Loki Oneshots

The Avengers Will Fall

Your eyes flutter open, your nose wrinkling upon smelling... smoke? You sit up quickly, seeing a faint flicker of unfamiliar light dance across the walls outside the bars of your cell. The usually cold Hydra facility is basked in heat... what's going on?

A scream echoes through the corridors.

The scuffle of fast boots against cobble floors fades away.

A soft crackle becomes gradually louder; gradually more frantic.

Your drugged mind finally catches up with what's happening: there's a fire. You have to get out.

Summoning all of the strength you'd been squirreling away to use for an escape in the future, you use the powers given to you by Hydra to break out of the bonds chaining your hands to the wall above your head.

Standing up shakily and using the grimy wall for support, you stretch your stiff limbs and flex your fingers. Your eyes start to water, your throat becoming tighter and tighter. You wince as you take a step towards the rusting bars, feeling scabs all over your body split and crack, warm blood trickling down your arms, legs and torso.

With as much power as you can muster in your exhausted, tortured state, you let your magic flow from your fingertips. Each tendril of blood red power wraps itself around the bars and rusts them until they crumble.

Finally, you have an exit. A way of escaping.

Thousands of plans had formed in your slow mind over the past years, each one waiting for enough energy to be able to escape, take out the guards and allow yourself not to be kidnapped and taken back. But a fire? It's the perfect opportunity. Everyone is distracted; there are no guards anywhere; the doctors will be taken to safety. No one will even notice you slip out.

You run from your cell and down the corridor, cursing your limp as it slows you down. Your entire body is screaming in pain, coughs wracking through your body like bullets. Your bare feet slap against the stone floor, shards of broken glass and stone cutting through the skin.

An old fire door is situated at the end of the corridor, the wood rotting but somehow still strong. You run straight into it, pushing with all your might to get it open. The smoke is burning your lungs, sweat coats your brow and the orange glow of the fire gets brighter as the fire spreads closer and closer to you.

The door is stuck; every push and shove does nothing but shower you in crumbling, rotting wood. No matter how much strength you use, it seems to never be enough. So you resort to using your powers.

The door flies off its hinges, allowing more oxygen into the facility and hence making the fire spread faster. You sprint as fast as you can into the night, the cold air nipping at you through your thin, ripped, dirty rag which has been made into a makeshift dress.

You run and run and run, not caring where you're going, as long as you get away from that place.

What feels like hours pass. Your throat is dry and sore, your entire body shaking and exhausted. You're forced into walking until you see light in the distance. It looks to be some kind of shop or restaurant.

You walk closer, panting hard but keeping an eye on your surroundings. You have to be careful who sees you. A sign is lit up in a dim light: you're at a 24 hour diner. You can't help but sigh with relief.

You push the glass door open, squinting in the bright light. The place is brightly decorated but rather worn down, the chairs ripped and muddy, the tables chipped and full of circular stains from mugs. A man stands behind the counter; he seems to freeze upon seeing you.