Precipice

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Loki brooded in sullen silence, meticulously going through his plan repeatedly. There were no leaks he could identify, no unquantifiable variances save one.

Most likely, SHIELD would keep that unknown variable locked in a cell, ignorant to her potential and abilities with the sceptre. He knew the Director was a clever mortal, but he also knew the man was wary and suspicious, and would view any aid offered by Loki's creation as a potential snake waiting to bite an outstretched hand of cooperation.

Loki believed she would be helpless enough, trapped on the floating fortress. Far from him and the Tesseract, she could do no harm. Once the humans were crushed by his marauders, he would rip to pieces what was left of SHIELD and retrieve what was his. He was far from done with Trinity – she was deluded if she believed otherwise.

Speaking of the celestial cube, it was secured in a case next to the mortal scientist, ready to seek its new home in the holdings of the completed portal device. The enslaved pilot had stopped at the prearranged meet with Dr. Selvig's van, and Loki had levitated the massive machine into the aircraft. He had been briefly worried that his lessened magic would not be able to lift the complicated machine, but he had held his concentration well enough. Too much hung in the balance for his magic to fail him now.

And now they were descending towards New York City – the island known as Manhattan specifically.

As the aircraft neared the city, Loki heard voices begin to inquire as to the purpose and trajectory of the unknown aircraft, causing a sly grin to be coaxed from his lips. Holding the sceptre in his hand and focusing his will, he expanded his reach outwards, plying into the minds of all who were concerned with the aircraft and its destination.

Loki touched the minds of the air control personnel in contact with the Quinjet, making it so the aircraft would be ignored. They could still see the aircraft on their instruments, but they would think nothing of it and would continue on as if the appearance of the aircraft was perfectly in line with their expectations. No alarms would be raised, and Fury's pets would be too late to stop him.

It was incredibly exhausting. The sceptre was a daunting weapon with an untapped well of energy, but the strain it put on his own mind to shape the perceptions of a handful of mortals was shamefully tiresome.

As they approached the flat top of the tower, Loki realized he had miscalculated the size of the area. It was too miniscule to fit the mortal aircraft, and the pilot began to descend toward the landing platform built into the side of Stark's shrine of overcompensation.

"No!" Loki snapped impatiently, rising upwards and bracing his feet evenly against the flooring to maintain his balance as the pilot halted the descent. "Hold near the edge – I will guide the machine down." It had to be placed on the highest point of the structure. There was no other option.

The mind-slave pressed several buttons, and the ramp began to lower towards the rooftop. The rushing air tousled Loki's curved, black locks in the wind, also buffeting Dr. Selvig as he remained silent – the mortal looking particularly ill from the long-term effects of the orb's dominance.

Reaching down into his well of unreliable magical potential, Loki pointed his palm at the bronze and silver machine. Concentrating with all of his might, he levitated the machine from the aircraft, down the ramp, over the two feet of empty air, and gingerly placed it near the edge of the rooftop. Loki ignored the cold sweat on his brow and the way his fingers trembled.

"Your turn, doctor," Loki mocked, panting but still able to smirk at the frazzled mortal.

The man stood hesitantly and eyed the gap between the rooftop and the aircraft. He also staggered as rose to his feet, and Loki made a noise of irritation. The man was growing weak, and as entertaining as it would be to watch the mortal fall to the concrete below, he still required his expertise until his dark legion of destruction made planetfall.

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