The dust had yet to settle over the ruins of Manhattan.
However, order was already being restored at "Frieza Tower."
Although the building was riddled with holes from the earlier battle, the luxury of the top floor remained. This was because its owner—the man who had just cleaved the North American continent like a piece of cake—had returned.
"These damn politicians sure reacted quickly."
Frieza walked through the lobby, which was covered in shattered glass, his dress shoes crunching with every step.
Just five minutes earlier, via global broadcast, the White House had issued the highest directive: cease all military operations against "Mr. Frieza" and classify him as an "Untouchable," S-class target.
Even the FBI and National Guard, who had been tasked with his apprehension, retreated to a distance of over six miles, as if running from the plague.
That's right.
In the face of irresistible power, surrendering and enjoying the show was the most rational choice for humanity.
In the lobby, the surviving employees were trembling as they timidly cleared the debris.
When they saw the suit-clad devil, concealed beneath an elegant exterior, walk in, the air instantly froze.
No one dared to speak, or even breathe.
The profound terror that emanated from the depths of their souls made their legs shake uncontrollably.
"Good afternoon, everyone."
Frieza stopped, wearing his signature smile—the one that felt like a refreshing breeze but sent shivers down your spine.
"While the company has suffered a minor 'remodeling accident,' seeing you all remain dedicated to your posts is quite gratifying for this great King."
He waved his hand with a gesture of aristocratic grace, as if inspecting his territory.
CRASH!
A female receptionist with less psychological fortitude immediately rolled her eyes and fainted from sheer terror.
\[Ding! Detected extreme fear in an employee! Fear Value +500!]
\[Ding! Fear Value +500!]
\[Ding! Fear Value +500!]
Listening to the sweet sound of the alerts in his mind, the curve of Frieza's smile widened.
"What a lovely group of walking ATMs."
He complimented them inwardly, then ignored the petrified mortals. He and Loki, who was trailing him in his bizarre tights, walked straight into a side office that was still somewhat intact.
SLAM.
The heavy mahogany door shut, isolating them from the outside world.
Frieza walked to the luxurious CEO's chair, sat down elegantly, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands on his knee.
He didn't speak. He simply stared, with his scarlet eyes, at Loki, who was standing awkwardly by the door.
Silence.
A deafening, suffocating silence.
This stillness felt like an invisible hand clamping down hard on Loki's throat.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Loki's forehead.
"Kneel."
Two light words, spoken without any emotional fluctuation, as casual as saying "please have a seat."
THUD!
Loki's knees reacted faster than his brain, slamming heavily onto the floorboards.
His Asgardian dignity, his godly glory—none of it meant a thing in the face of the terrifying power that had just parted the hair of the Earth!
"Ma... Master..." Loki's voice trembled, and he dared not lift his head.
Frieza looked at the groveling god and sighed softly, his tone carrying a trace of disappointment, as if at a flawed product.
"Loki, Loki."
"As the very first employee of my Frieza Force, I had high hopes for you."
Frieza extended a finger and lightly tapped the armrest, making a rhythmic "tap, tap" sound.
Each tap was like a hammer blow to Loki's heart.
"However, you seem to be quite dishonest."
"Up on the roof, I counted. You gave me three murderous looks, reached for your dagger twice, and even as I was imagining the destruction of that Mothership, you were plotting how to snatch my Space Stone and run."
BOOM!
It felt like a thunderbolt had exploded in Loki's mind.
How did he know everything?!
He had hidden his intentions so perfectly! Even the one-eyed Director hadn't noticed!
"No! No! Master! You misunderstand!"
Loki abruptly lifted his head, his face full of panic and false innocence—an expression worthy of an Oscar.
"I was... I was only trying to protect you! I was worried about a sneak attack from an enemy! My loyalty to you is as clear as the sun and the moon!"
"Loyalty?"
Frieza smiled, a brilliant yet utterly chilling smile.
"Loki, you are the God of Mischief, that is correct."
"But do you honestly believe..." Frieza leaned slightly forward, his eyes seemingly peering into Loki's soul, "...that I look like an idiot?"
That one sentence choked the life out of Loki.
He opened his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water, but no sound came out.
It's over.
He'd been found out.
"Truthfully, I don't care if you're truly loyal or not."
Frieza leaned back in his chair, casually raising his right hand. A rice-grain-sized purple light gathered at the tip of his index finger.
Small as the light was, the energy fluctuations emanating from it made Loki feel suffocated.
"After all, the best way to make a stray dog obey isn't by feeding it meat. It's by..."
WHOOSH!
Frieza flicked his finger.
The purple light was faster than thought. Loki only felt a coolness on his forehead, as if something had burrowed deep into his brain.
There was no pain, just a strange sense of foreign presence.
"...putting a collar on it."
"Ugh—!" Loki clutched his head, screaming in terror. He desperately tried to perceive the object with his godly powers, only to find that the ball of energy clung to his brainstem like a parasite.
"Don't bother. That's a micro-bomb I created."
Frieza picked up a half-finished glass of water on the desk and took a delicate sip.
"You can think of it as... well, an employee incentive program."
"As long as you behave, it will be quiet as a baby. But if you dare to harbor any improper little thoughts, or stray too far from me..."
Frieza made an exploding gesture with his hands and added a cute sound effect:
"Pop!"
"I imagine your head will detonate like a rotten watermelon, creating a beautiful firework, wouldn't you say? Oh-ho-ho-ho..."
Loki slumped onto the floor, his face ashen.
Ruthless! Too ruthless!
This was essentially having his life tied to Frieza's every whim!
"I... I would never dare again! Master! I am your most loyal dog! Tell me who to bite, and I will bite them!" This time, Loki was genuinely broken, banging his head on the floor in submission.
"Very good. Nice attitude."
Frieza nodded, satisfied.
"But if you're going to be the Captain of my Special Forces, attitude alone isn't enough. You need corporate culture."
"Captain Ginyu-Loki, get up."
Loki scrambled to his feet, trembling, wondering what new torment this devil had planned.
Frieza stood up, straightened his suit, and then struck an extremely embarrassing, exaggerated pose—
Hands on hips, standing on one leg, head tilted back 45 degrees, chin pointing at the ceiling.
It was the signature introduction pose of the Ginyu Force from Dragon Ball!
"Watch! This is the 'Dance of Loyalty' we are going to learn!"
Frieza said in all seriousness, completely oblivious to how ridiculous he looked.
"As an excellent force, you must be cool when you make an entrance! You must have presence! You must leave an unforgettable impression!"
"Come on, follow me! If your posture isn't perfect, I will remove one of your legs and use it as a cane."
Loki looked at the pose, and his entire being fractured.
What in the hell is this?!
He, the Prince of Asgard, the Sorcerer of the Nine Realms, being forced to perform a movement that looked like physical therapy for a stroke victim?!
Just kill him! This was worse than death!
"What? You don't want to?" Frieza narrowed his eyes, and the bomb in Loki's head pulsed faintly.
"I do! I do! This pose is absolutely beautiful! It's so artistic!"
Loki inwardly let out a wail of despair. With tears in his eyes, he swallowed his pride and forced himself into the Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg posture.
"Here! Raise your hand higher! Stick your butt out! Your expression needs to be fiercer! Yes! Just like that!"
Inside the office, the passionate coaching voice of King Frieza was heard, along with the sound of Loki's dignity shattering into a million pieces.
...
Meanwhile.
Washington D.C., S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Headquarters.
The massive round conference table was full, but everyone's face was etched with solemnity and sorrow.
The main seat was empty.
That position was supposed to belong to Nick Fury.
But now, the one-eyed Director was a cold corpse, not even a whole one at that.
Captain America, Steve Rogers, sat on the left, his hands tightly clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Tony Stark slumped in his chair, his faceplate retracted to reveal an exhausted and anxious expression, marked by a level of defeat he had never felt before.
Also present were Natasha, Barton, and the recently recovered Bruce Banner.
At the opposite end of the conference table were the current high-ranking officials of S.H.I.E.L.D.—Alexander Pierce and Agent Maria Hill.