Chapter 3
Stark is led to the basement of Oscorp Towers, where Osborn carries out his experiments in deep dark cellars and where there is a convenient holding cell, just for Stark. Secure, Osborn says as he personally escorts and pushes Stark into the room, and locks the door with a vicious relish.
(Secure, Loki remembers as Stark flickers onto the tablet in his lap, said tablet now returned to Osborn's supply. He tells no one of Stark's pre-show theatrics.)
They gather in the same room as before, only half a day after their previous meeting. Osborn mutters jerkily to himself under his breath, getting up to pace about and sitting down as abruptly as he had stood. Amora and Skurge loiters about the couch, the former drawing meandering lines down the skin of the latter's forearm using a manicured nail, and Loki almost curses for that nail to break on a whim. Anything to get out of this tense atmosphere.
Namor and Victor stand to the side, conversing with each other and Loki is almost overtaken by an urge to eavesdrop. Could it be Victor who tells all about Loki's past, only to wear the mask of a caring friend in front of Loki? Playing the prince of Asgard for a fool, for a liar to be easily misled by another's lies - he could be telling Namor about Loki the Jotnar Prince, the monster taken in by the Æsir and raised in their ways.
Loki feels his chest constricting in fury, rising up and bursting out -
And then he quells it, pushes it back down, deeper and deeper. He cannot let his emotions get the best of him. Victor had already sworn to his face that he did no such thing, and Loki is not about to believe that his friend would betray that trust easily. Besides, telling Namor will not benefit Victor in any way foreseeable.
Breathe in and breathe out, and stare at the surveillance feed where Stark fiddles with his tie and tie-pin. As if on cue, Stark looks up and smiles at the camera, the curl of his lips coloured smug.
Loki snorts. Oldest trick in the book, that is. As if it was going to work.
"He seems too smug for a prisoner," Skurge growls.
... Loki stands corrected.
Osborn slams his hands onto the table, almost feral, and all eyes turn to him. "Acute observation, Executioner," he snarls out and there is something much darker about his tone, more unhinged. Loki eyes Norman Osborn uncertainly - there is something off about the mortal. "Perhaps you take me for a fool - any half-wit can see that Stark is up to something!"
Victor looks briefly over to Loki, raising his eyebrow in a silent question that Loki answers with a shake of his head.
"Osborn," Loki says, and does not flinch as Osborn turns on him. "We need to decide what to do with him. You can't lock him away forever."
"Why not?" Amora calls out. "The best way to prevent Stark from doing anything is to contain and forget all about him. He'll probably go into shock from attention deficiency."
"I have not seen any records of humans dying from lack of attention," Namor points out puzzledly, and Amora throws him an unimpressed look, like really. (No one tells her that the only one likely to suffer from that condition is probably herself.)
Osborn sneers at Namor. "Of course you haven't," and that is the exact moment Frost walks into the room. Her eyes narrow, almost slits, before she joins the Namor-Victor party.
"I got nothing of worth out of Stark," Frost finally tells them, albeit reluctantly. "The moment I walked in, he immediately thought, 'Great ass, I would so tap that,' before returning to mathematical formulae and theories." Loki holds back on the snigger that threatens to escape - a hard feat to do, considering Stark's said thoughts in Frost's accent. "I suspect that Charles may have taught him to deflect some mindprobing."
"Could you not have directed his thoughts?" Namor asks and Frost shakes her head, no. Osborn sneers at her and she regards him coolly yet again - Loki does not require telepathy to deduce that Osborn had either insulted her or her skills. He quickly stands up and claps his hand once, nice and loud, turning all attention hostile or otherwise on him.
"No matter about his thoughts and plans," Loki says. "We have Stark within our custody. The matter at hand is what to do with him."
"Lock him up and forget about him," Amora repeats. Everyone ignores her and she sniffs disdainfully.
"Execution and putting his head on a pike may discourage other villains," Skurge adds on. Frost looks affronted at the very idea, along with Namor. Osborn looks at Skurge like he's his new best friend, would you look at that, Norman and Skurge, dynamic duo.
"Something diplomatic, friend," Loki says instead. "We cannot cause too much of an outrage."
"I believe that the situation can be turned to the Cabal's advantage," Victor puts forth. "Stark should be put on trial, to undergo American justice." The way he says 'American' is on this side of distaste, and Loki wonders what Victor will do if left to his own devices - maybe torture, that sounds good.
Frost raises an eyebrow. "A fair trial?" she says, doubtful. "He will find a way out of it. He did not come here to get caught."
"What can he do?" Amora scoffs. "Call his villainous allies to come to his aid?"
"A trial," Osborn suddenly says, "full of superheroes." He gets up, continues talking. "Everyone has a grudge against this criminal empire Stark runs, one way or another. We make it public, so if his friends come along to rescue him; they'll be either scared off or enough of an idiot to get caught." Osborn grins, vicious and triumphant and sharp. "A lot of birds with one stone - Doom, you may be of use for once."
Victor raises his eyes to look at Osborn squarely in the face, which is quite a sight to see, considering that he's quite buff and Osborn more sullen and almost a stick. "Doom have always been useful," he says coldly and Loki thinks that in another life Victor could have been a ruler, a king, "if not more useful than you, Osborn."
Osborn bristles at the insult and makes his way towards Victor with obvious intent; Loki steps in between to intercept, blocking his way under the guise of talking to Frost. "Can you contact anyone from the mutant community?" he asks, keeping an eye on Victor.
She reads his purpose, but plays along. "Erik and Raven should be around the area," she says. "They can spread the message."
He nods at her as she leaves with Namor, then turns to Osborn. "Osborn, if we are to go through with this idea we need as many allies as possible," he tells him briskly. "A judge is required, if my knowledge of your judiciary system is correct. Have you any contacts?"
Osborn glares over Loki's shoulder at Victor, but answers when Loki clears his throat. "Judge Hart should be willing to aid us," he says. "And I keep contact with a lot of people."
"Good," he says. "Amora, since you spend more time looking at yourself in the mirror than actually protecting Midgard of your own volition, go to the courtroom and set wards up. We wouldn't want Strange to pop by. This is an order," he says sharply when she makes to protest.
Amora glares bloody murder at him, snarls, "we're not on Asgard," but digs her nails sharply into Skurge's forearm and drags him out of the room anyway. Loki watches her go with a small sense of satisfaction.
"I will ask Herr Schmidt if he wishes to join us," Victor tells him and walks out of the door, not before shooting a particularly vicious look at Osborn, who scowls back. They are the only two left in the room, and are left standing in silence. Uncomfortable silence.
"Don't you have something to do?" Loki finally asks Osborn, arching an eyebrow.
"Don't tell me what to do," snaps Osborn in return, but he proceeds off to his office anyway. Loki watches him leave warily - Osborn had been much more irritable today. What could have happened?
(Hammer, the name now said in resignation.)
Loki shakes his head and leaves the room. He has someone to meet.
"Took you long enough," Stark drawls as Loki pushes the door to his holding cell open. He sits on a chair facing away from the door, pose entirely too relaxed for someone captured. "Have you finished powdering your nose, Norman?"
"I did," Loki replies pleasantly in Osborn's voice. "There's a spot on my brow that I missed though, would you like to wait for another hour?"
Stark snorts and turns around, a quip on the tip of his tongue; a quip unsaid as he finally realises who graces him with their presence. Loki grins, slow and sure. "Food? The next time I offer might be a long time," he quips.
The man quirks an eyebrow at him, clearly realizing who had said that (read: himself). "Well, well," the man finally says, "if it isn't our friendly neighbourhood Norse God. Do you want a sacrifice, can I sacrifice Osborn?"
"You can try," Loki tells him, finally slipping back to his own voice, Osborn's is a pain to mimic, "but I wouldn't accept it."
"Bummer," Stark pouts for a second but they're both wary, testing out the waters, neither expected to be actually meet each other again. (Not within Loki's plans, off Stark's calculations, will you look at that.) "I didn't realise the requirements were 'young' and 'handsome'."
You certainly fit the criteria, Loki thinks - but Stark suddenly says 'oh?' cockily and he said that aloud, didn't he.
Damn.
"What do you want, Stark," he demands, snappy. Stark raises a bemused eyebrow.
"I want to put on a show," the man says, "Broadway and West End and all that jazz. Have you seen Wicked? I can totally play Glinda, Galinda; Banner can take Elphaba because he's green and she's green - "
"Point, Stark," Loki interrupts because he understands none of Stark's pointless drivel. Stark grins, free and easy.
"I already made it."
Loki looks at him and he looks back, grin firmly in place. He longs to wipe it off Stark's countenance, one way or another. He's not the one in the cage but Stark holds all the cards over his head - and he hates that feeling.
"Stane killed Pepper," he says.
The reaction is so fast it could have been whiplash - Stark's face goes from relaxed and arrogant to closed and downright black. Loki may have enjoyed the thorough smashing of Stark's good mood, but not today. "Managed to figure that out then, did you," Stark says, amused tone all but gone.
(So it's true.)
"I consider myself intelligent," he answers dryly.
"Definitely more so than Hammer," Stark says, returning to smiling wolfishly, all teeth, all the better to eat you with. Loki keeps his composure, does not let his thoughts wander. "I told you so."
Told you so that your heroes lied.
"They do," Loki agrees, and Stark raises an eyebrow. "They do lie. But so do I."
"Oh, you," Stark says, pretends to swoon, pulls himself back up sharp. "But everyone knows that you lie, God of Lies, so where's the fun in that? Out there," and Stark throws his hand out in a sweeping arc, "people expect their heroes to be the shining examples of humanity, mutanity, to live up to the name of their reputation. You just happened to be lucky, Rudolph."
"Is that so," Loki replies, deadpan.
"It is so," he continues, he's on a roll and Loki isn't about to stop him. "Have you read newspapers, or do you only read Asgard Daily? Stories about people clawing their way up to fortune and fame, how inspirational, how much they have gone through," and at this he sneers, lip curls up. "Everyone likes those - but they love stories about people who hit rock bottom; scandals, corruption, bankrupt. Those always make the front page."
"So what's your story," he inquires, all but innocence and Stark grins savagely.
"I'm a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist," he answers, like rattling off his phone number or maybe a pick-up line, "who does whatever he wants and gets away with it. Unlike Asgard, on Midgard money makes the world go round. Can't say the same for you, darling - I've heard you got your mouth sewn shut."
How the fuck does Stark know.
"Haven't found your little liar?" Stark leers. "Find out quickly, little god - I know so, so much."
"Fuck you," he spits out, and teleports himself out of range and far, further away.
The week is spent on contacting other heroes and allies, checking on the wards and charms Amora had placed repeatedly if only to make her turn the colour of a ripe lingonberry, and avoiding anything that reminds him of Stark. He doesn't look for his 'little liar', repeating later, later in the hopes of finishing up the mess Stark has created and buries all and any feelings under duties and responsibilities. Stark he leaves to Frost, maybe she can rip the information out of his brain like ripping the head off a Gummy bear but they want him coherent in time for the trial so that option is sadly, out.
(Four more days until Stark's trial, Osborn says, he pulled some strings. Four more days until we put the fucker away.)
Some things are bound to go wrong.
SHOCKING NEWS: OSCORP’S HUMAN EXPERIMENTATIONS COME TO LIGHT!
Reported by Terri Kidder
Photographs provided courtesy of Peter Parker
Although Norman Osborn (see above picture) may be one of New York's beloved superheroes, fighting alongside New York's protectors the Cabal, it seems that his business ethics are far from honourable. In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that that a sizeable chunk of Oscorp's budget goes into weapons and weapons testing, said testing carried out on humans and mutants alike.
Dr. Curt Connors, 38, an ex-Oscorp researcher who resigned after months of turning a blind eye to the human testing, tells us about the decisions made. "It was horrible," he said. "At first they convinced us researchers that the humans were mutants, capable of healing themselves and it seemed to be that way - until I actually saw someone die. Now, we either resigned or are too scared to actually stop. We killed someone. There's no other way to put it."
An astonishing amount of test subjects are mutants, more than half of the list provided. Everett Thompson, 19, shares his experiences: "They first give you the money and promise you good healthcare and incentive if they happen to screw up. But once they do screw up, they just dump you by the roadside."
Further investigations reveal that this has been going on for quite [cont. on page 14]
— — — — —
"What is this, Osborn," Frost demands as she places the paper with a sharp whack upon his desk, Namor at her heels.
Osborn must have super vision because he doesn't even look at the paper. "This is a smear campaign."
"Mutants," Frost bites out. "You're testing on mutants. Don't play a fool with me - I looked through your records and I can very well rip the information from your mind if I have to."
"They were paid," Osborn says, his face a mask of deceptive calm. Loki thinks he will reach his breaking point soon enough; Victor, sensing the same, pulls Loki back away from the confrontation. Skurge merely steps in front of Amora once more, the latter tensing up like a poised snake.
"We had an agreement, Norman Osborn," Frost says. Osborn, for all his maturity, rolls his eyes at her.
"You - " and the windows shatter, glass raining down in the room like a gay glitter parade; but glass hurts so Loki throws up a shield around Namor, Victor and himself. (Amora can fend for her own.) Frost and Osborn ignore their surroundings, locked in an intense staring match - but Loki knows better. They are on Frost's mental plane, and Frost is likely to be enacting some sort of cruel ministrations, pain in the mind, on Osborn.
A moment, and two. Breathe out, slow and easy and don't blink.
(Loki blinks.)
Frost and Osborn are suddenly thrown clear across the room, away from each other, smashing against the respective walls. Namor is beside Frost in a flash, hands hovering nervously over her form; no one misses the positively murderous glare he shoots Osborn. Loki eventually goes over to Osborn, after much hesitation - Victor and Amora hold their ground.
Frost recovers first, looking up at Osborn.
She says but one word, unintentionally or otherwise:
"Monster."
Loki freezes, but it is not he the word is meant for. Osborn jerks back to reality, whispering, "out."
No one moves.
"Out," much more strongly now, and even louder, "OUT, ALL OF YOU, GET OUT OF MY OFFICE," and perhaps Osborn has gone off the deep end, no one stays to find out. They scramble out of the room, the door slammed harshly and locked behind them; then deafening silence.
"Well, that was interesting," Amora comments without preamble.
Another day would have everyone glaring at her, but today much has changed. Frost breathes heavily, leaning on Namor who supports her steadfastedly.
"I'm afraid we have come to a point where we have a clash in interest," she finally tells them softly. "It was a pleasure meeting most of you."
"Likewise," Namor agrees. "I consider the mutants as my own flesh and blood. I can stand for Osborn's values no more." He shifts, adjusting his grip on Frost. "Victor, Loki, Enchantress, Skurge. I fear this is farewell."
"Understood," Loki says numbly. "We hope to cross paths with you again someday, if not as friends then as allies." Namor nods jerkily at them and starts to shuffle Frost over to the elevator.
The elevator comes, and they leave.
Victor finds him later in one of Osborn's labs, quiet and deep in thought. On the desk, small clockwork mechanisms imbued by magic whirs and moves around to a non-existent tune, solely for his distraction. Frost and Namor's departure and Osborn's furious demeanour are still at the front of his mind, and it will be a long time before he can think of anything else.
"Loki," Victor says. "I wish to discuss a matter with you."
He snaps his fingers, and the whirring comes to a stop. "What is it," he says, distracted.
Victor looks uncharacteristically uncertain, or maybe that's just a trick of the light. "I have been called back to Latveria," he says slowly.
"Oh." Loki says. Victor is still the ambassador of Latveria, after all. "When will you be back?"
"No, friend," Victor says hastily. "Let me rephrase myself. I also wish to return to Latveria."
"You'll miss the trial," Loki points out until he realises that yes, that is probably what Victor wants. Victor nods, as if to prove the point made further.
"I can no longer trust Norman Osborn," he admits. "Frost and Namor's absence in this group is crippling to the Cabal as a whole. Norman Osborn will lead us well no more." Victor definitely looks hesitant now, but Loki does not dwell - he feels older, much much older, a millennia or more old. He feels tired and weary and is on the verge of giving up.
"I'm not stopping you," he tells Victor tiredly. "Safe journey, Victor."
But Victor does not leave - instead, he pulls himself up to his full height. "Doom will like to extend an invitation to Loki to visit Latveria," he says. "As a sign of goodwill from Latveria to Asgard." In his eyes, Loki can see a glimmer of hope, that Loki would accept.
Well, why not? Loki surmises. Frankly, it would be a relief to turn his back to Stark's increasingly perplexing antics and words; to forget about the trial and to relax and not care who plays Loki the Lie-smith's cards for all to see. Victor is a close friend, a dear ally; he would so hate to disappoint.
But he is a prince of Asgard, and his first and foremost duty is to the throne. He cannot reside in Latveria, where Thor does not stay. "I'm sorry, Victor," he tells him gently, regrets when that glimmer winks out. "Perhaps another time."
"I understand," Victor says, but Loki notices his hands, twitching furiously as if he wants to hold onto Loki and shake, and Loki doesn't know how he should feel about that. Victor does not act on that impulse, much to Loki's half-relief, and merely inclines his head. "Fare you well, Loki Odinson."
Victor leaves and Loki watches him with the air of a shipwrecked man who has let the ship sail past. "Goodbye, Victor," he says, and wonders why he feels like he has lost something of his own.
[Three more days to Stark's trial.]