(AN: Truth be told, I am nervous of the direction I'm going so I held back a bit. But here it goes anyway. Do leave a comment if it's okay, or not.)
The quinjet touched down smoothly against the Helicarrier's landing bay.
Loki was escorted out first.
His wrists were bound, yet his posture remained loose—almost leisurely.
He walked as though the steel corridors belonged to him, green eyes flicking from armed guards to reinforced bulkheads with open curiosity.
Amusement.
They took him down.
Down past sealed decks and humming engines.
Down to the cell.
The prison designed for the Hulk.
The transparent containment chamber slid open with a low, resonant hum.
Loki stepped inside without resistance, turning slowly as the glass sealed around him.
He examined it like a collector inspecting a rare artifact, fingers hovering just short of the surface.
"Well," he murmured, "this is… dramatic."
A voice answered him.
Nick Fury stood just outside the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
"If you so much as twitch," Fury said calmly, "I press this button."
He lifted a small device.
The floor beneath the cell irised open.
Sky.
Miles of open air yawned beneath Loki's feet—clouds drifting lazily far, far below.
"You'll fall," Fury continued. "For a long time."
Loki's smile thinned.
"This prison," he said, circling slowly, "was not built for me."
He tilted his head, studying Fury closely, waiting.
For fear.
For doubt.
For the faintest ripple of hesitation.
There was nothing.
Even the scepter—resting quietly in from another room in the distance—felt… blind.
Despite it's connection to him which has not been disconnected after he dropped it.
Still, No emotional fluctuations. No cracks to pry open.
The men who captured him were solid.
Anchored.
Annoyingly so.
Loki exhaled softly and straightened.
"I see," he said at last.
With no leverage to pull, no mind to twist, Loki retreated inward.
Plans recalculated. Patience reasserted itself.
Chaos could wait.
Seeing the shift, Fury turned and walked away without another word.
The Avengers gathered near the briefing area shortly after.
Thor stood apart, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Loki is of Asgard," he said firmly. "He will answer for his crimes there."
Natasha shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
"He killed eighty people in two days."
Thor hesitated.
"…He is adopted."
Steve blinked.
Bruce looked down, rubbing his temple as if reconsidering several life choices at once.
Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, Tony wandered in late, hands in his pockets.
He stopped.
Squinted.
"…Is that Galaga?" Tony asked, incredulous.
"I thought we agreed that was a universal waste of time."
The agent at the console froze.
Tony leaned closer, covering one eye with his hand as he peered from the cockpit.
"And Fury—seriously—how does he see everything from up here with one eye?"
Maria Hill, standing nearby, didn't miss a beat.
"He turns."
Tony straightened.
"…Exhausting."
Only then did he notice Thor.
"Oh," Tony said, pointing.
"You must be the sparkly hammer guy."
He grinned.
"You shoved me earlier. I'll call it even if you promise not to do it again."
Thor studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
Tony clapped his hands once.
"Great. Mutual non-shoving agreement."
He glanced around at the group.
"So," he said, tone light but eyes sharp, "what do we do next?"
.
.
.
Let's change the briefing a bit:
The lights dimmed in the briefing room.
Agent Coulson stood at the center, tablet in hand, projection flaring to life behind him.
The blue cube rotated slowly in midair.
"The Tesseract," Coulson began. "An energy source of unknown upper limit. It's been in SHIELD's possession since it was recovered from the Arctic."
Images flickered—ancient carvings, HYDRA files, classified schematics.
"Dr. Selvig was attempting to understand its output. Instead, it activated. Loki used it as a doorway."
Coulson swiped his tablet again.
The projection changed into a wide, three-dimensional detection map—Earth at the center, grids and energy parameters branching outward.
"The Tesseract, by its nature, should be trackable," Coulson continued.
"Its energy signature is… distinctive."
He paused.
"But right now, it isn't just off the map."
The projection flickered.
Then the cube vanished entirely.
"It's missing from Earth."
A low murmur spread through the room.
Bruce leaned forward, studying the empty space where the signature should've been.
"If your parameters are calibrated for terrestrial boundaries," he said carefully, "then that would explain it."
Coulson turned to him.
"Go on."
Bruce gestured at the map. "Expand the detection field. Not just globally—astronomically. You'll need to account for extradimensional displacement."
Tony's eyes lit up.
"Oh, now that sounds fun," he said. "I can widen the spectrum. Cross-reference cosmic radiation, zero-point fluctuations—"
Bruce nodded, already mentally building models.
"We can cover more ground together."
Fury watched them for a moment, then turned to Natasha.
"Romanoff," he said.
"Take them to a lab. Whatever they need."
Natasha nodded. "Come on, geniuses."
Tony flashed Steve a grin as he passed. "Try not to miss me."
Once they were gone, the room felt quieter.
Fury turned to Steve, Thor, and Coulson.
"Get some rest," he ordered.
"Be ready. Whatever Stark and Banner find, it won't be good news."
Thor folded his arms, expression grim.
"If my brother is involved," he said, "then trouble will follow."
Steve nodded slowly.
"We'll be ready."
The lights brightened again.
But the sense of calm didn't return with them.
.
.
.
Stark Tower — Guest Suite, Late afternoon
As soon as FRIDAY got to wear his clothes, they trained.
And he lost.
Immediately.
Repeatedly.
It wasn't even close.
FRIDAY moved with terrifying precision—each step calculated, each strike efficient.
She didn't hesitate, didn't waste motion, didn't overextend.
Every weapon Elias picked up, she countered with ease.
A stick.
A blade.
Even bare hands.
She adapted faster than he could blink.
Within moments of activating her physical form, she had uploaded and integrated every available sword discipline and martial art cataloged online—Eastern, Western, historical, modern.
The knowledge didn't slow her. It became her.
She was a master before Elias finished warming up.
He hit the floor more times than he cared to count.
By the fifth loss, he was laughing breathlessly from the mat.
"Okay," he groaned.
"Yeah. That tracks."
Kristen offered him a hand, expression neutral but eyes faintly curious.
"You are improving," she said.
"Beyond a human pace."
"High praise," Elias muttered as he accepted the help.
Evening, the same moment Loki brought panic in Germany.
The lights in the guest suite were low when Elias returned.
FRIDAY stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights of Manhattan spilling across her form.
She was already dressed.
Not armor.
Not tactical gear.
Just clothes.
A fitted black blouse, long sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms. Dark jeans.
Flat boots built for movement rather than style.
Practical, understated—human. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and if Elias didn't know better, he would've thought she'd always existed like this.
She turned when he entered.
"Lord Elias," she began, then hesitated.
He winced. "We talked about that."
"…Elias," she corrected smoothly.
"If I am to function offline, I require an identity. A name."
He blinked. "You already have one."
"That is a designation," she replied. "Not a name people use."
Elias exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting upward as he thought.
A moment passed.
Then he sighed. "Kristen."
She tilted her head as if asking why.
"The name of the original owner of the appearance you now have is close to it. I simply changed it to fit you properly."
A pause.
"I like it," she said.
Elias sat on the edge of the bed, his muscles still ached from the earlier training and sparrings.
The system window hovered in front of him.
[Villain System
Status
Name: Elias Mercer
Designation: Villain — Beginner
Level: 2
Experience: 5 / 6
Left Hand:
•FRIDAY/Kristen
Generals:
•Steven 'Grant' Rogers - Captain America
•Anthony Edward Stark - Ironman
•Robert Bruce Banner - Hulk
•Natalia Alianovna Romanova - Black Widow
Summons(Servants):
• Xenomorph — Evolved (Hulk Blood)
• Yautja Hunters ×2
•T-X(F.R.I.D.A.Y)
Skills:
• Appraisal — MAXED
• Imperius — MAXED
• Crucio — MAXED
• Avada Kedavra — MAXED
• Obliviate — MAXED
Abilities:
• Tactical Mini-Map (Passive)
• Telekinesis — MAXED
– Limit: 10M tons
•Jedi Lightsaber Combat Level 4
°Way of the Sarlacc: Shii-cho
°Way of the Duelist: Makashi
°Way of the Mynock: Soresu
°Way of the Hawk-bat: Ataru
•Martial Arts Level 3
°Karate
°Jiu-Jitsu
°Boxing
(Note: These were the total of what he learned when FRIDAY finally have a body to train him better. And because she knew Elias has Telekinesis, the 4th form was also learned.)
Inventory:
Slots: 30
Occupied: 4 / 30
• Slot 1: Facehugger Eggs ×2
• Slot 2: Lightsaber — Corrupted Variant (Crimson)
• Slot 3: Epirus Bow
• Slot 4: Frostmourne
...]
Elias stared at the list.
At the weapons.
At the names.
At the power sitting quietly in his hands.
He clenched his fists.
He turned to Kristen.
"I need a way to evacuate Manhattan," he said.
"Overnight. Quietly. Without causing panic."
He met her gaze.
"Any ideas?"
Kristen's eyes lit faintly, data already moving behind them.
"Yes," she replied.
Elias smiled.
Kristen didn't answer immediately.
Instead, the lights in the room dimmed further as the glass wall overlooking Manhattan became a living map.
Streets lit up in flowing lines. Subway tunnels layered beneath.
Ferry routes traced across dark water.
Emergency access roads, rooftops, and vertical evacuation points unfolded one after another.
Elias straightened.
Kristen spoke calmly, almost clinically—but there was something new beneath it.
Intent.
"Mass evacuation is impossible without triggering panic," she began.
"Panic causes bottlenecks. Bottlenecks cause deaths."
She gestured, and red markers bloomed across the city.
"Therefore, the evacuation must be unannounced, distributed, and deniable."
Elias exhaled. "I was afraid you'd say that."
Kristen zoomed into Midtown.
"New York already evacuates itself every night," she said.
"You simply need to redirect flow, not create it."
She highlighted key points.
• Late-night subway maintenance reroutes
• 'Gas leak' and 'electrical fault' cordons
• Fire inspections and health-code closures
• Emergency construction orders
• Port Authority rerouting for ferries and bridges
"All of these are routine," Kristen continued.
"People complain. They leave. They do not panic."
Elias watched as entire blocks slowly dimmed on the map.
"How many?" he asked.
"Conservatively," she replied, "three to five hundred thousand civilians can be moved out of Manhattan within twelve hours without a single public announcement."
Elias stood in silence, staring at the city map Kristen had projected—routes, shelters, probabilities.
Then he shook his head once.
"No," he said quietly.
"This is still too gentle," Elias replied.
"Too dependent on cooperation. People hesitate. They argue. They stay."
He exhaled slowly.
"I don't need order," he said. "I need absence."
Kristen processed for less than a millisecond.
"…You intend to frighten them out."
"Yes."
The word landed heavy—but deliberate.
Kristen adjusted the display.
"If fear is the vector," she said carefully, "then it must be focused, credible, and time-bound."
She highlighted Manhattan in red.
Elias didn't look away.
"I'll use the Yautja," he said. "Two of them. Rooftops. Visible, but distant. Let people see they're being hunted."
Kristen nodded.
"And the Xenomorph?"
"Released, but controlled. No nesting. No mass reproduction."
A pause.
"…But enough to be seen."
Kristen accepted the condition instantly.
"Then panic becomes migration," she said.
"Not chaos."
"Fear spreads faster when given a face," she said.
"I recommend a citywide broadcast."
Elias frowned. "SHIELD will shut it down."
"They will try," Kristen replied.
"They will fail."
Every screen in Manhattan lit up in her projection—billboards, subway monitors, phones, laptops, smart TVs.
"A single message," she continued.
"Absolute. Unignorable."
Elias was already thinking ahead.
Silence lingered for a beat.
"You'll have to do it in Arthas' appearance. I don't have a way to appear as him yet."
Kristen didn't resist.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, analyzing.
"A symbolic villain," she said.
"Cold. Authoritative. Mythic. A figure people will believe capable of carrying out the threat."
She paused.
"And the message?" Kristen asked.
Elias didn't hesitate.
"Simple," he said. "Anyone who remains in Manhattan by daylight tomorrow dies."
Kristen ran probability trees.
"Casualties from stampede?" she asked.
"Minimal," Elias replied. "Fear makes people move. Not fight."
She nodded.
"Also..."
Elias' jaw tightened by the need to do something he shouldn't.
"…let's show them the monster."
Kristen adjusted her tone, softer—but firm.
"You are aware," she said, "that showing how a Xenomorph is created will traumatize millions."
"I know," Elias answered. "but it is needed for them to get as far away as possible."
He looked away.
"Show the result. The implication if they don't run away. Enough for them to understand."
Kristen accepted the constraint.
"I will curate the footage," she said.
"This will create the largest voluntary evacuation in New York history," Kristen concluded.
"Estimated compliance: ninety-two percent."
Elias leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"They'll call me a monster."
Kristen looked at him—not as an assistant now, but as something closer to a person.
"They will live," she said.
"That is the difference."
Elias closed his eyes.
"This is all to save a city," he murmured.
Kristen's holographic form shifted subtly—armor forming, eyes glowing cold blue, presence sharpening into something ancient and terrifying.
Arthas Menethil looked back at him.
"Command me," she said.
Elias opened his eyes.
"…Begin the broadcast."
Outside Stark Tower, Manhattan slept.
Unaware that in a few minutes—
It would flee from a villain who refused to let it die.
End of chapter