles at Loki. There is a slight sheen to his forehead. Loki lifts an eyebrow. The man is getting an almost sexual pleasure from his perceived power. Pathetic.
Apparently, completely unaware of Loki’s utter lack of fear, Jameson continues. “If I ask you to speak, Loki, you speak. If I ask you to sing, you sing. If I ask you to dance, you dance.”
Without turning to Steve, Jameson says, “Agent Rogers, Ms. Lewis is a citizen, but by cooperating with Loki, a confessed terrorist, doesn’t she cede some of her rights?”
Loki’s vision goes red and his skin goes hot. He always fucks things up, doesn’t he?
He thinks he sees Steve shaking his head, out of the corner of his eye. Maybe Steve even says something, but it is a jumble of, “it won’t come to that” and “she’s one of ours.” Curling his hands into fists, all Loki can focus on is Jameson. And then, without even conscious thought, Loki’s fingers are sliding against a thin piece of metal tucked into his wrist guard.
“Very well, Mr. Director, I’ll dance and sing for you,” Loki says. The words slide off his tongue as he slips the very non-magical, infinitely clever, dwarven key pin into the cuffs.
Jameson smiles just a fraction. Loki wants, no needs, to grind the fool’s face in his own stupidity and arrogance. Loki needs to make him hurt.
The speakers in the room begin to crackle. “Sir, he’s … ”
Grinning, Loki stops rocking as the cuffs clang to the floor.
“ … doing something to the cuffs,” the disembodied voice says.
With a shout, Loki lifts the magic-blocking helmet from his head and flings it across the room. Cera’s voice cries out, “Loki!” Steve and Jameson both reach for their weapons, but before they’re even drawn, Loki’s hopped up onto the table. The air in the room around him shimmers with heat. He thinks he hears someone say, “The door is too hot!” and Jameson and Steve both pull their hands away from their weapons in pain.
Loki should pick their weapons from their pockets, shoot them, and then make the men outside the doors see illusions of him instead of each other. He should let them kill each other, just as he did to the SWAT team.
But he needs to mock Jameson in front of all his little cameras for all his lackeys to see. With a wink, he casts an illusion of black pants, black jacket and striped black and white shirt over his armor—just like the character Amy was watching on the computer. His hair is already black, his skin full blue, but he doesn’t bother to change it. With a whoop, Loki stands on his tiptoes on the table that is his stage. Winding his hips, he spins an arm and sings the inane lyrics about jailbirds from the Elvis song.
Loki hadn’t even realized he’d remembered the words. He’s about to laugh when the building rumbles and the table bucks beneath him. Loki barely keeps his feet. For a moment his heart is in his throat. Some other Midgardian magics? His eyes meet Steve’s, and he sees they are as wide and fearful as his own. From the hallway, someone says, “Earthquake!”
“Loki! Was that you?” Cera shouts.
Loki jaw drops in amazement. No. There must be a mistake.
“Don’t do that, don’t do that again!” Jameson says. His voice is pleading.
Loki’s eyebrows lift. It was probably just a random coincidence, but if he can make Jameson simper and whine a little more—Loki grins. Popping up onto his toes again, he lifts his arms in the best impersonation of that ridiculous man from the video and he gives his hips a shake. As the whole world shakes with him he laughs aloud in shock.
Jameson shouts.
Steve scrambles to keep his feet.
Loki hops off of the table before he’s flung off, staggering against the wall as the world trembles in aftershocks.
“Loki!” Cera screams. Her voice is loud and so clear …
Loki sends a projection to her and gasps. The ceiling above her has sunk, and the Promethean Wire around Cera is open like a cracked egg.
Smiling at Steve as the aftershocks ripple away, Loki raises a hand in a wave and steps into the In-Between. He steps out of the In-Between within the shattered sphere of Promethean Wire, right next to Cera. He hears the shouts of the humans guarding the World Seed and weapons being raised, but his hands are already on her.
As he lifts her, Cera’s spherical form pulses with light and magic. Loki cannot contain a sigh of awe. She is a creature of time and space, and though she has the mass of billions of stars within her in another space, in this space, she is light as a feather but rippling with energy. He feels as though the magical neurons in his fingers are flooding with power, producing a wonderful, buzzing sensation. Blue light rises up all around him, and it takes a moment for him to realize it isn’t just from Cera—it’s from him. He hears screams and more shouts. The buzzing travels up his hands to his arms and it’s wonderful … and yet. Brow furrowing, Loki tries to put Cera down and finds he can’t, the light of her sphere is slipping into him, the sphere of her physical form vanishing.
He remembers Amy’s words, “Thor says it will control you … ”
His eyes narrow as Cera’s magic slips up along his spine. Damn.
And then he blinks. No, he doesn’t blink, They blink.
“We are one!” It is Cera’s voice. No, Their voice. They are all Cera’s power and all Loki’s acquired wisdom—and his feet!
Someone beyond the cracked sphere is screaming at them. They hear guns jostling. They are safe from guns except for Their left arm—unarmored since They lost the pieces of plating in the chamber of the elf queen months ago. Quickly, They imagine armor composed of magical energy that will send any bullets that strike it into the In-Between. The magical energy spills over into the rest of the armor and makes it shimmer and glow.
A few of the agents rush towards them. They send the agents into the In-Between with a thought, and then They can only pause and marvel at what They have become.
They feel tremendous, like They are soaring. They are beneath the Board of Trade but not confined here. Their mind casts projections across the globe; and They see everything. And everything is very wrong, not like Josef’s dreams at all.
Chicago, despite the building above them being sunken, and tilted, still resembles something akin to the cities of the Aesir or Vanir. There are a few hundred of these temples to modernity across the globe. The modern cities are cruel places, mocking the billions that live no better than the peasants of Loki’s or Josef’s memories. In some ways these peasants are worse off, their poverty more grotesque compared with the ostentatiousness of modern affluence.
They see timid measures to ameliorate the wretchedness of the miserable billions, but they are piecemeal, laughable, mere acts of decoration, hampered by vanity, greed, hundreds of different languages, nationalism—not to mention the hundreds of different governments and systems of governing.
They will fix this. They will organize it under one system, one language, one nation. Unified They can redistribute the wealth of the few into the hands of the many. And the new world will be led by Them … for Josef! And it will all start right now.
“A lot like a Tsar—or Odin,” a treacherous voice in their mind whispers. They still, uncertain of its source.
“Loki.” The Girl’s voice interrupts Their thoughts; it tugs low and uncomfortably in Their gut. For a moment They splinter and are two beings again.
“Cera, I still hear her. She is still part of my—our—purpose,” Loki says.
They are momentarily confused. But it is Loki’s memories that impart this information, and Loki is old and wise. They trust him.
x x x x
Steve’s jaw drops as Loki disappears. And then his brain springs to action and he runs to the door, ripping his jacket off and using it like a pot holder to grasp the scorching doorknob. Loki can appear invisible, but he’s still here.
The door doesn’t move. No invisible force pushes Steve out of the way. Steve curses under his breath, the memory of blue Loki doing a rather good Elvis impersonation in the front of his mind. Damned trickster gods.
“What are you doing?” Jameson says, his voice high pitched and frantic.
Steve is about to answer when the earpiece for his phone starts to beep. Grappling the cooling doorknob with one hand, he answers it.
“Agent Mitchem here,” a woman’s voice says. “Loki just took Cera.”
“What?” Steve says.
The agent’s voice wavers. “Loki just—”
“How?” Steve says.
He hears the woman take a breath. “The ceiling collapsed on top of the containment sphere. The sphere cracked, and then suddenly Loki was just there. We opened fire but he was gone with the … thing … a moment later.”
From the hallway comes Thor’s thunderous voice. “Open the door!”
Steve drops his hand and backs out of the way just as the door crashes to the floor. Thor stands in the entranceway with his hammer. Steve blinks. After a brief altercation with Jameson earlier, Thor had returned to Amy’s bedside.
Agents trailing behind him, Thor stomps in. Glaring at Jameson, Thor says, “Loki has the World Seed.”
“How do you know?” says Steve.
“Because a moment ago Miss Lewis, her bed, a doctor, nurse, and your medical machines disappeared,” Thor says.
“Gone?” says Steve. “How?”
“I do not know,” says Thor, his voice very level, his eyes still on the Director. “Mr. Jameson, I think now might be a good time to apologize.”
“Apologize?” says Jameson, his voice shaky. Lifting his head, he says, “For what?”
“For ordering the attack on Loki’s home and shooting his woman,” says Thor with narrowed eyes.
“I was justified in that,” Jameson says. “And I won’t … ” His eyes widen, his mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out. He looks down at his feet. “What’s happening to me?” he wails.
Bewildered, Steve looks him up and down. Nothing appears to be wrong.
“So … so … so cold,” says Jameson.
“Magic,” says Thor.
“Can you do anything?” Steve says to Thor.
Tilting his head, Thor says, “I see it surrounding his limbs. Perhaps if we amputate them quickly—”
“What?” Steve shouts, running over to the director. Grabbing the director’s arms Steve notices Jameson’s hands are coated with frost, like a window in winter. A chill nips at Steve’s fingers, through Jameson’s sport coat. “Get a thermal blanket!” Steve shouts at one of the agents milling in the room. As the agent darts off, Steve shouts at another, “Get over here and help me get him undressed.” Trying to yank off Jameson’s coat that has gone stiff as cardboard and feels blisteringly cold, Steve shouts at the other two agents remaining. “Strip to your skivvies! We’re going to treat him like he has hypothermia.”
Thor looks heavenward. “Loki! He was an idiot! You’ve made your point.”
With a grunt, Steve starts ripping off Jameson’s shirt as the other agent pulls off the jacket.
“It’s too late,” says Thor.
Steve’s eyes slide to Jameson’s. The director’s open eyes and inside of his open mouth are coated with ice, lacey patterns of frost trailing over his cheeks. Steve puts a hand to Jameson’s chest. Stepping back, Steve shouts, “He has no heart beat. Get him to medical!”
He meets the eyes of the agents in the room. “Now!”
The two agents who were stripping, now down to their t-shirts and slacks, pause and then run forward. The agent attempting to undress Jameson tips Jameson into their arms. The director falls, body stiff as a felled tree.
Steve backs away as they carry the director out of the room. His hand goes to his mouth. When at last he can speak, all Steve can say is, “How?”
Beside him Thor says, “Loki now has a source of infinite power and now he’s infinitely powerful.”
Steve turns slowly to Thor. Thor is gazing upward, hammer in hand, and his brow furrowed. After a few long moments, Thor nods his head as though he’s confirmed something to himself. “Loki is fighting Cera’s will.”
Steve stares at him in disbelief. He gestures to the door where Jameson was just hauled out of the room like a log. “How can you say that?”
Lowering his eyes to Steve’s, Thor says, “Because we aren’t dead.”