LOKI IMAGINES

• Art Of Villainy • I

°Imagine°
Loki is in hiding on Earth after his exile from Asgard, and has given himself a new identity.

Under the guise of a a nightlife business mogul, Loki conceals his underground smuggling of Vibranium and weapons for the creation of his army.

For his plan to work, Loki needs an extra alibi to fortify his façade.

You.
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   A chilly breeze stung your cheeks. Under the dim lights of street lampposts you followed the damp and glistening asphalt pathway ahead of you. Your heartbeat hammered methodically in your ribcage, rhythmic with each running step you took. A faint drizzle dusted your lashes and skin with droplets, your t-shirt and running shorts clinging to your skin. Ever since moving to this new city, you indulged in the calmness of late evening runs when there were less people outside. It helped you destress from the mundane and repetitive events of each day, and allowed your thoughts to flutter freely in their own little reality.
   You had moved to this city for a clean slate, away from the pressures and prying eyes of family back home. Though you left behind strict expectations and burdens, you also left behind your friends, which was incredibly difficult to do. You were alone now in this new metropolis, left to figure out your own path in life. That being said, you weren't sure of what to do. You didn't really know anyone, except for your new neighbours in the apartment building that flickered in and out of view during the week. A polite 'hi, how are you?' here or a 'how was your run?' there was the usual small talk.

There were tons of nightclubs here, yet you hadn't yet mustered up the courage to go to one as a woman alone.
   Each one, called 'Black Carnation", was owned apparently by the same man. They all had the Ouroboros serpent symbol etched on their luxurious black doors and entry gates. 
You passed one of them as you ran, glancing at elegantly yet suggestively clothed people entering and leaving it, their eyes intoxicated with the wonders and desires of forbidden substances and secrets that the club held.

  Your feet hit methodically the asphalt, each time they lifted off the ground sending small sprinkles of water up a few millimetres in the air. Your right hand gripped your phone, while your apartment keys nestled against your left thigh in the pocket of your damp shorts. Trees and lampposts drifted in your side vision while you ran past an empty park, your legs moving you away from its eery, lush darkness. As you turned a corner and sprinted through an empty alleyway, you could've sworn that you caught a dark figure in the distance running after you a hundred or so meters back. Its large and heavy combat boots stomped the ground with rapid, dull thuds.

You rolled your eyes under your wet eyelashes, silently groaning in irritation.

Great, the typical night creep.

  Your left hand fluttered briefly to your chest, feeling for the familiar outline of your pocket knife nestled under the bottom hem of your sports bra through your damp shirt. You quickly learned to carry it with you in case you had to defend yourself. Thankfully, however, it hadn't come to that.
Yet.
  Clouds of fog formed from each breathless exhale that you released from your lungs into the crisp air. You ran past piles of empty beer cans and trash bags, the sight making you sprint faster between the worn-down red brick walls until you ran out into a bigger street.
Not a civilian in sight you could go to for help.