(Un)certainty | Loki & Mobius

(Un)cerainty

As always, I tried to reduce the amount of grammar and spelling mistakes, but I don't really know if it worked haha.

Feel free to correct me! I'm not so confident in that language.

That isn't really an One-Shot, I'm thinking about the second part, but for now, you can enjoy this one.

***

Loki couldn't sleep. In one day, he experienced more unpleasant things than in his entire life. Even though it wasn't that bad, he wasn't killed in the end and even proved to be useful, his head was throbbing with negative thoughts.

He killed his mother

He can't return to his own reality.

The meaning of his life is just losing.

He sat up in bed, tears welling up in his eyes. He was an ordinary prisoner in a place where even the infinity stones had no meaning. He wanted to do something about it, but literally nothing he had learned in Asgard was of any use to him. The first person he had a chance to talk to completely manipulated him and led him to show strong emotions, telling nothing but the truth, which he understood only after some time.

One touch of a weapon was enough to wipe him out, and he had no idea what to do.

The feeling of powerlessness was eating away at him inside, and he felt that if he didn't do anything about it, it would explode a second time. He looked around his room, everything here was brightly colored and in an unpleasant, futuristic style, but at least it wasn't a cell. He walked over to the door and pressed the handle. They hadn't locked it, he could have gone out into the corridor, and it didn't seem to be bothered by anyone.

He was careful about his every step for the first few minutes. However, it soon turned out that people on this floor were asleep, and while every more important room he could find something useful was blocked off, at least he had access to the reception desk.

Since he didn't really like an employee named Casey, it was his desk that he decided to search first. Unfortunately, he found nothing of interest there, except for more stones. It was only while rummaging in the third piece of furniture that he found something interesting, and he smiled slightly at the sight of it.

Pencil sharpener.

He unscrewed the blade from it and put it in his pocket, dropping the plastic construction into the garbage, believing it was the least suspect way to do this. He quickly looked into other drawers, hoping to find some weapons or keys, and when he was sure that there was no point in being there anymore, he returned to the room.

One of the best features of this place was his own bathroom. Before, he hadn't had any motivation to even take a shower, but at that point he felt a great desire to at least physically cleanse himself. He found that if he couldn't sleep anyway, maybe something like this would help him rest. He placed the blade on the sink, under the mirror, then took off his clothes. Just standing in the shower, with warm water pouring down his body, was so relaxing that it took him at least a dozen earthly minutes and allowed him to avoid intrusive thoughts.

These returned immediately after meeting reality again. He put on the same things he was wearing before. He went to the mirror to style his wet hair. The fabric stuck to his inaccurately dried skin, so he decided to roll up his sleeves.

His eyes fell on the blade detached from the sharpener again. It has always been so. Even when he was in Asgard, and razors and sharp objects were close at hand, he hung his gaze on one of them and was thinking. As then, he took the thing in his hand and began to play with it. He always ended up like this, he could never break this routine, which, while feeling inappropriate, provided temporary relief.