"True is it that we have seen better days"
Of course, being who we are, necessitating pants wasn’t usually a big deal. And this couldn’t have come at a better time? We were in the middle of getting dressed for our double date when S.H.I.E.L.D. went all to pieces. It wasn’t quite five when Luna transported us out of our penthouse to the cover of a copse of trees about a hundred yards from the coordinates I gave her before we left; deep in the heart of the Qinghai province of China. With the third smallest population in all the provinces, it made for an excellent choice base for this terrorist organization based of the principles of yadda, yadda, yadda, boring crap. After a while, it’s all the same, ‘take down the enemy, the enemy is oppressing us, this religion, that religion, they are the enemy, I am your leader listen to me . . .’ and on and on. Terrorists weren't usually the most original of thinkers.
Coincidentally, there being such a small population also meant it was less likely we’d be seen, and we stuck out like a sore thumb. I’m of mixed racial ancestry, Japanese, Spanish, and a little of something else I haven’t been able to pinpoint, so I'm going to pass at first glance. Luna, on the other hand, all blonde hair and pale Irish skin tone; much too memorable. Not to mention how we’re dressed.
When I said we were getting ready, I meant getting ready. We’d already done our hair (and we would need to fix it once this was said and done), we were both rocking shades of scarlet lipstick, and when I said I needed pants, I just meant yoga pants under my robe and my comfy slippers. Luna had flip-flops, but I’m sure we looked ridiculous and irritated.
Luna looked around, “So what are we looking for?” She wasn’t wrong; we were staring at a couple of dilapidated outbuildings and not much else.
“It’s mostly underground, give me a few minutes to hack their security properly and figure out how many we’re up against, and then we can get to it.
“And I know,” I said, cutting Luna off before she could start, eyes already glued to the tablet I pulled from the pocket of my robe, “We’re on a tight schedule, we’ve got to be in and out in under an hour in order to be back in time to finish getting ready, without messing up our hair, mind you, get the car from the valet, and make it to the restaurant at no earlier than five after seven.”
“But of course,” Luna said with a sly smile, “Because a queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early.”
“And this is why we’re friends,” I replied, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of my lips as my fingers flew over the screen, “On a somewhat related note, whose car are we taking: yours or mine? Do you need to drain the batteries, as it were?”
“Mine probably, I’ve been good and taking the subway the last few weeks. Trying to do the normal thing, you know?” I met her gaze and we shared a mocking smile and toss of our heads. Luna and I, we’ve got a thing for fast cars, but we don’t like burning all the excess gas it takes to rev the engines, so we’ve modified our cars. Luna ‘bleeds’ excess magic into her car, a beautiful bright red Lamborghini Centenario LP 770-4 and thus makes it run. I, as the telekinetic, simply make the car, a sleek black Aston Martin One-77, run. If we go out places, whose car we take is simply a matter of who needs to burn off excess energy.
“Oh, this is rich,” I laughed, “I don’t know how they did it but they did. All the Avengers are incapacitated in one form or another.”
Luna sidled up close and peered over my shoulder at my tablet screen where I’ve hacked the security feed and the live footage from the area where they’re holding the Avengers. If the situation weren’t so serious, it’d be laughable (well, it is, regardless of the circumstances, but that’s not the kind of thing you don’t admit to in polite company—good thing that Luna isn’t). It was a room of glass-fronted cells arranged in a circle around the room so that everyone could see each other, and was not exactly a happy sight.
Thor, god of thunder and big, blond, beefcake-ness, and Captain America aka Steven Grant Rogers, he of the heroic jawline and ‘Truth, Justice, and the American Way’ were each locked in cells that were basically made of Vibranium or an alloy thereof. Who the hell supplied them with it is something I’m going to have to find out—Wakanda doesn’t exactly let that slip through its fingers. Somebody was selling Vibranium on the free market—maybe he’d even let me help this time around. But basically, those two were standing in the middle of their cells, glaring into space, and every now and then they’d take a swing at the wall or the glass front, only to get thrown back by the recoil of their own momentum.
The Black Widow aka Natasha Romanov, lone survivor of the Red Room, assassin and spy extraordinaire, was also glaring in the middle of her cell, but unlike the other two lunkheads, she was avoiding touching the walls of her cell like the plague. Specs revealed why: anytime she touched the walls or ceiling of her cell in a bid to escape, something happened in the cell across the way to her best friend and partner, Hawkeye. He’d been gassed twice and electrocuted once, and she'd been forced to watch every minute of it. The Widow couldn’t take any more chances.
Hawkeye himself, aka Clint Barton, he of the fantastic marksmanship and the biceps of a god, was climbing the walls of his cell, literally. Whether he had made any progress in the bid for escape or did so as a byproduct of the gas, was still unclear. But as one of the two non-enhanced, not super soldier, not alien, non-magical members of the team, there’s only so much he could do (even if, given that under any other circumstance, he’d have been able to free himself, also being a spy and assassin extraordinaire).
Iron Man, Tony Stark, was still in his suit, but a high level EMP-pulse put him out of commission, and now the suit was magnetized to the floor. He’d basically been trapped spread-eagle on the floor, and couldn't get up… or out. He was also giving a running commentary on how the last couple of times he’d been in that position had been more fun, which alternatively made his teammates laugh or yell, “Shut up, Tony!” so there was apparently a com system running through the whole place.
Loki, god of mischief and lies, and he of the magical mountain of daddy issues was trussed up in so many chains (a look I thought was good on him, but Luna would disagree, and so would I once I thought about it in something more than aesthetic terms) inscribed with so many anti-magic spells and runes that Luna and I both winced away from the mere image on the screen.
The Hulk, otherwise known as Doctor Bruce Banner was probably the easiest—he was basically high as a goddamn kite, and his cell was continuously being gassed with some kind of weird drug compound that I could barely make heads or tails of. He sat crossed legged in the middle of his cell singing some kind of children’s song in Hindi. Well, at least it would have been a children’s song, if he wasn’t changing the words (I giggled like a madwoman and Luna kept staring at me like I was crazy . . .er . . . again). I thought it was funny.
The Falcon, aka Sam Wilson, he of the intense aerial feats and the chocolate slab abs, was yelling all kinds of colorful insults (all without using a single curse word) at the ceiling, and every now and again kicking the walls of his cell. Luna was practically taking notes over my shoulder. Non-powered, and without the specialized training of Hawkeye and the Black Widow, he obviously felt out of his depth. But honestly, this normal guy, former Air Force and Falcon program notwithstanding, had no business running around with superheroes, and yet he did, and kept up very well if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s debriefing notes were anything to go by.
And then the Winter Soldier, aka James Buchanan Barnes, he of the shining metal arm and former Howling Commando, wasn’t saying a word. He kept pacing his cell like a caged animal, metal arm hanging limp by his side, also a victim of the EMP-pulse which downed Iron Man. His cell was significantly colder than the other cells, and it was obvious he was drifting in and out of flashbacks and memories. Both Luna and I flinched, we don't do it purposely, but as an empath and telepath respectively, sometimes we know things, and we can't always shut it out.
All in all, they definitely needed our help. A few more swipes of the screen and I was fully into their security system. I stretched out with my mind, accounting for all the minds in the structure to make sure the numbers added up.
“By the by, are we knocking them out or killing them?”
Between the two of us, Luna’s got more of a conscience than I do, usually so the fact that she only gave me a sideways glance at the question was a testament to how little she’s bothered when I have moral quandaries. “We’re going to knock them out,” she said patiently with just the hint of a patronizing air—she lords the age difference between us over me a lot—“and we’re going to dump them on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doorstep. Let them deal with the trash.”
I could practically feel the evil grin that crept over my face. “Since we’re going to mess with S.H.I.E.L.D. how do you feel about messing with the Avengers?” Luna’s answering grin was all the answer I needed. “You’ve got your bracelet, I trust?”
“Of course,” she scoffed brandishing her wrist with a flourish. I didn’t make them—hardware is 'not my division’—but we’ve each got a bracelet that I wrote code for that worked like a personal bubble. It stopped us from showing up on cameras and the like. Maybe it made me paranoid, but the anti-mutant movement and then S.H.I.E.L.D.’s watch list weren’t anything to joke about and as long as I could help it, I was going to keep us far away from that whole mess. But considering how many circles I was running around S.H.I.E.L.D., I thought we could afford a little levity.
From my other pocket, I withdrew two closed circuit coms and handed one to Luna. “There are precisely four hundred and eight persons within the compound aside from the nine Avengers. I’d say split them down the middle except seven of those are in the main control room, trying to take back their system, my final destination anyway. So two hundred and one for you—oops, never mind, make that one hundred and ninety-nine for you, one of the science types is three weeks pregnant, twins, how lucky she doesn’t know yet, you’ll have to be careful—and two hundred seven for me—we’ll count off as we go to make sure we don’t miss any. If you can, pile them up so we can quick zap them all to S.H.I.E.L.D. when this is said and done. I’m going to download their mainframe and leave it with the prisoners when we drop them off at S.H.I.E.L.D.—though why we’re doing their work for them, I’ll never know.
“Anyway,” I continued over Luna’s snickering, “You’re to rescue the Avengers though you’re going to have to get them out of that room, there’s some kind of charge or sigil carved into its foundation that’ll prevent you from leaving any way other than physically—I think it’s also keeping Thor from his hammer.” I stopped and Luna started sniggering all over again. Shaking my head, I said, “I’d ask you to forget that, but I definitely walked into that one. Moving right along, after you’ve freed the Avengers, drop them off in Stark’s phallic tribute to his masculinity, come back to help me collect their things. We’re going to gift-wrap them and deliver them back, after I’ve blow this place to smithereens. That’s what’s going to take the longest, honestly, sticking around to make sure it doesn’t turn into a forest fire.”
“Nah, girl, we got 'em beat blindfolded.” Luna said, “If this takes longer than ten minutes, I’ll be surprised.”
“But we’ve already done our hair!”
“Fine. Sixteen minutes it is.” Luna rolled her eyes at me and I laughed as I inputted the last command to decimate the security system in the compound. I slid the tablet back into my pocket and off we went.
***
“Nineteen!”
“Twenty-three!”
“You’re getting slow, Gimli—fifty-seven!”
“Shut up, elf! Sixty-four!”
"I can't hear you counting over the sounds of my winning! Eighty-two!"
"Hey, that's seven in one blow! One hundred and twelve!"
The inhabitants of the compound had no chance. We threw them off their element like nothing else, because, honestly, no one expected to get their ass handed to them by women in bathrobes and fuzzy slippers.
I made it to the main control room just before Luna reached the Avengers holding block and pulled up the feed from the room so I had something to watch while the mainframe downloaded. “You’re good to go, honey,” I said as I began disabling the separate and much more sophisticated security systems for the cells. “I’m watching from here, but be careful. I think even your magic’s going to go wonky with what they’ve got in there.”
“Copy that. Time to go rescue some superheroes.”
There was great loud ‘thump’ and an even louder crash outside the door that had all the Avengers looking up and staring. Then the doors fell in and Luna delicately stepped over the wreckage in her peace sign and smiley face robe. She picked up her head, smiled, and waved. “Good evening, gentlemen and lady. I’ll be your rescuer today.”
And then the morons did it, they all said it.
“What?!”
The only word in the entire English language (or any language for that matter) that could so easily wipe a smile off Luna’s face.
(Except Hawkeye, he'd been looking puzzled and when Luna began signing, "I said, good evening . . ." then I remembered! Shit, the EMP-pulse must have also knocked out Hawkeye's hearing aids! And then he too, signed "What?!" Man, Luna just couldn't catch a break in any language . . . )
“Oh, don’t you start that with me!” she said, with a scowl, still signing. She marched over to each cell in turn and put her hand out, giving me my signal to hit the override and let the Avengers out one by one. Though she did have to physically get in and remove Stark from his suit, which she left on the floor. “We’ve got to be out of this room before I can get us out of here.” Luna didn’t wait, just marched out into the hall. The Widow took over signing duties, so that was one less headache for the dragon.
As the Avengers made their way out the door, all still apparently in shock over being rescued by a strange, crazy woman in a bathrobe, the captain stopped in the doorway, taking in all the unconscious figures that littered the hallway. “What in the world? How many men do you have?”
“I’ve got a girlfriend up in the control room,” Luna replied, smiling once more.
“By the Norns, surely you jest?” the god of thunder boomed, looking around like the confused puppy he was.
“I know,” Luna’s smile turned into a smirk, “it hardly seemed fair. Now then, next stop, Avenger’s Tower.” And the ten of them vanished from sight, Luna’s final words hung in the air, “One ninety-nine to two hundred and seven? Hey, wait a minute, if I’d killed them, I’d have won!”