Who: Loki What: in Genosha (narrative) When: late July
Day after day, the 'doctor' of this rehabilitation facility tried to get to the 'meat' of the matter. By that, it meant that the man truly wanted to see what an alien brain looked like.
Loki was a stubborn creature. Not merely by personality, but also physically. Try as the scientist might, he couldn't crack into the thick Jotun skull quite the way he wanted to: preferably while the subject was awake. The mad scientist expressed interest in poking around, to see if a word made him taste a color, et cetera. The mere mention of which utterly terrified Loki each time it was spoken of, but he tried hard not to let it show.
It was like being a 'guest' of Thanos' all over again. Only without the systematic chipping away of his personality...or other horrors the Ebony Maw concocted that were best left forgotten.
One false move here, and he would be shocked to the point of blacking out. He had no choice but to be held in this mortal's prison. A place that was much worse than anything that the states united had housed him in.
Each time he was brought in for 'rehabilitation' sessions, the demon of this laboratory tried new and improved ways to get what he wanted. There was more and more blood. Loki did not know if there was a point where his thick Jotun skull could be breached. Before, he considered it only a matter of time.
Today was different. This was a different room. Inside was a large metal column on hydraulics, and a solid table with straps situated underneath it. Loki tried to struggle, but a shock from the collar blotted out every thought, and he was strapped to the table. Nearby, the doctor snapped on some latex gloves and smiled. It wasn't a comforting smile. That was the sort of smile that Loki was familiar giving to others. It was different when on the receiving end.
"This doesn't look good," Loki noted, trying to continue sounding bored with these latest attempts. Inwardly, he was anything but.
"No, I should say it does not," the scientist said, drawing closer and smiling, affording Loki the view of the man's teeth. Two of which were pointy like a predatory beast. The accent was refined, similar to what mortals heard from Asgardians. British, but anything but polite and definitely not cordial. "Genetics is a game of patience...for most geneticists. I am not a patient man. While others breed their mice and rats, looking for genes that develop through several generations? I prefer a more direct approach."
Loki stared up at the base of the column that was about one foot away from his nose.
"I'm afraid this will hurt," the man said, stepping back to put on a plastic body cover and face shield. "But what's a little mess for the sake of science?"
The man reached over to flip a switch.
"Wait!" Loki shouted, swallowing down terror in his tightening throat. He tried to look over, unable to turn his head due to the straps holding it. He was down to pleading. How embarrassing. Pleading was still better than whatever the alternative was. "Wait. Please. Perhaps...we could find a better way to go about this? A deal, perchance."
The man didn't move his hand, and instead, he appeared to be waiting. In the lab's lights, it cast a red glow over one side of the man's face, the other half was chiaroscuro, all shadow. But the eyes. They gleamed. And it was a gleam that Loki knew well because it showed interest that he could begin bartering with.
"I'm listening," the man finally said.
"Let's be honest," Loki said, speaking quickly but confidently, struggling to keep his voice smooth and even. "You could smash my skull all you like, yet it won't truly show you what I can do. Magic is not a genetic trait; it is a skill learned over thousands of your mortal years. I know how to find secret paths...and those paths could bring you to greater quarry than I. Greater and much more numerous quarry."
"Go on," the man prompted, finger still held out near the switch. He sounded like he was amused.
"I propose a deal between us. I will willingly submit to less...invasive...collection of my genetic material. In return, I will lure several interesting creatures here from other worlds. I see no reason why this could not be beneficial. If you were but to loan me a means of transport...."
"Not without escorts to keep you in line," the man said, laughing at the attempt to sway him. "I know the mythology, my slippery friend. I'll only allow this with more than one escort with collar controls, and an explosive tracking device surgically placed inside your person. If you fail to return to this building within a certain time, it will detonate. Then they will drag your body back to me through your 'paths' and I will dissect you."
Loki didn't see much choice. If he didn't want his head smashed immediately, he had no choice but to comply for the time being. He needed to buy himself more time for his wife, his brother, the spider-child (or anyone else that he hadn't put off entirely) to save him.
"Deal," he said, resigned.
"Deal," the man replied with a slow smile, moving his hand over to flip a different switch. Loki flinched, but all it did was retract the column up into the ceiling more. When one eye opened - followed by the other - the man was looking over at an assistant. The woman also had a collar around her neck, but she appeared to be a willing accomplice. "Ready us for surgery, Clarice. I know just the place to put our implant."
As the woman turned to get the instruments ready, the man drew close enough to lean over the table. There was a smirk of satisfaction that Loki wouldn't mind stabbing at. Repeatedly.
"I do not make idle threats. It will detonate. And I highly doubt the inside of your head is as impenetrable as your skull can be." He leaned in more and grabbed Loki's chin suddenly and painfully. "Do not double-cross me. If you do, your brains will be dribbling out of your nose, ears, and mouth. Is this understood?"
Despite having some degree of durability himself, this mortal man's grip was surprisingly strong and firm. Loki somehow managed to say "Absolutely" and "Of course" through squished lips and pinched cheeks.