He cleared his throat.
A gunshot reverberated around the chamber.
The girl at the far end dropped dead.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I was thrust awake by the sound of pounding footsteps outside. Instinctively, my hand jumped to the worn iron blade I kept beneath my pillow before I came to the conclusion that it was only the guards on their nightly rotation and forced myself to relax. I didn't require the knife to defend myself but even now just running my fingertips along the cool metal gave me some sense of peace. Massaging the tension lining the back of my neck with my thumbs, I rolled over on my sore excuse for a pillow- a thick lump of fabric that appeared to be made of old uniforms stitched together. Chilly air blasted in through a small air vent beside my bed and I shivered from the cold, wrapping my bed sheets tightly around my shoulders.
It was always freezing in here.
With clammy hands I swiped my hair away from my neck into a high ponytail, glancing up at the glaring digital clock fixed into the wall.
3:14 AM.
Heavy knocks bounced off the steel door opposite my bunk and I swung my legs off the bed, letting my bare feet meet the unforgiving concrete floor. With a groan, I stumbled in the rough direction of the exit, wiping the sleep from my half-closed eyes. The barren room appeared to close in on me and I snuck a glance at the familiar face of my friend- my ally, Silver, for comfort. With several mechanical clicks, the door swung open and I let the sheets around me tumble to the ground. Blinding white light flooded the room and I peered curiously at the silhouette in the doorway, my eyes stinging.
Brock Rumlow.
I refrained from snapping at him to shut the door, reminded of my failing reputation by the little voice in my head that I would usually ignore without a second thought but paid close attention to nowadays.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Strucker wants you. Five minutes. Try not to spend too much time doing your hair."
His message was filled with the usual mockery I'd grown to expect from HYDRA operatives, even those of lower class. If it were my choice this man would be dead just for waking us up at this time of day but instead I nodded politely and made a move for the handle. Just before the door was closed, Rumlow shot a foot in the gap, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Tell Silver I said hi."
He pushed the door open a crack more, and I watched his eyes roam down her sleeping form. I stepped forwards, blocking his view.
"Is that all?" I said, my jaw clenched.
"Don't be late." He taunted and this time he stepped fully through the entrance and shoved me back roughly. The door slammed shut in my face.
"Asshole."
I heard a voice behind me.
"You took the words out of my mouth."
I said, grinning.
Silver sat up straight on the top bunk, battling the tousled mane of her bed-hair into submission. She certainly put things into perspective, appearing more like your average college student than one of HYDRA's finest. Unless you knew where to look- at the straightness in her back, the thin creases in her brow, the constant tension in her muscles- you would have thought of her as 'normal'.
Huh, that was a foreign word.
I tamed my creased clothes without the aid of a mirror, twisting my hair into a bun so that I looked at least somewhat presentable during the short walk to Strucker's office.
"Come on, Silver."
My eyes flitted to the clock,
"We have three minutes left."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
. . . AUTHOR'S NOTE . . .
HI, I'm Mannie!
First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for taking the time to read this.
I know all of us Loki stans are still in various stages of grief since Infinity War but hopefully, this novel can make things feel a little better- or much worse. *cue evil laughter*
Stick around, and you'll find out~
BTW as I said in the blurb, this fanfiction does feature a side-plot with Silver x Steve Rogers so watch out for that.
Also, I hate to ask but please vote or comment to show your appreciation ;)
Without further ado, enjoy!