In his mind, Loki conceived a white room.

It expanded on and on to the boundary of forever, with no end in sight. He was sitting, cross-legged and taunt. His eyes stared into the nothing, thinly inquisitive when noticing the shadows that moved slowly in and out of his vision, faint silhouettes of unknown creatures that even he couldn't discern. Were they there to hunt him down, to rip him to his very last shred; to lacerate him open and examine just what repulsive material lied within his very essence that could only be described as a malefactor?

The shadows grew, and Loki felt no fear, no apprehension as the shadows increased in size. The clouded contours gave no indication of stopping their stride, and Loki wondered momentarily if the figures were to walk right over him, suddenly imagining the illusion of being completely disregarded and undergoing vague creatures gliding through his very self without so much as a bat of an eyelash at him. Astonishing indecorousness. Blatant disregard. Utter insolence.

The audacity.

He never turned his head, so he did not know if there were other figures approaching him at all sides. He did not care. If there were others, non-faceted and ambling toward him slowly but surely, they would see him, whether they liked it or not. He will not be overlooked. He refused. He rose, physically manifesting himself for all to see. The figures stopped, the atmosphere of the boundless area around him grew heavy and pressing, their focus on him and only him. Distraction is non-existent; unfathomable.

His eyes hooded themselves, and he raised his chin with undisclosed satisfaction. This is the expectation. The acquiescence of intended awareness whenever he himself has the capability of perceptibility within anyone's peripheral.

No one is exempt to this fact. It is obstinate. It is mandatory.

Outright contempt is not accepted, nor will it ever be tolerated.

I am here, and I will not be ignored.

A presence perpetually known. An expectation. A motto.

A faceless creature separated itself from the swarm, its direction overtly towards Loki, made known by the hurried steps it created. He waited patiently as the figure approached him. His indifferent demeanor changed, however, as the creature neared. Recognition flooded his senses, a memory he couldn't quite put his finger on. The steps sounded, echoing off of absent walls. He knew those steps. But who did they belong t -!

Realization shot through his thoughts and erupted as the figure stood in front of him and jostled his shoulder.

"Loki."

Loki calmly opened his eyes to Stark Tower, to the walls that defined the definitely finite rooms, somehow allowing his senses to rest at the containment borders. He looked up to find Sif standing above his person, himself positioned against a wall, legs crossed, arms resting on his thighs.

He waited for her to speak.

"It's Stark. I believe he may have found something."

He gave a curt and solemn nod, and she walked away.

A/N: A little early Christmas present, eh? Also an early birthday present to me, given that it's in two days. You know, I just realized something a few days ago – my URL depicts rapid updates, and I've only updated this fic maybe twice this year or so. I am an enigma. Fear me and all that. Either way, here's a half-chapter. A full one should make itself known, so stay tuned.

-S.L.

EDIT: 21 February 2015

A/N (2): As you can see, I've been experimenting with an expansion on my vocabulary. If anything seems a bit off, let me know and I'll make the quick adjustments. New chapter...within 30 days, at least.