Chapter 8
It had been five days, or what constituted as days in the TVA at least, since Mobius had left for his mission, and Loki was completely and utterly bored.
What had begun as a turmoil of disappointment and longing, and regret for the words that were left unsaid, had quickly turned to boredom.
Without Mobius, there was no one for Loki to talk to, beyond receiving barked orders or making snide remarks. He was kept in his cell for the majority of the time - the hunters were too busy to order him around or give him anything to do. The only time he left was to eat.
The meals were bland without Mobius to share them with, mere gruel in comparison to the flavour of his company.
On the sixth morning of waiting for Mobius to return, Loki had been forcing down his breakfast with a grimace, when he overheard two people behind him discussing the ‘situation’ that Mobius had been sent to deal with. The cafeteria was otherwise silent, making the voices easy to tune in to.
“They’re saying it’s a battlefield over there- C-4 barely made it back alive!” One voice said.
“Keep it down! Those are just rumours. Both B-12 and G-17 told me that they have everything under control,” replied another, talking in a hushed whisper.
“If that’s true, then why are they sending out another squad to help?”
There was a moment of silence. Loki anxiously picked at his cuticles - over the last few days, his nails had already been bitten so short that they had bled. He strained to hear what they were saying.
“I don’t know,” the words were even quieter, almost undetectable.
Loki closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. Nausea swirled in his gut, but he forced himself to take deep breaths and stay calm.
After a moment of thought, a plan began to form in his head.
Step one was simple: convince his guard to let him stay out of his cell for a while longer.
Due to his relatively good behaviour lately, Loki had earned the trust of the hunter enough for them to agree to him doing some reading in the library, which he casually expressed an interest in as he carried on eating his breakfast.
Strolling between the shelves, Loki plucked a few books, taking care to pick particularly thick ones for the hunter to carry, and took a seat at an empty desk. He spent a little while pretending to read, skimming his finger across the words and turning the pages at irregular intervals.
Satisfied that Loki wasn’t going anywhere, the guard slumped in their chair. They even removed their helmet, setting it on the chair beside them with a relieved sigh.
It was time for step two: escape.
Loki closed the book that he was currently looking through and placed it back on the pile. He picked a weighty novel and held it in his hands.
When he was certain that the guard was suitably relaxed, Loki lunged at them, swinging the thick book at their head. It connected with their temple with a crack, and they slumped onto the desk, unconscious.
Dropping the book, Loki rounded the desk and stripped the hunter down to their underclothes. He took off his own uniform and replaced it with the guard’s. He secured the ret-can to the holder on his back and placed the helmet on his head, pulling down the visor to hide his face.
Loki used his old clothes to tie the hunter to the chair. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it was better than nothing.
With a final apologetic look at the guard, Loki turned and ran from the library, weaving between the shelves. He tore through the corridors of the TVA, only stopping occasionally to duck behind corners to hide from incoming workers. Despite being dressed in a hunters uniform, Loki didn't want to risk being questioned or redirected.
Step three was a little more complicated.
The TVA was vast, and Loki had no idea where the hunters for this particular mission were gathering. He also didn’t know when they were leaving - an issue that wasn’t helped by the TVA’s lack of time-keeping, which was ironic given their occupation and name.
By the luck of the gods, that is to say, by Loki’s own incredible luck, he stumbled upon two hunters discussing the ‘situation’- which still largely remained a mystery to him.
From their conversation, Loki deduced that they were heading to the meeting place at that moment. He followed behind them, careful to keep his footsteps in time with their own to mask the sound.
As they walked, more hunters joined the pair, until Loki no longer had to lunge behind corners and through doorways, and he was able to hide in plain sight. There was very little conversation now, which alleviated the possible suspicion over Loki’s silence.
Eventually, the group came to a halt in a dark and secluded spacecraft hangar, organising themselves into a neat line. The low electrical thrum of the vehicles filled the silence as the squad awaited their debriefing.
Heavy, echoing footsteps broke the tension, coming to a stop in front of the line. The hunters saluted, a gesture that Loki copied with an imperceptible delay.
“You have all been briefed on the situation already, so I won’t go over it again-” Loki rolled his eyes beneath the tinted visor. He most certainly did not know what was going on, and had hoped that it would be revealed now. “-but I would like to reiterate: it won’t be easy.”
The commander began to pace with measured strides, hands clasped behind their back. “We are struggling to keep control, the level of variants is higher than we’ve ever encountered before. But, with your help, we can reclaim our authority and purge all aberrations from the sacred timeline.”
Interesting, thought Loki, it’s an issue of an excessive amount of variants that are fighting back. Glad to finally know what’s going on.
The hunters remained stoic, but the tension was palpable.
Loki began to feel lightheaded as the danger dawned on him. He would be fine - he always found a way to survive, after all - but Mobius could end up seriously hurt, dead, even. He could be already.
It would all depend on exactly how dangerous these variants were, and how many there were. Judging from the commanders’ poorly concealed apprehension, Loki gauged that it would certainly be a difficult battle.
But that hardly mattered. Loki’s only focus was to get there, grab Mobius, and return him back to the TVA, where he would be safe. His initial plan was to assess the situation and just see how Mobius was faring, but Loki refused to leave his friend in danger.
The commander gave the order, and each hunter pulled out their tempads, ready to jump. Loki copied them.
In unison, the squad activated their tempads and blinked out of the room.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was chaos.
Immediately after appearing, the squad ran to take cover behind discarded vehicles, many of which laid on their sides or were overturned completely. Gun fire and shattering glass came from all directions. Acrid smoke hung in the air as fires burned in the streets.
Whole buildings had been decimated, reduced to rubble and ash. Others, though still standing, were hardly faring better - many no longer had windows, doors were ripped from their hinges, and fires erupted within. Large cracks ran along the road and up the walls.
There were people everywhere. Hunters chased swarms of variants, many of whom wore masks or scarves to cover their faces, only to be held back by bullets of yet more variants as they rounded the corner.
Loki crouched behind a car on its side, holding onto a tyre as he peered around it.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he reveled in the disorder. His fingers itched to grab a discarded gun and join in. He was prepared to fight for either side, or perhaps none at all, simply attacking anyone who came into his path.
Chaos was as familiar to him as breathing, and he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d missed it since being held at the TVA.
His excitement was near tangible, but he forced it down, focusing instead on any sign of Mobius.
A bomb exploded on the next street. The explosion rippled waves of heat through the air and the vibrations shook through the ground. The fighting momentarily paused.
Taking advantage of the interruption, Loki started running, twisting around vehicles and other debris to reach the other side of the street.
A large group of hunters were busy pinning down variants and transporting them to the TVA.
“Hey!” Loki shouted as he approached, waving his arms to get their attention. “Have you seen Agent Mobius?”
Most of the hunters ignored him and resumed their pursuits, some shook their heads, but only one waited for Loki to stop beside them.
“I saw him a little while ago, a couple of streets over,” they pointed in the direction they were referring to. “I don’t know if he'll still be there. Why do you need him?”
Loki thought quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet in an effort to not take off running.
“I have orders to pass on to him. He isn’t responding to his radio.”
The hunter paused, evaluating the statement. Deeming it acceptable, they nodded.
“Okay. Come with me, I’ll take you there. You’ll get there quicker if you have someone to cover you.”
Loki nodded in gratitude, following the soldier as they climbed over rubble and entered the building that they were standing in front of.
“There’s an exit to the other side through here,” the hunter called over their shoulder, clambering over a counter and walking deeper inside.
Loki wasn’t entirely trusting of the hunter, but his desperation was growing by the minute. He decided to follow, he’d deal with the consequences later, should they arise.
After winding through a cluttered hallway, they entered a dusty room on the other side of the building. The hunter crouched beneath the covered window and gestured for Loki to hide out of view. He ducked beneath a table in the centre of the room.
Loki watched as the hunter slowly lifted the curtain and peered outside. From his position, he couldn’t see out of the window, and was unable to determine anything based on the hunter’s lack of reaction.
The soldier lifted a hand, signalling that it was all clear. Loki crawled out from under the table and hurried to the door. The hunter opened it to reveal the fighting beyond.
None of the variants paid them any attention. A group had been herded across the street and were surrounded by a squad of hunters. Other humans attempted to break a path through the line of soldiers, but the hunters filled any gaps between them and continued to close in. They transported the variants one by one as they came into their reach. The hunters blinked in and out of sight, working as a team until the variants had all been taken to the TVA, where they each awaited their trial.
The squad moved on, chasing down any that had fled.
The hunter accompanying Loki led him down the street. They held their ret-can at the ready, but it wasn’t needed.
Thankfully, they evaded the majority of variants, and any that got too close were quickly dealt with by other hunters.
As they rounded the corner to the next street, Loki came to an abrupt stop.
The hunter beside Loki cursed.
Together, they surveyed the street.
It was obvious that this street had been the one to suffer through the explosion of the bomb. The walls of the buildings were covered in ash and soot, blackened and cracked. The windows had all been blown inwards. Many of the buildings had collapsed back onto themselves, toppling onto the ones behind. Bricks were strewn haphazardly across the road, along with chunks of concrete and metal, pieces of furniture and damaged cars.
And amongst the debris-
Bodies littered the road, both human and hunter. Blood pooled in dark stains beneath the corpses, and some were still moving. Shards of glass, metal and wood stuck out of many of the bodies that were on the parts of the street furthest from where the bomb was detonated. The remains on the innermost part of the street, where fires still raged and the road was burnt the most, were scorched and blistered beyond recognition. These had faced the worst of the explosion. They had suffered the most.
Loki’s escort ripped off his mask and emptied the contents of his stomach at his feet.
Loki could only stare, hands trembling and face drained of blood.
Where is Mobius?
The thought snapped him out of his daze and he sprung into action. He sprinted between the bodies, barely stopping to check each before moving onto the next.
He didn’t recognise any of them.
As he neared the centre of the street, the smoke grew thicker and, paired with his shaded visor, began to obscure his vision. It was even harder to check the bodies here, especially when most had very little identifying features left.
Frustration built within him. He couldn’t see a damned thing.
He bellowed a cry of rage and ripped off his helmet, throwing it to the ground with a satisfying crack.
Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?
Loki stumbled over to a corpse, lured by the black boots, green jacket and shirt - so white it was blinding through the smoke.
He fell to his knees, hauling the body closer towards him.
The short hair had been singed charcoal, the skin on the face was covered in soot but pale and waxy underneath.
He couldn’t tell if it was him.
He lifted up the eyelids, checking both the colour and for signs of life.
Brown. Brown eyes.
It wasn’t him.
Loki let go of the body, sliding it off of him and back onto the concrete. He gently closed their eyes, whispering a prayer for peace and guidance in the afterlife.
Still on his knees, Loki looked at the piles of bodies he had yet to check. The fires burned brighter as they spread, swallowing the corpses in their path.
He was running out of time, yet he couldn’t move.
The adrenaline had left his body, leaving him exhausted and sluggish. His bones stiffened up and his limbs were so, so heavy. He tipped his head back, a single tear winding its way through the soot on his cheek, a path of white against the black.
Each breath burned as he inhaled the hot smoke and he couldn’t stop shaking, but he had to continue. For himself.
He had to know if Mobius was dead, he had to see the body.
He heaved himself to his feet, knees unsteady beneath him and ready to collapse. But he took a step forward anyway.
I have to know, I have to know, I have to-
It was a mantra in his head, urging him onward. His feet dragged across the road with every step.
He had just made it to the next body when the thunderous sound of many footsteps drew his attention. The ground beneath him began to shake.
Loki turned around, looking past the hunter who had brought him here and now leaned in shock against a wall.
A crowd of people charged down the street, cries of fear and anger growing louder with each second.
He allowed himself a moment of surprise, before lunging to the side of the street, hiding down a narrow alley between two buildings.
The mob swarmed the street, pursued by a smaller, but still considerably sized, group of hunters.
Loki watched as they fought each other, taking a moment to catch his breath.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The cold brick helped to ground him.
He looked back into the street, and in that moment, he saw him.
Mobius.
He stuck out like a sore thumb among the hunters clad in black, in his green jacket and white shirt. Someone had given him his own helmet, but the visor was up and showed his face, which was amusingly scrunched up in concentration.
Loki could see a small scratch on his cheek and there were a few holes in his trousers, but he was otherwise unharmed.
Relief flooded through him, his breath rushed out of him and his knees grew weak once again. He clutched the wall for support as he stumbled out of the alley.
“Mobius,” he cried, and then repeated even louder.
Impossible as it seemed, Mobius somehow heard Loki’s voice over the deafening cacophony.
His head snapped towards him, confusion plain on his face.
His eyes met Loki’s, dark with exhaustion, but the soft, wondrous smile on his lips betrayed his pleasant surprise. Mobius paused in the street, watching Loki run towards him, laughter bubbling in his throat.
His arms extended, ready to catch Loki and embrace him-
An agonizing pain pierced his gut.
His legs went numb and folded beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor. Shock rippled through him as he clutched his stomach, desperately trying to stop the insides from coming out.
Loki saw the blade impale him the moment that Mobius felt it.
The attacker dropped the knife behind Mobius, staring at their hands in surprise, as though they couldn’t believe that they had actually done it. They fell backwards, sprinting away and getting lost inside the throng of people fighting around them.
Loki stumbled forward.
This couldn’t be real. It didn’t feel real. It was a nightmare. It had to be.
Mobius couldn’t be-
Dying.
He fell to his knees beside Mobius and pulled his head onto his lap.
He fumbled for the tempad at his belt, but it wasn’t there. It must have fallen out.
Dread washed over him as he stared wordlessly at Mobius.
Crimson stained his white shirt. The red blossomed from his stomach, blooming across the fabric until it was saturated in blood.
His hands pressed into the wound, frantically trying to hold back the blood, trying to hold back death.
“Stay with me, Mobi, stay with me,” he murmured, over and over again.
Mobius stopped him with a trembling hand on Loki’s cheek, peering up at him with his blue eyes wide.
He attempted a smile, dribbling dark red down his chin.
Loki wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing it all over the haggard grey skin.
He could see the life draining away from him, see him struggling to keep his lungs expanding and his heart beating.
“Loki,” Mobius whispered, barely audible over the din.
Loki peered into his eyes.
He felt so utterly helpless. Useless.
This was all his fault.
His dream was right.
A sob forced its way from his throat.
“Mobi,” he breathed, air barely escaping his mouth as tears dripped down his face.
The silence stretched between them. The same heavy silence as before Mobius left, but now it was utterly unbearable. Mobius didn’t want to die in this silence. He didn’t want the last thing he ever saw to be the despair on Loki’s face.
He wanted to hear him laugh, see him smile.
So he sang, voice unsteady and weak.
“You are my sunshine,” he whispered, “my only sunshine…”
Loki let out a surprised laugh, wiping away his tears and trying to pull himself together.
He joined Mobius in singing, and the noise of the incessant fighting faded away. The only thing he could hear was their own strained singing, and Mobius’s rasping breaths in between lines.
After the chorus, their voices trailed off into silence.
Mobius dissolved into hacking coughs, each heave drawing a pained wince and even more blood appeared from his lips.
A pool was rapidly growing beneath them, staining everything it touched a deep red.
It was all Loki could see, even when he closed his eyes.
But still, he held on, hoping against all odds that Mobius would heal, that someone would come and help them.
Mobius couldn’t bear to see the pain etched so plainly on Loki’s face. Instead, he gazed out at the battle around them to distract him from the pain in his body. The agony was beginning to fade, but that didn’t bring him any peace.
The fighting had slowed considerably. Most of the variants had already been removed, and only a few stragglers remained. The hunters were beginning to reset areas and to recover the wounded.
Corpses were left behind.
A wave of sadness brought the bitter sting of tears to his eyes. He would be left behind.
There wouldn’t be anyone to look out for Loki anymore, and the TVA may even prune him for the way he escaped today.
For the first time, Mobius pondered how Loki had arrived here. From the uniform, he assumed, correctly, that Loki stole the clothes and a tempad, and impersonated a hunter.
He laughed, feeling a sense of pride.
He didn’t even feel the pain anymore.
His body seemed distant, muted.
Loki could sense him drifting away. The hand on his face fell to the ground and the flow of blood had slowed considerably.
Panic gripped him like a vice and what was left of his control snapped.
“Stay with me, Mobi. You have to hold on!” He shouted, grabbing his arm and digging his fingers in.
Mobius stared blankly at the grey sky, the smoke steadily clearing away.
His chest sunk inwards as the air pushed itself from his lungs for the last time.
Loki laid him down, scrambling to his side to feel for a pulse at his throat.
There was nothing.
A dull roaring filled his ears and the world seemed to tilt.
Mobius was dead.
No no no no no no.
“Please,” Loki whispered, “bring him back. Bring him back!”
He begged the gods to help, to heal the wounds and restore his soul.
To bring back the man he loved, to return him where he belonged - by his side, always and forever.
There was no answer to his desperate pleading, to his curses or prayers.
Frozen in a silent, mindless scream, Loki hunched his body over Mobius and pressed his tear-soaked face to his chest, vowing to remain this way forever.
As all hope deserted him, a sudden feeling forced him to sit up. An innate knowledge entered his mind and he succumbed to the guidance.
Instinct had Loki placing his hands over Mobius’ wound. He channeled his power from the depths of his soul, through his arms and through his fingers, pouring it into the body beneath. Desperation fueled him, offering strength into his weakened arms and urged him to continue.
His skin glowed a pale green as his magic entered Mobius and began to heal. It knitted flesh and tissue back together, stimulated blood production and pushed air into his lungs.
Loki had no idea that his healing could be used on another person, wasn’t certain that it would ever work again should he try, but it was working.
Glorious purpose be damned.
One more moment and the wound would seal completely, and his heart would begin pumping once again. Mobius was slowly being brought back to life.
And then he was ripped from his arms.
Loki cried out as he was wrenched backwards, hands grabbing his shoulders and forcing him away from Mobius.
Two hunters hurried forward and checked Mobius for a pulse. Coming up empty, a hunter started chest compressions, urging him to come back.
Loki pleaded to be released, to finish healing him, but the soldiers continued to drag him away. The last thing he saw before he was pulled through the portal was Mobius lying on the ground.
He saw him take a breath.
And then he was gone.